#last one is unrelated but i needed to make it

[writeriguess]

hii, can I request a fic where the readers grandma is in the hospital with little to no chance of living and Bakugou is the only classmate who knows/comforts them. childhood friends/crushing maybe :)

The Strongest Shoulder

You barely notice the way the heavy rain pelts against the windows, each drop a sharp reminder of how cold the world feels right now. The sterile scent of antiseptics clings to your clothes, lingering long after you’ve left your grandma’s hospital room. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzes incessantly, but you’re too drained to care.

Class 1-A was quick to notice something was off—well, most of them. You didn’t want to talk about it, though, so you plastered on a smile and went about your day. No one questioned the bags under your eyes or the way your hands trembled when you held your chopsticks.

No one, except Katsuki Bakugou.

“You look like shit,” he’d grunted on day three, unceremoniously dropping into the seat beside you. It wasn’t exactly a comfort, but you could feel his eyes on you all class, sharp and unrelenting.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t want to. What would he do if you told him? Yell at you for being weak? Mock you for crying? He’d always been prickly—rough around the edges with a temper hotter than his explosions. But he never outright bullied you, not since you’d defended him in kindergarten. Back when he’d been a bratty kid throwing tantrums, and you were the quiet one tugging him away before he could punch the wrong person.

But things were different now. You’d drifted apart, just like childhood friends tend to do.

The days dragged on. Classes blurred together. You went to visit your grandma every evening, sometimes alone, sometimes with your parents. She was unconscious most days, hooked to machines that hummed and beeped like a heartbeat. The doctors said she might not wake up. The words sank deep into your chest, anchoring you in place.

“Oi.”

You blink back to the present, the hallway outside your dorms stretching long and empty. Bakugou’s standing there, arms crossed, expression sharp and annoyed.

“You deaf now?”

“What do you want?” you snap, weariness making you irritable. The last thing you need is him barking at you.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re fucking useless.”

“Excuse me?”

“Can’t even talk to your friends, dumbass,” he growls. His voice drops. “You think we can’t tell something’s wrong?”

Something in your chest cracks. Your fists clench. “Not everything is your business, Bakugou.”

“Like hell it ain’t,” he snaps back, unflinching. “You’re moping around like a zombie, not eating, not talking, acting like you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt.”

Anger flares hot in your gut. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Then tell me!” he demands, stepping closer until he’s towering over you, crimson eyes blazing.

Your chest heaves, words spilling out before you can stop them. “My grandma is dying, okay? There’s nothing the doctors can do. She’s just—just lying there, and I can’t do anything to help her!”

The hall echoes with the force of your confession. You swallow hard, throat tight, tears pricking at your eyes. You won’t cry—not here. Not in front of him.

Bakugou’s expression shifts. The scowl remains, but there’s something softer behind his eyes. Regret, maybe. Understanding.

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?” he mutters, voice gruff but lacking the bite from before.

“Why would I?” you mumble, arms wrapping around yourself. “It’s not like anyone could help.”

He glares, but it’s more exasperated than anything. “You think I’d just ignore you if I knew? Idiot.”

“I don’t want pity.”

“Tch. Ain’t pity.” He grabs your wrist, grip firm but not rough. “Come on.”

“W-What? Where—”

“Shut up and move.”

He drags you to his dorm, kicking the door open and shoving you inside. You blink, glancing around. It’s cleaner than expected. Minimalistic, practical, with training equipment piled in the corner. A punching bag hangs near the closet, looking well-worn.

He shuts the door and flops onto his bed, gesturing for you to sit. “Talk.”

You hesitate, but the stern glare he shoots you leaves no room for argument. Sighing, you sit on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around your knees. Slowly, you tell him everything. About your grandma’s condition, the hopelessness of it all, and how the thought of losing her feels like your world is crumbling.

He listens. Not a word interrupts you, though he frowns often, fingers drumming against his knee. It’s oddly comforting, the heavy silence filled only by your shaky breaths.

When you finish, the exhaustion catches up, and your shoulders slump. “She’s the strongest person I know,” you murmur. “I just…I don’t know what to do.”

Bakugou’s expression hardens. “You stay strong. For her.”

