#it's genuinely hard for me to not talk about it

[novascharms]

calming angry rafe down..... i NEEEEEED himmmm asdfghjkl

“wanna talk about it?” you ask softly, leaning toward him, your hopeful gaze searching his face.

he shakes his head faintly, eyes closing as he rests his head back against the seat. “nothing to talk about. just topper being topper—trying to get me to break his fucking kneecaps.” his tone is flat, but the undercurrent of frustration is unmistakable.

you blink at his casual mention of violence, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “he doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

at your words, rafe’s irritation flares visibly, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to punch something. “he just needs to piss off. fuck,” he growls, his voice low and rough. “and i know—i know—he can’t stand it. he hates that i get close to someone he can’t touch, someone who’s fucking mine. he’s a pissy little bitch, and the next time i see him—”

“rafe,” you interrupt softly, sensing the dangerous direction his thoughts are heading. “calm down…” you murmur, your voice soothing as you lean in to press a featherlight kiss to his cheek.

his breathing is still uneven, his chest rising and falling with controlled restraint. “you’re getting way too worked up,” you whisper, cradling his face with one hand, your thumb grazing along the sharp line of his cheekbone.

his lips remain tight, his gaze hard, but he doesn’t pull away. you take the opportunity to scatter soft kisses across his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips. your touch is gentle, alternating between quick pecks and lingering brushes. at first, he’s unresponsive, but slowly he starts kissing back, his lips yielding to yours in unspoken surrender.

you trail your kisses lower, down along the line of his jaw to his neck. you feel the tension in his shoulders begin to ease, the tightness in his posture softening under the warmth of your lips.

your hand glides down his chest, your fingertips barely grazing the ridges of his abs, tracing slow, soothing patterns. his breaths come slower now, steadier, the anger slowly ebbing away with each kiss you leave on his skin.

rafe remains still, his arms resting at his sides, his body still tense under your gentle touch and then your hands find the edge of his sweatpants.

your hand is halfway in when he tenses, "you don't have to do this—" he starts but you're cutting him off. "i want to." you whisper softly and he knows you want to, you've been trying and asking for days. he was the one to insist you go slower which was fair since you were the one who wanted to go slow in the very beginning. that all changed the moment you two made out for the first time. you'd quickly thrown 'slow' in the trash.

you kiss your way back to his lips, "will you tell me how?" you'd seen videos and could also imagine what to do but actually doing it was a lot different. rafe hums against your lips, "take it out first," he mutters with his lips inching yours.

you glance down and slowly take his semi-hard cock out of his pants. you stare at it for a couple of seconds. it's heavier than you'd imagined, fat and veiny with this glossy pink tip that makes your mouth water just a little. without a word from rafe, you're curiously running your hand along it.

you don't expect rafe to tense at your touch and you're immediately looking up at him in surprise when he does. "did that hurt? did i just hurt you?" you ask and his smile is genuine, "quite the opposite." he rasps and then his hand is covering yours gently. he guides your hands up and down along his fat cock and you're a little mesmerised watching it slowly grow in size.

rafe's heavy breathing tells you it's going good so far but you want to get it in your mouth. the nerd in you is trying to calculate how it would even be possible, how you could get such a big dick past your lips without choking on it.

you're lowering your head to get him into your mouth when he stops you gently, fingers on your chin. "no teeth." he explains and you're nodding before you're desperately trying to get down there again. he stops you, again. "just..take it easy, start with the tip and slowly take more." he continues, eyes boring into yours. you could see the lust in them, just pooling in his eyes as he watched you practically drool to get his cock in your mouth.

the moment he let go of you, your tongue was darting out just enough to slowly lick along his fat tip. rafe hissed and gripped the car handle, "fuck," he whispered lowly. you pulled back and looked at it. you weren't sure why you expected it to do something and when it didn't, you just gave it another experimental lick before slowly wrapping your lips around the tender head, suckling gently.

"that's it, baby..take it easy.." rafe is muttering as you suckle on his warm tip. you hesitate for only a second before you're taking more of him in your mouth and you don't expect the tears to come so quickly. they don't really bother you. you realize nothing really bothers you while he's in your mouth. your mind has gone completely empty, void of any noise or thought, he's all you can feel, all you can sense is him filling you up.

it doesn't take long before you're bopping your head up and down and drooling all over his cock. rafe is groaning and grunting every couple of seconds and his hands are in your hair but you can feel him resisting, can feel the moment he wants to push your head down but every time, he stops himself and just lets you go at your own pace.

you whimper when you attempt for the third time to get his entire lenght down your throat and almost want to cry in frustration that he just won't fit. rafe is holding your head back, trying to say something but continously getting cut off by his own moans. "p-perfect, baby, fuck, that's perfect.." he tilts his head back and holds onto you so you stop moving for five seconds. you were eager, so goddamn determined. "stop forcing..you'll hurt yourself." he grunts before he's letting you go and your mouth is right back on his cock, seeking that fuzzy feeling, that instant quietening of the mind.

you know he won't fit unless rafe bucks his hips up and fucks your mouth and you know he won't do that so you settle for using your hands for the part of him you can't reach. you stroke him up and down and your drool helps keep it all smooth and wet. "jesus..fuck, fuck.." rafe moans, voice low, and then you're speeding up, just a little. you just want more, want it to take you over, want to make rafe feel good.

something seems to snap in him because his hands fly to your hair and he's groaning, shoving your head down onto his fat cock. he forces you to take more and more of him and the noises you make are filthy and down-right obscene. you're whining, high, and desperate around his veiny cock as you try to keep up with how he's pushing your head down over and over.

you're choking around him, tears streaming down your cheeks and he's doing all the work now, gripping your hair and shoving your head down, pushing your mouth onto his cock. "g-god..that's it..!" his hips stutter, and then he's hurriedly pulling your mouth off of him as his cum squirts out and covers his cock and a bit of his shirt.

you stare at his tip, a little dazed while you catch your breath. you watch the creamy white lines cover it and without giving it much thought, you're licking the cum off his length and tip. rafe hisses at the feeling of your tongue on his sensitive tip, "if i knew you wanted it, i would've come in your mouth." he's mumbling, and only then do you look at him, "why didn't you?" you ask, mind still a little fuzzy.

"because a lot of people don't like it." he's got this lazy smile on his face as he runs his fingers through your hair. you blink at him and try to think of a reason someone wouldn't want it. all that hard work for nothing?

"did you like it?" you ask him as he sadly puts himself back in his sweats. he's chuckling, "did i like it? that has to be a rhetorical question." he pats his leg gently and you're on his lap in a matter of seconds. "i liked it." you mutter as he presses a couple of kisses to your lips. he pauses and cups your cheeks gently, "are you sure you liked it?" he's whispering softly, "you seem..out of it."

you were out of it; eyes still dilated, mind still fuzzy, brain still empty. you'd never ever felt like this. "i'm really sure i liked it." you nod and rest your head on his shoulder. "i wanna do it again." you confess which has him chuckling again. "you won't hear a complaint from me.

snippet from 'teach me' series

[with-my-calamitous-love]

i meant to finish this some time ago 😭 but anyway, back on my bodyguard rotting! special tag for @crushmeeren because i think i put this in ur inbox a while ago and never got around to it lol, anyway here it is. nsfw under divider, f! reader for that part 🤍🫧

bodyguard! eijiro, who has a smile just like sunshine. who has a dopey grin and the personality of a golden retriever. who, on paper, doesn’t sound like he’d be capable of even hurting a fly- until you see his rock hard muscles peaking through his shirt, or the jagged edges of his skin after activating his quirk. who, 90% of the time, is so sweet its tooth rotting. the other 10% of the time, he’s a nightmare to whoever threatens you.

bodyguard! eijiro, who genuinely loves his job. he’s level-headed and rational, able to solve most disputes with some talking or light physical action. who can’t complain, because after all, most of his day is being around a funny, beautiful person- so who cares if he has to rough up a guy for cutting you off or being too touchy? he’s happy to do it.

bodyguard! eijiro, who takes ‘doing anything to protect you’ and makes it ‘doing anything for you.’ don’t feel like driving? he’s got it. have a very specific craving at 2 in the morning? no questions asked. he’s also attentive, noting your mannerisms or idiosyncrasies that make you, you. he may not say it, but he knows those subtle signs of burn out, or anxiety, or exhaustion. as much as his job is to protect you from external threats, he cares just as much- if not more- about protecting your happiness.

bodyguard! eijiro, who is the best person to bring to bars or clubs. the first reason being that you’d trust him if you were hanging off a ledge, but the second being that he’s just may be the funniest, most charming guy you’ve ever met. who doesn’t even realize how attractive it is, the way he can make you lose your breath with laughter while maintaining an iron grip on your drink, placing his hand on your waist and protectively eyeing anyone who’s eyes seem a little too stuck on you for his liking.

bodyguard! eijiro, who asks if its okay if he take the two of you back to his place because its closer, and because he secretly doesn’t want the night to end. who sees your shoes by the door, coat laying on his couch, and you unwinding in his washroom and feels a little pang in his heart. who knows his feelings well and knows damn well by now he has a crush, but keeps it professional. until you can’t hold it in any longer and tell him how bad you have it for him. by then, he’s throwing you over his shoulder and towards his bedroom.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

bodyguard! ejiro, who is just as sweet as he is rough. who will tug off your clothes (shredding them if he has to) and apologetically kiss the bare skin underneath. who has sharp teeth, and won’t hesitate to sink them in even if you tear up a little. who manhandles you, tossing you around on the bed like its nothing, whispering: “you like this position, baby?” “let me know what feels good.” meanwhile, he’s folding you like origami.

bodyguard! eijiro, who loves your tits. who can’t resist grabbing himself a handful once he gets your bra off, captivated by the way the jiggle and spring free. who can be a little mean, pinching and twisting your nipples before taking one in his mouth. who makes sure you feel his razor sharp teeth graze the sensitive bud, alternating between the two, giving each the same amount of love and attention. who releases them with a slight pop! deciding he wants to taste more of you.

bodyguard! eijiro, makes sure your comfortable before going down on you like he’s starving. on any other day, he’d ease into it- slowly kissing, soft licks and light sucking- but who has waited so long to do this he hopes you’ll forgive his impatience. who makes sure your thighs wrap around his head, eating your pussy out like its his last meal. who literally will not move from between your legs until you make him, telling him that you’re already dizzy with pleasure.

bodyguard! eijiro, who smirks a little when he pulls his boxers down, letting his cock spring free, seeing your eyes widen and your cheeks blush. who, quite frankly, knows he’s big, but also knows how to use it. who takes your thighs and folds you in half, giving him a better view. who’ll run the tip of his cock through your folds, hearing your whines and feeling it go straight to his dick. who meets no resistance finally pushing himself inside you, moaning in unison when he feels your pretty walls taking him in.

bodyguard! eijiro, who has god-like stamina. who makes that skin slapping noise he knows drives you insane, grunting and moaning when he feels himself reach mind-meltingly deep inside you. who wrecks your pussy and praises you while he’s doing it: “taking me so good, ah.” “making me feel so good, princess? shit, i’m not stopping anytime soon.” who makes a mental note to himself that he’ll probably run out the next morning to grab you plan b.

speaking of which… bodyguard! eijiro, who slows down just a little, asking you where you want him to finish. who could cum right then and there when you tell him you don’t want him pulling out, to which he’s more than happy to oblige. who feels his orgasm coming, but draws out yours as much as possible- massaging your tits, kissing you deep, rubbing little circles on your clit. who makes sure he’s buried deep when he feels you cum, groaning as he feels your walls clamp down on his cock. who pumps in and out a few more times before collapsing down beside you. who, 2 seconds later, gets up to grab you water or ice, but who can’t resist when you pull him back into bed, vowing to deal with the soreness as long as he’s next to you.

bodyguard! eijiro, who is more than happy to carry you around everywhere the next morning, returning back to his jovial green like he didn’t just rearrange your organs the night before. <3

[777bae]

WITH YOU JACK HUGHES

Summary :: After a brutal injury, you’re left to navigate recovery on your own. But Jack, despite the distance, becomes your lifeline—calling every day, offering comfort, and doing everything he can to be there. When he finally returns, his unwavering love and support help you heal, proving that together, you can overcome anything.

Warnings :: description of injury

Word count :: 5.6k

It all started at an NHL-run community skate event. You’d been invited along with a few other women’s league players to skate alongside the NHL stars, giving young fans a chance to meet their idols in a laid-back, personal setting. You didn’t expect much from the event—just another community outreach, another day to interact with fans and grow the game you loved. But that was before you met him.

Jack Hughes had been one of the NHL’s rising stars for a while, and despite the buzz around him, he was surprisingly down-to-earth. Tall, with his bright blue eyes and easy smile, he was exactly as you’d imagined him—charismatic, charming, and somehow completely approachable.

As you laced up your skates, adjusting the blades on your boots, you’d heard his laugh first, a genuine, warm sound that made it hard not to smile. You hadn’t even looked up when you realized he was skating toward you until you felt the brush of a glove on your shoulder.

“You here to show us how it’s done?” Jack’s voice was playful, but there was a hint of curiosity behind his words. You glanced up, met his gaze, and for a moment, both of you seemed to just… stop. He wasn’t towering over you, but there was a light in his eyes that made you feel like you were suddenly the center of attention.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re the one who’s been stealing all the spotlight. I just came to get some practice in. You know, to make sure I don’t show you up.”

He laughed again, this time shaking his head as he lowered himself into a comfortable skating stance. “I’m not worried. I’ve seen how fast some of the girls on your team can skate.” He leaned in a little, his voice a touch quieter. “But I have to admit, I’m hoping I’ll learn something today.”

It was all playful banter, but somehow, there was a connection that flickered between you in that brief exchange. Something about his easy confidence mixed with a genuine curiosity about the women’s game. It wasn’t like the typical interactions you had with male players; there was no condescension, no weird power dynamic. Just a guy who appreciated the game and the players—regardless of their gender.

The rest of the skate went by in a blur of friendly competition and shared laughter, with Jack occasionally pulling you into a race around the rink. You couldn’t deny that his speed on the ice matched his charm off it. It was fun—refreshing, really—especially since you were used to competing against men who sometimes didn’t seem to understand the level of skill and commitment women brought to the game. But Jack, he didn’t seem like that at all. If anything, he seemed eager to learn, to listen.

Afterward, while most of the other players were heading off to grab something to eat, Jack caught up to you again as you were packing your gear away.

“Hey, you wanna grab some dinner?” he asked, his voice casual but with that little spark of hopefulness. “I promise I won’t make it weird—just thought it’d be nice to hang out, talk about the game… maybe see if you’re as competitive off the ice as you are on it.”

It was a little unexpected, but something about the offer felt right. You’d spent so many years in a world of competition, sometimes too focused on the next game, the next practice. The thought of having a simple, easy evening, talking about something other than hockey, sounded like a refreshing change.

“Sure,” you agreed, trying to hide the small smile creeping onto your face. “I could use the company.”

