#i feel like it's just not emphasized enough how much of a risk it is that everyone involved in treating & studying covid

[starry-bi-sky]

tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid

okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.

It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.

(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)

There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.

It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.

Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.

Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.

He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.

At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.

This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.

Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.

Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.

Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.

("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)

Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.

Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.

Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.

Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.

Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".

(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)

Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.

He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.

Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.

Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.

At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.

He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.

Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."

And there it is. There's his out.

Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."

The ball starts rolling.

Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.

He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.

It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.

Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.

He breaks the lock by hand.

Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.

The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.

And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.

I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"

I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.

Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.

But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.

Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.

Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.

Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.

Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.

And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.

[sesamenom-misc]

brief survey

*common symptoms include:

physiological - lingering chest pain, shortness of breath, lingering cough, heart palpitations, abnormal heart rate

neurological - brain fog, general cognitive decline, fatigue, language/word retrieval issues, short term and long term memory issues, abnormal executive dysfunction, difficulty concentrating, exacerbation of pre-existing depression or anxiety

**if you first contracted covid before vaccines were available, you can count it as unvaccinated

[jegheterkerry]

i went to the dentist back in october, for my semiannual cleaning. everything was fine, but they always ask if there's anything bothering me. i mentioned some sensitivity bordering on pain between my last two teeth on the right side when i floss. "like i can feel the thread touching a nerve, or something sensitive in the tooth, when i pull it back up." they had me open up and look around, tapping the tooth. it didn't hurt during any of that, or during anything else, like when i ate or drank, or touched it with my tongue.

she concluded that i was traumatizing my gums. i was flossing too hard back there. my pain was self-inflicted. i just had to be more gentle, kinder to my teeth and gums, my self.

so now i think about that every time i floss. i use a little less force now, and i do feel less sensitive. but mostly i just think about how much of my pain is my own fault.

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4663

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: I was reading a book series and got this idea. Enjoy!

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say, poking at the sad bowl of cereal before you.

“Why not?” Your wife frowns at you from across the kitchen.

“Because we’re doing fine! We don’t need any extra help,” you emphasize.

“You’re not the one stuck at home all day cleaning the house and cooking all the meals,” she snaps. Your eyes shift to the bowl of cereal you’d had to make yourself because she was too busy at her pilates class to cook you anything more substantial. 

“This house is huge compared to our old one,” your wife continues. “And if you’re not going to help me around here, I’m going to hire someone who will.” Annoyance burns in your chest because you run your own company full-time, and your wife inherited all her wealth from her parents and hadn’t worked a real job in her entire life. “Besides, Steve’s the one who recommended her and he said she’s been really helpful to his family.”

“You seem to spend a lot of time talking to Steve,” you note, although you feel guilty for calling out your neighbor across the street. You’d spoken to him a few times and he seemed like a decent guy, but you weren’t stupid enough to not notice how often your wife would find her way over to his lawn multiple times a week.

“You’re at work all day and don’t answer your phone half the time,” she says. “You don’t expect me to stay in this gigantic house all by myself doing chores, do you? I’m not a house servant, Y/N.”

“No, of course you’re not,” you apologize. You glance at the Omega watch that had been an engagement gift from your wife. “Hey, I have to get going to work now.” Dutifully, you bring your bowl over to the sink and stop to kiss your wife on the way there. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Remember, the pool guy is coming at noon so you need to be back before then,” she says. “I don’t want to be left by myself with him.”

“Okay, I’ll try.” You’re not sure why she’s so nervous around the pool technician; he was about 30 years older than the both of you and had been very sweet and professional when he came to give you a quote for the maintenance.  

“No, don’t try. Do it,” she insists.

You try to hold in your sigh. “Yes, dear.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha curses to herself as she drags her vacuum cleaner and basket of cleaning supplies up the sidewalk to your home. Your wife–Mrs. L/N, as she had asked Natasha to call her, while you had no problem being on a first name basis with her–had told Natasha she didn’t want her parking in front of your house, requiring her to park around the corner. Which wouldn’t have been a significant issue except it meant Natasha had to lug everything to your house every time she stopped by.

“Do you need any help, Nat?” Steve Rogers, the friendly neighbor whom she also worked for, waved at her from across the street.

“No, no, I’m fine!” she squeaks, not wanting to bother him. But Steve, ever the gentleman, runs over anyway and she has no choice but to turn over her supplies to him. 

“You know, you can always just park in front of my house,” he offers, bundling the items in his muscular arms.

“That’s okay,” Natasha says. “Mrs. L/N made it very clear that as much as she needs my help, she doesn’t want people to know I’m here.”

Steve doesn’t argue with her and walks her to your front door. “Well, if you ever need anything–”

“Natasha! You’re late!” The front door swings open and Natasha finds herself face-to-face with your wife. “Oh, hello, Steven.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and bats her eyelashes at him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“I was just helping Natasha with her things,” Steve explains.

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She can handle herself. Right, Natasha?” She turns a judgmental eye on Natasha.

“I appreciate the help, Steve,” is all Natasha says.

“You’re welcome. See you both later!” He quickly jogs back to his home. 

Mrs. L/N ushers Natasha into the house. “I left a grocery list on the kitchen counter for you. If you can’t find something, please call me before you pick any substitutions,” she instructs briskly. “I have to go out to the HOA meeting, but Y/N should be home by noon before the pool man comes. Do not let him into the yard if Y/N or me are not home yet, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Natasha nods her head, fighting the urge not to roll her eyes at this lady.

“Good.” She leaves towards the garage and Natasha can hear the purr of her Mercedes starting up.

It was Natasha’s second week working for your family, and she hated nearly every second of it–mostly because of your spoiled, bratty wife. But the few times Natasha had met you, she thought you were as kind and charming as could be (and very nice to look at). She wondered how the two of you had gotten together in the first place and what you saw in your wife. She was one of the bossiest clients Natasha had ever had, and Natasha had seen her be not much nicer to you. Plus, she was definitely hitting on Steve, but Natasha knows he wouldn’t cheat on his wife with yours.

She dumps her supplies in the foyer, then goes into the kitchen to find the grocery list. It only takes a single glance to know that your wife is totally fucking with her–what the hell is a rambutan? Natasha sighs loudly, wishing there were someone around to hear her distress. As much as she wants to quit working for your family, she needs the money. And she was still so new to the business, she couldn’t afford to make any bad impressions. 

With another sigh, she balls the grocery list into her fist and heads back out.

***********************************************************************

Natasha returns from her grocery trip just in time to see you pull into the garage in your bright green luxury sports car she doesn’t even recognize the manufacturer’s logo of. You get out and wave to her and she smiles back, almost forgetting the awful phone call she had to make to your wife when she searched the entire store and still couldn’t locate the rambutans (she ended up having to make a separate trip to Whole Foods for them). 

“Hi, Natasha!” you say, running down the driveway to help her with the grocery bags.

“Oh, don’t worry about these,” Natasha says, trying to swat your hands away. “It’s my job to take them into the house–”

“No, let me help,” you insist, scooping up four bags in one hand in one go. “Oh! Rambutans. These are my favorite. Thank you for finding them.” 

Instantly, Natasha wants to take back all the curses she had put on the spiky red fruit. “It was nothing,” she lies, making a mental note to buy out the store’s entire stock for you the next time she goes.

With your help, it takes half the amount of time to get all the groceries in the house. You also insist on helping her put everything away, showing her the proper drawers in the fridge for the fruit and vegetables versus the meat, and where the cereals went in the pantry. Natasha is beyond grateful for you; she knows your wife would have happily stood there and watched her struggle, then loudly criticized her for not knowing better.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she says, her hand inadvertently brushing yours when you pass her the last bag of apples. She withdraws from you almost too quickly, her skin hot where you touched her, but you don’t seem to notice, distracted by the ringing of the doorbell. 

“That must be Stan.” You dash off to meet the pool man. 

Natasha fills the dishwasher as much as she can and starts in, then goes to finish washing the oddly-shaped pots and pans that didn’t fit in the sink. The kitchen window looks out to your yard that is probably bigger than the footprint of her entire apartment complex. The pool has two different levels, but both are filled with a suspicious green water. You’re standing poolside talking to Stan, an older gentleman whom Natasha personally knew to be very kind from her few interactions with him when he conducted work on the neighborhood pool’s. 

She’s so busy looking at you, fantasizing about a life where this big house could be hers, with a doting partner who would take care of her and raise a family with her, she doesn’t hear the front door opening until she hears the unholy screech from your wife.

“Natasha, what are you doing?” she yells, hurrying over and snatching the soapy sponge right out of Natasha’s gloved hand.

“Um–the dishes? They didn’t all fit in the dishwasher–”

“You turned on the dishwasher?” Her eyes grow wide and her mouth drops like Natasha’s just confessed to a murder. “Didn’t I tell you we don’t run the dishwasher before seven p.m.?” Natasha is certain she’s never heard this instruction before in her life and watches as she rushes over to turn off the dishwasher mid-cycle and throw it open. “Also, you didn’t pack this correctly, you definitely could’ve fit those pots in here.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll rearrange it now,” Natasha says, trying not to get flustered. Surely your wife wouldn’t fire her over such a minor transgression, would she?

“Is Stan here yet?” she asks, but before Natasha can answer, she is interrupted by a shout and a splash. Both of them crane their necks to look out the window, where they can see Stan floating facedown in the pool. You’re kicking your shoes off and throwing your phone onto the lawn before you run up to the pool’s edge and dive in with a form that would rival an Olympic swimmer’s. Your wife screams and darts towards the back door, Natasha following right behind her.

“Y/N! What are you doing?”

“He fell in!” you answer, coughing out water as you loop your arms under the elderly man and kick back towards the stairs. “He just zoned out when he was talking to me and suddenly tipped over into the pool. I think he’s having a seizure.”

“I’ll call 911!” Natasha offers, not wanting to be as useless as your wife. She struggles to get her phone out of her pocket and punches in the number with shaky fingers.

Your wife hovers by the pool stairs, making no move to assist you as you struggle to drag the old man out, clearly weighed down by the water drenching both of your clothes. Stan is holding himself in a position so stiff it reminds Natasha of a mannequin. 

“Ugh, don’t get me wet, Y/N!” your wife complains as the brackish water sprays everywhere.

“I’m trying not to!” you snap, gently laying Stan on the grass.  

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” a dispatcher picks up.

“Hello? Yes, I’m at 2800 Sherwood Drive. There’s a man here who fell into the pool and we just got him out, but he’s having some kind of medical episode,” Natasha says, putting her phone on speaker. The dispatcher asks if he’s breathing and you confirm. 

“Can roll him to his side and stabilize his head?”

Without hesitation, you peel off your shirt and roll it into a soggy ball, gently tucking it under the man’s head like a makeshift pillow. Natasha tries not to stare at your nicely sculpted torso, highlighted further by the water droplets on your skin, but her face burns in shame when she sees your wife glaring at her ogling.

“Okay, his head is stabilized!” you call out.

“Perfect, emergency services are two minutes away.”

“Thank you.”

It’s a big scene at the house by the time the ambulance pulls up. Your wife eventually covers you up with a towel, but you’re insistent on waiting outside for Stan to be carefully loaded into the ambulance before you finally allow your wife to usher you back into the house, still dripping water everywhere.

“Thank you for the help today, Natasha,” you say, reaching out to give her shoulder a gentle pat as you walk by her towards the house. Natasha doesn’t even know how to respond but nods furiously and mumbles that “she didn’t help much.”

“You can go now, Natasha,” your wife says curtly, and Natasha doesn’t question her and practically flees the premise.

***********************************************************************

It’s been a few weeks since the pool incident and Natasha is barely able to hold onto her sanity with the never-ending list of ridiculous tasks from your wife. When she holds a fundraiser meeting for a charity Natasha is sure she made up on her own, she calls on Natasha as her personal servant, forcing her to serve a collection of the snobbiest women in the neighborhood. Maybe I should take up meditation, Natasha thinks to herself as she prepares a third pitcher of iced tea because the first two “did not have the right balance of sugar to tea,” according to your wife, despite that Natasha had put in exactly one-third cup of sugar as requested.