“It’s not that easy—”

“No shit,” he snaps, leaning closer. “But you’re not some weakling, right? You’re not gonna just sit there and cry until she’s gone. You fight. You stay by her side. She needs you.”

The lump in your throat loosens. His blunt, no-nonsense words ground you, carving away the fog of despair.

“I…” You look away, wiping your eyes. “I’m scared.”

“We all get scared,” he mutters. “Just don’t run from it.”

You sniffle, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

“Shut up.” He looks away, cheeks dusted pink. “Just don’t let yourself fall apart.”

You nod, heart a little lighter. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

He grunts, scowl softening. “Katsuki. Call me Katsuki.”

Your eyes widen. He looks away, embarrassed, and you feel warmth bloom in your chest. “Okay. Thanks, Katsuki.”

He crosses his arms, grumbling. “And stop hiding shit from me. You look like a damn corpse.”

You laugh weakly. “I’ll try.”

For the first time in days, a genuine smile tugs at your lips. Bakugou—Katsuki—scoffs, but you catch the hint of a smirk. The rain outside slows, softening into a gentle patter.

You realize then—maybe you don’t have to carry this alone.

[azaharinflames]

Saw a Buddie say that Tommy hasn’t done a single good thing in his life which is crazy and I’ll outline two out of many reasons why that’s bullshit. 1. The last time we saw him, he literally saved Bobby’s life. So if we’re looking for a specific action, there you go. 2. Narratively, he’s one of the few people in this goddamn show that treats Buck like he is worth listening to. He self sabotages, sure. But while with Buck he was consistently thinking about how to service him.

That doesn’t even get to him saving their lives multiple times. Like… just say you don’t want them together because it gets in the way of your ship. Don’t flat out lie about who this character is. If you just don’t like him and Buck together then say that with your full chest. You don’t need to overcomplicate it and pull something out of your ass lmao.

But you know what, I’d be salty af too rn after this unrelenting buddie friendzoning campaign that Oliver and Ryan are barraging them with. We all get defensive when we’re under serious attack ❤️‍🩹

I’ll call it how it is: they project Eddie onto Tommy constantly.

Tommy is a flawed character. No one is trying to deny that. He is so, the same way that every character in this show is. But he’s also shown himself to be selfless, brave, and generous. And like you said, he’s been the only person who’s treated Buck like he’s worth listening to. He’s the only person who’s put him as a priority (which is wild to say to be honest), and the only one to clock him when he pretends to be fine, and be nice about it. Which also is not usual. Which is also insane.

I won’t get tired of saying this: Tommy is what they wanted Eddie to be. And lately Eddie is who they were insisting Tommy was. Personally, I haven’t read any Tommy bashing fics, but I can guess that some might resemble the kitchen scene we got in 817. Only that had Eddie in it. Not Tommy.

Add that to the recent press tour, and they need to project their hate about the situation on someone. And Tommy has been that person for well over a year. And if they have to make their arguments up? They will. Because at the end of the day they are a group of ignorant people telling each other: exactlyyyyy

[vettelsvee]

NOT LETTING YOU GO | Sebastian Vettel

⋆ PAIRING: Primary School Teacher!Sebastian Vettel x Primary School Teacher Girlfriend!Reader ↳ Teacher AU ⋆ Part of CLASSROOM GOSSIPS ⋆ SUMMARY: You had a parent-teacher meeting and you end up overthinking if you're good enough to be a teacher. Lucky you, Seb is there to help you calming down ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2870 ⋆ WARNING: Angst, curse words, descriptions of an anxiety attack, mentions of sex ⋆ TAGLIST: @koalapastries @blushmimi @herdetectivetheorist ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: First ever Teacher!Seb fic being an actual teacher + this is coming from something I've experienced today and I had to write it to, somehow, calm myself down ☺️ Hope you like it and, if so, remember you can comment, reblog and tell me your thoughts! Also... just 26 to go to 2k! ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

You were grateful, finally, for the silence, broken only by the occasional distant footsteps and the soft sounds of other teachers moving through the halls, likely in the same position as you.

