#just cause i don't wanna ruffle feathers or whatever

[starberry-skies]

you want to add my image descriptions to the original post so bad op ohhh you want to make the site more accessible soooo much

[brayneworms]

closest to heaven that i'll ever be.

featuring. angel devil x gn!reader.

synopsis: angel's first time with you.

word count. 2.1k

content. smut, MDNI I CHECK, loss of virginity, crying, consent checks, d/s tones, sub!angel + dom!reader, gender neutral reader, guided masturbation, pet names (little love), we fuckin with gloves on, aftercare (it's brief but it's there), lmk if i missed anything.

notes. this originally had kobeni and aki in too but angel's part got way longer, so i'll post them separately :3 reqs are open btw so go ahead and req anything, just check my rules first ty.

"This is stupid."

Angel stares at you balefully; beyond the light flush adorning his pale face, he looks distinctly unruffled, no change from his usual apathetic demeanour. He sits cross-legged on your bed, arms folded, shoulders stooped. You pause in drawing the blind, tilting your head.

"What is?"

He throws you an irritable look. "This. The—this whole set-up. Why pretend when we both know the truth?"

You pull the blinds to, cutting the view of your bedroom off from wandering eyes below. The room stays lit with rosy lamps and projected stars, filtering through Angel's auburn hair. "And what truth is that?"

Angel scowls. "I can't touch you. So. What's the point."

"There's more to sex than that," you say matter-of-factly, secretly delighting in the way it makes Angel's blush darken. He rolls his pretty eyes, hands twisting in his lap. What little sunlight that isn't trapped by the blinds illuminates off his hair like gilt.

"Even so," he mutters. "It won't feel the same. It won't be... good. For me, or for you."

"How can you possibly know that, little love?"

His brows knit at the nickname, and it is a little much, but it feels right in any case, and you like the way it ghosts off your tongue, like the way it makes Angel's eyes droop. Still, his reaction invokes an interest in you, and you perk your head up.

"Have you tried? Before?" you inquire, moving back over to the bed. You sit, crossing your legs, keeping a safe distance—but Angel retracts himself all the same, recoiling back away from you and tucking his hands out of sight. You suppose it must be instinct by now, after so many years living in a body undesigned for love.

"So what if I haven't," Angel mumbles. "Doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

"Humans have a saying—don't knock it 'till you try it."

"Humans are weird," Angel says flatly.

"Even me?"

"Especially you. This is tiring me out..."

You whap him on the shoulder. "Nono, stay awake! Okay, let me—okay. Just tell me, 'cause it's the only thing that matters... do you want to?"

Angel stiffens; behind him, his wings curl into each other protectively, the feathers ruffling as though offended. "W-what?"

"Like, just tell me." You fidget, slightly awkward. "I won't judge, obviously. You've heard more than enough embarrassing shit from me from the bottom of a bottle. So... have you? Thought about it?"

"About what?" Angel stares at you like you've grown a second head, but the flush on his face is darker than ever, wine-red and brilliant against the parchment print of his skin.

"Fucking me," you say bluntly, knowing there's zero point beating around the bush with Angel. He sputters, body tense like he's about to spring off the bed. "Or touching me. Or me touching you. Have you thought about it? Do you want it?"

"I—I..." Angel's mouth works soundlessly for a few moments, eyes wide and more awake than you've ever seen him. Then, unexpectedly, his whole form droops; you feel cold water wash over you, followed immediately by panic. "What's it matter? Like I said earlier, I can't... you can't... just stop making me think about it."

"Humans," you say quietly, "are more resilient than you give 'em credit for. 'Specially me. Cleverer, too, I think, 'cause back in whatever century some genius fucker came up with an invention that changed the world forever. Wanna know what it was?"

Angel stares at you, bewildered. "Uh..."

From the waistband of your sweats, you draw out a pair of gloves. They're on the thinner side, just shy of sheer, black. Expensive, woven from fine cotton. More than you'd ever spend on yourself. But for Angel, you can indulge, you suppose.

"Gloves," Angel deadpans.

"Gloves!" you repeat cheerily. "'Cause, yeah, maybe I can't touch you with my hands. But I... thought... I could touch you with yours."