That first dinner was nothing extraordinary—just a low-key meal at a local diner, where you both dug into greasy comfort food and swapped stories about your respective teams. But the conversation never lagged. Jack talked about his early days in hockey, his family, his goals, and somehow, you found yourself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing things you usually kept locked behind a barrier of professionalism. It felt natural, easy, like you’d known him much longer than just a few hours.

By the time you were leaving the diner, you felt something click. It wasn’t just the conversation. It was the way Jack made you feel seen, valued. He didn’t view you as just a player; he saw you as someone who belonged in the same conversation as the men he idolized.

That night, as he walked you to your car, he hesitated before speaking.

“Do you think we could do this again?” His tone was soft, uncertain—nothing like the cocky attitude you sometimes saw from athletes. There was a real vulnerability in his question, an openness that you hadn’t expected from someone with so much attention on him.

You smiled, already knowing the answer before you even said it. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The following months passed in a whirlwind. The connection you’d felt that night only deepened as you found yourselves spending more time together, whether it was over quick dinners after games or stolen moments between practices. The distance between your homes had been a challenge at first, but Jack made it work. His busy NHL schedule and your packed NWHL calendar had their limitations, but you made it a priority. Phone calls, FaceTime, and text messages became lifelines, bridging the gap when you couldn’t be in the same place.

And then came the moment when it all felt a little more real. One night, after a game where you’d scored the game-winning goal, Jack called you to congratulate you. As you chatted about the game, the conversation shifted.

“So, I was thinking…” Jack’s voice dropped a little, a teasing edge creeping in. “What if we make this official? You know, like, ‘dating’ officially. I mean, we’ve spent enough time together at this point, and I’m kind of starting to like you.”

You’d laughed at first, but when you heard the sincerity in his voice, you felt that flutter in your chest.

“I think I could be okay with that,” you’d said softly, feeling something in your heart shift.

And just like that, what had started as a casual meeting at a community skate turned into something real, something deep. The spark between you two grew into a full-blown flame, one that, despite the distance and the challenges ahead, seemed unstoppable.

That was how it all began. From a community skate to something much bigger. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t just fighting for your place in the game—you were fighting for something real, with someone who understood and shared your passion for both hockey and life.

It had been a few months since you and Jack had officially started dating, and even though the connection between you two had only deepened over time, the long-distance nature of your relationship had taken its toll. Jack was a rising star in the NHL, and your team’s season in the Women’s Hockey League was just as intense, if not more so. So, when Jack had to leave for a week-long stretch of West Coast games, the distance felt particularly harsh. But you both had your routines, and you had become experts at making the most of what time you had together.

The first night Jack was gone, you walked through your shared apartment, the silence of the space more apparent than usual. You had been here before, used to being away from each other for stretches of time, but it didn’t make the loneliness any easier. Still, you had your own games to focus on, so you pushed aside the feeling and settled into your familiar routine of stretching, preparing, and strategizing for your upcoming match.

That week, your team was on a roll. You managed to secure comfortable victories in your first two games, and no matter the late hours or time zone difference, you made sure to FaceTime Jack after each of your games. His voice was always a small anchor that pulled you back into a sense of normalcy. His tired face would appear on the screen, grinning with excitement or offering words of encouragement as you recapped your performances. The calls were a lifeline, a reminder that even though the miles between you stretched across the country, you weren’t alone in this. You’d FaceTime on his days off, too, taking solace in the familiarity of his presence, even if it was only a screen away.

But it was that third game that shook everything.

You had been feeling sharp and focused, your team’s momentum riding high. You were confident going into the match, your movements on the ice instinctively flowing with each pass and play. The puck was on your stick as you skated into the offensive zone, eyes locked on the net ahead, the crowd’s roars swelling around you. But just as you prepared to make your move, you felt a brutal shove from your side. The force was unanticipated, and before you could brace yourself, you were sent spiraling off balance.

The hit slammed into your leg, pain shooting through your entire body like a bolt of electricity. Your vision flashed white for a moment, the rink around you spinning as you crumpled to the ice, unable to register anything other than the excruciating ache in your lower body. You could hear voices, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the raw agony. Your leg felt like it was on fire, every inch of it screaming at you in ways you didn’t think possible.

The next few moments were a blur. You were helped off the ice, each movement sending shocks of pain through your leg as your teammates rushed to your side. You were placed in an ice bath to try to numb the swelling, but it was clear from the first glance—the leg wasn’t just bruised. It was broken.

At the hospital, the diagnosis hit like a hammer to the chest. You had multiple fractures in your leg—some clean breaks, some more complicated. Surgery was the only option, and it needed to be done as soon as possible. You were too overwhelmed to process anything. The pain was all-consuming, and the physical shock of it was enough to dull your thoughts. The one thing that kept repeating in your mind, though, was that you hadn’t messaged Jack. You had forgotten. You had promised him you’d let him know if anything happened, but now, you couldn’t even remember if you had the energy to tell him.

You were rushed into surgery, the doctors prepping you quickly for the procedure, but you couldn’t shake the guilt of not reaching out to him. When you fell unconscious from the anesthesia, your thoughts faded, but that nagging feeling remained.

Meanwhile, in California, Jack had just finished his game. He had played well—scoring a goal and getting an assist—but his mind was elsewhere. His phone buzzed as he walked into the locker room to cool down. As he picked it up, his heart stopped for a second. It was a video message from one of his friends, a clip from the game he had just missed. It was you.

The footage was grainy, taken from the stands. He saw the hit happen in real-time, the moment when your body was slammed to the ice. And then, the terrible sight of you crumpling, unable to move as pain clearly overtook you. His breath caught in his throat, and panic surged through his chest.

Without thinking, he immediately called your number, but it went straight to voicemail. His hands were shaking now, his mind racing with worry. Why hasn’t she answered? He called again, and again, his anxiety growing with each unanswered ring.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself, growing frantic. He tried texting you, then calling your teammates and coaches, but no one picked up. The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as he dialed number after number, panic creeping up his spine.

Finally, one of your coaches picked up. The calm, steady voice on the other end didn’t help to alleviate Jack’s mounting panic.

“Coach, what happened to her?” Jack’s voice was tight, strained. “Is she okay? Why isn’t she answering? What happened? I saw the hit—she looked… she looked like she was in so much pain!”

Your coach’s voice was reassuring but firm. “Jack, calm down. She’s in surgery right now. She fractured her leg pretty badly. The doctors are taking care of her. They’re going to monitor her recovery closely. But she’s going to be okay.”

He froze, his heart still pounding. “Surgery? Is she awake? Can I talk to her? I need to talk to her.”

“She’s still under, Jack. They’re finishing up. She’ll be okay. You can’t be here right now, and I know that’s hard. But she’s in good hands.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. “How long is she going to be in the hospital?”

“At least a couple weeks. They’ll want to monitor her closely to make sure everything heals properly.”

The words barely registered at first, but Jack’s mind finally began to slow, even as frustration and helplessness gnawed at him. He had a whole week of games ahead. There was no way he could be by her side—he would have to wait. And the thought of being this far away from her, with nothing but the distance and his uncertainty, felt unbearable.

After the call ended, Jack sat in silence for a long moment, trying to collect himself. He wasn’t sure how he would make it through the next few days, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. He would call her every day. He would check in, even if it was through a screen, and he would make sure she knew he was there for her, even if he couldn’t be there physically.

Hours after the surgery, you began to stir, the soft beeping of machines pulling you from the thick haze of anesthesia. Your body felt heavy, your head foggy, and the ache in your leg was muted but persistent, a constant reminder of what had happened. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, you slowly registered your surroundings—the sterile white hospital room, the IV taped to your arm, and the faint murmur of voices outside the door. Everything felt surreal, like you were caught between waking and dreaming.

The door creaked open, and your coach stepped inside. She offered a soft smile, her familiar presence grounding you amidst the disorientation. “Welcome back, kid,” she said gently, pulling up a chair beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You managed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a croak. “Like I got hit by a truck,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s about right,” your coach replied, crossing her arms. “But the surgery went well. They said you’ll be back on your feet eventually—it’s just going to take some time.”

You nodded slowly, letting the information sink in. The details of the injury and the hit felt blurry, distant, as if they belonged to someone else. What you did remember, however, was the pressing need to call Jack. You opened your mouth to ask about him, but your coach beat you to it.

“Your boyfriend,” she said with a knowing smirk, “has been losing his mind. He’s been calling non-stop since he found out. I had to take one of his calls during your surgery just to calm him down. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone freak out that much in my life.”

Despite the lingering grogginess, you chuckled softly, though the motion tugged at your sore muscles. “Did I… Did I at least tell him I’m okay before I went under?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

“Not a chance,” she said, shaking her head. “You were out cold before you could even grab your phone. But don’t worry—he knows you made it through the surgery. Barely, though. The poor guy sounded like he was about to hop on a plane mid-road trip.”

You smiled faintly at the image of Jack pacing in some hotel room, his phone glued to his ear as he pestered anyone who would answer. Your heart ached at the thought of how worried he must have been. You motioned weakly toward the bedside table, where your phone sat, its screen dark but promising missed calls and messages. “Can you hand me that?” you asked.

Your coach retrieved the phone and placed it in your trembling hands. As you fumbled with the screen, your fingers clumsy and unsteady, you saw the barrage of missed calls and texts from Jack. Over a dozen calls, countless messages—all timestamped from the moment he must have seen the hit. Swallowing hard, you tapped his name and brought the phone to your ear.

It barely rang once before his voice burst through the line. “Hey!” Jack’s tone was frantic, a mix of relief and worry. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Is there someone there with you? Do you need something? God, I should’ve been there—I should’ve been with you—”

“Jack,” you interrupted softly, but he didn’t stop.

“I saw the clip. I saw it. That hit—it looked so bad. You just went down, and I—God, I felt like my heart stopped. I’ve been calling everyone, and no one was picking up, and then your coach finally called me back and said you were in surgery. Surgery! I should’ve been there—”

“Jack,” you said again, more firmly this time, though your voice was still weak. His words slowed, but the panic in his tone was still evident. “I’m okay,” you assured him, even as your own voice wavered. “The surgery went well. I’m sore, but I’ll be alright. I promise.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, the silence filled with his uneven breathing. “You’re sure?” he asked finally, his voice quieter but still laced with worry. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m sure,” you said, your lips curling into a faint smile. “They said I’ll make a full recovery. It’s going to take a while, but I’m okay, Jack. You don’t have to worry.”

His sigh of relief was audible, but it was short-lived. “How could I not worry?” he said, his voice rising again. “I saw the hit, and then I didn’t hear from you, and I was stuck here, a thousand miles away, with no idea if you were okay or if you were—” He stopped himself, his voice breaking. “I hate this. I hate that I’m not there with you.”

The raw frustration in his voice was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “It’s just hockey,” you said softly, trying to reassure him. “Stuff like this happens. It’s part of the game.”

“Not to you,” he snapped, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. “It can happen to anyone else, but not you. You’re the last person I want to see getting hurt, and now you’re stuck in a hospital bed, and I can’t even be there to hold your hand.”

“Jack,” you whispered, but he was on a roll now, his frustration spilling over.

“I can’t believe this stupid schedule,” he muttered. “I should be on the next flight home. Screw the games. They can deal without me for one night—”

“You can’t do that,” you said quickly, your voice firmer this time. “Jack, I need you to focus on your games. I’ll be fine. You’ll see me soon enough.”

He sighed again, the sound heavy with reluctance. “I just… I feel so helpless,” he admitted. “You’re hurt, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you told him gently. “Just hearing your voice right now is enough.”

The conversation eventually calmed, though Jack’s worry never fully faded. He promised to call every day—and he did. Over the next week, he became your lifeline.

The first night after your surgery, Jack called you just as he promised he would. The moment your phone buzzed with his name on the screen, a sense of comfort washed over you. You answered immediately, his face appearing on the screen before you could even get out a greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but still edged with worry. His hair was damp from a post-game shower, and you could see the dark circles under his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admitted, shifting slightly against the pillows propping you up. Your leg throbbed dully beneath the cast, but seeing Jack’s face helped dull the ache. “Sore, but okay.”

“You look pale,” he noted, his brows furrowing as his eyes scanned the screen, like he could physically assess you through it. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you been eating? What about water—have you been drinking enough?”

“Jack,” you interrupted gently, your lips quirking into a faint smile. “I’m fine. They’ve been taking care of me here, and the doctors said the surgery went well. You don’t have to worry so much.”

His sigh was audible even through the small speaker of your phone. “How can I not worry? I hate that I’m stuck here while you’re dealing with all of this alone.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re doing your job,” you reminded him. “And I’m not alone. My team’s been in and out, and the nurses here are great.”

“It’s not the same,” he muttered, his tone low. “I should be there.”

You reached up and adjusted the angle of your phone, so he could see your reassuring smile. “You’re here, Jack. Maybe not physically, but this? These calls? They help more than you know.”

His face softened slightly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing plenty,” you said firmly. “Now, tell me about your game. How’d it go?”

Jack hesitated for a moment, but when you raised an expectant eyebrow, he relented. “It went alright. We won, but it was closer than it should’ve been. I missed an open net in the second period, and the guys gave me hell for it.”

“Missed an open net?” you teased, your tone light. “Wow, Jack Hughes is human after all.”

He groaned, though you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll make up for it next game.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with a grin. “You always do.”

The conversation shifted after that, Jack asking about your day in the hospital. He wanted to know everything—what you ate, what the doctors said, how much pain you were in. His questions were relentless, but you didn’t mind. If anything, it warmed your heart to know how much he cared. By the time the call ended, your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but the lingering sound of Jack’s voice in your mind made falling asleep a little easier.

The calls became your anchor over the next week. Every night, without fail, Jack would call you after his game, no matter how late it was. Some nights, he’d FaceTime you, propping his phone up on a stack of pillows in his hotel room while he lounged on the bed in sweats and a hoodie. Other nights, he’d call you during his downtime at the rink, his voice echoing faintly in the empty locker room as he checked in on you.

On the third night, after another win for his team, Jack’s call came through just after midnight. You answered groggily, your phone resting on your chest as you blinked sleepily at his face.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.

“No, it’s okay,” you murmured, shifting slightly to prop yourself up against the pillows. “How was the game?”

“Good,” he said, though his expression was a little sheepish. “I scored a goal, but I got into it with a guy on the other team. He cross-checked me, and I might’ve, uh, shoved him a little.”

“Jack,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You can’t get yourself hurt. One of us in the hospital is enough.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Don’t worry, I can take a hit. But seriously, how are you feeling? Is the pain manageable? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

You shook your head, smiling at his endless concern. “I’m fine, Jack. They’ve got me on some good meds, so I’m not feeling much pain right now.”

“Good,” he said, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if trying to detect any hidden discomfort. “Tell me if that changes, okay? If you need anything—anything at all—you call me.”

“Jack, you’re on the other side of the country,” you pointed out, your tone teasing. “What could you possibly do from there?”

“Plenty,” he said stubbornly. “I could call your coach. Or your doctor. Or the president, if I have to.”

You laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “I don’t think the president can help with a broken leg, Jack.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can,” he shot back, grinning. “I’m serious, though. Just tell me if you need anything.”

“All I need is for you to win some games,” you teased, your voice light. “That’s all the help I need.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but you could see the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back. “But you love me anyway.”

By the end of the week, the calls felt like second nature. Jack would update you on his games, sharing every detail with the enthusiasm of someone desperate to distract himself from his own worries. In turn, you’d tell him about the progress you were making in the hospital, even if it was slow. You joked about how the nurses were starting to recognize him just from the sound of his voice, and he teased you about how bossy you were getting with your requests for snacks and drinks.

Through it all, Jack’s constant presence—whether through a screen or a phone call—was what kept you going. And even though he couldn’t be there in person, he made you feel as though he was never truly far away.

Finally, after what felt like the longest week of your life, the day finally arrived when Jack’s West Coast road trip came to an end. He had called you every day, just like he’d promised, but it wasn’t the same as having him by your side. Through the screen, you could see the worry etched into his face and hear it in the tone of his voice. He hated being so far away from you, and every conversation ended with him muttering how much he wished he could teleport home.

The waiting had been agonizing for both of you. Jack barely slept, the guilt of not being able to be there gnawing at him, and you had spent your days in the hospital, frustrated by your immobility and longing for his comforting presence. So when you finally got the text that he had landed and was on his way, the anticipation became almost unbearable.

You sat up in the hospital bed, your leg propped up in a brace and wrapped in layers of bandages, staring at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner to return. You heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway, and then the door swung open.

“Jack,” you breathed, and there he was.

He looked exhausted. His hair was messy from the flight, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, but the relief on his face was so palpable it nearly brought tears to your eyes. He crossed the room in three long strides, not even bothering to set his bag down before he wrapped you in the gentlest hug he could manage. His arms circled you carefully, mindful of your injuries, but the embrace was so full of love that it made your chest ache.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands. “God, I was so scared. Watching that hit… hearing you were in surgery… I didn’t know what to do. I felt so useless.”

You could see the guilt swimming in his eyes, and you shook your head, resting your hand on top of his. “Jack, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I hate that I wasn’t here when you needed me most.”

“Stop,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his wrist. “You did everything you could. You called, you checked in—Jack, I knew you were with me, even if you weren’t here physically.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his emotions flickering across his face like a storm. Then he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m here now,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud made it more real. “And I’m not leaving until you’re back on your feet.”

The first day of Jack’s visit was spent catching up—he pulled a chair close to your bed, his fingers intertwined with yours as he asked about every detail of the surgery and recovery process. He flinched when you described the pain of the initial hit and visibly winced when you told him about waking up after the surgery. His worry was written all over him, and it didn’t fade even when you assured him that you were healing.

But he didn’t just stop at sitting by your side. By the next day, Jack had transformed into a one-man care team. He brought you your favorite coffee every morning, carefully maneuvering around the hospital room as though he’d been doing it for years. He kept your water bottle full, adjusted your pillows to make sure you were comfortable, and even insisted on helping you wash your hair when you mentioned you felt gross from lying in bed for so long.

“Jack, you don’t have to do all this,” you said one evening as he helped you shift positions, your leg still immobilized in the brace. “You just got back from a road trip. You should be resting, not waiting on me hand and foot.”

He scoffed, his hands steady as he fluffed your pillows. “Resting? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t here taking care of you?”

“A tired one?” you offered, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, but his expression softened as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Don’t fight me on this—I’m taking care of you whether you like it or not.”

And he meant it. Jack spent every moment he wasn’t at practice by your side, helping you with the little things that had become impossible with your injury. When you were finally discharged and sent home, Jack took charge of setting up the apartment to accommodate your limited mobility. He rearranged furniture, set up a cozy corner on the couch where you could elevate your leg, and made sure your favorite snacks were within reach.

At night, when the pain was at its worst and sleep felt impossible, Jack was there. He’d sit beside you, his hand resting on your arm as he talked you through the discomfort. Sometimes he’d read to you, his voice low and soothing, and other times he’d just sit quietly, his presence enough to calm your racing thoughts.

One evening, as you lay curled up on the couch with your leg propped up on a stack of pillows, Jack sat beside you with a bag of takeout from your favorite restaurant. The smell of your favorite dish filled the room, and you smiled up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” you said, watching as he carefully plated the food for you.

He looked up, his face flushing slightly. “I’m just doing what anyone would do.”

“Not everyone would fly across the country after an exhausting road trip and spend every waking moment taking care of their injured girlfriend,” you pointed out. “You’ve been… incredible, Jack. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this without you.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips lingering against yours as though he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “You don’t have to go through anything alone,” he murmured. “Not as long as I’m here.”

In the weeks that followed, Jack became your rock. He helped you through the frustration of physical therapy, cheered you on as you regained strength, and reminded you every day that you were stronger than you thought. And though the road to recovery was long and grueling, the love and support Jack gave you made it feel a little less daunting.

As you sat together one evening, your head resting on his shoulder and your cast resting across his lap, you realized something profound: this injury, as difficult as it had been, had only brought you closer. Jack’s unwavering dedication had proven, without a doubt, that he was in this for the long haul. And with him by your side, you knew you could face anything.

[wihellib]

Reblogging this to add my kinda summarized opinions about Barbatos’ and Gamigin’s H scenes under the cut.

Barbatos

You nearly collapsed in the Hades palace, but Barbatos caught you, wearing an anxious expression you weren’t used to. He carries you into his rose garden, which is full of sunlight and vibrant colours unlike the rest of Hades. So, his kink is on full display here.

Barbatos sets you down in the middle of the garden and starts sniffing you all over, while waxing poetic about you. He waxes poetic about you the entire H scene. Lots of Sun and flower metaphors. Being showered with genuine compliments is very nice.

You are acting cold to him because of the whole poisoning situation. And I’m happy to see a bit of backbone from the MC that’s nonexistent when it comes to Leviathan. You question why he’s acting so into you when he tried to kill you and he implies that since he didn’t actually kill you it means he wasn’t trying to kill you (because you’d be dead if he truly tried).

Barbatos fingers you to climax, while encouraging you to cum as much as you want. He purposely removes his fingers so you squirt all over him and the grass. He thanks you for watering his garden.

He takes off his shirt (and we finally get to have an H scene where the guy has a shirtless sprite, since Barbatos already has a shirtless sprite for other reasons. It looks so much better, please give everyone a shirtless sprite for their H scenes, PB!)

Barbatos teases you for your cold words while at the same time looking at him with so much heat and compares you to Leviathan. He disrobes you and mouths at your chest, sucking and biting.

This is my favourite CG of all the H scenes. The proportions are good. The expressions are nice. The poses make sense. I think the roses in the background are pretty. I like the detail of the bite marks and other marks all over your upper body. Your hand griping his hair while one of his is suggestively at your crotch. Really, I just think it’s a very well done CG.

On a side note, I’m very surprised that they just had female MC’s nipple right out in the open in the CG. They usually try very hard to censor stuff like that and Barbatos could have easily just had one of his hands on top of it, but they didn’t do that. I just thought that was interesting.

You’re getting impatient with Barbatos’ teasing. He’s rubbing his tip at your entrance. He finally penetrates you when you say you forgive him. He jackhammers away at you and sucks at your chest. You release your grip on his hair and grab his horn. That gets him going even more. He uses flower and seed metaphors to imply he wants to impregnate you. Which was a very pleasant surprise for me.

You climax together, panting hard. You think about how you said you forgave him, but there still needs to be more of a discussion about it. Which is good, you’re showing some sensible post-nut clarity. After there’s good pillow talk. He starts smelling you again, but is upset that you don’t smell like the sun anymore. You laugh and reply that it makes sense since you smell like him now. Which makes him very happy. He praises and compliments you. It ends with him holding you while you sleep and reaffirming that he really wants to get you pregnant.

Very solid H scene, definitely in the top 3 for me.

Gamigin

Gamigin hugs you from behind to stop you from falling over. He can tell something’s missing from you and thinks you’re about to die. The Hades nobles start squabbling over who gets to help you, while the Tartaros nobles are off to the side already knowing it’s a lost cause.

Gamigin takes you to a shower room while they are distracted. He says it’s important for a patient to be clean, turning on the shower so the room fills with steam. Another H scene that has the guy’s kink front and centre.

You assume because of his innocent expressions and behaviour that Gamigin is not well versed in adult matters. But that is not true.

He drenches himself as he moves under the steam of water and he tells you to come to him. You’re completely overwhelmed by his presence, blocking out everything but him.

He recognizes your humanity and apologizes for being to eager with his ‘words’. The world comes back into focus for you. So, Gamigin seems to have some kind of mind control abilities.

Gamigin pulls us under the water with him, drenching us as well. He smoothly offers to help you out of your clothes so you don’t get sick. And you offer the same to him.

He pulls your shirt over your eyes so you can’t see and tells you to turn around. You bend over as he finishes taking off your and his clothes.

You realize he loves the sound of water hitting your naked body, so you turn the pressure up on the water.

The CG is okay. Lots of negative space. Just not as visually interesting as others.

He throws his head back in pleasure and you see his reverse scale on his neck. He muses that you caught him then penetrates you in a position lets him get deep.

He tells you about the open secret of him being a dragon, not a devil. You stutteringly tell him you’ll keep his secret, but Gamigin isn’t sure you will because you’re human. He covers your eyes again and says it would be better if you didn’t see it.

So, it turns out that canonically Gamigin has two dicks (Yes!!!) and he double penetrates you. I wish there was more prep and foreplay rather than him surprising you by just sticking it in.

He threatens you that if you don’t keep his secret then this is what’s going to happen from now on. You tell him you’ll keep his secret as long as he doesn’t stop right now.

Then, Gamigin wonders if he should cum inside you since he can get you pregnant unlike devils. And you enthusiastically want him to, pushing your butt back against him. Which is definitely not very smart since it would be a very bad idea to bring a baby into your current situation, but what do I know.

He, though, was ecstatic with your response and came inside you. He hugs you and looks contrite, wondering if you were scared. You ruffle his hair and tell him you’ll weren’t scared but you want him to trust you from now on. He smiles brightly.

Later on, he thinks happily about how you and him now share a secret.

I thought this H scene was fine but I was really hoping that Gamigin was going to be cutely submissive with you. Since he wasn’t, it was a bit of a let down for me. But I’m really glad it was confirmed he has two dicks. Overall, it’s middle of the pack in my personal ranking of H scenes.

Mammon was voted #1 in the Favourite H Scene poll here. Not really surprising. His H scene was quite good. Satan was 2nd and Foras was 3rd. I am surprised by Foras. I think there might be a bit of recency bias in this case.

Under the cut is my completely biased, quickly-written, kinda summarized opinions on each of the H scenes.

Satan

Satan staring at you without blinking while kissing and sleeping still throws me off.

I like that Satan reassures you that he’s doesn’t just like you because you’re the descendant of Solomon.

I don’t like hair pulling or strangulation, so not very fond of this scene, even though I like Satan a lot.

The CG is nice. I like how he’s grinning and the glow of his eyes.

Only features a little bit of spanking even though that’s his kink.

It’s mentioned that we’re feeling the pleasure that Satan’s feeling. This is done in several scenes. I’ve never liked it. It feels like a cop out.

The scene ends abruptly with you blacking out. I much prefer when there a bit of follow up/pillow talk afterwards.

Sitri

Sitri gives you tea to calm your nerves that makes your heart beat a lot faster and louder because of the caffeine… but I don’t think caffeine works to this extent, so creative liberty I guess.

His kink, hearing heartbeats, features prominently in this scene. Keeping his head near your chest, mouth on your chest, feeling your heartbeat through your intimate connection, and moving in time with your heartbeat.

You’re feeling turned on because he’s turned on, similar to Satan’s scene, still not a fan.

You feel more aroused as your heart beats faster and you think it might explode… I don’t see what’s arousing about that.

CG was good again. I liked that he’s showing a lot more emotion than his normal sprite usually does.

He calls you Solomon throughout, which is annoying, but does call you by your real name at the very end (the only time he’s done so).

Some pillow talk at the end which is nice.

Zagan

Zagan blushes and turns away when he sees your naked body, which is cute.

He’s quiet like usual, but does speak when you ask him why he wanted to help you, and says he wanted to do it with you and give you devils energy, while blushing. Very cute.

You get to take a bit more of a lead, be a bit more assertive, in this one, you’re not just manhandled around, which is refreshing.

I like that he seems to have a praise kink.

He tries to increase his muscle use, get a better workout, increase movement, which is his kink, which arouses him more, which arouses you. Fine whatever.

The CG is fine. Your foot looks wonky with its finger-like toes but Zagan looks good.

Some pillow talk again. Zagan has been mostly silent, but does say it was a good workout and he wants to do it again at the end.

Leraye

Leraye is completely overwhelmed by pleasure from hearing thunder, which is his kink. He basically tackles you onto the bed and glues himself on top of you.

I’m pretty sure this is the first time one of them play with your genitals during foreplay.

You are getting aroused from the thunder too, so we’re keeping the trend of whatever the guy likes you also like inexplicably.

MC comments he’s more like a growling wolf and not his golden retriever self.

I really like this CG. He’s completely on top of you, pressing you down on your stomach, while covering your eyes and biting your neck. His presence is overwhelming.

The thunder goes away and Leraye comes back to his senses. He’s so happy that it wasn’t a dream, smiling, lays down next to you, wishes you good dreams and kisses your forehead. I very much like this wind-down to the scene.

Paimon

We go to Paimon’s room instead of ours for this scene, which is a nice change of pace. His room is full of mirrors, which feature heavily in this scene. His kink, which is blood, isn’t included at all.

We’re also not naked right at the very start, which I much prefer. I like the undressing phase.

Paimon rubs your genitals and forces you to look at what he’s doing to you in the mirror, which he continues throughout the scene. I was surprised how dominant Paimon was in this scene, but I wasn’t against it.

Paimon says he loves pretty things and looking at pretty things from multiple angles. He says that you’re pretty and a devilish human.

He makes you brace your hands against a wall mirror and stuffs your shirt in your mouth.

The CG is good. For the first time we are shown a different angle than us on a bed. Paimon’s face seems a little off to me, but overall it’s good.

Paimon throws the mirror on the ground, so you’re forced to look at a different, more revealing angle.

Just a little bit of pillow talk. Paimon kisses us and tell us to come him when we want to play more.

Mammon

Back in Minhyeok’s room unfortunately. Mammon comes out swinging by immediately commenting on how skilled we look in accepting devil’s energy.

Mammon says that it was obvious since he first met you that he had to have you, but he also realized that he would just be one of many that would try that tactic. So, he decided to do something he’s never done before and let you have him. You will be his first master. He also reveals that he wasn’t as close to Solomon as the other Kings. You ask if he only likes you because you’re the descendant of Solomon and he replies that he just fell in love with you at first sight. This affection is clear throughout this scene, which increases its rank a lot for me.

