#i want them to feel a little piece of the pain they inflicted on me

[plasma-studios]

the urge to get closure

(vent in tags)

[beloveds-embrace]

I live for the Found Family trope, it is like the air I breath and the dukedom AU is an amazing found family AU. Like the dutchess family never really cared for her, she was a commodity to be sold to her husband for political gain and she expected a life of abuse and servitude under his control, just like she was to her parents. But then she meets these amazing 4 men who worship the ground she walks on and takes time to actually get to know her and appreciate and love her and for the first time in her life she realises what a family is all about. Its love and acceptance and it is so so beautiful. And if her parents were cruel to her before her marriage and they find out? They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but those boys would do everything in their power to destory her birth families reputaion and burn them to the ground.

FOUND FAMILY TROPE IS SO GOOD I ADORE IT 😩 i fully agree with you babes it makes me soo happy to write and see duchess getting loved like this

Dukedom 141 masterlist

You had spent your entire life as a pawn on your parents’ chessboard. A daughter shaped and molded not for love but for utility- trained to smile, to bow, to obey, first and then for your eventual husband. Your parents had made it clear that your worth lay in what you could offer them: alliances, power, status, and children. When they married you off, it wasn’t for your happiness. It was to seal a deal, and you had braced yourself for a life of cold, unfeeling servitude.

But then… there was John. And Kyle. And Simon. And Johnny.

You hadn’t expected kindness. You hadn’t expected warmth. You certainly hadn’t expected love. But that’s what you found with them anyways, a safe place to let your tender little heart rest and be adored

Johnny, with his reckless charm and unwavering loyalty, was the first to make you laugh when you thought you never would again. Kyle, steady and dependable, made you feel safe in ways you hadn’t even known you needed. Simon, sharp-tongued and fiercely protective, saw straight through your walls and vowed to stand guard at their gates. And John-your husband in name, but so much more than that in heart- looked at you like you were his entire world and made sure you never doubted it.

A family forged- not by blood, but by choice. And for the first time, you understood what family was supposed to be. It was laughter shared over quiet dinners and comfort offered without question. It was hands that held you steady, hands that didn’t hurt or inflict pain on you, but rather held you like you meant the world. And voices that called your name not as an order but as a promise. It was love, unconditional and endless.

When your birth family cams for a visit, they thought they still held power over you. They thought their words and threats could send you crawling back, begging for their approval. Cruelty lacing every letter and ever word, meant to remind you that they truly view you as something to be used and abused per their wants and needs.

But they hadn’t accounted for the four men who stood by your side now.

Johnny laughed at their arrogance when they demanded to see the chef because they weren’t happy with the food, sharp and biting, remembering how he had to spend nights promising you that you weren’t losing or gaining weight, you didn’t need to skip out on meals out of fear- he knows it was all their fault and he hates them. Kyle, calm but cold, began drafting plans to dismantle their influence piece by piece, never once hesitating, from the very second he witness the way they brushed you aside and didn’t let you speak. Simon was already spreading whispers that would see their allies turn against them, and John- oh, John- made it clear that any further attempts to harm you would be met with ruin, his voice sharp and eyes sharper, pullinh you behind him gently when it was clear your parents might strike you.

Because hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? No.

Hell hath no fury like the men who love her.

And to you, it was such a beautiful fury.

[navybrat817]

Incandescent

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Steve Rogers x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes Summary: Bucky and Steve try to put on a show for you. Word Count: Over 1.7k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, implied vaginal and anal sex, threesome, bondage, dirty talk, tension, polyamory, possessive behavior, porn with feels (it’s me, c’mon), tattooed Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers (they’re warnings, okay?) A/N: Welcome back to my Howling Commandos Tattoo AU! Have you missed them? I know I have! I was nervous posting this as this my first dive into dynamics with Steve and Bucky, but I love it. If that isn't your jam, feel free to skip! ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @whisperlullaby ​but any and all mistakes are my own. Banner created by yours truly, but Bucky and Steve photos were provided by the talented @nixakimbo ! Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky and Steve were your world. You weren’t afraid to voice that. In fact, you were proud to be on their arms when you were out together. You had their hearts and vice versa. You were their best girl. Their Blossom. Nothing would ever change that.

But once you got your hands on them, you were going to strangle them. Not enough to inflict real damage. You would never. You loved them. But they were going to feel some sort of wrath.

Fucking tattooed bastards.

You struggled against the binds, your wrists bound tight enough to keep you from escaping, but not enough to hurt you. Like you wouldn't hurt your boys, they would never harm you either. Your core throbbed enough to ache when they knelt on each side of you and faced each other on the bed.

Why did I let them talk me into tying me up? Damn them and their persuasiveness.

As Bucky moved his hand upwards to cup Steve's cheek, they smiled. From their profiles, you caught a hint of playfulness and something deeper before their lips met. A bond between two men who had been through hell and back together. Somehow you became their heaven on earth, allowing them to be with you and each other. And wasn't that the beauty in your relationship? Boundlessly loving and trusting each other?

No. I will not get mushy. Not when I'm frustrated.

Bucky’s tongue darted out to lick along Steve’s bottom lip as he pulled away. “I think Blossom wants a taste,” he said, turning his head to wink at you. Had you voiced your frustrations out loud or did he know you well enough that being a mere spectator wouldn't be enough today?

Both.

“And she’ll get one when we’re ready,” Steve stated, a sympathetic smile on his face as he gazed down at you. You wondered if he was secretly a sadist since he seemed to take pleasure in your current “pain”. “We made you too greedy, didn’t we, sweetheart?”

You squinted, trying your best to glare when they chuckled at your predicament. “You know why I’m greedy? Because you two can’t keep your hands off me OR your tongues, fingers, and cocks out of me. Excuse me for getting a bit used to it when you're to blame.”

Steve chuckled at that, not disagreeing with you.

He better not. I'm right.

A coo left Bucky’s mouth as he leaned down, his lips moving along your cheek before they stopped at your ear. “Who said we’re not giving you our tongues, fingers, AND cocks? Stevie and I just wanna have a little fun first while you watch. Is that so bad? Hmm?”

You whined in response, your hips rising and pussy begging for attention. Mandy joked that your libido was in permanent overdrive thanks to your boys and she wasn’t wrong. Your body craved and welcomed them. They fit like a glove, missing pieces that made you whole.

It was also a sight watching them. The view alone would've been enough to disintegrate your panties had they not destroyed them already. But tying you up so you couldn’t touch? Not even a small feel of Bucky’s bicep or Steve’s chest? It was cruel and unusual punishment and there would be retribution. Those bastards would rue the day.

No clue how, but they will.

“Do you need to touch us that badly? Are you that desperate for us?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow when Bucky leaned back up.

“Yes! Have you seen you two?” You asked as they shifted their gazes to look each other over. They shed their clothes before they bound you to the headboard, giving you a chance to admire them. Hard muscles, sculpted tattoo gods, one blonde and one brunette. “You were created for at least one person in the world to worship you and drive people insane.”

“Aww, I think she wants to worship us,” Bucky smiled, gliding a hand down Steve’s chest. You watched the blonde swiftly inhale, knowing how much he loved the slow drag down his body. “What do you think?”

“Buck,” Steve groaned when Bucky firmly wrapped a hand around his cock.

“Maybe you can fuck my throat first?” The brunette suggested, lazily pumping him as you bit your lip. “Or at least let me get my mouth around it. Get your cock sloppy and wet before you fuck our girl.”

“Please,” you moaned, unable to spread your legs any further since they were still planted on either side. “I need it.”

If begging is what it takes, I'll do it.

“Or you can suck my cock before I fuck her? I know you love watching me slide in and out of her sweet pussy. She always takes me so well,” Bucky went on, Steve’s eyes slipping shut as he began to leave open mouth kisses on his neck. You understood why Steve shivered. Bucky had a very talented mouth. “Too bad she can’t touch herself while she watches like last time.”

Yeah. Too fucking bad.

“Touch her, Buck,” Steve ordered, making you and Bucky gasp when he gripped his hair and pulled him back with a smirk. “Slip those fingers in her cunt and show me how soaked she is from the sight of us.”

You were fairly certain that Bucky and Steve were the only men in the world who could speak about you like you weren’t there and get you hot and bothered. They didn’t have to touch you to prove how wet you were, but you weren’t going to stop Bucky from curling his digits inside you. Especially when Steve gave the order in that deep, husky tone.

“Please, Bucky?” You asked sweetly, raising your hips again. “I know I've been a little mouthy and impatient, but please? Show Stevie how wet my pretty pussy is?”

You shrieked when Bucky’s hand suddenly came down on your throbbing cunt, the smack loud in your ears. “Not your pussy, doll. It’s ours. Now be good and open up,” he said, his voice rough as he bent down and spread your lips apart with one hand, the other still pumping Steve’s hard cock. “Our pussy really is pretty. What a fucking sight.”

“You gonna apologize for calling our pussy yours?” Steve questioned, arching into Bucky’s touch the moment he slipped two fingers inside your wet hole. It hardly stung, the relief as he thrust his fingers making you whimper. “I think you owe us one.”

“Okay. I'm sorry, you fucking tattooed bastards,” you said, smiling dreamily at Steve when he narrowed his eyes. He said to apologize, but didn’t say anything about getting mouthy. Again.

“And this is why we tied you up,” he said, wiping the smile off your face. “You beautiful brat.”

Not fair.