Natasha doesn’t see you much around the house anymore, and she wonders if your wife purposely scheduled her around your work hours, or told you to stay away from her. She wants to ask you if there were any updates about Stan’s condition (there was no way she was going to get that information from your wife). She missed hearing your voice and seeing your smile…wait.

She shakes her head–she shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You’re her employer and you’re married (to a bitch). It would be entirely inappropriate and dangerous to pursue you, so she would just have to make do with ogling you from afar. Besides, a lot of her clients did not show her respect, likely due to the nature of her job, so just because you were courteous and respectful towards her, didn’t mean you felt a specific way about her.

“You know, Y/N used to be fat.” Natasha startles when your wife walks up behind her. She almost drops the picture frame she’d been dusting of the two of you on a beach, holding hands as you walked towards the sunset in the background.

“Excuse me?” Natasha asks. 

“Fat and poor,” Mrs. L/N adds, much to Natasha’s horror. 

“That’s an awful thing to say about your partner,” Natasha says.

She shrugs. “I don’t want anything to be sugarcoated for you. All of this–” She gestures around to the grandiose-ness of the house, and points to a more recent photo of you, where you’re carrying your wife in your arms, the bulge of your biceps and wideness of your shoulders stretching out your shirt. “–was not a thing when we first started dating. I was there when Y/N had nothing and was no one.”

“Okay.” Natasha wonders why she’s acting like she did you a favor, when you are clearly the catch in the relationship. But then it suddenly dawns on her the reason she’s saying this is because she knows Natasha might have a small crush on you.

“Y/N would never leave me, because I was there from the beginning,” Mrs. L/N says loftily.

“Of course,” Natasha says, fearing she has made a terrible mistake. “Y/N must be very lucky to have you.”

“You have no idea,” your wife smirks. “So let me be a reminder to keep things professional in my house. I’d hate for you to lose your job here. As far as I know, this is the only neighborhood that employs you, and your reputation is everything, isn’t it? One bad review could spoil the whole bunch, and you’d be off having to peddle your services elsewhere.” Icy fear pits at the bottom of Natasha’s stomach. “That is, if the police don’t pick you up first.”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha whispers, even though she knows exactly what Mrs. L/N is talking about. She had been foolish to assume her past would never follow her, but how could your wife have found out? Clint had assured her that with a new name and a new location, she’d be untraceable. 

“Because they’d have to arrest you from stealing Y/N away from me,” Mrs. L/N laughs shrilly. Natasha chuckles nervously, although she was certain adultery was not a punishable offense in the state. “But I’m just joking. That would never happen, right?”

“Never,” Natasha promises, hoping her cover will stay hidden for now. 

“Good.”

***********************************************************************

“How was your day at work, honey?”

“Busy,” you grunt, moodily poking at the chicken pot pie Natasha had made before she went home. The food tastes good–it’s better than anything your wife has ever cooked, you think privately, but you don’t have much of an appetite. The end of the financial quarter was rapidly approaching and it had become extremely apparent to you that the profits of your company were not outweighing the expenses for the third quarter in a row. You were digging yourself a bigger and bigger grave, dipping into your personal investments to pay your way out of debt. It was the most stressful period of your life, with no relief in sight, and your wife wouldn’t understand the pressure.

“Sorry to hear that,” she says, although her words don’t come across as very genuine. “My day wasn’t so great either. I got into an argument earlier with Mrs. Harkness at the HOA meeting.” Your wife clicks her tongue. “Some of these women will go to war over their lawn decorations, I swear.”

A jab bubbles on the tip of your tongue; was she really trying to compare an HOA meeting to your very real, very stressful job running a business? But you stay quiet, shoveling another spoonful of pot pie into your mouth.

“Where’s Natasha?” you ask. Usually she stayed around for dinner (not that your wife would let her sit at the same table as you), but you hadn’t seen her in the house for a while.

“I ran out of time today, so I sent her out to grab some things for tomorrow,” she answers. When Natasha had first been hired, you had been under the impression that she was exclusively a housekeeper, helping with all the household chores your wife couldn’t complete. But you had heard about her running grocery trips and waiting on your wife and her friends during meetings, turning Natasha into more of a personal assistant than anything. You hoped she was okay with that; you knew how demanding your wife could be sometimes.

“Oh, okay.” You finish your helping of pot pie in silence, then go to place your plate in the dishwasher, before going into the bedroom to retire for the night. As you’re washing your face in the sink, you hear your wife pad up behind her.

“Sorry you’ve been really stressed lately,” she says, rubbing her hand up and down your arm. 

“It’s not your fault,” you respond, drying your face on a towel, going back into the bedroom to find your pajamas so you can take a shower.

“Y/N.” Your wife stops you as you’re searching through the dresser for your pajamas. When you look at her, she’s eyeing you with her bottom lip between her teeth. She struts towards you, slowly sinking to her knees and looking up at you. “Maybe I can do something to make you feel better?” 

With you being so busy with work and her busy with the new move, the two of you hardly had time for each other. Plus, your wife tended to be on the particular side and never seemed to be in the mood if you initiated. It was a little frustrating sometimes, but you found ways to cope and besides, it did make the times she was ready for you all the more enjoyable.

She pulls down your pants, palming at your boxers and causing you to groan. You unbutton your shirt as you feel your body start to heat up and let it slide off your shoulders. 

“Fuck, don’t tease me,” you grunt when she leans forward and nibbles on the exposed flesh of your thigh. 

“You need to savor the moment,” she says, although you can tell she’s just as impatient when she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your boxers and draws them down to the floor. Your heavy cock bobs out, slapping against your abs before your wife grabs onto it and brings it to her mouth. 

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, tipping your head back when you feel her lips wrap around your cock. You wrap your hand in her hair, pumping your hips forward to sink your length into the heat of her throat. She grips onto your thighs to steady herself, the faintest of choking noise escaping her. You grunt in satisfaction, thrusting a little harder until the tip of your cock bumps the back of her throat. She whines louder, but doesn’t pull away, and your knees are practically shaking at the sight of her deepthroating all of you.  

“You’re doing so well,” you praise and her cheeks flush red. “Are you gonna let me finish in your mouth?” you ask, and she nods in response, the movement causing a burst of pre-cum to leak out of your cock. You stroke a stray hair out of her face so you can look into her eyes when you finish. “That’s my good girl.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha lets herself into your home, juggling three heavy bags that she’s pretty sure are cutting off the circulation to her fingers. She passes by the kitchen, confused to see it empty; when she had left the two of you were just settling down to eat. She puts the bags by the foot of the table, recalling the time Mrs. L/N had screamed at her for putting “dirty outside bags” on the place where you ate. She wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

Checking her phone, Natasha sees that your wife had sent her a text less than five minutes ago.

Natasha sighs. It had already been a long day, but she wasn’t given an ounce of leeway. She knows better than to walk away from an unfinished task (especially around your wife), so she trudges up the stairs and turns into the guest room. Hopefully her presence can go unnoticed, and your wife will magically find the folded clothes long after Natasha is gone. 

There are a total of three shirts and a pair of jeans left to fold. Natasha knows it would be too much to ask your wife to do on her own. She grits her teeth and folds the clothes, taking the better part of a minute, then looks around and realizes she doesn’t remember where she put the laundry basket. 

Maybe she had already brought it to the master bedroom, but she knew she couldn’t just leave it on the guest bed, or your wife would probably fire her. Natasha gathers up the clothes and walks down the hall to the master bedroom, but freezes in her tracks when she hears noises coming out of the bedroom.

Moaning noises, specifically.

Natasha can’t stop herself as she moves closer to the door, positioning herself to peer through the crack in between the door and the wall. She sees your wife on her knees, her head bobbing against your waist as you stand there, half-naked, moaning and thrusting your hips forward.

Natasha feels like she can’t breathe, totally shocked and embarrassed to have caught the two of you in a moment. She has a strange sense that your wife had set her up like this on purpose, but the thought quickly dissipates as she finds herself moving closer to the door.

“That’s my good girl.”

Natasha’s stomach flips when she hears you say this, even though it isn’t directed to her. But maybe one day it could be. 

She’s practically pressed up against the door, the fear of being caught burning away in her eagerness to keep watching you. The way the muscles in your stomach and thighs flex as your hips roll in a sinful rhythm. Natasha is almost ashamed at how fast she feels the arousal building in her own stomach.

You grunt louder and slow down as you seem to near release. Natasha can’t help but wonder what you must taste like and if she could even fit you down her throat. Your wife seems to be struggling with your size, but Natasha would do everything in her power to make you happy and not let any drop go to waste.

Without warning, your wife removes you from her mouth. Both you and Natasha gasp–you probably in frustration, and Natasha because she’s shocked at how big you are. Your cock is shiny with saliva and pre-cum and is so hard it looks like it’s about to burst.

“I didn’t finish,” you whine as your wife stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She puts her hand on your chest and pushes you back until you stumble onto the bed.

“I know. But I don’t want you to finish in my mouth, I want you to finish inside me.”

“Oh.” Your wife takes off her pants and climbs onto you.

Natasha knows how wrong it is for her to stand there and continue watching. She should’ve left a long time ago. But somehow, she knows your wife set her up to see this, and instead of running away in shame, Natasha is totally absorbed and her obsession with you only skyrockets. 

The headboard creaks against the wall as your wife rides you, both of you moaning in unison. Natasha’s eyes are stuck on you, trying to memorize your body’s reactions and wondering if she’d ever be the cause of them one day. You tilt your head back into the pillows, your back arching off the mattress, your hands wrapped around your wife’s waist as you thrust up into her. 

“I’m ready. I’m gonna cum,” you announce breathlessly.

Natasha hopes you’ll say those words to her one day. But she turns away as you finish, scolding herself for her unprofessional and frankly creepy behavior. She drops the folded clothes to the floor, knowing your wife will eventually find them and know of their origin. Maybe she’ll get fired for this; if anything, it’d be for the better. She doesn’t trust herself to be around you anymore–not that she’d ever be so bold as to make a move and disrespect your marriage, but she’d never be able to look at you the same way again.

She quickly pads down the stairs and leaves the house, the emptiness in her heart and core almost reaching a painful point.

***********************************************************************

You jerk your hips up a final time as you cum, dropping back onto the bed exhausted and spent. 

“Hmm, that was fun,” your wife pants against your neck, and you wrap your arm around her tightly, pulling her closer to your body. 

“We can shower together?” you suggest, digging your fingers teasingly into her naked hips. 

“Sure. Give me a minute.” She lays her head on your chest.

Despite your differences, you were truly happy to have this woman by your side through it all. She had been your longest supporter and that had meant everything to you when no one else believed in you.

You kiss her forehead softly. “I love you, Wanda.”

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

AN: Actually screaming and crying. Nat please come save us 😭

To be continued?

@holiday-house-of-m I finally kept my promise to you after 84 years.

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[alastorss]

Could you maybe write something with Alastor and reader,

and reader gets hurt in the extermination and he cares for her? And maybe like she takes a nap on his lap and he just sorta falls asleep right next to her?

a/n: hello!! i sort of got carried away with this one and made it more sappy than i originally intended, but i hope you still like it! for context: the reader stepped into battle when alastor was hurt by adam and this is the aftermath :) hurt/comfort and fluff!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor has been eerily quiet since returning to the newly-rebuilt hotel, sutures and bandages in hand.

All his belongings, including his beloved cane, have been cast aside in lieu of medical supplies to be split between you. One measly box worth of gauze and sanitizing wipes. Definitely nothing to gawk at, but good enough.

He's stripped his shirt without any exchange of words. You know his silent request, too prideful to ask for your help verbally but desperation clear in his expression.

"Is this the only spot?" You ask, slowly stringing a suture through his skin. He hisses in pain—his only response. The demon doesn't even gratify you with his eyes anymore, opting to stare off into space as if his mind has taken a vacation elsewhere.

You frown but continue delicately stitching him, piecing him together until he's whole again. His back hits the dresser as he leans on it, body instinctively trying to crawl away from the stinging of the needle. Finally, you knot the end of the sutures and sigh in relief, reaching over to get something to clean the area.