Mammon’s kink is all about bottoms, and this scene reflects that. You’re both grabbing each other’s butts and getting more aroused.

Mammon picks you up and holds yours buttcheeks open while you wrap your arms around his neck. I like that Mammon is showing off his strength here.

I do wish that they had spent some time on Mammon using his fingers or tongue to prep you to take him. He is very large, evident by the fact that your first thought when he entered you was, ‘I am going to die’, so it would have been nice to see him care about making sure he doesn’t hurt you. He does hold himself still at first to let you adjust, but I still would have liked some prep beforehand.

The CG is good. No complaints.

Mammon flips you around, so you’re in a standing 69 position, showing off his strength again, and you give each other oral.

Longer pillow talk. He lays you on top of him, it was very nice.

Bimet

Bimet changes his tune about you real quick when Mammon declares you to be his master. He kneels before you and informs you that you became the being that arouses him the most with that declaration. He cannot covet Mammon, but now he can covet you, the only one who owns Mammon, and he is ecstatic about that. He wants to serve you. Bimet’s kink is wealthy people and you’re the wealthiest of all.

I do not like Bimet and I do not like his reasons for favouring you. It is shallow and fragile. He would be back to contempt for you the moment Mammon lost interest. I’m not a big fan of this H scene simply because I don’t like Bimet.

He licks your toes, which no thank you. He does oral on you and puts his conniving tongue to good use.

CG is good. I like how wet his mouth is because of you.

Some pillow talk. He gives you the first thing he truly owned himself, a coin from Solomon, and tells you to give it back to him if you choose him. I would have preferred if the first thing he owned wasn’t from Solomon.

Belial

You go to wrap your naked body in a blanket like you usually do, but Belial stops you and says you’ll end up taking it off anyways. The immediate assertiveness was surprising but interesting.

Because of his throat injury, Belial talks very little and Jjyu is not there to help him, so he communicates with you by writing on your naked body, which is his kink. It is a very good, intimate solution. He writes lots all over your body while fingering you.

You are against the wall, facing Belial, while he penetrates and writes adorations on you.

The CG shows that everything he’s written is glowing red on you. It’s a nice picture, but I could have done without him licking your armpit. I think I would have preferred a kiss in the lips instead.

Some pillow talk, you fall asleep with him inside of you.

Valefor

We have moved on from Minhyeok’s room, which is great. I felt it was much too restrictive, and caused repetitiveness.

Valefor reassures you and you tell him he is kind and reminds you of Mammon, which he approves of. When you see that he likes it, you lean more into the comparisons. Valefor is turned on by being compared to Mammon because he respects him greatly. You talk about Mammon a lot, but I wish it was a bit less, because this is supposed to be Valefor’s moment, not Mammon’s. His kink is supposed to be hearing explicit narratives, so I don’t think this really relates to it.

Valefor praises you for how well you know how to please a devil. And tells you to run away if you want to only know him as the kind relaxed Valefor.

Then we start going into exhibitionism territory, with him leading you to the closed door, where Bimet is just outside keeping watch. This is also not his kink.

Bimet leaves to check something, so Valefor increases the risk factor and opens the door while you’re both naked and penetrates you.

The CG is fine. The way you and he are positioned are a bit odd. It’s hard to tell whose body part is whose.

Valefor basically taunts you asking where Bimet is, then puts you in an even more embarrassing position.

Some pillow talk. He lifts you up, kisses your forehead, and you admire his chest.

Leviathan

Levi decides to give you devil energy even though he doesn’t like you. He hangs you and insults Minhyeok in an effort to make you mad so you hurt him, which will arouse him. So that’s what happens.

The CG is my least favourite of all of them. You start stomping on his lap and dick. Your toes are oddly long again and you have an oddly muscled thigh. Levi is not even naked. This is the only CG that doesn’t take place during some sort of penetration.

You straddle him and start strangling him and enough clothes have been taken off at this point that he penetrates you.

Then you kissed him for so long that you were both feeling oxygen deprived. He is in awe that you showed him there’s another way to suffocate. He thinks you’re talented. Only very little pillow talk.

I don’t like Levi. The way he acts and talks to you. I don’t like it at all. I also don’t like breath control, his kink, or anything to do with strangulation/choking, or beating people up. So this H scene was not for me at all.

Glasyalabolas

Glasy’s kink is necrophilia, and they include his kink in the H scene by making you as limp as a corpse after kissing him. Oh boy. I’m not fond of Glasy and I don’t like the idea of not being in control of yourself and unable to move at all. So this scene ranks very low for me.

He licks your toes, not a fan. He plays with your chest and nipples. He spreads you open and just stares, then performs oral on you, while keeping you spread open.

He makes your limp hand jerk him off, then uses your slack mouth. This is the second time you performed oral on a demon. This is what the CG shows, though I would have preferred if they picked something else.

Then he manhandles you into position to penetrate you. He cums inside you. Then he moves to your throat again and comes there too. This is the first time the guy has come twice in an H scene.

There is pillow talk. He wraps you in his cape, holds you and kisses you as the limpness wears off. He tells you he’ll fetch you when you die, but it’s good you’re alive now.

Foras

You realize you need devils energy, but none are around you right now, so you start masturbating. You hear the door open, but don’t see anyone. Foras is invisible, which plays into his kink.

He starts playing with your genitals while invisible. You realize who he is and call out to him, but he ignores you.

Finally he tells you to take off your clothes, pose embarrassingly, and just sit there in silence while he watches while still invisible. The dominance he’s displaying is unexpected, but fine.

Foras puts his dick near your mouth and you suck him off.

He penetrates you, again while all the while being invisible, so it looks like you’re being fucked by a ghost.

The CG could be better. His expression looks a little wonky and you’re clothed in it even though you’re supposed to be naked.

Foras informs you that he was there for every H scene. He really liked that you never noticed him.

He doesn’t let you see him afterwards, which I think he should have. He gets your permission to keep watching you having sex. Then he inexplicably cums on your face after you fall asleep. No thank you sir. And for some reason you don’t even comment on it after you wake up.

Overall

I liked Leraye, Mammon, Belial, Zagan, Paimon, and Valefor H Scenes the most.

[yikesdrama]

for one perfect moment 🩵 (ii) — Bucky Barnes

summary: bucky's birthday is coming up soon and you just want to do something special for him, maybe even take a time travelling trip to see his maa....

word count: 7k

warnings: fluff, kisses and lots of cuteness

a/n: please comment, like & reblog with your thoughts. this is the second part, there’s one more coming up next weekend!

masterlist | part 1 • part 3

previously— Winnie's gaze snapped to yours, her eyes narrowing slightly. "How do you know all of this? You've never told me who you are, or why you care so much about my James." You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. For the first time, you looked unsure, as though the question had caught you off guard.

But then you straightened, your gaze meeting Winnie’s with quiet determination. “I care because he deserves to have someone care. And I know because… I’ve seen him. I’ve spoken to him. I’ve seen how much he loves his life now, how hard he’s fought to be free of what they did to him.”

Winnie studied you closely, searching for any hint of deception. But there was none. Whoever you were, whatever strange circumstances had brought you here, you believed every word you said. And somehow, impossibly, so did Winnie.

“Why didn’t he come himself?” Winnie asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “If he’s alive, if he’s free… why hasn’t he come home to me? You came from the future, why couldn’t he?”

Your expression shifted, a flicker of sadness crossing your face. “I think… I think part of him doesn’t know how. After everything he’s been through, it’s hard for him to believe he deserves that kind of peace. And part of him is afraid—afraid of how much he’s changed, of what you might think of him now.”

“Think of him?” Winnie’s voice rose, trembling with emotion. “He’s my boy. My James. There’s nothing he could do, nothing he could have gone through, that would make me love him any less.”

You smiled faintly, a hint of relief softening your features. “I know that. And deep down, I think he does too. But it’s hard for him to see it sometimes.”

Winnie let out a shaky breath, her fingers brushing against the edge of the table. “He was always stubborn,” she murmured, her voice tinged with affection. “Even as a boy, once he got an idea in his head, you couldn’t talk him out of it.”

You chuckled softly, and the sound was warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Yeah,” you said, your tone fond. “He’s still like that.”

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between you. Then Winnie straightened slightly, her gaze sharpening as another thought struck her. “You said Steven is alive too.”

You nodded. “He is. He and James are living together now, in Brooklyn.”

“In Brooklyn?” Winnie echoed, her brow furrowing. “You mean to tell me those two fools survived everything they went through and still ended up back here?”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “I guess they couldn’t resist coming home.”

Winnie shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips despite the tears still glistening in her eyes. “Of course they did. Those two were always thick as thieves. If there was trouble to be found, they’d find it together.”

“They still do,” you said, your smile widening. “But they’re good now. They’ve made a life for themselves—a real life. They’re happy.”

Winnie’s chest tightened, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. It was too much to process, too much to believe, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to doubt it.

Her boys. Alive. Together. Safe.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”

You reached across the table, your hand warm and steady as it covered Winnie’s. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

Winnie’s fingers tightened around yours, gratitude and hope flooding her chest in equal measure. But before she could speak again, your expression shifted, a hint of nervous energy creeping into your gaze.

“There’s… something else,” you said slowly, as though choosing your words carefully. “I’ve been thinking about James. About what he’s been through, and what he’s lost. And I was wondering…” You hesitated, your eyes searching Winnie’s face. “Would you want to see him?”

Winnie froze, her breath catching in her throat. “See him?” she repeated, her voice barely audible. “You can do that?”

Your grip on her hand tightened slightly, a spark of determination lighting your eyes. “There’s a way. It’s… time travelling just like I did, and it might sound crazy, but I can bring him back here. Just for a week. For his birthday.”

Winnie stared at you, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread. “You mean… you could bring him here? From the future?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady. “It wouldn’t change anything in the timeline—he wouldn’t be able to stay permanently—but it would give him a chance to see you. To have that time with you.”

The room felt impossibly still, the weight of the offer pressing down on Winnie like a physical force. Her heart raced, her thoughts spinning wildly as she tried to comprehend the enormity of what you were suggesting. To see her boy again. To hold him, to tell him everything she’d held in her heart for so long.

“Are you sure?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly. “But only if you want it. If it’s too much, I understand.”

Winnie shook her head, fresh tears spilling over as a trembling smile broke across her face. “Too much? No. It’s everything. It’s more than I ever dared to hope for.”

You smiled, relief and warmth radiating from you like a beacon. “Then I’ll make it happen.”

Winnie let out a shaky laugh, her hands clutching yours as though you might vanish if she let go. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

For the first time in several months, hope blossomed in Winnie’s chest, a fragile but undeniable light cutting through the darkness. Her James was coming home. Even if only for a week, it would be enough. It would be everything.

As Winnie sat back in her chair, clutching her teacup as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Across from her, you watched her with patient, steady eyes, your hands folded neatly on the table. For all the warmth and kindness in your expression, there was a subtle alertness about you, as if you were bracing yourself for whatever might come next.

“So,” Winnie began softly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her, “when are you bringing him here?”

You hesitated, your lips pressing together before you answered. “It won’t be immediate,” you said gently. “I still have to take care of a few things back home. Time travelling needs to be done very carefully.”

Winnie nodded slowly, turning the words over in her mind. “I see,” she murmured, though the concept was as baffling as everything else you had told her that day. “And it’ll be both of them? James and Steven?”

You tilted your head slightly, your brows knitting in mild confusion. “You want to see Steve, too?”

“Of course I do,” Winnie said, her voice firm now. “That boy… he was as much my son as James was. They were inseparable. Always running off together, getting into trouble. Steven was smaller, quieter, but oh, the mischief they caused.” She let out a soft, wistful laugh, her eyes shining with memory. “When James wasn’t pulling some prank, it was Steven. And when they weren’t eating me out of house and home, they were convincing Rebecca to smuggle cookies from the pantry. Those boys were mine, y/n. Both of them.”

Your face softened, your gaze warm with understanding. “I’ll bring Steve,” you promised. “He’d want to see you, too.”

Winnie leaned forward slightly, her expression serious. “You tell him he’d better show his face. I may be older now, but I can still box his ears if he’s too stubborn.”

You laughed, the sound breaking through the heaviness of the moment. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that felt less like avoidance and more like a quiet acknowledgment of everything they’d shared. Winnie sipped her tea, her mind racing with thoughts of James and Steven, of how different they must be now, and yet still the same in ways that mattered. She wanted to ask more—so much more—but she didn’t know how much more she could take before he brain began hurting.

You cleared your throat softly, breaking the quiet. “I’ll leave you something to help,” you said, pulling a small, unfamiliar device from your pocket. It was sleek, metallic, and fit neatly into the palm of your hand. You placed it on the table between you, your expression thoughtful. “This will let you know when we’re coming. It’ll turn green when we’re on our way.”

Winnie stared at the strange object, her fingers twitching with the urge to touch it. “And I’ll know it’s them?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Yes,” you said firmly. “When it lights up, you’ll know we’re coming in less than 2mins. But until then, it’s important that you don’t tell anyone about this. Not even Rebecca.”

Winnie nodded, though the request gave her pause. “Why not?”

“It could change things,” you said carefully, your tone deliberate. “The timeline is… fragile. Even the smallest change could ripple out and affect the future in ways we can’t predict.”

Winnie frowned but didn’t press further. She trusted you, even if your explanations left her head spinning. “I’ll wait,” she said finally, her voice steady. “Whenever you’re ready to bring them, I’ll be here.”

You smiled, relief flashing briefly across your face. “Thank you.” You rose from your chair, smoothing your hands over your strange, unfamiliar clothing. “I should go,” you said softly. “But I’ll be back soon. But please… don’t tell anyone else about this. Not until it’s time.”

Winnie nodded, though her mind lingered on the odd tension in your words. “I won’t,” she promised. “And thank you… for everything.”

As you stepped toward the door, you paused, “I’ll see you soon, Mrs. Barnes,” you said quietly before slipping out the door.

Winnie watched you go, the strange little device still sitting on the table, its metallic surface catching the light. She didn’t understand everything—perhaps she never would—but one thing was clear. You cared deeply for her son, in ways that went beyond mere kindness or duty. And while Winnie couldn’t quite put her finger on it, she had a feeling there was more to the story than you were letting on.

With a quiet sigh, she picked up the device, turning it over in her hands as a small smile tugged at her lips. Her boys were coming home. And no matter what secrets you might be hiding, Winnie would be ready.

The first thing Bucky became aware of was warmth—a soft, familiar weight pressed against his waist, accompanied by a flurry of something tickling his skin. His brows furrowed as his body stirred, torn from the haze of sleep by what felt suspiciously like lips pressing against his face. Again and again. Across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and down along his jawline.

“Doll,” he grumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep. “What’re you—?”

Before he could finish, another kiss landed on his chin, followed by a soft giggle that melted whatever protest he’d been trying to muster. He cracked one eye open, his gaze greeted by you perched on his waist, your legs folded neatly on either side of him, and face lit up like you’d just won the lottery.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” you chirped, leaning down to plant another kiss on his forehead. “Time to wake up.”

