#suggesting beauty standards had changed

[transingthoseformers]

I'm thinking about maximals & predacons and autobots & decepticons crossover situations for the comedy

We desperately need more OG Megatron and Megatron II interactions, especially in continuities where it is immensely obvious that they're more different than Megatron II ever knew

[chuluoyi]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 (𝐔𝐍)𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋

- sylus x reader

master and servant. man and his right hand woman. you and sylus are labeled many things, but does love exist in many labels of your relationship?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, fluff, unrequited love, explicit smut, fwb, jealousy, hurt/comfort, description of major injury, blood loss, gore, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), spoilers! takes place throughout long-awaited revelry

note: my very first love and deepspace fic! :') w.c 5.2k ! i have a severe brainrot omg

Everyone knows of your relationship with Sylus.

The leader of Onychinus and his notorious lady assassin, you two strike fear into his foes and allies alike. You are as deadly as you are beautiful, and that's more or less why he keeps you around.

What everyone doesn't know, however... is that behind closed doors, you too share his wealth and his bed.

“I don't mind to spend the whole night with you,” he’d whisper in your ear seductively at nights, deft and veiny hands roaming your body all over. He often made you ride on top of him, dark burgundy eyes hazed with lust, knowing full well that you desired the very same goal he did.

And you’d respond his hunger with the same fervor, crashing your lips into his, your tongues intertwining, your hips moving vigorously against him.

“Ahh... ah!” Before you knew it, his cock—thick and long in size—slid inside you in such a snug fit, making you throw your head back and dig your sharp nails into his skin.

“Keep me going with your voice, kitten.” Sylus growled, eyeing your wobbling lips and tightly-pressed eyes as he sank even deeper inside you. “Yeah, just like that...”

Sylus always began roughly, seemingly not minding your breathless moans and wishes, and you liked him that way too—

“Is this... all you've got?” you panted in a hoarse voice, sweat lining your neck and forehead, the coil in your belly tightened so deliciously each time he thrusted into you. “Surely... y-you can do better...”

“Ha,” he gave a low snort, his red eyes blazing as he grabbed your bum and squeezed it, making you gasp. “Careful what you wish for... sweetie.”

And then your vision literally tilted upside down—Sylus gladly flipped your position so he could see you even better. This way, he also had even better access to you, intertwining your hand with his, spreading your legs wide so he could rut into you.

“—!” Breath was knocked out of your lungs as immeasurable pleasure washed over you, crashing and receding in an instant. You almost screamed as your back arched.

He broke into a satisfied smirk. “Let it out,” he murmured against your neck, biting gently into your skin, voice muffled. “You never hold back with me, do you, hmm? So, don’t start now.”

“You b-bastard...” you looked up at him with a breathless smile, knowing how close you were to losing your wits.

He simply made your nights worth remember. His allure was undeniable, with a voice that was naturally sultry. And his hands... fuck, they did heaven's work.

It didn't take you long to finally reach your climax, and once you did, your moans were the nastiest all night as you continuously lined his back with scratches.

You could feel how he was chasing his own orgasm all the while, before pulling out right at the last minute and made a mess on your belly, falling beside you.

“Tired?” Sylus’ chest rumbled with laughter as you laid sprawled there in a haze. His eyes narrowed at the sight of your burning cheeks. “I really like this look on your face right now.”

You rolled your eyes, catching your breath and shivered. “I bet you tell that to all other women you manage to lure to your bed.”

“How presumptuous.” He sent you a sour scowl. “I have a high standard— you should consider yourself lucky.”

Well, you do. Holding back a smile, you changed the topic. “I’m cold. Clean me up already.”

“Now, now… what a spoiled little thing you are…” Sylus chuckled, his voice deep and low, yet wrapping his arms around you nonetheless, hoisting you up.

Nights of passion. Mutually beneficial relationship. Nothing more and less.

No strings attached.

This is thrilling. Intimacy without commitment is more than enough to spice your checkered life. After all, what could be better and more rewarding than fucking the hottest man in N109 Zone and getting away with it?

At least, you thought so.

. . .

“Damn, you’re going to make me sore…” you grumbled, letting out a deep sigh as you sank into the sheets after he had cleaned you up, still basking in the afterglow and ready to drift off to sleep. “Ahh...”

Sylus’ lips curved into a wry smile as he watched you make yourself comfortable on his bed, slipping on his black shirt. “Well, I’m just that good, and you did ask for it.”

“Are you going out?” you asked in a small voice, teetering between sleep and wakefulness as you noticed him taking out his favorite gun. “It’s midnight.”

“Luke and Kieran said she has arrived.” Sylus said in low voice, not even sparing you a look. “After all, she has gone through all that trouble to come here, it is only right that I greet her myself.”

The woman. Sylus had told you several times, how a woman with Aether Core and powerful Resonance Evol would eventually come to N109 Zone. And that when the time came, he would make her resonate with him.

A part of you didn’t really know what to feel about this vague plan of his. “Will you bring her here too?”

“I’ll have her stay here until we have reached resonance,” he responded casually while shrugging on his coat.

Sylus valued others depending on their worth. He said it so himself—he isn't a philanthropist. He saw potential in your evol—the Speech Manipulation—which is why he rescued you three years ago, even after you had swung a blade to his throat.

This time must be the same. You played with the edges of your hair. “Well, consider me jealous then. Seems like I’ll have a rival soon.”

Your quip finally caught his attention, as he finally turned to you, one side of his mouth upturned.

“Ha.” Sylus strolled over to where you lay on the bed and placed a hand under your chin, letting out a throaty chuckle. “Is there even anyone brave enough to go against you?”

You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “We shall see about that.”

Little did you know, the coming of this new girl would be the start of the undoing of your mutually beneficial relationship.

You would've expected the woman bearing Aether Core inside her to be way more interesting than that clueless, weak and easily spooked hunter from Linkon City.

But your and Sylus' definitions of interesting clearly differed though, as you caught him smiling after he pulled the most outrageous stunt on himself— having her shoot him right in the heart.

“She is funny,” he said to himself, almost snickering even as you wiped the blood off his toned body. “She was shaking so much the moment I pulled the trigger.”

“Is that your only finding—” you snapped as you wrapped the bandage around his bare chest, fuming. “—after shooting yourself just to mess with her?”

Luke and Kieran told you how he had used his Evol to pull the hunter girl onto his lap, then handed her a gun and made her shoot him. You couldn't believe it at first, until the sight of Sylus staggering to his bedroom, his shirt bloodied and clutching his chest made you almost scream in horror.

“Is that really necessary?” you scowled, tightening the bandage with more force than needed. “Or are you just trying to get her attention?”

Sylus’ sharp gaze settled on you then, seemingly not taking your comment well.

“What’s got you so worked up about this, hmm?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he observed your cross expression. “Last I checked, we agreed not to get involved in each other’s personal affairs.”

Personal affairs, he said? Everything you two had done had long past breached all personal boundaries.

But the fact remains that you two are nothing more than—

“Fine.” You tied the bandage abruptly and about to storm off, making no effort to conceal your ire. You couldn’t say you were worried or that you hated seeing blood smeared across him. That was never in the agreement.

Until you felt a hard tug on your arm—

“And where does the angry kitty think she is going, hmm?”

Before you could discern it, your back was pressed against the wall—your left arm pinned beside your head, with Sylus filling your view.

His sculpted abs were right in front of you for the taking, his scent permeated the air, and his unsettling swirls of crimson eyes had you completely captivated.

“Have I ever told you that you look beautiful when you’re angry?” Sylus laughed as he leaned in, gripping your chin with his other hand. “If I didn’t know you were more than capable of slitting my throat in my sleep, I’d want you to look at me like this every day.”

It struck you how your heart raced wildly under his intense gaze. With his perfect face so close, the only sound that seemed to be most prominent was the pounding of your own heartbeat.

“What’s wrong? We’ve been closer than this,” Sylus taunted with a wide grin, his breath warm against your ear as he pressed his body against yours. “What’s making you so nervous?”

If you knew anything about Sylus, it was that he took pleasure in seeing you squirm in his hold. You glared daggers at him. “I hate you.”

“How lovely.”

“You’re infuriating,” you spat, devoid of any amusement.

He barked a satisfied bout of laugh once again, before releasing your chin. However, to your surprise, that very same hand groped your chest roughly—

“Then perhaps...” he hummed, a wicked glint in his red eyes, whispering to you with sultry voice right before he pulled you into him and devour your lips in heat: “You can help to fix me, sweetie.”

His kisses were hot as his tongue and hands made his mark on your body. Pressed against his bare skin, you gripped his strong, broad shoulders as he lifted your legs to his waist.

As always, he managed to dissolve all your lingering thoughts with lust. You just never knew one day you would finally reach the last straw though.

. . .

"Are you going out again tonight?" you muttered, tracing your fingers along his abs as you lay in his arms, still a bit giddy after your passionate session.

"No, I'm sleepy," he replied quickly, his voice low as he pulled you closer and closed his eyes. "Go to sleep already, kitten."

"I can't sleep."

"Poor you. I can though."

You quirked a frown at him. "You're so annoying these days."

"Oh?" Sylus cracked his eyes open, a smirk on his lips. "If you find me so disagreeable, you can always make me obey you, no?"

Your speech manipulation could make people do your bidding and it was a pretty useful talent. Apart from the first day you met Sylus three years ago in the wasteland of N109 Zone, you had never tried using it on him again.

"I won't, you idiot." You sighed and turned away, your back facing him. The idea of bending him to your will somehow didn't sit right with you. It was against your conscience now.

"Why are you facing away? It's freezing," he grumbled almost in a petulant voice. You nearly rolled your eyes, until you felt his strong arms wrap around your middle from behind.

"Why are you hugging me? We’re not usually this touchy after sex."

"I'm telling you, I'm cold, and you're my heat pillow."

"You're so damn insufferable..."

Despite your sharp retort, a smile found its way to your face. Moments like this were rare, and when he was the one seeking you, you couldn't help these butterflies in your stomach. Still...

You two are not in love, dammit. Sometimes it confused you a great deal. What is love anyway?

“Caw, caw, caw!”

“Mephisto, shush.”

Sylus’ robotic pet crow had surprisingly taken a liking to you shortly after you began living in the base. He obeyed your commands just as he did with his owner. The same couldn’t be said for Miss Hunter though, as Mephisto seemed to have a strong dislike for her.

You were idling at the living room with the crow when you realized how close it was to dawn.

“Luke, Kieran,” you called to the twins, who were bickering over a crate of oranges, frowning. “Where did Sylus go?”

Both stopped and looked at you, and Kieran blurted out, “Boss? Oh, he went out with Miss Hunter!”

You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised, but you were nonetheless. “And he still hasn’t come back?”

“Ah, yeah... but I think they just went on a short errand. He’s probably back or already on his way?” Luke mused, and you clicked your tongue.

It irritated you, it gnawed at you—how Sylus had been spending so much time with that hunter these days. He was trying to make her resonate with him, but still, the way you saw it, he was going through his playbook—

Just as he had done when he pursued you.

Calling her “kitten”, “sweetie”... everything he did with her seemed like a replay of the first year you spent in this place.

Deep down, perhaps you had hoped that, in some way, Sylus would see you as you saw him. Love might be out of reach in your bleak existences, but you at least wished he would consider you an irreplaceable presence.

You were petty, and you knew it.

“Mephisto,” you whispered to the cooing crow as it turned to you pliantly. “Go find and bother her, okay? Don’t let her out of your sight,” you added, letting the bird fly away on your command.

Deciding to rest in his room, you left the living room with a sense of exhaustion. You had stayed up for Sylus on a whim, as he had promised to share his plans for the upcoming auction soon. However, sleeping at dawn was giving you frequent headaches, and the habit was wearing on you.

You took a bath and then headed to his bedroom, and you would have never guessed what scene you'd walk into—

Sylus, in his bathrobe, and that girl… nestled against his chest on his bed. The very same bed where you two made out just the other night.

“Y/N?” Sylus looked at you over the girl’s shoulder, and you were frozen on the spot, feeling an indescribable rush of emotions washing over you.

In the next moment, the hunter girl scrambled away from him in panic, her face flushed with shame. “I-it’s not what it looks like! I swear! Sylus— I was just trying to find his brooch and—!”

In that instant, something inside you turned ice-cold. Her frantic explanations—none of it registered to you. The fact that he let her into his bed was enough for you.

You weren’t sure if Sylus noticed, but your eyes darkened, your fists clenched, and a storm raged within your chest.

“Sorry for intruding,” you said frostily, cutting her off and casting a contemptuous glance at both of them before turning on your heel and slamming the door shut.

It was no use, you finally realized. In this twisted relationship you two shared, there could never be anything more than hot sex and flirtations.

Somehow it hurt more deeply than you expected, as though your heart were being scorched. Yet, you couldn’t even find the tears to cry—as you weren't allowed to do so.

Sylus noticed the change in you immediately.

You vanished from the base and returned in the evening, not sparing him even a look and he could tell then that you had come back a different woman.

And it was the part he hated the most. These days, he couldn't read you at all.

"Luke and Kieran, keep an eye on her tonight," he instructed his two underlings as the two of them were getting ready.

"Who? Miss Hunter?" Luke questioned.

"Or the missus?" Kieran supplied.

Both of them liked you as well. Unlike him, you’d spend your free time indulging their nonsense, and over time, they even gave you that friendly moniker.

They didn't really know the nature of your physical relationship though. Or at least, didn't really know fully.

"The latter," Sylus gruffly replied, and then he went to the hunter girl to prepare her as well.

He had a justified explanation. If you had asked him, he would tell you nothing had happened. Your ire was better than silence, definitely a hundred times better than this.

But why didn't you come to him?

And why does he want you to come and demand him for an explanation?

However, tonight was the auction for the Aether Core. He had to finish this first before he could get a word with you later.

At least that was what Sylus had thought... until he saw you at the auction venue.

You were stunning in that black cocktail dress. He didn’t know when you had your hair done, but you looked as if you had spent the entire day preparing for this occasion despite having barely two hours after coming back. You were definitely a head-turner, drawing the attention of many vermin as you navigated the ballroom with grace and everlasting smile.

And it grated at him. Severely. Sylus's eyes were locked on each lowlife hell-bent on taking his life and desperate to get into your pants, knowing he would end them all tonight.

...and as if it wasn't enough, he then saw you entertaining one of them with that sort of smile you used to reserve for him.

. . .

"Mm-hm, really?"

"Yes, I've heard they are inside the safe number 209."

You coyly smirked, looking the man with mask in front of you, whom you had led to a deserted hallway, who had been complying and smiling at each and every question of yours.

"Thank you then." You flashed him your best smile, about to go back to the main hall.

"And uh, miss," he suddenly turned to you in a flurry. "I believe I haven't gotten your name—"

You chuckled, facing him again. "Oh, you want to know my name?"

"Very much so!"

This was like bread and butter to you. You effortlessly wrapped an arm around the man's neck, standing on your tiptoes, and whispered in his ear:

"Halt."

He went rigid the moment the command left your lips, and you could feel his panic rising as you pulled away.

"W-what happened—!?" he thrashed against the invisible hold manifested by your Evol in pure panic, to no avail, whereas you regarded at him with a cold smile.

"What a shame. I planned to let you be, but then you gave me the perfect opportunity." You maintained your eerie smile as you pulled out a thin, needle-like blade from the hem of your dress. "You have been a great help. Thank you."

With that, you slit his throat, and blood splattered onto the ground in a continuous pool as he jerked, collapsing like a broken statue.

You felt nothing at the sight, but you knew you weren't alone as you felt his presence.

"You started the party without me?" Sylus' deep voice resonated through the hall. "Didn't know you have that much of bloodlust this early, sweetie."

The clench of your heart was still there, even when you had decided to discard all your lingering feelings for this man. Still, you put on the perfect poker face when you met his eyes.

"I want this to be over and done with quick. I'm exhausted already."

Sylus eyed you calmly, yet somehow it felt as if the depths of those red eyes were trying to assess your soul. "Your actions said otherwise. Is flirting with him necessary?"

"You're one to talk, Boss," you scoffed at the last word. "As long as it entertains me, why isn't it?"

Sylus didn't deign you with an answer, and you decided to pour more oil into it.

"Strictly professional, no?" You lifted your chin defiantly. "Last I checked, we were not supposed to meddle in personal affairs—"

You didn't realize it until he did, because the next thing you knew, his right eye suddenly glowed with that terrifying shade of crimson. "You—!"

He has seen it all. In the three years since he took you in, Sylus had never used his Aether Core-infused right eye on you to peek into your mind. The first and only time it had happened was when he restrained you from attacking him on the day you first met.

This was the second time. And now, he knows. Of your petty feelings, of your deepest, truest desire.

At first, Sylus remained silent, but then his eyes narrowed at you, low voice booming through the hall.

"Jealousy is unbecoming on you, Y/N."

And after all that he knew, that was the only thing he could come up with?

You felt shame wash over you. You wanted to run from him. This was too much because he most definitely didn’t reciprocate your feelings, did he?

"I don't want to hear it," you resolved, the space around you felt constricting all of a sudden. You walked past him, about to break into a sprint—

Sylus immediately caught a hold of your arm though, sending a glare at you. "You—"

"It ends here," you blurted in heat. "I don't want it anymore. We're through, Sylus."

"Listen to me!"

He snarled at you, and it was the very first time he did so. However, you paid him no mind and pulled out your ace card, staring hard into his eyes. You could feel the start of his black and red mist, but your Evol was faster—

"Move."

His hold on you loosened, and he jerked back several foot away from the impact. You kept your manipulation on him, avoiding his fury-blazed eyes, bolting away before he could catch you.

. . .

The night escalated so much worse than you had imagined. Explosions and a sudden appearance of an Arbiterwings threw the whole auction into chaos.

You were fighting off the sudden wave of wanderers alone, relying solely on your blade since your voice was too hoarse to use your Evol. When one of them struck you and sent you crashing into a wall, you just sat there in a daze.

It was exhausting. Usually, Sylus would be by your side, covering your back at the very least. He wouldn't let a single scratch get to you. His black and red mist of doom would dominate the battlefield, offering you protection while at it.

You loved that bastard. It was so beyond stupid. Why did you have to ruin everything by having these feelings? If your heart was gone, would these feelings go with it too?

You got your answer sooner than you thought.

White-hot pain engulfed you when something impaled you right in the chest. The searing agony was mind-blinding, the only thing you could discern was your own wails.

No, the feelings didn’t go. Even as you teetered on the brink of death, that damned love only evolved into many regrets.

And in your final moments, you could've sworn you felt the exact moment your heart stopped beating.

"Oh my god! Luke! She is here!"

"Kieran...! Is she alive?!"

"So much blood—! Luke, call Boss! Call Boss here!"

"Boss! We found her!"

"What do we do?! Shit! It's right... in her heart..."

"What!? Boss! S-she is...! Oh lord..."

You had a dream, and it was of your first meeting with Sylus.

Three years ago, in the wasteland of N109 Zone, you were a mere scavenger until he found you. You had thought he was a threat much like others in this lawless city, so you unwittingly showcased your Evol before him in defense, until he pinned you down on the hard ground, crimson eyes holding you in place.

"I'm giving you two options: go with me and live, or die here in vain," he had told you then, a smug smile on his face. "I assure you, so long as you're still useful to me, you won't have to worry about food or roof above your head ever again."

What kind of homeless person would refuse that tempting offer?

Since you followed him, Sylus had never been untrue to his word. He made good of his words, idly engaged you in his circle, showered you with gifts, and at one point—

"You're... trying to tempt me, aren't you?" he growled amidst kisses, pinning you on his desk. Apparently, seeing you up close and personal every day in his home had worn down his patience. He was just a man, after all.

You wickedly giggled, even breathless, cradling both sides of his face and admiring those ruby eyes of his. "What if... I am?"

"Then consider me tempted, little kitten," he chuckled, his baritone voice casting a spell over you. "Remember though, curiosity can kill most cats."

Thus began your thrilling relationship, and you knew you would gladly stay with him just to have a taste of that heaven. And you knew too, he wouldn't cast you easily this way.

And of course, so long as you are useful to him, that is.

When you came to, you felt warm, and your position was so comfortable that you were almost lulled back to sleep.

At first, it didn't register to you where you were. The scene before you was so familiar, but you were so lethargic that you were late to recognize it.

"Awake?"

Sylus' bedroom. The realization dawned on you as that deep, low voice questioned you flatly. You jerked instinctively, looking up at him as he came into view, holding a glass of wine.

He was still the same. Even with you out of commission, he would still indulge himself with his wine. Somehow you couldn't really pinpoint what you should feel about it.

However, Sylus then did the thing you didn't expect him to. He went back to his pantry to get a glass of water, and then he came to your side to prop you up.

"Drink," he commanded, positioning the glass on your chapped lips. You complied and did so, feeling relief for your throat. Once you were finished, he gently laid you back on the bed and tucked you in, never once taking his eyes off you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Have been better," you quipped dryly. Then it dawned on you that he had never been this gentle with you before. He was showing care, which confirmed one theory you had about him: Sylus could be considerate when he chose to be.

The very fact that you ended back here didn't really faze you much, because in the end, you belonged to him out of all people. Just one thing that still didn't make sense in your mind: "What did you do?"

His burgundy eyes squared at you. "What?"

"There’s no way I could've survived that," you mumbled, trying to gauge his reaction. "You must’ve done something."

“Ha, when it comes to these things, you’re sharp,” Sylus said with a light scoff, and you frowned.

"Answer me."

"Aether Core," he supplied. "It was now in you, repairing your coronary system."

"You..." you were rendered speechless. "You—what? You infused my heart with a Protocore...?"

Just like the one in his eye, he had implanted you with that dangerous fragment that was from something as horrific as a Wanderer. The very thought made your breath hitch.

"Stay calm," he commanded, his hand found yours when he noticed your horrified expression, squeezing it as if to provide some sort of reassurance. "You'll be fine."

"H-how... why..."

"That was your only chance, or you would’ve been dead." Sylus' tone was harsher now, his jaw set firmly. "I keep telling you not to rush in carelessly, and yet you did. Did you even know how bad your state was when I found you? No, you didn't."

The way he spoke made you feel as though you were being blamed, and overwhelmed with your frustration, you retorted sharply, "No one asked you to save me."

Awkward silence lingered for a good one minute after your jab. You turned away from him, feeling conflicted, because you knew you should be grateful that he did so, because it meant the Aether Core inside you now was the one he had been looking for in that auction.

He gave it up to save you.

Still, it confused you.

“If I died...” you began, bitterness creeping into your voice. “Then it just means I’m no longer useful to you. You always discard things that no longer serve your purpose.”

You turned back to him, meeting his impassive gaze. “So why? Did you pity me after discovering my feelings? Is that why?”

There are many labels in your relationship. Master and servant. Onychinus leader and his right-hand woman. But you were also his lover, even unsaid. Was that fact that did it? Or a mere charity for the weak, you?

Suddenly, Sylus placed his palm over your chest, right where your heartbeat pulsed. You stiffened, bracing for some sort of impact.

But no, it wasn’t anything sensual like he usually did. His hand—large and warm—was a comforting presence, resting on your chest and feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Haven't I told you that I never act out of pity?" Sylus' voice was strained but softer than usual, his deep burgundy eyes holding yours. "Do you really need me to spell it out?"

You didn't dare to look away, for the moment of truth was right in front of you.

"My only regret is not being able to pull you back," he said quietly, his tone somber. "I shouldn't have let you get hurt."

Oh. You blinked, taking in his sincere words, something inside you softening and warming at his words.

You had noticed it too. Despite his roguish exterior, he had always looked after you during your time together. It was just that you hadn’t dared to hope for more.

“The naughty little kitten has managed to worm her way into me, it seems,” he chuckled then, flashing you that cocky smile. “So now, she has to be held responsible for her actions.”

His red gaze narrowed as he added. “Moreover, since I have saved your life— you owe it to me not to throw it away so easily. So you can’t rush into danger carelessly again, you hear?”

