#the lady who made them was also really really sweet

[grison-in-space]

You know, I want to reblog this today because one of my reading snippets has been making the rounds through radfem spaces, and I keep getting served the most atrociously bad takes. Here's the quote that kicked it off, from feminist historian of the family Stephanie Coontz in The Way We Never Were:

For every nineteenth-century middle-class family that protected its wife and child within the family circle, then, there was an Irish or a German girl scrubbing floors in that middle-class home, a Welsh boy mining coal to keep the home-baked goodies warm, a black girl doing the family laundry, a black mother and child picking cotton to be made into clothes for the family, and a Jewish or an Italian daughter in a sweatshop making “ladies”’ dresses or artificial flowers for the family to purchase.

That's the sum total of the post I released: that quote, Coontz's name and the date her book was last revised (2016).

The thing I find really illustrative about those responses is the sheer level of defensiveness radfems levy at that quote.

See, when I read that sentence, I think about the structure of the economy and of the impossible demands of it imagined by people who fantasize about the cloistered "protection" that women and girls "should" receive within the bosom of the family. I think, since this book is about the way that "traditional family" is constructed in the minds of conservatives, of how my family—I am the daughter of at least three of those groups of people, and none of them the middle class daughter who could be hidden from the world—of how my ancestors survived in that time, of the lives that they would have lived. I think of how unjust that period of time was, and frankly I also think of how much of the fight for American women's suffrage was fueled by fury and horror over the exploitation of poor children, and the argument that women would never allow these things to come to pass if only they had the vote.

(I almost wrote "the daughter of at least three of those groups of women," and then I thought better of it. Coontz included that Welsh boy and the ungendered black child in the sentence for an extremely deliberate reason: suffering is not the exclusive provenance of women. If you are not familiar with the conditions of child coal miners during the late nineteenth century, you should know that we are talking about boys as young as eight doing backbreaking ten-hour days of work that often left them maimed or dead, and conditions were no better in the coal mines of Wales overseas. If that black child happened to be a boy, that did not stop him from being expected to work equally hard. Even after slavery ended in theory, sharecropping cotton farmers often employed children as young as five or six to do hard labor in the fields in order to support their families under the exploitation of white landowners.)

In short, I think about the suffering that is needed in order to power the doctrine of separate spheres that so many of these chucklefucks fantasize about following. I think about labor history and the occupational safeties we fought so hard to build, including cases like the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire that disproportionately affected women working in those other corners of labor mentioned. And I reflect on the unattainability of that ideal, even ignoring the reality that cloisters are at least as much a trap as a sanctuary. I've knocked around enough to know what benevolent sexism is.

That isn't how radfems read it. Instantly they get defensive. How dare I, they hiss, imply that this middle class woman had it great when they were being controlled and curtailed by their patriarchs? As if there was no better reason to critique the fucking doctrine of separate spheres from a feminist perspective than to, what, to shame wealthier women? The lack of self awareness is just astonishing.

My dear sweet summer children, no one in that sentence is accusing those middle class women of a goddamn thing. They aren't, mostly, the architects of the system of family in which they lived. The book is an examination of what family actually meant to Americans writ large across history and a critique of reactionary conservative nostalgia for a way of living that, bluntly, sucked for almost everyone.

But the reflexive defensiveness from these radfems is the piece I wanted to draw attention to. These folks see "This fantasized separation of women's and men's public spheres could not be executed without the labor of many thousandfold women and their children who did not have the option of withdrawing from public work. And after all, with apologies to Sojourner Truth, aren't they also women? Does your feminism then have no space for advocating for little children? Because the fucking first waves had that much figured out for themselves!

For radfems as a school, then, online feminism has become not a lens with which to strive for gender justice but a shield with which to stifle any implication that any individual woman might so much as participate in an unjust world, let alone the notion that there might be intersectional conflicts (within womanhood and otherwise) from which some women benefit. Oh, they'll generously allow that intersectional oppressions exist, and they usually squawk with outrage if you imply that they don't believe in them.

But if you simply don't take the time to flatter the notion that not all suffering can be boiled down to misogyny, or that other forms of suffering might trump misogyny—that other misogynies might inflict greater literal wounds than middle class fantasies about protecting women and children from the greater world, even as other women and children are being constantly thrown into the grist mill so that the same middle class could benefit!

If you don't stop to pay appeasement to that concept, radfems moan and cry and sob and invent strawmen arguments. In so doing, they show us what their priorities really are.

In general, understanding radical feminism for what it is and why it appeals to many people requires an understanding that the greatest strength of radical feminism as a tool for understanding misogyny and sexism is also its greatest faultline.

See, radical feminism is a second wave position in feminist thought and development. It is a reaction to what we sometimes call first wave feminism, which was so focused on specific legal freedoms that we usually refer to the activists who focused on it as suffragists or suffragettes: that is, first wave feminists were thinking about explicit laws that said "women cannot do this thing, and if they try, the law of the state and of other powerful institutions will forcibly evict them." Women of that era were very focused on explicit and obvious barriers to full participation in public and civil life, because there were a lot of them: you could not vote, you could not access education, you could not be trained in certain crucial professions, you could not earn your own pay even if you decided you wanted to.

And so these activists began to try to dig into the implicit beliefs and cultural structures that served to trap women asking designated paths, even if they did wish to do other things. Why is it that woman are pressured not to go into certain high prestige fields, even if in theory no one is stopping them? How do our ideas and attitudes about sex and gender create assumptions and patterns and constrictions that leave us trapped even when the explicit chains have been removed?

The second wave of feminism, then, is what happened when the daughters of this first wave--and their opponents--looked around and said to themselves: hold on, the explicit barriers are gone. The laws that treat us as a different and lesser class of people are gone. Why doesn't it feel like I have full access to freedoms that I see the men around me enjoying? What are the unspoken laws that keep us here?

And so these activists focused on the implicit ideas that create behavioral outcomes. They looked inward to interrogate both their own beliefs and the beliefs of other people around them. They discovered many things that were real and illuminated barriers that people hadn't thought of, especially around sexual violence and rape and trauma and harassment. In particular, these activists became known for exercises like consciousness-raising, in which everyday people were encouraged to sit down and consider the ways in which their own unspoken, implicit beliefs contributed to general societal problems of sexism and misogyny.

Introspection can be so intoxicating, though, because it allows us to place ourselves at the center of the social problems that we see around us. We are all naturally a little self centered, after all. When your work is so directly tied to digging up implications and resonances from unspoken beliefs, you start getting really into drawing lines of connection from your own point of interest to other related marginalizations--and for this generation of thinkers, often people who only experienced one major marginalization got the center of attention. Compounding this is the reality that it is easier to see the impacts of marginalization when they apply directly to you, and things that apply to you seem more important.