Bucky groaned, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “It’s too early for this,” he muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.

“It’s never too early to kiss your grumpy face,” you retorted, your voice dripping with mischief as your trailed kisses down the side of his neck. “Plus, I made you breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” he repeated, cracking his other eye open now. His arms moved instinctively to settle on your hips, steadying you as he shifted slightly. “What kind of breakfast?”

“Only the best for my birthday boy,” you said grinning. “Chocolate chip and caramel pancakes, strawberries, and an Americano. Your favorite.”

Bucky’s lips parted slightly, his mind catching up to her words. “Birthday boy?” he echoed, groaning again as the realization hit him. “It’s not my birthday yet.”

“Close enough,” your voice sing-song as you leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “It’s your birthday week, Buck. So, get used to it.”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as his arms tightened around you. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Insanely in love with you,” you quipped, tilting your head to press a longer, slower kiss to his lips.

Bucky sighed into the kiss, his initial sleepiness melting away as he pulled you closer. One of his hands moved up your back, his fingers tangling lightly in your hair as he deepened the kiss, savoring the warmth of you against him. When you both finally broke apart, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

“Morning kisses are dangerous,” you teased, nipping lightly at his bottom lip before sitting back on his lap.

“You started it,” he countered, smirking. “Don’t blame me for finishing it.”

Your laugh was soft and musical as you traced fingers lightly over his chest. “Come on, lazybones.”

Bucky groaned in protest but sat up, leaning back against the headboard as he adjusted you so you stayed steady on his lap. He glanced around for his T-shirt, his brow furrowing when he didn’t see it where he’d tossed it the night before.

“Where’s my shirt?” he asked, leaning over slightly to check the floor beside the bed.

When he looked back up, he froze mid-sentence, his lips parting as he took you in fully. You were sitting there, looking as sheepish as you were smug, wearing his shirt. The fabric hung loosely on your frame, the sleeves too long, and the hem brushing against your bare thighs. It was unmistakably his, and you looked too damn cute for your own good.

“Doll,” he said, his voice low and laced with amusement. “Did you steal my shirt?”

You gave him an innocent smile, tugging lightly at the hem as though to draw attention to your handiwork. “Maybe.”

“You little thief,” he teased, narrowing his eyes as a playful grin tugged at his lips.

“You left it lying around,” you shot back, tone matter-of-fact. “And besides, it’s comfy. Smells like you.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he reached out to tug gently on the sleeve. “You’re lucky you look so damn cute in it.”

“I know,” you said, grinning triumphantly.

He leaned forward suddenly, his arms wrapping around you, as he flipped you both over onto the mattress. Your squealed in surprise, your laughter spilling out in a way that made his chest ache with how much he loved you.

“Admit it,” he said, pinning your wrists lightly above your head as he hovered. “You’re obsessed with me.”

You grinned up at him, utterly unrepentant. “Guilty as charged.”

Letting out a soft laugh, Bucky released your wrists so he could cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Good,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Because I’m pretty damn obsessed with you too.”

Your smile softened, eyes shining as you reached up to pull him down for another kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, a quiet promise exchanged. When you both finally pulled apart, you gave him a playful shove.

“Alright, birthday boy,” you said, sitting up and smoothing your hands over his shirt. “Let me get your breakfast before it gets cold.”

As you moved to get up, he caught your wrist, tugging you back toward him. “Wait,” he said, nodding toward the wardrobe. “If you’re going out there, grab me another shirt.”

Your brows raised, a mischievous glint sparking, “Why?”

“Because I’m not walking around half-naked,” he said, his tone dry.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head as you gave him an appraising look. “Why not? You’ve got a drool-worthy body, Buck. Let me enjoy the view for a little longer.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand down his face as he tried not to laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” you countered, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead before darting out of the room.

When you returned a few minutes later, balancing a tray of food, the smell of coffee and pancakes wafted through the air. Bucky’s stomach growled at the sight of it, and you grinned, setting the tray on the bed between you both.

“Breakfast in bed,” you announced, settling cross-legged beside him. “Made with love.”

Bucky gave you a soft smile, his heart swelling at the way your eyes lit up. “Thank you, doll.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you teased, picking up a fork and spearing a piece of pancake before holding it out to him. “Try it first.”

He raised an eyebrow but leaned forward to take the bite, his eyes widening slightly as the flavors hit his tongue. “Okay, that’s good,” he admitted, his tone slightly muffled.

“Told you,” you said smugly, popping a piece of pancake into your own mouth.

You ate together like that, trading bites and teasing each other in between sips of coffee. At one point, Bucky fed you a strawberry, laughing softly at the way you wrinkled your nose when the juice dripped onto your chin. You were radiant, completely in your element, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by how much he loved you.

“So,” he said finally, setting his fork down as he leaned back against the headboard. “What’s the plan for today?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why do I feel like I should be nervous?”

“Because you should be,” you teased, leaning over to steal another kiss. “Now, finish your breakfast so we can get started.”

He rolled his eyes but did as you asked, his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Whatever you had planned, he knew it was going to be perfect. Because you were perfect. And he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his day—and his life—with you by his side.

A hour later Bucky was leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping on the last of his coffee, his damp hair curling slightly at the edges from the shower. He was still trying to piece together why you had been so hyperactive all morning. Sure, it was his birthday week, but you were practically vibrating with energy, flitting from one room to the next like a woman on a mission. He’d never seen you this focused—and that was saying something.

“Bucky!” you voice called from the bedroom.

He pushed off the counter with a soft chuckle, setting his mug in the sink before making his way to you. “Yeah, doll?”

As soon as he stepped inside, you turned to him with those big, sparkling eyes that always managed to undo him. You were standing on you tippy toes, pointing toward the upper cupboard above the closet. “Can you get the suitcases down for me?”

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Suitcases? Why do you need those?”

You shot him a grin, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “We’re going on a trip! For your birthday.”

That made him pause. “A trip?” he repeated, his brow furrowing slightly as he stepped toward the cupboard. “What trip?”

“You’ll see,” you said, clearly enjoying his confusion. “But Steve’s coming too.”

Bucky froze, halfway through reaching for the suitcases. He turned back to look at you, an incredulous expression crossing his face. “Steve’s coming? Why is Steve coming on my birthday trip?”

“Because he’s your best friend,” you said matter-of-factly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And it’ll be fun.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amusement. “You’re planning a trip for my birthday… and you invited Stevie?”

“Yes, Do you have a problem with that?” you asked, hands on your hips.

“Not exactly,” he muttered, grabbing the suitcases and setting them down on the bed. “But it’s a little weird, doll. Most people don’t bring a third-wheel on a romantic getaway.”

You rolled your eyes, already unzipping one of the suitcases. “Who said it’s a romantic getaway? Maybe it’s a fun getaway.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips. “You’re up to something.”

“Maybe,” you said coyly, grabbing a stack of neatly folded clothes from the dresser and dropping them into the suitcase. “Now stop asking questions and help me pack.”

Bucky sighed but couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

He stepped closer, pulling open the drawer with his T-shirts and folding a few into the second suitcase. As he worked, he watched you out of the corner of his eye, the way his brows furrowed in concentration and the little hums you let out as you double-checked your packing list.

“What’s with all the jewelry boxes?” he asked after a moment, nodding toward the growing pile of items you was slipping into a side pocket.

“Accessories,”

“And the electronics?”

“Essentials.”

He raised an eyebrow but decided not to push. You was obviously on a mission, and he wasn’t about to interrupt the flow.

By the time you added a small bag of expensive makeup to the pile, he couldn’t help himself. “Doll, are we going to a luxury fashion show or something? Because this is starting to look like a lot.”

You shot him a playful glare. “It’s not a lot. It’s exactly what we need. Now hush and fold your socks.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for his drawer. “Yes, dear.”

A few minutes later, Steve wandered into the room, followed by Sam, who was munching on an apple and looking entirely too amused by the situation.

“What’s all this?” Sam asked, gesturing to the suitcases.

“Packing,” you said brightly, tossing another pair of jeans into one of the bags. “We leave tomorrow.”

Sam’s brows lifted, and he exchanged a glance with Steve, who grinned knowingly. “You didn’t tell him yet, did you?” Steve asked, his tone almost gleeful.

“Of course not It’s a surprise.” you said.

Bucky crossed his arms, leveling everyone all with a suspicious look. “You three are up to something. I can feel it.”

Sam snorted. “You’re just now figuring that out?”

“Shut up, Wilson,” Bucky muttered, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth settle over him. The easy banter, the laughter, the way you kept sneaking glances at him as though you couldn’t help yourself—it all felt so… normal. And for someone who’d spent decades trapped in chaos and darkness, normal was a gift he didn’t take lightly.

“Alright,” you said finally, zipping up the last suitcase with a triumphant flourish. “I think we’re good to go.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You didn’t pack the kitchen sink yet.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped closer to poke him in the chest. “You’re lucky I love you, Barnes.”

He grinned, catching your hand and pulling you into his arms. “I know,” he murmured, his voice softening. “And I love you too.”

Your smile brightened, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. It didn’t matter where he was going, all that mattered was you—the way you looked at him, the way you loved him, the way you made him feel like he was finally, truly home.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Sam called, breaking the moment with a dramatic sigh. “Save the mushy stuff for the trip.”

Bucky shot him a mock glare, but his hold on you didn’t loosen. Instead, he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your temple before turning back to the suitcases. Whatever you had planned, he knew one thing for sure: with you by his side, it was going to be perfect.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t a fan of surprises, but he was even less of a fan of being blindfolded, especially when it involved Steve holding his hand like they were reenacting some 1940s screwball comedy.

“Stevie,” he grumbled, his voice muffled by the blindfold. “If I trip and fall on my face, you’re paying for my dental work.”

Steve snorted, his grip firm as he guided Bucky down what felt like an endless corridor. “Relax, Buck. I’ve got you. You’ve been blindfolded for what? Five minutes?”

“Five minutes too long,” Bucky shot back, his tone dry. “I’m a trained assassin! I could probably tell you how many steps we’ve taken, what direction we’re headed, and what Sam’s chewing on back there.”

From behind, Sam made an exaggerated crunching sound. “It’s gum, genius. Cherry-flavored. Want some?”

“No,” Bucky growled, trying to keep his balance as Steve tugged him forward again. “What I want is to know what the hell is going on.”

“You’ll see soon enough,” your cheerful voice piped up from somewhere ahead. “Stop being so grumpy. It’s your birthday trip!”

“Grumpy is my default setting,” Bucky muttered, though his lips twitched with a small smile. It wasn’t like he could stay mad—not when your voice carried that spark of excitement, like you couldn’t wait to share whatever scheme you’d cooked up.

“Just keep walking, Barnes,” Steve said, a smirk evident in his tone. “You’ll thank us later.”

Bucky let out a long-suffering sigh but kept moving, his enhanced hearing picking up the faint hum of machinery in the distance. The sound grew louder as they walked, and he could feel the air shift slightly, the faintest vibration underfoot giving away their location.

“We’re headed toward the back of the compound,” he muttered.

“Man, can’t get anything past you, huh?” earning a chuckle from Sam.

“Nope,” Bucky deadpanned, though his focus sharpened as they came to a stop. He could hear Tony’s voice now, low and clipped, exchanging words with you. Something about suits?

“Here you go,” Tony said, his voice dripping with his usual snark. “Try not to break my suit, lovebirds.”

“Suit?” Bucky repeated, his brow furrowing beneath the blindfold. “What suit?”

“Hold still, Buck,” you said sweetly, and before he could respond, he felt something cool and metallic snap onto his wrist.

“What the—?” He flinched as the sensation spread, a sleek, nanotech suit wrapping around his body in an instant. It clung to him like a second skin, and he had to fight the instinct to rip it off. “Why the hell do I need a suit?” he questioned.

“Because you’re going to need it,” you said cryptically.

“Need it for what—”

“Goodbye, Nat!” you called, cutting him off as you waved toward the direction of Natasha’s voice.

“See you back in a jiffy,” Natasha replied, her tone amused.

Bucky froze. Jiffy? His enhanced brain worked through the context in seconds, piecing together the sounds, the cryptic comments, and the tech now covering his body. His heart stuttered.

“Doll,” he said slowly, his voice low and worried. “Are we—”

Before he could finish, the ground shifted beneath him, and his words were swallowed by the rush of noise and light.

The Quantum Realm.

The pull of it was disorienting, like being dragged through a vortex, the world around him blurring into streaks of color and sound. He instinctively tightened his grip on Steve’s hand, though he silently cursed the situation. Why did Steve get to hold his hand? He wanted it to be you.

Seconds—or maybe mini seconds—later, the chaos abruptly stopped, and Bucky felt himself thrown forward. He landed with a thud, groaning as the impact knocked the breath out of him.

“Get off of me, Buck,” Steve grumbled from beneath him.

“Not my fault you’re always in the way,” Bucky muttered, rolling off of Steve just as you collapsed onto both of them in a fit of laughter.

“This is the best thing ever,” you declared, clearly unbothered by the pile-up. “We did it!”

“Yeah, great,” Bucky said, sitting up and rubbing his head. “Where the hell are we?”

You scrambled to your feet, practically bouncing as you grabbed his hands and tugged him up. “You’ll see. Ready?”

He raised an eyebrow, his suspicions deepening. “Not until you tell me—”

“Nope!” you interrupted, reaching up to untie his blindfold. “No spoilers. Just… trust me, okay?”

Bucky sighed, his irritation melting under your excited voice. “Fine.”

As the blindfold fell away, the world came into focus, and Bucky felt his breath catch in his throat. His surroundings were achingly familiar—the cobblestone street, the faint smell of fresh bread from the bakery two doors down, the little white house with blue shutters and a squeaky front gate.

It was home. His home. The one from the 1940s, where his ma had lived with his sister.

He stared, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. Every detail was perfect, from the worn brick chimney to the hydrangeas blooming by the front porch. It was as though he’d stepped back in time, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

“Doll,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Is this…?”

“Happy birthday, Bucky,” you said softly, your eyes shining with love. “Welcome home.”

His knees nearly gave out, the weight of the moment hitting him all at once. He turned to you, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words. But there were none. What could he possibly say to this? To you?

Instead, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as his chest heaved with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. You wrapped your arms around him without hesitation, your head resting against his shoulder, holding him just as firmly.

“Thank you,” he choked out after a long moment, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, doll.”

Your smile was soft, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you pulled back to look at him. “You deserve this, Buck. All of it.”

For the first time in a long time, Bucky believed that. And as he turned back toward the house, his heart felt lighter than it had in decades.

The tiny gadget sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, its metallic surface catching the morning light streaming through the window. Winnie Barnes had made a habit of glancing at it every time she passed by, though she’d tried not to obsess over it. It had been a month since the young woman, with a quick smile and a strange, unworldly confidence—had appeared in her life, promising something that felt too impossible to believe.

But today, when Winnie glanced at the device, she froze. The tiny light on its surface was glowing green.