“Oh. Now you’re being mean, Steve,” Bucky said, smirking when he brushed a thumb over your swollen clit. “But I’m not mean, doll. Gimme a few minutes and I’ll get my mouth on your perfect tits. Love hearing you whimper when I drag your nipples between my teeth.”

You shuddered with your next breath, your breasts lightly shaking with your exhale. Both sets of eyes on you darkened at the movement, your cheeks hot as you squirmed. Maybe being tied up wasn’t such a bad thing after all. It didn’t give you a chance to hide from their hungry gazes. It left you open, vulnerable, ready for whatever they gave you.

And you’d take it all because you were strong and eager enough, just like they took everything you gave them. It made sense why you were their Blossom. You bloomed into the person you were now and they helped you continue to grow. In some ways, you did the same for them.

“And who said I’m not getting a taste of anything?” Steve said, batting Bucky’s hand away from his cock. “Take your fingers out.”

Bucky swiftly removed them, making you whine at the loss. A punched sound came from your gut a heartbeat later when Steve gripped Bucky’s wrist and sucked his fingers into his mouth with a grunt, not stopping until they were clean. “I may not need to get your dick wet if she's that soaked. You might be able to slide on in while I fuck you.”

Fuck, please.

It was Bucky’s turn to tremble when Steve nipped at his earlobe. “I think you’d like that. Me at your back. Her at your front. Both of us loving you the way you deserve,” he said, before he turned a fond gaze your way. One that made your throat go dry. “Loving each other the way we all deserve. I know our best girl would agree.”

“Of course, I do,” you whispered. That wasn't lust speaking, but the pure adoration you had for them.

“I love you both so much,” Bucky said without fear or hesitation, his blue eyes sparkling with joy.

You stopped shifting against the mattress, tears threatening to clog your throat. How could they simultaneously turn you on and resort you to happy crying? They made your heart and holes full.

“Love you both, too,” you said, your chest rising and falling with your next breath. “And I’ll be good and watch until you’re ready for me.”

Bucky swooped down to catch your parted lips with his. Heat surged through your body as his tongue fervently tasted your mouth. As quickly as it began, it stopped so Steve’s mouth could replace his. It was just as demanding and hungry as Bucky’s before they turned their attention back to each other, leaving you a panting mess as you watched captivated as they licked and sucked, their kiss rough and desperate.

You knew exactly how they felt.

Steve’s hand closed around Bucky’s cock, swallowing down his groan of pleasure as you could only look on. You found yourself smiling again as they got lost in each other, each of them making sure to keep a hand on you. They were beautiful. They were yours. And they were your home.

Still might strangle them a bit once I’m free. Nah. I’ll just sit on their faces. Much better way to suffocate them.

Until they took care of you, you’d enjoy the show.

Blossom already has a revenge plan brewing. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Stucky Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[springsmile]

the way it is || 2

tw: nsfw, fingering, dubcon that turns into noncon, victim blaming, mentions of self h*rm

[part 1]

whenever he touches you, you focus on the sensation of shredded flesh and that metallic scent entering your windpipe. you inhale it complacently.

heavy petting and apologies, gruff at that, are the new normal. you wonder if they’re sincere, or if they’re ones of remorse. you wouldn’t accept them, either way.

you prefer the basement. the concrete (frigid—leaving you curled into yourself, teeth rattling, arms in a bruising wind around your shins), when your bones would creak with any brisk jerk, eyelids leaden, wondering if keloids would befall the columns on your arms.

instead, beneath you is his arm. and across your torso is another. each chiseled with same strength afforded to your wrists and ankles and throat. they’re heavy. they anchor you to the soft silk of the bedspread, balmy with your sweat. katsuki is impossibly close, breath gliding across your face in gentle huffs. it’s the picture of domesticity. only you know it’s something more uncanny.

sometimes, you long for his brutality. for his unparalleled thew, for the rage so palpable you could taste it, and for the anticipatory furling of your gut. the duality of anxiety was hardly distinguishable anymore. you relish in it, now.

katsuki rouses moments later, his fingers card through your hair, which he took to washing regularly (you couldn’t be trusted to do it alone), and a hum reverberates through his chest and throat.

“how’d you sleep?” he mumbles.

“i didn’t.” you say honestly.

his lips fall into a frown, and you’re unwittingly slotted his chest.

“i’m sorry.” he breathes, and by god, you detest his breath. there’s no odor, but you loathe inhaling it. his fragment of his being lives inside you, even if just for a moment. “nightmares?”

“no. you just fucking disgust me.”

he still has the gall to look crestfallen. he snares his bottom lip in between his teeth.

“besides that. do you need those meds again?”

the ones he would crush in his fist into a fine dust put into your water. and when you caught on, and refused to drink, he’d apply an ungodly amount of pressure on your jaw with one hand, and with the other, pressed it down your throat.

you suppress a visceral shiver. “it’s up to you, katsuki. it always is.”

he’s grown tired of your resignation— but he’s more so afraid of your fragility. are you gone for good? did he decimate you into jagged little remnants? now, he could only gather you in his hands and hold your chest his ear. waiting for the rhythmic thumps.

“it’s not.” he says firmly, and when his hand begins to make way for your face, you brace for contact. his hand falters, and eventually thumbs the unevenness of your skin. “do you want to start taking them again?”

you didn’t want to do this anymore.

was breaking better than being broken?

you enjoyed being thorny, if anything. you liked inflicting pain, however minuscule, with your tongue. but you subconsciously longed to feel something. the hearth of life.

for whatever reason unbeknownst to you, your lips part, and acquiescence follows.

“okay.”

he startles at your agreeableness. a smile succeeds the aforementioned frown. and it almost makes you fucking sick.

he untangles himself from you, and relief overcomes you, stemming from the pit of your stomach.

“want breakfast?”

“yes.”

you’re still startled by the sound of your own voice. what was once ragged and frayed around the edges is now subdued, free of any rasp.

you descend downstairs with a hunch, shoulders skimming the lobes of your ears. you’re now more privy to sound and any movement that invades your peripherals. you can creakily yet effectively maneuver if you deem necessary. though, it’s unlikely you require this astuteness any longer, as katsuki has been rendered to pliancy.

he places precisely two pieces of toast and a banana before you. it’s all you can stomach, having transitioned from soups in the basement to agreeable solids upstairs.

katsuki drags his chair out, and falls onto it. he watches you through half lidded eyes, and despite this apparent lethargy, you’re well acquainted with the fact that he could spring into action at a moment’s notice.

you stand.

there’s not a single thought in your head— not a coherent one, anyway. not one that isn’t incessant. rampant.

you approach katsuki, and gradually, his eyelids sink back. swinging a leg over his lap, you begin to straddle him. his shock encourages you to continue. what, you couldn’t say.

“(y-y/n)?” he chokes weakly.

you say nothing. and from your sides, your hands tremble as they lift, and hold the sides of his face how one would handle china. then, without a second thought, you dive down and kiss him, eyes wide open.

you wanted to feel something. anything. anything would do. you skin could crawl to where you would take anything with a sharp edge to your skin and peel it all off. that was okay. you could handle it. you could handle it.

you could pretend. evoke that pool of desire that would once brew and bubble in your belly.

katsuki makes a sound of shock. and for all of what you’d known of him, you had expected him to reciprocate. after all, before he wanted so badly to be a father. he was ready, he assured. he could get all the diapers and crap.

with newfound dread at the forefront of your senses, you begin to draw back, when hands anchor you in place and his lips finally work against yours.

twitching, your hand surges for his cock, which had sprung into rigidity. thanks to you, he’d suffered a dry period, after all.

“you want my cock, (y/n)?” he husks around your lips. “huh? was all that just you being a brat? were you faking?”

it was refreshing— how his remorse had morphed the second you put out.

“you wanted attention, didn’t you?” he growls, a hand inches up the shirt that hung on your body. it’s his, of course. he kneads your breast. “s’that why you hurt yourself?”

no, no, no, nononononononononoNONONONO.

you don’t speak, your vocal chords had melted together within the buzzing summery heat that emanated from inside of you. sound was dulled into nothing.

seconds later, calloused digits invade the warmth of your dry cunt. katsuki is undeterred. his palm gyrates atop your clit. your lungs inflate instantly.

he starts with a single finger, which he neglected to lubricate, and pumps it steadily. coupled with the motions on your sensitive nub, your pussy leaks hot, glinting juices in no time.

katsuki gives that notorious crooked grin. the one where his eyes narrow, and all his teeth are on display.

“fuuuck, (y/n). look how wet your perfect pussy is getting for me.” he snarls. “you could’ve just asked, baby. i would’ve gladly delivered. didn’t need to be all coy and fuckin’ gloomy.”

tears follow the ring of cream that gathers around his knuckles. the wet squelching, and the curling of his fingers (when he added a second one, you didn’t know) have your chest heaving, mind in overdrive with words flitting around the walls of your brain with the ferocity of atoms in a gaseous state.

do you want to? don’t you want to?

“i love you, (y/n).” katsuki says into your ear. “i’m so glad you realized this is how we’re supposed to be. this is your place.”

bile rises in your throat.

[neuroticbookworm]

Random QL Superlatives: 2024 Edition

This list is gonna contain qls (and a few kdramas) I’ve watched this year, rather than the qls that were released this year.

Best Hosaka: Namgoong Shiwoon, Light On Me

ICYMI, I am obsessed with Hosaka from I Cannot Reach You, for his complete disdain for miscommunication, his incredible radar for bullshittery, and his otherworldly ability to not-so-gentle-parent bl boys into talking to each other. Every BL should have a Hoska. A Hosaka is a crucial part of a healthy BL ecosystem imo. So this year’s Best Hosaka Award goes to.. Namgoong Shiwoon!