You stood, waiting for the arrival of one of your favorite students’ mothers, Eloise’s. You picked up the eight-year-old's folder and flipped through the most recent notes you’d compiled about her over the past week. Not that you needed them: if there was one thing that defined you as a teacher, it was how deeply you knew your students, as if they were truly your own children.

At least, that’s what Seb always said whenever he had the chance, especially when he saw how anxious you got before a parent-teacher meeting, like it was happening now.

You weren’t as nervous as you had been in your first meetings, but the knot in your stomach was still there. Tight, alert, unrelenting.

You jumped slightly when you heard a knock at the door. Instinctively, you sat down at your desk, tidying things up (if that was even possible), inhaling deeply as you tried to brace yourself for whatever was about to unfold.

“Come in!”

The door opened. Eloise’s mother entered. Tall, impeccably dressed, with a sharp gaze that cut straight through the air. Her expression was cold, her mouth barely hinting at a smile. She didn’t return your greeting, simply walked confidently to the chair across from you, sat down, and scanned you from head to toe. Judging… not just because you were her daughter’s teacher, but maybe also because you looked far too young for what she considered a “real” educator.

“Miss,” she said curtly.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Dunham. Thank you for coming,” you replied, doing your best to keep your nerves in check.

You extended your hand, only for her to blatantly ignore it, turning her face away.

You sighed quietly, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’d had a bad day. Instead, you gestured toward the bottles of water to her right and the progress report you’d put together for Eloise, lying beside her.

A sticky note on the front read: Kind. Artistic. Brave. Words that described what made Eloise truly special. Qualities you hoped her mother would recognize long before even looking at her grades (which, by the way, were perfect).

Mrs. Dunham barely glanced at the report before tossing it back onto the desk with clear disdain. She crossed her arms and, at last, looked you directly in the eyes.

“I don’t want the sugar-coated version. I want the truth. What exactly is happening in your classroom that’s making my daughter cry herself to sleep every night? Why is she begging me not to bring her to school?”

You couldn’t see your own face, but you felt it drain of all color.

Words failed you. You stammered, caught off guard by the accusation.

“I… I’m so sorry to hear that Eloise is upset,” you said, choosing your words carefully, still trying to process what she was saying. “Eloise is an exceptional student. She’s a—”

“Invisible. That’s what she is to you.”

You froze.

“That’s what she told me, you know?” the mother continued, voice sharp. “She says she raises her hand and you ignore her. She finishes her work and gets no praise, nothing like what you give the other children. She spends all day watching louder classmates get your attention for misbehaving, while she, who works hard and follows every rule, never feels good enough for you. Is that it?”

“With all due respect, I��”

“No,” she cut in. “I trusted this school to see the potential my daughter has. And I believe it does. But you? You’re just some fresh graduate playing pretend at being a teacher. I’ve heard that Mr. Vettel, your partner if I believe correctly, is one of the best additions this school has ever made. Nothing like you.”

Those words hit you like a slap. Of course you knew Seb, your boyfriend, was an incredible teacher. You were endlessly proud of him. But hearing him praised like that, while your own efforts went unseen, unnoticed… it broke something inside you.

You tried to find something to say… anything honest, kind, something that captured how much you cared about Eloise, how much thought you put into her growth, but your throat was tight, your heartbeat pounding, and whatever calm you’d managed to hold onto had completely vanished.

“I truly do everything I can—”

“If you’re not getting results, maybe this just isn’t the right job for you.”

That was the final blow. Your anxiety, until now held barely in check, surged.

“Do you realize the impact you have on a child that age?” she continued. “Say one wrong thing, ignore her even once… it leaves a mark. I expected professionalism. You’re the teacher, not just another kid on the playground.”

You sat perfectly still. Lips pressed together, holding back the flood rising in your chest.

“Thank you for your honesty,” you said softly. “I’ll reflect on what you’ve shared.”

She didn’t say a word in response. No thank you. No goodbye. Just turned on her heel and left, the click of her heels fading down the hall until the classroom door slammed shut behind her with a jolt that made you flinch again.

And then, silence. Heavier than before.

You didn’t move.

Your thoughts spiraled. You replayed her words over and over, questioning everything. Wondering if maybe… she was right. Maybe teaching wasn’t for you. Maybe all your effort, all your heart… it wasn’t enough.