So some of this generation of thinkers thought to themselves, hang on. Hang on. Misogyny has its fingers in so many pies that we don't see, and I can see misogyny echoing through so many other marginalizations too--homophobia especially but also racism and ableism and classism. These echoes must be because there is one central oppression that underlies all the others, and while theoretically you could have a society with no class distinctions and no race distinctions, just biologically you always have sex and gender distinctions, right? So: perhaps misogyny is the original sin of culture, the well from which all the rest of it springs. Perhaps there's really no differences in gender, only in sex, and perhaps we can reach equality if only we can figure out how to eradicate gender entirely. Perhaps misogyny is the root from which all other oppressions stem: and this group of feminists called themselves radical feminists, after that root, because radix is the Latin word for root.

Very few of this generation of thinkers, you may be unsurprised to note, actually lived under a second marginalization that was not directly entangled with sexism and gender; queerness was pretty common, but queerness is also so very hard to distinguish from gender politics anyway. It's perhaps not surprising that at this time several Black women who were interested in gender oppression became openly annoyed and frustrated by the notion that if only we can fix gender oppression, we can fix everything: they understood racism much more clearly, they were used to considering and interrogating racism and thinking deeply about it, and they thought that collapsing racism into just a facet of misogyny cheapened both things and failed to let you understand either very well. These thinkers said: no, actually, there isn't one original sin that corrupted us all, there are a host of sins humans are prone to, and hey, isn't the concept of original sin just a little bit Christianocentric anyway?

And from these thinkers we see intersectional feminists appearing. These are the third wave, and from this point much mainstream feminist throughout moves to asking: okay, so how do the intersections of misogyny make it appear differently in all these different marginalized contexts? What does misogyny do in response to racial oppression? What does it look like against this background, or that one?

But the radical feminists remained, because seeing your own problems and your own thought processes as the center of the entire world and the answer to the entire problem of justice is very seductive indeed. And they felt left behind and got quite angry about this, and cast about for ways to feel relevant without having to decenter themselves. And, well, trans women were right there, and they made such a convenient target...

That's what a TERF is.

Now you know.

[muli-wam]

Regency-era!Nanami who grew up in an extremely wealthy family, which in turn gifted him a fairly large amount of money as an inheritance after his father died.

Regency-era!Nanami who since being an only child, never had anyone to else to entertain him but himself, therefore developing a keen interest in exotic teas and flavored breads that the cook always prepared for him.

Regency-era!Nanami who finds himself in the bustling market of your small countryside town looking for a particular tea blend that's rumored to be the best in the region.

Regency-era!Nanami who avoids prying gazes of common folk wondering what such a stoic and wealthy man is doing in such a tiny village. In all honesty, Nanami was really here for tea, but also for his best friend who seemed to have a liking toward a certain lady he met at a ball recently.

He couldnt help but agree to travel the distance from his comfortable home since he would be getting tea out of it. Oh, not to mention the wild garlic that grows abundantly in your region, which is rumored to taste excellent when baked in bread.

Regency-era!Nanami who approaches a fruit stall adorned with colorful labels and price signs above the various fruits.

The sweet aroma of melons, berries, apples and a variety of different fruit fill his senses, and for a second, Nanami allows himself to drown in the heavenly scent before getting back to his original mission.

He needed directions on where to find his beloved tea, but just as he's about to ask, one of the apples you were inspecting rolls off the counter.

Quick to act, you dive to catch it, only to collide (ever so gracefully) with Nanami's arm as he too reaches for the same apple, believing he is helping.

Regency-era!Nanami who freezes, slightly flustered from the contact of both of your hands touching over the apple.

Regency-era!Nanami who's intrigued by your incessant apologies and sincerity. Your modest appearance captivated him, and he felt an unfamiliar sense of want toward your presence.

Regency-era!Nanami steps back, leaving you space while silently nodding along to your apologies—you haven't even taken the time to look at him yet, still scrambling to pick up runaway apples and shoving them into your basket.

Regency-era!Nanami who has an unexpected spark in his usually reserved expression. With slightly widened eyes Nanami studies your features when you finally look up at him.

The soft curve of your jaw, the way your eyebrows furrow in concern while you're internally cursing at yourself for being so clumsy. You were captivating, to say the least, and your mere presence seemed to make Nanami's words stuck in his throat.

Regency-era!Nanami who dismisses your apologies, insisting you're of no inconvenience to him. He raises a quizzical brow, questioning to himself as to why you're beating yourself up so much over this.

Regency-era!Nanami who comes up with a pathetic excuse when you ask him what a man like him was doing in your tiny village. He doesn't know why he didn't just say he needed directions and that he was visiting for a friend. No, instead he said he was here solely for apples.

So, to further prove his point, Nanami bought exactly one pound of apples. He doesnt even like apples.

But they reminded him of you.

What was this feeling? Nanami pondered this to himself for a brief second. Was it the longing for friendship? Yes, he had Haibara but he could be a bit much at times. Was it merely a small crush? Or God forbid...love?

Regency-era!Nanami didn't believe in love at first sight. He saw it in plays he attended, he read it in–barely tolerable–romantic novels, and had to endure his younger cousin gush about how positively in love she was with the officers that frequently passed through his hometown.

You were different though. You made Nanami's stomach feel ill, not in a bad way though. It was a pleasant yet uncomfortable feeling that he couldnt quite shake.

You were like a ray of sunshine in his dull life surrounded by money hungry people. You were the only tolerable thing to him, aside from his young cousin, Nobara.

Regency-era!Nanami who watches as you walk way while clutching your "rescued apples", a feeling of warmth you couldn't understand washes through you.

Regency-era!Nanami who longs to see you again, tea forgotten as he embarks on another mission: finding you.

Regency-era!Nanami who finds himself in God's favor when he spots you again, under less chaotic circumstances, talking with someone at a ball.

Regency-era!Nanami who finds himself and Haibara approaching you and your family. Nanami playfully scoffs when he sees a drop of sweat roll down Haibara's forehead. Nanami concluded that the girl he's been lovestruck about was your sister.

You and Nanami introduce yourselves (again), this time more calmer. Nanami seemed to be in a trance from you honeyed voice and the way you carried yourself. How effortlessly beautiful you were, and the way the glow of the ballroom lights casted the perfect shadows on your face, making you look like an angel.

At that moment Regency-era!Nanami considered that maybe, just maybe, he really is in love with you.

-

A/n: I've been obsessed with Pride and Prejudice recently and I thought nanami would fit so well as Mr. Darcy 😭 Nanami is so versatile I swear. Also I wrote this entire thing in a british accent 💀

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Korea Is Back, Baby

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2025 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 22 of 24 - Faifa is a natural flirt. He just flirts with everybody. I think it’s an essential part of his personality. I hope Wine is okay with that. I wish we got a little bit more about Wine’s past and history and why he is the way he is.

Ohm is our super hot P’Tor? Glorious! GREAT spot casting. Also a nice sweet character - direct and honest. I liked everything about this cameo.

All in all a nice ep. Lovely execution of the rooftop assignation trope. (It's an OLD one, was in Takumi-kun)

Top Form (Thurs WeTV) ep 2 of 10 - ep 2 and we are already on dub con and a stolen kisses? Charming. Frankly, I found this second installment a little dull. But I’m still enjoying the show.