Namgoong is kind yet firm in his opinions (and boyyy does he have them in a bushel and a peck), goofy in physicality yet measured with his words, and an all-around stellar friend. He would figure out the exact ways you’re ruining your life before you’ve even had a chance to emerge from the mental rubble, and will meet you with a detailed presentation on how to fix everything. Get a Namgoong for your life and listen to them for the best results!

Favorite Signature Move, Kiyoi tackling Hira, Utsukushii Kare 2 and Utsukushii Kare: Eternal

Kiyoi losing his patience with Hira and tackling him to the ground so he can get in his face and scream to get information out of him was simultaneously hilarious and sad.

Most Ineffective Defense: Sangwoo and His Lil Desk Divider, Semantic Error

I am still laughing at how Sangwoo believed with his entire precious heart that putting up a foot tall, easily removable physical barrier is gonna deter my man Jaeyoung, menace extraordinaire and dedicated Sangwoo-annoyer. Boy, did you even wanna try?

Saddest Sex Scene: At 25:00, In Akasaka

I was already heartbroken when Hayama and Shirasaki tried, failed, and emotionally devastated each other by attempting to “rehearse” for their intimate scene the previous night, but the filming of the actual scene took the pieces of my shattered heart, stomped on it, and then set it on fire. The aborted pinkie touch should be made illegal due to the amount of pain it inflicts on the masses.

Favorite Wholly Unrealistic Teenage Boy, Hasegawa, Oppan

I love this boy with all my heart and soul. What a mature little teenage noodle. The writers must’ve conceived his character by pouring all the good stuff they want to see in a baseball-jock teenage boy into a beaker, and out he emerged, Powerpuff Girls style.

Best Use of Strong-Independent-Women Money: Lee Mi Na’s Collection, Hit The Spot

I adore this woman for many things. Her friendship with Hee Jae. Her standards for men.

But most of all, I adore her for the things she spends her money on.

What an icon.

Best Righteous Anger: Ryunosuke, Tokyo In April Is…

I am always a big fan of characters who are mad for the right reasons and are not afraid to show it. Ryunosuke watched his friend carry this unbearable guilt around for years, and was rightfully mad at Kazuma who he assumed knew what had happened to Ren. And when he realized that Kazuma did not know, Ryunosuke sets his anger aside and tells Kazuma. I am part of the Ren Protection Squad and Ryunosuke is our leader.

The Cameo That Inspired The Loudest Scream: Madea Kentaro in Utsukushii Kare: Eternal

My earnest, precious son Yamato from I Cannot Reach You showing up in the middle of Hira and Kiyoi’s patented messiness? The scream I scrumpt, y’all.

Bestest Best Friend: Joon Pyo, The Eighth Sense

Joon Pyo! He got the fuck out of his own room for the night so his childhood best friend can get some. Ji Hyun better protect and cherish him at all costs.

Most Precious Gift To The World: Fujita-san and Kasuga’s conversation, Tsukuritai Onna to Tabetai Onna Season 2

Asian daughters fighting the intergenerational trauma demon everyday just.. get to have this? To watch whenever we want and draw strength from it? And feel the shoulders of the other daughters (and mothers) also fighting their fight, standing right beside us, fighting, and living, and thriving? What a blessing.

Wisest Wisdom: Pie’s Post-Breakup Advice, The Trainee

Heartbreak is temporary. French Fries are eternal.

The Swooniest Gwenchana: Ji Hyun, Happiness

Did I make up a whole category just because I needed to put his face on this post? Yes.

This year has been, amongst many things, undeniably fun. Tag me in your superlatives lists, and I will see y’all in the next one!

Tagging the peeps: @lurkingshan, @bengiyo, @happypotato48, @wen-kexing-apologist, @starryalpacasstuff

[yourheart-inmyhands]

YOU HAVE A CAT?! ME TOO?!

She hates me tho :(

---------

Zhongli, Neuvillette and Dottore

With a fox!darling that is always with animals and isn't social at all due to heavy torture in her past and they discover it? 💀

Man I'm in need of some gore rn 💀💀

- Weird anon ✨

i'm so sorry but i just couldn't write neuvillette for this prompt, he's too precious DX

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including being held against will, delusional behaviors, torture, breaking of bones, and other potential topics. Please Read At Your Own Risk!

Yandere!Zhongli sympathizes with you, and since it’s clear that the animals bring you comfort, he allows you to keep a couple when he moves you in with him. He even goes the extra mile and builds a special enclosure so they’ll be just as content as you are, even if you aren’t receptive to his love yet. 

When he finds out about your past, which is inevitable with how overbearing he can be and how good he is at finding out things from the locals, it almost hurts his heart a little. But the more sickening side of him is thrilled because now he knows exactly how to get to you, exactly how to make you his perfect little spouse.

Whether it’s be reintroducing trauma through breaking bones, locking you in a cold, damp room with no lights for hours on end, or even things that border on torture, he’ll use it against you so long as it won’t entirely ruin you. While he wants you compliant to his whims and wishes, he doesn’t want you to be a shell, it would’ve been a waste of his time to break you to that point;

Zhongli would never stop as low as hurting your animal friends, but if need be he could certainly find ways to turn them against you. It’s almost amusing to him, the way you care so much for creatures who you’ll outlive. How you care so much for creatures who don’t even really know you, funny.

The sickening crunch of bone echoes through the room as Zhongli stands over you, the heel of his shoe digging into the freshly crushed bones in your leg. The makeshift gag, a towel from the kitchen, dug into the sides of your mouth as it muffled your screams and cries. The Geo Archon almost feels bad for using his strength in such a brutal manner, but it would all be worth it, at least that was how he justified it to himself. It wasn’t about the now, but rather what now would soon be bringing him. By breaking you down bit by bit, sending you spiraling back into some of the worst moments of your life, he could slowly rebuild your shattered pieces how he saw fit. What use was a puzzle if the pieces weren’t in the correct order, right?

Yandere!Dottore is sick, sick, twisted, and absolutely disgusting. If he wasn’t the cause of your original trauma, you could surely bet he’d be the driving force behind re-traumatizing you. 

Whether he chooses to reenact every step, or to simply do something far worse than what had previously done it all dependent on how he feels that day. Some days will be so similar to your past that you’ll truly feel like you were back there, all those years ago. Other days are so awful it almost makes what happened in your past seem insignificant as if that were a stone among boulders resting on the ocean floor. 

Dottore does think it’s funny though, using it as both amusement and research opportunities. It wasn’t often that animals such as yourself came across his table, so of course he’d taken the prime subject as soon as he’d laid eyes on you.

In his lab, you aren’t seen as anything but a thing that exists only for Dottore’s own gain. If you’re lucky one of his more sympathetic clones might take pity on you and actually give you a day to rest when he’s out of the Palace, but they’re expected to keep up the same treatment he inflicts in his absence.

It was almost sickening to the segments as the watched the fox-human endure soul shaking torture day in and day out. Everything from injections to straight up live surgery to see how much pain the body could take whilst awake had occurred on the cold, steel table. They were often left to clean up the mess, expected to stitch you up, administer antidotes to anything too harmful that had been administered today, and even sometimes bathe you due to the mess that had occurred. You’d been fed little since you arrived, given water only when necessary for your survival, and hadn’t seen sunlight in days- or months maybe? With the sickening way time seemed to pass, you couldn’t tell how long you’d been here. Your only reprieve would be when the doctor left for something more pressing, leaving you in the care of his segments that only sometimes took pity on you. Some seemed to hold a little more humanity than others.

[mischieffae]

When I saw you had requests open, I just had to JUMP on the opportunity! I have two ideas, but I'll leave them separately.

Hannibal x (preferably female) reader who also happens to be a serial killer. However, think more Joe Goldberg combined with Amy Dunne vibes. She's got a bad past, but when she moved to Baltimore under a new identity as a lawyer (I just like the irony but she could do any job you feel like) she's very determined to leave that life behind her. To be better.

Hannibal just knows she's not as honest as she portrays herself to be. He's a psychiatrist, after all, and goes digging to figure out what she's hiding. I feel like that type of plot can go two ways, rivals, constantly suspicious of each other, trying to cover up their own tracks before the other catches them (She's 100% slightly scared of him once she figures out he's also a wolf in sheep's clothing, with no intention reform like her) or an unlikely partnership (if Hannibal is persuasive enough), or both!

Agh, ik, it's so plot heavy, but I need to get it out somewhere.

Thank youu

~◇~

// I am so sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy!! I love how this was already planned for me. ❤️

Imposter

pairing: hannibal x f!reader

warnings: mention of gore, slight mention of non-con, hannibal being a flirtatious psychopath, cat & mouse, mind manipulation

The life you had before was all in the past now, a reminder of what you had almost become yet it still lingered in the back of your mind with its sharp claws. Tap, tap, tap against the hollowness of your skull as if taunting you to return to that depraved place.

Remember what you did ? Those screams of torment as you etched away the victim's last piece of sanity.

You didn't have a knife at the time, only a shard of glass from the bathroom's mirror. & all that blood - oh, how beautiful it painted on alabaster tile flooring, as if you were a painter with a canvas. The smell of copper always tickled your nostrils in the best way, more of the smell emitting with each precise cut you inflicted upon the poor person's body.