Those playful remarks were enough to dispel your doubts and insecurities. They answered everything you had been questioning, and knowing it, finally you let out a relieved sigh and exasperated snort. “You shameless bastard...”

And when he leaned in to place a fleeting, innocent kiss on your forehead, you realized that, in his own way, he saw you just as you saw him, even if only a little.

Sylus settled into the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and letting your head rest on his arm. Tonight, there were no passionate kisses, no steamy foreplay, or dirty talks— just you being alive and well in his embrace.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three weeks, woman. Luke and Kieran keep mourning you everyday.”

“Three weeks?! How did you manage without me for that long?”

Sylus glanced at you, a contented smile on his face as he held you close. “It’s been horrid.”

Neither of you would be caught dead saying “I love you”, and yet, regardless, you knew that right this moment meant so much more.

[darkdemeter]

THE THREAT OF INTIMACY

⚤ Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Angst — insecure reader and depictions of negative thoughts and fear of sexual intimacy — profanity — SMUT 18+ mdni — virgin!reader/loss of virginity — unprotected sex — hurt/comfort — oral (female receiving) — le dasha of body worship —cream pie — mafia bucky being a huge softy for his wife — I think that's it ✎ 7.4k A beautiful bride marrying the man of your dreams. But when faced with what comes after the vows and first dance as Mr. and Mrs Barnes, you suggest that a particular arrangement be made.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

It’s not so much of a grand show once the curtain falls. There hangs a greed of mischief and ominous silence. He looks at you, blue eyes piercing the exposed skin of your back, the white gown hangs an elegant silhouette on you. Its embroidered sculpts become melded into the fabricated folds as you stop midst the gate of your saunter forwards, each step a reminder drawing nearer as you do to the bed. 

Did you really have to do this? 

It was an era of change after all. But his seniors were old school, and so you expected him to be as well in the matters of the marriage bed. It is expected of you — the both of you. Your hands fish through the elaborate style of your hair, musing it loose and gaining a comforted scalp as you turn away from the bed and walk over to the large windows that extend from top to bottom, overlooking the twinkling space of stars fallen to earth. 

Being far away from it means you are torn from it. Once you step foot back in that place, you are no longer the girl you once were.

You are now Mrs. Barnes. A wolf among sheep. The queen of the Bratva. A cooperation of mobsters who have bought police eyes and silenced officials of the government. But was this status and power worth what is intended to follow? 

You didn’t have a real choice in the matter. Well, maybe you did. You fell for him, you won’t deny it, and you fell hard for him. Other pickings were not as savoury, nor did they explode with the chemistry you shared with him. But this wasn’t the only factor. 

It’d been clear that your hearts were set on one another. With the subtle whispers into the other’s ear, hugging and kissing, fingers entwined, or the more assuring hand on the low of your back. This intimacy had been a flavour sweet – loving – and you came to embrace these softer textures of your life at his side. His proposal was impossibly expected but even then, you couldn’t contain your surprise and eagerly said yes.

You never gave the thought of what came next exactly. The very intimate aftermath. Until his mother pulled you aside, a smile on her painted ruby lips as she guided you to walk with her through the hedged gardens. That conversation is one you will never forget. Her love is shocking, her devotion to her husband and family, you can hardly stand the thought of not loving her in return. 

But that talk shocked you. 

Half of it because of the gory details she regaled, but the other half because of your own mind. Your poisoned mind that festers with anxious insecurities. 

Of course it’s expected. Your virginity doesn’t exactly wave you as an expert, no matter what talks of womanhood you are subjected to. But by the standard of Mr. Bucky Barnes, his former bachelor days had given him what you lack: experience. 

What if I’m so bad that he’s repulsed by me? 

He’ll only need to take one look at me and that’ll be enough.

What if I can’t make him cum? 

What exactly am I supposed to do— I don’t think I’m ready. 

You continue on in your panicked, internal reverie, hand raised to rest your lips against your knuckles, the shine of diamonds catching in the dark reflection, a momentary blindness befalls you that then causes your stomach to writhe with unease.

“Hey,” your husband whispers, breath warm over the shell of your ear and his lips tease the curve of your exposed neck with light kisses. Your body flinches at the suddenness of his appearance right behind you, his chest to your back; you feel tears deep into the corner of your eyes, hot and wet and annoying. The stronghold of air chokes you in the back of your throat.

“Mm, hi…” 

Your forced smile is quick to fade, just barely passing back a glance at him before looking away. He catches this falter. His expression is shadowed by a troubled frown. He noticed the way you flinched before him. And that glistening of tears is hard to miss when it comes to you.  

“Talk to me,” he presses gently, “you okay?” 

His hands are strong and sure as he holds you, turns you to face him directly now, putting the window to your back. Your ring bound hand massages over your face with a breath hollowing out in a deep sigh. 

“Yeah. I’m good, I think we should get some rest. It’s been a big day.” 

Before you can step around him, his hand circles the entirety around your forearm, holding you in place.

“You don’t want to…” At the trailing end of his words with his blue eyes alluding to his meaning, the sting of tears prick your vision again and a flush paints your cheeks and neck red. He lets you walk away with the train of your dress flowing behind you like a silken shadow. 

“I don’t think tonight.”

Or any other night… 

Bucky’s throat bobs with a thick swallow, nodding as he watches you. Always a man who knows what to do, how to maintain composure — his power — he feels that confidence wane like the fading moon. Powerless.

The words brewing on your tongue are tart, poisonous and unpleasant. Not the sort you would ever want to say to your husband, no less on your wedding night. 

You’d ventured over to the vanity by now, you say beneath a shaken exhale, “I’ll look to hire a mistress.”

“Excuse me?” He gasps sharply. 

Your reply, voice short of anything joking or playful. You sit before the vanity and bend forward, unfastening the golden clasps on your heels before you set them aside. “I’ll have a mistress contracted for you. We’ll do everything else together but she will… provide the sexual affairs.”

“And you?” His question makes you pause midway of turning fully towards the mirror, only barely do you see him trail the outskirts of the room, just only in focus of your view. With a sigh, you pluck your earrings out, saying more so to your own reflection than him, “I’ve gone this long without sex, Bucky. I’m sure I can go on the rest of my life without it.” 

“No, no, we’re not doing things like that. I married you — I want you.” Why is that just too hard to believe? You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes in the mirror, so you look away, anywhere that doesn’t meet his gaze. “Honey, where the fuck did this come from?”

You don’t answer. The man is practically brought to his knees before you like a servant ready to obey you like a goddess. Treatment he committed to you, though you don’t feel deserving of. He spins you slowly on your stool until you face him, knelt before you, he tries to find the stunning awe of your eyes only to find you hiding away from him. “Did somebody say something to you? Who was it?” 

Quick to spare someone needless bloodshed, you stand abruptly, almost knocking him back and storm away from him by some feet, putting distance between you both, your voice carries over your shoulder, “Nobody said anything. I just think this arrangement will be better for us.”

You’re blinking back a curtain of tears that threaten to unleash. A wave rises high like a tsunami in your soul with these stupid, incessant thoughts. 

You’re imperfect. 

You’re ugly. 

Let another woman – a beautiful woman – please him. 

He’ll regret marrying you once he sees you.

Fingers ringing the course of massaging your temples, you are slowly being drowned by many, many thoughts like these. They're endless. They’re relentless and they are loveless. Not once do you give yourself the internal piece of mind that maybe, just maybe, there is hope in this relationship. That they are wrong. That he won’t judge or run from you. But who can say for sure?

It’s best to play it safe and keep what dignity you have left. Despite the spitefulness of seeing him become satisfied by another woman, it would be better than depriving him for the rest of his life. And you care more for his own happiness. It’s all you want for him. 

He speaks up again, his voice going stern in his verbal study. “So, let me get this straight: I marry the love of my life, the very essence I love and breath for, only to… fuck another woman. After I swore a vow to you.” 

“Bucky, you’re making it sound—”

“I’ll go without sex for the rest of my life than have some whore in our bed.” 

You spin on your heel, mouth agape. Finally you look at him long enough as he works to slowly approach you and he sees just how badly you’re hurting on the inside. “Bucky—” 

How quick he is to cut you off before you can even utter another heinous thing, now reaching you. “I wouldn’t stand at the altar for just anyone. I gave up that bachelor life to have you. I chose you. I want to have all of you.”

You mutter, mumble off-centred excuses that come out as broken noises on a record, and then you let out a shaken breath, chest feeling like it's being cleaved and ripped apart to the point your body trembles. You try your hardest to suppress your quiet sniffles as the flow of tears begin, fingers hastefully dapping away as to not smear your makeup; your only means of perfection that you’ve felt in a while.

When you saw yourself in the white dress every little girl dreams of for the first time in a bridal shop far too expensive for the average, then again in the dressing room with hair and makeup done to the nines, it all almost made you forget about the gut-wrenching aftermath once the reception concluded. That you were walking down that aisle with a purpose you would never come to regret. 

Was it all a foolish fairytale to idolise this facade of beauty?

The hand bearing his ring uses a force so gentle you think it’s the end, that when you look up, he will be gone. That your wedding dress will fade into your everyday jeans and grandmother’s patchy sweater you treasure too much to throw away, her scent still lingering there to inhale on a bad day. 

He drives your focus upwards until your eyes meet, your vision hindered behind a blur that wets your lashes as you blink. A vibrant colour of blue that once intimidated you now attends to assure you, to quiet your riled fears, but there is a reluctance to let your guard down this time. 

His hands cradle your jaw in his hold with a promise to never let you go. To never let you know this fear again.

“I won’t judge. I won’t run in disgust or whatever you think I’m gonna do. I think my vows can be credited to that, yeah?” 

Your bottom lip sinks inward slightly, teeth biting down hard on the plump of flesh, muttering a softly broken, “I-I guess.” 

“You’re scared.”

It is shame that brings your eyes to falter, chin wobbling until it crinkles. “Yes…”

It’s like he could read you, knowing that your next move is to shove him off – push him away – he leans down and presses his lips to your own. Warm, a little roughened yet still retaining a softened plush of texture, he breathes some sort of cooling flame that soothes you if not for a short while. A rattled, sharpened gasp teeters on the edge of your voice and he parts from the kiss with a low and silky drawl. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, love. We can take our time with this.” 

You’re hoisted into his arms, strength unyielding as he carries you over to the bed and sets you atop the mattress like porcelain. For him, he’s scared how easily it is to break you, no matter how hard you hide this fragility. You use the outside of your hand to wipe at your nose and exhale loudly, mind prattling on with your swirling thoughts. 

Pathetic. 

He’ll definitely need a mistress after that display. 

And all you’re better off getting is a toy. 

His family will ridicule you. He’s going to tell everyone that his little wife refused to have sex with him on his wedding night.

Poisonous thoughts. They aren’t going away. With a sniffle, you watch Bucky begin to strip himself down, leaving himself to his boxers. However much you admire the act in itself, it’s far too intimate than anything else. The idea of you doing that for him sickens you. You become repulsed by yourself. 

Your mind is a hideous beast. 

Like you.

Shut up!

You make this wedding dress look ugly.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky’s voice breaks through the hazardous cloud like a lighthouse awaiting for you ashore, guiding you to safety. He offers you a smile you try to match only to feel your lips twitch, muscles cringing as you keep the well of tears and cries inside. He invites you to join him and you move up the bed. You can’t bear to shed the second skin of your dress to reveal the lavish, risque lace and frilly lingerie you’d picked out at the encouragement of your bridesmaids.

You never really gave it much thought before until it was too late. This culture of intimacy you perceive as a threat. 

Your husband doesn’t question you. Instead he lays beside you, arms stretched out to invite you into his embrace. An invite you half-heartedly indulge in, inching yourself awkwardly to his side but remaining to keep some inches from him.

Head laid on the tucked shelf of your arms, hair mused to fall over your features, you intend to wallow in silence until exhaustion overtakes you into sleep. 

You’ve ruined his day.

“What are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?” The question is directed to you, you’re sure. But it also sounds like he’s asking himself for the answer to a riddle he cannot begin to understand. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your day…”

The contortion of his features almost has your body locking up into a tightly wound position, the form of his dark brows bevelling in the middle, eyes widening until the blackened pupils shrink into tiny dots. 

“What?” he sputters, “No– no, honey. This is our day.”

Our day?

There is a storm of emotion battling in his own eyes, however, he is just as quick to hide it from you. He trails again to caress the line of your jaw, his thumb strokes along your bottom lip. “Love, I will never force you into anything. Not your first time, not your hundredth. You hear me, yeah?”

Your eyes only look to stare at him with a stillness, before you absently nod. Then you turn, putting your back to him. You cannot bring yourself to look at him out of sheer guilt that no matter what, he cannot silence the honest and cruel torment of voices in your head. Not forever. They will find something to pick out and gnaw at to send you into this spiral. 

If you could do so without the judgement of your husband, you would cry and howl into your pillow for hours until the perfect mirage of your makeup fell apart, you’d spare the dress from being a ridiculed taint by being on you any longer. You’d be on the phone to your sister pleading for her to keep you company and distract you from this pain, you’d cry into her chest as she held you with all the strength she possessed. You’d ask your parents to call you beautiful, even though it’s a lie. 

But you keep it all in. And it breaks you so harshly on the inside that it cuts you like thousands of shards shredding you apart. 

You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed between the void of silence. You can’t sleep. The tyrannical storm of emotion swarming inside you makes it impossible to even try lest you break and let it all out, letting it show. 

“B-Bucky?” you squeak, clearing your throat and you hear him hum immediately in response, the weight of him rolling over until his body is a ghost along your back. “Can I… uhm, can I ask you something?” 

Aside from the odd hiccup and sniffle here and there, you hold firm to sounding as you were before, the bubbly and playful girl Bucky couldn’t help but tease until you were a flustering mess, the girl who attempted to flirt back only to fumble over your words and proceed conversation with a shy smile. The girl he fell in love with. The one he gladly stood at the altar for. Before the voices.

“Of course, doll. Anything.”

 Nervously your fingers flex and wind together, thumbing the fabric over your breasts, the enclosed circlet of cleavage pressed closely together. You wish you could giggle at the way you caught Bucky gawking numerous times in supposed awe of you throughout the day. He often is like that every time he sees you though, now that you come to think about it. 

Supposedly.

Not likely real…

I’m going to regret asking this, aren’t I?

With a heavy swallow coated heavily in your hesitance, you take a breath in hope that proves to fail to settle your nerves. “You’ve been with plenty of girls before me… you know how to please them, what did…” you pause upon a whimper, “were they all the same?”

The amount of strain behind your vocal cords makes you cringe in disgust. You sound like—

“No, they were all different. Unique to each girl.” You can almost sense the way his head props up to look at you. His eyes staring a cool layer of heat into your back. “Just like you.”

“How can you say that?” Your voice betrays the toxins of a heart and mind poisoned together over far too long. Bucky hears the loathe of self in your words, dry and cynical, unbelieving in his words and your own image. “You’ve never even seen what I look like… you don’t know how I’ll be, I’ve never—” 

Your hands press over your eyes in hope to suppress the tears glassing over your vision. 

“Hey,” Bucky admonishes with a low drawl, tutting you, “hey. I’m not expecting the fucking grandios of perfect sex. I’m expecting you and only you. I want what makes you and your body unique.”

You turn your head to see him, chin wobbling slightly. How he’d crawl through hot coals and glass for you, seeing the beauty of what you see are flaws. He then grins and for a moment, it disturbs you how he could smile when you’re like this. 

“I wasn’t the best for my first time. In fact, I’m telling you–”

“Bucky, no, you don’t have to,” you interject with a stifled cough. You shoot to sit up and your husband follows, chuckling. 

“No, I will tell you I was shit at sex. Horrible. My first time—”

Your hands paw and pat at his mouth to silence him to no avail, your chorus of hiccups and sniffles turn into shy giggles. 

“I–couldn’t–”

You giggle a little louder this time. “Shush, Bucky! No-ho!” 

“Couldn’t even– find the cl—”

Your fingers are a heavenly pillar even as they hold his lips prisoner from speaking aloud. He smirks behind them and plants delicate kisses to them, enamoured by the faint smile on your face and the softness of your eyes. Seeing you cry and be tied to these human emotions makes a fire burn in his chest. Like for the longest time, he’s finally found someone who can make him feel whole. If only he could help you feel the same. In the make of those blue, puppy dog eyes, you crack and scoff out a snort. “New York’s infamous Mob Lord…” 

He beams from ear to ear at the unfinished implication, taking the time to fall so hard in love with you all over again. He leans his forehead against yours with a rumbled, “Mhm.”

Mascara smudged under the barrage of wet lashes and tears, your lips part with a shaky breath. “Bucky?”

He hums again, so you press on, throat suddenly tight. “Do you think you could make me feel that way?”

His response is instant, deep voice trailing along the bridge of your neck, much like it had done earlier as his arms circle the lower curve of your arse and hoist you until you balance atop his thighs, keeping his weight on his haunches. “Moya zvezda, that and more.” 

Your arms drape over the burly muscle of his shoulders, breath mingling with his in hot gusts laboured with anticipation, you hear him groan as you ever so slightly lower your hips against his and he pushes you that little higher on the pedestal he holds you on, it’s height greater than any earthly accomplishments men can dream of. 

It’s why you’re his star. 

I love this man.

With all my heart. 

His front presses fully into you, he works to weave one hand beneath the shower of your gown and feeling along the sheer stocking attached to your garter; he groans again, more feral sounding in his sensational marvel of how perfect you are. How blessed he is to be the one to touch you like this. To hold and have you so intimately. 

At his touch, your body erupts with a shudder, momentarily staggered by the electric push and pull and thriving buzz between your legs; though the stir of arousal isn’t foreign to you, it certainly is a stark contrast with his attentive action. 

His lips smother the embers of your trembling gasps with a kiss, passion tasting as a fine wine on his tongue. The kiss is paced slowly to attend to your cautious nature, an utter surety that he won’t make any move against you. You take no part in stopping him as he pushes aside the obstructive barrier of your panties. 

The way his fingers are gentle to stroke your core has you keening, teetering on a choked whine, his work deliberate in focusing on the pearl of your sensitive clit and the slickened beginnings of your folds. His hands that have sinned many times now amend themselves with the purity of worshipping every inch, exploring you with the intent to please. His thumb rolls in drawn circles, eliciting from you mewls and heated pants of air too heavy to stay in your lungs, cooing at your slow induction. 

“Atta girl.”

I’m alright. 

“You’re doing amazing.”

I’m safe. 

His two fingers run along your entrance, causing your spine to arch slightly and he smirks, pulling from the kiss. 

“You like that, doll? Yeah?” he asks smoothly, seeing you nod shakily with eyes half lidded. 

Your hands entangle themselves to the bedded roots of his hair, tender as you can to pull with each spark that has your stomach tying knots and your muscles tensing, his thumb begins to roll a little harder and faster. At hearing the apparition of a moan escape you, he applauds you with his encouragement despite the way your hand covers over your mouth to silence these noises.

“Fuck, please again, zvezda. Please.”

“I want to hear you.”

“Please… fuck you sound so beautiful…”

In your stun over his pleas, your hand lowers away and you continue to let your moans lull him, hips moving at a slow crawl against his fingers that press to your core and with a single look you let him know you’re willing. He fights the tantalising grip of your fingers to reach your lips as he pushes two fingers past your folds. Your gasp is a sharp sound to his ears, one of alert that he seeks to comfort you through the kiss.

The trajectory to pull your hips away stabilises and you begin to find that rhythm with each grind and thrust onto his fingers, the waves of pleasure coming from your clit has your stomach tightening. 

“B-Bucky…” you whisper and he swallows your words with a deep moan. Your walls clench around the intrusion of his fingers, moreso when he adds a third, curling them as if to beckon your body furthermore to his touch, to yield your fears and let him set alight that bloom inside your core and unto your bliss. 

You pant harder, “B–ngh… Bucky… th-there.”

“Right there?” He asks with a sultry grin. Your voice comes out in a strangled response. “M—mhm.”

The voice of your whine is his commandment. He installs a level of dedication at gently fucking you with his fingers right where you needed him – wanted him. That swell inside you grows and grows, furthering into a maelstrom that leaves your body shivering, unexpected of where this sudden burst will implode. 

“Good girl, you’re doing so well, doll,” he praises with a low timbre, groaning with a prided grin when you tug a little harder at his hair, your softer nature betraying to act out this darker side of yourself; this almost forbidden wanton. 

I feel…

Your hips move to become greedy and much to Bucky’s approval, feeling the swollen bulge of his cock straining against his boxers has you weak and some instinct to move against it drives you, a louder moan slipping past your lips. Bucky’s mouth leaves a heated trail of passionate nips and teasing flutters of kisses against your neck, spoiling you. 

You gasp and your hands fly to his shoulders to hold you at bay, the sudden shockwave a prelude to ride as your orgasm ascends upon you, he hears the feverish whimpers you make and he purrs, pumping his fingers, “That’s it, love, let go. C’mon, let me feel you cum for me. I’ve got you.”

The suppression of a scream hides in your chest, leaving only a choked sob to rack through you as you thrust and claim your first release, a hot flush of white behind your eyes blinds you, your muscles convulse in tensing and relaxing as you ride out your high. 

Your arms that wound around his shoulders squeeze a little tighter in your recovery, your breath timed to slow down after a few minutes but your body remains to quiver against him. The form of his aroused cock clear and unhidden has your core weeping for more.

“There you go, that’s it,” he coaxes softly with a smile while he eases a kiss to the corner of your lips, “how’re you feeling?” 

“G-good… really like… wow.” The words come out jumbled to you, as if you were still influenced by the strong wine at the reception, having made you reserve your consumption to a very limited amount. 

Bucky hums and withdraws his fingers, leaving you to mewl at the loss. The sight before you has you in some chokehold, a crimson heat flushes into your cheeks and down your neck, rendering your blood into fiery rivers beneath your skin, a sudden jerk picking up in your heartbeat as Bucky cleans the slick of your release from his fingers, the crystalised shade of blue dimming with a certain darkness as the taste of you rolls over his taste buds. 

He’s tasting me…

He moans with a thunderous growl. “Fuck… you taste amazing,” he grins, teeth gleaming with that cute, charming esteem. 

I do?

The warmth in your cheeks glows ten fold, bringing a sight for Bucky to admire. That cute girl who’s face becomes rosy with embarrassment. It’s like he could read your mind and the way he says your name has you at a loss of breath, drawing your attention back to the shine of his eyes. 

“You are exquisite…” 

Following in action as the continuation of his proclamation, his hand finds the spine of your dress and upon reaching the apex between your shoulders. He seeks to pause and his eyes seek out your permission, brows slight to bevel. “May I, Mrs. Barnes?”

The crescents of your palms brush the exterior of his stubble, every inch of your hands covered by the sensational prickling that leaves you like putty. How he stares at you with this amass of love and fondness that feels overwhelming at times. 

He’s just so… perfect.

The return of tears glasses over your eyes and you smile, brightly and toothy and nod, cupping his jaw in your hands before you press a softened kiss to his lips. You feel it in unison with him; it steals the breath from you both. 

“You may, Mr. Barnes.”

With your approval, he draws the zip undone. Anticipation lines your nerves like a trail of gunpowder ready to be set ablaze. He’s testing the waters, ensuring that this is what you want and when you give no indication of refusal, he glides the dress from your shoulders, revelling in the delicate sculpt of your body; the warm, ambient light hitting the surface creates a heavenly glow upon your skin. With the overhanging light above, it frames a golden halo around you as his sights steer upwards. 

Your gown drapes a sultry form over you, accentuating the mounds of your breasts pushed close together and the nakedness of your shoulders and neck. Bucky growls under a vice of hunger. But something lays in the glassy waver of his stare. 

“Please be real?”

His voice barely rises above a near shattered whisper. A man who fears losing you just much as you fear losing him. His voice pleads with you. Your lips part, jaw coming to drop slightly as your eyes widen.

Please be real for me?

“I-I am, Bucky. I’m real…”

The man before you exhales loudly, gasping for breath to keep himself drowning. “Good. Because I want this to be real.”