"I'm glad this whole fiasco is over," you comment softly, knowing it won't make him look at you. "With their leader gone, maybe the angels will finally—"

"You disobeyed me," he suddenly snaps. "Why?"

You pause in your movements, blinking up at Alastor while he glowers at you. His eyes narrow into slits, half out of anger and half in a grimace.

"You were cornered. I couldn't just sit by and—"

"I told you to stay out of it," he interrupts again, slapping away your hand. You gasp, alcohol wipe hitting the floor beside you. Defiantly, you challenge him with a glare of your own.

"I'm trying to help, asshole!"

"I know, I know!" He explodes, obviously frustrated. "And look where it got you!"

He pinches your chin to tilt your head up toward him, rotating your face around so he can observe your wounds. A cut lip, a bruising eye—horrible reminders that sinners could be hurt. And you were no more of a sinner than he, much less an Overlord who knew the shape of a soul.

"You risked your life by intervening! What if you had been struck down, you fool?"

Alastor's voice is all panic and no composure, missing any semblance of that accent which is so beloved to him. You know he's telling you exactly what he feels, true emotions unburdened by the character he built for himself in the afterlife.

"So be it! It's no less a fate than what would have happened to you!" You emphasize by jabbing your finger just above his wounded abdomen, careful not to agitate his fresh stitches.

Wincing, he goes silent. It's unnerving how quiet it is again. You've gotten so used to the ambient buzz of his static, but with it missing, you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck pricking up in unease.

He still hasn't released your face, clawed fingers pinching your chin and holding you in place. It isn't until he feels the wetness of your tears pooling at the pads of his fingers that he recoils in surprise.

Sighing, he twists over to open new packs of wipes. You stay still while he carefully cleans your face, ignoring your little whelps of pain the best he can.

Once the blood is gone, he pauses. Then, his fingers gingerly wipe under your eyes, swiping away the globs of tears spilling down your cheeks.

You are pitiful right now, he thinks. Though he probably looks no better.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup. "I don't mean to make you worry."

His expression softens, though his viscous smile remains. You can see it in his eyes—something genuine buried beneath his act.

"I don't want you to die," you admit quietly.

"I wouldn't dream of it, my dear."

You laugh dryly, wiping up your tears on your own with your bloodied sleeves.

"But you almost did. What would I do without you?"

The question is rhetorical, but something vile still swirls violently in your stomach at the idea. As if knowing what's going through your mind, he grabs you by the cheeks and forces you to meet his stare again.

"Not another word out of you," he demands.

His gaze flicks to the bruising under your eye, flesh already discoloured and swelling. "Got a remedy?" You grumble.

Alastor shakes his head but leans in anyway, pressing a chaste kiss just below the swelling. His lips linger on your skin for a moment before he pulls away, amused by your stunned expression.

He invades your space again, this time kissing the crown of your head. Speaking into your hair, he whispers, "I will be more careful. I promise."

"And I'll think before charging into battle after you," you chuckle softly, overwhelmed by his warmth.

Slowly, he tugs you along and sits you on the sofa. He brushes the hair from your eye and takes the opportunity to look at it under better lighting. Just like that, he vanishes, melting into the shadows. When he reappears in front of you, he has cold packs. In a place so warm, they are of little use. But they are better than nothing, he supposes.

Groaning in pain, he seats himself beside you and allows you to slot under his arm. Two demons seeking comfort and companionship curled up together—any other Overlord would laugh.

But Alastor knows what it means to be loved, to have someone who would stand in front of a lethal blow for him, to be stitched back together by your hands.

In the safety of each others' presence, you both fall asleep with the faint hum of static filling the air.

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete (send an ask to be added!)

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Zoro is always happy to wish you good morning with a surprise, especially if that means he gets to play with you while you’re asleep. 😳😳😳 ~1.5k words.

CW: Afab reader, no gendered language. Somnophilia, P in V, previously established consent (it is mentioned once or twice, but I just wanted to emphasize that this is consensual).

WARNING: MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

A hazy sensation: arousal and heat pulsed between your legs. You slept peacefully, dreaming that someone was rubbing your clit softly, fingers passing through your slippery wet core and toying with your entrance. It was a delicious dream, one of the best sex dreams you’d had in a long time. You were content and tingly as your mind wandered amidst nasty fantasies.

But you weren’t just dreaming. In reality, Zoro had one of his hands down your panties as you slept. He was laying down next to you on his side, taking in the sight of your curves and soft breaths, the way your head rested limply on the pillow and how your lips were parted. You were fast asleep and dripping wet for him, thighs spread wide. It was around 5:00AM.

Faint blueish light filtered through the shutters of the room’s porthole, casting just enough pale color so he could see you in detail. He gazed down at where his hand was buried in the smooth fabric of your underwear, playing with your clit and folds. His thick fingers delicately rubbed and petted your sensitive spots, coaxing pleasure out of you while you laid there unconscious.

You were so wet that it felt like you were melting on him. He slid his middle finger into you as tenderly he could. When you sighed and shifted slightly, he held still. Zoro wanted to make you cum on his fingers. It got him off beyond belief to think that he could do things to your body when you were out could that got you this aroused.

His erection pressed on his boxer briefs and he could feel precum weeping out of his slit, leaving a wet spot on the fabric. His cock yearned for friction, but he wouldn’t address it for as long as he could get away with. He was laser-focused on you right now, on your sleeping body and aching cunt.

When he was certain you were still out cold, he slowly brought his finger out of you and pushed it back in. Each pass of his finger stoked more heat at your core and your walls fluttered around him. Sparks of pleasure radiated from your cunt, convincing you that you were having a particularly steamy dream.

Zoro inserted his ring finger and you felt like you were floating, soaking your panties and gushing slick as each second went by. He had to stifle a groan when your walls clamped around his fingers. He angled for your g-spot. When he gingerly pressed on it, you let out another sigh and shifted once more.

Zoro held his breath—it was imperative that you stayed asleep for the time being. He wanted to pull as much pleasure from you as he could. Where would the fun be if you woke up now?

Still slumbering, your orgasm started to build. He could tell that his fingers felt good inside of you, even when you were out like a light.

Zoro’s cock throbbed with each noise that escaped your lips. He could see that you were literally starting to drool with pleasure—it leaked out of the corners of your mouth as your lips hung open. While he studied you carefully, you were totally lost in your dreamscape of lust and desire. It felt real, vivid, and tangible—it felt almost too good to be a dream.

As he fingered you, the heat in your core reached a boiling point. Right before you were going to cum on his fingers, you shifted in your sleep, repositioning on your side so your back was facing him. He pulled his fingers out of you in the nick of time, not wanting to risk disturbing your slumber.

When you settled, your ass faced him, and he cursed himself for not making you cum sooner—but this presented a different opportunity. One of your legs crossed over your body, exposing your ass and core at the perfect angle. He thought he could get away with putting his cock in you without waking you up—regardless of how heavy or light you usually slept, some random nights you just slept extra heavy. He could tell that this was one of these nights.

Stealthily pulling his boxer briefs down, Zoro stroked his cock, pulling precum down his tip and over his shaft with a shudder. Each stroke felt like fire after waiting for so long. He touched himself for a few moments, staring at your ass and the glistening wetness on your folds. When he rotated his hand over the head of his cock his hips bucked up and his muscles tensed. He needed you.

Zoro laid a hand cautiously on your hip and brought his cock to your entrance.

After he swiftly pulled your panties aside, he rubbed the head of his cock on your core for a few seconds. You were messy and wet for him, sound asleep while your body begged him for more.

With a deep breath, Zoro pressed his cock into you as softly as he could. Your walls clenched around his girth, getting adjusted. As far as he could tell, you were still asleep.

He began to thrust subtly, dragging his cock in and out of you at a measured pace. He bit his lip to stop a moan from escaping. Your pussy felt so good that it took all his self-control not to push your head into the covers and fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

As his cock glided in and out of your cunt, wet slapping sounds started to echo in the room, quietly at first but gradually getting louder. The clacking sounds were accompanied by light metallic jingles as his earrings brushed together.

A quiet moan fell from your lips and his hips slowed. You were coming to—groggily returning to consciousness, barely sentient as he fucked you. Waking up with his cock in you was something you’d never get tired of.

“Zoro,” you mewled, barely audible, voice scratchy after hours of not being used. You were scarcely cognizant. All you knew was that Zoro’s cock was in you, and it felt great. You didn’t and couldn’t realize anything else. “F-faster.”

You were just awake enough to tell him what you needed, and, of course, he always did what you said.

Zoro picked up the pace, fucking you more conscious by the second. You were moments away from cumming on his dick, so turned on that it was leaving a stain on the covers underneath you. He could feel you grinding on his cock, trying to fuck yourself deeper with it, drowsily following your instincts.

“So needy even in your sleep” he murmured, gripping your hip so forcefully that it woke you up more than him railing you. “Squeezing my cock so hard already. Does it really feel that good?”

You met his words with a whine. The sweet noises escaping your lips made him thrust with more urgency, his grunts coming out at full volume now.

“Z-zoro, fuck,” you whimpered.

He got on top of you, pinning you down with his weight. Your stifled moans traveled through the sheets underneath of you, and you writhed on his cock, still half asleep.

Every time his tip crashed into your bundle of nerves, ecstasy zapped you awake. Your cunt was boiling hot, you were about to snap.

“Cum on my cock, baby. I know you want it.”

It was too much—he had only been fucking you for a few minutes, but you were already so wet that you couldn’t handle it anymore. Your hips bucked and you moaned into the covers, cumming on his cock. He could feel your gummy walls squeeze him as you squirmed desperately. Your thighs shook and your toes curled—it was the best ‘good morning’ you could get. Only seconds later, Zoro’s hips jerked and he came inside you with a groan. His cum shot out so explosively that you could feel it filling you up.

After you were done creaming on his cock, and after he was done creaming you, your croaked out something in your morning voice so sweet yet so simple, and his heart felt like it would stop. “Mmmm. Good morning, Zoro.”

Your heavy-lidded eyes and ruddy cheeks made him smile in adoration. He kissed you, cleaned you up, and cuddled you until you went back to sleep.

that’s all for this one!! i hope you liked it :)

here’s my masterlist and my october posting schedule.

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

[ireneaesthetic]

Pointing out little moments and details of the last yr scene.

wilmon endgame • episode 6

the camera work is so on point - it follows wille around moving frenetically, as to emphasize the hurry and the tension.

simon gets in panic mode for a sec. he was never over wilhelm but definitely thought their relationship was.

at first he looks ... scared - not of wille but of what he feels for him at this point. he's still in love but they got to the finish line, they broke up with no idea of when or if they will talk to each other again, there's no reason for wille to chase after him if not to change something.

it makes his thoughts spiral, but somewhere in his little heart he has a lot of hope too and that's why he steps out of the car to hear what he has to say.

these words really mean everything and i'm glad they're told directly to simon. it's such a sigh of relief for wilhelm to get this off his chest and mean it for real: he's doing something for his own sake finally - to be free, to be happy, to be in control of his own life for once.

he never got to choose anything - somebody else has always done it for him - but he no longer has to be afraid anymore.

simon is just as relieved and the proudest: he proved over and over again to care so deeply. to see wilhelm constantly hurting inevitably hurt him too.

he knew wille was brave - he actually told him once - and he was so right. it takes a lot of courage to do what wille just did.

shut up he's adorable :') playing with his fingers and trying not to break into a smile. he wants to look calm and collected but his heart is jumping out of happiness.

this comes after the are you sure you're over me? - breaking up was all it took for wille to think that simon must not love him anymore: to earn love and for everything to be perfect in order to deserve love is what his family and royal life always taught him - but simon's what the hell do you think? proves him so wrong.

the tears in his eyes i cannot - this is the face of a man who's bursting out of love, he adores simon this much.

they crush into the hug like they've been dying to do it. what a moment it must be for them to close the distance.

in this hug they find what they both were needing the most.

they hold on to each other. emotions are so overwhelming and it's written all over their faces - it feels too good to be real.

it's almost scary to let go now and i love how they tighten the hug at the same time, clinging to make it last longer.

and they're at the same height so simon has to be on his tippy toes ahsjkh.