My Golden Blood (Weds iQIYI) Ep 3 of 12 - is that the same house as Win’s family home in Between Us? 

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (Fri iQIYI) ep 2 of 12 - no ep this week.

Lost in the Woods (Weds Gaga) ep 2 of 7 - Meh. I’m DN-effing this one. Effing indeed.

Flirt Milk (Sat YT) ep 10 end - I just want the photography club pres to get a boy. Could he have his own BL please? 

Summary

An insipid story of a boy who likes another boy at a university photography club. One of them is dim and the other is a jerk and that's it. Side couples are BL and GL, with the back-up gays the only good thing about this whole show and there isn't much of them. 4/10

Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) ep 12 END - finally it's over. I will say that the actress they got to play Mo’s sister does look like she really could be Mix’s sister.

Summary 

Was this punishment for how fantastic Cherry Magic Thailand was? WHY DID THIS HAPPEN?!! I never liked this IP. It's a terrible story based entirely on a love triangle, the viability of the whole show hinges on the boss character being likable, because the lead is an unsympathetic looser (and user of people), and the roommate/love interest has no personality. With better optics, better kisses, and better chemistry than the original this Thai version STILL managed to be worse with more workplace harassment. A true feat of, well, something that ended up the visual equivalent of smelling like feet. Save yourself from the pong. 4/10

Finally… where tf were my ladies? The female characters were the best thing about the original.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Heesu in Class 2 (Korea Fri Viki) eps 1-2 of 10 - Adaption of the comic by Lily, about a shy unpopular boy with a secret crush on best friend who somehow also ends up his school's relationship counselor. This was my most anticipated BL of it's original year (2022) and I am so glad it's living up to expectations (I worried about how long it was in dev hell).

It is both painfully cute and painfully awkward and I love it. Giving Light on Me vibes. Sex Ed but a KBL is basically made for me.  I love all the characters. I love the friendship group. I love the poor lonely super studious actual love interest. Everything. Thank you Korea.

Secret Relationships (Korea iQIYI) ep 5 of 8 - episode five, and I’m starting to just feel so sorry for poor Da-on. Aw linguistic negotiation my love! I still enjoy it but things are getting dark for our hero.

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 8 of 12 - my love affair with our new blond boy continues. He is best boy.

Checkered Shirt (Korea YT) ep 7 of 8 - I’m enjoying this. In that cautious way I have with this particular production house, since they don’t always stick the landing.

Fight for You (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 1-2 of 12 - I liked premise of the show, but I’m not loving the execution. It’s the same company that does the robot stuff. And it’s got that same awkward tone and lackluster aura.  I absolutely hate the nosy grandmother character, and she may be a dealbreaker for me continuing to watch the show if she shows up regularly. This is the character (and personality type) I find the most intolerable in the world.

It's airing but......

Sashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) 13 eps - Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their asses off. Doesn't interest me, not sure if it's BL.

Last Meal Universe (Thai ????) 8 eps - An alien who has come to destroy earth instead falls in love with Thai food and then the Thai boy who cooks it - realistic, actually. I got a link to watch but it still wouldn't work for me, so I guess I'm waiting to see what happens.

In case you missed it (I did)

I never caught Marahuyo Project when it was airing but I recently binged it and it is charming. Not BL really (no trope et al), more a kind of 90's style Big Eden or Shelter early queer cinema thing. Made me very nostalgic for those bad old days. Definitely worth a watch if you like that kind of QL, it's 8 eps on ANIMA Studios YT channel.

Next Week Looks Like This:

COMING IN APRIL

4/3 Business as Usual AKA Eul's Love (Korea Thurs Viki/Gaga) 7 eps - trailer on Twitter Kim Min Jun, a 30-year-old office worker, is stuck in the repetitive cycle of his 9-to-5 job and can’t shake the feeling that something is missing from his life. Things take an unexpected turn when his ex-boyfriend Jin Hwan, whom he hasn’t seen in 8 years, suddenly reappears at his office as a new colleague.

4/25 My Sweetheart Jom (Thai Fri YouTube) - trailer Saint is back in a BL? Who knew that would ever happen? When he gets tangled up with a mafia boss's son's girlfriend and ends up in a scuffle, young Yothin needs to find a safe place. Instead of sending him overseas, his father decides to send him to the countryside. There, he stays in Bang Pho under the care of subdistrict headman, a close friend of his father. He's also under the watchful eye of the village headman who happens to be the subdistrict headman's grandson and is overseeing his probation. As Yothin spends more time with Jomkhwan, his perception of the village headman begins gradually to change.

4/26 The Bangkokboy AKA Bangkok Boys (Thai Sat ????) trailer - messy gays

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Everyone loved the rooftop kiss but I adored that cuddle.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[daincrediblegg]

Went to the ren fair today and all I got was this lousy crown🙄👑

[eec713]

Sometimes, I like to enhance the writing process by leaving ridiculous comments on my document as I write. Then, when I go back through to edit, I get the added entertainment of being reminded of whatever clownery popped into my head as I was writing.

Some of my favorite examples from the chapter of TLWHAHD that will be uploaded on Monday are below the cut :)

[cosmicrhetoric]

im realizing all cult classic sitcoms from the 80s and 90s had a Surprisingly Supportive season one gay episode but you know the one from golden girls was really sweet

[saltymarshmall0w]

Danny is "in denial" about the Waynes being vigilantes

Danny is really grateful for the Waynes taking him in and all but it’s just… it’s really obvious they’re vigilantes. Do they WANT him to find out? Why?? To join their battalion?

Hell nah. He’s already got enough going on trying to keep in check the many shades in the city.

Danny simply pretends to be oblivious about the Waynes being vigilantes. That's a future Danny problem.

It turns into Kyle levels of denial, where he ends up pretending he thinks the vigilantes are actors hired by the city to cover up all the ghosts haunting Gotham.

And obviously, the city bases them on the infamously growing Wayne family. It's so sweet of the Waynes to volunteer to dress up as their character for public appearances.

Meanwhile, Bruce has banned outright telling Danny even though it's been nearly a year of him living with them. So what if Danny glows sometimes and has full conversations with invisible people in dark alleyways, everyone has their quirks! so, the Batkids have resolved to just "accidentally" leave their mask on after patrol or make tactical plans loudly about taking down Penguin's latest scheme with Danny a room over.

-

“Is Dick coming to the Gala?” Danny asked as his head swiveled between his phone and the mirror as he attempted to tie his own tie. How did his mom always make it look so easy?

“No, he is going out as Batman tonight, since Father is unable to.” Damian responded. He may as well be blasé about their identities, seeing as Fenton was obviously both completely aware of their identities and completely in denial.

“Oh, man. Does that mean one of the “rouges” are going to attack the gala?” Danny asked, “It’s probably going to be that Two-face guy, huh? He hasn’t made an appearance in a while and his character arc with “Brucie” hasn’t made any progress in a while.”

“Nonsense, there is no predicting the mindset of a criminal like Two-face.” Damian ignored Danny’s disbelieving scoff as he maneuvered his newest brother to face him so he could take over the task for him, else they would be standing there all night. “Besides, Drake is in charge of security for the gala and will do an adequate job securing the venue. If you are afraid remain by my side where I can protect you.”