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching as she set down the towel she’d been folding. Her fingers hovered above the gadget, trembling slightly, before she pressed it, feeling the faint warmth of the metal beneath her touch. It had turned green, just like you had said it would.

Her boys!

Winnie’s chest tightened, her heart racing as she stared at the device. You had promised—you’d promised to bring Steve & Bucky home, even if only for a little while. And now, after weeks of waiting and wondering if she’d been foolish to believe, it was happening.

A knock sounded at the door, sharp and purposeful, and Winnie’s breath hitched. For a moment, she couldn’t move, her legs frozen beneath her as her mind raced. Then, as if on instinct, she grabbed her apron and wiped her hands, hurrying toward the door. Her heart pounded with every step, anticipation and disbelief swirling together in a dizzying mix.

When she opened the door, her breath left her in a rush.

There he was. Her James.

He stood on the stoop, taller than she remembered, broader too, with his hair cut shorter than the boyish waves she’d last seen. He looked like a man now, with a shadow of a beard and eyes that carried a weight she couldn’t begin to imagine. But those were his eyes, her boy’s eyes, and they softened the moment they met hers.

“Ma?” Bucky said, his voice low and tentative, as if he were afraid to break whatever spell had brought him here.

Winnie’s hand flew to her mouth, tears already blurring her vision. “James,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Oh, my sweet boy…”

Before he could say another word, she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. He stiffened for a moment, as though startled by the embrace, but then he melted into her, his arms coming up to hold her tightly. She felt his chest heave, the soft hitch of his breath against her shoulder, and she held him even tighter, as if letting go might make him disappear.

“You’re real,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “You’re here.”

“I’m here, Ma,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here.”

It was only then that she realized they weren’t alone. Just behind him, standing a step lower on the stoop, was another familiar face—Steven Rogers. He looked much the same as she remembered, though his shoulders seemed broader, his stance steadier, and there was a kindness in his gaze that she remembered and it made her heart ache.

“Steven,” she said, her voice breaking as she reached for him.

Steve smiled softly, stepping forward to wrap her in a hug that was just as firm, just as full of love. “Hi, Mrs. Barnes,” he said, his voice warm and familiar. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Stevie,” she said, pulling back to look at him, her hands cupping his face. “You look well.”

“So do you,” he said with a smile.

Her gaze flicked back to James, and she shook her head, tears streaming freely now. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re both here.”

James reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek, his hand trembling slightly. “It’s real, Ma. We’re here.”

Her gaze darted past them, searching for the one person who had made this miracle possible. “Where’s y/n?”

“Right here, Mrs. Barnes,” you called, stepping out from behind the boys with a wide grin. You were carrying a small backpack slung over one shoulder, your eyes sparkling with the same enthusiasm Winnie had seen the day she first met you.

Winnie let out a soft laugh, her hand pressing to her chest. “You did it,” she said, her voice filled with wonder. “You brought them home.”

“I told you I would,” you said, grin widening. “Happy early birthday to Jamie.”

James turned to you, his expression a mix of awe and gratitude. “You… you planned this on your own?”

You shrugged, your smile turning a bit sheepish. “Well, Steve and Sammy helped, but yeah. I thought you might like to see your mom again.”

Bucky stared at you for a long moment, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled you into a hug, his grip firm and unyielding. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “Thank you, doll.”

Your arms wrapped around him without hesitation, your head resting against his chest as you smiled softly. “You’re welcome, Buck.”

Winnie watched the exchange, her heart swelling as she took in the sight of her son standing there, alive and whole, surrounded by people who clearly loved him. It was more than she could have hoped for, more than she dared to dream.

“Come inside,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement. “Come in, all of you. I’ll make tea.”

James smiled, his arm still draped around your shoulders as he turned to follow her inside. “Tea sounds great, Ma.”

Winnie watched the three of them file into her modest kitchen, her chest so full it ached. James was here. Her James. He was alive, and standing right there in front of her. She’d spent so many months mourning the boy she thought she’d lost to the war, but now she couldn’t stop staring at the man he’d become. He moved like someone who carried too much weight on his shoulders, but there was something else in his posture, too—something lighter, steadier. A calmness she didn’t quite recognize but found herself grateful for.

“Ma, you don’t have to do all this,” James said, his voice soft as he reached for the teapot she was preparing. “We can handle it.”

“Don’t you ‘Ma’ me, James Barnes,” she shot back, swatting his hand away. “You just sit down and let me take care of my boys.”

Bucky blinked at her, clearly startled, before a small, sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And you,” Winnie continued, turning her attention to Steven Rogers, who was already leaning against the counter. “I’m not above putting you to work, Steven. You’ve got all that super-soldier strength—bring the bags in before your friend over there starts yelling.”

She nodded toward you, currently perched on the armrest of the couch, rummaging through a stack of photo albums you’d pulled from the shelf.

“I already yelled,” you said cheerfully, waving a hand toward the door. “You all just didn’t hear me. Stevie, come on, move those muscles. Make yourself useful.”

Steve rolled his eyes but pushed off the counter with a resigned sigh. “I liked you better when you were quieter,” he muttered, as he headed toward the door.

“You’ve never known me to be quiet, Rogers,” you called after him, your grin widening.

Winnie couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head as she turned back to the teapot. “She’s got quite the mouth on her, doesn’t she?”

“She always does,” James said, though there was no mistaking the fondness in his tone. His gaze followed you as you hopped up from the couch and began poking through a drawer, muttering to yourself about “how vintage everything is.”

“She’s… something else,” Winnie murmured, her lips curving into a small smile.

James smiled at that, his expression softening. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, Ma.”

The words hit Winnie like a wave, her hands stilling as she poured the tea. She looked up at her son, her heart swelling at the way his eyes softened when they landed on you. It wasn’t just affection she saw there—it was something deeper, something that made her throat tighten with emotion.

“She loves you,” Winnie said quietly, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. “I can see it.”

James nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. “Yeah. She does.”

There was something unspoken in his tone, something heavy that Winnie didn’t miss. She set the teapot down, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his arm. “And you love her.”

It wasn’t a question, but James nodded again, his gaze dropping to the floor. “More than I ever thought I could,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “She… she makes everything feel worth it, Ma.”

Winnie squeezed his arm, her heart aching with both pride and sorrow. She didn’t need to ask to know what he meant. She’d seen it in your eyes the day the you had come to her door, explaining everything James had been through—the torture, the brainwashing, the years stolen from him by Hydra. It was a kind of pain no mother could bear to imagine, and yet here he was, standing before her, whole and loved and somehow still her James.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I always have been.”

James looked up at her, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “Thanks, Ma.”

The moment was interrupted by a loud clatter from the living room, followed by your unmistakable voice. “This drawer is just socks! Who keeps a whole drawer of socks?”

“They’re not just socks,” Winnie called back, her tone amused. “They’re darning socks!”

“Darning socks?” you repeated, appearing in the doorway with one of the socks in question draped over your hand like a puppet. “What even is that?”

Winnie laughed, shaking her head as she reached for the teapot again. “It’s what we do when socks get holes in them. You’d mend them instead of throwing them out.”

You blinked, clearly baffled. “You can… fix socks?”

“People in this era did,” Winnie said, chuckling at the younger woman’s expression. “Though I doubt you’re one of them.”

“Definitely not,” you said, grinning as you tossed the sock back into the drawer. “But that’s cool. Vintage socks. Got it.”

Steve chose that moment to reappear, a suitcase in each hand and an expression of mild annoyance on his face. “Happy now?” he asked, glaring playfully at you.

“Ecstatic,” you said, beaming at him. “You’re such a gentleman, Stevie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered, setting the bags down by the door. “Just don’t ask me to do anything else.”

Winnie watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and affection. It was chaos, but it was her chaos, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. For the first time in what felt like forever, her house was filled with laughter and life and love. And as she looked around at the people who had made it possible, she couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

“Alright,” she said, clapping her hands together as she stepped into the living room. “Who’s ready for tea?”

“Me!” you called, plopping down onto the couch and kicking your feet up. “But only if there’s cookies.”

Winnie smiled, her heart full as she nodded. “There’s always cookies, sweetheart.”

James met her gaze from across the room, his expression soft and filled with gratitude. She nodded back, her silent promise unspoken but understood: they were home, and for as long as she had them, she’d make sure they never felt alone again.

To be continued….

[drdemonprince]

(i'm not great at wrapping words around my thoughts, so i hope this makes sense!) i like the phrase 'sex exceptionalism,' it really makes me think. this morning i also had the thought: 'youth exceptionalism' -- i have a feeling you've already thought about this, about how we sort of treat children/youth as both sacred and subhuman.

i get this hard-to-describe unease whenever i see signs saying 'protect trans youth.' like changing words doesn't actually change actions, but i wish it said something more like 'defend trans folks.' without trans elders, trans youth don't have a future modeled for them. and we lose the wisdom and insight of people who transitioned in politically tumultuous times, when doing so was at least as stigmatized and difficult and dangerous as it is now. people with the benefit of seeing changes come and go, who have the lived experience of survival-pending-liberation and trans folks helping trans folks through direct immediate action and support.

youth exceptionalism -- it gets in the way of thinking clearly and critically whenever it pops up. it seems more emotional and ingrained than conscious. i feel it around programs aimed at giving youth opportunities, with cutoff ages. which to some extent makes sense, but not to the degree of fetishization of youth & kids our culture hangs on to. one too eager to discard humans as soon as they age (or rage) out of this impressionable, doll-like imposed role.

i think it also puts unconscious stress on youth, a sense of adults/power-havers heaping dreams & expectations on the next generation. and claiming all the sacrifices they chose to make were for the children/next generation. but at the same time expecting a specific outcome, a specific return on that transactional investment.

anyway, that's my jumble o' thoughts.

I think you're getting at something real. I have never liked the "Protect Trans Youth" shirts and banners, the way that certain supportive and well-intentioned parents cling to an identity for themselves as parent to a trans kid (often putting their kid's trans status out into the open and denying them the chance at ever being stealth, should they want to be), the advocacy that gets too perversely focused on the threat of a trans kid killing themselves (as if that were the only reason to give young people rights), the fixation on protection and innocence rather than on liberation... the heart is genuine that is driving a lot of this stuff, but it still sees children as the helpless precious object of their parents, a proto-human that has to be shielded from the world rather than a human of their own, with their own right to make decisions. it still treats transness as a rare fringe case; we might as well be talking about child cancer patients, for how focused the language is on protection and death. everybody's debating about what is best for the kid, and how to best prevent harm, and nobody is letting the kids speak for themselves. there's something so cloying and inert about it. even if the Protect Trans Kids group wins every political battle they get involved in, all they've done is provide children with one exception from the usual denial of body autonomy they live with. and they only get that exception because supposedly death is the alternative and they're that rare and sick. it's not good when you really drill into it.

[utilitycaster]

to me i feel like the hells were meant for a campaign more like cr2, which i feel like that's been discussed before even on your blog? like idk orym and braius were the only characters who actually fit this campaign, maybe imogen for obvious reasons. but laudna, fearne, ashton, chetney all felt like they belonged in a lower stakes, more personal campaign

Yes, I have talked about this extensively: honestly, either a Campaign 1 or Campaign 2 structure would have served them better. For what it's worth I feel like everyone other than Laudna managed to make something of it - Fearne and Chetney frankly did a lot of work to explore their concepts, it was just never rewarded or frankly in many cases revisited in any way (again, consequences do not mean punishment; they quite literally just mean that one's actions lead to results that follow from said actions), and while I ended up not caring much for Ashton as a character, I actually think Taliesin played them with a strong logical throughline. But it is true that the plot really, in the end, served none of them, not even Orym or Imogen (Braius it kind of did, but he was developed so late in the game that he was designed around its flaws). There was just never space to really explore the dark fairytale Ashley talked about early on; Tuyen and that other toymaker back in Marquet were never revisited nor was Ruidus's impact on Chetney nor was there an appearance of Doreo, and even Drixlich and the offers to the pirates vanished (side note but Travis is perhaps actual play's best plot thread generator and I think it's telling that he kind of gave up on that eventually because it never fucking went anywhere, after two campaigns where it consistently did). When it comes to Imogen I am reminded of the possibly apocryphal theater review for King Lear that went "the lead actor played the king as though he momentarily expected someone to play the ace;" she was a great concept but at no point inhabited her decisions meaningfully on the rare occasions she made them. Orym was never really given the opportunities Caleb had to explore grief and while I personally am okay with his deal with Morri being canceled, it plus the whole Vax thing really feel like a thumbing of the nose at Liam's RP choices across the decade. Ashton's temporary growth and then regression honestly feel very real, just deeply unsympathetic, though the ending of the story where nothing about the All Minds Burn or his talk with Shady Sally or the titans or the Hishari came up and the genuinely great moment of sacrifice turned into another "and then Essek fixes it for you" was narratively empty. But the more I think about it, the more this was largely a failure of Matt to tell a different kind of story with any measure of success. I think this campaign in many ways played hard to Matt, Marisha, and Laura's weaknesses in particular (and a little bit of Liam's if I'm being honest in the end) whereas the others embraced their strengths, and this is what happened; the rest of the cast kind of made the most of it.

[greatbananaboat]

op's argument is actually ridiculous lmao

setting her story up against real-world racism and prejudice is actually so truly insane. i'm so tired of the bullshit about her gassing the whole undercity and hating all zaunites. prev alr talked about it and it's been repeated over and over again.

is she morally right? nah there's a lot of nuance there and while i can see why she did what she did, i don't think it's morally right. but the constant overinflation of her actions is laughable.

isn't it embarrassing to constantly exaggerate your tired, overused arguments because if you told it like it is, people wouldn't buy it for a second? i'd be embarrassed if i did that. genuinely.

why is it that some of y'all have SUCH a hard time just enjoying things? if you didn't like it, move on. is that so difficult?

and i'm not white. i'm poc and have faced plenty of racism and have had actual guns pointed at me. and i will forever be a caitlyn defender bc as much as i am morally opposed to some of the stuff she does, y'all's buffoonery makes me want to focus on the positives even more than i usually do

I’ve noticed most of caits supporters are white privileged people who’ve never been through any hardship in their life or have faced racism. “I thought you were different” a phrase that has been used against a poc suggesting that their race is bad or dangerous like I like cait but y’all saying she did nothing wrong is crazy. She gassed the undercity? She hated a whole city because one person did something wrong again another thing poc face. Yes she gets better but those things did happen and if she’s your favorite character, you need to realize that. Also sfop with that “you don’t like her cause you don’t understand her character” bullshit. Someone can understand someone and hate them.