oh the beauty in simon feeling every emotion to the fullest and letting them all out. he doesn't hold himself back and it is truly heartwarming to watch.

this hug is healing - he's giving joy to be back in wille's arms, proud of wille for putting himself first, relief because the fear of losing him was too much to handle.

the single tear drop and the pure disbelief in his expression. he caresses wille's cheek and keeps looking at him like he's the most precious thing.

doing the triangle method - again. old habits never die huh.

wille letting simon choose to whether kiss him or not.

it's our simon we're talking about, the one that risked it all and initiated their very first kiss bc he liked wille that much already, so could he possibly not do that now? he obviously does and can't help but smile into it.

they can't get enough of kissing and wandering hands. it's like their only way to make this become more and more real.

fair to say they're kinda obsessed with each other's hair!

love love looove the transition from them kissing in secret in the dark of the night to them kissing freely out in the open in the daylight - the most beautiful metaphor.

completely different plot points but the feelings involved are so familiar - reunion kisses are very much their brand: there's longing, passion, need to savor the moment to make it last.

and this time it can really last forever.

something super special about simon not replying with i love you too but sticking to i love you - it is not just reciprocal.

this shot haunts me. it's from the documentary and idk why it wasn't used in the final cut, i'll make space for it here anyway!

wille can't stop smiling and simon never takes his eyes off of him - he's emotionally overwhelmed by the way he bites his lip and his chin trembles. my heart.

no ray of sunshine between them could ever distract me from wilhelm diving into this kiss with his eyes open.

simon is definitely being pulled closer by the waist here and i take it very personally.

i was already full on sobbing when this part of the scene came up - sara and felice calling them out bc they are too caught up in their own bubble.

they still take one more moment to just look at each other so fondly tho and try to get a grip on what has just happened.

i get you wille! simon is the loml too.

this shot is sooo!!! hillerska in the rear view mirror as they drive away - time for the last bittersweet goodbye.

all of them are wearing white, they're driving off in a white car, most carefree than ever - sounds a lot like freedom and fresh start.

some things never change - they're the most comfortable and happy when they can be just them, just like this.

god knows where they're headed but it doesn't really matter as long as they're together.

wilmon endgame babyyyy.

they've been through so much but come so far eventually. it's the end of young royals but the beginning of a new chapter in wilmon story - the best one - and it's only theirs to write from now on.

it's still going to be tough, storms are still about to come their way and ruin plans, life is a mess but at least they have each other. they're holding hands in a we are in this together kind of promise and it's so reassuring to know.

it was a hell of a ride but love and hope wins - and there's truly no one who deserves it more than them.

time to appreciate the comparison between wille the perfect crown prince and messy hair with undone shirt wille!

he looks at the audience for the very last time with the most content smile and we can tell he really is - ready. to leave us behind, to face the future, to experience life in the way we've seen him fight for before.

wilmon breaking the fourth wall together at the end would've been insane, but it feels so right to focus on wille actually: it's always been just him, it all started with our eyes on him and his journey, the choice to abdicate is for his own sake and not for simon - he said it himself - so for him to be alone in the closing shot makes the most sense to me.

wilhelm finally getting his own little family of people who loves and values him, simon sharing life with the person who's made him feel seen and cared for - this is honestly the best finale we could’ve ever asked for.

[keigosdear]

minors dni. 18+. fem!reader, no physical descriptions. this is soft and sweet and very a bit self indulgent. it’s literally all aftercare and emotions.

divider by @/cafekitsune

aftercare with atsumu is always so top tier. he’s a huge teddy bear, first of all, so the post sex cuddles are guaranteed to be so sweet. you’re usually exhausted after you finish with him- he’s come to realize just how greedy he gets once he has you underneath him, and while seeing your droopy eyes and blissed out expression fills him with pride, the way you immediately curl into your pillow and reject his request to get you cleaned up in favour of sleep, allows the guilt to creep in and take hold of his semi-clear mind as well.

so he’ll treat you like absolute royalty. anything you want? you’ll get. usually it’s cuddles, sometimes it’s a bath with him, he really doesn’t mind one bit.

all of that being said, when tonight’s activities are over and done with and you immediately cling to him and bury your face in his chest, he gets right to work.

well- tries to.

smoothing a finger over your warm, damp cheek to help ground you a bit, accompanied by a sturdy arm around your waist, he allows himself fifteen more seconds to admire your form.

“baby,” he makes sure to speak softly, knowing you’re probably still a little out of it. “will ya let me get up?”

the whine of protest that leaves your lips is barely audible, but he hears it.

and as always, he’s giddy over the knowledge that he’s the only one who will ever be tuned into you enough to hear it.

“need to clean ya up, sweet girl.”

to no one’s surprise, especially not his, you bury your face impossibly closer to his chest and utter out a quiet but very stubborn “no.”

he sighs and gently drags his nails across your back in mindless patterns. you’re clingy tonight- more than usual. he thinks back to what brought you both to this moment, trying to figure out if he pushed you a bit further than he normally would.

he doesn’t recall anything out of the ordinary… that’d be impossible, actually. he was real sweet on you the whole time. he couldn’t help it, he had come home to you wearing his clothes. that’s a guaranteed way to get him feeling all soft and sentimental and fuzzy and concupiscent-

now that he thinks about it… atsumu wouldn’t put it past you to get shy about asking for what you really wanted and plan something to get him to initiate it. but he doesn’t dwell on it. now he has a hypothesis to test.

he gently pries your face away from his skin and tilts your chin up. “baby, can ya look at me for a second?”

you flit your eyes up to his and he smiles. they’re still a bit glossed over. “there she is… hi pretty girl.”

the way you immediately try to hide your bright smile warms his heart so much that he risks spontaneously combusting. “don’t hide, baby, let me see ya.”

you whine as he pulls your hands away and try to hold eye contact with him. “such pretty eyes,” he flirts.

“are ya feeling a bit clingy after all that?”

you nod a little and tighten your hold around him as if to emphasize your point. “mhm,”

he sighs and decides that indulging you a bit more is exactly what he wants to be doing right now, anyway. “just in a bit of a mood, hm?”

you grunt in confirmation.

“did ya get what ya needed?” atsumu strokes your waist, watching your face for any changes that imply he hasn’t satisfied you in any way.

you nod again, eyes a bit less muddled now that he’s talking with you. he moves his hand down to rub the thigh draped over his hip. “tell me next time, ‘kay? ya don’t need to be afraid to tell me you want it a certain way.”

your lip forms a pout and he kisses it immediately. “‘m sorry, ‘tsum.”

he shuffles down a bit so that he’s face to face with you and nuzzles his nose against yours. “don’t be sorry, gorgeous, ya have nothin’ to apologize for.”

you giggle as he moves on to pressing soft kisses across your face and neck. “I’m here because I love you and want to fulfil your every desire, got it? let me take care of ya sometimes.”

you bat at his shoulder and through your laughter you insist, “you do take care of me! you do, ‘tsum!”

he laughs with you. “yeah, but let me do it more.”

your expression falters a bit and he knows he’s made it to the root of the problem. “but it would be selfish of me to ask for more from you. won’t you… get tired of me?”

his own features soften at your words and the insecurity in your voice. “sweetheart, you could ask me for the whole world and I’d never think of ya as selfish, got it? in fact I want ya to be selfish with me.”

you blink. “really?”

he nods and squeezes your hip. “really. and I could never ever get tired of ya. you’re my baby. okay?”

you caress his jaw with your knuckles and sniffle a bit, holding back tears. “okay. i love you,”

he kisses you slowly, gently, lovingly. “I love ya too. now, do you want to keep cuddling or can I clean ya up?”

you bite your lip a bit and grind your hips into his, looking up at him through your lashes. “actually… can we go for another round?”

he feels himself harden again and he grins, softly pushing you onto your back. he’s immediately switched on again and staring down at you with a familiar expression that makes your tummy twist in anticipation.

“‘course, angel,” atsumu leans down and whispers in your ear, his tone much darker than it was moments ago. “but only if you can tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”

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

…I may expand on that last part in the future.

@nyctophilicroses ok. OK. I know I said geto was next, but something came over me and next thing I knew this one was finished 🥹

[h-sleepingirl]

Maybe I don't emphasize this enough but one of the reasons I push constant hypnosis education is because the less you understand about hypnosis, the less capable you are of playing safer. More advanced knowledge = more advanced safety.

This applies to BOTH hypnotists and subjects.

There are certain beginner concepts that I would call "safety dead-ends": "This unwanted response happened because some part of you secretly wanted it." "Suggestions work because hypnosis makes someone suggestible."

Untrue, incomplete understanding limits safety SO MUCH.

"What makes me/my partner actually feel suggested IQ drain?"

It is: motivated by/creating desires, a role-enactment, a creative act, partially unconscious, draws on/creates associations, builds patterns/habits/familiarity, a learning experience, and much more.''

The more you actually understand what is happening in hypnosis -- not treating it like a magical black box -- the more you have control over identifying and mitigating risk, as hypnotist or subject. It is why I often push a non-state model of hypnosis.

This connects to something I was talking about re: suggestions -- simple statements where you are relying on someone just being convinced something might happen are not very helpful/effective.

"You will only respond to this trigger in this scene." Why?? Prove it! Help them!!

Triggers are associative conditioning. How do you ACTUALLY mitigate and replace a conditioned response? What is ACTUALLY happening both from their subjective perspective, and psychologically? What makes them keep responding to it? How could you change those aspects?

Writing about this more in depth for my upcoming "intermediate+ hypnokink" book :)

[ramp-it-up]

Knock You Down: IV

Photo credit to @thebluemage. Edit mine.

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down. Finally! Date Number Threeeeee!

This is a follow up to Part III

Word count: 3.5 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This is the final part! (For now) I think that this is one that I will definitely write in answer to asks. I just love these two so so much! Thank all of you for rocking with me on this one. This was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. SMUT!!!! The end of the Slow burn, now it's burning very fast 😅. Cursing, flirting, jealousy, apologies, Bucky cooking (a warning!), kissing, dry humping, dirty talk in both English and Romanian, voice kink, oral sex (m and f receiving), protected sex (yay Bucky!) And these two are so fucking fluffy. I'm scared, y'all. I want it to be good enough for the build up.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

As soon as he entered the Brownsville Arts and Culture Center, James Bucky Barnes was hot. Blood was rushing to his ears and he needed a drink. He wasn’t sick; his symptoms were all due to you.

The black dress that adorned your body contained all of his hopes and dreams, but you seemed to be flirting with another man, twirling for him and then giving him a hug. To add insult to injury, you had the nerve to laugh and smile with the punk. 

You in that black dress was everything in the world that Bucky could want, except maybe you out of that black dress. As his eyes traced down your form, he noticed the 5 inch red bottoms that you had on. Yes. You, out of that dress with just the red bottoms. That was what he needed in his life.

But first, he had to take care of that other man.

—-

“Benson’s work emphasizes the subjects’ spiritual essence over their physical appearance, don’t you think?”

You turned around at the sound of the deep baritone. 

“Well hello, Mr. Rogers. How are you today? Delivering an art analysis given to you by AI? Oh. I forgot. You are an ‘art dealer.’ An art dealer who goes to Soul Cycle in Brownsville all of a sudden?”

Steve clutched his heart.

“Ah. I’m hurt, Y/N. I thought we were cool. But I guess I deserved the air quotes.  I do actually love art. I took some art classes when I was a kid and I still love to sketch.”

“Hmmmph. Okay. I’ll give you that. But how is it that you popped up in my Soul Cycle class? Don’t play me, Steven.”

Steve raised his eyebrow at you and grinned. He understood why Buckiy was so drawn to you. Not only were you gorgeous, you were a spitfire. That was hot.

“I would never try to play you, Y/N. I also actually love Soul Cycle. Used to teach a class in Park Slope.”

“I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover, can you?”

Steve’s eyes slid over you appraisingly.

“Speaking of. You look very, very nice today.”

You twirled for him, feeling as safe as you would your brother.

“Nice. Okay, listen. I’m sorry about the other day. I was just trying to protect my friend. And you.”

Steve sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ve never seen Bucky like this. He’s never been this smitten with someone before and let them into his life. But I get it now.”