Damian tightened the tie around Danny's neck and stepped back to let Fenton pull his own collar down.

"That's very sweet of you, Dami." Danny reached up a hand and mussed up Damian's newly-gelled hair, garnering a growl and a shove from the boy. "But you should do normal kid things during the gala, like accidentally saying rude things to old ladies, or complaining about how bored you are, and don't forget to prank all the evil billionaires."

...

The “I told you so.” Danny brazenly mouthed to Damian later in the evening from where Two-face held a gun to his head was as infuriating as it was distressing.

—

(Kyle Weston is the fanon brother of Wes Weston (also a fanon character) who’s whole thing is that he believes in conspiracy theories like Wes, but doesn’t believe in ghosts at all to Wes’s frustration.)

[bunny-jpeg]

i have this little thought bouncing around in my head! single father simon. (a drabble)

*shrug*

simon ends up with his daughter winnie after her mother abandons her at his doorstep. he was the father, it was his turn to take care of her. simon could handle warfare, he could handle guns and sweat and metal. he could handle blood and bruises.

but a fussy newborn was a little too much for him.

enter you, it was your summer off from university and you were making extra money by babysitting for parents who couldn't afford weeks of posh summer camps. it was decent work and you were pretty good with them! so being concerned for your neighbour, simon's well being, you offered to watch winnie.

simon very well fell in love with you the moment you took the baby girl into you arms. winnie instantly got settled into your grasp, almost like you were her mother.

"what a lovely baby girl." you cooed, you looked at her with such affection already. you looked at simon and smiled, "she looks too cute to be yours." a playful jab.

you watched winnie while simon was at work. you didn't know what he did for work, but you tried not to ask too many questions. all you knew was that the checks didn't bounce when you cashed them.

but being with winnie for so many days had gossip go through the apartment building. you had a baby with simon? why were you in two separate apartments? where did the lovely newborn sleep? she SHOULD be sleeping with her mother (you).

when you tried to correct them, simon always said, "ah don't worry. we'll be havin' our own place soon enough!" his large hand snaked around your waist.

you just looked down at winnie who was sound asleep in her stroller. she couldn't care less who her mommy and daddy were. it wouldn't be hard to be the mother she'd otherwise be without, right?

that was the angle that simon too.

you'd make the most perfect mrs. riley. you were already taking care of winnie, but also him when he came home. you shouldn't be the nanny, you should be winnie's mama.

"she really loves you." simon remarked when you went with him to the pool.

you were in a one piece swim suit and you were making sure that the baby was out of the sun and had sunscreen on. you didn't want her to get sick or burned.

currently she was resting on your chest while you were in the shade. in your free hand you had a book in it and the other was on winnie's back. you said, "i don't know what you're talking about." as if you hadn't heard the comments from the little old ladies about how sweet you two looked.

"look like a real mama."

you looked to him and raised your eyebrows, "i thought i was the babysitter, mister riley."

simon placed a hand on your thigh then rubbed up and down, "nah."

it didn't take long for you and simon to get intimate. he asked you to stay because winnie had been having trouble sleeping. you two shared a glass of wine and then you found yourself face first into simon's bed. the scent of him filled your head as he fucked you into the comfortable mattress.

he loved the sound of your pussy as he fucked you without much abandon. the thickness on your hips would only grow once he made sure his next child was inside of you. you'd be such a good mama, unlike that previous bitch who left him.

maybe there was a good reason why she left him.

cum clung to the fuzz on your pussy lips and was a bitch to clean in the shower come morning.

he woke you up and said, "she needs her mama. she gettin' fussy, doll." then watched you stumble around to find clothes to wear while you checked on winnie as if the little girl was your own. his hand was wrapped around his cock. he wondered how many more times he could finish in you before you stumbled back to your apartment.

the answer was four.

it wouldn't be easy carrying for a sprouting little baby plus the baby boy you were currently pregnant with. you've put school off for a little while and moved in with simon, your due date was in the middle of the semester. now you were trying to figure out what food was good for a teething winnie while also trying to manage the riley son that was occupying your womb.

you were making dinner for your growing family with a cute little maternity dress of. simon was at the table with winnie. he knew that one day he'd have to tell her that you weren't her actual mama. but you were raising her and her little brother too.

"see there's mama." simon said in that grumbled voice of his, pointing in your direction.

you didn't imagine that you would've ended up as a stay-at-home mother to two children who were than a year apart. but as you felt the shift of your 'second' baby inside of you, you smiled.

you heard winnie make a little noise to get your attention. you checked on the pot of sauce on the stove before you turned away to check on your little girl.

[nightingale-prompts]

The Nightingale Family-DC x DP prompt

(Shameless Addams family inspired prompt)

News travels fast in Gotham, especially in affluent circles. A new family has arrived in the city, old money at that. They had taken up residents in the old mansion overlooking the Historic Gotham Graveyard.

The Nightingales had a way of letting their presence be known. They were rarely seen in public. The eldest Jasmine Nightingale however had made waves working at the Gotham Asylum as a psychologist. She was often escorted by her younger brother Dan Nightingale. The public really started talking when Jazz was seen talking with Harley Quinn.

There were two children that lived in the Nightingale manor. They were elusive to say the least as the family didn't attend the parties of Gotham.

It wasn't until Damian Wayne got an invite from his classmate Danielle to visit their manor that someone saw the lives of Nightingales. This invite had been received after Damian carefully befriended the youngest Nightingale to investigate their connections.

That's how the Waynes ended up at a dinner party.

The manor was bleak to say the least and that's saying something in Gotham. The buildingbwas made from black stones and gargoyles perched on the roof. The garden was wilted and full of thrones that crept up the walls.

Bruce felt a sense of Deja vu as he approached the door and rang the bell. Tower bells rang out as the face of Jasmine Nightingale appeared. She was dressed in black dress pants and blazer. Her lips were painted to match. Her red hair had a striking white streak through it which had become a fashion trend since the family's arrival to girls wanting to seem mysterious.

"Good Evening. It is so nice to meet the infamous Waynes." She shook Bruce's hand. Behind her, the sounds of clanking metal was heard. "That is just my younger siblings playing. You don't you boys join while I talk to your father.

Despite only being a fresh-faced 20 year old Jazz carried herself like a confident adult. A certified genius in psychology who graduated early she also handled the inmates at the Asylum well enough that escapes are at an all time low.

"She's got it all" was what Harley said.

Bruce's admiration of the young lady was only matched by his suspicion. The house the Nightingales lived y had once belonged to the Al Ghouls. There was no telling yet if there was a connection.

He took a seat in the living room with Jazz tea already prepared. She poured two cups of black tea. Not black as in the type of tea but the color of the drink. Bruce cautiously sniffed the black liquid, it smelled earthy and acidic. Poison.

"Do you like it? I made it myself. I added the belladonna myself. It has a sweet taste so you don't need sugar. The kids have sweet tooths but we avoid added sugars. They love nightshade." She smiled drinking.