The sharp banging of the judge's gavel brought yourself back into the present, sweat slightly beading on your forehead. How long has it been since you had those vivid thoughts? It seemed like a century ago, but in reality it had only been a couple of years. You were determined to start over, start a brand new life with a brand new career. A lawyer, of all jobs. How typical. You wanted to bring justice back into your life, to mask your true intentions in hopes of it completely going away someday.

But perhaps the past wasn't shrouded in darkness.

There was a slip-up of course, not too long after you had your little incident in the court room. A man of foul intentions had followed you home one night after a long day at the office, cat-calling you with each drunken stumble he took in your direction. You tried to ignore him, body tense with each stride of your clicking heels against wet pavement. Perhaps going down one of the alleyways wasn't the best idea, but you had thought you had lost him by the time you took that sharp turn.

Of course such plans did not go accordingly, & the drunkard had found you like a cat waiting to feast upon the frightened mouse. He had found a way to wrap his arms around your trembling frame, a hand lifting to cover your mouth as you attempted to yell your strangled pleas. It was enough to send you over the edge, that little girl who so desperately wanted to change her life now taking a back seat as you began to feel that urge running through your veins.

Your hand dove into your coat's pocket to retrieve a metal pen, fingers wrapping roughly around its base before plunging the device into the poor man's eye socket. A small sigh in content escaped your lips against his sweaty palm when you heard his horrid cry of pain, that sweet sweet sound you had almost forgotten about. Now, it rang through your ears beautifully, his body then slumping to the ground while he held his eye with hitching sobs.

"Please - ....I-I'm sorry... I'm..."

That was all you needed as you then plunged the pen into his skull once more, then another.....and another....until that drunk face was unrecognizable. Until that damn bastard was a pile of filthy flesh upon cold stone. & that smell of copper, it made your skin crawl with delight as you sighed in content.

But it was then as if reality hit you, your body trembling as you gazed downward with rapid gasps of adrenaline. No, no, no...You were good, you were normal again.

You had to see him.

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

Blunt nails tapped against that familiar leather chair with nervousness, your teeth grazing upon your bottom lip as you gazed around Dr. Lecter's extravagant office. He took notice of your hesitance, fingers ceasing to write down his notes while gazing upward with curiosity.

"Something is on your mind..."

A matter of fact statement, your eyes meeting golden hues that you could've sworn began to swirl into a darker shade.

"Work was just -....a lot today."

You hoped your little lie would go unnoticed, however you failed to cover the small patch of blood on the outside of your palm. Hannibal took note of this, licking his lips subtly before continuing.

"It is not work that is on your mind, is it? Something else seems to have your mind hostage."

A gulp formed in your tightening throat, your chapped lips forming into a shaky smile. It wasn't very convincing, & you knew of this. But, how could you inform him of your encounter earlier this evening? You had some suspicions of him, some little doubts that pecked in the corners of your mind from time to time. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, however you could feel that there was something off about your therapist.

Something...more omnious.

"I can assure you, Dr. Lecter, that it was just work today. Nothing more."

His lean frame lifted from his chair with an elegant stride, moving towards his art ridden desk while gliding his fingertips along his drawings.

"That is not what I suspect, judging upon the blood that lingers on your hand."

Shit -... you had forgotten about that little detail, your jaw clenching tightly from his observation. His eyes trail upward with a raise of his brows, those pursed lips forming into a small smile.

A smile? Your heart began to beat wildly in your chest, as if it were about to combust and fly out the window like a caged bird. You couldn't move, a deer frozen in fear as he began to walk towards you with a predatory aura.

"You do not need to hide from me, you do not need to HIDE what you truly desire."

He stops to stand before you on the chair, his body moving to kneel in front of you as if you were a rabbit that was easily startled. A thumb moves to glide gently upon your cheek, resting just below your bottom lip as he stares with interest.

"Have you killed before?"

That word made you gasp in response, fingers clutching the chair's arms with white knuckles. He has FOUND you, he can see you past that broken mask. A single tear runs down your cheek in defeat, a small nod forming while you whisper softly.

".....Yes.."

A satisfied hum sounds from him, a deep tone that makes your skin crawl. He brushes away that fallen tear, not wishing for it to drop upon the floor and go to waste. That hand moves to cup along your jaw in an almost lovingly manner, those haunting eyes finally meeting your teary ones.

"I can help you, little mouse. I can help you overcome your fears. Those voices in your head. If only you would allow me.."

Finally, someone can see the torment you have been dealing with for the past couple of years. Someone who UNDERSTOOD you. A broken sob sounds from you, a quivering hand reaching upward to grasp his wrist tightly, as if he were to disappear like an apparition.

"Please...Please Dr. Lecter..."

He had caught you, those claws sinking into your mind as his smile widened to show pearl teeth.

"You are not alone anymore....not without me."

[aealzx]

Mikey knew that he would never regret saving Leo. All of the damage that had been done to his arms, all the self-inflicted burns ripping through his skin, all the twitches and spasms wrecking his hobbies and daily life were worth it when it came to keeping his brother with them. He knew that someday he would proudly wear the scars that scraped his once smooth skin. He was strong. He could handle something like this.

He knew he could handle this.

But right then, with his network of pain stabbing blades in his arms, burning anger raging even at the air touching the raw skin, he didn’t want to hear it. Not even from his normally confident self.

He just wanted a moment to accept that it sucked. Accept that it hurts. Acknowledge that he hated feeling like there were hot iron cards slotted into his arms. He wanted to rage. And cry. And let himself be selfishly angry as the tiniest breeze prickling his bare nerves.

When Raph found him Mikey had already stripped the bandages from his twitching arms, hoping that would help them stop stinging. It hadn’t made a difference, and now he was stuck standing, staring in seething anguish at his spasming limbs like they had personally offended everything he held dear. Those eyes had shifted to Raph when he was noticed, and the shuddering breaths sucked through clenched teeth, broken by stray hiccups, just caused Raph’s own eyes to soften in sympathy.

Shifting into the room, Raph just raised his own arms and held them open in offering. “C’mere. I got you,” he beckoned quietly. A gentle coax as well as an allowance that Mikey didn’t have to keep himself strong. He could have his moment to break, and Raph would be there to keep a hold of the pieces until he felt well enough to put himself back together.

The hissed breaths soon became shuddering huffs as Mikey’s jaw unclenched along with his iron grip around his figurative self. His response to Raph came as a squeaked whimper that became a drawn out wail as the barrier against the tears broke as well. Mikey barely raised his hands in return, and Raph had enough of an acceptance to motivate him to move forward. He was careful to not touch Mikey’s arms as he wrapped his little brother in his own, pulling him close and letting him sob into his shoulder once more. It was heartbreaking to see Mikey reduced to this state. But Raph knew that sometimes their strongest brother also needed a moment to be weak once and awhile.

_______________

This is a result of me having the thought "Hey, why are you only ever beating up Donnie? e<e" and going "Alright, bet e<e" in response.

[tethered-heartstrings]

There is a very clear difference to how Hannibal commits violence against Will compared to others. Sometimes there is the air of him doing it for pleasure, but often it’s out of necessity, self-preservation. He killed Tobias and Antony to keep his secret, he fought Jack in “Mizumono” to stay alive. While it was “I need to do this”, part of it was “because I want to”, versus with Will it was “I have to”. He didn’t necessarily want to harm Will like he did the others, but he had to protect himself, whether physically from prison or emotionally from betrayal. But there is a hesitancy with violence towards Will because he cares about him. He knows he has to inflict pain, but he wants, needs, that pain to be survivable, tolerable, forgivable. There is a deep-rooted fear that Will may not forgive him. What if this act is the final straw and there is no going back.? Still, it’s a need that cannot be ignored, it has to be done. With tears in his eyes, it must be done. And the only thing he can give amongst all the inevitable suffering is a bit of kindness, a small touch of love. A little token of “please just trust me. Trust that I don’t want to do this, but I have to, and I would do anything else if I could.” Hannibal wants the best for Will and is burdened with dealing him the worst. A violence he knows too intimately, and he has no choice but to extend it to someone he loves. An ache deep in his core spread through a trembling, hesitant touch. One last good brush of skin before the spill of blood. A tuck of hair behind the ear and a plead from his soul that this won’t be the time he loses Will forever.

So when Will forgives him in the catacombs, it’s a relief that yes, he was forgiven, he didn’t lose him. But a bitter ache crawled up from his mending heart knowing he had to eat him, and it’d be final. There would be no Will Graham left to forgive him. The least he could do is extend that love once more. Tend to his wounds, hold him, pet his hair, feed him, make it so Will doesn’t feel too much pain. And when it all falls to pieces, he is left in limbo awaiting Will’s forgiveness, hoping against all odds that he could turn back time and go back to a place where they were okay again. But it was the final straw. Will didn’t want him. Will wouldn’t miss him like he’d miss Will. Years and distance separate them, but it could never fully rip them apart. Because at the end of it all Will forgave him. Wanted him. Chose him. Loved him. Despite all the violence and bloodshed and tears, it was all worth it if it meant ending up in each other’s arms. To be the last thing the others feels with no more time left to worry about forgiveness because he will have it for eternity.

[carolzukii]

Ren hana obsessed

Analyzing ren hana

I've been thinking so much about ren hana this Past days, I just love lots how his character works, the several trauma he got to bare thanks to strade and the way he turned out years after makes so much sense to me!

I'm not a psychology student, but my brother graduated as a psychologyst and I have gotten to know myself better thanks to therapy (lol, still have lots to discover)

BUT THAT'S EXACTLY IT.

When you're going through a traumatic event, or got pass it, is like your mind resets, in an attempt to get over it our mind re-makes a puzzle to keep us alive, is a dramatic way to write about it, but it is true.