He doesn’t waste another moment. His mouth clashes against yours, hunger succumbing as he ravishes you with the heated intensity of his kiss, tongue running a pleaful line along your bottom lip. You part them and he awakens the stir of arousal flooding through your veins, tongues dancing in an artistic battle for dominance he undeniably wins. You moan a muffled song and he drinks every lyric of it, intoxicated by it. 

His hands are wild in their exploration, peeling your dress lower to reveal the laces and frills of your lingerie, not permitting you to shy away and hide from him this time, his hands feel every inch of it, mesmerised by the way it fits to you so beautifully that even the most talented of sculptures would struggle to capture your raw and enticing beauty to its complete and apex design. 

Your hands scour to claim the roots of his hair again. This time, you hold no restraint and he loves it. He loves the radiance of confidence you find in every following second. You are claiming what is rightfully yours as his wife. As his one love that he will kill and die for without question. Though time and mortal breath dares to intrude and part you, you find ways around the schemes, momentarily gasping for air within the clash of your lips, too far entranced to pull away. 

His hands glide up your sides until his thumbs are able to tease your stiffened nipples through the thin fabric, groaning at the noises you create from it, his touch sending those blissful tingles throughout your body. When time comes to see you both departed from your kiss, you each still remain to linger, tasting one another in the inch spared between you, chests heaving madly and brushing together. Dress pooled to a rolled belt over your waist, Bucky drinks in every detail of your body. 

Why does he look at me like that? 

His nose buries into you, nestling into the warmth and softness of your body as he utters phrases of praise to your skin, a trail of his devotion painted upon your skin with the invisible ink of his love and adoration for you. 

“You feel what you do to me?” he asks, strong hands guiding your hips down to roll in unison with his, the swollen mound of his erect cock still suffering in confinement has you hiccuping in your stun.

Though your voice is light, you nod as you answer. “Yes.”

“That’s how fucking hot you are,” he says with a deep, velvety drawl, his words slightly muffled by the way his mouth caresses you. “You have me so hard right now, fuck, the things I wanna do to you, doll.”

His confession has you blushing. 

He can’t possibly mean that…

He can’t help himself. He’s a man enslaved at your whim. Though you try to bring this madman to his senses with an embarrassed huff of his name, he only leans in to claim your lips with his, the melding of hunger brings you both into that feverish haze again. Tongues entangled with one another, Bucky’s hands paw and pluck the garments of your lingerie from your form, peeling away the details of floral patterns and lacy sheer to feel the heat of skin below, the way your muscles twitched under his touch. 

You moan between the kiss and allow your hands to feel the soft tresses of his hair between your fingers, carefully weaving through the darkened locks and nails scratching at the roots against his scalp, a rumbling purr escaping him. 

The rock of your hips move together, a desiring fire burning in your core to the point it borders on a painful ache between your legs. Your dress is discarded, left aside with your undressed garments to be reclaimed at a later time. He lays you on your back, your head nested atop the plush cushion of the pillows, bodies flush together without leaving so much as a morsel of space apart. 

Entrapped by his lustful kiss, you thrust and grind your heated sex against him with shocking eager, a whine is tugged from your throat, unsure.

Bucky is quick to assure you of your arousal, that its intoxication is a vice wanted. He uses one arm to support his weight above, caging you, as his other takes hold of your thigh and gropes at it fervently while somewhere in the mixture haze his boxers are tossed aside. His swollen tip oozes with glistening, droplet streams, his size heavy and long that has a gasp escaping you. 

W–will he fit?

Such worrisome thoughts are snuffed out like speckled embers as he deepens the kiss, tongues gliding together and moans and limbs entangle. His tip brushes over the sensitive spot of your clit and your hips take languid actions against his practised thrusts. 

“It’s going to hurt at first,” he mutters across the skin of your jaw, “but it won’t for long. I’m right here, moya zvezda, I promise.”

A crystalline glint appears on the waterline of your eyes, a tender smile on your lips as your lips connect with a chaste kiss. 

“I’m ready, Bucky…”

His blue eyes take the time to carefully read your expression. For a man so immersed in being so gentle and caring with you, you have come to know that with the very same hands he caresses you with – he has broken jaws, bloodied and bruised noses and strangled the very life of more than one person. He can tell when a man is lying just by looking into his eyes. 

He sees you’re telling the truth. That you want this with him. You want him. Cock nudging at your folds, you push your legs a little wider to better accommodate his size after hearing him chuckle at the crimson blush creeping into your face, flustered at the thought of his entire cock sheathing inside you. 

“Gonna fit all of me, my sexy little wife?” he’d teased with a wink. 

His eyes retain their focus with yours as he pushes the head of his cock into your cunt, meeting the slight of resistance and surged forward, a sigh heavily laced on his breath that has his head bowing to press his forehead to yours, eyes scrunched tightly. 

A hitched note on your throat is silenced, cut out with a high pitched whine as he sinks deeper and deeper, breaching past the wall of your hymen. Your nails mark their bite into his shoulders and down his back with angry red scars, tracing over the blackened inks already imprinted there. 

Your walls constrict around the intrusion of him with a searing pierce that brings your tears to streak down your temples, chin slightly trembling, you feel Bucky’s lips hover over yours. 

“O-ow,” you mewl, “It hurts…”

“I’ve got you, zvezda, I’m here.”

Your chest feels tight, suffocated, but his words comfort you. You cling to him tighter, thighs trembling at his sides and you feel his hand resume its place there, gentle to knead and rub soothing circles as he coaxes you through the blight of your pain. 

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he whispers to your lips, the crinkle of a smile forming on his features. Just as quickly as it had come, the pain subsides and you feel so full at the point where your bodies meet, you finally nod for him to continue. 

He goes slowly. 

He sets a rhythm paced to ease you into the forcing motion of his cock gliding through your hot, velvety walls that clamp and shudder with each movement he makes. Your gasps turn to softly sung moans as you begin to grind your hips to meet his and he smiles down at you. “There you go, love. That’s it, you’re taking me so well.” 

“This body… so perfect, so beautiful… I love it, I love you.”

Another moan escapes you. He heaves a deep breath with every thrust, still focusing hard to keep this steadiness, until you moan for him, 

“Bucky… please, I-I need…”

“What do you need, love? Tell me.”

“I– need more– please.”

He groans, the thought of ruthlessly fucking you with abandon crosses his mind in flashes, the way you’d look spread out while being pummeled by his cock that ruts into your pretty pussy until you’re stuffed full of his cum that it overspills as a creamy ring around his girthy base. 

To fuck you the way of a mafia lord. 

“You want that, sugar?” he asks, his voice sudden to drop lower into a silken, deepened purr with a darkened smirk. “You want to be fucked the way a mafia queen should be? H–hmph, you want it harder? Faster?”

You choke on the release of your words, sounding breathless, “Y-yes!”

Your walls clench tight around him, a series of moans spilling from your parted lips as he then picks up his pace, the incentive of your permission driving him to thrust harder, his hand fists and squeezes the flesh of your thigh within his grasp, holding you fast to him as he strikes deeply into your pussy. His muscles bend, curve and tense and your hands greedily explore every single portion of him, granting you this chance to be upheld by the prison of your thoughts that may hold you back later.

You howl, whine and cry – all for more, for him to keep going, to not stop. His body arches over yours, hands now ahold of you at the hips he uses the advantage of his strength and position to forcefully piston himself back and forth, back and forth until you’re writhing beneath him  Your hands attach themselves to the veiny reins of his wrists, your hips arched up until your lower half is lifted for his leisure to fuck into that spot that has you seeing an galaxy of stars.

“Bucky– Bucky, oh Bucky!” you cry out. 

“Fuck— yeah baby, fuck you sound beautiful, shit— baby, keep screaming my name, I want to hear you.” Each word is intensely laced with an exerted breath or guttural groan. “Fucking hell, zvezda, you look fucking amazing like that—” 

“You’re taking my cock so well.”

“I’m never getting over the sight of this.”

His eyes burn with lust at the sight of your breasts bouncing without restraint, the shudder of your body with each clash of your thrusts, how your face contorts so beautifully with pleasure and the holstered grip of your legs hooking around his waist repeatedly only to falter each time after several pumps, only kept upright by his hold. A knot coils inside you, a tidal wave of pleasure coursing through your veins that sets your nerves aflame and your vocal cords to strain with every sound you make. The more and more he slams his cock into you, your neck is forced to arch back against the pillows with a pleasured shriek. 

You call out to him, “Bucky, I— I’m gonna… ah!” 

“Cum for me, doll, I wanna feel how tight your pretty pussy is around me.” Your back arches further as his tip continues to hit that spot and the sensational toying of his thumb rolls on your clit, eliciting a flourish of sparks to ignite until you’re suddenly overcome with a flush of white, that euphoric hit crashing over you while heat pours into every inch of your skin with your eyes rolling back.

You chant his name like a sacred prayer, the meaning of your vows imbued within your slurred, intoxicated mantra. He pants, hot and heavy in your ear,

“Shit, shit— fuuuck, baby— ‘mgonna cum, gonna cum for you. I want my seed in you, I want it in you so bad.”

His thrusts increase, the sound of skin slapping skin is erotically loud. You don’t want it to stop. You don’t want him to stop and so you beg him to keep going. 

You continue to whine, low and cooing, walls stretching and clenching around him, milking him of his release that sweeps over him with a long, baritone and throaty moan. His head presses into the crook of your neck to suck at the skin of your collarbone, marking you with dark bruises of his love and possession as he paints your pussy with his seed. The air is faintly filled by the sound of oozing slick of your combined orgasms that leak and drip around his still thrusting cock.

The erratic pace in which his rhythm held eventually wanes, instead he moves to a slow-crawling grind to ease you off your combined highs. His chest rises and falls and you allow your eyes to admire his form above you, A balance of skin and ink layered in a thin coating of sweat, as is your own, the muscles of his body rippling with each motion he makes. 

His hands release from your hips after he’s lowered you back down to the bed, allowing your body to succumb to the exhaustion undoubtedly taking hold of you. Your gaze meets his own, the colour of them haloed by the shine of tears and his heart yearns for you. 

He fears he’s done something wrong and his hands quickly raise to caress your face, thumbs stroke over your cheeks. 

“Moya zvezda, are you—”

“I’m…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to see him through the watery veil and you grin up at him and nod. He’s relieved to see that smile, coming to mirror it himself. 

She’s okay. My girl’s okay.

You reach your hand up, the warmth of your palm contrasted by the cool adornment of your ring. Bucky leans his face into your touch. “You stayed… you didn’t—” Though your words fail you, Bucky sees what you mean to say in your eyes. 

“Of course. You’re everything I ever wanted…” Your brows furrow, touched by the sincerity in his words. Before you is a man whose heart is held in your very hands. And his heart is one you wish to cherish, hold dear and never break. To think you almost bargained him off to another woman— 

“Have me again tonight, zvezda. Have me any other night. I promise, I will be there every time, every moment.”

He doesn’t want a mistress. He wants me. 

Those voices are gone, replaced by newer, kinder ones.

You’re perfect. 

You’re beautiful. 

I’m not scared anymore. Not with him. 

You now realise that intimacy was never the threat. The voices in your head were. 

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Did you want some tissues?

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @mostlymarvelgirl @hollyseb @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @identity2212 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @boobsbeesbongos @mrsnikstan @floralwsloki @mcira @schneeflocky @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[movingthisblogcelestialtarot11]

Degree Theory in Charts and Observations 🤍

Moon/sun at 8 or 20 degrees can signify trauma, releasing your ego and patterns that have hurt you subconsciously. 8 degrees and 20 both signify scorpios energy, and when placed on the big 3, it can dampen your signs energy. You may be a Leo sun, but when it's at 8 degrees your passion, creativity, and aspects of yourself can largely remain private. You are passionate, only to those you trust. Introverts become extroverts around the right people.

Gemini degrees on your moon/venus/sun 3, 15, 27 can suggest being a logical thinker, preferring to analyze your emotions and think deeply. You may like hearing podcasts on philosophy, emotional processing, books informed on trauma, and be interested in dissecting religion, spirituality, and occult related topics. Or how different cultures overall approach mental health or spirituality as a whole.

Luigi Mangione has Venus at 3 degrees and early on he wrote an essay portraying how christianity benefitted by appealing to the lower classes of ancient Rome at 15. His words not only reach a few people but a mass global scale, sharing his pain with those who suffered at the hands of the medical system. To this day he is currently seen as smart, intelligent, and romanticized even. He openly speaks out about the failing health care system. It's possible he may go on to write books in prison detailing his experiences and exposing the truth.

Also, his Mars is at 15 degrees of gemini, and it's a theory that this degree is associated with assassinations or killings. With Mars here, he was motivated by his anguish to make a move that started change. His sun is conj mars, so, he already has a following of those who look up to him as a savior, activist, and an important person in social justice.

George Orwell has his moon at 8 degrees in the 8h in Gemini, and he went on to describe the dangers of totalitarianism rising in the west. He wrote 1984 as a warning to the US, and his scorpio degrees also made him incredibly adept to the rising dangers in our politics.

He was intelligent, a philosopher, a politician, and someone who feared humanities behavior much more than the government itself. His sun sits in the 8h, further conveying his desire for truth, honesty and revealing how dark politics are and can be. He not only described the governments regime, but how mind control worked to steer us away from facts.

His sun was in cancer at 2 degrees (taurus) signifying his need for stability in an unstable world, applying practicality to his reasoning and not just spewing words of anger. He was strong in his reasoning, yet flexible to agree with Huxley (another philosopher)

The 22 degree (Capricorn) is considered heavy, intense, challenging and even traumatic whether it's placed on your personal planets or Chiron. It's usually associated with ruthlessness, discipline, and rigidity in the native. It's why people see them as powerful, and intimidating. Capricorn is destructive here, but ultimately leads to a transformation.

Sun at 13 degrees can indicate leaving a legacy, popularity, fame over media. Depending on where the sun sits, this will tell you how it happens. For example JonBenét Ramsey’s had her sun in the 4h at 13 degrees, which is critical. She was thrust into a family related legacy, and was required to uphold it through beauty pageants.

She was a star, with Leo in the 4h. But Aries degree here suggests an infliction of Mars, and her sun was weak (opposing moon) its possible this critical degree conveys what happened behind the scenes of her family life. Surrounded by pressure, aggression, all that responsibility being put onto her at a young age. It’s possible having an afflicted sun had her Mars energy amplified even more, conveying the aggression and high standards in her home life.

Moon at 12 degrees can suggest an empathetic, intuitive and sensitive individual. Someone who can read the room, perceives body language well, but can suffer from anxiety, overstimulation and overthinking. This can dissolve boundaries as well, leading to codependent behaviors, a lack of commitment to one’s healing journey for the sake of being there for others. This native can prefer to be by water, either at a beach, stream, river, etc. anywhere where they can be around nature is best for them.

Extra

Thanks all for reading! Let me know if I should make a pt 2 of this <3

Paid readings 🤍

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Hiii!! is it okay if I request a comfort(?) scenario/headcanons with Vil, Idia, Malleus and Lilia where a female protagonist feels self-conscious about having stretch marks and/or cellulite, thanks (Sorry if it's not spelled well, English is not my native language)

COMMENTS: So... even though I myself am a woman, I genuinely never saw stretch marks or cellulite as something bad or ugly, and I still don't. So maybe making the characters share the same vision as me would be accurate? The only exception to complete indifference is Vil, but not in the way you might be thinking.

Btw, I didn't see any point in writing this in a context other than an already advanced relationship given the topic. Fortunately, the 4 characters are 18 years or older so it doesn't end up being... you know, too weird.

I explain at the end why I couldn't write anything for Malleus or Lilia. But despite that, I hope you and all like what I managed to write. ❤️

CHARACTERS: Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud

TAGS: Fluff; Fem!Reader; Comfort; In a Relationship; Suggestive(?)

WORD COUNT: An average of 580 words per character

CONTEXT: I don't think it would make sense for two people to have this kind of intimate conversation outside of a romantic or even sexual relationship. So in that situation, he and you would be in a relationship.

This was an insecurity of yours from the beginning. After all, your boyfriend was none other than Vil Schoenheit. It would be worrying enough if he were a normal model, but he's not only a super model but one of the biggest in all of Twisted Wonderland.

He had already noticed that since you started dating you seemed more worried and less confident about your appearance and that was when he said to you:

“I am the one who needs to be perfect, not you. If I wanted to date a model I could do it, but my standards in romantic relationships are others. Different from some of my colleagues in this field. I will always help you to further improve your image if you wish and feel comfortable with it. Please don't see this as me wanting you to change your appearance, but as an attempt to make you as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside.” He pauses for a second. “However, for some reason, there's something that bothers me about the possibility of making you start living the same lifestyle as me.”

But he would only get the answer to why that bothered him later.

“The truth is: you are my escape. I don't feel the pressure to be perfect with you because... you know I'm not and yet you look at me with more admiration than anyone else. You are my escape from the superficial and futile parts of my professional life. When you live in these types of environments, you start to lose track of what really matters and what really does you good. Thinking about you being swallowed up by this... and losing your genuine smile... because of me... I can't allow it! Please know that no opinion about your appearance matters other than your own. And it wasn't just that that made me fall in love.”

This may have made you feel more comfortable and confident about your appearance again, but as the relationship became more serious and you became more intimate, eventually your problem with stretch marks and cellulite began to affect your mood again.

At home, Vil had massage sessions from time to time not only to help him relax but also for other healthy effects it had on his body. He thought that now that he was dating you, maybe it would be interesting for him to buy massage products and for you to start having these sessions with each other.

“You deserve a massage probably even more than I do.” He tells you, referring to the hardships you go through with Grim and the others.

And that's when he realizes from your hesitation that something about your appearance has bothered you again. He asks you to tell him and that you can trust him. After all, if you couldn't, what kind of boyfriend would he be? And you end up talking about your stretch marks and cellulite.

“I see.” He says understandingly. “I've never had them myself, but I've met many women in the beauty industry who talk about it to each other. Not to mention the advertisements for products for it. Do you remember what I told you when we first started dating and you felt less confident about your appearance? I am the one who needs to be perfect, not you. Furthermore, from what I understand, these marks are usually found on areas around the stomach, hips, breasts, and thighs.” He looks at you seductively. “You don't really think I would have any kind of criticism if you gave me the honor of seeing these parts of your body, do you? Why don't you let me give you that massage? I'll show you what I truly find beautiful about you.”

At first you didn't even think about it. It was only when the relationship started to get more serious and you started to sleep together from time to time that you started to worry.

Especially when Idia started having less of a problem walking around you shirtless. And giving hints about how he would like to see you wearing his shirts, without pants.

One day he says he wants to acknowledge the elephant in the room, but instead of asking why you hide your body so much, he asks if you still don't consider him worthy of seeing his girlfriend comfortably sexy.

“You never hid the fact that you like to see me shirtless.” He says while playing some game on the computer. “I also want to see you like that. Not necessarily shirtless, that's another level, but like, you know I don't like to embody the confident handsome guy who likes to walk around with little clothing on." His hair starts to turn hot pink.” But... I like how you look at me when I do. And what you say. Which I never understood ‘cause I don't even have good physics. But you do! You would be that character that every player simps for.” He sinks into his chair. “But I understand, getting that kind of look from me is disgusting...”

You may have your insecurities, but he has them too. And finally you feel the need and the comfort enough to reveal to him that that isn’t the problem, that you would also like him to find you hot as you find him and that the problem is your marks.

“What marks? Like scars? Don't tell me you have cool battle scars, like doesn't that make a person even sexier?”

You say you're not talking about scars, but stretch marks and cellulite.

“... Yah... sorry, I think I rolled a natural 1 in intelligence for this. What was that again?”

You say they are marks, irregularities and dimples in the skin and that he can search them on the internet. He does that.

“It says that these are natural things that don't do any harm. But they can impact self-image.” He researches a little more. “Wait! Are you trying to tell me that you find these strips and irregularities ugly enough to the point that you have to hide them? THIS?” He smiles mockingly “Oh no! How horrible! Your skin looks like... skin! What a tragedy!”

He will be very happy if you can laugh with him.

“As if I would even notice that. It says here that these marks are usually found on areas around the stomach, hips, breasts, and thighs. Do you really think that if I saw these parts of your body it would be little stripes and dimples that would catch my attention?” The pink in his hair becomes more intense. “I may be a shut-in but don't lump me in with those worms who define their standards based on adult videos. I can assure you that's not what you'll have to worry about if you take your clothes off in front of me.”

He finally looks at you with a seductive look and smiles confidently when he sees that you are flustered.

I really really really tried to imagine scenarios with Malleus or Lilia, but I couldn't think of anything very meaningful.

Malleus wouldn't understand the problem even if you tried to explain it to him because... it doesn't make sense to him. They're just marks. He also has marks, like, on his forehead. Is there something wrong with this?

And Lilia would just laugh for you thinking this is a problem and just tell you to forget about it.

They wouldn't understand, because it wouldn't make any difference to them at all. And that's it.

With Vil and Idia I was able to think of something because they are, like, from this generation, and because one is in the beauty industry and the other is, probably, chronically online, they can see where your insecurity comes from. But for someone like Malleus or Lilia, this type of insecurity has no basis whatsoever. I really don't know what to write with them.

Sorry. 🥺

If you dropped in here out of the blue and want to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[liveontelevision]

Demon Barber | Lucifer X Reader

IT'S DONNNEEEE

FuCk i slaved away on this one but y'all wanted a novel, so here she is!

Content Warning: Smutsmutsmutsmut +18, a little bit of angst and fluff, and Lucifer and Reader being kind of shitty people

☆☆☆

Everybody knew how much of an icon Queen Lillith was. She immediately blew up any form of media when she started uplifting demonkind. As time went on and more sinners were sent to Hell, a ripple effect of styles and trends rang throughout the city. It was important to Lillith to stay up to date with them. She hated to admit it, but she couldn’t keep up. She decided to take the opportunity to bring a new face to her team. At that point, the Morningstar family had already hired a handful of imps to keep little things in line, but this was a position that needed the point of view of a sinner on the streets.

Lucky you, you were one of the first sinners to work personally with the most powerful couple in Hell! You weren't that different from anyone else, but you are a chronic people watcher. It was an important hobby that helped you keep up with what everyone was decorating themselves with. A perfect pair of eyes for adorning the most beautiful creatures in the realm in a modern fashion. You started your glamorous job a couple of thousands of years before the Hotel was built. Even with your immense age, you did a surprisingly good job at keeping an open mind and becoming knowledgeable in most cosmetic and costuming work. You managed to make it through every extermination and more in this career. The protection from being housed with royalty definitely had its benefits.

On your first day, you went through Lillith's already existing wardrobe, in awe at the quality and unique aesthetics that she had. Even with your praises on her gowns, she insisted she needed your knowledge of street style incorporated into her wardrobe. You definitely fit into the Pride ring of hell at that point. The queen of Hell needs your personal opinion on what she wears? That went straight to your head. You became the head of a team and were credited with dressing up Lillith in some of her most iconic outfits. It didn't exactly bring you any fame, you weren't advertised or really credited in any other form than writing. Sometimes, if Lillith was put in an outfit she really enjoyed and her makeup and hair lasted through an entire performance, she'd give a little shout-out. You didn't really mind, you loved doing what you did, and the sweet praises Lillith gave you sufficed your need for validation. It felt amazing to see her face plastered all over Pentagram City, and being able to say hey, I did that. The salary helped, too.

As time went on, you noticed how little Lucifer made public appearances. When he did they were exclusively with Lillith at his side. And of course, he looked.. He was definitely a handsome ruler, but he didn’t have a lot of variety in his wardrobe. And it wasn't exactly up to your or Lillith's standards. She would often suggest taking some styling tips from you, almost begging at times, but he would refuse every time. You did little things, steaming and restitching his wardrobe, doing some touch-up makeup for shoots, but his suit? It stayed the same almost every day.

One day, Lucifer suddenly had a change of heart. He looked disheartened but begrudgingly agreed to be dolled up for a shoot that was happening soon. You were almost as ecstatic as Lillith was, getting this chance.