Angel blinks rapidly. "I—I don't understand."

"Can I show you?" you ask quietly, and he makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, small and needy. After a few tense moments, he lifts a shoulder in a would-be careless shrug.

"Do as you please," he mutters. "Humans are so stubborn..."

You giggle and sit back, spine pressed against the headboard, and cock your legs out so they're straight before parting them. Angel looks quickly away, face aflame, but you pat the space between your thighs encouragingly. "Sit here? If that's okay. It'll make it more comfy."

Angel regards you warily. "You're eager to die, huh?"

Behind the petulance is worry, the sort he's never been good at dressing up, the sort he loathes that he has in the first place. You tilt your head, gaze soft, you hope.

"Nothing's going to happen. I"m all covered up, see?" You wave your arms quickly down your body, clothes from throat to toe. "Just have your head against my chest and it'll be fine."

Angel chews at his lip for a moment, torn between, you think, spurning you for your idiocy and accepting human touch for the first time in God-knows-when. Eventually, you suppose, his selfish side wins out; he turns around stiffly and lowers himself to lay against you. His hair splays out against the comfy spun cotton of your hoodie, and you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. You can feel the tension in his shoulders through your clothes and skin.

"There you go." Your voice slides into an unintentional low murmur, and Angel shivers against you, wings beating at your ankles. "You comfy?"

He nods, barely perceptible. Not seeing his face clearly is a little frustrating.

"Can you tell me?" you say, gentler than usual. "Just, you know. So I'm sure."

Angel huffs. "If I wasn't, I'd put my hand under your shirt and kill you. Even though that would mean a lot of paperwork, I'd do it."

"Okay, okay. So, um—can I? Touch you?"

Angel squirms. "I—I guess. If you're going to, then fine."

"No, little love. Tell me." You lower your head, putting your lips as close to his ear as you dare; it's still enough for your hot breath to stroke over the sensitive skin there, judging by the shiver that racks through Angel's body as you murmur. "I mean really tell me. Tell me where you want to touch yourself, where you want me to touch you."

"I—hn." His voice is starting to get a little strangled the further out of his comfort zone you prod him. "Why do you have to say such stupid things?"

"'Cause I like you," you admit, a little stiltedly. "I wanna... make you feel good. So. If you want to stop, we can stop."

"I—I didn't say that," Angel mutters. "I... you're close."

"I am." A pause. "Is that okay?"

He fidgets. "Yeah, I guess. It's fine." He pauses, then sighs. "I mean, it's nice. If that's what you wanna hear."

"Only if it's the truth," you say.

"It is, okay?" Angel sighs. "Okay. I... want... I want you to... touch me."

"Okay," you say, a touch too eagerly. "Okay, little love, can do. Where?"

"I—God." Angel buries his face in his hands; you can see the backs of his ears poking through the waterfall of tawny hair, singing scarlet. "Anywhere. Everywhere. I—hn."

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, palms clammy through the gloves. You lift one hand up and cup his face, feeling the thin line of his jaw, the warmth of his blanket of hair. Angel tilts into the touch unthinkingly, and you swear stars explode over your eyes.

When your other hand comes to rest at his hipbone, just over the jut of his waistband, Angel jolts.

"Here?" you ask, and he nods. You slide your hand over his stomach; his warmth is dulled by the fabric of the glove, but it's closer than you've ever gotten. You can feel everything that matters; the contraction of his muscles as he breathes in and out, the inclination his body has towards your touch, the xylophone of his ribcage singing with each quick breath he takes.

Your hand travels up, slowly, marking a railroad up the pale skin, smoothing over his sternum, ghosting over a nipple. At the contact, Angel gasps, back tensing against your chest as he arches into the touch. You feel him pebble through the cotton, and he squirms, twists his face to hide in your shoulder.

"There?" you whisper, and he gasps out,

"Yes. I—yes. More, there, more—"

He's so sensitive. You suppose it comes from a lifetime of never being touched. You can't imagine how lonely it is. You would've gone insane a long time ago. Your fingers circle over his nipple and then the other, 'till he keens, brows knitted together, mouth open in a small 'o', 'till the fabric of his trousers becomes noticeably strained.

"How about here?" you ask, fingers ghosting at his belt.