[jeongin-lvr]

hi hru? i hope you're ok 💓

i saw that your requests were open so if its ok, id like to request a fic with husband!taehyun. the plot is up to you, cause i love your fics and how you perfectly balanced a soft smut. tysm if you read this request. and take your sweet time, no rush! (:

hi cutie pie im so okay :P and tysm ur so sweet genuinely love getting asks like this ☹️ cw. trad-leaning relationship, breeding kink.

trad husband! taehyun that begs you to carry his babies— literally begs. he practically loses his mind whenever you tell him to cum inside. everything about it is so intimate, so erotic. his favorite place to cum is right in your gushing pussy, as deep as he can go. taehyun tends to let out soft breaths and groans but when he cums inside of you is borderline pornographic breathy moans. high pitched but brief; every time he does it you savor it. cumming as he tells you how pretty you’ll look full of his babies, how you’re gonna be a perfect mama and how he’s gonna be so good to you both. you really don’t need convincing anymore, simply letting him make his claim in you whenever he got pent up. if hubby wants a baby give him a baby <3

trad husband! taehyun who lets you cock warm him as soon as he comes home from work. you’re sure he’s had a rough day from the bags under his eyes and the messiness of his usually well kept hair, so you offer him something he can’t refuse. when you sit on his lap with his cock buried to the hilt inside you, your fingers intertwine in his hair, combing the styling mousse out and kissing his jaw as he rants about a long day. being a business man has his downsides and as a good wife you’re always willing to listen!

trad husband! taehyun that buys you gifts— jewelry, lingerie, dresses, anything —just to fuck you in it. that new pearl necklace and earrings set he got? he wants to watch the precious jewel bounce as you ride his dick. that new floral patterned dress is perfect for easy access so of course he takes advantage of it; bending you over the kitchen counter mid-dinner prep and using you as he pleases. he buys you new panties and asks you to model them for him, knowing damn well it’d be much more than that. if he’s gonna spend money on you (gladly) he’s also gonna get a tiny bit of payment back. even buys new lipstick or mascara for you just to kiss it off, or make you cry on his cock.

trad husband! taehyun who never cums before you. sex feels unfinished when it’s just him cumming, so if he finds himself getting too close to the edge he’ll pull out, opting to play with your clit, teasing you by rubbing just his leaky, red tip along your folds. he doesn’t tell you he’s on the brink of explosion, too focused on dragging you along with him. it’s honestly not hard at all to get you there, though. a few whispers of praise into your ear, breathy and hot, already get you going for him. taehyun has a fetish for your pleasure; honestly, he can’t cum happily if you haven’t yet. he’s so sweet about it too, “c’mon, my pretty wife, give me what I want. you’re close aren’t you? love when you cum on my dick, baby, so give it to me.” you swear you go brain dead when he does this.

trad husband! taehyun who eats you out from behind while you talk about your day. it could be mundane as “I cleaned the house today” to random gossip about your friends or neighbors or whatever. taehyun, honestly, isn’t listening wholly. he’s too busy burying his nose against your throbbing clit and scissoring you open with his slender fingers, wedding band rubbing against your folds. he holds your hips down, enjoying the stutter in your voice when you get close to cumming even though you’re in the middle of your story. he mutters into your core “that’s nice, sweetie” and “yeah, babe.” you’re too blissed out to realize he hasn’t heard a single thing you said this whole time.

trad husband! taehyun who’s favorite version of you is when you wear his big white button ups and nothing else. draping over your smaller frame like curtains to a window; dripping just below your hips. it makes him so hard; blood rushing to his cock the moment he sees you like this. when you have no panties underneath and raise your arms, revealing the soft flesh of your ass his mind short circuits. he can’t help but want to fuck you in any and every position in his button downs.

if this is absolute garbage I’m so sorry I’m so deep into a writers block

[red-garden]

Sad SJ hour </3

what if Shen Qingqiu met Binghes mom Su Xiyan and was able to rescue both her and the fetus??

he takes her back to CQMS and over to Qian Cao peak, and some people start a rumor that SQQ knocked up a disciple from HHP and is now taking responsibility.

anyways rumors aside after SXY is healed she reveals what the HHPM did and how he forced her to take a poison to abort her baby but since she didn't want to she almost died.

Therefore with the information the new SQQ has on the HHPM he starts a plan to take over HHP and eventually is recognized as genuine threat by HHP.

The HHPM attempts to kill him by sending succubus demons to drain his life force. Instead SQQ and the demons become friends and create a peace treaty between CQMS and their group. He even talks to Madam Meiyin and after she tells him about his soulmate. SQQ doesn't believe her so MMY gives him potion that essentially works as a truth spell.

So SQQ uses that potion on YQY and gets him to reveal the secrets behind Xuan Su and why YQY "abandoned him."

Through the succubus demons help, SQQ also finds out that SQH had been selling CQMS out and instead of killing him they instead marry him to the Mobei Clan for another peace treaty between CQMS and the demons.

Then SQQ reveals what the palace master did, with the help of CQMS and some demons takes it over and becomes the NEW palace master.

anyways the demon realm wants TLJ to be released from his imprisonment and so does SXY because she js revealed that TLJ is the real father so SQQ as the new palace master has the power to do that and he does.

With his power as the PM and also with his wedding with YQY he's essentially one of the most powerful men in the world.

Therefore, he uses it to get rid of slavery give women more equal rights, as well as redirects wealth from the rich and gives it to people struggling with poverty and FINALLY gets his happy ending.

Pookie, how is this sad hours???

But also fully agree, tbh I think SJ and SXY could have been the besties of all time. Like they would be talking sooooo much shit about everyone. I also think she’s probably the only one who could get SJ to reconsider his position on demons.

Also madam Meiyin? Wingwoman of all time. Shout out her and her cutting through the bullshit plot devices.

As for the arranged Moshang marriage, it would be so funny if it was like, a demon cultural difference for MBJ to be in like a sold to one direction situation. Like “uncle sold me to Peak Lord Shang to secure an alliance, kyaaa!” SQH also thinks he’s in the same situation. They were both sold to one direction.

It would be too funny if upon TLJ’s release he started hitting on YQY, like “ohh you’re soooo strong mister cultivator, you beat me soooooo well” And it’s quietly driving SJ to deviate. Eventually he snaps infront of god and everyone “HE BELONGS TO ME. MINE ONLY.” And YQY gets so hard he passes out.

Lastly, shoutout comrade SJ. I want to see him become the people’s hero so bad

[skepticalarrie]

Hi Allie, I'm kind of new to the fandom and trying to understand some things.

1. At what point did a clear difference emerge between Harry's closet and Louis' closet? During 1D, even though they had different public images (Harry as a sex symbol and womanizer and Louis in a stable public relationship accessible to the fandom), I’d say their closets were similar. Both had strong restrictions on what they could say and how they could behave. But then that changed, and now their closets feel very different, even though their public images have only been reinforced. Some people think Harry is in a glass closet, while fewer people believe Louis is gay.

2. My second question is how Harry managed to gain more freedom over his image and career, but Louis didn’t. I mean, despite carrying this highly reinforced womanizer image since the start of his career, Harry has established himself as an ally to the queer community (aside from those who claim he’s queerbaiting). On the other hand, with Louis, even though he’s no longer with Syco, you can still see how much he restricts his natural mannerisms and tries hard to project this straight lad image.

I wanted to know your thoughts on these two things.

Thanks for answering, Allie!

Hi, anon! I think the answer to both of your questions comes down to the fact that Harry uses his relationships and sexuality as part of his promotion, while Louis’ stunts were strictly about concealing.

Harry and Louis’ closets have always been handled very differently, and that was already a big discussion when I joined the fandom in 2013, which is when I believe most of this talk intensified because of Haylor in the previous year. Harry’s girlfriends were always tied to new releases and promo. That’s where the whole “winter girlfriend” concept came from. All of their albums where released in November, and that’s exactly when a new “girlfriend” would pop up. Meanwhile, Louis was locked into a long-term relationship that eventually evolved into a whole “family” narrative. His stunts are purely about bearding, nothing more. As they went solo, these differences only became more obvious, but they were always there from the start and it was vastly discussed, for sure.

As for Harry’s “freedom,” like I said, I think he uses it to his advantage while still playing both sides. Everything he does is profitable, and I fully believe he’s encouraged to lean into things that will spark controversy and generate attention nowadays. That said, Harry was never the “gay one” in One Direction—Louis was. And I do think that still affects Louis. I totally agree that you can still see how he controls his mannerisms and seems more rigid while performing, which, honestly, I believe is probably a direct result of years of being told to “tone it down.” I can’t even imagine the long-term effects that must have had on him.

Don’t get me wrong, both of their closetings were brutal… Harry was forced into hypersexualization, while Louis was completely repressed. Unfortunately, we can erase any of that and there’s always the possibility that both of them are still tied to some sort of contracts, allowing or not allowing them to be a certain way. But at this point, I genuinely believe they have the power to decide what they want to share and what they don’t. And their current images are a result of that.

[tinytinyblogs]

Hi! I don’t know if you take requests but y’know how you did the yandere series w/ Stray Kids? Is it possible if you do the reverse of that? The reader the yandere and the members the victim? If it’s too much you don’t have to do it, I just thought with your writing it would be good. Have a great day/night/sleep 🧷🐣

This Is Not Love

When love isn't as sweet as they expected

Hyung line, Maknae line (coming soon)

💬 I've been away for quite a while—I know! Sorry for the delay, but I'm finally back and ready to start writing again.

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Over time, as your yandere tendencies began to surface, Chan couldn’t help but notice the subtle shifts in your behavior. At first, it was small things—the way your eyes lingered a little too long when he talked to others, or how you’d always find excuses to be near him, even when it wasn’t necessary. Then it became more apparent: the possessive grip on his arm, the quiet jealousy when he spent time with the members, the way you seemed to always know where he was, even when he hadn’t told you. Chan, being the observant and empathetic leader he is, didn’t miss any of it. Instead of reacting with anger or fear, he felt concern. He could see the turmoil beneath your actions, the insecurity driving your need to control and cling. One evening, after a particularly intense moment where you lashed out at the thought of him being away from you, he decided it was time to address it. Gently, he took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. His voice was soft but firm as he spoke. “I see how much you care about me, and I appreciate it. But this… this isn’t healthy. You don’t have to hold on so tightly. I’m not going anywhere.” His words were like a balm to your anxious heart, but he didn’t stop there. Chan, ever the caretaker, made it clear that he cared deeply for you. He held your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm, and looked into your eyes with a mix of love and concern.

“I want to help you,” he said. “This isn’t right, and I think you know that too. But I’m here for you. I’ll be by your side while you work on this, okay? You don’t have to do it alone.” His warmth and patience began to break through the walls of your possessiveness. You could feel the sincerity in his words, the way he genuinely wanted to see you heal and grow. It wasn’t just about fixing the relationship—it was about fixing you, and he was willing to stand by you every step of the way. Chan’s unwavering support and gentle guidance started to change something in you. His kindness reminded you that love didn’t have to be about control or fear. It could be about trust, patience, and growth. And with him holding your hand, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could learn to let go. But Chan, ever the responsible leader, didn’t let his care overshadow the need for boundaries. “I’ll always care about you,” he said, his voice steady. “But you have to promise me you’ll work on this. For yourself, and for us. I’ll be here, but you have to take the steps to fix it. Can you do that for me?” His words were a gentle push, a reminder that while he would support you, the journey to healing was yours to take. And with his hand in yours, you felt a little less afraid to start.

Minho

At first, Minho tried to brush off your possessive behavior. He noticed the way your eyes would narrow when he mentioned hanging out with friends, or how you’d always find a reason to tag along when he tried to go somewhere without you. It was strange, sure, but he figured it was just a phase—something that would pass with time. He is trying hard to understand why you act that way. Is it because you love him that much? He really wants to see it in a positive light, even though he knows something feels off about your behavior. But as the days went by, your actions became more intense. You started making excuses to keep him from meeting his friends, guilt-tripping him whenever he tried to leave, and even showing up unannounced at places you knew he’d be. It was suffocating, and Minho, who valued his independence and personal space, found himself growing more and more frustrated. One day, after you tried to stop him from meeting his friends yet again, he finally reached his limit. He turned to you, his expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief, and said bluntly, “You’re acting weird. Stop following me. I’m just meeting my friends—it’s not a big deal.” His words were sharp, but they came from a place of honesty.

Minho wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, and he couldn’t pretend your behavior was okay anymore. An argument might arise from this statement—he doesn’t like how the relationship makes him so unhappy. Shouldn't it be sweet instead of feeling this way? He didn’t like this side of you—the clinginess, the possessiveness, the way you seemed to want to control his every move. It wasn’t healthy, and he knew it. If things didn’t change, Minho made it clear that he wouldn’t stick around. He valued his freedom and his relationships with others too much to let anyone—even you—dictate how he lived his life. “If this keeps up,” he said, his tone firm but calm, “I’m stepping out. I can’t do this if it’s going to be like this.” Minho wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t going to compromise his boundaries either. He hoped you’d understand and take steps to change, but if the situation became worse, he wouldn’t hesitate to walk away. For Minho, self-respect and peace of mind were non-negotiable, and he’d protect them—even if it meant leaving you behind. He truly believes you should work on yourself—he won't tolerate such an unsettling relationship.

Changbin

At first, Changbin found your clinginess endearing. The way you always wanted to be near him, the way your eyes lit up when he was around—it made him feel loved and protected. He even thought it was cute, smiling sweetly at you whenever you clung to his arm or insisted on spending every moment together. Since he is also the clingy type, he doesn’t mind it. “Aww, you really want me all to yourself, huh?” he’d tease, his voice warm and affectionate. But as time went on, your behavior started to shift. What once felt like sweet devotion began to feel overwhelming. You’d interrupt his gym sessions, showing up unannounced and insisting he spend time with you instead. Or you’d sabotage his studio time, making excuses to pull him away from his work. At first, Changbin tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just your way of showing love. But deep down, he couldn’t ignore the growing confusion and frustration. One day, after you interrupted yet another studio session, Changbin decided to address it. He took a deep breath, his tone gentle but firm.

“Hey, let’s trust each other, okay? I know you care about me, and I care about you too. But I need my space sometimes—to work out, to make music, to just… be me. You get that, right?” Changbin wasn’t quick to judge you. He understood that your actions came from a place of love, even if they were misguided. He didn’t want to hurt you, and he hoped that by talking things through, you’d see how important it was for both of you to have balance in the relationship. But if things didn’t improve—if your possessiveness continued to escalate—Changbin knew he’d have to take a firmer stance. He cared about you deeply, but he also cared about his own well-being and his passions. If it came to it, he’d sit you down and make everything crystal clear. “I love you,” he’d say, his voice steady but serious, “but this isn’t healthy. We need to trust each other, or this isn’t going to work.” Changbin’s heart was big, but so was his sense of self-respect. He’d give you the chance to change, to grow, but if the situation became too much to handle, he wouldn’t hesitate to set boundaries—even if it meant stepping back for the sake of both of your happiness.

Hyunjin

At first, Hyunjin found your intense love for him incredibly romantic. The way you doted on him, protected him, and made sure he felt cherished—it melted his heart. He couldn’t help but smile when you went out of your way to take care of him, showering him with attention and affection. To Hyunjin, it felt like you were showing him just how much he was worth, and it made him feel truly loved. “You really love me that much, huh?” he’d say with a soft laugh, his eyes sparkling with gratitude. But as time went on, your love began to take on a more obsessive tone. You started stalking his every move—showing up unexpectedly at his dance practices, keeping tabs on his schedule, and even monitoring his interactions with others. At first, Hyunjin tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just your way of caring. But slowly, a sense of unease crept in. He began to question whether this was normal, whether this was how love was supposed to feel. The more your behavior intensified, the more Hyunjin felt trapped. He found himself panicking, his mind racing with doubts. Is this right? Is this how a relationship should be?