Steve’s blue eyes were almost as beautiful as Bucky’s.

“Bucky is my family. Since we were kids. He’s always taken care of me. And I will do anything for him.”

He raised his eyebrow at you.

“I can see now that means that I will do anything for you, because I have a feeling that you’re gonna be around a lot. So do you forgive me?”

You considered Steve. He was not too different from his best friend, and you couldn’t hold a grudge. Not after Bucky laid it all out to you last night You opened your arms.

“Let’s hug it out.”

Steve chuckled and gathered you into his warm embrace. You pulled back and giggled, grinning at him.

“So what makes you think I’m gonna be hanging around?”

“Well, judging from the look on Bucky’s face, he’s serious about you.”

Steve nodded behind you, toward the door. You looked that way and saw James Bucky Barnes headed straight for you. 

And he didn’t look happy.

—--

“Good morning, Frumoasă. You look stunning today. The exhibit is amazing, the space looks great and it seems that the right people are in the building.”

Bucky came up and placed his hand on the small of your back as he spoke to you, ignoring Steve. His blue eyes were storm clouds at the moment, and his touch was electric.

“Thank you, James. You’re so observant, I appreciate that. And you look very handsome today.”

You looked him up and down and bit your lip, meeting his gaze and the way he kept eye contact as he inclined his head in response. 

Bucky was attractive as hell in his black on black shirt, blazer and slacks. You noticed that his collar was unbuttoned; the medallion hanging on his chest made you want to take it between your teeth. You stared at it for a moment, imagining such a scenario where that could happen and then met his eyes again, prompting desire to roll through you as Bucky licked his lips. He was right there with you.

You smiled at him in a way that you didn’t smile at Steve. Who was Steve Rogers, anyway? You could hardly remember meeting him as your mind went to the feel of being in Bucky Barnes’ arms.

You sensed an air of proprietariness as Bucky took your hand and kissed it, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Possessive Bucky Barnes felt like a sin you wanted to indulge in. You cleared your throat and looked at Steve, as if surprised to find him still standing there, watching the show.

“Well, I see some board members over there, I’m going to go do my job. Talk to you later, boys.”

You walked away and gave them a wink over your shoulder, and you caught both of them looking at your ass. You shook your head and chuckled as you went on your way.

“You trying to steal my girl?”

Everyone stopped when Steve laughed, his deep boom a distraction. Bucky still wasn’t amused.

“Oh. So you’re in love.”

“What?”

“You’ve never worried about me taking your leftovers or vice versa before. Hell, we’ve even shared–”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Bucky snapped at Steve who put his hands up.

“Whoa, there. Just yanking your chain, buddy; I know she’s special. I wouldn’t dream of making a move on her. Not that she knows I’m alive. When you walked up, I thought I was going to have to take off my jacket so you two could fuck on the floor.”

Bucky was barely listening to Steve as his eyes followed you around the room. One thing Steve said was echoing in his mind: “So you’re in love.”

—-

You floated through the rest of the day on a cloud. The exhibit was a smashing success with the 

Board of Directors in attendance. Securing Howard Benson’s penultimate work from Rebirth was the feather in your cap. 

And you had Bucky to thank for it.

Bucky’s visit was also a hit; he and Steve charmed the board members with the help of Sam and Nat, who arrived later. They all made amends for what occurred that week and you were left very impressed with James Barnes.

After a couple of hours at the event, Bucky came over to let you know he was leaving.

“I will see you later, Frumoasă. I have much to prepare for tonight. Nico will pick you up at 7:30.”

“See you soon, James.”

He kissed your hand again.

“See you soon, Y/N.”

—---

“It is actually insanely attractive how you handled yourself in the kitchen.”

You were seated with Bucky on his couch in his living room, looking over the New York skyline from his Brooklyn penthouse. The dessert had been delicious and the wine in your hand was spectacular. 

“I was sure you’d order something in and just play it off. But I watched you create a meal in front of me, and I should have known that if you said you were going to cook, that you would do just that.”

Bucky’s heart beat double time at what you were saying. He wanted so much for tonight, but most of all, he wanted it to flow naturally. He saw that you were relaxed and open to him, which pleased him immensely.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Frumoasă. I enjoy cooking for my friends and family. Cooking for a beautiful woman is a treat.”

Bucky’s eyes slid over your form. You had changed to jeans and a color block sweater that just put your cleavage out there for the world, which was Bucky Barnes, to see. You also wore the same red bottoms from that day, and Bucky was beginning to think he had a foot fetish as you took them off at his entryway.

You took a sip of wine.

“How often do you do that? Cook for a woman?”

You barely hid your curiosity.

Bucky smiled and drained his glass, reaching over to refill it.

“Not as often as you’d think. Never had any other woman over here. Food is not usually the top priority with them.”

You pouted, which was so cute. Your spark of jealousy inspired Bucky.

“But I don’t want to talk about anyone else. Tonight is about me and you.”

Any uncertainty that arose was quelled by his assertion. You grew warm, so you finished your wine and rose to go to the window. 

“This is the most gorgeous view I’ve ever seen.”

“Absolutely agree.”

You looked behind you and Bucky was still sitting on the couch, hands spread out on the back of it, checking you out. You gave him one of your adorable smiles and he came to stand behind you, and took you in his arms. 

“I want you to know that you deserve everything, Y/N. To be cheered on and protected every day. And thoroughly ruined every night.”

You turned around and his hands went to your hips. It was the perfect moment.

“James?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

Bucky’s eyes dilated, and he moved his hand to your cheek. He licked his lips as he looked deep into your eyes.

“Ah, Frumoasă. I thought you’d never ask.”

His first movement was a subtle brush of your lips. He pulled back to assess the situation, and you didn’t know why, but that made your nipples tighten into stiff peaks. You gasped as Bucky watched you hungrily. 

The air seemed to change around you, and you shivered. He lowered his head so his lips could meet yours again, and this time his mouth was gentle but demanding. You gasped at the spike of electricity that flared between you and Bucky took the opportunity to dip his tongue into your mouth, scorching your lips and soul. With a low groan, he shifted your angle, bending you backward a little to kiss you deeper and ripping a moan from you as you melted against him. 

Good lord, could the man kiss. 

At that point, he was holding you up, one hand on your hip and one hand on the back of your head as you molded yourself against him. Bucky’s fingers dug into you, sure to leave bruises the next day. You relished the thought as you moaned into his mouth again, giving him the opportunity to continue destroying your soul. 

Bucky dragged his lips from yours reluctantly and stared at you, eyes almost black with desire. He brought his thumb up and wiped the moisture from your bottom lip. Motivated, you captured his digit, drawing it into the hot wetness of your mouth. He stared at you, mouth open, as you looked him straight in the eye and started sucking.

Bucky moaned as he pushed his thumb deeper into your mouth, and walked you back to the couch. He extracted his finger, watching the show your lips put on as he pulled it out, leaving them in a delectable pout. 

“More,” Bucky demanded as he crouched down and took your head in both hands as he kissed you again. 

His hands wound up in your hair, tugging gently, then on your back, then your ass as you arched your back to fill his palms. Bucky picked you up, then deposited you on his lap as he sat down on the couch, and you felt how aroused he was. His thick length was where you needed him most.

“Fuck! That feels good.”

Bucky was watching you grind on him like it was the best show on earth. Then he looked up at you.

“Yes, yes it does.”

He leaned forward and captured your bottom lip between his teeth, a preview of how rough he wanted to be with you. Then, he went in for another kiss. That continued for a good five minutes until he pulled away to stare at your swollen lips, and down to your cleavage, which was practically in his face.

When his eyes met yours, you were entranced.

“You good? You want this to happen?”

You nodded and took his hands in yours, guiding them up to your breasts, squeezing yourself with his hands. You rolled your hips, causing his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Like you said, James. More.”

You continued to grind on him, causing him to just gape at your body moving on his.

“I’ve dreamed of this so many times…”

“Yes? Tell me about your dreams, Baby.”

His hands moved to find your nipples through the lace of your bra and the wool of your sweater. He found them in no time, and pinched them lightly, then more roughly when you moaned.

“Mmmmnnnn. So fucking hot.”

Bucky kissed you again and then pulled away as he stared you down and tortured you. 

“I dream about marking you up,” he kissed your neck under your chin, “to your clavicle,” a kiss there, “and all over this beautiful flesh until I get to your nipples.” 

He looked at you for any signs of discomfort as he slipped his hands under your sweater to find the thin lace there. He found your hard peaks again and started rolling them both in his fingers.

“Then I want to kiss and suck them until you come in my arms.”

“Holy god, Jamie….”

Bucky’s eyes rolled at the second pet name you called him and continued.

“Wake up so fucking hard every morning since I met you. Then, I daydream about how wet and tight you will be after I made you cum, and how good it would feel to… to give you my cock. Do y’like that idea, Frumoasă?”

“Y-yesssss!”

“O să te fac să vii pe penisul meu iar și iar, Frumoasă.”

You almost came right then.

“D-don’t know what you said, but yes to whatever you just suggested.”

Bucky pulled you to him, and then chuckled into your ear.

“It means that I want to make you cum over and over again on my cock.”

You were already making a mess in your jeans, but you knew he could feel you soaking them at the moment.

“Please. Give it to me?”

Bucky groaned and kissed you again, this time encircling your waist in his grip and pressing you down on his bulge. 

“You know I can’t deny you anything. Are you certain?”

“Yes, James. Please…”

He lifted you easily, kissing you as he walked you down the hall to his bedroom, depositing you on his bed. 

“Y’look so fucking good.”

He crawled toward you on the bed and settled between your thighs as you hitched your leg over his. You pressed your core against his bulge and it had you muttering.

“Too many clothes.”

Bucky leaned up and you were fumbling with his button and he with yours. You looked up and laughed. 

“Maybe faster the other way.”

“Agreed.”

You two made quick work of your own garments, flinging them around the room between frenzied kisses. The way your eyes widened when Bucky got naked made his chest swell. He wanted you to always look at him like that.

“Wow…,” you said as your eyes roamed his physique.

His cock seemed massive as it slapped him on the abs.

“Wow, indeed,” replied Bucky as he took you in hungrily.

Your white lace underwear looked amazing against your skin and against your cunt it served to make him hungry.

He moved toward you again, kissing up your leg until he got to the edge of your panties and nudged his nose there, making you squirm.

“Smell so good, look so good…”

Bucky kissed at the edge of your underwear,

“I just know you’re gonna taste good too..”

He moved to the center of you, placing a kiss over your lace-covered sodden slit. Then, he looked up at you and smirked before he leaned down and licked you over your panties. 

“Fuck.”

He pulled your panties to the side and gazed at you there. 

Those blue eyes threatened to steal your soul as he gazed at you and confessed, “This is the most gorgeous pussy I’ve ever seen,” and proceeded to lick a rude stripe up the center of you after he tore your panties away.

“Oh my god, James.”

You rolled your hips again and reached down to feel Bucky’s soft hair. He pulled your hips closer and his lips suckled you with more pressure, adding one finger, then two to stretch you out. 

“Gotta get you ready for me, my love.” 

Your eyes rolled back into your head as you moaned through Bucky thrusting his tongue inside you, then pulling back to focus on your clit.

“I c-can’t.. I–”

“Give me my cum, Frumoasă!”

You locked eyes with him as he buried his face in your cunt and shook against him as you came embarrassingly fast, pulling on his messed up curls.

“So fucking delicious. Taste.”

He took your head in both hands and kissed you deeply, and you responded by sucking your essence off of his tongue. You reached down and started stroking his cock, overjoyed and a little bit scared that your fingers didn’t meet around him as he unclasped your bra.

Bucky whimpered as your thumb came up and stroked his sensitive head, spreading his precum over the wide, mushroom cap.

“You’re so fucking huge, Bucky…”

Bucky pulled you toward him as he reached into his bedside drawer for a condom and a bottle.

“And you’re so wet, Furmoasa. We will make this work. Believe me…”

You continued to stroke and watched him as he brought the wrapper to his teeth and him tearing it open was about the hottest act of sexual protection you’d ever seen. Somehow, your mouth ended up sucking his tip as you watched his eyes roll back into his skull.