"I want you to give it your all, dear. Maybe I can convince him to do some more in the future if all goes well..." She'd tell you in a hushed tone, the two of you standing in front of the double doors that led to your studio." Do what you do best!" She said cheerfully, her hand on the small of your back. She practically throws you into the room once it's open, leaving you alone with Lucifer. There was no music, none of your other artists had shown up yet, and the only thing you could hear was your breath shaking. You breathed in heavily, then put on your best customer service face as you exhaled. You played professionally at the beginning, but it's always easier having some personality and small talk when you're planning on being in close proximity to clients for so long.

"Your Majesty! I hope you're doing well today, I'm glad you decided to join us this time!" You spoke in your people-pleaser voice, trying to hide the nerves that suddenly washed over your body. "Why the change of heart?" You started questioning, in a desperate attempt to find some sense of small talk with the intimidating figure seated in front of you. As you spoke, you stepped in front of the vanity he was seated at, having to stretch by his crossed legs to lay out your supplies. "I'm doing fantastic. Obviously." He spoke in an aggravated tone. You sucked in your lips, unsure if you should laugh. Luckily he didn't need a response before answering your other question. "You've seen Lily, she can be quite convincing." He puffed out his chest in his seated position, insinuating something vulgar. Your eye twitched, trying your best to not let them roll.

That didn't stop your face from heating up, the image suddenly materializing in your head. You cleared your throat, turning your attention back to the array of makeup brushes and some colored powders you had picked out specifically for this shoot." She is a beauty, I agree." You felt the need to respond in some way before getting to work.

You loved doing your job. No matter who you worked on, you'd always focus on your technique before anything else, which helped calm you down while you delicately held Lucifer's jaw, twisting his head around to get a general idea of what you were working with. You examined a solid purple bruise that decorated his neck before he had the chance to stop you. "Oh! I just - ran into a doorknob. Yeeah.. I.. tripped." He rambled a pathetic excuse, learning away from your touch." Sure, let's go with that." You replied, finally rolling your eyes at his words. "But you said it yourself, the Queen is indeed quite convincing." You teased, twisting around and grabbing a brush. When you went to move behind his chair to start running a comb through his impossibly soft golden hair, you caught how red he had turned at your remark." Oh, it's okay, I'm just teasing. You know how long I've worked on Lillith, I've had to cover way worse." You added, genuinely thinking that would help calm him down. He let out a quiet groan of embarrassment, smacking his hand against his face.

It went silent for a while as you worked on his hair. You saw how it usually was put up, and you didn’t want to scare him with too drastic of a change, so you only added some subtle layers that left it a bit fluffier than normal. You’d stop every now and then, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking at your work in the mirror. He'd flinch at your touch each time, leaving you concerned at first, then just giving him a suck it up attitude for the rest of your session. You went on to do something that didn't need your full attention and looked over his shoulder to get a peek at his phone screen that he used as a buffer for the awkward silence. It displayed a little calendar, he swiped through each day mindlessly. "Looks like you have a packed schedule, huh? How's that been going?" He looked up and pulled his phone into his lap, a squint across his face. "It's fine, I'm handling it. It's my job after all, ya know. Important things." He didn't seem to want to get into too much detail, so you let out a nervous chuckle and agreed before immediately finding some music to play to cover your mistake. You were convinced he would fire you at that point. Or worse.

As you finished up, you viewed him from multiple angles, twisting him around in the chair. You leaned down a bit, your eyes at his level then reached both your hands out and took the pieces of hair that framed his face, curling them up a bit at his cheeks. You stepped back again and placed your hands on your hips, letting out a satisfied hum.

He definitely calmed down by the time his hair was done, leaving behind the crude jokes and little rude quips from before. Now onto the makeup. This was far more intimate, so you gave him a quick rundown as you rummaged through your things." Alright, you definitely don't need any makeup, since your skin is perfect, but there's a chance the cameras and the lighting could wash you out, so I'll just use a blurring effect with this pow - " you stopped talking when you saw his confusion." I'm.. I'm gonna doll you up. Basically.." You summarized it bluntly. It was clear to you how uncomfortable he was with being touched excessively, you did your best to accommodate. You applied some translucent powders to his skin, then brightened up the cute little red circles on his face, after mentally kicking yourself for thinking of them as cute. This is the king of Hell, knock it off. You cleaned up the heavy bags under his eyes, then noticed a tired purple hue to his eyelids. Going in with a lilac color, you emphasized them.

As you were gathering some other things, stepping back a bit, he turned his head to look at his appearance in the mirror. He was expecting some ridiculous and dramatic work, but he really just looked brighter. More alert, more alive. He shut one of his eyes to see the color you had added to his lids, "I.. like that.." He spoke quietly and sounded surprised as if he didn't want to admit that to you. You let out a little chuckle, the compliment completely going to your head, before passively scolding him for touching his face before you had finished. He let his hands fall back into his lap with a pout on his face. Adding any color to his eyes or lips required precision, so you were lifting up his face by his chin to do what you do best. You were honestly a little surprised about how well he handled the rest of the session. For someone who's refused any sort of cosmetics for literal centuries, he looked like he was enjoying the pampering.

You had only worked on Lillith before, and even if she was intimidatingly gorgeous, you adapted to being physically close to her. Going into a sort of auto-pilot mode, you held your breath, tracing out his best features. Pulling away to check on his full appearance again, you noticed that he seemed to be holding his breath as well. He finally let it out once you stepped away, his face already a little flushed. You didn't think too much about it, you were mainly annoyed that the composition of the makeup was being thrown off by this sudden blush.

"Well! Once wardrobe comes in, you'll be taken down to set. What do you think?" You stood behind his chair and spun him back around to face the mirror. He leaned in, making sure not to touch his face since you scolded him before. He moved his head around, even admiring the coverage of the hickey that Lillith so generously gifted him." Hm! I suppose this works. As long as Lillith likes it, that is." His voice wasn’t enthusiastic, but you recognized the satisfaction plastered across his face. He looked up to meet your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "She's right, you are good at what you do, I'll give you that." You gave a little nod and began to pack up your things. "I'm glad it's acceptable, your highness." You pulled up some finger quotes as you spoke the word acceptable. "You were really nice to work on actually, your hair looks great and your face is already near perfection, so I didn't need to do much. Plus, you sat very well." You spoke nonchalantly, compliments like that coming as second nature in this field.

You turned once more and bowed your head a bit before sending a smile his way. His eyes were wide, and it looked like he was struggling to stiffen a grin. He cleared his throat, covering his mouth with his fist and looking to the side. "G-Good.. Glad you enjoyed the.. Uh - Enjoyed it.." His voice muffled behind his hand. You didn't overthink his nervous reaction since you were in a hurry to get Lillith ready next. "Oh, for sure! I hope I see you around more often! I'm sure the shoot will be great." You chimed in, finally dipping out of the room as a crowd of imps barged in, finishing up his look.

The rest of the day was spent getting Lillith ready for the shoot, which took considerably longer than Lucifer's preparations. The whole time you chatted with her about how Lucifer did, calling her out on the damned bruise that you had to cover up, and general catch-up that had become routine at this point. Once everything was up and moving, you floated around the set fixing up some small details on both Lillith and Lucifer's look when needed. And of course, the shots they got were fantastic. You couldn't stop yourself from admiring your work once the posters and advertisements were distributed.

That was the first time you worked with Lucifer. Not much changed after, you became a little more popular around the staff; getting complimented on how you dressed him and answered some silly questions about what he was like. You did see him around more often, and you’d make small talk. After a few weeks, while working on Lillith, she brought up another shoot that was proposed for a big event coming up. "And get this! Lucifer asked me to put him in the shoot!" She was absolutely giddy to tell you the news. "Well, of course, he wants to be in the shoot, it's because I prettied him up so well!" You bragged in a joking tone, making Lillith let out a sultry chuckle. She placed her hand over yours, a sincere smile across her already-painted lips. "Thank you, dear. He needs the pampering sometimes." You blushed at the sudden contact and grinned in response.

---

Lucifer did in fact join that shoot. The process was about the same, but he seemed to engage in conversation more and asked more questions about what you were doing at each step. It warmed your heart to talk about your passions, you were unknowingly gushing about your interests every time he asked.

As the years went on, he joined more and more shoots, accompanied Lillith to more public appearances, and generally just wanted your opinions on his looks more often. It didn't take long for you two to become close. He'd ask for help on outfits, sometimes becoming a nervous wreck about what to wear on dates. With his wife. It was adorable the way he worried about how he looked after being with Lillith for so long and essentially running a new world together. He seemed to really enjoy having his hair and makeup done, occasionally making a fuss if you weren't the one to do it. You would scold him, talking about how he's wasting your time, and that you trained each of your stylists, so he has to trust them. He pouted the whole time.

Being around the power couple of the century unfortunately had its flaws. Like having to witness its downfall. Both of them became quieter a decade or two before Lillith's disappearance. Any time you'd try and tell a funny story about Lucifer to Lillith, she would change the topic almost immediately. On the opposite end, Lucifer wasn't supplying you with the same amount of jokes and puns as usual and reverted back to flinching at your touch. You couldn't ask about what was going on, that'd be rude.. Right?

"You know, Lillith was just talking about some sort of Gala for the Sins, are you going with her?" You had some hidden intentions by bringing this up while you were fixing Lucifer up for his day. "A Gala, huh? Haven't heard anything about that, so - I guess not!" He blurted out, clearly irritated. Shit. " Are.. Are you okay? Is something going on?" You leaned against the back of the vanity, stopping what you were doing to give him your full attention." Well, if you want to talk about it, that is.. Aaand as long as I won't get in trouble by asking." You shrugged and crossed your arms over your chest. That happened once or twice, but it was for little things; spoiling an anniversary gift one time, or accidentally getting an imp fired when you were venting about workplace struggles. "Yeah, of course it's okay! We're fine. It's fine. I'm fine! Stop asking so many questions!" He got increasingly aggressive as he spoke, you threw your hands up, stepping away and returning to the back of his chair. "Okay, okay! I believe you, jeez!" You responded to it as a joke, hoping you could recover.

You didn't talk about it after that, lifting his mood a bit by asking about his projects and other little things. As you finished up his hair, you noticed him closing his eyes and leaning his head into your hands as you ran your fingers through his hair to coat it with some kind of styling product. He'd fallen asleep in the past, so you didn't worry about it too much. You went on to work on his makeup. He asked you recently if you wouldn’t mind coming up with a more subtle everyday look for him. Apparently he just really liked your work. Or, he needed the pampering. Either way, you couldn't refuse.

He was loving the treatment today. He would hum every time you used your thumb to brush a speck off his cheek, and would start leaning forward when you stopped touching him. You pushed him back by his chest mindlessly, just needing him to sit back in his chair.

You then started to apply makeup to his eyes. Covering the bags underneath them became increasingly difficult throughout the years. You pulled him in like usual, your hand lightly leading his head up towards your face. When you paused at some point to evaluate whatever you were doing, he suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours, then flashing a quick peak at your bust that had been accentuated by your stance. He leaned back, a nervous look on his face.

"Um, hello?? I was kind of in the middle of something! That’s it. Tell me what’s wrong." You scoffed, confusion and irritation plastered across your face. He quickly dismissed it, letting you work again. He could feel your shallow breathing fan across his face as you went on. His breath was picking up, heart rate elevating as you kept this proximity. The leather on the armrests of his chair squeaked as he gripped his claws into the fabric.

After a while, you silently leaned back, only now noticing him falling apart. He leaned in slightly, dropping his jaw to let out a shaky breath. He would've hit your face if you hadn't stepped away. Possibly even met your lips.

"Uh – Your higness..?" You were oblivious, so you decided to question this behavior. He popped his eyes open and immediately leaned back into his chair." A-Are you done yet?" He squeaked out, examining the damage he had done to your chair with a nervous chuckle. "I'll uh.. I'll get you a new chair." He muttered, before looking into the mirror for just a moment. "Looks good to me! Excellent job as usual, my dear, I better get going, I have a meeting to get to so – " You watched in silent confusion, seeing him squirming and screwing up his words. He quickly stood up, not assessing how close he would be to you and how close your back was to the vanity. You stumbled backward, placing your hands on the vanity to keep yourself from falling any farther, and acting as a buffer between the counter and Lucifer. He tripped over your stumbling feet, his flailing arms landing beside yours. You were effectively trapped, his knee had bent between your legs while trying to find his balance.

A moment of silence. All you heard was the beating of your heart ringing in your ears. He looked down at you in a way that clouded your judgment. Neither of you said anything, but you fluttered your eyes shut subconsciously. He did the same, then cocked his head to the side and slowly lean into your face. He roped his arm around your waist, pulling you forward a bit, but not quite flush to his chest. Yet. You felt his shaky breath fanning over your lips, before snapping back into reality. "No! Nope - " You quickly broke free of his arms and began cleaning up your things, avoiding his gaze as it followed you frantically getting your things together. "You have a meeting, right? I just finished up, so you should be all good now! I'll just – I-I'll see you around! Have a good day, sir!" You quickly left the room, not letting him get a single word in. He reached out to you as you left as if that would suddenly draw you back towards him, but of course, it did nothing. "Well, shit." He let out bluntly, waiting for a moment in your own studio before b-lining it back to his office.

What the fuck was that?

You avoided Lucifer after the incident, and he seemed to respect that. He let one of your stylists do his daily pampering, knowing that stopping that routine would cause too much suspicion. He didn't enjoy it as much, but stopping altogether would make Lillith ask about it. Fuck. Lillith. A flood of emotions wash over you. In reality, you were closer to Lillith than her husband. You two gossiped and chatted on the daily. It was a struggle to face her after this, but what choice did you have? 

She was completely silent during her last few sessions, so you drowned out your guilty thoughts with music. She disappeared a few years after that. You absolutely panicked. So did many of the staff members, but your sole concern was if it was your fault. You were quick to find Lucifer after the announcement was made, only to see him in your studio, running his hands across the rack of gowns that Lillith had left. "Lucifer. What happened? Where did she go? What did she say?" You rambled approaching him, but being careful not to get too close. "She didn't say anything. She left a half-assed note, and she's just.. Gone." He pulled a dress into his arms and gripped it tightly before letting it drop to the floor. He let out a vicious roar, throwing the rack to the side." How could she do this?! What about the kingdom? What about Charlie? Dammit.. What did I do?? We slept next to each other that night.. The same night she left… I-I could’ve stopped her, I should've - She just disappeared..!" He rambled on, quickly unraveling in front of you. You watched his tail and horns start to form, and you hesitantly gripped his shoulder. He finally stopped, taking a deep breath before turning to face you. He hadn't looked into your eyes since..

His horns shrunk back into his temples before he let his head fall onto your shoulder. You almost stepped away, but.. He needed this. And you needed answers. "Sir.. Was it because.. Did she leave because of me..?" You spoke softly, your breath a cool sensation against his heated skin. He quickly shot up, planting his hands on your shoulders and looking at you with a stern expression. "No! No, I promise it wasn't your fault. Fuck, none of that was your fault. She.. I-I'm not sure why she left, but that's not your burden to bear." He spoke calmly, a stark contrast to the raging mess he just displayed moments ago. 

You two stood there for a while, his hands drifted down to hold your arms. What was he supposed to do now? He looked around the room for some kind of answer. Before he could realize what was happening, he was pulled into a tight embrace, his head just barely reaching the top of your shoulder. "It's gonna be okay.. I’ll be here, Lucifer. No matter what." It felt.. weird for a moment. This was the first time you'd gotten close to him this way. And actually, the first time you'd said his name without any sort of title. He let out another exhausted sigh, his hands snaking around your back and accepting the much-needed affection. As his head pressed against your collarbone, you stood there until he decided he’d had enough. You were there for a while.

It wasn't Lucifer's fault, but after that, you didn’t work much. There really wasn't a lot to do, without someone pushing public appearances and emphasizing the importance of image, you generally just mended and fixed up the staff's uniforms and Lucifer’s wardrobe. You were technically a stylist, but you've been doing this long enough that you could handle these jobs entirely by yourself. Actually, you did handle the job by yourself. Lucifer fired or sent most of the previously employed stylists away, along with most of the staff. About five years into Lillith's disappearance, the place had widdled down to a handful of workers. Some in the kitchen, basic housekeeping, a noisy secretary to answer some calls, and you. You started to question why he kept you around. You hated to admit that you still blamed yourself for Lillith leaving, but why else would she suddenly disappear? She was cold to you as soon as you kissed – almost kissed – Lucifer that day. You tried your hardest to avoid that thought process since you stuck around the mansion.

You were surprised to find out that Lucifer accepted an invitation to be on the cover of a magazine for Helluva Times. He hadn't needed makeup or hair done since Lillith left, and in reality, you barely saw him around. You were ashamed about how excited you were to see him again. Of course, it won't be the same as before, but you were looking forward to it nonetheless. You were taken to the studio where the shoot was being held since the one in the mansion was turned into more of a workspace for mending clothing. The studio was brightly lit and bustled with imps and some stylish sinners doing their part. You wondered if It was always like this, or if it was just because of Lucifer. You approached the vanity, the king of Hell seated in a movie set chair, with a golden star on the back, his name embroidered to the center. You were stopped in your tracks when you saw the dark circles that surrounded his eyes. Jesus, he was exhausted. You weren’t exactly surprised, more like distressed. Now that you think about it, Lillith really did a lot of heavy lifting when it came to keeping Hell in line.

"Your Highness." You gave him a little smile and nodded your head, beginning to display your usual setup on the vanity in front of him. "Heyyy! You..! Good to see you, Ahha.. ha.. h-how've you been..? How's... work been..?" He put on a fake smile and propped his head on his hand in a sad attempt to act casual. He switched to crossing his arms, unable to sit still and make eye contact with you at the same time. You didn't know how to react. The last time he was this nervous, he ended up pinning you to a table with his arms around you. You quickly got to work, trying to get the image of that day out of your head.

You go to comb his hair, recognizing that it's been a while since he let anyone tend to it; it was nearly grown to the bottom of his neck and wasn't exactly the cleanest. "Do you have wrinkle-free, clean, clothes every day?" You asked in response to his nervous ramblings from earlier. He nodded slowly," Then work is fine." You picked up on the sudden attitude you had, and it even surprised you. He quickly shut his mouth and started to spin the wedding band on his finger as a nervous fidget.

You had to put some effort in since he wasn't getting the same attention he used to. You gave his golden locks some much-needed attention, running a number of products through them and taking the time to restore it to its usual length. You found yourself peaking at his face every now and then, which he didn't notice. He was too indulgent to even keep his eyes open. You tried to stop yourself from looking at his relaxed expression, but you found yourself turning away only when he opened his eyes. You checked the clock, you definitely had some time for a more thorough session. You dug your fingers just a bit deeper into his hair, lightly running your nails across his scalp. In several swirling motions, you had him melting in your hands. You had to stop every now and then and push his head back up after it lulled to the side. It usually kept him alert for a moment, but it never lasted long. He let out a subtle hum every now and then, making you bite your lip in some attempt to keep whatever you were feeling at bay.

After you finished your little massage, you quickly finished up his hair, giving him a very-needed trim and styling it to its usual glory. You instinctively placed your hands on his shoulders once you finished and leaned in a bit to look at the results.

"So? What do you think? You needed a haircut, sir, you should… keep in touch.. If you need me, I'm here." A grin grew on your face and he couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of your smiling face. He turned his head to the left and the right, reaching up to touch his face delicately. He was less worried about messing it up and more worried about you scolding him for it. He let out a little huff and he opened his mouth, with no words coming out. It took him a moment." It's great, but uhh.. Could you do the – " He spun his fingers around his cheeks," you know, the.. Little loopy.. Bits..?"

God, what a cutie.

You let out a little chuckle and nodded, turning his chair to face you." My bad, how could I forget the loopy bits?" You teased, reaching out to either side of his head. Your hands lulled over his cheeks for some reason you wouldn’t explain. Finally, you untucked the bits of hair from behind his ears, pulling them forward and twirling them with your fingers. You placed your hands on your hips, still bent to be at his eye level.

"There. Ready for makeup, Lucifer?" Your words didn't come naturally, it took you a few seconds to debate whether or not to call him by his name. With his voice cracking in an attempt to respond, he just nodded, attempting to keep some dignity intact. You did your best to act professional, despite his lovely reactions. You started as you usually did, applying an easy base and highlighting his rosy cheeks. You never needed to do much to his face, and even after all this time, you still didn’t need to. Must be his angelic abilities, that his skin never really changes. You shrugged off the thought, getting ready to focus on his eyes. Instead of keeping his chin up, you took a light hold of his jaw, your fingers grazing his neck and your thumb placed dangerously close to the side of his lips. You both reacted to this new method, but you quickly went to work to prevent any more eye contact.

You took your time and it was clear neither of you cared to bring it up. He was past his call time, but when some poor stylist working for the news team came in to get him, Lucifer used his threatening status to give you both more time. After you finished covering the dark rings surrounding his eyes and prettying them up a bit, you mirrored your other hand and essentially cupped his cheeks. You did your best to make it look like it was for work purposes, but damn you were enjoying this. Such a beautiful creature in the palm of your hands, looking away because he was too embarrassed to meet your eyes." Look forward, please?" You spoke softly, lightly tapping his cheek to get him to follow your commands. He let out a huff, then finally prepared himself to look into your eyes. The noisy workers coming in and out of the room suddenly disappeared, the room going silent. He had your complete focus, and suddenly there was nothing more important than gazing into his red eyes. His hand moved to your wrist, holding one of your hands in place while he pressed his cheek against your palm. What a sight. You leaned in, not knowing what would happen, but also not really caring. Any chance to get close to –

"Alright your Highness, we're gonna need you on set in five." The harsh sounds of the room suddenly returned, a Hellhound making a more stern request to get this shoot over with. You quickly stood straight, taking up a brush and fixing up the small smudges you had created by holding him. "Rrright! Yup, pretty sure we're almost done, sooo... I'll be right there..! Thanks." He clenched his pointed teeth, as he thanked the brute, who walked off with a scoff. "Good golly – I'm their king! What gives that mutt the right to – " He stopped his rambling once he saw your sheer embarrassment. He took it as a sign that he went too far, that just maybe, he read you wrong.

He turned his head, looking back to his reflection and tracing his little curls with his fingers before letting out a satisfied hum. "Great work as always, my dear." He stood from the chair, stretching his stiff legs with a groan." I should uhm – I'm gonna get going, I have to.. Do the.. Thing – with the thing.." He walked backward towards the exit, pointing over his shoulder. "You mean go to set and get the shots? Hope everything goes okay, sir." You chuckled, going back to cleaning some things up. "Okay, well – oh! Thank you! Right, forgot that part. So, thanks..!" He just kept talking. Like he might never see you again once he left the room. "My pleasure, Lucifer." You hummed, still attending to your tasks. Oh, you should’ve seen the winded look on his face. He let out a wheezing chuckle, tripped over himself, then finally left the studio.

Once all your things were neatly tucked away, you were invited to the shoot. They had an extensive team of people behind the scenes, so you got the chance to just observe the process. They had him run through a number of poses, some regal, some more.. Provocative. Just for fun, they said. It made you cringe, it definitely wasn't his style. Finally deciding on a composition, he had his arms crossed over his chest, and he rested his thumb just below his chin, drawing your eye to his devilish smirk. How could someone who's been hurt as badly as he has, smile for the cover of a magazine?

You made some mental notes on his makeup and his hair, which they squished down with a comically oversized tophat. Trying to keep your mind purely professional became increasingly difficult when he kept looking over at you, his smile twitching every time. He must be tired. That’s clearly why he's acting this way.

"All right, we got it! Wrap it up, people!" An aggressive shout took you away from your phone screen, and you looked around at the rush of workers. You tried to catch anyone's attention to see if you could help with anything, but you never got anyone's attention. It was definitely a change of pace from your past experience, considering you were the lead on a team that really only dressed two people, even if they were royalty. By the time you got back to the studio, it was basically cleaned out, other than your little cart with all the supplies you brought from home. You assumed you were good to go straight home and find something to do other than feeling up the king of Hell; speak of the devil!