"You can't," Angel grits out. "It won't—with the glove, it'll h-hurt."

"I know, I know," you coax soothingly. "It's okay. You wanna touch yourself? I'll watch. It's okay."

Too far gone, you think, to argue like he usually might, Angel gets his hands out from fisting the bedsheets and shakily paws at his belt. There's the pop of a button and the sigh of a zipper, a 'V' of pale skin shrouded with wisps of auburn hair before he's pulling the fabric clumsily down to his ankles, boxers and all. You feel your breath stick in your throat like glass at the sight of him.

His whole body is trembling as he takes himself in his hand; the first experimental stroke has a shuddering breath tumbling out of him, the next a pitchy moan, so ethereal that it makes your skin raise in goosebumps. Angel collapses back into your chest, sweat sticking his hair at the temples, spine squirming against his rutting hand. His long legs twitch against yours, one tangling around like a snake, hooking your ankles together like holding hands.

It's so achingly sweet you could cry. When your hand wraps around his, forcefully slowing his pace, he whimpers out a broken-sounding noise, and your heart flutters.

He's so perfect. So gorgeous. It's a crime you can't touch him for real.

But for now—this will do. This will more than do.

Angel turns big eyes towards you, round as pennies, brighter than ever with fervour and the beginnings of tears dampening his long lashes.

"Is this okay?" you ask, and Angel nods like his life depends on it.

"Yeah," he gasps. "Yes. Want you to—h-hah..."

"What?" you ask, picking up the pace again. Angel writhes, free hand flying up to grip at the fabric of your sweatpants. "Want me to what, little love?"

Your thumb swipes hard over his tip, and Angel makes a high noise like a piano with its strings cut. "O-oh, oh, please, please I'm so close, I'm so—I can't, I feel so—hah!"

"It's alright," you assure him, heart thudding. The whole display has heat surging in your lower abdomen, but you can't think about that, it's about him, your Angel, it's only about him and tears break over his lashline and trickle down his cheeks as he gets closer to his peak, breathing becoming strained and ragged, and he's hot against you, filling you with a burning heat.

"I can't," Angel says wetly. "Hn, hnn, help me? Please, just—do something, I can't—"

Wordlessly, you push your free hand under his shirt again, circle his nipple before taking it between your fingers and tweaking, and Angel's whole body locks up; his back curves, wings twitching almost independently of the rest of his body, legs kicking at the mattress, and he sobs out as he comes, a pitchy wheezing broken sound that's going to live under your bones for the rest of your life.

He collapses back against you, totally spent. You do him the quiet mercy of tucking him away and pulling his slacks back up, buttoning them about his waist as he makes a face of discomfort. You run a tissue over his hands and stomach, mopping up his spend quickly before nudging a bottle of water against his lips. They're full and rosy as they lazily take the nozzle in, sucking absently like a drunkard going back for another swig.

"Was that okay?" you mutter, and Angel scoffs tiredly.

"Mmmn." He turns on his side, digging his face into your stomach. "It was... nice. I'm too tired to return the favour, though."

Fondness beats through you like a heartbeat, slow and syrupy. "It's okay. There's always next time."

Angel's wings flutter in tandem with his eyelids. "Mm," he agrees with a low hum of exhaustion. "Next time."

He's dead to the world within the next few minutes, breathing against your abdomen; as he sleeps, or dreams, or whatever it is devils do, his wings cocoon the both of you, like he's trying to keep you safe even in sleep.

[anothersebastianblog]

BINGO. All this talk by some about other meaningless stuff like card stock is pointless. It is a couple card sent by a couple. It's just people who don't want to admit they were wrong with all the break up talk and are now by deflecting. /// Ehhh or some people are seeing it for what it is. A last minute, basic Christmas gift that doesn’t even have a signed card. He sent out ornaments with Ale…. And where are they?? 🤔

All the other blogs are saying is, it’s not that big a deal. I wasn’t naive enough to think they were broken up but them being radio silent for months and not even spending thanksgiving together and then this? I can’t blame some of them for thinking they were over. I get some of yall love and adore her but some of us just don’t see him actually happy with her.