Bruce put the cup down. So they drink poison at a young age. They must be part of The League of Assassins. But why are they here?

"If you don't mind me asking. Why did you move to Gotham? Your parents-" Jazz put a hand up as she finished her cup.

"Mr. Wayne I'm sure you are no stranger to parents leaving before their time nor the concept that not all parents deserve children. Now I can't confirm or deny if that is the case for use but you can understand that it's a private matter." Jazz said sternly.

That wasn't an answer.

Upstairs Danny and Danielle played with Elle's new toys. Swords from Dan's trip to Portugal. He even sharpened them. They were currently tearing through the mansion.

Tim and Damian caught them while Danny had successfully pinned Elle to the ground.

"Dami! Help!" Elle yelled catching Danny off guard as Damian tackled Danny to the ground.

"Alright, alright. You can go next." Danny rolling Damian off him and passing him the sword. "Im taking a break."

Danny loved playing with his little sister but baby games are tiring.

"They let you play with swords," Tim exclaimed. This wasn't something he expected, sure it was normal for Damian but Damian is weird and was raised by assassins. Damian didn't do it for fun, it was training.

Damian and Danielle ran off while fencing.

"You must be one of the Waynes. Elle has been excited to have your brother over." Danny said politely if not a bit dismissive.

"Eh, yeah. Your sister said we should join you." Tim said a bit awkward. " You have another brother right?"

"Oh, yeah. He travels alot but he's relaxing right now. He's probably swimming." Danny shrugged.

Tim had heard of Danny. They went to the same school but Danny was part of a program that allowed him to come to school when he felt like it. The program is for young engineers who want to work for Wayne Industries. He mostly worked on small experimental projects. So far Danny's superconductor tech was revolutionary but impossible to replicate. Danny somehow managed to make a more effective coolant than anything they had created in the lab.

"You have a pool?" Tim knew that the mansion didn't have a pool.

"Of water? No." Danny shrugged but gave no further answer.

"I see, so what do you do?" Tim tried to sound normal like he was talking to his friends and not someone he was trying to probe.

"Anything, everything. I was going to recalibrate my telescope but I have a laser to test." Danny walked off expecting Tim to follow.

Testing was just cut a bunch of things in half. Tim got some great info on making an explosive ice canister and foam bombs. Tim made sure to get his number to hire him to make some gear for him.

The Nightingale kids were absolutely lawless. They destroyed everything in their path.

Elle had dragged Damian to her room to show off her toys. She used to travel with Dan until she started school. She picked up a bunch of items. Cult artifacts, shrunken heads, voodoo dolls, cursed puppets, knives, swords, and the homemade taxidermy Elle made from roadkill. She also had a pet dodo bird named Ernesto who had a bed next to her bed. Ernesto took a liking to Damian and sat on his head. The way he shows his affection

Soon enough Dan came upstairs to check on Elle and Danny.

"You kids, need to get ready for dinner. Sharpen your nails and teeth." He said before going back to the kitchen.

"What does that mean?" Damian asked.

"You don't sharpen your nails. Well good luck at dinner." Elle said bemused.

Dinner was...horrifying. Watching the family chat happily as they ripped apart the moving food as it came to life. Damian was actually excited as he skewered the cheese and broccoli casserole that screamed at him.

"Father, why can't we do this at our home?" He asked.

[thymechaos]

i just can't believe that oda fucking create sanji, a stereotypical ladies man who simps to an embarrassing degree for women while having his hackles comically raised around everyone he perceives as a man - and most notably butting heads with the more obvious ~manly man~ of the crew. haha, classic anime running gag, the kind that gets obnoxious at times but still makes you laugh.

AND THEN, like a billion chapters later, motherfucker steeples his fingers and goes "soooooooo... what makes a person Like That?"

and the answer is that he grew up in fucking Toxic Masculinity, The Kingdom. the answer is that he was always Different, in a way other guys instinctively perceived as weak, and that made him the target of visceral scorn and violence. the answer is that he was sensitive, sweet, caring, nurturing - feminine-coded traits which are only valued by patriarchy insofar that they're performed by women in service of men. the answer is that in a kingdom comprised almost entirely by violent men, the only ones who were ever kind to him, the only safety he ever had, were a girl and a woman.

so cooking is for women and servants, it makes you less of a man. only women will ever really value you for your passions and dreams. women are also actively hurt by the way the world works, they are unsafe unless they comply with men's violence, and you have to protect them.

(men will always know what you are, and they will hurt you if you let them.)

and even after he leaves... at baratie he is cherished and respected, but even that is an extremely masculine environment. we don't talk about our feelings, we don't let our guard down, the only love is tough love. when he tries to express his artistry and express himself through his cooking, rather than just filling orders and making money, he gets mocked.

so here is a man who will not raise a hand to a woman, because he rejects the masculinity he was raised with and refuses to become yet another man subjecting women to violence. he is desperate for women's attention and affection because it's SAFE, it's the only kind he can trust. other men are potential threats and must be treated as such. he must at all times be snarky, tough, Not Feminine, because to be perceived otherwise is to be powerless, to be hurt.

like y'all. the queer coding of it all? the overtly feminist themes? the active rejection of toxic masculinity and the way it's shown to be directly tied to imperialism? what the fuck.

[blythesarchives]

Just As You Are. | B.B

summary: He tries his best for Valentine's Day.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Fluff | CW!Bucky x Fem!reader | Cunnilingus | PiV sex | Light dirty talk | Unprotected sex | Slightly insecure Bucky

a/n: I'm not big into Valentine's Day just because it feels very commercialized to me, but I like imagining it with Bucky. This plot changed so many times lmao but I think I am satisfied with how this turned out. If you're allergic to strawberries, just imagine a different fruit. Not beta read. ;; wc: 4.2k

Bucky stood motionless in the bustling store, his steely eyes fixed with a deep frown upon the endless aisle dedicated to Valentine's Day merchandise.

He didn't remember it being so...big back in the day. The sheer volume of products and options left him feeling completely overwhelmed, his mind drifting back to simpler times when a thoughtful bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolate were considered more than acceptable tokens of affection for your sweetheart.

Now, he watched as frantic shoppers rushed past him, their arms laden with elaborate bouquets, towers of candy boxes, and enormous stuffed bears that seemed to grow more ridiculously sized with each passing year.

There were some shoppers who took a different approach, selecting items for personalized gift baskets filled with practical things like cozy socks or fragrant bath bombs. That seemed more personalized with his old-fashioned sensibilities, but you weren't particularly fond of long soaks in the tub, making that option feel somehow inadequate.

A wave of insecurity washed over him unexpectedly. Despite knowing that you had never once demonstrated materialistic tendencies or pressured him for presents, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he should be showering you with gifts. Traditional values ingrained in him insisted that as the man in the relationship, this was his role to fulfill. His heart warmed slightly at the mental image of you beaming with delight over an armful of fresh flowers or savoring each piece from a velvet-lined, heart-shaped box of premium, ridiculously expensive chocolates.