"Oh! I.. didn't know you were still here, I thought you left..?" A soft, and mildly raspy, voice came from the door, making you catch Lucifer's eyes in the reflection of the vanity you stood in front of. "No, I was enjoying the show." You leaned against the tabletop after turning to face him, a little smirk on your face. "You did good, by the way. The shots came out really well." You pulled up some of the shots that the company sent to your phone. "These are some very handsome photos.. You're welcome, by the way." You were gloating. He had walked forward to get a better look at your phone screen, squinting his eyes like he needed glasses, despite it being impossible for him to have poor vision. He scoffed at your comment, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well don't let it go straight to your head, dear, you didn't do all the work. I'm just naturally gorgeous, right? You used to say that all the time." He nodded his head to either side as he spoke like he was winning some argument.

"Well, I meant it and it's still true. So, don't let that get to your head." You responded like you were trying to one-up him. He immediately turned red. He can shoot his shots, but deflates at any quick or clever rebuttals." W-Well! I'll try not to.. T-thanks for being here. Not like, here, but like – helping with the shoot, and doing meee – my hair! Love my hair, came out great." Good job, Lucifer. You startled him by running your hands through his locks, attempting to fix up the mess they made by putting a heavy hat on him." Ugh, they ruined it.. It should be an easy fix, I guess... that stupid hat." You grumbled, running your hands along the sides of his head to smooth it out. He was biting his lip when you sent him a quick look." I-I like the hat..." He said weakly. You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh, beginning to pull your hands away. Clawed hands took hold of your wrists, keeping them hovered on either side of his face. "You said... that you'd be there for me no matter what. Do you remember that..?" He relaxed his face, but his hands were shaking just a bit. You nodded slowly.” Well, I’m - I appreciate that.. And you.. I-I appreciate you..”

“If you still.. I don't know, it's been a few years since – but if you still wanted to.. Ugh, dammit..! I don't know how to – " He stuttered over his words, becoming visibly upset, something stopping him from speaking coherently. You couldn't assume he was talking about the little incident from years ago, but if it was still on your mind after all that time, maybe it was still on his. He stepped forward just a bit, his grasp still lightly holding your wrists, keeping him close to you. Waiting for you to respond to a question he never really asked, he gulped, then let out a breathy, fuck it. In one fell swoop, he released your hands and immediately pulled you into a tight embrace. This wasn't like before, this wasn't to console him. His hands were wrapped around your back and cradled the base of your neck, leaving no space between the two of you.

Your entire body tensed, the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in was knocked out of you, and your arms were stuck with your hands pressed against his chest. He loosened his grasp as soon as he held you, but never actually let you go. His head had sunk into your shoulder, trying to hide some kind of adorable expression, you were sure. You had the opportunity to push him away, nothing was truly keeping you there. Physically, at least.

As you stood still, deciding what your next move would be, you'd feel him adjusting his head and turning it to plant his cheek on your collarbone, his breath hot against your chest. You knew he had to feel how hard and fast your heart was beating with how he was nuzzling into you. Focusing on one thing at a time, you tugged your arm out of his hold and lifted his face upwards, at least preventing him from being too close to your rapid heart rate. The next problem was your noses almost touching due to how close you were. His eyes were wide, full of some sort of desperation or fear, and a little bit of excitement. Your fingers still lightly hovered under his chin, and you could feel his pulse. Just as fast as yours, maybe even faster.

You felt him gulp, his face now heating up. Maybe the look in your eyes was too much for him to handle. You looked at the vanity that was just a few feet away. That should make him understand. Taking small steps backwards, which he didn’t understand, but also didn’t question, you kept moving until you felt the table hit your back. You leaned back slowly, forcing him to brace himself against the table to keep his balance. His eyes darted around as it clicked finally. You had put yourself in the same position that you were in years ago. His hands caged you in, and his knee sat between your legs for stability. You remembered it so clearly, you had no trouble bringing the two of you right back to where you left off. You took one of his arms and guided it to support you by the small of your back, then snaked your arms around his shoulders. Then, you closed your eyes and just waited. Just sitting there, anticipation bubbling in your stomach.

Before you knew it, he had softly pressed his lips against yours. You jumped at first, startled by something you were waiting so patiently for. You felt his lips pull away in response, but you were quick to pull his shoulders in, closing the gap again. He let out a little cry against your lips, as you pulled him even closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. He kept one hand at your back and sent the other to your outer thigh, slightly lifting your leg to sit against his hip. With a more secure hold on you, he leaned forward further, until you felt the back of your head hit the mirror with a light thump. "Mmph! Are you okay?" He pulled away for a moment to ask, which only upset you even more. You looked at him as if the answer was obvious, and fisted the collar of his shirt, pulling your lips back together. Clearly, you were fine.

Becoming intoxicated by your lips, he practically begged for a more intimate kiss. He placed a hand on your chin, pulling your mouth ajar with his thumb and quickly entering his tongue in your mouth. The sudden motion left you muttering incoherent praises onto his lips. He pulled away, leaving you in a daze. Once you regained your focus, you were able to reassess your situation. You had slid down the entirety of the vanity, your back fully against the cold material of the counter. One of his hands were propping himself up directly above you, the other still holding your leg, and keeping you from moving away as he pulled you impossibly closer. While letting you catch your breath, he sent a few kisses down your jaw and neck, making you grip his shoulders and hold your breath. He pulled himself away after pressing another quick peck on your lips. "Hey. Breathe. I'll take care of you, don't worry - " How dare he. How could he act so flustered when you did his hair and applied his makeup for literal centuries, then tell you to calm down? You scoffed and smashed your lips back against his, mainly to shut him up, but he wasn’t complaining.

He let out a little yelp against your lips, struggling to keep up with your sudden change of pace. Running your hands through his hair, ruining all the hard work you put into it, you lightly tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. A shakey sigh met your lips, as you took control of the situation, taking the opportunity to explore his mouth with your own tongue.

After this went on for what felt like forever, which you didn’t really mind, you pulled away to breathe. Looking up to him, your eyes explored the lipstick that messily covered his lips. You tipped his head upward by his chin forcing him to look at himself in the vanity's mirror. He let out a pathetic little wheeze, looking back down at you with a suddenly confident smirk." Beautiful work as always, my dear." He spoke flirtatiously, "You missed a spot, though." Dipping his head back downwards and indulging in your warm presence for as long as he could.

You were clawing at his back, untucking his shirt as you struggled to keep a hold of him. Both your legs had spread, making your hips flush against his. He kept you close, as he nipped and kissed across your collarbone, his sharp teeth grazing your skin without hesitation.

Sucking on the softest part of your neck, you let out a breathy moan and arched your back into his chest. The sudden motion sent friction to his lower half, making him release his teeth and suddenly bolt upwards. The reaction made you nervous, "I-I don't - I haven't.. It's been… Awhile.." He stammered out, putting an emphasis on the word awhile." I know, It's okay." He winced at your nonchalant remark, remembering how often you witnessed his last relationship essentially fall apart, as you went back to kissing his neck. He gently pulled himself away. "Nono, it's been awhile- awhile… I hadn't been close with.. anyone… for a couple.. Decades..?" He spoke nervously like he was embarrassed to admit it. You sat up for a moment, making him question whether or not he should've said anything." But.. It's only been five years, right?" You weren't sure if this was the best time to be getting into this, but these are answers you’ve been wanting for years.

"I don't know what happened, sweetheart, but we lost what we had long before any of this. I'm sorry if you thought.. I can't have you take on that burden.. Okay?" He cupped your face, shifting to a more tender approach. You tried piecing things together in your mind, which was still cloudy from the past few hours. Of course, that still doesn’t make what you two did right. Of course, you blamed yourself after all this time. He pulled you out of your thoughts, by tucking a bit of hair behind your ear and keeping his tender hold on your cheek. You couldn’t help but smile and nuzzle your face into his hand.

"We can stop if you want, love." Oh how you wanted to say stop. To say that you were terrible people for even feeling this way after all this time, while he was with his wife. Who also happened to be your employer. How scandalous. "No, I want this." You said without a hint of hesitation in your voice. It shocked him a bit, but he didn’t have much time to react before you leaned forward, unbuttoning his coat and pushing it off his shoulders. You pulled him in by his collar again, continuing to remove his vest, then opening his shirt, letting it hang open loosely, his white skin just barely peeking out. He shrugged comically, before going back to working on your neck, pulling at the hem of your blouse that had already fallen to your shoulders.

He ran his hands along your curves, eliciting a shiver down your spine. You reached your hands into his open shirt, your warm hands trailing across his even warmer chest. Your physical pleasure was subdued for a moment, absolutely in awe. "You have beautiful skin, Lucifer." Your voice was breathy, he lulled his head to the side, melting at your words and intimate touch. After a moment he let out a sweet chuckle and shrugged his top completely off. "So I've been told." Implying your constant praises from before, he puffed his chest out.

Oh, he was loving this. You sat up, your legs just at the edge of the countertop as you arched your back into him, closing the gap between your hips. You started by pressing a little kiss on his cheek, his face heating up even after all he's done to you. You then, moved your way down to work your lips across his neck and collarbone. Gently tracing his spine with one hand the other traveled downward as you pulled his hips into yours. Messaging his hip and continuously running your fingers along the center of his back, you sent him into sensory overload. You weren't surprised by the sudden bulge you felt hitting your center, in fact, you reveled how that confirmed you were doing a good job. You began sucking and biting on the skin, stopping to let out breathy mewls into his ear. The massaging of his hip turned into you pulling him in, then pushing him away slightly, only to viciously repeat the motion, forcing him to start grinding against you. Your hand on his back continued to trail up and down his spine, only you started to drag your nails across his skin as well, digging in a bit harder whenever you heard his voice hitch. You let your fingers slip into his pants every now and then, the cool sensation of your hands making him let out a little whimper.

"Your skin really is perfect, Lucifer. You are entirely beautiful. You're absolutely stunning, my king." You hummed into his ear, your skilled hands continuing to drive him crazy. He could barely keep up, his head falling back whenever you'd reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "K-Kiss me.." You heard him almost whisper, making you pull back for a moment to assess his stature. He had his hands on your hips, to keep you close, but also to keep him standing on his swaying feet. "I-I need you to.. kiss me.. Please.." He spoke in choppy sentences, he was too lost in his own pleasure to keep his head up, so you kept it forward by cradling the back of his head. When his head would start to droop too far forward, you gave his hair a light tug to remind him where he was. Did he need permission? You enjoyed the 180 he had made from the flirtatious tease just moments ago, humming in thought and tapping your chin like you were still deciding. Like you were considering not kissing him as passionately as he could handle.

He was lightly grinding his hard-on into you but still seemed patient enough to wait for your answer. "Well.. Since you said please." You finally said after far too long. He let out a sigh of relief as you inched towards him. You left your lips just over his, only letting him feel your heated breath against his lips. He shifted his stance but never moved towards you. You brushed your lips against his, not locking them together, just barely grazing them. He let out an impatient groan, his eyes clenched shut as you teased him so cruelly. Who knew this is what would bring tears to his eyes? You ran your hands up his chest, then dug your nails into him as you went back down. You finally met his lips, deciding he had enough after you wiped away a tear from his watering eyes. You don't know how he still managed to keep the kiss so tender after acting so desperate beforehand. You continuously wiped the tears off his face, keeping your hands on his face and caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. As you pulled away, he followed your lips, disappointed in the sudden disconnect. He took the silence and the look on your face as a sign, that he needs to tell you what he wants.

He dropped to his knees, the warmth you had sitting between your legs was hit with the cool air of the room as he did. He kept his hands off of you and himself but fiddled with his thumbs to keep them busy in some way. He took in a deep breath, before speaking quickly," Can I taste you?" His voice was embarrassingly loud like he was just waiting and waiting to finally say it. It sort of shocked you, you assumed he’d be nervous after admitting he hadn't done this in a while. You pulled your legs together, finally feeling how wet you were becoming, but needing to commit to the bit. You crossed your ankles to furth prevent access. "I suppose so.. But what do you saay?" you reached down and tapped the tip of his nose, as you dragged out your words like you were speaking to a child. "Please..! I need to touch you, please.." He quickly replied, with no hesitation at all. "Good boy." That was it for you.

You realized you sealed your fate, as you felt him take a hold on your knees and pull them back apart gently. He moved forward until he could rest his head on your plush thigh, which he did for a while. He lifted your skirt up to your waist, then took a moment to appreciate the view. You were finally becoming a bit embarrassed, attempting to close your legs instinctively, but he pushed your legs farther apart, keeping a tight hold onto your thighs. When he looked up at you, his eyes were wide and innocent, as if he wasn’t keeping your legs apart and wiggling his hips to give some much-needed friction to his own growing problems.

He blinked, then looked back down, trailing his clawed finger across your wet underwear. You covered the sounds you were making with the back of your hand, still struggling to keep your legs open for him. He bent his finger and pressed it deeply into your still-clothed entrance. The sensation of the fabric digging into you made you groan, but that didn’t affect him at all. He licked his lips and began gathering spit in his mouth and he pushed your legs back in place, keeping them apart this time. Running his forked tongue across your panties, you squirmed under his touch. As he lapped at the fabric, the heat from his breath and the wetness he was coating you with caused you to fall back onto your forearms. "L-Lucifer - " You said weakly, quickly drawing his attention. "This is cruel." You pouted, continuing to let out a little whimper as he kept running two of his fingers across your underwear.

He cocked his head to the side as if he didn’t understand the damage he was doing. He was playing dumb." Oh? I'm sorry, love, how should I touch you then?" He was way too calm for your liking. He let one of his fingers just graze the hem, only touching a bit of your skin. You let out an annoyed groan, and move your underwear to the side, guiding the tip of his finger to your entrance. With your hand holding his wrist, you pushed his fingers inside of you, a strange sensation to say the least. It was embarrassing. He noticed your discomfort and finally dropped the act, sending you a sweet smile and kissing your thigh before starting to pump his fingers inside of you.

You let out a sultry moan, a mixture of relief and pure pleasure finally hitting you as you felt him add another finger without any real warning. You lulled your head back, not able to see his absolute focus on matching the rhythm of his fingers to the circling of your clit. Before you could fully comprehend, he pulled his hands away and back onto your thighs, delving into your center with a heated, open-mouthed kiss. Letting out a gasp, he delved into your folds, his tongue easily slipping from your entrance and back up to your clit. He lifted a hand to continue to slowly rub his thumb in small circles, so he could focus his tongue on thrusting in and out of your entreance with ease.

He showed no sign of faltering as you bucked into his face, desperate for more of him. Your hands moved to his hair, taking a tight hold as he hit right where he was supposed to. He scrunched his face, letting out a low growl as you yanked at his scalp, the vibrations startling you in a wonderful way. He only sped up when you started to babble about being close, letting your thighs tighten around his face as you finish into his lips. He continues his rapid pace, the adrenaline from being squeezed by your shaky legs taking over. You finally pulled his head away from you after the pleasure of overstimulation started to ache in your core. You sunk backward, your body twitching on occasion.

He planted a kiss on your thigh before rising back to his feet. He leaned into you, the fabric over his groin coated in your juices the longer he pressed in. He pecked your temple, looking at you, completely unphased." Too much? How did I do..?" He seemed genuinely interested in whether or not he did a good job." Y-you did.. Great.. It was g-good.. Felt good.." You gave a pathetic thumbs up as you caught your breath." W-what happened to the whole it's been a while thing? Fuck, Lucifer." You sat up finally seeing that he split the fabric of your underwear at some point to gain better access." Guess I've still got it." He said with a smirk, waggling his eyebrows at you. You couldn’t take him seriously. Your wetness and lipstick stained his mouth, the eyeliner you had applied had ran down his cheeks and rubbed under his eyes. Not to mention, he was covered in your marks. It's fine you can cover those, you thought. Even with his sudden burst of dominance, you took pride in the fact that this was all because of you. He was all yours.

☆☆☆

If you're curious, that one is pushing 10k words ;)

(Tagging some people who might appreciate it) @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @bat-boness @christineblood

[ztrawberi]

{ 𝒮𝓌ℯℯ𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝓊𝑔𝒶𝓇．．．

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ Alexis Ness ୨୧ 1218 fluff ఌ fem!rea ღ enjoy! godere!

❥ A/N: Ness is such a cutie (づ￣ ³￣)づ also, did anyone hear the new skz mixtape? its so good yaya!! (*^‿^*)

To be the girlfriend of Alexis Ness was a blessing. He worshipped the ground you walked on, really, and cherished you in a way that only a desperate and controlled man could act. Who knew unmarried men could show their love to their women so intimately? you didnt. But Ness showed you.

The local cafe, your favorite cafe ever, was where you met him. In a tiny baby tee with a big strawberry on the front, your cutest pair of jeans and your lace panties with a bow peaking out from the belt. You felt pretty, you looked pretty, you are pretty, it was perfect. Second in line, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Uh- excuse me, miss…?”

A man voiced from behind you, your whole day crashing down with the thing you dreaded most. An interaction with a man. Being polite, you turned around and craned your neck back just a hit to get a better look at the mans face. Your eyelashes batted, a sweet smile on your face, and your hands in your jeans pocket bunching up the fabric from the inside out of annoyance.

“Yes?”

He gulped, quite loudly, at gaining your attention. You were pretty today. He thinks that you might be pretty everyday, actually. You looked so naturally pretty. His lip quivered just a bit, not used to human interactions in the wilderness of the outside world.

“A-are you a regular at the cafe here? ive never been here before and i- uhm- dont know what to order…”

He raised his hand and rubbed the back of neck, looking down away from your eyes and to his feet. He imagined you just yelling at him, pushing him over and running away. What kind of person were you? were you going to kill him? maybe. He didnt know you. He knew you were really pretty, though. However, you perked up a hit at his social anxiety that you quickly picked up on. You knew it all. Seeing someone else with the same issue always made you want to help them, since you knew how it was.

“I am a regular here! so, if you wanna order, what are you usually in to when coming to drinks?”

You gave him your full attention, wanting to be seen as kind. If he was one of those guys that took it the wrong way or took advantage of it, you were already prepared and thought ahead of what to do. But, seeing as he seems nervous yo talk to you, you decided to help. You really wanted good karma today.

Hearing your voice respond without a crude remark almost made Ness sigh in relief, but he forced himself to hold it in. He brightened up a bit at your sweetness. He smiled, just a little bit, but even for you to notice his change in attitude. It was silent, barely noticeable, but it was there.

“Uhm- i really like strawberry flavored things, i-i just didnt know how to- uh- say it here…”

You werent going to point it out, but you could tell he was a foreigner. His skin was just a bit more tanned than the beauty standard, and he didnt look Japanese whatsoever. It didnt surprise you that he just needed help with how to pronounce something. Anyways, thats how you met. But now, back to the present…

. . . ε=ε=┌( >_<)┘

Movie night, something you and him had done almost every friday night since youve met. Whilst getting to know him better you two figured out that you both live down the same street, a famous soccer player trying to live like a normal citizen to not attract weird fans by owning a big penthouse.

Every week, it would be your knees touching without either of you moving away, it would be sharing the big popcorn bucket, it would be you both accidentally making eye contact and becoming flustered when a suggestive scene popped up on the television that no one suspected. It would be full of unspoken words and subtle hints of love.

You two grew much closer over the time, so now, you guys were shoulder to shoulder under four fluffy blankets in your pijamas with matching face masks. Youve done the same with many of your male friends before, but the difference here was instead of fighting over food, you shared, instead of sitting on the opposite sides of the couch, you cuddled. It was like the slow burn Kdrama you were watching with Ness.

“Because… im in love with you! ive been in love with you since we were children, Jaehyun!”

You and Ness gasped, dropping the popcorn onto the coffee table to put you hands up to your mouth. After two, two, whole seasons, th girl in your guys’ show finally confessed. Ness looked over to you, a flush in his face. This was perfect, right? say it now? should he? he wasnt sure. He was scared. You were too focused on the series, pushing yourself to the egde of the couch to see better if the love interest will return his feelings.

Ness took a deep breath in, anxiety rising by the second. Your breath hitched like his when you felt his hands clasp around your face and force you to look into his eyes. Oh, his eyes. How you loved his eyes. Trying to keep your cool, you hands went up to his and you inhaled to ask him what in the hell he was doing. But he opened his mouth before you could.

“Im in love with you. Since- well- i dont really know, b-but since- after i really got to know you.”

He stuttered over his words, not used to taking control over things and acting on what he really wanted. What he wished for. What he desired. You eyebrows flew up, you heart pattering so loudly against your ribcage, you could feel it shiver through your whole body up to your face to go all red.

“Oh, Taesan…”

The voice from the television made you want to look to see what was happening, so, so bad. But the man of your dreams confessing right infront of you was the only thing you could focus on. You closed your mouth and furrowed your brows, trying to find the right words. You couldnt.

Ness took your silence as a sign. A no. His hands slowly crept down from your face, and he frowned.

“Sorry. Nevermind. I dont know what came over-“

You cut him off, climbing over the jumbled blankets to kiss him. It was sloppy and messy since the both of you were inexperienced, to be fair. But it had so many unspoken words in it. He kissed you right back, as close as he could to all the romance movies he watched and observed so that he would know what to do when the time came.

You slowly pulled away from him, sighing. He closed his eyes and pulled you closer into him as your touch and actions reassured him that he was wrong to think twice that you didnt like him back. You gasped loudly, making him open his wyes and look at you to see your eyes glued to the television again.

After two, whole seasons, they finally kissed.

ZTRAWBERI © 2025

[traumadumpwriter]

Ninety Five

Controlling!Rafe x ED!Reader

“It’s not a big deal, I just want to get to ninety five pounds before Midsummers”

Summary: Reader is suffering from an eating disorder and when Rafe finds out about it he struggles to be sympathetic

Trigger warning for explicit depictions of bulimia, vomit, starving, drug use, controlling behaviour

Word count: 5.7k

Reminder as always that I’m here if any of you need to speak to someone! This is my first Rafe fic and I rly hope y’all enjoy. Working on a part 2 already. (Story is below divider by @kodaswrld )

Part One:

Rafe Cameron could have any girl he wanted, so why did he want you? That was the question that you'd found yourself thinking every day since he'd asked you to be his girlfriend. It didn't make any sense. He was handsome, rich, charming - the king of Kildare County. What on earth could you have done to deserve his devotion?

He knew that you felt this way - or at least that you didn't like yourself. It was clear in the red of your cheeks whenever he paid you a compliment, the way that you'd fidget with your fingers when one of his beautiful kook associates would talk to him, or how you'd look down shyly when he introduced you to them. Part of him liked it for purely selfish reasons. Knowing that you probably wouldn't leave him for someone else - that you thought that he was the best you could get. But more often than not, he found it irritating. He wanted to show you off without you getting embarrassed, to be able to persuade you to wear the tiny dresses he'd buy you in public, to know that you were happy and that you felt worthy around his friends. He even slightly wanted you to try to leave him, just so that he could show you what he would do if you tried.

The first time it had occurred to him that your insecurity was anymore than just that, it had been six months into your relationship and he was watching you get ready for your date that night. He'd wanted to take you out somewhere nice to eat, but you'd managed to persuade him to go bowling instead. He took you out to eat at least once a week and it would be nice to change things up - and to not have to worry about calories for once.

"Well if I don't get to see you in a nice dress tonight, I want to at least pick your outfit." Rafe pouted from his leant back position on your bed, a smug gleam in his eye.

You were stood on the other side of the room, assessing the options you'd laid out and feeling displeased with all of them. You'd been trying really hard to loose weight recently - even harder than usual - but you couldn't see any change in your body. "No matter what I wear, I'm going to look like shit." You thought to yourself, struggling to not show your sadness on your face.

You quickly hid it though, not wanting Rafe to get annoyed with you as he sometimes did, especially not on an anniversary. He would accuse you of not wanting to be with him, of not being happy about the date, and you would have to spend ten minutes convincing him otherwise.