I want to level with some of you. Can you honestly look at all of his pictures with her and say he is just as happy as he was with past GF? Seriously I’m not trying to be snappy or sassy I am genuinely asking if you see him as happy as he has been in the past cause I don’t. I see a man who is simply exhausted and even being with his GF doesn’t seem to alleviate that. Which it should.

Do I want him single and miserable? No, absolutely not! I want him to be happy and as a fan of 10+ years, this one doesn’t add up. Honestly I think he needs to date himself for a bit. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting someone to invest and love themselves for a bit.

Hope this doesn’t ruffle feathers, I do like your blog. Hope you have a Merry Christmas! ❤️

My problem is not if you think he is happy with her or not (even tho i find it a bit weird to think that ngl, he also has looked miserable/sad/whatever you call it in the past when alone and when with ale but then if we look at the bday video the looked so happy together) my problem is over analysing a xmas card and for what? “A last minute gift” okay gift me one of that thing as well then we see how much it costs. Do you also know if something wlse was gifted to her by them? One reason only to overanalyse that card: trying to prove they are not together. There aren’t other reasons to do that.

I use this ask i got after yours to make it clear how it works:

And i add that it’s not signed by them because you don’t order flowers a month before the date you wanna send them and seb has been unable to sign it for the past month (this is also why he and annabelle didn’t spend thanksgiving together… he was working away. Just to address this thing you wrote i have to still understand why exactly).

I also don’t care what other blogs think, i have my own personality! One thing i know it’s that we are like 4 active blogs on here including the one that spends 24 hrs a day calling her names and one that doesn’t like talking about his private life so…….

During the past month I didn’t think once they were over but that’s just me, I absolutely understand if someone started to think that. What’s makes people miserable is the negative over reaction to them still being a couple.

I am happy he has been in a stable relationship for almost two years with a woman who seems okay and sweet.

Merry Christmas to you all guys.

[just-another-product-of-today]

Crack au where the Force gives Anakin a dream where everyone but him turns into a Sith/Darksider. He knows it's not a vision. First, well, it's too ridiculous. Second, it feels more dreamy/nightmarish than visionary. He brushed it aside.

(Warning: I literally don't remember the chronological order of everything I mentioned so I won't bother putting them in the right order + they might actually make more sense in a different order for that situation so it doesn't really matter. Voilà!)

But then Krell happens. Barriss. Ahsoka (when Dooku left the Order, he went to the Sith, didn’t he? And she hanged out with Ventress!) Billaba. Quinlan. Yoda (Anakin put a tracker on his ship during the s6 arc and regret letting him go when he sees the coordinates are of a SITH PLANET). Plo (it's the first time Anakin sees him use his emerald lightning). Mace (Vaapad. At this point he's really just too much in his theory and tries to find any excuses possible to make it work). Tiplar (maybe Tup saw something they didn't, something that showed she was a Sith and as a good soldier, he followed orders?) Ki-Adi-Mundi (All those wives and kids but 'not attached'? Totally building a little Sith army or something!) Kit Fisto (Have you seen this guy? Always grinning mid-battle like he loves it and can't wait to get rid of his Jedi robes on any occasion!! Ok maybe he's really, really trying to find excuses there-)

And Obi-Wan. He feels darker when Maul ever since came back/when he's around, which normally is fine cause he's the #1 foe of the dark, but with everything else...

So, at this point, Anakin is extremely paranoid. Think lack-of-sleep-ROTS!Anakin. Understandably so, as he believes that at least half of the Jedi Council are Siths/Darksiders! His (former) master is clearly on the brink of turning and Anakin might still hold grudges over his lack of support with Ahsoka, but that's still his brother-dad-master and he's certainly not losing him (too). Obviously, his next step is to go rant all about it to Palpatine. Who laughs in his face at the absurdity of it. Even that, the Sith hadn't meant to do and couldn't quite believe was happening. Distrust in the Council? Sure. Hate and resentment? Totally his end goal! But, this?

Unfortunately, it's the first and only time he's caught off guard by Anakin and he doesn't have time to smooth the boy's ruffled feathers before the other stomps away. Palpatine doesn't panic though because, clearly, between Jedi-that-are-apparently-dark and him, it's clear to whom Anakin will come back to later.

That'll bite him in the ass later on.