Truthfully, he felt completely lost about what would be the perfect gift for you. The confident, charming young man he used to be - the one who could effortlessly capture a lady's attention with just a well-timed smile or clever word - seemed like a stranger from another lifetime. These days, the gazes that would drift to him were filled with suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

Defeated and increasingly anxious, Bucky turned away from the crowded store aisle, his mind spinning with uncertainty as he struggled to think of what to get you for this special occasion. As he made his way through the bustling shop, he passed by an enthusiastic florist who was eagerly displaying enormous bouquets of perfectly arranged, vibrant red roses.

The vendor was encouraging every passing customer to purchase one, his sales pitch well-rehearsed and persistent. The sight made Bucky recall a conversation from several months ago, where you had expressed your views on traditional romantic gestures. You explained that while roses were undeniably a sweet and romantic gesture, they felt somewhat predictable and conventional to you. Too ordinary, you had said, preferring instead gifts that showed genuine thought and consideration.

"Sure, roses are beautiful. I think they're a wonderful gift for birthdays or valentine's, whatever. But...I don't know. Everyone gets roses. I would be happy but it would also sort of feel like you didn't really try, since they're so abundant and common. It makes them feel less special. Hopefully that doesn't make me sound snobbish. I'd rather get a more personalized bouquet or...one with my favorite flowers instead." You glanced up at Bucky who was nodding and listening, remembering, for later.

Though the roses were beautiful, their pristine petals catching the store's fluorescent lighting to aid in their deep crimson coloration, Bucky could practically envision the polite but slightly underwhelmed expression that would cross your face if he chose such a common option.

Plus...why were flowers so expensive these days? A dozen roses for almost a hundred dollars? The modern pricing was ridiculous - back in his day, that kind of money could have bought several weeks' worth of groceries. Besides, a lot of the bouquets contained wilted flowers. If he got you a bouquet, each and every flower would be alive and well.

He didn't want to leave without getting you something special, something that would bring a genuine smile to your face. He stood there for several long moments, running his flesh hand through his hair as he considered what kind of gift would truly resonate with you, something that would perfectly balance thoughtfulness with appropriateness while still managing to surprise you.

After spending what felt like hours wandering through the store's aisles and watching other men pick the big red hearts off the shelves without a second thought, he began to carefully examine each heart-shaped box of chocolates, reading every label and ingredient list to ensure he found the exact type of varieties you had mentioned loving. Finally satisfied with a winner, he put it in the basket he grabbed.

Moving through the store, he made his way to the stuffed animal section, where he spent considerable time comparing different plush versions of your favorite animal, wanting to select the one with the perfect expression and the softest fur. That one looked too grumpy, that one looked lopsided, that one wasn’t proportioned right - but he found the perfect one.

Then rather than settling for a pre-arranged bouquet, he thoughtfully handpicked each individual flower, remembering all the times you had pointed out different blooms during your walks together, creating a personalized arrangement that represented all your favorites. Even with the care and attention he put into each gift selection, a nagging feeling of inadequacy crept in - everything he chose, while thoughtful, still felt too ordinary.

Bucky shook his head and paid for the items, ignoring the feeling.

Back at home, he arranged everything perfectly. He individually wrapped each item, positioning them precisely in the basket alongside the plush animal and chocolates. Taking his time with the flowers, he trimmed each stem at exactly the right angle and arranged them in the vase until the composition was just right. When Bucky finally stepped back to assess his work, his heart sank slightly, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

The entire arrangement somehow still didn't feel special or unique enough.

Alpine gracefully leapt onto the counter, her blue eyes focusing intently on the array of gifts laid out. She lowered her head, her pink nose twitching as she investigated each item curiously. "What do you think, girl...good enough?" Bucky asked softly, his fingers running through the ragdoll's silky fur as he gently stroked from her head down along her back.

After her inspection, Alpine cast one final, contemplative glance at the presents. Then, with typical cat-like indifference, she turned away from them, her fluffy tail held high like a banner as she delicately padded across the counter to the edge, and descended to the floor with one smooth leap.

"Bad, huh?" Bucky released a heavy sigh, his eyes lingering on the carefully chosen gifts as waves of uncertainty began to wash over him, his anxiety gradually creeping in and eating away at him.

He didn't have more time to wrestle with his uncertainties as the sound of keys jingling at the front door caught his attention. You made your entrance quicker than he had anticipated, your exhausted form slowly making its way through the doorway after what was clearly an demanding day at work. You kicked off your shoes in a haphazard manner, letting them land wherever they might. The weariness etched across your features told him everything he needed to know about the challenging nature of your workday.

"Hey," Bucky offered in greeting as he made his way over to you in the entryway, his mind racing as he tried to keep you from noticing the carefully prepared gifts just yet. Perhaps if he could buy himself a little more time, he might figure out something better to give you than the basic gifts.

A soft, tired grumble was all you could muster in response, though the gentle warmth in his eyes worked its magic in lifting your spirits considerably. "Hey..." you murmured an actual response, crossing the space between you to wrap your arms around his sturdy frame. He gladly hugged you back, letting you bury yourself against him.

The thought of spending the entire day at home with him had been your secret wish throughout your shift, but responsibilities couldn't be ignored. He had promised to make the evening special, and that thought alone helped you persevere through the long hours of your workday.

Bucky thought fast, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze with those intense steel-blue eyes. "How about a hot bath? I can get one ready for you, make it nice and warm - it'll be perfect for those sore muscles of yours...plus, I know you’ve been on your feet all day." He offered gently, his flesh hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. A playful smirk slowly spread across his lips as he added, "I could even feed you some fresh strawberries while you relax..."

"Ugh, that sounds so heavenly right now..." You agreed with a soft, appreciative moan, already imagining the soothing warmth of the water and the sweet taste of cool fruit.

Bucky made his way to the bathroom, wanting to create the perfect relaxing atmosphere for you after your long day. He tested the water temperature with his flesh hand until it reached that ideal warmth you always preferred, then clogged the drain.

While the tub filled, he selected your favorite aromatherapy soap, watching as it created billowing clouds of soft, luxurious bubbles that released that soothing scent you loved so much. He also scattered rose petals across the surface - special ones he had purchased with your other gifts. They would slowly dissolve into the water, but for now they created a nice, romantic display as they rested atop the peaks of foam.

In the bedroom, you gradually shed your work uniform, letting each piece fall away with relief before walking into the bathroom to meet him. He remained unaware of your presence for a moment until he turned, and when he did, he took the chance to admire you. Bucky rose up to his full height and approached you, his hands finding their familiar place on your hips. "You're so beautiful, doll..." he murmured, his voice full of affection as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, before adding, "Bath's all ready..."

"It looks perfect," you replied in an equally soft and tired tone, carefully stepping into the steaming bath water and sinking down with a contented moan.

God, it felt absolutely amazing - after countless exhausting days of non-stop work, your muscles were crying out for relief. Your back and neck were especially sore from hunching over your desk for hours on end. The perfectly heated water enveloped your body like a warm hug, melting away the tension and aches that had built up over time. The chosen aromatherapy oils filled the air with a soothing blend of lavender and eucalyptus that relaxed you even further.