“That beautiful mouth…”

Bucky put his hand on your head as you tasted him experimentally, wondering if you’d ever be able to take it all. He seemed to read your mind as he spoke next.

“Don’t worry, I plan on us having a lot of practice with this later, but if you don’t let me put this condom on, I’m gonna cum all over your face, Frumoasă…”

You looked up at him and grinned as his cock jumped in your mouth, but you finally pulled off of him with a pop.

“I need to feel you around me when I cum love. S’all I’ve been dreaming of all week.”

Now his chest was heaving as he rolled the condom on, and he pushed you back onto the bed as his hand went to your core once again. You were even wetter than before and Bucky smiled at you, lining up and kissing you on the forehead as he began to breach your folds.

When he slid inside, your fingernails curled into his shoulders and your eyes grew wide. Bucky stopped, concentrating while his cock pumped, barely inside you.

“There is nothing. In the world. Like being inside your soft, wet, cunt.”

“Fuckkkkk!” 

You became even wetter and he slid fully inside you. There, Bucky waited for you to get adjusted around him.

“So fucking tight. And hot. Just like I knew you would be.”

“More, Jamie!”

Smiling, Bucky started moving and you gripped him as he stroked in and out.

“Please don’t stop. Harder!”

Bucky grabbed the headboard and gave you what you wanted. His other hand pulled your hair and his strokes became more intense.

“Wanted to last longer, but I can’t, Baby. So beautiful. Pussy made for me. Cuming soon, but later… O să te fac să vii pe penisul meu iar și iar, Frumoasă. I never make a promise I can’t keep.”

You orgasm whited out your vision and your throat burned as you screamed. Bucky roared, filling the condom with copious amounts of cum. Your cunt was milking him and he hoped it would hold. He stayed sunk into you as long as he could before he had to get up and rid himself of the prophylactic.

He was only in the en suite for a few minutes as you floated in and out of sleep, lust drunk and exhausted.

Bucky climbed back into bed and got both of you situated under the covers, whispering in your ear.

“Stay tonight.”

“Of course. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

Both of you chuckled, because you knew it was true. Bucky kissed your ear and waited for your breath to even out. When he thought you were asleep, he whispered again.

“I’m going to be a better man for you, Frumoasă.”

“You are exactly who you need to be, James Barnes. Just keep moving forward. Tomorrow is another day to do that.”

After a few more minutes, you spoke again.

“Tomorrow will only be a week that we’ve known each other. Imagine that.” 

Bucky buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.

“Guess I better wait until tomorrow to ask you to marry me.”

You laughed a sleepy laugh.

“You got jokes.”

“You know me, Frumoasă. A professional comedian.”

But somewhere in the dark of Bucky Barnes’ closet, a diamond found some light and sparkled.

——

The next morning is here ;)

Please, please! Let me know!

[ro5ani]

Some thoughts I've been having since round 6 but it's mostly me ranting about Ivan

So first of all, this whole thing where Till goes looking for Mizi's flower crown and they get attacked by the alien, it was all staged by Ivan. He was waiting for Till outside of the entrance and followed him as he went there

He didn't do anything to help them get away he was just watching how things played out, his goal was to get Till locked up so he could free him when no one was watching and they could escape (it would also show him as a savior thus making Till like him more)

You can see marks in the wall while he watches, my boy was stressed (maybe even worried that something would go terribly wrong). And before this scene, he is shown hugging the alien and there's an official art of him inside the aliens mouth (not sure what that means maybe that was the way of convincing it, it's known Ivan always does whatever the aliens want so he can use that later to his favor) ANYWAYS there are no scenes where he intervenes, so I'm pretty sure he planned the whole thing.

WHAT I'M TRYING TO GET AT IS, the meteor shower scene when they escaped.

If Ivan staged the whole thing he must've picked a specific day and time, so them escaping while there was a meteor shower is not a coincidence. Ivan did everything he could to convince Till, in the best way he could come up with.

Just like Till, Ivan suffered a lot of abuse even though it's not shown as much. At the beginning of round 3 we can see an alien threatening to throw him from the top of a building. He was scared and crying yet he saw, what probably was the most beautiful thing in his whole life, a meteor shower.

There's a lot of focus on Ivan's eyes throughout the series, he's very observant and it's also a way to emphasize how he is always looking at Till. But before he actually met Till, the meteor shower was the thing that caught his attention, and you can tell by the way his eyes fill with meteors when he looks at Till. Till to him is as shiny and sparkling as a meteor shower.

Ivan might be smart and very observant and mature for his age, but he's still a kid! He not only tried to save Till he also tried to impress him so they could get closer. So what did he do, like a kid showing off his toys to make an impression, he showed Till the most beautiful and impressive thing he knew.

And Till was impressed! But it was not enough, so it happened what happened.

The point of this whole thing is that I've seen a lot of people say Ivan's only way of catching Till's attention is by bothering/being mean to him, and while he did that a lot, he also risked his life and staged this whole thing so Till could be happy.

And even after that didn't work out, he kept looking out for Till in the only way he knew or was able to.

So my boy Ivan is not just a bully give him some credit😭 He could've been a little more honest but u don't expect the aliens to teach them proper communication.

SO THAT'S WHAT I WANTED TO GET OUT OF MY SYSTEM

If u read all of this thank you 😭 and feel free to share thoughts too!

And excuse any weird wording, i literally never write long stuff

[throneofsapphics]

old faces, part 11

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: you and Rowan meet again after seven years, and deal with the fall-out of a secret. 

Warnings: mentions of violence

Word Count: 3159

A/N: I know it's been 6 months, but I'm just getting back to a place where I'm able to write this story! I'm sorry this took so long <3 thank you to @whisperingmidnights for your help with this part

series masterlist

“Your plan is to piss them off?” Fenrys looked at you like he prayed you were joking. 

“It’s not my whole plan.” 

“But it’s part of it?” 

“Figure out how desperate they are, and I can get a good gauge on how dangerous or useful the object is.” 

“Don’t underestimate their intelligence,” Fenrys cautioned. 

Rowan wanted to snarl at the male, he might as well have agreed this was the best plan. It was a good plan, he could admit that, there was only one pitfall - a very big one. It puts you in harm's way. No, it makes you even more of a target than you already are.

“What if it backfires?” Aelin asked, and Rowan both admired and was incensed by how calm she seemed. “What if others become suspicious, start asking around, and end up wanting the same thing they do?” 

“There’s always a risk,” you chewed on your bottom lip. He was about to open his mouth, to say ‘exactly’ or, ‘it’s too great of a risk,’ when you turned your gaze on Fenrys, then Aelin, then him. 

“From a strategic standpoint … if it weren’t me -” 

“It is you,” Aelin interrupted, but you continued as if she hadn’t said a word. 

“What would you say? What if the potential knowledge we’d gain is of great risk to Terrasen? Aren’t we better off knowing?” 

“It’s not much of a question if you put it like that,” Fenrys muttered. He didn’t look particularly happy about it, but Rowan knew he agreed. 

He turned to Aelin. ‘What do you think?’ his eyes asked.

“She’s right.”

Gods. He knew he would, if it wasn’t you, if it was nearly anyone else he’d task them with figuring it out. 

“We know a few Akkadian males are searching for some kind of artifact or weapon,” Fenrys started, ticking things off on his fingers, “and that it’s possible they are working independently, that they want to keep this secret. We know they have … dangerous knowledge of your past, and they’re connected with some kind of underworld.” 

There’s no real other way they’d know Andal - a male he’d like to kill one day, if only for the fear and pain in your eyes when his name was said. 

Aelin pinched the bridge of her nose. “We see if it draws some kind of reaction, see if anyone else is surprised, if he’s really acting personally or if he’s a scapegoat.” 

He prepared himself to protest, but your past words ‘don’t coddle me,’ echoed in his mind. With your characteristic stubborn tenacity, you’d already set your mind to this. At least you were letting him help, at least he could do something to help keep you safe. Rowan latched onto that mentally, onto the small consolation he got. 

“We need to ensure your safety,”  he emphasized, sending you a challenging look. Rowan knew this wouldn't be as desired if they didn’t all go in on it together. Sure, you could do something similar on your own, but he knew you well enough to tell when you didn’t quite want to. When you wanted help, even if your stubborn pride kept you from agreeing to or asking for it. “You won’t -,” Rowan paused and correctly himself, “don’t need to do this alone. Anymore.” 

You agreed, and the planning began. 

-

After two long hours of hashing out every detail, reviewing and reciting them until Rowan was satisfied, Fenrys and Aelin looked ready to explode. You found some comfort in it, but even you were tiring. 

When Rowan and Aelin locked in on one of their silent conversations, you turned to Fenrys, angled so they couldn’t see your face, and mouthed “leave.” 

He winked, and made a poor excuse for a departure, but they didn’t seem to care. 

There was an impending sense of doom, perhaps your mind playing tricks on you, but you couldn’t help feeling like something - maybe everything - would go wrong, no matter how much planning you put into it. 

The Queen and King stood as well, murmuring ‘goodnights,’ before you could say anything. Fuck. 

Your ill-thought out plan had not included that. 

Aelin stopped at the door, hand on the brass knob, Rowan a few steps outside, paused as well. Golden hair fell like a curtain over her shoulder, her head turning  as you slowly stood, teeth digging into your bottom lip. 

Time slowed, her eyes tracked the movement, darkening when they reached your mouth, teeth digging into soft flesh, perhaps imagining them digging in somewhere else. You certainly where. Step by step, you crossed the room towards her. Your footsteps sounded obnoxiously loud, thundering almost as loud as your heart. She turned fully to face you, hand letting go of the door. 

Less than a foot away, you stopped. Eyes glimmering, she tilted her head - daring you. 

This time, you didn’t back down. Hands reached, cupping her palms - still she waited. You could see how the patience cost her, a small curve of your lips and she nearly snarled, but you cut off the words forming, pushing forward to close the gap. 

Soft lips, slow movements, hands wandering, grazing over shoulder, down sides, settling on hips - moving all over as if you couldn’t wait to memorize. 

A low whistle from the hallway - who, you didn’t care, but heard Rowan’s snarl as a response. Aelin’s arm wound around your waist, drawing you closer, shifting your attention back to her. 

You felt Ceri’s magic, likely just down the hall, and stumbled back. 

Hurt flashed over Aelin’s face, through her eyes, mouth parting in dismay. 

“Ceri,” you hissed, “and company,” you added as an afterthought.

The hurt faded, replaced by a smile and a knowing nod as she stepped out of the doorway. 

“Tomorrow,” she said, the word a promise and a plea. You nodded, but couldn’t shake the sense that tomorrow might not come. You cursed yourself for thinking so negatively, for winding yourself up into a state of gloom. Things would work. They had too. There was too much at stake, and too much to lose. 

Four sets of shuffling footsteps - Ceri accompanied by the little … gang, to say the least. The three E’s, Edde, Edie and Elias.

Ceri burst through the door, her friends trailing more cautiously behind her. 

“They can spend the night, right?” 

“I don’t think that’s how you ask a question,” Rowan said dryly. 

You fixed her with a sharp look before she could roll her eyes. 

“We- we can go,” Elias said, voice barely carrying. He’d always been the most cautious of the three 

You opened your mouth, already ready to agree, seeing the sharp look Rowan fixed her with out of your peripheral, but Ceri cut in first - 

“Please, can we spend the night here?”

“Yes,” you laughed and waved them back towards their rooms, shooting a kind smile towards her three friends. In all honesty, you were surprised she asked, but figured she only did it because Rowan and Aelin were also present. 

-

“You might as well adopt the three of them,” Aelin commented. She’d meant it half as a joke, but saw how your eyes brightened. 

“Maybe when this is all over.” There was a distant look in your eyes, accompanied by the slightest upward tilt of your lips. Not the distant gaze of someone in pain, but someone thinking forward, thinking of the future. 

‘Maybe’ might as well be a yes, considering your expression - and if the three of them agreed, of course, but she couldn’t see them declining it.

Aelin didn’t know how anyone could turn you down, not with your pretty eyes or -

Rowan coughed next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Not pleased with looking away from you, she managed to turn her attention to him. 