Back to Anakin though, he's heading to Padmé's apartment. Of course he is. Thoughts are also swirling. About Sifo-Dyas and Tyrannus/Dooku. About Fives. About, obviously, the Jedi and Obi-Wan. Even if it hurts, about Ahsoka, too.

But, he especially thinks about Sifo-Dyas. There's this teensy little detail he wouldn't have remembered normally but, well, nothing is normal right now. And that thing is that the one who blocked his file was specifically the office of the Supreme Chancellor. Not his Supreme Chancellor, obviously, but still. And then the Jedi want to cover it up and not tell his Supreme Chancellor? Supreme Chancellor who acts like nothing is wrong when Anakin tells him the Jedi are all turning dark? Supreme Chancellor who he recalls often gave to Anakin his disapproval of some of the Jedi views, which he agreed with, yet kept such comment to himself while in public?

Oh no, he thinks, my friend is manipulated by the Sith/Dark siders!

He pushes his speeder to maximum speed to get to Padmé quicker. When he arrives, he's a mess trying to tell her everything at once and it takes a lot for her to get him to calm down. He's still a mess, but a controlled one.

Somewhat.

The only thing that actually makes him really settle is to assure him that she'll help him investigate this, that they'll find proof of something, anything and get justice or whatever he wanna believe. Padmé, whose trust in her beloved mentor has been quite shaken by the war at this point and that has a great amount of trust in the Jedi, is not utterly convinced by Anakin's story, but there are certainly some things worth investigating even if she hadn't mainly agreed to soothe her out-of-his-mind husband. Also, the first thing she does after that discussion is to make sure he sleeps cause oh boy does he need it.

They end up quite surprised at what they do actually find later. Padmé probably ends up convincing Anakin to tell at least Obi-Wan because this, unlike their hidden relationship, cannot wait until the two of them actually manage to put their communication skills to some use between each other. Obi-Wan takes the deepest breath and releases the longest sigh Anakin has ever heard after hearing the whole story but cleverly decides to focus on the actual Sith issue first. The breakdown is also for after the whole mess and Padmé emphatically offers him a drink for now.

Then they get to work.

[gloombeauty]

thank you for your review of karen's book. im glad she didn't write about jack. she would stick her foot in her mouth again and fans already hate her as it is. what i don't get is why she hasn't named ryan as her abuser yet like what is she waiting for?

Karen's not ready to expose her abuser. Look at how many years it took Weinstein's victims to come forward. Look how long it took Evan Rachel Wood and Esme Biaco to speak out about Marilyn Manson abusing them. The victims have to feel compfortable, safe and ready to speak out.

Mandy Moore was married to that asshole (Ryan) for years and once she was brave enough to divorce him, she spoke out. -

“Music was a point of control for him,” she told the newspaper. “He would always tell me, ‘You’re not a real musician because you don’t play an instrument.’ … His controlling behavior essentially did block my ability to make new connections in the industry during a very pivotal and potentially lucrative time — my entire mid-to-late 20s.”

“He’s taken so much for so long from so many people. I can promise you he gets satisfaction being talked about in any capacity. I just know that about him.” She then admitted that she is no longer in contact with her ex-husband. “I haven’t spoken to him in, I don’t know, two years or something, but just knowing him as well as I know him, he really gets off on being talked about,” she told the outlet.

“When I think back to that particular time period that we’re talking about … It was heavy. It was Dark. It was confusing. It was lonely,” she said. “There was no room for me. There was no room for me to have anything else in my life.” She noted that she “exhausted every effort before [she] was like, ‘OK, well, that has to be addressed.’” The “I Wanna Be With You” singer added that she “allowed other people to make [her] feel bad” about her music: “We make ourselves feel so small to make other people comfortable. I think I did that for so long because I was scared of ruffling feathers. I just didn’t want to cause trouble. I felt like somebody else was more important. Somebody else’s choices or time, or whatever, should come before me.” - Mandy Moore

I hope there’s a day that Jack White comes face to face with Ryan and beats the living fucking shit out of him. Not only for what this asshole did to the mother of his children but for all the other people who fell victim to Ryan. 

Go fucking Jason Stollsteimer on him Jack. Please.