In ren case, he already had things to carry in the back of his psyche, the little or non existent love her mom gave him, and the rejection his clan had gotten him through, since he is a human-beast kind, and they got repulsed by humans .

We all need love to "live", to have a motivation, to have a reaction,to grow with tools that we can use in new stages of our lives, but little ren almost had non of that.

So when Strade found him and kidnapped him, he twisted his thoughts into thinking that the pain that strade Inflicted on him for his own satisfaction was love, after all he was the only one ren had, at least we can see his thoughts go that way in btd1 and 2,yet that writting can change lots in gatobob's new game ykmet, but I'm writing this with that I can take.

He obviously got Stockholm syndrome as result of having to stay with stade for God knows how much, and yet left him to die when he was left out to bleed.

In the back of his mind, he knew he deserved it, but did nothing in a shock.

Ren after that, was and felt severely lonely, proof of that is having too much time talking with strangers, and finding solance seeing gore (snuff, strade homemade videos) because it somehow sticked a sense of nostalgia and the obvious morbid liking he had gotten from it firstly because he is not human, and Secondly because his way of seeing things after too much blood, abuse of strade, and assassination sighting ,was a blow to his psyche.

He got to know lawrence, he also knew he had an attraction to blood, and he wanted him to be his new companion, but we stepped in and that's another story.

Our decisions really affect how ren ends making up the puzzle on his mind, letting the feeling of power to guide him, or finding a way he can grow up as a person with a little of help (sadly this isn't canon in tpof as we could see)

The feeling of power.. The rush of having a life in your hands, the excitement and the soft embrace of the voice that whispers in his ear that he won't be hurt anymore.. That he was the control..

Was the only left piece of the puzzle that he needed to find true solance...

In a path filled with blood,but not his anymore.. He is now strong.

Also I have to say if I were to give a psychological diagnosis to ren(this is not exact of course, I'm nota professional, but at least I could imagine what were MY diagnosis before even getting them in a paper, lol)

I'd list him with:

Bpd-Borderline personality disorder

why?, because I think he fears abandonment as a result of what he has been through his emotions just flows if you're not giving him the answer he wants, and the first escene we have in btd2 when he escaped the bar just leaves me thinking, he felt anxious or overthinked about doing the kidnapping or not after we stepped in or he felt like he wasn't supposed to be there (very much the same)

Depression [I can't tell the level of this at all]

(I think is pretty self explanatory)

Anxiety disorder [I can't tell the level of this either]

Ptsd-Post traumatic stress disorder

(I forgot to write this at first, but it is pretty self explanatory, some words and actions we as a player make, trigger him, and makes him to take different actions, from feeling anxious and scared of us, to kill us or hurt us)

And other diagnosis that are derived from lack of empathy, he is very very unstable ofc just as our other beloved psychos ♥️

Oh and anime and anime girls, they're just so cute, I'm pretty sure he has lots of comfort characters >

(well I don't think I wrote something most of the fandom didn't knew, but well.. I think I wanted to share a little of my thoughts even if no one is going to read this lololol, also English is not my first language so writting this is like training, my grammar is ofc not the best sorry!)

[a-court-of-lust-and-stardust]

Rain

My contribution to @elriel-month. This is just something I decided to whip up for my friends and other folks to read. Ever since joining the fandom in December 2023, I've met so many kindhearted Elriel fans that I wanted to give back to. This little piece is probably best for the Choice prompt. (Yes, I'm late. Sue me.) Go easy on me please, as I haven't written for a fandom in years lol.

*Inspired by the song Rain by Sleep Token, who I just know Azriel would be a fan of*

Word Count: 1.5k

*Divider by @tsunami-of-tears* (Check out their blog and other pretty dividers!!)

Pain. Blood. Torture. Death. 

For the better part of five hundred years, Azriel has been subjected to unfathomable horrors, the kinds that would no doubt break a human male’s spirit. As the Night Court’s stealthy spymaster and feared shadowsinger, it’s been his job to inflict unendurable pain upon the bodies of his enemies. He spills their traitorous blood and tortures them into the long hours of the night until they have no choice but to finally succumb to death’s sweet song. 

It’s become a routine, so much so that the panicked screams and the precise slicing of his most prized dagger feel like second nature. He doesn’t blink as they plead for their lives. He doesn’t flinch as crimson liquid splatters across his cheeks, in his hair, down his hands. He takes away life as easily as the Mother creates it. And just as Rhysand has perfected the mask of the High Lord, Azriel has mastered his own cruel, stoic front. 

On nights like tonight, however, Azriel questions if he truly does have a mask, or if the centuries spent brutally maiming wolves in sheep's skin has turned him into an irreparable monster. The voices in his head are loud enough to wake creatures that have been asleep for hundreds of years, and a long flight around Velaris does nothing to silence them. Even the shadows at his shoulders swirl in agitation as the words replay on a loop in his mind. 

Killer. 

Bastard. 

Good for nothing. 

Irredeemable. 

Unworthy. 

It is only until he gently opens the front door to his home that he feels some kind of relief. The kitchen smells like jasmine and banana bread, courtesy of the warm loaf cooling down on the marble countertop. A cozy heat burns from the stone fireplace, and the lights in every room are dimmed to a soft glow. And he only permits himself to breathe when his hazel eyes connect with the beautiful brown ones that belong to the most exquisite female he’s ever had the pleasure of calling his. 

Elain Archeron. His love. His lifeline. His Mother-given solace. 

She rises from the sofa, setting aside her book and abandoning the treat she’d been munching on to stand before him. He doesn’t move or speak as her eyes drink him in, observing the blood on his leathers and assessing for visible injuries. Satisfied with the lack of wounds, Elain gives him a small smile and gently reaches for his hand, guiding him into the bathroom. 

Hot steam and the scent of eucalyptus fill the air as Elain turns on the shower. It was the first renovation they’d wanted for their home, a bathing stall large enough to accommodate the both of them, along with the width of Illyrian wings. 

Azriel watches as Elain delicately works the soiled leathers down his body. Her brows furrow slightly at a few small gashes along his chest and side, but before she can fret, his thumb rubs away the tension from the crease. 

“I’m okay,” he says. He means it, too. Her presence has always been a comfort for him. All he’s ever felt around her was peace, something he never thought he would find let alone deserve. On nights where his thoughts run rampant, a soft smile is enough to break the vicious cycle of self criticism. 

Her lips quirk, not fully believing him. Azriel may be the spymaster who can conceal his emotions with ease, but Elain had effortlessly clocked the haunted look in his eyes when he’d first crossed the threshold. “Physically, yes. But I worry more about what goes on up here,” She taps his temple twice. “What can I do to help?” 

Elain’s perception astonishes him. Her ability to pick up the subtle changes in his voice or mood has only grown sharper the longer they’ve been together. Their quiet understanding of each other is something neither one will ever take for granted. To be loved is to be seen, to be wholly understood, and they’ve never taken their eyes off each other since the moment they met. 

But his thoughts were a bit too loud tonight, and the last thing Azriel ever wants is for Elain to worry. And so he says, “You’ve done more than enough already, my love, by simply being here with me. Let me wash, and then I’ll read with you, hm?” With a chaste kiss to her forehead, Azriel enters the shower and slides the door closed. 

Searing water pelts his skin when he steps underneath the shower head hanging from the ceiling. The droplets feel like rain, cleansing him of every violent act he willingly committed in the last several hours as part of his duty to the court. Hands braced against the wall, he silently watches the bloody water race down his body and swirl around the drain. His eyes flutter momentarily, allowing the heat to soak into his aching muscles. 

Behind him, a soft palm latches onto his bicep, turning him from the wall. Elain stands before him, wet and gloriously naked, with a bottle of shampoo in her other hand. She waits for his permission, letting her back hit the cool tile as he cages her against the opposite wall. When he nods, eyes never breaking from hers, she lathers the shampoo in her hands. 

“What are you thinking about?” Elain probes gently, delicate fingers working the soap into his hair. Azriel can’t stop himself from leaning into her touch, allowing her to take care of him in the way only she knows how. 

After a long moment, he whispers hoarsely, “Sometimes I wonder if this is who I am. That this job…this life…that in trying to rid the world of evil, I’ve become it.” His throat bobs once as a few tears slip down his cheeks. “Some days the thoughts are louder than others. Tonight they were relentless.” 

Elain listens intently, switching to a bar of soap to clean his chest, his arms, his back and legs, and finally his wings. All he can do is gaze at this beautiful female as he pours his heart out. He’s never been a man of many words, but Elain makes him want to talk forever. To share his joy, his pain. His hopes and fears. To shed his armor and bare his soul to her. 

“When I came home,” he breathes, fingers moving from the wall to trail down her cheek, her neck. Her skin flushes, and not from the heat of the water. Azriel chuckles softly. “All it took was one look from you and my head went quiet. The power you hold, Elain…not a single person in this world has ever been able to do what you’ve done for me.” 

She’s trying to focus on his words, the love that fills them, but gasps a breath as his hand skims down the side of her breast, warmth building in her core. He can scent it, she knows, by the way his nose flares slightly. “And how exactly do I look at you?” 

The corners of his lips twitch upward, palm finally resting against her hip. He tugs her closer so their chests touch, never wanting to have even a sliver of space between them. “Like I’m worthy,” he answers. “Of love and happiness and everything in between. All things that I’ve found once you waltzed into my life and chose me.” 

A choice that he would never truly believe was real, if only considering it a beautiful dream. 