Tears welled up in your eyes. Your breathing turned shallow. It felt like you were moments from collapsing face-down on the desk, overwhelmed, broken.

“Hey, love. Are you in here?”

You hadn’t even heard the door open again, this time gently.

You straightened up in a rush, scrambling to pull yourself together. You turned your head slowly toward the door.

Sebastian was there. Smiling.

But the smile vanished the instant he saw your face.

"Love?"

You tried to answer, but your voice refused to come out. Instead, only a gasp escaped. Your shoulders tightened, and once again, the air seemed to vanish from your lungs. You were left relying on shallow, rapid breaths just to stay upright. Your hands clutched the edge of the desk, as if holding on could somehow make it all go away.

Seb rushed to your side, crouching down so he could meet your eyes. He wrapped one arm carefully around you, gently brushing your hair out of your face with the other.

The words you wanted to say never came. Tears took their place. You were hyperventilating even more now. Your chest rose and fell far too fast, and it wasn’t just your hands that were trembling —it was your whole body.

“It’s okay, love. Deep breaths. Hold my hand or do whatever you need, but just focus on breathing,” Seb said in that calming voice of his, the one that never wavered. “In through your nose... Come on, sweetheart. You're safe, you’re with me. I’m right here, and you’re okay. I’m not going anywhere… so right now, just breathe with me…”

You met his eyes, those ocean-blue eyes that always grounded you. They were steady, kind, reassuring. Everything you needed, even when your mind tried to convince you otherwise.

“There you go, love. One more breath…”

Your body finally began to unwind. Your breathing slowed, deepened.

You quickly wiped your cheeks and sat up a little straighter, embarrassment washing over you.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… God, I hate that I let that woman’s words get in my head like this…”

“It’s okay that they did. Really,” Seb said gently. “It doesn’t make you weak—it just means you care about your students.”

He pulled you into a hug, the kind of hug you could live in if you had the choice. You buried your face in his chest, soaking in the safety that this German man, who you’d been with for nearly four years, always seemed to bring.

“You’re one of the best teachers I’ve ever known,” Sebastian said, still holding you tightly. “I see the way the kids swarm you during recess, and how you never hesitate to kneel down to their level and talk about whatever wild thing they’re excited about just to keep them smiling. No matter what’s swirling in that head of yours,” he added, tapping it lightly before pressing a soft kiss there, “how you treat your students won’t suddenly vanish just because one parent had a bad day and took it out on you.”

“What if she’s right, though?” you whispered.

Seb sighed, letting out a small laugh.

“Love, Eloise is acting out because her baby brother was born, what, six months ago? Don’t you remember how you visited her mom, the same woman who just tore into you, at the hospital just because Eloise asked you to?” he reminded you, and you silently cursed yourself for forgetting. “It’s classic dethroned child syndrome. You have nothing to worry about.”

You sniffled, and despite yourself, a tiny smile tugged at your lips.

“Still… she called me unprofessional. Said you were a much better teacher and that I was nothing like you…”

“Oh, please, babe. I’m a mess, and you stay up past midnight color-coding lesson plans with glitter pens.”

“Seb, that’s not that unusual…”

“You pack extra snacks every single day” he emphasized each word “just in case one of the kids forgets their lunch. If that’s unprofessional, then I don’t ever want either of us to be professional.”

This time, your laugh burst out freely, echoing around the classroom.

Finally, Seb knew you were okay again, that he’d done what he came to do: stop one opinion from someone who didn’t understand your work, your classroom, or your devotion from tearing you down.

Seb stood up, gently taking your wrist and leading you toward your favorite corner of the classroom: the reading nook. It was filled with shelves of books you’d bought with your own money, some even from your parents’ house, and a few beanbags scattered around.

He sat down on one of them, tugging you down onto his lap.

“I mean it, love. You’re magical,” he said softly. He’d told you things like this before, but somehow they always made your cheeks go warm. “You’re the kind of teacher who makes kids believe in themselves. Sure, you teach German and math and all those boring things—but you also teach kindness, just by being you.”