"Thank you, Bucky... this is... exactly what I needed," you mumbled appreciatively, slowly sinking lower into the luxurious bath until the fragrant bubble clouds rose around your shoulders like a soft blanket.

Bucky's lip quirked up with a gentle, knowing smile as he reached for a plump strawberry from the delicate pink crystal bowl beside the tub. His eyes sparkled with affection as he held the fruit up teasingly, "Of course doll... now open wide~"

"Tease," you said playfully, leaning for the strawberry he held between his fingers. You gladly accepted the offering, letting your lips brush against the plump, red fruit before taking a delicate bite. The sweetness burst across your tongue as you savored each moment, watching his expression intently. Unable to resist the temptation, you gently caught his finger between your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the lingering juice - a deliberately cheeky move to provoke a reaction.

Bucky's eyes darkened as he watched you, a knowing smile spreading slowly across his face. His fingers twitched slightly at the sensation of your tongue, and he leaned in closer. "Don't start something you can't finish, doll..." he warned in a low, honeyed voice that made you shiver, even in the steaming water. "You know exactly what'll happen. Besides, it's Valentine's Day..." He reached out to trace your jawline with his thumb, his touch feather-light and promising. "...I'll make it all about you..."

You couldn't resist the temptation that coursed through you, causing you to slowly emerge from the water just enough to delicately capture his hand between your teeth and deliver a playful nip. Your lips ghosted across his wrist and laid a kiss, "I think I wanna see what you mean..."

That's how you ended up on the bed with his face between your legs.

Your swollen, sensitive pussy being devoured by the soldier keeping your legs spread open. His tongue flatly lapped at you before he would encase your delicate clit in his lips and desperately suckle. The alternating movements kept you close enough to the brink of orgasm, but he wouldn't let you finish all the way yet.

"Bucky! Pl-please," you cried out desperately as he suctioned to your throbbing clit once more, his skilled tongue working magic against your sensitive bud. Your trembling hands clung tightly to the twisted sheets below your hips, your knuckles turning white from the intensity of your grip. Your cheeks were deeply flushed as tears of pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

It felt so fucking good - Bucky always dove into you like a starved man who hadn't tasted such sweetness in decades, you were a fruit from Eden and he wouldn’t stop until he has had all of you.

Which was kind of true, until you two had started dating and everything changed. Over time, he gradually gained the confidence he needed, becoming more and more comfortable with engaging in intimate acts. The hesitation that had once held him back melted away completely, and once that newfound bravado took over, he became a passionate and attentive lover who knew exactly how to make you come undone.

Bucky growled against you, tugging you even closer as he kept his face against your folds and lapped at you repeatedly. His eyes would peek at your expression from time to time, but he mostly kept them closed, purely focusing on your taste. So sweet and delectable, you were his favorite thing to lap up and devour. He never wanted to stop. This was his favorite thing ever. Being the source of your pleasure and hearing how you whined and squirmed underneath him.

"Come for me, baby...come on. Give it to me." He muffled against you as his tongue continued to move up and down with his repetitive licks, getting your juices and making sure to run over that swollen bud.

Fuck, you were. You were going to.

You moaned loudly as waves of pleasure coursed through your body, the tense burning sensation gradually building deep in your belly while your legs trembled uncontrollably. Bucky kept a firm hold on your legs, keeping himself buried in your pussy as he continued his feast. Heat radiated outward as you began to feel your nerves come alive, electric sensations traveling from your core and flowing down through your limbs to the tips of your fingers and toes. The pressure continued mounting until finally, everything began slowly blossoming and unwinding into an overwhelming, desperate climax.

When he pulled away from your folds, his face and dark scruff were thoroughly soaked with your juices. The smug, satisfied bastard slowly licked his lips and began climbing over your shaking body, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses from your sensitive belly all the way up to the crook of your neck. "Y'r so soft...god, I love every inch of you," he whispered in that husky, desire-laden voice as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

"Bucky..." You whined needily, the desperate tone in your voice betraying just how affected you were, but you couldn't bring yourself to care - you were absolutely burning with desire for him. The delicious scratching sensation of his rough scruff against your skin felt absolutely divine, and you couldn't help but nuzzle your cheek against his strong jaw, seeking more of that friction. Your responsive action drew a knowing smile from Bucky as he pressed his body more firmly against yours, allowing his head to respond to your pressure and reaching his hand down to carefully position himself against you.

"Easy, my beautiful girl...I promise I'll give you everything you want and need. My perfect doll...just lay still for me, just like that...looking so gorgeous spread out underneath me..." He praised in that gentle, soothing voice that you normally adored, but in your current state of desperate arousal, his sweet words only served to turn you on even more. Something about it drove you insane.

When he finally breached you, your body arched off the bed and your hands immediately grabbed onto him, mindful not to claw at his heavily scarred shoulder.

The moan that escaped from between your parted lips was abruptly silenced as he captured your mouth with his own. The lingering taste of your pleasure danced on his tongue as it skillfully glided past your own, delving deeper to thoroughly explore every corner of your mouth. A deep, resonant hum of satisfaction rumbled in the soldier's chest and vibrated against your lips as he pressed into the kiss with mounting intensity, perfectly matching the quickening rhythm of the increasingly passionate snaps his hips made against you.

The gentle slapping that filled the room was drowned out by your cries of unison - the two of you spewing groans and moans of all kinds as his cockhead repeatedly kissed your cervix and coated it with his precum. The gummy walls of your tight cunt continued to squeeze and massage his cock with each little movement you made squirming beneath him and listening to his lower pitched sounds of pleasure.

"Bucky...ah, feels so good...feel so full," you whined and fell back onto the sheets, ignoring the gentle bulge that appeared beneath your skin each time he hilted himself inside you.

"So perfect for me, doll...made for me, made for my cock," he whispered with reverence, his voice thick and heavy. He leaned down, pressing hard, passionate kisses against your neck, which you willingly allowed. You tilted your head back, exposing more of your sensitive skin to him as he skillfully left a trail of bites and gentle purple bruises blooming across your flesh.

Prettier than any of those damned flowers he saw today.

"R'member when I bit all over you... 'round Christmas? I was so lost and confused back then and..nngh...all I knew was you. All I could think about was you. All I ever wanted was you...completely all to myself..." His voice came out rough and broken between desperate grunts as his hips pistoned at an increasingly frantic pace, his movements becoming more urgent with each thrust.

"Ah, yes...I remember it...you were so needy," You gasped breathlessly, a small knowing chuckle escaping your lips as you eagerly took him harder.

"Now look who's being needy...f-feel you squeezing around me so tight..." Bucky hissed through clenched teeth as he pushed even deeper inside you, his thick cock swelling noticeably with his rapidly approaching orgasm.

"Come for me, Buck Buck...I want it inside. Want you to fill me up," You reached up to him, yearning for more, pulling him down closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His silken hair cascaded down like a brilliant curtain, framing his face while he let out pants from slightly parted lips. The cool metal of his hand gripped firmly at the meat of your thigh, his touch both gentle and possessive, chilling the skin beneath it.