A choice that Elain had made with such unwavering conviction, it had brought him to tears. 

A choice that allowed them to love each other openly, for the rest of their existence. 

“You’ve always been worthy, Azriel,” Elain says, mouth ghosting over his own as her hands tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Your job is not who you are. You put on a mask and play a role, just like we all do. And underneath that mask, is the most gentle, kind-hearted, beautiful male. Choosing you was the easiest decision of my life because you made it easy, just by being who you are. And I will continue to choose you until my last breath.” 

He lets the tears fall freely now because vulnerability has never been something to shy away from, not with her. She tenderly wipes the tears with her thumbs, holding his face with a gentleness that shatters his heart.   

“I’ve waited for you for a very long time, Elain, to the point where I almost gave up on finding any semblance of love or joy or tranquility,” Azriel says truthfully. The sheer longing in his bright hazel eyes tugs on her heart strings. 

“Well, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, handsome,” She replies playfully through a wet laugh, bumping her nose against his as tears mix with water. “But I hope you know that I would choose you in every single lifetime, no matter what. You are so completely mine, Azriel.” 

He kisses her. He kisses her hard and long and fierce, claiming her mouth with a passion solely reserved for her alone. His arms slide underneath her thighs, laughing quietly at her brief shriek as he lifts her against the wall, one hand gripping her wrists against the tile above her head. The wicked smile she flashes his way is as stunning as a sunflower field in springtime, and the only thought now in his mind is how utterly thankful he is for the beautiful female in front of him. 

“And you, Elain Archeron, are so completely mine.”

[puppyudderly-dreamy]

i feel a little sad that i transitioned publicly and with zeal partially through no fault of my own (a friend i talked to outed me to my family behind my back) but also just through ignorance. i had very little knowledge of trans people let alone trans women. the only trans person i knew was my transmasc friend who came out to me and opened the doors of possibility for me. i had obviously internalized my societies transmisogyny but i wasn't conscious of it enough to act on it intentionally, like by fearing leaving the closet.

this was all back in 2015 too, the last decade has been a massive uptick in the visibility of trans women, mostly negatively, but back then i had less idols less visible sisters and no community. i was the only public trans person in my high school, i had babytrans underclassmen looking up to me even though i was still just as much a kid as they were. it felt so rough and messy and like i was being treated like a test run by the people around me, but very few times did i question what i was or harbor hatred for my transfemininity and i think that's mostly because of my lack of knowledge.

i've learned so much since then and i think if i knew all this when i was a scared little kid, still coping with my disabilities and sexual abuse, the idea of leaving the closet would have been the most cosmically terrifying thing in the world. even just experiencing it in ignorance i hated my visibility, i hated being treated like i should be a leader by cis and trans people, like i was emblematic of a monolith that i ostensibly felt not a part of since i didn't meet a single other transfem in real life until i cracked one of my friends egg. basically i really see the fear and loneliness that can be in the closet because my experience really was terrible and messed up a lot of my developing years, but i wouldn't trade it for anything. i would rather live as a woman and pick up the pieces of my life to build it all over again day after day than still be lying in bed planning the day i die ripping holes in my skin in hopes that all the pain might stop the yearning i felt for what i had no understanding of.

basically i have a lot of love and sympathy for transfems in the closet, but i also never intend to let them stay there. that miserable limbo is a construct of our society, an unspoken punishment inflicted unfairly on my sisters that they should never have had to endure. for however long any transfem stays in the closet, for any valid reason that they need to, i support them and love them, but i weep for them anyway and hope the day they feel safe and loved and like themselves will come. not because i want to push them out of the closet but because they never should've been placed there to begin with. it feels like a voluntary act, but if you Know the closet and what waits right outside its door, you know it's a prison and you don't ever truly get to choose when or how you leave

[oneshotnewbie]

Would you be okay with writing a Maya x Carina x daughter!reader?

Maybe a sick fic or some comfort

ᕚ---ᕘ

The first thing you felt was pain as unbearable as a thousand jackhammers smashing in your skull from the inside and pinning you to the ground. You could not even open your eyes, your lids heavy. Your mouth was dry, even after several liters of tea you had already consumed for your sore throat that felt like the desert and its sharply cutting sand. Your limbs completely cramped and heavy.

A cold breeze blew around your stomach, only a light wool blanket draped over your body to keep you warm and protected. But with every movement you tried to take, the coldness inside increased and made you shiver violently. You felt weak and feverish. "Honey, you gotta take this" a soft voice whispered and you slowly opened your eyes and blinked in confusion to adjust to the unusually bright and diffused light.

Your mother, Maya, was kneeling on a piece of crumpled bedspread on the floor, looking worriedly at your pale face before placing her hand on your forehead to feel the temperature while smiling sympathetically. Slowly and carefully not to inflict yourself even more pain, you peeked at her hand. In it, she held a small bottle that should bring you relief, the label with various herbs telling you that it had to be medication. "This will help bring down your fever."

You rolled your eyes suspiciously, not caring about the accompanying pain for a brief second. It was the most disgusting drug you have ever had to take in your life and your mothers knew full well that you hated it. However, it was the only thing that always helped you get back on your feet and get fit. "Ew, I do not want that."

"Eppure lo prenderai, bella." (And yet you have to take it) said the gynecologist who had appeared behind you and strolled across the entire living room to open the window and ventilate the room. She returned with a tray containing a freshly set teapot, a new cup and a plate of rusks. Carina carefully poured a cup of steaming chamomile tea and placed it on the table next to the couch before taking a rusk in her hands and breaking it into small pieces so that you could eat it more easily.

You pushed your head softly back into the pillow and pressed your back against the edge of the couch. Quickly, you grabbed the blanket and pulled it over your head. You heard a giggling from your side and within a few seconds, it was gently pulled back down. Two loving pairs of eyes met your flushed face. "I do not want to take this, it tastes disgusting."

Maya and Carina looked at you intently. The brunette gently strokes your tousled hair and whispers soothing words while the blonde already dripped the brown liquid onto a tablespoon. Frowning, you looked between both of them with puppy eyes, but even they no longer attracted them. The firefighter extended her arm and placed the edge of the spoon against your lip, waiting for you to accept it.

You knew it was high time to take the medication before they would take you to the hospital. Besides, you were lucky that your throat was so sore you could barely taste the bitterness. Still, you struggled with the slimy texture and wrinkled your nose as a defensive stance. Panting, you flop back onto the sofa. "Throat lozenges would have worked too,"

"No they would not," both chuckled. Maya rose from her position and bent down to kiss you gently on the forehead. With quick steps she hurried away to let the used cutlery disappear into the sink while Carina helped you eat the rusks while smiling lovingly at you. She quietly told you a story about her childhood in Italy with her little brother to make you forget the fever and the pain.

Without further ado, she carefully picked up your legs and dropped down next to you, your legs now resting on her lap. "Would you like me to warm you some soup?" the blonde called questioningly from the open kitchen, waiting for your answer. But the answer did not come, instead you grimaced sharply and hastily shook your head."I think your daughter is saying no,"

"It is your daughter too, Carina."

"Yes, but she definitely inherited the stubbornness from you," exhausted, you snuggled deeper into the blanket and tried to make the slightly bizarre taste in your mouth disappear. Tiredness, which you had so wonderfully repressed until now, slowly returned to your body. You tried desperately to shake it off but not a shred was averted. "Are you cold, mi amore?"

You nodded and the brunette felt you tremble under her touch. "I am freezing." She was worried, you had already been couch-locked for two days, the flu ravaging you and sapping your energy without any progress towards improvement. "Maya, can you bring another blanket. Please?"

"It is already on the way," the woman addressed made her way straight to the bedroom, occasionally taking a look into the living room. Your eyes fluctuated between half open and closed and if she was lucky, she would be able to spend a short time with you before you would fall into a deep, sound sleep once again. "And a hot water bottle?"

You had been in and out of sleep for days, barely awake for a few hours before your body shut down completely once again. On the one hand this was good, your body trying to beat this miserable disease. On the other hand, you had hardly eaten anything or moved from your place for days.

The headache slowly subsided, just as your cramped limbs became looser. For a few minutes you listened to the streams of sounds spreading through the apartment as you lost your thoughts. You kept feeling like you were on the verge of falling asleep until you opened your eyes again.

Eventually you gave up and totally surrendered to the feeling.

Just then, the firefighter came back into the center of the apartment and looked at her sleeping daughter. "Oh, she fell asleep?" she murmured and carefully draped the second blanket over you. She carefully placed the hot water bottle under the blanket and found its place on your stomach. The brunette raised an eyebrow and hesitated with her answer before she leaned forward and looked into your sleeping face. "Yes, the medication always makes her quite sleepy."

Smiling and silent, she sat down on the other sofa element and gently placed a hand on your head. She carefully stroked your hair and looked at the screen of the television, on which she concentrated on until you woke up once more. Maya had no intention of leaving your side.