“We should all be like that, Seb. You are too… you know that, right?” you reminded him. His students adored him, and now that they were about to head off to secondary school, they made that clear every chance they got.

“Well, that mother doesn’t know the full picture, but I do. And I’m telling you the truth: you’re changing lives. I hope you know that.”

You leaned in, pressing a brief but intense kiss to his lips. It caught him off guard, but he responded immediately, pulling you in closer by the waist.

Afterward, you let your eyes wander around the room. It was filled with crafts and chalk-drawn smiles on the walls. And there, despite the spelling mistakes, a massive chalkboard message surrounded by wobbly hearts read: “You’re the best teacher in the world, Miss!”

“Thanks for reminding me who I am,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“I always will, sweetheart.”

You nestled against his shoulder again, as his lips pressed into your hair and his fingers traced gentle, invisible patterns all over your body.

"Hey..."

"Hmmm?"

Seb propped himself up slightly, and you did the same. Now, you were sitting with your legs loosely wrapped around his waist, facing him directly.

"Do you know how I could make you happy right now?"

"Eating me out while fingering me?"

Seb shook his head, chuckling softly.

"God, babe, stop thinking with your hormones!" he said dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Today’s been long and rough, and sure, I’ll help you unwind when we get home. But right now, under Article 4 of the Master Recovery Act… I am legally required to take you somewhere sacred."

"Seb, I’m not in the mood for guessing games. I'm exhausted, I just want to go home and—"

"You don't want to go somewhere overflowing with carbs, cheese, and generous pours of wine?"

Your face lit up instantly. You jumped to your feet, bouncing with excitement like you always did when Seb had a surprise planned or a spontaneous date night.

He couldn’t help but grin at your reaction, standing up and quickly gathering your things. In no time, he was heading for the door, eager to leave.

"Mario’s? Seriously?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer, jogging to catch up and practically dragging him out of the classroom.

"Of course, love. Tonight, you deserve to be pampered. And trust me, the pizza buffet I have in mind, plus the leftovers we’ll take home for you to eat cold for breakfast is just the beginning."

On the walk from the school to your car and then during the drive to the restaurant, you talked about everything except what had happened earlier. Seb told you about a surprise he was planning for his students for the end of term, and you couldn’t resist offering suggestions, along with ideas for how to teach your own little ones their next German lessons, which were proving to be a real struggle.

You also daydreamed about your upcoming vacation plans beyond Heppenheim, and whether you’d finally saved enough to buy that mini van you both wanted for your grand European road trips.

A few minutes later, Seb was parking in front of the restaurant. He quickly got out, rushing to open your door and offer his hand. You didn’t need help getting out, but he knew how much those little gestures meant to you, especially after a day like today.

He took your hand, and as he opened the door and let you in first, the familiar aroma of tomato sauce, melted mozzarella, and fresh oregano washed over you like a warm hug. It felt, as always, like home.

Behind the counter, Johanna, the waitress who knew you both so well, lit up when she saw you.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite couple! Table 5, right?"

You and Seb exchanged bashful smiles and gave her a quiet "yes" as she led you, like she always did, to your usual spot.

As always, Seb took the seat with his back to the window, leaving you facing him, right beside the old jukebox that hadn’t worked in years. You noticed a small new doodle just beside where your initials and Seb’s were scratched into the wood.

You couldn’t help but smile as you traced the worn letters with your fingertips, thinking back on every date Seb had brought you here and, if you were being honest, even imagining bringing your future kids here someday if things kept going the way they were.

"Do you remember when you asked me to be your girlfriend right here?" you asked softly, locking eyes with him.

"Of course. I was sweating so much I tore the paper menu they gave us."

"I think you already know this, but that just made me fall even harder for you. You were so adorable."

Your food arrived almost instantly. Johanna knew your order so well you didn’t even have to ask. Two pizzas, one Margherita, one Carbonara, arrived with two Coke bottles packed with ice. No surprises there.

You ate slowly, lingering in your conversation from the car, which eventually turned to the mess with Eloise’s mother at the tutoring session earlier. You finally let yourself vent, opening up about your fears, your doubt about being good enough, or whether you really had what it took for a job like yours.

Seb listened intently, and when he responded, he did it with the same honesty. No one else could understand what you were going through quite like him.