"Okay, sure. But nothing too revealing, there's probably gonna be at least one group of kids, n maybe some old people there." You smiled, sending him a teasing wink.

"Fine. How about those black shorts I like, the Gucci ones, and one of your cute crop tops - you know, the ones with the little cartoon on them." He suggested with a smirk, his voice assertive in a way that let you know there was no point arguing. Not that you would anyway.

The choice was a semi-modest outfit by Rafe's standards and of course you would only be allowed to dress that way when you were with him. Those shorts would not fly with your friends or even to go out by yourself. This control wasn't something you particularly hated though.

There had been one incredibly hot day in OBX where you'd decided to wear a mini skirt to go out and meet some of your friends. They were all dressed in little material too so you didn't think much of it as you enjoyed cocktails with them at the Beach Club. When Rafe picked you up a couple of hours later, his jaw had clenched instantly upon seeing you and he paced over before you could even step down the wooden steps and into the car park. He'd grabbed you by your waist and practically dragged you back to the car, hissing that "there were filthy Pogues about" and that you were "stupid for dressing like that when he wasn't there to protect you." You'd apologised profusely and promised to never wear that skirt without him again. And you hadn't.

You pulled off your comfy clothes and put on the new outfit, feeling Rafe's eyes devour you the entire time. He always loved to watch you get dressed, examining your body with lustful obsession. He knew every inch of your body like the back of his hand - or at least he thought he did - which was why he was confused when you slipped on the shorts. They had always been tight fitting - that was why he liked them - but as he gazed at your thighs and ass now, he could see that there had been a slight change in how the material sat on you. It was looser - not in a severe way, the shorts still revealed your shape nicely - but it was enough for him to notice.

You hadn't even turned to look at him yet, still disappointedly looking at yourself in the mirror, when he offered his opinion, his unaroused tone taking you off guard.

"Have you lost some weight or something? They don't fit as well as the last time I saw them." He questioned, slowly sitting up to get a better look.

You blushed, looking down at yourself and then at him. Any discussion of your body - particularly the size of it - made you extremely uncomfortable.

"I don't know. I don't think so." You mumbled, scratching your arm awkwardly.

"Come here." He demanded softly and you obliged, stepping towards him and standing beside the bed, his head level to your stomach.

He eyed your body closely, a light crease between his brow, and then motioned for you to spin around, which you did with a blush. Waiting for his verdict felt like minutes long torture, though it was realistically only a few seconds before he spoke again. He wrapped his arms around your hips and pulled your ass into his face, grinning as he did.

"All mine." He stated into your flesh, humming in satisfaction as he lightly groped your skin.

After feeling how stiff you'd gotten beside him, he'd decided not to say anything more of your weight - but he had concluded that you'd lost some. You perceived his lack of a verbal decision to mean the opposite though and felt silently mortified, imagining that your boyfriend had come to the conclusion that you'd actually put on weight but just didn't want to embarrass you.

"She's probably just been busy with studying and forgot to have a few meals. I'll take her out for some nice food tomorrow." Rafe thought to himself and then moved his focus onto how good you looked in the outfit he'd picked, entirely unaware of how horrible you felt inside.

The next time he found himself worrying about you was a month later in a restaurant with Topper, Kelce and their dates - Georgia and Elle.

You were wearing one of the dresses that Rafe had bought you that week; flowy and loose fitting as you'd requested it to be much to his dismay but short and cute much to his satisfaction. He loved having you on his arm anywhere, but especially next to his friend's girls. You looked obviously more attractive than them and that served to boost his ego massively. He could see it on the faces of Topper and Kelce too - they knew that he'd won that contest.

You didn't see that though. In fact, you automatically compared yourself to Georgia and Elle as soon as you'd all sat down and found yourself wishing that the ground would swallow you up.

"Everyone must think Rafe is mad for being with me. They must laugh when they see us together. Especially next to these girls. They're so beautiful. I look like a pig next to them." Your thoughts started to spiral, though they remained hidden by your polite smile and casual conversation.

When the menus came out, instead of looking at the names of any of the dishes available your eyes went straight to the calories written next to them, and you chose the meal with the lowest amount without much consideration for what it would actually taste like. Rafe had taken you out to eat every night that week and all of the meals had been good, overly priced, high calorie heaven. It would be nice to not have to make yourself sick after this one.

"Really? Just a salad?" Rafe scoffed after you told your order to the waitress, causing you to stiffen up against him anxiously.

"I'm not that hungry." You smiled awkwardly but he shook his head with a wink.

"Put the salad on the side, she'll have the carbonara." He turned to the waitress and you didn't dare to disagree with him in front of his friends. He was just trying to be nice after all.

You chuckled and nodded at the waitress, sending her off as the conversation resumed around the table.

"So I hear that the Pogues are planning on throwing some kind of surf party at the beach tonight. Anyone else feel like crashing?" Elle suggested with a sly grin, earning a proud kiss from Kelce.

"Sounds like a good plan." Topper stated, less interested in Georgia who didn't look impressed with the girls suggestion.

The only reason Topper wanted to go was to mess with his ex, Sarah Cameron, and her new group of friends. Everyone at the table knew that - including Georgia. You shot her a sorry look as Rafe's arm snaked around your waist, agreeing with his friend, but to your surprise she shot you a sorry look back.

"Maybank needs his head kicked in." Snorted Rafe. "Always got his eyes on you, don't he Y/N? Piece of shit just wishes he could have a chance."

"I'm not sure that I'm really his type to be honest." You jested.

"He doesn't have a type, he'd stick his dick in anything. Last I heard he'd been doing it with Kiara, although she's probably done the whole gang." Topper snorted, earning a chorus of chuckles from around the table.

Food came and went, and soon everyone was gearing up to leave and start pre-drinking for whatever they were going to do that night. You didn't particularly want to join them for a multitude of reasons but the evening had spun entirely out of your control and there was nothing you could do to stop it now.

Luckily, there was one small thing that you could still control.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom." You said to Rafe, sliding out of the booth as the waitress came over with the bill.

"Women and their tiny bladders." He tutted with a teasing smirk, which you playfully returned before walking away.

The restroom was empty. You went into the last stall and flung yourself down in front of the porcelain bowl before swiftly putting your fingers down your throat. It didn't take long to achieve the desired affect - having gotten very used to it - and you were soon feeling waves of relief crash through you. Your anxiety was suddenly under control again and you felt that maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad. Even at the sound of footsteps coming to the stall next to you, you kept your fingers there and let another calming wave settle through you before cleaning yourself up.

You waited in the stall for the other person to leave and then stepped quickly to the sinks, splashing your face with cold water before chewing a piece of gum.

"I look fine. I'm fine." You said to yourself, looking in the mirror one last time before stepping out, a smile on your face that was instantly uprooted by the concerned expression on your boyfriend's face.

He was stood right outside the toilets and from across the room you could see that your dining accomplices were looking over.

"Georgia said that you were being sick in there. Do you not feel well?"

"Oh." Was all you could say at first, your brain short circuiting before desperately scrambling for an excuse. "I don't think that was me she heard."

"She went in right after you, said there was no one else in there." He frowned, examining you closely.

You didn't know what to say, shrinking under his intense gaze. He'd caught you in a lie and now you were only going to have to deepen it further. With an anxious swallow, you started to open your mouth but to your surprised relief he spoke in a soft tone.

"Listen, if you don't feel well baby that's fine. We don't have to go out tonight. Did you think I was gonna make you?"

"No- I- I just didn't want to ruin your fun. You can still go out if you want." You answered, which he smiled and shook his head at.

He leaned down closer to you and said lowly "It would be boring without you. Let's just go back to yours and I'll nurse you back to health."

His breath on your skin gave you goosebumps and your stomach did an excited flip as he told his friends that you would be staying in.

A few hours of fucking and cuddling later, you were cozy under your covers, looking up at Rafe with adoring eyes as he got dressed. His beauty never ceased to amaze you; everything from his angelic face to his chiseled body - and the fact that he was yours still didn't feel real.

Rafe caught your eye, smirking at the redness forming on your cheeks. He leant over the bed and planted a short kiss on your head.

"You're cute." He mused, momentarily reconsidering his plan to meet his friends after all. "You sure you're feeling better?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Go be with your friends. I'll survive." You answered in a sweet tone.

"Weird how you were sick like that earlier. Maybe it was something in the food." He mumbled.

"Probably. Don't worry about it. I feel okay now." You agreed, your heartbeat rising slightly as he eyed you with uncertainty.

He opened his mouth but then quickly shut it, sucking in his lips like he was annoyed before sitting down on the end of your bed.

"I just think that if it was the food, you'd probably still feel sick now. Right?"

"I- I don't know."

"And it was weird that your first reaction was to lie to me about it."

"I just didn't want to worry you. I'm sorry."

He still looked unimpressed as he eyed you, but his face softened slightly after a moment and he mumbled "I know... you never want to worry me."

He left shortly after that and you were relieved that his suspicion had seemingly been dealt with. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep, but little did you know that Rafe's was extremely suspicious and his mind was running through different theories - none of them good.

"Maybe she's pregnant and doesn't want me to know. She thinks I'd leave her.. or make her get rid of it." Was his first idea - something that he had to sit in his parked car in silence for a couple minutes to process. Once he'd decided that that probably wasn't the case, he moved onto his next theory - that you were acting weird because you wanted to leave him. The insecure part of his brain screamed out at him that that was probably the case, but he was able to put that out of his mind pretty quickly, thinking of the way you looked up at him with absolute adoration, how you clung onto him for protection, how you moaned his name.

Remembering how his name had fallen from your lips a few hours prior, he smirked to himself and relished in the memory. You'd been entirely on display beneath him, hardly able to keep your mouth shut as he rammed into you. You were so beautiful and delicate beneath him, he felt like a God knowing that he could make an angel feel so good. With his hands around your waist, you felt tiny and breakable - and he felt powerful.

But then he remembered that a thought had momentarily occurred to him earlier on; of how you felt smaller than usual. Quite a fair bit smaller. It had come and gone in that moment, distracted by your tits, but now he was focusing on it. You'd definitely lost weight since he'd last thought about it, and that didn't make sense - since then he had spent most days with you and you'd been eating a good amount; he'd made sure of it.

So then the idea suddenly occurred to him, shocking and confusing; that you'd been making yourself sick. That was why you'd been loosing weight. That was why you'd lied about it. It didn't make any sense that you would do that to yourself until he thought on it a bit longer and... maybe it did. You'd never been particularly kind to yourself... but you'd never been outright unkind either.

Three nights later, awoken by your movement in the early morning, Rafe confirmed his suspicion. Usually when you got up in the night and accidentally woke him he would ignore it and go back to sleep, this time he only pretended to do so.

He listened as you crept to his bathroom, ears pricking as he heard the sound of retching. He sat up out of the bed and crept to the ajar door, peaking through the gap and grimacing at the sight. You were bent over the toilet with your hand in your mouth, eyes watering and forehead beaded with sweat.

Without your shoulders poised properly and unguarded in the yellowish bathroom light, Rafe was surprised by just how vulnerable you looked. Your body looked about ready to snap with every heave, your shoulder blades poking through your pyjama shirt like metal under a sheet.

He stood and watched until the vomit finally exited your throat, and saw the look of bliss on your face at the release. You leant over the bowl for another minute, catching your breath before pushing the handle down, jumping out of your skin at the sound of Rafe's voice.

"How long have you been doing this?" He questioned, his voice low and sounding almost completely void of emotion.

He was stood in the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest and a blank expression on his face. It worried you - not being able to read him - and you froze, suddenly terrified that you'd pissed him off. How long had he been stood there? Could you get away with this?

"Rafe- I didn't meant to wake you. I- I must have a bug or something-"

"Don't give me that bullshit Y/N. You've been making yourself sick after you eat, I know you have. Just tell me how long you've been doing it for." He said plainly, his jaw twitching.

You noticed that he was twisting one of his hands, clicking his wrist and fingers with his each moment. He was angry. Anxious tears threatened to spill over the brims of your eyes but you managed to blink them back, swallowing and taking a breath before answering. You stood up and tried to look like you were completely fine, running your hand under the tap.

"Not long. It's not a big deal." You lied. "I-I'll stop if you want me to."

"Yeah, you will stop. That shit is fucked up, Y/N." He said with aggressive certainty.

He was enraged that you'd been doing this to yourself, but he was more angry with himself for not clocking onto it sooner.

"I don't get it- do I not love you enough or something? Why would you do this to yourself?"

"What? No. Of course not. It's not your fault - it's- you love me more than enough. I'm sorry baby. I just wanted to loose some weight. I- I wanted to look good for you. F-For Midsummers." You stammered, stepping closer to him, hoping that he would open his arms and embrace you in a way that would let you know you were forgiven. He stayed still though, his arms crossed, lip curled and brows furrowed.

"So this is my fault."

"No! That's not what I meant-"

"And you're doing this to look good? You look like shit, Y/N. Take better care of yourself." He cut you off with a harsh scoff and then turned around, going back to bed without another word.

Your gut twisted and a dagger struck your heart. A real nausea rose in your body and you felt that you might actually need to be sick. Your hands shook uncontrollably and the tears that you'd previously been able to suppress spilled down your cheeks as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Rafe had never said anything like that to you before. He'd gotten angry and told you to shut up, reminded you of all the things he did for you, told you to change your outfit, berated you for being anxious about going somewhere. But at the end of all that - you'd still always been his beautiful girl.

"I look like shit." You repeated to yourself in your head. "If Rafe ever catches me being sick again, he's going to leave me. I should've seen this coming. I'm already not good enough for him - why would he want a bulimic girlfriend?"

You splashed your face with water and stared at yourself, only seeing the gaunt tiredness and red blotches - not thinking as to why you looked that way.

"I'm going to have to find a new way to loose weight. It'll be fine. I can go to the gym." You decided, trying to calm down. "I can make Rafe think I'm beautiful again. I'll start wearing a full face of makeup every day and just keep some distance until I reach my goal weight. By this time next week, he won't even remember seeing me like this."

Eventually, you were calm enough in your delusion to crawl back into bed with him, sticking to your side and not daring to try to initiate a cuddle. He already seemed to be asleep anyway and you didn't want to wake him up again.

You were surprised to find the bed empty when you woke up the next morning, a note in place of where Rafe would usually be.

"Got to do some shit with my dad. I'll see you later." It read and you found yourself feeling sick again, becoming certain that Rafe was disgusted by you now.

The few times that you'd woken up to a note or a text like that, it always ended with a "love you". The empty space where it ought to have been mocked you. With a shaky breath, you got out of bed and pulled your clothes on, grabbing your belongings from the side before making your way to your car. Rubbing salt into the wound, Ward was downstairs.

"You alright, Y/N?" He questioned, genuine concern on the older man's face.

He liked you a lot - claiming to Rafe that it was about time he brought a nice girl home - and would sometimes worry about how his son was treating you.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just got some studying to do." You lied with a forced smile.

It was something that Ward could see right through, but he nodded anyway and allowed you to believe you'd fooled him.

"Is Rafe up yet?" He asked.

"Yeah, he's gone out to play golf, I think." You answered, entirely uncertain of the truth and starting to worry that he might actually be with another girl.

Ward rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath but smiled at you nonetheless. When you finally got home you were unsurprised yet relieved to find that your mother was out - most likely at her boyfriends - and you quickly made your way to your room, throwing yourself onto your bed and letting out the sobs you'd been suppressing.

You wanted to get up and do some exercise - to start bettering yourself as you had planned to do - but with no food in your body, you had no energy and so ended up spending the day hiding under your covers. You thought about calling Rafe, but you were too embarrassed, and then you even thought about calling Sarah - having been quite close with her before you started dating her brother - but you didn't dare to do that either. Instead, you slept and cried the day away, wondering where your boyfriend was and if he even still loved you.

Meanwhile, Rafe was sprawled across the sofa of Topper's beach house, an empty bottle of whisky on his lap and a mirror decorated with white lines at his side. He had decided to break into the residence - as he had many times before - some hours prior, calling Topper once he'd gotten inside and demanding that his friend come and meet him.

"It's eleven in the morning bro, what the hell is wrong with you?" Topper had sighed upon entering the residence, seeing that Rafe had raided his parents very expensive liquor cabinet. "You better replace all that. My dad is gonna be pissed."

Rafe scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Obviously I'm gonna replace it. When was the last time your old man came down here anyway? Isn't he too busy sucking up to mine?"

Topper ignored his blatant rudeness and sat down on the polished leather seat beside the matching sofa Rafe had claimed. He grabbed the mirror from the side and picked up the rolled up note, inhaling a line before speaking.

"What are you doing here at this time anyway? Have you been up all night?"

"No. I got up about an hour ago."

"So what are you doing then?"

Rafe sighed, snatched the mirror back from Topper and snorted another line. He let his head fall backwards and looked up at the ceiling, forcing the powder down to the back of his throat - the bitter taste having become therapeutic through his habitual use.

"I don't know if I'm good for Y/N." He muttered after a moment.

"Why not?" Topper returned, acting clueless although your mental decline had been somewhat visible to him for the last couple of weeks. He'd just assumed that you'd been doing too much coke with Rafe.

Rafe shrugged.

"I think she might just be fucked in the head, you know?"

"All women are. But with one as hot as that - you kind of just gotta put up with it. You know what I mean?" Topper snorted. "I mean, Georgia's a total fucking bitch. The other day she complained about her outfit for an hour straight! Some bullshit about how the collar of her shirt was making her look fat. God knows I wouldn't put up with it if she wasn't so fine."

Rafe rolled his eyes and spoke matter-of-factly, his head still facing the ceiling. "Yeah well Y/N isn't a bitch. And Georgia's not even that hot. Everyone knows you're just rebounding after my bitch sister."

"Shut up, man. She's got a good rack and you can't even deny that. And if Y/N's not secretly a bitch then what's the problem? You seem like you've lucked out with that one."

Topper poured himself a drink, secretly aggravated with how his friend always seemed to have things go right for him. The richest dad on the island, a good career handed down to him and a beautiful girlfriend who practically no one had anything bad to say about. Rafe had some clue to how lucky he was, but he didn't fully get it. The taller boy thought about telling his friend the truth of what he'd seen the night before, but he feared that it might reflect badly on him so he didn't for the time being. Instead, he agreed that Georgia did have a good rack and changed the subject.

Late into the evening though - after spending the entire day drinking and playing video games - the conversation came up again and this time Rafe was too inebriated to play it cool. The image of you hadn't been able to escape his mind no matter how fucked up he got and he needed to vent.

The game had been paused so that Topper could pour them more drinks, and the temporary silence was unbearable to Rafe.

"I caught Y/N making herself be sick last night." He blurted out, his tone low and solemn. "And then I was kind of a dick about it."

Topper didn't seem too interested in what Rafe was saying, his eyes fixed on the drink he was pouring as he replied "What do you mean? Like she was unwell?"

"No. Like she's fucking anorexic or something." Rafe responded with some frustration. "I think she's been doing it for a while."

At this Topper looked up, his expression seeming almost amused in his surprise.

He scoffed "Well shit. I didn't see that coming" to which Rafe quickly hissed "It's not fucking funny" and Topper's smile dropped.

"Nah you're right dude, it isn't. Sorry."

Rafe ignored his apology, continuing his rant as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"I just don't get why she would do that to herself. Do I not treat her good enough or something? Like, I thought that shit was for weird emo girls with fuckin' daddy issues or something. Why the fuck would Y/N feel the need to do that? It doesn't make any sense."

Topper shrugged and sighed. "I don't know but you should get it sorted before it gets out of hand. That's what got Josie Tenthro sent to a psych ward in the tenth grade, remember? The weird girl - weighed like ten pounds. Apparently she almost died."

Rafe sat up straight with an unamused scoff, rubbing the back of his head with one hand whilst the other reached for the coke mirror. His friend was so stupid.

"Well thanks Top that really makes me feel better. Guess I'll just ship my girlfriend off to a looney bin then, huh? Fucking dick." He seethed before inhaling a line. "I don't even know why I told you anything. Just forget about it."

Topper held his hands up defensively,

"Woah, woah. Chill out bro. That's not what I meant. You and I both know that Y/N doesn't belong in one of those places. She's a sweet girl whose obviously just a bit down in the dumps for whatever reason. Why don't you take her on a little holiday or something? Show her a real good time."

Rafe considered that option for a moment, liking the sound of it but quickly deciding that it wouldn't fix things. If anything it might make them worse. After all, you had said that you wanted to look good for him. Would some time apart be the best thing for you? Some part of him knew that it probably would be, but selfishly he couldn't allow that. He needed to be with you, and as he thought on it deeper, he needed to be with you now.

Without visibly acknowledging Topper, he grabbed his phone and dialled your number, extremely dismayed when you didn't pick up. It was only nine PM - were you really asleep already? Or had you gone out? That last option made him feel unsettled. In a split second decision, he decided that he was going to just turn up at yours and climb into your bedroom window.

"I've gotta go. I'll see you later." He mumbled to Topper, ignoring his friends questions as he headed straight to his motorbike.

The drive to yours was luckily short and the climb up the side of your house was quite easy, meaning he'd managed to do both things accident free despite his extremely intoxicated state. When he saw you curled up in your bed, forehead damp with sweat and arms wrapped tight around a pillow, any hint of insecurity or frustration vanished as he took in your appearance. You were beautiful and there was no one else he wanted more than you.

"Hey babe, wake up." He shook you lightly with a drunken grin, pleased when you stirred awake.

"Rafe?" You said groggily. "What time is it?"

"It's nine baby, how come you're asleep already?"

He was slurring more than he realised and that brought you back to all the anxiety you'd been feeling all day. What had he been doing? Drinking, obviously, but with who?

"I took a nap, I didn't mean to." You answered. You thought about expanding on your words, of maybe even questioning him, but he spoke quickly and as if your answer hadn't really mattered.

"You're like.. the prettiest girl ever. You know that?" He whispered, moving a hand to stroke your face. "I'm sorry I left this morning."

Any anger that you might've felt immediately evaporated at that. Rafe rarely apologised and hearing the words made you feel guilty.

"Don't be sorry-" you began but then he spoke again, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

"I am sorry, Y/N. It was a dick move. I'm really fucked up right now, I've been with Topper all day." He said with a heavy exhale. "But I just needed to come here and tell you to seriously never do that shit to yourself again. You're perfect, you don't need to do that to yourself. Is that understood?"

His eyes were wide and his jaw was tight but you were charmed nonetheless, nodding as you gazed up at his sculpted face.

"I wanna hear you say it." He said, his fingers slightly shifting position again so that he was stroking your cheek.

You swallowed nervously, entirely exposed under his gaze and unable to deny him anything.

"I'm not going to make myself sick again." You whispered, blushing as the words came out.

A smile pulled at the corner of his lips and he mumbled "good girl" before leaning down and kissing you, his touch instantly making up for the entire day. "My good, beautiful girl."

[yawnderu]

i scroll through your page every day like it’s my freaking newspaper omg thank you for all the bimbo!reader content 😭😭🥰

this is kind of going off of your post of reader pampering simon and johnny calling him a pretty boy lol

idk if you’ve ever heard of the boyfriend effect? it’s like this silly (but true) theory that men go through a glow up when getting into a relationship 😅😅

but i def see that in simon. like after getting with reader, he’s taking more pride in his appearance. his muscles aren’t just to keep him at the top of his job but he loves the way you drool over them. or he’s like taken to grooming his facial hair or he’s cleaning up his eyebrows, making sure his nails are clean, he’s stepped up his cologne game 🫠🫠

he just appreciates how much work reader puts into her appearance and finds her so beautiful, he wants to be up to her standards and feel like he’s worthy of being with her 🥺🥺

YES ABSOLUTELY!!

Simon was never one to worry much about his appearance, just wearing military-issued clothes and other random things he bought when he wasn't deployed. It's mentioned that he also didn't even know what skincare was before meeting her and this man used to wash his face with only water or body wash 😭 but once she starts getting him introduced to all those things and she starts doing his skincare?? Simon Riley, the man that you are.