[carnalhaus]

Not sure if you’ve ever mentioned this before, but I was wondering how Praline feels about her scars? You said she cut that Glasgow smile impulsively & for attention when she was 16, but now that time has passed, I wonder if it’s something she’s insecure about, or it’s just another thing she uses make others feel sympathetic toward her. Or does she just not care at all?

that is a good question, and i think before we examine that, we should think about how she views self harm in general, and we can use the context of the last piece i posted.

in reference to “wrists are for girls (do me in),” i mentioned in the tags that it’s from jude’s pov. a lot of people have mistaken it for sexual objectification, and it’s honestly intentionally meant to be misinterpreted that way, but in actuality, he’s looking at “inside parts.” parts that are easily hidden, usually used for self harm, easily accessible but easily concealable. there’s a contrast of those completely clean inside parts, and the big self inflicted scar on her face. indirectly, along with the title, it’s a sort of comment on how praline views and practices self harm. praline cannot harm herself in ways she views as “pussy-ish,” at least not consciously. she’s very extreme in her self destruction, and doesn’t allow herself to feel pain quietly, because she has a very black and white world view.

she turns her nose up at people who she views as not having enough conviction. she thinks if you really want to hurt yourself, then stop being a pussy and do it where it matters, because you want people to see anyway. similarly, she thinks if someone has to be killed, you kill them. this very black and white thinking pops up often in her philosophies and daily decisions, and is often used as a shield to comfort herself. obviously this thinking is very skewed and incorrect because she’s an extremely unstable and cruel individual, but i feel like i shouldn’t have to explicitly say that lol.

but onto her feelings on the scar itself, i think it’s a little complicated. she likes that it makes people look at her, give her attention, and ask questions. sometimes she tells the truth, because she can be very brutally honest and talk about her traumatic experiences as if they’re nothing, or when she’s extra bored she might make up a big story about a horrible accident. simultaneously, i think she also hates that it’s not enough to turn people away from her. in general, praline inwardly feels very smothered by her natural appearance. to a degree, the scar on her face was her way of permanently controlling her appearance so people would look at something else. or, on the other hand, that people could look past her appearance altogether. it’s a much deeper complex for her where she constantly seeks attention and will act out without it, while often feeling disgusting and angry once she receives it. she doesn’t understand herself, and she doesn’t want to examine it. praline has a lot of complex and conflicting thoughts that might seem to clash at times, but that’s because humans are inherently contradictory things.

she does cover it up with makeup sometimes, but i think it’s less of being ashamed of it and more of convenience and mild annoyance. sometimes it doesn’t match her outfit. if anything else, she covers it because she often thinks it’s useless in deterring people anyway.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sugar Mama Chapter 5

Summary: Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by.  The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight.  Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love.  She has a proposition for him.  bucky barnes x curvy!reader Warnings: smut, sexual assault (not from Bucky)

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John Walker of Walker Star Construction was arrested this morning at his Hell’s Kitchen apartment for sexual assault and inflicting bodily harm against Wall Street heiress Y/N Y/L/N.  Allegedly during a business meeting Walker made Y/L/N a drink, slipping a roofie drug into it called GHB.  He then allegedly assaulted her and tried to get her to sign a business contract they were discussing about her becoming an investor.  He has pleaded not guilty and will be held in the county jail until the bond hearing.

***

The next few months were rough on Y/N.  The hearing and the trial took an emotional toll, and the bright, lighthearted, charismatic woman Bucky had been falling in love with was hidden under pain, anger and anxiety.  She didn’t want to leave the apartment, go out to the parties or events she was invited to, or interact with anyone other than Bucky.  Her father had visited her a few times, not questioning Bucky as the new “boyfriend,” trying to offer support as best as he could.

It wasn’t until John Walker had been sentenced that she finally seemed to wake up from the funk she was in.  The sentencing wasn’t enough, in Bucky’s opinion, but the law only gave him 2 years in jail and a fine.  A protective order was also in place.  This, including the therapist she had been visiting, helped her come back into herself a bit more.  Although now she texted Bucky often about her whereabouts, who she was with, and when he could expect her to get home as a precaution, and it made her feel better that someone knew what was going on with her.

Steve’s art gallery showing was coming up and she didn’t want to miss it but was feeling a lot of anxiety over being around people again.

“You won’t be alone, Y/N, I’ll be there with you the whole time.  I’ll go to the bathroom with you if you need it,” Bucky tried to joke about it to lighten her mood.

“I know you’ll be with me, Buck.  I just…” Y/N sighed loudly.  “I’m going.  I will be there to support Steve, be friendly, make polite conversation, then we’ll leave.  Sound good?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bucky agreed, giving her arms a squeeze.  

On the night of the gallery show Y/N was stressed but hid it behind her signature smirk she wore when out at events.  Bucky could tell by the tightness of her eyes that she was wary, watching people and each verbal interaction making her feel tense, but she soldiered on.  Steve greeted everyone and introduced his collection to a round of applause.  He thanked Y/N for her support and investment into his art and she promised him more shows in the future.  The pieces were beautiful, a collage of portraits of people with Brooklyn sights embedded in their silhouettes, the underlying cobalt blue paint a running theme throughout the works.  

As Bucky walked along looking at them, beaming with pride for his best friend, he came across a few pieces that were flecked with gold.  They were portraits of people he knew and were close to Steve: Peggy, Steve’s mother, Bucky’s mother, Bucky and Y/N.  He stared at the portrait of his mother, feeling emotional over just how well Steve was able to capture what she looked like.  

“You have her eyes.  And her mouth,” Y/N commented as she gazed up at it.  

“Hm,” Bucky agreed.  He then moved over to the portrait of Y/N.  Steve had done a phenomenal job at recreating her likeness.  Her portrait had a little more gold in it than the others.

“Mine looks a little too ostentatious,” Y/N said, her eyebrows furrowing.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked incredulously.  

“I love the gold, but it makes me look…”

“Rich?  Because you are,” he laughed.

“Yes but that’s not all I am,” she retorted.  “Gold is extravagance, wealth, gaudy.”

“Sure, but it’s also beautiful, enduring, valuable even in its malleability.  It doesn’t tarnish.  It’s bold.  It’s everything that everyone sees in you.  What I see in you,” he mumbled into her ear, “Mama.”

Y/N hummed back at him, her eyes meeting him with a mischievous sparkle.  “You’ve been very flirty lately, baby.  Is there something you want to tell me?”

Bucky’s eyes widened, but before he could answer Steve walked up to them.  “Hey you two!  I hope you like these.  It was pretty hard to really get it right with all of you.”

“They’re beautiful, Steve,” Y/N reassured him, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.  “Your mothers are exquisite,” she added, looking at the portraits next to hers.  “And Peggy is a vision,” she complimented her portrait.  “Where is she, by the way?”

“She got caught up talking to the mayor again, trying to talk to him about more resources and funding and what not,” Steve sighed, shaking his head but smiling at his girlfriend’s constant networking.

“Ah, well let me go save him,” Y/N joked, giving them both a wink.  “Steve, I’d like to buy some of these from you.  Talk to me later, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Steve looked at her excitedly.  She gave him a wide smile then walked away.

“Buck,” Steve pulled his friend in for a hug, “I’m sorry I ever doubted you doing this sugar baby thing.”

“Yeah, sure, cuz it’s helping you, too,” Bucky teased him.

“Yes, that’s a big part of it.  But also because she’s awesome,” Steve congratulated him.  “Seriously, Y/N is great.  I’m sorry I doubted her.  Did she like the gold?” he gestured towards her painting.

“She wasn’t sure about it at first, but she’s okay now,” he said.  “I think it’s amazing, Steve.  All of it.  I’m really proud of you,” Bucky clapped him on his shoulder.

“Thanks punk,” Steve said shyly.  “It’s weird talking to all these big name people.  Does it ever get any easier?”

“No,” Bucky laughed.  “I’m still working on it.”

Later that night after Y/N had bought all the portraits of the people they knew and they arrived home, they changed and relaxed on the couch with a bottle of wine between them.

“You did it!” Bucky cheered as Y/N sipped her wine.  

She giggled as she set her glass down.  “Yes, I did it.  And it wasn’t too bad,” Y/N conceded as she angled her body to face him.  “And I got some more amazing artwork to add to my collection,” she smiled at the paintings piled in the corner.

“Where are you going to put them?” Bucky asked.

“Well, this is as much your home as it is mine, Buck, we can figure it out in the morning,” she said as she looked out the window, admiring the glittering skyline.

Bucky smiled at that.  It still felt like hers, but he felt good knowing she wanted him to feel like they shared it.  He recalled the conversation they were having earlier before they got cut off by Steve.  

“Y/N,” he started.  She turned her attention back to him.  “Earlier you asked me if there was something I wanted to tell you?”

“Oh, yes, about you being so flirty lately,” she teased him.

“Yeah,” he huffed out a laugh.  “Um, I’m not sure how to uh…”

Y/N’s face contorted into something like concern.  She scooted herself closer to him on the couch, her hand reaching for one of his.  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, nothing’s wrong.  I was just thinking about how in the beginning I asked you about whether this would be a um, sexual relationship,” he said, keeping his eyes down.

“I remember,” Y/N said patiently.  

“Well I, uh…during these last few months I’ve been starting to have these thoughts, and feelings, about maybe wanting to go ahead and um, do that,” he stuttered.  “I just didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you when the whole thing happened with…”  Y/N shifted at the mention of Walker.  “But, I’ve…” he finally looked up at her.  She had a small smirk on her face, her attention fully on him.  “I want…”

Y/N’s smile widened.  “What do you want, baby?”  She moved closer to him so her face was an inch away from his face.

Bucky could feel his face shift to something like pure want, his eyes flickering to her lips, his mouth hanging open.  “I want…you.”

“Me?” she whispered, her hand moving from his hand to his arm, leaving a tingling sensation as her nails slowly tickled their way up to his neck then his jaw, giving his beard a light scratch and her thumb ghosting across his lower lip.  Bucky shivered at her touch, nodding his head heavily as he shut his eyes.

“Please, Mama,” he whimpered.  