“Going to stare all night?” He asked silently. 

Aelin didn’t dignify that with a response, instead let her eyes flash briefly to your lips, before murmuring goodnight’s to all of the room’s occupants, noticing the flush on your cheeks as you tracked her gaze. 

Aelin was out the door as Rowan gave his own goodnight’s, and she already knew that once they were back in their rooms he’d gripe that she happened to be the one closer to you. 

Two fingers touched her lips, her back pressed against the stone, mind wandering - wondering when she’d get to kiss you again -

You appeared in the open doorway, eyes wide with panic, head snapping back and forth - had your magic told you something? 

Aelin realized she trusted you implicitly as you tugged her back inside, slamming the door behind her. 

“Aelin and Rowan decided to stay a little longer,” you yelled - a course of acknowledgements coming from further down the hall, already in one of the rooms. 

“He’s - they’re both down a hall or so,” you were blinking rapidly, your breaths obviously intentional. And you didn’t need to clarify who ‘he’ was. For your sake, Aelin forced a tight, tight lid on her anger - and saw Rowan do the same. 

She felt Rowan’s wind sweep past her - buffering against your shield, she felt it as a small crack opened for him - letting his wind slide into the hallway, likely clearing all traces of their scents, along with Ceri and her little gang’s away. When had she become so attuned to your magic?

She heard him as he crossed closer - pausing a few feet away from the door - before continuing on, making it to the end of the hall before he backtracked. 

“I redirected our scents, not erased them,” Rowan murmured quietly - although your magic would block any noise from escaping.

“So he knows where,” you said aloud, arms wrapping around yourself. 

Rowan moved quicker than she could, his arms laid gently over your shoulders, almost hesitantly. When you didn’t flinch, when you leaned into him instead, he tugged you closer, brought your chest to rest against his, other arm wrapping around, fingers running through your hair. 

Aelin saw when you let your beautiful mind stop running, your face tilting, cheek pressed against him, arms coming around his waist. The moment when you relaxed, and let Rowan give you comfort like a lover would. 

-

Another familiar, but friendly scent tricked through the door. Fenrys. He was both grateful and annoyed with his timing. 

“You can let him in,” you sighed. Rowan tightened his arms around you, afraid the moment might leave before he truly got the chance to enjoy it. “And you can let me go,” you whispered. Aelin was by the door now, her hand perched right above the knob. 

“I’d rather not,” he muttered, but stepped back anyway. 

Maybe the day had been too long, and likely he was reading into things but he saw a flash of disappointment on your face. 

Regardless, he’d stepped back just in time - the door swung open, revealing Fenrys - looking unusually grave. 

“I didn’t interact,” his tone indicated he would’ve liked to, very much so, and the words proved Rowan’s inkling from earlier - the wolf hadn’t gone far at all, and having known the male for decades, he wouldn’t for the rest of the night. 

-

Laying back in bed, staring at a ceiling he’d memorized hours ago, Rowan rifled through his memories. 

Maeve had a vague interest in acquiring the types of objects made by your family, but the makers were, as far as she knew, always in Antica. Unattainable. To Maeve, the individual objects wouldn’t have been worth hunting down, not when she could acquire a source. He wondered if one day, if Aelin hadn’t come in and drastically changed his - all of their lives, he or one of the others would’ve received an order to find you or a member of your family. 

Somehow, thankfully, she had no idea your mother made her way into Wendlyn. He figured yours or her magic must’ve kept you hidden, that made him wonder how they’d found you.

It was obvious, he realized with the barest tinge of guilt. Your position in Aelin’s court would undeniably bring attention to you. Expose your abilities and bloodline in a way you’d avoided for so long. That brought the question of why you had accepted, considering it’s you, you knew the risks - hence why he felt the barest tinge of guilt. Maybe, after so long, you were sick of hiding. It wasn’t any use debating, rash decisions were uncommon for you, and rarely did you tell him exactly why you made the choices you did. A bit like Aelin, but not in a good way, but unlike Aelin if he asked you he’d usually get a straight answer. Usually. 

Nothing from his past campaigns with the Akkadians, past experience with the two Fae currently stirring too much trouble, gave guidance on how tomorrow could play out. 

The plan. One he’d made them go over countless times until everyone in the room looked like they wanted to kill him, that’s when he knew to call it quits, if you stuck to it then maybe things would work out. Too big of a maybe for him, but there was no other choice at this point. 

“Try to sleep,” Aelin murmured sleepily, he heard sheets rustling and felt her head rest on his chest, hand sliding over his stomach to rest just below his ribs. 

“We’ll see,” he kept his voice low, and traced circles into her back, the bare skin warm and smooth under his calloused fingers. Her breaths were even, and she’d already fallen back asleep. 

Rowan closed his eyes, and figured he could at least try and follow his Queen’s suggestion. 

-

Fenrys tried for his usual jovial manner in the morning, but it was obvious he was on edge over breakfast. You waited to call him out until after Ceri and her friends had left, accompanied by guards.

“At least pretend everything is normal,” you pushed your food around on your plate, “or you’ll tip them off and ruin our big plan.” 

The second half was laced with some sarcasm, in hopes to placate both you and him. He snorted, but none of the tension left his body, if anything it seemed to increase. That was a failure. Hopefully the rest of the plan would work out - even with the sense of doom still hovering over you like a storm cloud.

Finally letting the spoon clatter to the plate, your hand went up to trace your scar, thumb running over the still raised skin. It shot back down as you saw Fenrys tracking the movement. Most days, you hardly noticed it, but the habit reemerged once in a while. 

You glanced at the clock. Another part of the plan. Maybe you should’ve come up with a more interesting name for it. You brought it up to Fenrys. 

He let out an edged chuckle, “operation don’t cause another international incident?”

“Technically,” you tapped one finger against the table. “They started the incident.”

The statement did feel a tad childish, but in a good way, a way that lightened some of the invisible pressure pushing your shoulders down. 

“So you admit there already is one,” some of the tension had actually left his shoulder and a small sense of accomplishment filled you, but you just shrugged. 

“Operation mitigating international incident.” 

“OMII isn’t a worthy enough acronym.” 

Fenrys’s eyes lit up at the last word. Acronym. 

After taking the time to come up with your name, the two of you were nearly late - having to cut through a secret passage to make it on time. 

O.S.H.I.T. 

Successfully hinder international tactless-assholes. Hyphenated because according to the two of you, “O.S.H.I.T.A” doesn’t have the same ring. You’d also agreed to only inform their Majesties of the moniker if the plan was successful. 

“Why do I feel like you two were up to no good?” Aelin leaned over, no more than a queen consulting one of her advisors, whispering to you. 

“We would never intend to cause trouble, your majesty.” 

A very un-royal like curse came from her lips, thankfully just loud enough for you to hear, and you fought back a smile. Fenrys winked at you from across the room. 

-

Sun warmed your skin, the temperature absolutely perfect for an early summer mid-morning. They’d requested you stay in the castle until all parties had departed. But, there was no reason you couldn’t wander around some of the gardens. Fresh air was good for you, and you felt like you’d spent far too much time in a stuffy castle recently. You ached to get back to your home, considering everything went fine, hopefully that would be sooner rather than later. Not that you need permission, you reminded yourself. 

You had to fight to keep a big grin off your face. All of the worrying, all of the stress and pressure felt worth it now that you were on the other side. 

Yes, their eyes had flashed with anger when you ‘responded to the inquiries,’ publicly and slid them a handful of notes, drawing curious eyes from their companions. It had been a relatively simple plan, but you’d spent hours rehearsing answers to every feasible and not-so-feasible reaction, making it feel much more complex than it should’ve. But they’d departed that same night, and with them left a weight off your chest. 

At least, that’s what you thought before the cool flat side of a blade pressed against your neck, angled so the slightest wrong movement would have you bleeding out on the floor - dead within a minute, something clamped around your wrist - iron, and your magic winked, reduced down to a mere puddle. Some, but not nearly enough to get you out of this. 

“Don’t move,” a voice snarled in your ear, breath warming your neck. You didn’t dare swallow, didn’t dare attempt to form any words. It wasn’t them. Not the two Akkadian’s who’d been haunting you for the last week. Who had they sent? How many others were involved?

Despite your efforts to clear your mind and focus on the current … situation, names kept whirling in your head, making it near impossible. 

Ceri. Rowan. Aelin. Fenrys. Edde, Edie, and Elias. Reya. Ani. Ines. 

‘Safe,’ a familiar and wise female voice murmured in your ear, ‘they are all safe.’  Your chest loosened a fraction. Your mind reeled through every defensive maneuver you knew, and none of them would guarantee to get you out of this alive.

You froze as his hand slid around your front, you couldn’t glance down to see, did you want to see? But … just the briefest pressure of something sliding into your pocket, a crinkle of paper. Why would they slip you a note? The thought fled from your mind with his next words. “Listen carefully,” he hissed, “to what happens next - your life depends on it.” 

Why now, you thought, why when I have so much to live for?

[massy2ly]

Quick personal observation/interpretation of each BOYFRIEND in ep 5 because I’m absolutely floored by how well the actors managed to emphasize their differences.

Jojo the talented man that you are… it takes so much skill to highlight different dynamics while the couples are still stuck in that gray zone full of secrets, trauma and lies.

- Kant vs. Style: Style in this episode was everything I wished to see. I was a little skeptical about how he was going to act around Fadel after learning the truth. Is he going to be scared? Is he going to act like Kant and be all lovey dovey while avoiding any dangerous topic that might make him look suspicious? Is he going to put a mask on too and come across as oblivious and innocent? NOOOOO. He was a stark opposite of Kant and that’s exact what I wanted. Not because I don’t like Kant or anything but I just wanted that refreshing contrast between them.

Kant has opted for the lover boy disguise since ep 1. Charming, down to earth, normal, unproblematic, gentlemanly, pliant. He wanted to appear innocent too but when Bison learned about his criminal past he couldn’t keep up that lie for too long. So he turned that innocence into redemption. A thief became a hero, an avoidant guy with commitment issues became devoted and loyal. A man seeking redemption and a regular relationship with a cute, pretty and ordinary waiter. That’s how he wanted to get close to Bison as a way to avoid raising suspicion, to steer clear of any danger that comes with this hitman. SAFETY came first In his book and he was smart enough to figure out that Bison needed exactly that: a new standard life and to forget who he is.

Style on the hand… many of us had suspected that his curiosity and growing feelings would overrun his fear of Fadel. Style is smart but he’s also bold, confident, extremely curious, spontaneous and likes risks. But what’s interesting here is that, contrary to Kant, Style is at peace with himself and his emotions. He always allow himself to feel and express those feelings. This, in addition to his curiosity, could explain why he flirted with danger in ep 5. He needed to figure out what he was feeling, he wanted to unravel the mystery around Fadel. While Kant keeps fighting himself and his love for Bison because he’s convinced there’s no other way, Style can’t help himself. While Kant constantly tries to remind himself that Bison is a hitman, Style in ep 5 is digging for Fadel’s humanity, anything that could legitimize his feelings for him or explain why Fadel is the way he is. We see this so clearly with Style’s confessions, raw feelings that caught Kant by surprise and even pushed him, FOR THE FIRST TIME, to admit that he, too, likes Bison. Style’s open attitude and straightforwardness exposed not only Fadel in ep 5 but also Kant (fucking finally).

- Bison vs. Fadel: these two are so different, we knew that since ep 1 and it’s reflected in how they act in a relationship too. It may or may not be because Fadel had experienced betrayal or/and loss in his past relationship.

Bison has a childlike rawness to him that fuels his hope. Sometimes it comes across as naivety, especially during his exchanges with Fadel as the contrast in their personalities brings that out. Bison not only wants a normal and carefree life but he’s high key convinced that it’s achievable for him, despite being an assassin. He’s a little whimsical and likes to forget who he is by putting himself in the shoes of someone ordinary. I think that’s why he’s so drawn to Kant and that’s why Kant acts like a “honorable citizen” (lol James) around him.