He's seen you spend over an hour doing your skincare and always making sure your presentation looks good before going out, spending a lot of time doing your makeup, hair, nails and planning outfits, and he starts truly believing that he has to look good for you as well.

He starts to trim his nails more and clean them up well, sometimes even asking you for help or accepting to go get a manicure with you so the callouses in his hands get better and he can have soft hands to hold and touch you. He'd never admit it, but he spent a long time at different stores trying to pick a body wash and cologne that smells pleasant so he can always smell nice when he's out with you.

He starts to shave his face more often, using an aftershave with a pleasant, masculine smell. He tries his best to shower before coming back home to you, and if he's not able to, the first thing he does is suggest that you both take a shower together, secretly proud to see your surprised face at how many things he uses now to clean his body compared to the tiny bar of cheap soap that he used when you first met.

Sure, his muscles make him a more intimidating figure in the battlefield and help him be at the top, but he's never felt more grateful for them than when you're tying a bow on his arm and making him flex just to see it unwrap. He absolutely loves how you worship his body and having your long, pretty nails run over his muscles when you touch him, squeezing his muscles and drooling over them and how cool he looks.

He wants to keep up with you— you're a very pretty girl who puts a lot of effort into your appearance, and he wants to do the same, wanting to look worthy of being with you even when in your eyes, he was fully worthy of it even before he changed.

I also believe that bimbo!reader had the idea to plan his Senpai Ghost outfit HBJEFJHFEHJBFE

Bimbo!Reader Masterlist

[luffysinterlude]

This is my first time requesting something so I don’t really know how to do it lol but would you be able to write a shanks x reader where shanks is readers captain and confesses to her? Thank you!

SOULTIES. . .

★ summary: shanks confesses his love for you. (fem!reader)

★ warnings: one piece antics, ooc!shanks, reader is extroverted, angst if you squint, idiots in love, reader and shanks might’ve manifested each other (soulmates basically), assassin!reader, fluff/somewhat suggestive (thanks beckmann!!), WC: ≈1.8K…is this a drabble?!

★ an: never really thought abt writing for shanks so thank you for this request! i tried my best so i hope its somewhat something you wanted, anon! ^^

shank’s sure you’re secretly a witch that has some sort of past-life soul tie to him.

he thinks maybe it’s because he’s somewhat always drawn to you; it’s subtle, but whenever he feels your presence near him, he searches for your figure. it’s also somewhat obvious, to everyone but you. maybe you did know of his infatuation with you, maybe you didn’t.

but shanks felt his life change the day you were found hiding in his ship, demanding that he and his men accept you, claiming you have nothing else better to do with your time and that you’ve always wanted to explore the world. he didn’t have much of a choice, considering the red-haired pirates had already been at sea for three days since their last stop.

you snuck on the red force during a party thrown by locals for the pirates, hiding in a supply closet, discovered by the right-hand man of the captain. at first, you were worried of what they might do to you, but then remembered that they were just men.

“well, sweets,” the man said. “i’m sure a woman wouldn’t just waltz her way onto a very notorious pirate ship and not know how to fend for herself…?”

you smirk at him, a spark in your eyes as the tone of your voice held a slight challenge. “i was trained to be an assassin.”

it was then he felt a sudden shift in the air, chuckling at your remark. he’s always up for a new challenge.

“well, we got a reason to party boys!”

again, he’s sure there’s a past-life connection between the two of you. (he thought how easily he was able to trust you, after blacking out.)

+x+

it’s been two years since you’ve joined the red-haired pirates, time flying as you enjoy the thrills of life. you’ve never felt this free before, coming from a noble family and being able to escape thanks to a certain red-haired man. you’ve dreamed of life feeling this way since you were a little girl, wondering what beauties your family had kept hidden from you.

you’ve learned so much. you’ve experienced so much. truth be told, you’re not sure if life could feel any better than this. though, you do wonder what would happen if you fell in love.

you’ve been courted by many suitors your entire life, growing up only to be taught two things: how to kill, and how to be a wife. the word love was something you associated with the tortures of your old self, but you feel as if you’re finally ready to experience it on your own; without people in your ear scolding you on how to act and how to ‘love’. you think you have a grasp of what the feeling feels like, but you’re still somewhat unsure.

you’ve accepted that your next suitor — someone you already know — is someone who won’t make you feel restricted or tied down. you’ve decided that you deserve nothing but the best treatment, and so far on this journey of freedom, one charming pirate captain has set your standards to the sky.

“food for thought?” a familiar voice breaks your thoughts as you blink back to consciousness, your eyes focusing on the waves in front of you. you’re standing on the observation deck of the red force, a light breeze brushing through your [h/c] locks as your captain stands next to you. in his hand there’s half of a cookie, a giggle escaping your throat when you notice it.

“is said food present?” you reply back, taking the half-eaten sweet treat anyway. a small chuckle reaches your ears as he leans over the railing, eyes watching the smooth waves. it’s night time now, stars sprinkling the sky. “just thinking,” you answer his question.

captain shanks. the shanks. a name that’s feared by many, though it’s one that brings you peace and joy. he’s a charming man, always looking out for not only his crew, but friend and foe alike. your mind can’t help but start thinking about marineford, the first time you’ve ever seen shanks in the flesh. a beautiful man, you first thought. a powerful one at that too. he looks like freedom.

“hmm. you shouldn’t let your thoughts consume you so much.” he states. it’s late and he knows he should be resting, but for some reason he wasn’t able to ease his restlessness. when he saw your figure out on deck, he then knew it was you keeping him up. “not sure what you’re thinking so hard about but if you need a reminder: you’re everything everyone says you are — powerful, beautiful, and intelligent according to the tabloids. a threat to the world, you’re quite the star.”

his words make heat rush to your cheeks, a sudden wave of nervousness hitting you. your relationship with the captain has always been full of back and forth teasing with a few intimate gazes, but to hear him state a compliment so sweet to you makes you want to shy away. instead, you put your brave face on, and return the gesture.

“yeah? and how does the big and scary emperor ease his mind on nights like this?” or maybe not. you internally cringe at your comeback, a feeling of disappointment lingering wishing you had said something more flirty, but as your eyes finally find the captain’s face, a tint of pink painted his cheeks.

“well this big and scary emperor, usually finds something — or someone — to spend his time with,” this time, shank’s the one cringing internally, the weight of his words settling on him. great, now she must think i’m a whore, he thinks.

you realize you’re both tip-toeing around each other. you both want to say something — which usually isn’t this hard — but you’re also both unsure of how the other feels, so you’re holding back.

you sigh as you physically feel your guard being lifted.

“i wonder…” you start quietly. “how it feels to be in love.”

shank’s eyebrows raise at your confession, something he’s never been told before. he’s had plenty of interactions with women — lovely ones at that — but he’s never heard a woman speak of love so vulnerably. he turns his body to face you, arm resting against the railing of the deck. he takes in your side view, the moon shining down on you so brightly.

and then he feels it, a feeling so foreign yet so familiar to him.

you suddenly turn to face him, eyes catching his in a soft gaze. he looks different, you think. the way his eyes shine brightly from the moon’s rays. the way his hair seemed to be brighter as well, despite the lack of light. you tilt your head, silently questioning his silence, wondering if you had said something stupid.

“have you ever been in love, captain?” you ask, watching as his eyes widen slightly, your question throwing him off guard.

one of the things shanks admires about you is your curiosity. in the time he’s been around you, he’s noticed many things about you — how you love dancing, eating [f/d], scolding the boys — but your curiosity makes you different from everyone else. people always assume you’re just nosey and full of gossip, but really, you’re just curious.

he’s never heard of you spreading rumors or telling lies, so he knows how genuine you are.

sure, you might overstep boundaries with some people, but shanks never minded answering your questions. you’ve confided in him before, telling him how your parents basically shielded you from the outside world. how caged in you felt.

“i think…” shanks starts. he steps closer to you, staring down at you. stars reflect in his eyes as he cradles your cheek suddenly, your body relaxing under his touch. “that’s the feeling i feel when i’m around you.”

you let out a choked breath at his sudden confession, the world around you both going silent. your eyes are wide and your jaw is slightly wide, chest swelling with warmth.

the captain who’s been helping you to experience true freedom just confessed something so delicate to you.

you’re unsure what to say. it hits you so hard that you feel tears well in your eyes and you feel your throat go dry.

“y-you — you what?!” you say. “you can’t just say something like that out of nowhere, idiot!” you scold the tall man, his eyes closing as he chuckled at your reaction. “sorry, cap’n. got a lil carried away there…but do you mean it?” you ask, averting your gaze away from his.

he rubs his thumb across your cheek, looking at you with eyes full of love, as if he’s trying to imprint this image in his head. he thinks about all the teasing the both of you throw, how you’ve never been scared to bite back. he thinks about the times he’s watched you publicly shame men who make you disgusted in bars, how your strength impresses him every time. he thinks about the times where he’s been lucky enough to witness you on the battlefield, so full of life despite being surrounded by death.

“yes.” he finally answers, the tension suddenly gone. “you’ve always been so curious about others, it’s made me curious in you. i’ve watched you grow over the past two years and somewhere along the way,”

“i fell in love with you. the way you naturally take on responsibility and the way you’re not scared of anything. i fell in love with the way you’ve faced death with a smile on your face, how optimistic you are.”

“i fell in love with the way you look in the mornings, the afternoons, and the evenings. and for the first time ever, i’m seeing you this late at night. and you look as beautiful as ever.”

“i fell in love with your presence, how you’re able to shift the energy in the air wherever you go. i’m not sure you even realize your effect in the places we visit. you bring such a lovely, warm spirit into the room, you have no idea how many bad days you’ve turned good.”

his words made you sick. your breathing got heavy as he confessed everything he’s learned to love about you, and a feeling you’ve desperately tried forgetting crawled its way back into your chest.

this time, your body accepted the feeling and for the first time in your life, your body filled with love. a warmth that’s somewhat familiar but so distant. something that’s new, almost sort of a craving you didn’t know you were capable of having.

and then, you kissed your captain.

you hoped he felt the love you had for him, words not being enough to describe the emotions running through you. he kissed you back; hand grasping the back of your head gently, pulling you closer to him.

you threw your hands around his neck, shanks’ body jerked forward, his eyes slightly widening at your strength. he relaxed and smiled into the kiss, giving you one last peck before pulling away from your grasp — before you accidentally hurt him.

“what? never handled a strong woman before?” you tease, smiling at his small tumble backwards. “i think i feel love when i’m around you too.”

+x+

the next morning, a tired shanks dragged himself into the dining area, pouring himself a cup of coffee. he fails to notice beckmann sitting across from him, too lost in his thoughts; the previous night replaying in his head.

“you’re an asshole,” beckmann starts. “i get you all had a great night, but not everyone needed auditory confirmation.”

★ an: ahhh!! ty for reading ^^ please feel free to request head canon scenarios!! i’ve never written for shanks so i hope i did him somewhat justice…as always, constructive criticism is always appreciated and welcomed!!

[blackswan446]

Hello Evieee!, im new to your blog but i already read lifetime and thief and i really like it. Can I request part 2 of lifetime where oc tries to escape and get punished by jungkook and then oc tries to be obedient then wants to request something that makes jungkook hesistant to consider? ☺️ thank you 💗

lifetime || two.

→ pairing: yan!jjk x reader

→ synopsis: we live for so many years, why not make them the happiest you can?

→ wc: 3584

→ cws: manipulation, guilttripping, murder, implied dub-con

→ notes: originally wasn't planning to do a part two on this cus i didn't have any ideas for what could be next, but this ask sparked inspiration so i'm really excited :)) thank you for asking!! <3 also the ending kind of suggests a part 3 and i have an idea for it but i dunno when it'll come out sooo

part one || m.list

the last three months seemingly dragged by like years. every second felt like a minute, and every minute felt like an hour. you were like a bird, skittish and anxious to escape the cage they had been locked in by a cruel captor.

to any outsider, your misery would come off as nothing but ingratitude and paint you as a finicky, spoiled brat. and honestly, you couldn't blame them for it. because anyone who peered through the tall glass windows of the luxurious mansion was bound to see just that--luxury. all they would see is the glass chandelier, the marble counters, and the endless indicators of money and class.

what they wouldn't see is the basement. the dark, damp, cold basement that you lived in--not physically, but mentally. you were trapped in this imaginary basement, and as much as you tried to claw at the concrete walls, and bang on the metal door, you couldn't escape it, not if you dedicated your entire life to it.

aside from the obvious, your life was perfect, at least by society's standards. you had everything you ever wanted and could get anything else you wanted at the drop of a hat. nice clothes, expensive jewelry, high-end makeup, flashy accessories. but you never really used them, since you didn't exactly leave the house, unless if it was time for you to play dress at one of jungkook's fancy work events, and cling onto his arm, following him around the whole night, your youth and beauty grabbing the attention of his rich business associates and peers, while you hoped that the pleading look in your eyes would alert the otherwise-blind millionaires to your distress.

since you didn't leave the house much, jungkook thought ahead and considered the inevitable boredom you would face. he stocked the house with as many hobby supplies as he could get his hands on. art, baking, reading, you name it, it's there. and anything that wasn't there would show up a mere hour after you requested it. not that you ever did, but jungkook practically bent over backwards to sweeten the pot for you, to put the rose colored glasses over your eyes and prove that being there with him was a good thing.

but none of this changed the fact that you were miserable. you missed the outside, you missed your life. you missed your achievements and the payoff of your hard work, which proved to do nothing for you inside of the prison you were trapped in. you missed the serenity of your street and the walk to your favorite coffee shop. you missed being human. physically you were a human, of course, but in your eyes, you felt as if you were nothing more than a shell, who didn't feel the pain of everyday problems and the joy of solving those problems. as much as you complained about them before, you would give anything to get out and feel those emotions again.

but after months of sulking, you finally had a plan. jungkook had placed security around the house--partly for his own protection and the safety of his house, and partly to keep you from getting out. you had never spoken to them, and they never spoke to you. but today, this would change. stuffing as many shiny jewels, expensive shoes, and silky dresses into the biggest and most expensive handbag you had in your closet, you put on a pair of basic shoes and the only black jacket you could find.

exiting the closet, you descended the grand stairs and looked around for the guard. not just any one in specific, but the one that stood by the front door. you needed to talk to this one only, it was crucial that you extended this offer to him and only him. why? you had overheard him talking in a hushed voice with a fellow guard, practically erupting with envy and awe at the house he found himself in. you knew he would fold immediately at what you had to offer and not say a word about it, which is why it was so important for you to talk to him.

you spotted him, in his usual spot by the door, staring straight forward with a blank look on his face. you took a deep breath, and approached him, and as you did, he shifted to stand more in front of the door. "do you need something?" he asked you. you looked around quickly, checking for any other witnesses before you began to speak.

"please, i need to get out of here. you need to let me leave." you pleaded quietly. the man shook his head. "no can do. i'm sorry." he said coldly, not even bothering to look at you. sighing, you held up the expensive handbag at rested at your side, and opened it to reveal the mess of jewels and fabric you that hid inside. "please," you repeated, "just let me out, and it's all yours. this, and whatever else you can grab from the closet before he comes home."

he peered into the bag, and he didn't need to say anything for you to know what he was thinking. but he didn't let up. shaking his head again, he returned his attention back to the house in front of him. you sighed in frustration. "please, i can't stay here anymore. you can tell him i jumped out of a window. you're not allowed to go up there anyways, right? you won't get blamed. besides, you can sell all this stuff, or give it to your wife, or-"

you were interrupted when the guard abruptly reached out and yanked the handbag from your trembling hands, holding it behind his tall figure. he didn't look down again, or say anything, but instead he stepped sideways, revealing the knob to the front door and the surprisingly simple latch that unlocked it. you laughed, out of relief and partial disbelief. the relief, though, was kind, and warm, and it washed over your mind like water and undid the tense knots in your body.

it was also very brief.

in that moment, the exact moment that you had regained your sweet freedom, one set of footsteps managed to make it crash down around you. "princess, is that you?" jungkook called, swiftly entering the foyer where you and the guard stood, caught red-handed in your scheme. you whipped around quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly, and your guilty eyes met his suspicious ones. "what's going on here?..." he trailed off, taking in the sight of you in tennis shoes and a jacket, and the guard holding a very familiar, very expensive handbag behind his back.

inhaling deeply, an eerie calm took over the man, his earlier confusion evaporating as he put the pieces together. you swallowed thickly, heartbeat deafening in your ears as he looked back and forth between the two of you. without a word, he grabbed you by the bicep and yanked you closer to him, the clean soles of your sneakers squeaking on the shiny floor. he then stuck his hand out towards the guard, fingers open as he shamefully returned the bag. "i deeply apologize, sir. i was wro-"

"stay here, mr. ahn. i'd like to have a word with you later." jungkook said coldly, turning on his heel to ascend the stairs behind him, dragging you with him. you glanced down from the top of the stairs at mr. ahn, who wore a look that could only be described as pure terror. he knew what was next for him, he knew that he had messed up beyond repair.

leading you down the maze of hallways and identical doors, jungkook finally stopped at a new one, and also the biggest one you had seen, which was obviously his own room. shoving you forwards towards the bed, which was on the other side of the grand room, he pushed you down to sit on the edge of the bed and went to shut and lock the door behind him. it wasn't until he had returned, and took a seat next to your shaky figure, that he spoke.

"i'm not mad, princess." he said calmly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "i'm just confused. why would you try and escape? what were you thinking?" he asked himself, scoffing in annoyance. "are you really that unhappy?"

you turned your head to him, slowly, and stared at him in utter disbelief. "i mean, i knew you would need time to adjust. but running away from me? after everything i've done for you?" he continued, shaking his head. "why did you do it, angel? just tell me. why'd you try and leave me?"

"because this place is a prison. you kidnap me, and take me away from everything i've ever loved, and lock me in this cage, and try to distract me with all these fancy clothes that i can't even wear to anywhere, and give me these stupid ass baking pans, and art canvases, just to try and dumb me down, and make me forget what you did to me! so you tell me, jungkook. why do you think i tried to run away?" you exploded, giving him a nasty glare as he nodded slowly, in a way that made him look more amused than anything.

"is that what you think it is? a prison? after everything i've done for you. the money i've spent. the blood that has been shed, the dirty blood of that whore, that i watched pour from her head after i hit her. i do all of that just for you, and this is how you repay me?" he seethed. "honestly, [name], i'm hurt. i thought you would be happier here, but apparently, i was wrong." he said, the white-hot tone of his voice now gone and replaced by a remorseful murmur. your glimmer of hope shined through once again at the idea you thought he was suggesting.

"i know i shouldn't be mad at you. it's all my fault that you're so unhappy here. all alone, all day long. it must be awful. you must be so lonely." he said quietly, fiddling with his hands as he stared down at his shoes. "i'm so sorry, [name]." you didn't respond to his apology, and you let it bounce off your heart and onto the floor in front of you. "i'm going to do so much better. okay? i know what i can do!" he smiled, a wicked idea forming in his mind. "i can change my position at work, and instead of going there everyday, i can do my work here, and stay home with you!" he exclaimed, smiling proudly at his new plan. your heart sunk to the floor at his words. the last thing you needed was jungkook sticking around here with you all day long.

you shook your head. "no, jungkook. you don't-you don't need to do that." he waved his hands in denial. "nope," he vetoed, "it's decided. i'm telling everybody tonight. trust me, princess, this is for the best." he sighed contentedly, before his voice got low and serious. he stood up from his spot next to you, and stood right in front of you. "now, we may have solved the problem, but we still need to address what happened earlier. what you did isn't okay, angel. it was rude, and stupid, and it hurt me a lot. how do you think that makes me feel as a provider? as someone who loves you? honestly, [name], do you enjoy hurting people like that?" he asked.

though you had tried to resist it, the dagger of guilt had managed to stab you, right in the gut. jungkook sounded hurt, and the way he put things made you feel like a total piece of shit. you shook your head again. "but, you're not the only one who did something wrong. mr. ahn's actions told me all i need to know about his loyalty and how much he cares about his job. so the only right thing to do now is punish those who were wrong. that sounds fair, doesn't it?" he asked innocently. you nodded, stomach sinking at the direction this was going in. "use your words." he commanded, putting a firm hand on your shoulder. "yes, that sounds fair." you whispered weakly.

"now, there are...a few ways...i could punish you right now. but you're not the only one who messed up. and besides, i think those other ways would be better reserved for when we're home together. yeah?" he joked, the smirk potent in his sweet voice. "so here's what we'll do. mr. ahn was unloyal to me. he didn't do what i asked him to, and i don't go for that. but, i'm going to leave it up to you,"

"should i go and kill mr. ahn right now, or,"

you shook your head frantically. "jungkook, no. please, don't. it's my fault, okay? i'm sorry." you pleaded. he nodded. "yeah, princess, it is your fault. and now, you're paying the price. so, i could go and kill him right now, or,

i could burn down this entire house with everybody in it, including us."

your stomach lurched at the sick words that fell from his mouth so easily. tears brimmed your eyes, blurring the glow of the chandelier above you into a mess of golden light and black suit fabric as you looked up in disbelief. it felt like every organ in your body somehow stopped working and kicked into overdrive all at once. "please, jungkook. you don't have to kill anybody. please, i'm sorry. it's my fault. just do whatever you said earlier to me. please, don't hurt anybody else." you choked out, cheeks slick with tears.

he shook his head. "those are the only two options for you, princess. i like your enthusiasm, though. so what'll it be? kill one man who deserves it, or bring down ten other innocent people, including yourself?" he probed, pushing your jaw up to look at him. "now, [name], or i'll choose for you." he warned.

"the first one!" you spat. "now, which one was that? don't be shy, princess, i want to hear that sweet voice of yours." he teased, smirking at your distress. "kill mr. ahn." you said weakly, your blurry vision just able to make out the smug grin on jungkook's face. he shrugged nonchalantly, dropping your jaw from his hands and letting it fall as you laid your head in your hands, barely biting back uncontrollable, heaving sobs. "if you say so."

he left, strides long and shoulders back, and the seconds once again felt like hours as you were left alone in the unbearable silence. though you preferred deafening silence over what was next. the yelps of pain, the pleas, and the deafening sound of bones cracking and bloody knuckles meeting bruised flesh. even from a floor away, you could hear the atrocity from the bedroom. you clasped your hands over your ears, hoping the blockage and the sound of your own crying would mute the tortuous sounds.

after a disturbingly short amount of time, you heard the thrashing and struggling grind to a stop. taking your shaky hands away from your red ears, you pulled them close to your chest, crinkling back into a fetal position on the bed as your wails echoed off the walls of the bedroom. tears flooded from your eyes, onto the fabric of the comforter and into your hair, and only got worse as you heard the sound of dreaded footsteps drawing closer to the bedroom.

as you wallowed in the pits of hellish guilt, you made a promise, to both yourself and to everybody else that stood in the unpredictable path of jungkook's rage and violence.

this was never going to happen again.

❀⊱ ═════════════════ ⋆★⋆ ═════════════════ ⊰❀

this time, you were confident. there was no way your plan could go wrong. this was your guaranteed ticket to freedom.

you spent months being obedient. conforming yourself to be the perfect one for him. ever since that horrific day, when an innocent man died because of your careless decision, you committed yourself to the mission of making sure something like that never, ever happened again, not if you could help it.

so you listened. you let him say whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted. you were more than just his ragdoll, though, you played along. you smiled at him sweetly, and listened to his words, and told him you loved him with a kiss on the cheek every night before sleeping.

of course, it made you sick. knowing the hands that grabbed your waist and played with your hair and made you dinner and everything in between were the same ones that brutally ended the life of innocent people made your stomach twist in ways it never had before, and you hated it.

every night, you felt so marked, so unpure, so dirty. like the blood that he washed down the drain like nothing that day had stayed on his hands and left smudgy, sticky handprints all over you. but maybe, just maybe, your trying days and sleepless nights would finally pay off.

knocking softly on the wooden door, you didn't need to wait for jungkook to respond before you opened the door. looking up, he smiled happily as he saw you come towards him. "there you are, princess!" he greeted, closing his laptop as you smiled back at him. you greeted him quietly as you shut the door behind you. "come sit, darling." he beckoned, tapping his lap as he pushed his chair out, "i missed you today."

you obliged, a sharp tinge of disgust striking through your heart as you straddled his lap, resting your chin on his shoulder. he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him and sighing deeply. "how was your day? do anything interesting? i wish i could've stayed with you today." he said wistfully, rubbing his hands up and down your back gently.

you shook your head. "not really. it was good, though." you replied. sitting back, you met his eyes, the hesitated look on your face acting as the dangling carrot in front of the hungry rabbit. "what is it, sweetheart? you look sad."

you shrugged. "oh, i don't know. it's kind of silly. don't worry about it." you chuckled, fiddling with your fingers as you spoke. eyebrows knitting together, jungkook shook his head. "no it's not, baby. tell me what's going on." he probed. for a second, just a split second, your mind began to wander into the waters of uncertainty.