Y/N surged forward and kissed him.  Bucky felt like he was imploding as her lips met his, soft but firm against him, her hand cupping his jaw and her head angling to the side as she deepened the kiss.  Bucky melted into her, his hands reaching behind her neck to keep her against him, fingers entangling in her hair.  Y/N’s breathing became heavier as she shifted again to straddle his lap, her thick thighs and her core enveloping him.  Bucky moaned as she sat on him, his hands slipping from her neck down to her hips.  As his fingers dug into the plushy skin of her hips she let out a whimper of her own, making him intake a sharp breath.  He wanted to die to that sound.  

Y/N opened her mouth, her tongue slipping out and brushing against his lower lip.  Bucky immediately opened his mouth, his tongue meeting hers as they tasted each other.  She softly sucked on his tongue, making his hips buck up into her.  She huffed a laugh against his lips.

“How do you want me, baby?” Y/N asked as she ground down on his lap, making his hips tremble.

“God, just like this, Mama,” Bucky grunted, his hands guiding her to keep grinding on him.  

Y/N tugged her shirt off, revealing her breasts to him.  His hands rushed to her chest, 

massaging her large breasts and then dipping his head to start kissing and licking them.  Her hands latched onto his hair as he worshiped her skin.  She then pulled at his shirt, helping him rid himself of it and throwing it across the room.  Her hands raked down his shoulders to his pecs then his abs, stopping at the top of his pants.  “Off,” she huffed.  Bucky quickly shifted himself so she could drag down his pants and his underwear, freeing his cock from the confining fabric.  He kicked off the bottoms as she shimmied out the rest of her clothes then sat back on top of him, her naked pussy slotting over his cock, grinding on him and making him feel dizzy with arousal.

“So pretty, baby,” Y/N praised him, her hand snaking down to her pussy and flicking and rubbing her clit as she ground down on him.  “Such a pretty dick.  You gonna fill me up?” Bucky nodded his head deliriously, his hands kneading her thighs and trying to guide her hips so he could try to angle himself into her.  “Well go on, baby, give it to me.  Give me my dick.”

“Fuck yes!  Yours, all yours,” Bucky threw his head back as he could feel her pussy start leaking on him.  He took his cock and positioned himself upwards towards her hips.  Y/N helped him by swiveling until the tip caught on her entrance then slowly sunk down.  They both groaned as she enveloped him.  Y/N gasped when he bottomed out, the stretch and the depth making her squirm on top of him.  She took a moment to adjust then repositioned her legs so she could lift herself up on her feet then sink back down.  As she gave that first roll of her hips Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head, a silent “O” on his lips.  Y/N rolled her hips then started bobbing herself up and down on him.  

“You feel so good, baby…fuck you’re so deep,” Y/N moaned.  Her hands used his shoulders to grip onto something as she kept going up and down, occasionally and randomly sitting and rolling her hips against him.  Bucky felt like his veins were on fire, the pleasure steadily building.  “Ooh, Bucky…”

Hearing his name coming from her mouth that way unleashed something inside him.  He suddenly twisted so Y/N was on her back on the couch.  She gasped in surprise as his arm hooked under her hips and held her up as he reentered her.  He grunted as he pistoned into her, setting a grueling pace, sweat forming on his brow as he fucked her.

“Say I’m yours,” Bucky commanded in a raspy whisper.  

“You’re mine, baby,” Y/N answered him, her eyes wide at his change in demeanor.  “All mine.”

“That’s right,” he almost choked as he felt her walls start to flutter around him.  “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Bucky, all yours…your Mama,” Y/N moaned, her back arching as he hit a new spot inside of her.  “Baby please…”

“Mine,” he whimpered again.  He used his free hand to reach between them and start flicking at her clit.  Y/N’s voice cracked as she yelped.  “Mine…my sweet Mama.  So good to me,” the pitch of his voice rising quickly, then just as quickly dropping, “Mama.”

Y/N whimpered as she came, her fingers digging into his biceps as her legs tightened around his back, her head wrenching back as she saw white.  Bucky followed right behind her, a loud groan falling from his lips as he kept thrusting into her and filled her up like she wanted.  He kept flicking her clit as she flinched through the aftershocks of her climax until she pushed his hand away.

“No more, baby, I can’t…” she whined, her hands limply falling beside her as he stayed inside her and gently laid himself on top of her.

“Oh my god,” Bucky shuddered as his body relaxed.  He laid himself on top of her, his head nuzzling her chest and giving her breasts random kisses, his softening cock slipping out of her as they both tried to breathe normally.  Y/N ran her hands through his hair, absentmindedly humming a tune as she relaxed.  “And you can sing?  God, Mama, what are you doing to me?”  Bucky huffed a laugh as he looked up at her.

Y/N giggled.  “I don’t know how good of a singer I am but I can hold a tune,” she booped his nose with her finger, making his smile widen.  She gave him a smirk.  “You were so good, baby.  So good at making me feel good.  My best baby…”

Bucky could feel himself beaming at her praise.  He snuggled closer to her and hummed, making her laugh.  “Mama…my Y/N.”  She kissed the top of his head and he started humming the same tune she had been before.  She joined him a moment later as she ran her fingers through his hair, softly singing along.  

@vicmc624 @mega-kittyglitter-1 @jtink27 @jenniferpendragon @redbloodedgurl

**just one more chapter after this!

[jellalism]

Noel x Reader: Taking care of his sick darling (Erotica)

Headcanons of what Noel would be like when you're sick.

Word count: 864 words

Genre: Comfort/horror (depending on the reader), erotica

Reader’s gender and sex: Gender neutral. Sex neutral.

Content warnings: Yandere and all that that entails; sexual content.

Notes: Noel is an OC of @devotion-disorder. The art in the banner is also by them! I didn't originally mean to write smut, but it turned out that about a third of the fic is sexual. Whoops.

Read below or on AO3.

When you’re sick, there is a part of Noel that secretly enjoys it. Although he doesn’t want to see you suffer—unless he’s the one inflicting the pain—he loves getting to take care of you, all frail-looking and weak. He makes sure you stay in bed all day, and only get up to go to the bathroom. When he’s not with you, he locks the bedroom door from the outside, so that you can’t walk around the house without his permission.

Food and drinks, he’ll bring to you. He makes eating as easy as possible for you: he doesn’t just bring you fruit, he cuts it into bite-sized pieces first. He also feeds you. At first, you tell him that you can handle that much yourself. But he insists: “No, you need to rest, and you need to stay warm. So keep your hands under the blanket, honey.” You don’t have the energy to argue with him, so you just let him. Part of you doesn’t even mind. You feel miserable with this sickness, so maybe it’s not that bad being doted on…? Just for a little while, at least.

Noel’s feelings about you only grow stronger every day that you’re bed-bound. He thinks you’re adorable, all bundled up in the blankets; so vulnerable, so delicate. More than ever, he feels that only he is allowed around you; other people are dangerous. It’s for your own safety, of course! “I’ll keep you safe… just trust me,” he mutters, sitting by your bedside as you are asleep. He desperately wants to play with your hair, but he doesn’t want to wake you. So, he stays his hand as he keeps watch over you for hours while your unconscious body is fighting the disease.

A bonus for you is that he does not want to have sex as long as you aren’t feeling well. That said, if your sickness takes more than three days, he needs to let off steam somehow. So, during one of your daytime naps, he’ll sit at your bedside and start masturbating to your defenseless figure. God, how he’d love to fuck you hard again, and see that sweet, innocent, and delicate face beneath him. Fantasizing like this, he cums hard.

One time, his cum shoots out so hard that some of it ends up on your face. He sighs in relief when he realizes it didn’t wake you. But when he wipes the sperm off with his finger, your eyes flutter open. That’s when he loses it. You had his cum on your face, and now your sleepy, defenseless face is looking up at him while he’s naked. He lays down next to you and starts masturbating. When you want to look away, he forbids it and forcibly makes sure you keep facing him. “Look at me. See how hard I am for you? God, I wish I could wreck that little hole of yours again. When you’re all better, you’re in for a real treat.” Noel allows you to close your eyes, but you can’t close your ears. Seeing you so close to him and knowing you can hear all his dirty talk turns him on even more. He changes his position: now, he’s sitting on his knees with your body in between, his crotch close to your face. “You can sleep if you want, y/n,” he says with a grin. You close your eyes and try to sleep, but it’s difficult when you hear his fapping so close to your face. After a few minutes, he starts breathing heavily; he must be getting close. With a moan, he ejaculates, and you feel his cum all over your face. “You look so good right now. You’re mine, baby.”

While he would prefer to stay by your side every second of the day, he still has to stream—it is how he earns money, after all. He does it a little differently from usual. As long as you’re sick, he only plays single-player games, so that he can pause whenever he likes. He placed a baby cam in the bedroom, which he keeps an eye on during the stream. Whenever you call for him, he will immediately go to you. Sometimes, seeing you on that little screen just isn’t enough, and he’ll pause to check in on you physically. He needs to know for sure that you’re still asleep, and if you’re not, if you need anything. He knows you won’t call for him unless you really want something or need to go to the bathroom. So going to you on his own accord and checking in with you tends to be more effective; after a little encouragement, you’ll admit that, yes, you would like some tea, fruit, or crackers.

Noel mentioned on his stream that he will go AFK every so often to check in on his beloved partner, who is sick. The chat thinks it’s adorable that he is such a doting boyfriend, and some people even express the wish that Noel was their boyfriend instead. However, Noel is resolute: “I love you all, but none of you stand a chance. y/n is the only one for me.”