Because yes, Sebastian Vettel also had moments of doubt, struggling with imposter syndrome as a teacher. And yes, you were always there for him when it was his turn to fall apart.

"You’re allowed to have horrible days, love," he said gently. "But you need to get it through that stubborn little head of yours, and I say this as someone who knows you better than you think, none of what happened today changes how I see you. Not as my girlfriend, not as a teacher. And it definitely doesn’t change how the kids see you."

Your eyes welled up again. This time, though, the tears weren’t from exhaustion or frustration, but from gratitude. From happiness. From the overwhelming luck of having someone like Sebastian in your life.

"I’m so lucky to have you," you whispered. "I wish every girl could have their own Sebastian Vettel."

"Well, I’m the lucky one, trust me," he said, reaching for your hand across the table. "I’m very lucky you said yes at this very table even if I was sweating as fuck and got your hands all clammy."

[brionysea]

if stranger things 5 comes out and they're like 'omg! the upside down has been a product of someone's dark and twisted mind this whole time! it's... WILL!' I'll immediately lose interest

[capricores]

pisces/virgo placements... it's about time you took care of yourself, too, ok?

you burn yourselves out allowing yourself to be pulled by so many people in all different directions. you exhaust all your resources and empty your cup - no, your entire well - to help those around you, even people you don't know. it's such a beautiful thing, and i know you genuinely love helping others, supporting people, seeing them thrive. it's such a beautiful trait! but you constantly end up neglecting yourself, right? you don't realize that you have permission to set aside time to care for you, to cater to your needs for once. you often feel like no one puts a drop in your cup, the favor is never returned - it's exhausting; you might think if you just keep giving your all it will come back; i understand. you will find the people that give the same energy back to you one day, but regardless of whether you've found those people yet, you need to learn to step aside and fill your own cup!

setting boundaries and saying no is the most important thing you will learn to do in this lifetime. it will not be easy for you, sometimes it will feel painful. but you cannot help the world if you're constantly drained and tired! you deserve to take care of yourself in the same way you do for others. be gentle to your kind soul, nourish yourself; do the things you love to do. learn to worry about others less, as hard as it is, and focus on yourself more.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

RODBT therapist @ the group: Does anyone have any examples of situations that generated complex emotions?

Me: Well... recently, scintists identified the remains of James Fitzjames who died in the Franklin expedition for the Northwest Passage like 176 years ago... it made me feel a lot of things...

[paigetics]

ok i made a whole list, with varying levels of sincerity, under the cut for mature themes:

Odysseus loves giving head. This needs no elaboration, however, his favourite way to eat her out is after they've made love, when she's already soft, already open, and he just. gives her the warm press of his mouth, feels her heartbeat, close and intimate, until she melts.

(Elaborates anyway) He’s gone down on her and come untouched more than once. Just her thighs around his ears, her hands tangled in his curls, her back arched off the bed. There are nights when that's all he wants to do. Doesn’t let her undress him, doesn’t let her reach down. Just spreads her open, buries himself between her legs, and groans into her like he’s starving.

They practically invented roleplay, and Odysseus is insufferably good at it.

Penelope is helpless to his voice; sometimes he talks just to keep her on edge, to string her out on a line of double meanings and breathless expectation. He has a terrible habit of saying filthy things in the same voice he uses to tell stories. What her body’s doing. What she sounds like. How ruined she looks. Calm. Unbothered. It drives her insane.

In that same vein: foreplay for them is often 40% linguistic combat.

Odysseus has a praise kink.

Penelope likes him best on his back. Not pinned or undone, but offered. Loose-limbed and flushed, eyes wide, utterly helpless to how she feels around him.

Odysseus likes her folded beneath him, ankles over his shoulders, laughing breathlessly at something ridiculous he just said, because yes, he's still talking, and he’s desperate to make her come while she's still laughing.

Penelope craves the weight of him after. Not just the warmth, not just the way his breath slows against her neck, but the press of his whole body, heavy and real and there. She needs it. Needs the ache of him over her, needs to feel his thigh between hers, the length of him along her spine, the subtle shift of his muscles as he exhales. Proof that he’s home. That he’s not a ghost.