You just have to see how their relationship developed compared to Fadel and Style’s. It had a traditional flair to it: the courting, the dates, the handholding and sweet words, the soft tone with which they talk, THE BED (that one took a while for the other two lol). It appealed to Bison because it gave him a sense of fun, safety and normalcy. Unlike Fadel, Bison acts sweet and avoids scaring off Kant, unless his emotions get the better of him. He prefers not carrying that sense of danger and warning sign around him, which would’ve worked if he wasn’t so temperamental.

Fadel on the other hand doesn’t want to forget who he is and is convinced he would never be able to turn over a new leaf. Call me sadistic but I really, really liked how he’s still pushing Style away, even after he agreed to be his boyfriend. The way he’s doing it rn is so sad and beautiful because it’s doubled with this new vulnerability that just… ugh left me feeling all sort of things. I just love how honest he is with Style (minus that ex lover thingy he denied or idk). He doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not, he doesn’t ignore his reality. I even think he’s loosened his hold on the dangerous aura he carries because in ep 5, he’s very straightforward with Style. Before, he would just act annoyed like a hardass who can handle himself but still avoided raising suspicion. The shift in ep 5 is CRAZY. He told Style on numerous occasions: “look I’m dangerous, you need to leave. I won’t trust you and I can’t give you what you want because I don’t think anyone can love me enough to stay by my side through this.”

[rapunzelbro]

Hi! Could you write an Angel Dust x Reader (Platonic) oneshot. Where the reader comforts him after his day with Valentino. And in return, he comforts them when their feeling sad

I find comfort in you…Angel x Reader

An: thank you so much for requesting! I hope you enjoy this. I accidentally made it longer haha. Enjoy it! Any feedback’s appreciated.

Masterlist Taglist

If you had a penny for every time you comforted Angel after meeting him, you'd have a room full of pennies, and then some. Angel was super protective of others seeing his true feelings, he didn't want to have to risk the people he cared about getting hurt by being his friend, he didn’t want Valentino to find out by any means. He kept his guard up a lot around you when you first met him. But after time of just talking, he finally slowly started opening up to you, which led to him finding comfort in you.

The first time he came to you, he was a crying mess, you instantly rushed out of your bed wrapping your arms around him, he instantly did the same back. You gently hummed trying to soothe him the best you could. You never seen him like that before. Ever. You guided him to your bed, not letting your hand leave his side, he didn't want to let go quite yet. “Angel… Angel please look at me” you softly spoke, wiping his tears. He looked at you still a mess of emotions “Please just, try to copy my breathing” you said before taking some emphasized breaths, trying to get him to calm down. Thankfully it ended up working, averting his eyes to look at the light blue blanket that rested on your bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you start looking at him with concern. Angel sighed, not saying anything for a while, leaving you two in a comfortable silence “It's my boss Val, he is a piece of shit you know?” he finally spoke looking at you, you just nodded letting him continue “He always has me as his little fuckin toy and I can't get out of it if I wanted to” Angel laid back on your bed,groaning as he focused on the ceiling now. “Y/n, do you ever wish you could go back to the past and prevent yourself from doing something stupid?” Angel glanced at you “Believe me Angel, I really wish I could, everyday I do” you muttered laying back too, looking at the ceiling with him, gently squeezing one of his hands “But then we’d never be friends you know?” you smile, earning a chuckle from Angel “You make a good point.. Thank you..” You let out a hum in response just laying there as Angel scrolled on his phone.

This became a common occurrence for you two. He always came to you when he was upset, he felt like he could trust you and you were more than willing to be there for him. While he was open with you, you didn't often show your feelings to him. He had enough issues as it was, you didn't want to add yours to the list, which leads back to when he first comforted you.

Angel arrived back at the hotel late. Putting it simply, he looked like shit, but you’d never say that. Sitting at the bar. You held your head up with one arm that rested on the table of the bar, while the other hand swirled the ice cube that remained in your drink using the tip of your nail. You could hear him walking in, but you didn’t look at him just watching the icecube. “Did he hurt you again?” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear, you sounded tired.

Angel walked over to you, obviously put off by how blunt of a statement you made “Straight to the point toots?” he sighed before going around the bar and grabbing a whole bottle of vodka, sitting next to you. “Yes, but nothing I couldn’t handle, ya know? Hey wait, are you okay?” Angel paused trying to look at your face, noticing you haven’t looked at him since he walked in. “Angel don't worry I’m fine” you looked up from the glass, removing your nail from the glass, drying it with your shirt. “Cut the shit Y/n, what happened?” Angel looked concerned, noticing your usual makeup was smeared, like you were crying.

You stood up wanting to walk away from this conversation but Angel grabbed your hand before you could leave “Oh no you dont, you deal with my shit, I deal with yours too. What happened?” His voice was full of concern as he felt your hand start shaking, that's when he pulled you into a hug, you not returning it for a while, until you started to sob holding onto him like you'd lose him if you didn’t. He picked you up with one of his many hands, taking you both back to his room, before putting you on his bed, grabbing a box of tissues for you.

He’d never seen you like this, you never seemed upset around him, or anyone in the hotel. I'm sure the only other person who would've gotten any light clue of the feelings you hid would be Husk, being the way he is. Angel comforted you the best he could, he honestly didn’t know how to be of much help except by keeping too close to him, waiting until you were ready to speak. “I just, I feel so lonely okay?” you finally spoke hiccuping as you tried controlling your sobs

“I know that.. Everyone at this hotel cares in their own way, and I know you do, but I cant help but feel like everything I had while I was alive is just, all I ever had'' you stared down at your shaking hands, Angel taking one of your hands just listening to you “I don’t regret anything I’ve done, but what if what I did was all for nothing?” you muttered looking at Angel “I feel like that too darlin.. All you really can do is focus on the future.” He started “Look I’m.. not the best when it comes to comforting someone, but if anyone has changed things around here for the better it’s you” he smiled slightly at you. “And so what if you didn’t do enough while you were alive? You have another shot here, and that’s enough ya know?” Looking at Angel you gave a faint smile looking at your friend “I think you’re doing great Y/n” he finished before you gave him a hug, which he returned

Angel would check on you often after this, and you would continue to check on him. Sure you both ended up in hell, but you're glad you were in hell with him. And he was glad you ended up with him too.

Angel dust Taglist @vendetta-ari @brithedemonspawn @satansmanager @storydays @saturnhas82moons @zamadness @fizziepopangel @saitisfied @the--rebel--fae @mcueveryday @rainbowbunny15 @molaroo @bonkbonkbobk

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

just wanted to say your posts about sex ed are super cool and epic and swag. i was informed recently that i was supposed to get sex ed sometime in the 3 years i was going to catholic school (basically my middle school years) and i was not supposed to have to learn everything from fanfiction/The Internet(TM). And they maybe shouldn't have taped closed the sex ed sections of the family life textbook. Catholic school was wild.

anyway wanted to ask how does one go about explaining kink to teens? education around kink seems like one of those things that are especially denied to young folks, and there's so much stigma around it, and it doesn't seem like there are many (if any) resources out there that keep teens in mind (which makes sense but its also infuriating! there are kids out there who feel deeply ashamed for this kind of thing!! or are practicing unsafely!!!)

hi anon,

with teens who are old enough to be kink aware and kink curious, I think the big thing is emphasizing that while there's nothing wrong with being interested in kink at a young age it is very possible that folks who are inexperienced are going to make mistakes that can be really scary and dangerous for themselves and/or their partners, a la the "choking epidemic" described by Evie Lupine here.

it's also worth noting that kink is historically something that's largely been taught and mediated through communities of kinky people, which are understandably not spaces that teens are welcomed into for the safety of everyone involved. obviously there's no stopping The Youth from getting up to whatever they want to get up to, but I think it's really important to emphasize that virtually any sexual behavior entails risk, it's going to be much safer to avoid playing with things like rope, needles and/or blood, breath, and consensual nonconsent (to name JUST A FEW!) until they're old enough to be part of spaces where people with experience can teach them how to play safely.

[nikalaeva]

Feyre's Imaginary freedom and Wrong way Evolution

It will be a long speech, get ready 😅

I remember how Feyrе dreaming that her sisters would get married and she would stay with father and paint. It's pathetic dream, actually, but considering Feyre spent most of her life in poverty, it's more or less valid, 'cause she just couldn't imagine anything more. And if you forget that SJM made Feyre a hunter 'cause it's "cool", then I understand why Feyre chose hunting. She had options other than marriage: learn her father's work, get a job in some workshop (sewing, weaving, pottery), or, at worst, become a thief. But Feyre chose hunting, probably, 'cause it gave her a sense of control over her life. More than other options could give.

This brings us to the topic - Feyre's need for freedom. For her, freedom equals power, and this is logical - no one decides what is best for her life and future, only she is. When I read ACOTAR, I didn't see this. SJM just wrote that Feyre hunts to feed her family. But if you keep in mind that everything Feyre does is motivated by a desperate need to control her life, then her actions doesn't seem so idiotic. You would understand that for Feyre enduring the company of her family seems to be worse than freezing to death in forest. You would feel that being imprisoned in UTM and isolated by Tamlin hit Feyre harder than trials or anything else. You would believe that this is a girl who would rather die free than live in chains.

This is a post about Feyre, so I won't write much about Rhysand. But if Feyre herself had said that sitting in a cage for her (I emphasize - for her, not for reader) was worse than dancing naked for Rhysand, It would be a little easier for me believe in ACOMAF. "A little" better than nothing.

But the need for freedom alone is not enough. Eventually, there has to be a limit where Feyre will think: "I guess I can endure a little bit of captivity 'cause I don't wanna die such stupidly." So, in my opinion, good option would be to give Feyre an adrenaline addiction. For example, if you're a fan of Doctor Who, you've probably asked yourself why the Doctor's companions, despite the fatal dangers of traveling, still return to him. From my own experience I can say this: I worked in an ambulance and afterwards it was hard for me get used to another job. I missed unpredictability and thrills. Maybe people who love extreme sports will also understand these feelings. So, if we add Feyre's need for freedom to her adrenaline addiction, it becomes easier to understand why she constantly gets into trouble. Even if she understands that she can get hurt or die, it doesn't stop her 'cause of these weird, kinky sensations. Moreover, having become a fairy with magical abilities, Feyre could afford to take even more risks. By the way, adrenaline intensifies all the senses, while fairy wine depresses. Feyre could seek danger just to forget how wine made her helpless.

Or SJM could have written that all fairies have a strong need for cruelty, cheating or lying (she made them capable of lying - use it! 😡). That would explain why Illyrians constantly train, why in the CoN most (but not all, that's bullshit) fairies are assholes, why civilized fairies actively use sex and drink - these are substitutes so as not to harm others. Hell, it would explain Tamlin's outbursts of rage - he was fighting his nature but not drinking or fucking like crazy. And EVEN Rhysand's behavior - Amaranta turned him into a junkie, getting him high on violence and cruelty. So Rhysand knew he was tormenting Feyre, but the 50-year addiction was too strong. And not the crap that he (or rather the author) told me in ACOMAF.

Sorry, I'm got off topic. So now Feyre's story with the changes you read above is a tragedy. She's trapped in Velaris with IC, with Rhysand. In ACOSF, she's literally trapped in a magical bubble. It's sad and disgusting. But even that could be fixed if Feyre had healed in the ACOMAF and ACOWAR and decided that she wanted a quiet life, not dangers and adventures. The sisters' transformation into fairies and war with Hybern could have changed her like that.

If SJM had written that Rhysand actually gave her freedom, unlike Tamlin, and helped her understand that freedom ≠ throwing herself into danger, then I would have believed that he loved and cared for Feyre. He could helped her love the feeling of safety and peace. Feyre could understand how to get along with her sisters through Rhysand's relationships with Cassian and Azriel. And she could helped him overcome the addiction for violence that Amarantha had forced upon him. In that case, sex literally would be a cure, not just "spice."

But none of that was in the books. Other characters change at the snap of SJM's fingers too, but I'm talking about Feyre 'cause we spend three books in her head. She doing what the plot demands with such poor explanations that reader's brain explodes, trying understand her.

I don't hate Feyre. I hate that SJM has turned her character and story into hopeless trash. And the fans, whose brains have obviously melted from this shit, convince me that everything is okay.