"come on, you know i like to hear your sweet voice."

your heart lurched at the sentence, one that was forever stuck in your mind as a painful reminder of that awful day. suddenly, the uncertainty was gone, replaced by an urgent sense of eagerness and determination.

"i just miss my old life." you admitted. "i was just...so proud of everything that i made for myself. not that i don't like it here with you, but i miss my routine. i miss going to the store, and getting my coffee, and walking through my neighborhood. it took me a long time to finally gain happiness, and i wish i could've held onto that for a little longer." you said sadly, eyes welling up at the memories of the life you once cherished.

jungkook nodded slowly. he stayed silent, but you could see the wheels turning in his head as he considered your confession. "and, i was kind of wondering, if..." you sighed shakily, "if it'd be okay for me to go out? just for the day, sometimes. and i'd come back here every night. i would just want to go back to my apartment, and get my old clothes, and have another one of my favorite drinks, and visit the old park i used to walk at."

looking back into his eyes, you were met with his own eyes being focused on the floor. he had a thoughtful expression, and the oh-so sweet glimmer of hope that had been extinguished for so long finally regained its spark. he stayed like that for a while, as if he were picturing everything you just said and everything that could go wrong.

"i'll think about it."

your eyes widened, eyebrows raising and the corners of your mouth curling upwards. "really?!" you exulted, sitting up in his lap. he smiled and nodded again. "yeah, really. you've been a good girl, i think you deserve a reward." he grinned. "thank you, thank you!" you cheered, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug and kissing his cheek.

"of course, darling. anything for you." he beamed. "why don't you go to the kitchen and have someone start on dinner? i just have one more call to make, and then i'm all yours. sound good?" he hummed. you nodded happily, hopping off his lap and bubbling out of the office.

it worked, it worked so well! the glow of freedom was so close, you could practically feel its warmth absorb into your skin as you skipped downstairs. everything seemed brighter now; the lights illuminated the room in a different way, the vases of flowers were more vibrant, and your soul felt like it was shining more than it had in months.

if only you knew the storm cloud that was headed your way.

[pagannatural]

2.20 What Is and What Should Never Be

- the djinn episode. much to think about

-Dean makes a comment on the phone with Sam about a hot actress and Sam says “are you even listening to me?” in this very effeminate way, it’s adorable.

- Dean says he’s going to check out a possible lair and Sam says “wait no no no come pick me up first” all little brother wanting to go along, but Dean hangs up on him. The next shot of Sam holding the disconnected phone and turning his head is taken from above which makes him seem small, indicating that he’s probably feeling worried or left out. He’s afraid what will happen to Dean and he wants to be a part of the hunt.

- Dean gets got by the djinn.

Okay, so in order to analyze any of the characters and events in Dean’s djinn-dream we need to understand what exactly is going on. My interpretation is that, as Dean explains toward the end of the episode, it’s not a perfect fantasy or a representation of Dean’s truest desires. It’s just the djinn picking up on his strongest wish and what he thinks his life would be like were it fulfilled. His wish is that his mom never died in a fire. The whole dream is a product of this wish and what Dean assumes would’ve happened/where the djinn’s magic takes him.

However, this wish-world is flawed because it’s limited by the things Dean is limited by. He can imagine having many of the things he wants, like a girlfriend and a regular job, but his wish isn’t that he could be happy, his wish is that the defining tragedy of his life had never happened and therefore the people he loves the most could be happy. So although he and his mom and Sam are alive and well, there are also a lot of things wrong in the dream. The things that are wrong are therefore very telling:

I think he has an alcohol problem in the dream because he figures that even if things were different he would screw up or not be good enough in some very important ways. Again, it’s just a wish- his beliefs about himself haven’t changed.

John doesn’t make an appearance because Dean can’t really imagine a healthy relationship with him or any version of him at all that doesn’t revolve around hunting.

He and Sam aren’t on good terms because they never hunted together. Dean fears that the only thing that binds Sam to him is their fucked up history. He thinks that if their mom hadn’t died, Sam would’ve had the things that he’s said he wanted: graduated from Stanford, studying law, engaged to a beautiful woman. This is what Dean assumes Sam would’ve become. He assumes they would not be close and that he himself would lowkey be a fuck-up, albeit a fuck-up in a more common way.

So what is the significance? This suggests that Dean believes his relationship with Sam and his place in Sam’s life was only earned through raising him and taking care of him, which he wouldn’t have done if their lives were normal. His self-worth stems from his relationship with Sam and his ability to care for him and love him, so in the dream Dean has the outline of the normal life he wants to want, but he’s also not a person he would respect. Even his djinn-girlfriend tells him (jokingly) she’s with him because she has low standards. He doesn’t have the job he said in s1 that he always wanted, which is being a firefighter. He works in a garage just like his dad did. He doesn’t save people. And most damning of all, he’s ruined his relationship with Sam by letting him down over and over. He’s completely lost himself. So yeah, this is far from a reflection of Dean’s deepest desires.

- Another element that needs unpacking in terms of what exactly is going on in the dream is that Sam has a point of view. Djinn-Sam is still his own character, he’s shown to have thoughts and reactions even when Dean isn’t around or isn’t looking. He has his own point of view even though he exists in Dean’s head. So how is it possible for the version of Sam that exists in Dean’s subconscious to act independently of Dean?

My interpretation is that the characters in the dream are animated by the Djinn’s magic, which has a purpose. Its purpose is to make the dream appealing so that the victim will remain unconscious and happy rather than trying to wake up. This is why, when Dean realizes that he is actually unconscious, the other characters from the dream appear to him to try and convince him not to wake up and to stay with them forever. They have a directive. The characters follow this directive by behaving in ways that Dean both expects and wishes for. I really don’t think they’re the djinn or that they’re nefarious, I think they’re just Dean’s conceptions of the people they represent. They don’t really act out of character, aside from the fact that their purpose is to fulfill Dean’s wish and keep him from waking.

So basically, djinn-Sam is his own character because he’s animated by the djinn’s magic, but all of his thoughts and feelings and behaviors are both what Dean wishes for and what he would expect under the circumstances.

So. Keeping that in mind as we take a look at Djinn-Sam.

-Sam’s response to Dean calling him late at night is to giggle and say “you’re drunk dialing me.” Drunk dialing is very much a trope used to link romantic interests. Also he picks up after the first ring. Sam is eager to hear from Dean and flirts with him even though they’re on the outs -> Dean wants and expects Sam to answer his calls immediately and flirtatiously

- Dean asks his mom where Sam is and says “I’m dying to see him.”

Dean is literally dying, hanging by his wrists with his blood slowly draining out of him, so that he can see a version of Sam who is happy. He’s thrilled to see his mom, but a huge part of this wish is seeing Sam happy and educated and successful and loved. Dean seems truly, glowingly happy and proud of Sam. It’s this part of him that wishes Sam had everything Dean couldn’t give him and that wishes they could both not only be normal but be fulfilled by anything besides one another.

- From the conversation Dean has with himself at his dad’s grave, it’s clear that he doesn’t believe his dad cared much about his personal happiness. He’s sacrificed himself in so many ways for his entire life at the altar of his dad’s mission, but now that Sam’s humanity is on the line it’s too much. He increasingly just doesn’t want to do this any more.

- When Dean decides to go after the djinn and reenacts the break-in scene from the pilot, it cues a reset in his relationship with Sam in this world. From this point Sam has to change his behavior if there’s any hope of Dean staying, so he starts to act a lot more like the version of Sam that Dean knows and loves in real life. This Sam is still saying and doing things that Dean wants and acting how Dean would expect him to act, but now the context has changed. He’s doing more of what Dean wants and breaking from the version Dean assumes would exist if their mom were alive.

-> Dean’s wish for Sam to be happy and normal is not as strong as his need to be close to Sam, for Sam to choose him and follow him and leave everything else behind to be together. Ostensibly Dean doesn’t ask Sam to come with him, but it’s his head and Sam is doing whatever will convince Dean to stay, so ultimately this is Dean. He needs Sam.

- Dean apologizes to Sam and Sam gives him this incredibly guarded look

and then this deeply worried and scared look

and then he decides to go with Dean “because you’re still my brother” which is the affirmation Dean needs. “Because we’re brothers” for these two is a deeper and holier connection than any other. And the way Sam is now more vulnerable and scared for Dean is exactly what Dean is used to from his little brother.

- Sam is trying to help and Dean says “what, you protect me? That’s hilarious.” It’s probably hilarious because this version of Sam is a pansy by their usual standards, but in reality Sam is on his way to find Dean and protect him. Dean keeps accidentally saying things that are true in real time.

- when she’s trying to convince Dean to stay in the dream, Mary promises no pain or fear, just love and comfort and safety, and specifically not worrying about Sam any more and watching him live a full life. So we have the bones of Dean’s deepest wish: love, comfort, safety, and to see Sam happy and safe.

In reality, Sam can only be any important kind of happy and safe when he’s with Dean. And the love that Dean wants can only come from Sam.

- Dean says “I’m sorry” to Sam, and only Sam, before plunging the knife into his heart and waking up. Mary and his dream-girlfriend are right there. His dead mom who he wished back to life is right there. But he looks at this version of Sam to say he’s sorry before waking up. This feels like another thing that he wants to tell Sam in real life but can’t.

- Dean has been tied up bleeding and on drugs for probably not that long but long enough that he lost consciousness and yet he snaps the remaining bits of rope with brute strength and kills the djinn when Sam is threatened. So he not only gets himself out of the djinn’s spell, but also saves Sam. And then he goes straight to help the other victim. It’s such a stark contrast to the man he thinks he would have been.

- Dean tells Sam that the dream wasn’t a perfect fantasy, it was just a wish, and that since he and Sam never became hunters they “never…” and Sam says “I’m glad we do.”

Never what? And is Sam saying he’s glad they hunt together or he’s glad that they became what they are to each other? This phrasing is purposefully vague. But it highlights Sam’s resolve this season in actually choosing to hunt, he’s not just doing it because he feels obligated. Even in the opening scene to this episode, remember how Sam asked to come along with Dean and went out looking for him right away when he hung up.

Dean looks at him so sadly, one eyebrow raised, like he doesn’t believe him that he’s glad, or doesn’t want to. He’s skeptical that Sam is really choosing this, or him.

- Sam tells Dean “I’m glad you dug yourself out, most people wouldn’t have had the strength” and Sam is the researcher so he probably knows this is true of djinn victims. It’s one of so many things that Sam admires and looks up to about Dean.

But Dean doesn’t want to be strong any more. He wants to stop worrying about Sam. Dean says all he can think about is how much this job’s cost them, and it’s Sam who argues that saving people’s lives hurts and isn’t fair but is worth it.

Dean’s eyes flick to Sam in this vulnerable, fearful way. I think he’s thinking about Sam here, about how nothing could be worth losing him. Not all the lives they’ve saved, not getting his mom back, nothing. He had to dig deep to find the will to wake up and his reason is Sam. Dean knows he’s in love with Sam and would do anything for him, but he believes he’s only as good as his ability to care for him, and those two things are at constant war. I think he thinks that if they could walk away from this life and be normal maybe Sam could be safe, even though he knows that’s not true.

[megistusdiary]

can i interest you all in figure-skating coach!arlecchino?

(longer post utc. no smut, just fluff? - tw slight age gap and also idk specifics on figure skating, i just like the idea 😚)

she's a well-known figure-skater, having gone to the olympics for snezhnaya for several years, each time bringing home the gold for her nation.

she's elegant in her movements yet calculated down to each singular motion to pull it all together in beautiful displays on ice. her outfits are always perfect down to the very threads sewn together.

the way she carries herself at conferences, on camera she's stoic but professional, and pretty enough to have both men and women at her feet when she performs.

that is until the incident.

a chronic back injury she's sustained from pushing her body too far. her coach was always relentless. even when she was miles ahead of her fellow competitors, her coach wanted more.

her coach demanded perfection from all her trainees, yet arlecchino was different. held on a pedestal for all to see.

but don't get it twisted. arlecchino herself would often be found practicing these challenging routines all alone at 3 in the morning. she would be exhausted, limbs aching, and relentless to achieve the cleanest routine.

that back injury changed her life. she disappeared for a few years from the skating world, leaving many of her fans in shock and fear.

luckily, for them, she returned soon after with an apprentice of her own. a younger man by the name of tartaglia with a rather charming theme to all his performances.

unlike arlecchino, he was bolder in his performances. a little sloppy, by her standards, but he made up for it in his flair. she could see even the judges swooning over him, the fans' attention now on him rather than her.

or so she had assumed.

she meets you when her old coach introduces the two of you. she's a good several years older than you, and you still carry that sweet, fresh-faced, joyful look on your face.

as you practice your routine for the both of them, her old coach leans over, suggesting arlecchino take you instead.

she snorts uncharacteristically at the suggestion, watching how your spins are slightly wobbly, the way you look just a tad too small on the ice. she wonders how in the world she could make you a star.

it isn't until she sees you perform with your music, with your passion, that she decides to train you.

she grows annoyed by how starkly different her old coach's methods have become. unlike when arlecchino trained, you clearly haven't been sculpted to perfection. she wonders how, at this point in your career, you wouldn't be there. though, she supposes your smile and demeanor make-up for some of your faults.

she trains you harder, scheduling extra lessons for you outside of your normal hours, watching you yawn and rub your eyes when she calls you in at midnight.

many of her students often leave, saying the pressure was too great. how she was too demanding. she never offered extra lessons, expecting people to bring her talent to work with in the first place.

so why did she give you extra attention?

why wouldn't she just let you leave?

no. she didn't want that... she wouldn't let that happen. she'd rather take extra time to not only make you competent, but a fierce competitor.s

she's even put you in ballet classes. even more remarkable is her own talent in ballet, which you can't help but admire.

the first time she ever finds herself looking at you closer than she imagined. she stands next to you, demonstrating stretches, her hand running up your spine to adjust your posture.

you exhale so softly, almost imperceptibly, but it makes her touch falter, landing just a little too tenderly at the base of your spine before she pulls away. she watches you the rest of the lesson, adjusting your legs and arms to the proper position, her hand trailing up to graze over your jaw.

she tilts your head upwards. "stop looking down." she comments, low and sultry, seeing you swallow thickly. "you're being trained by one of snezhnaya's most renowned figure skaters. act like it."

she gently squeezes your jaw before releasing you. "we're finished for the day." she leaves you panting, entirely embarrassed and internally screaming out.

unbeknownst to you, she sits in the car, staring at the hand she used to touch your jaw, a hardened look on her face. she clenches her hand, a soft blush appearing on her normally dull cheeks as she waits for you so you may both leave the ballet studio.

when you finally do perform at competitions, she finds herself growing much more vocal. oftentimes, she remains quiet, only cringing at her other students' stumbles and deductions.

but not with you.

your moves have become much more elegant, and everyone can see. the commentary surrounds how you seem to emulate the epitome of what your coach stood for herself, but in a much softer tone.

your performance leaves her enraptured, your routine completely clean, garnering you praise and showers of applause.

yet you leave the ice with only one person in mind, your hand brushing over hers when you walk past her to find your water bottle.

and, for the first time, she finds herself wanting more. even when you're sweaty under your glittering dress, hair a mess, makeup starting to smudge. she wants you. her perfect apprentice.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi!

I don't wanna pressure u, respond in your own time

But like, I've been studying the play Fences, which is about a Black family in the 1950s and 60s. And i was creating costume designs for the wife Rose and taking into account how it would change over the play

And I found out through research that Black hair is a form of protest and a form of self expression because it used to be heavily controlled and their freedom with hair was very restricted

I came up with having her start by wearing her hair in a low bun under a headscarf because of how Troy had power over her in the beginning, but by the end of the play her hair would be out of the bun + scarf and fall naturally around her head, showing that she gained her own power and voice over Troy

But of course I still have a lot to learn myself and I really really want to explore how to show Rose's character growth through the meaning of her hair. So is there anything you can tell me about Black hair history and how it was used as a form of protest and self-expression? Are there any specific hairstyles that mean a lot in Black protest history? If so, I would love to know!

No pressure, of course, this is merely out of genuine interest and curiosity

There is a specific section in this lesson (though I highly suggest reading all of it) that discusses the history of the afro! The natural hair that grows out of our head is a form of protest; has been for a very long time. But the afro has a specific history with protest, a symbol of my power and presence.

Even now, having natural hair, especially when it's shorter, is hard for Black women, having long grown used to long, thin hair being the acceptable (white) beauty standard. She probably wouldn't be treated well by all circles for having chosen to wear her own hair in its curls or picked out (hell, even now having locs some older Black folks act like you just don't care about yourself 🙄) but yeah, that to me would be a real deep way of taking back her autonomy.

[many-blazes-of--glory]

there's something so uncomfortable about how people will just. decide i should feel insecure about something

like. I've had very bad acne for years now. and it causes me a lot of pain so i complain about it. and even if i clarify a thousand times it's the pain i have a problem with, I've still had family members suggest me makeup to hide it when i complained. which would solve absolutely none of my problems.

I've had dermatologists (who should know exactly what kind of physical discomfort my kind of acne comes from) look at me with pity and talk about how sad it must feel for me at this age to have something like this on my face (I've gotten bullied for other reasons but never for my acne)

at the end of 8th grade they told me to not worry because they'll just edit my acne off my yearbook picture. nevermind that they didn't even ask me if *i* want them to do that. i actually think it's quite creepy to just. edit my likeness because they decided there's something wrong with how i look

and I guess my biggest point is all of these are supposedly from a place of concern. they claim to want me to feel better about myself by. changing myself i guess. but it?? makes me just feel do much worse?? i mean idk my acne is not really that bad anymore since I've been taking medicine but again, that's for the pain I've never by myself thought my acne makes me look less good or anything. oh also have i mentioned this has been going on since i was 12-13? i guess my point is adults holding children and teens to their beauty standards is really weird.

[achaotichuman]

ACOTAR Discussion

Okay, so recently my mutual @sonics-atelier posted this fic Perfect To Me (which is so fucking amazing, I cried, go read it rn) and in this fic, they write about Tamlin developing an eating disorder (specifically anorexia) since his body changed after starting to get Spring back on its feet. And it started me down a whole rant about fictional characters being the pinnacle of beauty standards, specifically in relation to what they're bodies look like. So, to save my mutuals the long spam texts about my thoughts, I'm gonna post em here.

General trigger warning- Discussion of a variety of eating disorders, body dysmorphia and Cassian.

SJM covers disordered eating within ACOTAR, it happens specifically to the female characters. And this is something, I have a huge problem with. That might seem like a massive asshole sentence, but let me explain my thought process.

These eating disorders are not well respresented, they do not further affect the plot, they only serve to be an outward appearance to the male saviour characters that something is wrong, and they never appear on the female characters in a way that makes them any less pretty, in fact, I would say, the resulting skinniness from said disordered eating, is the desired result. By that I mean, yes I think SJM writes her female characters starving themselves to make them fit the female beauty standard.

This is very evident with Nesta, who somehow miraculously only grows thinner in the waist and hips when she is starving herself. But still has massive breasts which Cassian makes a point of oogling, despite noticing how thin she is everywhere else. Instead of taking Nesta's not wanting to eat anything and turning it into a plot point for her character in which she learns to take care of and eventually love her new Fae body, SJM decides to further starve Nesta, but Cassian limiting her sugar intake, so she reminds the same 000 size in the waist.

Now, onto what really, truly makes me angry within SJM's series. Character's gaining weight, rather than losing it.

This happens once in the series. It is one singular comment, that put me off Cassian forever.

"You need to get out in the practice ring, brother. Don't want your mate to find any soft bits."

This comment was from Cassian to Rhysand in the third chapter of ACOSF, after looking Rhys up and down pretty much.

May seem like a harmless jab to a lot of people, but take into account all of the context around it.

Cassian had just been eyeing Nesta's body-clearly suffering from the effects of long-term starvation, like a hunk of meat.

They had just won a war not long ago-still coming down from the stress highs that would have no doubt been enough to put any normal person in bed for a month.

Rhysand had only recently found out about Feyre's pregnancy, if I remember correctly-would have also found out about the risks, and would be dealing the extreme stress that would be causing.

It would be incredibly normal for Rhysand to gain weight because of all these factors. Not to mention this being the first (and I'm fairly certain) only time, SJM's mentions a male character gaining weight, and it being in such a negative light, could only suggest she, and thus Cassian, find the idea unappealing or perhaps downright abhorrent.

Which really fucking pisses me off.

Most of her female characters have experienced a form of anorexia throughout the books as a trauma or stress response. And it never exists to go further than making them more conventionally attractive.

Now further on her male characters, not a single one of them ever has an ounce of fat on their body. Weight gain is entirely out of the question, even when it should be the obvious occurrence due to whatever change in their situation.

Now this also brings me to another problem I have, which also leeches into fandom behaviour.

We all love Tamlin's tits, ofc, ofc, but muscle behaves like fat if its not being actively flexed. Tamlin's pectoral muscles are no doubt incredibly strong, and would, probably be able to crack a nut (no pun intended) if flexed. But if they werent, they would be soft and squishy. No one talks about THAT THOUGH DO YOU???

Not to mention, that, Tamlin is a beast creature, wandering the forests, not training or exercising properly, and is only gouging on the carcasses of animals he kills. This could be an excellent time to lean into weight gain, and the intense feelings of guilt, and body dysmorphia that it brings.

Lets also discuss Gwyn, a traumatised young woman who fled to the Library in order to live a life of peace. She has never trained a day in her life before becoming a Valkyrie, why is she so skinny?

It's never mentioned Gwyn having any kind of reaction to her trauma that affects her eating (as far as I remember) and I think it would be far more interesting to delve into the effects grief and the lose of a dear loved one has on the body and ones eating habits.

Lets talk about Elain, who is said to use baking a coping mechanism, why is she skinny? This is the perfect opportunity to delve into a character binge eating, then extreme guilt from the times where they were in poverty, and purging. But finding comfort in food because food = wealth, wealth =safety.

And in the end, a character can be fat and be happy. Why do we have so many characters that are so thin at the end of their books?

So many of these characters also have near no stability, their diet would not doubt be changing constantly from the inconsistency in their living situations. Which should to lead to drastic changes in their body. This could be a very interesting way to explore body dysphoria. Hating seeing yourself in the mirror even if you just survived battle, because you can hardly recognise yourself. Changing so much in the mind and not even having the comfort of your body being the same. Especially with Nesta and Elain being Made against their will. I honestly believe Nesta's starvation should have been her hating her new Fae body so much that she just wants to destroy it. Her healing, should have been learning to love herself, no matter what body she is in.

In the end, your body is you, but you are more than your body. Bodies are such incredibly fascinating tool, and people don't always have to like what it looks like to care for it. Bodies can be smaller, bigger, stronger, they take your brain wherever it wants to go. But they are not all of you. And that should have been what especially Nesta's journey could have been.

Anyway, this is incredibly sensitive topic for a lot of people, so I do really want to open this up to everyone. What are your thoughts on this topic? Do you think SJM's portrayal of eating disorders is justified, or do you think I'm wrong on any of these points? Let me know in either the comments or the reblogs, I would be happy to discuss it.