Sometimes, after Calypso, he needs her voice to stay grounded. There are nights when she touches him and his whole body goes rigid—not from pleasure, but from memory. Not hers. Not now. And it's Penelope's voice that draws him to the present, slowly, so slowly, until his breath comes back and his eyes return clear to her.

Once he tried to seduce her with a fake accent. It was terrible. She slept with him anyway. (Afterwards, she said, “Never again,” but he keeps threatening to bring ‘Captain Themistocles’ back. She is terrified he will.)

Nothing gets them both going like her denying him, telling him to wait, dragging it out until he begs. Every time. Soft at first—please. Then lower, rougher, more desperate. Like he really believes she might refuse him, even as his eyes gleam with delight. She adores it. The way he yields so easily, slipping into that soft submission that tells her he'd do anything if she'd let him touch her. The way he lets her choose when the game is over, always.

When she finally gives him the go-ahead, he ruins her. Slow, focused, unrelenting. He doesn’t let her come down before he’s on her again—mouth, fingers, cock, whatever will make her tremble. Keeps her there, right on the edge, until she’s crying and begging—first for mercy, then for more. And he gives her both.

Penelope has a Thing for his hands.

She also has a running theory that Odysseus could crack a wine amphora between his thighs. One day she sat herself between them, looked up at him and told him to keep them still. He didn't last long, and his thighs shook the whole time with the effort not to move.

In return, he pulled her over his thigh—slow, commanding, patient. Told her to move, to use it, until she was trembling, gasping, clinging to his arm as her rhythm faltered. He didn't rush her. Just watched her come apart, murmuring encouragement into her ear, low and warm.

He has a Thing for her mouth. The way she bites her lip when she’s thinking, the slow drag of her teeth over her lower lip when she’s toying with him. It distracts him mid-argument, mid-plan, mid-stroke. Sometimes she catches him staring, dazed and quiet, and all she has to do is say “what?”—soft, smug—and he’s gone.

Her mind turns him on shamelessly. The way she thinks, plots, calculates ten moves ahead. Her dry wit, her lethal precision—she can dismantle a man with a single sentence and still sound polite. He’s watched her do it countless times in public, perfectly composed, and every time, he has to resist the urge to drag her somewhere private.

He once tried, very earnestly, to compare her to his bow during sex. (“Precise, elegant, responsive only to me—" She stared at him. “Did you just call me an object?" He faltered. “A sacred object?") She didn’t stop laughing for ten minutes, even though he was still inside her.

It always ends the same way: with his hand in hers, their breaths slowing, and the quiet promise that they belong to each other.

who wants to hear my e-rated odypen headcanon,,,

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

CRAZY that they released it so early in the day last week they posted it way later........... special present to Me for my Hodgie meta post one must assume

[itstheheebiejeebies]

Me: I need to get stuff made for the upcoming weeks of the rewatch

Also Me: makes shit completely unrelated to the rewatch over and over again

[zzoupz]

the collection grows

[pinkfey]

is this a safe space

[cerbreus]

meeting w the transfer admin went well!

[gilfrespecter]

I documented 700 important-to-me tiktoks before the ban. Which started an hour and a half earlier than it was supposed to. But I did it

[mythtiide]

i havent actually been much recently! (this is because ive been writing nonstop for the past like 5 days...) but i have gotten some stuff doodled from today n a bit from yesterday (+ some bonus older ones under the cut)

[themyscirah]

You know how while Wonder Woman Artemis never gets the chance to save a woman (or anyone but women are more thematically important in terms of Amazon philosophy and history here) in a way that wasn't just like a total farce with fake villains etc. and she never learned the truth about that before her death. But then the FIRST thing she does after being resurrected is save the life of the night watch(wo)man of the cemetery and then go on to not just save her, but advocate for her and her future? Yeah.

[skitskatdacat63]

Prev person is SO RIGHT I LOVEE YOUR RAMBLINGS ASWELL ! Literally get so happy when I see you on my dash fr😭😭💗

AHSJKFLGLGLGG ELLE!!!! BOTH OF YOU ARE TOO SWEEET 😭😭😭😭😭💕💕💕💕💕