He valued his freedom and his individuality, and the thought of losing them scared him. One day, when your actions crossed a line—perhaps by confronting someone he was talking to or demanding he cancel plans to be with you—Hyunjin finally reached his breaking point. His emotions spilled over in a dramatic, tearful confrontation. “I love you,” he said, his voice trembling, “but this… this isn’t okay. You can’t control me like this. I need my freedom. I need to be able to live my life without feeling like I’m being watched all the time.” Tears streamed down his face as he poured his heart out, his dramatic nature amplifying the intensity of the moment. “I care about you so much, but this isn’t how love should work. Love is supposed to make us feel safe and happy, not trapped and scared. Please… understand that.” Hyunjin’s words were raw and heartfelt, a plea for balance and understanding. He didn’t want to lose you, but he also couldn’t lose himself in the process. If things didn’t change, he knew he’d have to make the difficult decision to step back—not because he didn’t love you, but because he loved himself enough to know he deserved a love that was healthy and free.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

As someone who wants to join the fandom more but it’s too scared to do so, I’m wondering how did you cultivated this community…? It’s so sweet to watch the way you talk to others and helping their works and such. How did you meet like…??? people ??? Like I always see you tagging the artists (ngl I found your blog because of Gomz) and I’d really want to learn, I’ve tried joining previous fandoms and it was always too competitive in some sense, like everyone was busy pushing their works for likes and retweets (maybe it’s more of a twitter thing)

Oh yeah. That's a Twitter thing. Twitter is a cesspit and I only go there for porn. The whole thing is set up to make people feel shite because people that feel shite scroll for longer/look at more adverts. Lock your account, bud. You'll feel a lot better.

But everywhere else? Gratitude and humility. Also, understanding what I wanted from fandom; a small community that hypes each other and encourages new people. Those are my bros (non-gendered). My Cakeshop Bros I found five years ago in fandom; they have slept in my spare bedroom, I've gone drinking, played boardgames, and we laid on the floor in London in a space art installation near Soho being weirdos drunk off our heads. Not just fandom friends now, friends for life.

When I first started posting for CoD, I was dead nervous as I'd been stung in a previous fandom. People took a chance on me as a new person; they reblogged my work with the sweetest tags. They hyped me. They took the time out of their day for a stranger, and they didn't have to. They coulda just read it and moved on. So, I said thank you in their inbox, or in their DMs. We started talking more, I was a bit weird and they vibed back. They are also good people. Genuinely. You mentioned Gomz; literally, so kind, so sweet. Deserves the world.

When I can, I make sure I hype them back; I wish I could do more but my job is absolute pig in terms of time. It's mock season (now over, woohoo) so I have a backlog of fics to catch up on - Nekro, Mikey, T, Oliv, Nikkie, Hexx, Gomz (who I deffo know have written), but there are probably more! I'll set a few hours aside over half term with a beer and crack on.

Also, I guarantee everyone is as nervous as you are. Everyone gets imposter syndrome. And also, everyone gets jealous. Jealousy is a natural human emotion that you need to process into something productive. "I'm jealous" = "this person is really fucking good, has worked hard, I'm gonna encourage them and learn from them because they clearly know their shit". Reframing rather than ignoring or letting it fester. They're just people after all and probably shitting themselves as much as I was.

I also guarantee you I am not everyone's cup of tea. And that's ok. Letting go of the burning desire to be liked by all, sometimes at the expense of my own bloody happiness and seeing it as a personal failing if I wasn't, was probably one of the most powerful things I did for myself over the last five years. The only thing I care about in regards to others is if I acted with integrity and kindness (not necessarily niceness). That's all I can control.

Sorry, mate. That came off as a bit of a rant! But uh, don't be scared. Keep reaching out. Be feral.

[fangirl-docintraining]

I’m calling this post a Medical Monday™️ post (just gonna go ahead and summon @tragicallyuncreative from her ER shifts for this)

I’m back working in the hospital for this week of my rotations and I feel it is past time I address this topic because I see so many older men in their 60’s and 70’s and it’s been in my head so

Here’s what chronic medical conditions I genuinely worry each member of the gang would get because I know too much and think too hard 😂

Darry: hypertension, bros blood pressure has probably been high since like the beginning of time. Betty hounds his ass and makes sure he takes his meds tho. Also a little coronary artery stuff but nothing major, once again Betty was on that shit long before it could be a problem.

Soda: actually he might be the one I’m least worried about tbh 😂 he’s probs got some high cholesterol but otherwise I actually feel like he’s chillin on a statin. Oh and his knee is arthritic but he probs gets a knee replacement and is like running around after that

Ponyboy: My brother in Christ, your LUNGS 😭 I just know he’s got COPD by like 62 at best and he’s got oxygen he’s gotta wear and he complains about it constantly

Johnny: probably also lungs tbh, though I am much less concerned for him than Ponyboy. But his lungs are also probs not happy. He might get by with inhalers alone for COPD and it drives Ponyboy nuts.

Two Bit: I’m torn yall. His liver is probably very scarred (cirrhosis) so he probs has that. But also he gives the distinct energy of my heart failure exacerbation patient who was on a salt restricted diet because he has too much fluid and all he talked about was once he left the hospital he was gonna get himself a 32 oz steak for dinner. He peed off 50 pounds of water in the hospital 💁🏼‍♀️ and that just screams two bit to me. Bro’s drowning in fluid and is like it’s fine my legs are just swollen 😀

Steve: I fear bro keeps bonking his head, so maybe some long term concussion stuff. Also he def gets arthritis and talks about it constantly (also uses it to get out of doing things)

Dally: I know bro sees a doctor once a decade at best and they once warned him about his numbers being borderline for diabetes and he was like nah. Next time he goes to doctor years later, his A1C is ten and he’s still like “im not diabetic” Betty is horrified 😂

[a-man-in-the-crowd]

Pluto Is Trans (in my humble opinion)

okay so as far as i'm aware this is a pretty common hc in the fandom (i lurk in the tumblr side of the fandom mostly and i haven't taken the time to go through the pluto tag simply bc i wanted to make this post first), BUT i just wanted to add my two cents into it bc i love pluto and need a reason to yap about him

i'm mostly going to be focusing on him in the maze arc, simply because i think his character has remained pretty consistent since then, as well as his flashback. if i ever noticed anything else in later (or even future) chapters i might come back to this but for now i think i basically have everything i can think of down

of course most of this is still pretty much projecting ☠️ i'm pretty well aware pluto isn't like ACTUALLY trans. this is just a headcanon based on things we've seen of him, not like an actual theory or anything

1. His Appearance

so the first thing that really got me thinking about how he has major trans vibes is his design

comically oversized coat that covers up his actual figure, he's slouching (to hide his chest, mayhaps??), and his hair gives me major trans vibes for reasons i'm not sure how to explain but like let me try anyways

maybe i'm digging too deep into this, but his hair feels VERY different from the other male characters (montresor with gorgeous shoulder-length hair is an outlier and shall not be counted) and again i have no clue how to put words to this but it has the vibes of someone who's too nervous to cut it too short bc 'what if it looks bad' (re: what if i look like i'm trying too hard to look like a guy). but that might just be the projection talking.

oh yeah, he's also the shortest male character as far as i'm aware. basically every male character towers over him (so, so real, i fear) and even will is taller than him (though apparently will is 5'10??? idek anymore 😭). now, does being short make you afab? no, obviously not. but that + the fact he's wearing and oversized shirt gives me some major trans vibes

most of this stuff is incidental, but honestly that's definitely the most actually concrete thing i have to explain myself

fear not, though, i can and WILL read too deep into things and i will read things however i wish

2. His Agoraphobia

the only 'level' of the fear maze that he has a big reaction to is the agoraphobia level. why?

now, could this very reasonably because he's paranoid? yes. but you can be paranoid AND trans. in fact, i think the two frequently go hand-in-hand, especially in areas where being 'caught' as trans can be dangerous.

perhaps he's scared of being stared at because he fears they'll figure out he isn't 'really' a man. and what then, when they figure it out? what'll they do then?

i wouldn't be surprised if pluto had some sort of traumatic experience while being in a crowd alone. this doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my hc, but it very well could. we know he's very small and frail, it doesn't seem like he had many friends when he was alive, and the neighbourhood he lived in doesn't seem particularly safe. he has plenty reason to be terrified, even ignoring my silly lil hc, but i think this particular debilitating fear implies he has genuine experience with something bad happening in a crowd.

3. He's Physically Affectionate

something something you can be a cis guy and be physically affectionate something something this is just a thing to consider in relation to literally everything else i'm talking about something something

anyways

he's my emotional support animal actually ❤️

obviously we've seen other male characters be physically affectionate (like duke), but this is definitely a trait i'd ascribe the most to pluto. now, does this mean anything in isolation? of course not. he has trauma, he could've just been desperate for affection when he was alive and therefore in his afterlife he has this overwhelming need to aggressively hug his friends (which is a completely fair interpretation and i think most of the the things i talk about are a combination of trauma and being trans)

but like just let me say my piece. what if he's more physically affectionate because he was raised with, let's say 'feminine rules of socializing' — which is to say, hugging your friends is extremely normal and in fact encouraged.

this is one of those things where like if it weren't for everything else i wouldn't be saying anything, but BECAUSE of everything else i feel the need to scrutinize a bit more. i think it's definitely one of my weaker points but like. i don't care, ngl.

4. His Flashback

sooo funny story i can barely ever read this scene for multiple reasons (i feel so bad for pluto i want him to be crushed by the weight of all his friends' hugs and love he deserves it) but i will try my best to recall it and get like a semi-decent photo in for reference

i think this scene is kinda what confirms in my head that this shall remain a hc, because pluto's dad refers to him as a boy and by his name (which i will get don't worry i could never forget about how incredibly transgender it is to be named fucking PLUTO). but, consider: i am delusional and a professional bullshitter.

so here is my absolutely nonsensical take based on nothing but vibes and some unfortunate personal experiences 🎉

this is gonna be my biggest 'bear with me yet', but plzplzplz bear with me. obviously by no stretch of the imagination would pluto's bitchass dad be supportive of him being trans or whatever word they'd use to describe pluto when he was alive (i've seen people theorize around ww1? idk man i don't have the knowledge on time periods required to rlly theorize about that).

but, just because someone calls you the right name and pronouns and terms doesn't make them an ally. this specific line from pluto's dad absolutely REEKED of that weaponization of gender dysphoria that at the very least i have experienced. taking every opportunity to tear down your gender identity because you're not stereotypically [gender] enough. someone like pluto's dad definitely feels like someone who would, instead of trying to deny pluto's identity, use it against him to make him feel shitty.

after all, having a son has its merits. pluto can work with no problem whatsoever, and something tells me that pluto's dad is a raging misogynist anyways. but that doesn't make him care any more for his kid, just make him more useful. and in reality, pluto's dad probably thinks it all one huge joke.

but yk that's just me yapping

5. HIS NAME IS FUCKING PLUTO?

okay so judging by pluto's comment to eulalie about his name, i think it's pretty safe to assume that he was specifically named after the roman god. and from what we've seen of pluto's dad, there is NO WAY he was the one who named him. unless pluto's dad for whatever reason had an admiration for roman mythology of all things. maybe autism runs in the family who knows.

now, i don't want to discount the idea that maybe his mother was the one who named him, but like i'm not even sure what the hell happened to his mom. so like. idk.

the name pluto in general definitely gives off the vibes of 'i named myself at twelve' (/affectionate, if your name is pluto you are beautiful and loved). it's nerdy but also mildly edgy. not exactly a common name, either. and the fact he knows his greek mythology implies interest in this sort of thing.

now, could his interest in greek and roman mythology be because of his mother, who could have named him pluto? yes, of course. in fact, the idea of a woman who was presumably living in poverty naming her son after the roman god of riches makes me teary-eyed. but so does the idea of a little trans boy living a shitty life with his shitty dad (who probably drained most of their money on booze, let's be real) naming himself after the roman god of riches.

also, the way he responds to eulalie gives off the vibe of 'well, i literally named myself after the roman god pluto so'. but that could just be me.

and last, but certainly not least...

6. His Spectre

this one is the cherry on top for me personally

he wants to escape the binds of society? go beyond what humanity deems admissible? YK LIKE BECOMING A DIFFERENT GENDER???

i don't have anything much else to say about the fact he's a cryptid, but yk what i do have more to say on?

6.5 So, like, wtf does it mean to be a 'domesticated cryptid'? — A Theory

now i am fully operating under my trans pluto hc, but i think this idea might be able to make sense with the canon of him being probably cis.

ms poppet says that cryptids are people who wish to 'go beyond what society deems admissible' — hence, they're generally wild animals. perhaps the reason pluto is a housecat is because the 'inadmissible' thing he wanted to do was live his life as he is; a normal, regular, cisgender man — or just like in general a normal dude, something he couldn't do for not-necessarily-trans reasons (like, maybe, being able to escape life with his shitty father).

he's not a wild animal because he didn't want to live outside of society, he wanted to be fully integrated into it as a normal person but he thought this impossible because society has already deemed him other. he could never be more than the role he was assigned — not the same way he could were he a normal, cis guy.

—

so yeah that's the end of my little ramble, if you read all the way thank you very much for letting me yap bc honestly i think the more i wrote this post the more genuinely convinced i was that pluto's trans. like idc if canon 100% proves me wrong it's too late i will simply ignore it and invent my own canon.

[sammyblogsbooks]

I’m reading the Legacy Of Gods series by Rina Kent and like while I enjoyed the first book the second felt like a copy paste of the first

I did really like Jeremy’s book tho

I’m currently on Mia and Landons book and idk it’s hard for me to get into bc I hate Landon.

But back to God Of Pain. Why is Annika 17? And why is the author writing smut about a 17 year old??? I never see anyone saying this and I’ve been trying to find someone talking about it but they aren’t.

I genuinely think it’s super weird and I skipped those chapters in GOP cuz it made me incredibly uncomfortable. She could have at least put a spoiler warning for the fact she wasn’t going to age her up to bare minimum 18 by the start of them fucking cuz it’s just CSAM. Yes,while the legal age of consent in the UK is 16, any kind of drawings and sexual content involving a minor is still considered CSAM and a minor is still anyone under the age of 18 even in the UK.

You can write dark romance that describes illegal acts like m*rder etc. and that’s fine but writing explicit content about a child is super odd. And yes I know 17 is basically an adult but it’s still a minor.

On another note: why is nearly every FMC in this series a virgin??? Like surely that’s like not necessary for a dark romance? I’m honestly only going to finish the series to be done with it but I am more and more convinced that this was written by a man with a pen name