Bucky ducked his face down and pressed closer to you, a deep groan tore through his throat as his rapid thrusts finally stilled - you felt his thick member twitching inside you as he coated your pretty velvet walls in his cum. As his orgasm washed over him and made him thrust a few more times for good measure, the overwhelming sensation brought you to yours again.

You both panted, breathing heavily in unison as you relished in the feeling of him still tucked inside you, thick cum oozing out as you let out soft laughs together.

"That was absolutely incredible..." You breathed out in a contented sigh, your voice thick with emotion, "I love you so much..." Your lips tenderly found his in a series of gentle, loving pecks, while your fingers delicately traced patterns across his cheek, savoring the warmth of his skin.

"I love you too, babydoll. And actually, I have something special waiting for you in the kitchen..." He began, his eyes flickering towards the doorway. With a knowing smile, you gently guided his face back to yours, your fingers lingering on his jaw.

"Would that happen to be that beautiful arrangement of flowers and those decadent chocolates I spotted sat next to an adorable plushie?"

"Wait, what? How did you -"

"I saw the setup when you were preparing my bath earlier...sweetheart, you really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble. I feel terrible now." You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows, guilt evident in your voice. "Work has been so hectic lately, I didn't even manage to find time to get you anything..."

He drew you even closer into his warm embrace and gently rolled both of you onto your sides. As his softened length slipped free, you nearly whimpered at the loss of connection, you held the pout back for now. "Doll, you should know by now that I don't need fancy gifts or presents. What matters most to me is having you here, sharing these moments together.” He winked playfully before returning to a more serious tone, “You coming home to me is the greatest gift I could ask for. And you know what? The night's still young - we could curl up together and watch a movie, if you'd like..."

You smiled and nodded, letting out a soft chuckle. "That sounds wonderful, but I really think we should freshen up first...things got pretty messy and you made me feel all sticky." You whispered with a playful lilt in your voice, carefully lifting yourself from the tangled sheets. As you made your way towards the bathroom, your hips swayed flirtatiously, each step a teasing invitation. Pausing at the doorway, you glanced over your shoulder with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "C'mon baby...if you're good, I’ll do that thing you always like..."

His reaction was instantaneous.

Like a coiled spring suddenly released, Bucky leapt from the bed with the same sharp reflexes from his military days - every muscle alert and ready. His blue eyes darkened with desire as a roguish grin spread across his face. "Yes ma'am," he responded, voice husky with anticipation. In two swift strides, he crossed the room and swept you up into his strong arms, making you squeal and laugh with surprise, cradling you against his chest as he carried you eagerly toward the shower.

When your feet touched the cool tile of the bathroom floor, Bucky was already eagerly anticipating another passionate moment together, but you gently placed your hands against his firm chest, causing him to pause. Your eyes met his as you spoke softly but earnestly, "And just so you know, everything you got me was absolutely perfect. I love it all so much. You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble - just spending the evening together would have been more than enough for me, but...everything you did get makes me feel so special. The arranged bouquet with all those beautiful flowers, the adorable plushie of my favorite animal, and those delicious chocolates...it's all too much. You are perfect."

Bucky felt an overwhelming wave of relief wash over him at your heartfelt words, the tension he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying suddenly melting away. His voice was tender, slightly hesitant as he responded, "O-oh... yeah, of course. I...I really wanted to make tonight special for you in every way possible. I picked all your favorite colors and included those specific flowers you always stop to admire during our walks together...and I made absolutely certain the chocolates only contained ingredients and flavors I know you enjoy...and found you a soft, cuddle buddy to keep you company when I have to be away." He ducked his head slightly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he added with endearing awkwardness, "Besides Alpine, of course."

"Yeah, whenever she's in one of her affectionate moods and decides it's snuggle time," you added with a gentle, warm chuckle, your eyes crinkling at the corners. He swore his heart beat faster each time he saw those delicate lines. "You are enough, Bucky." You gazed deeply into his eyes, taking in every flicker of emotion that passed through them, before offering him a tender, reassuring smile.

Your hand came up to cup his cheek as you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, feeling the tension slowly melt away from his body as he relaxed against you. Drawing back just enough to meet his gaze again, you whispered to him with absolute conviction so he could feel the words as much as possible.

"You are always enough, and don't you ever doubt that for a second..."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[ogwintersmind]

Valentines with katsuki ❦︎

"This is so stupid” katsuki says while actively looking for a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

“Umm... Are you not the one who wanted to do this?" kirishima asks while pushing the cart full of chocolates, Teddy bears, sweaters, hygiene products Katsuki knows you love, and plenty of other unnecessarily expensive gifts for his lady.

"So what? I can't find any of those damn flowers she likes...” katsuki says while carefully eyeing the different colorful displays of roses, Lillies, poppies, etc.

"Why don't you just make her some paper flowers? That way they're more special and they last forever ya know?” kirishimas idea was genius', and really cute too... But of course katsuki thinks other wise.

"That’s stupid I'm not doing that.”

He does it.

Katsuki is currently in his room making a very large bouquet of your favorite flowers. He's been at it for hours making sure each and every flower is perfect.

After he's done playing arts and crafts he makes a very sweet card for you, pouring out all of his genuine emotions for you.

He sets up the valentine basket, it's filled with the previously mentioned products he bought at The store with kirishima

He also added a pretty ring and necklace he got custom made for you.

On February 14th, valentines day, katsuki is being surprisingly sweet to you.

He's taken you out to dinner, and brunch and hasn't uttered the words "idiot" or "shut up today, not once! (New record.)

Towards the end of the night you two head back to his apartment.

"Hurry your ass up, I don't have all day ya know." (and there that record goes.) "I'm coming, I'm coming."

When inside he leads you to the living room, where on the small coffee table is a very well put together valentines basket..

'"Oh! What's this?" you ask while excitedly going over to explore the contents of the basket.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. “what does it look like?" he goes over to stand beside you. "You like it??” He asks.

You look at all of the thoughtful gifts inside. “yeah, I love it. The flowers are my favorite part."

Katsuki lets out a huff of relief “ yeah...i made them out of paper so they'll last forever… or something.” God he's so embarrassed right now.

You let out a small laugh at his embarrassment. "Yeah! Like us."

He lets out a scoff. "You're so cringe. happy valentines day, dork.”

Hi friends! This was so rushed...

But thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed.

XO - winter.

Dividers from: @:cafekitsune & @:Bronze wasp!!

Not proof read.

[lale-txt]

❦ IDLE HANDS (Kuroo x f!reader)

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two.

a/n: little something for @husbandograveyard ♡ writing this made me a Kuroo girlie. i get it now. i really, REALLY do. also when i started writing this i was aiming for 1k or so idk what possessed me but here we are. maybe listening to bouncy while writing this wasn't the best idea (lie)

tags: f!reader, mild enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, shameless flirting, food mention, bit of a slow burn, they're so in love your honor

wc: 3.7k

Kuroo Tetsuro is a heartthrob.

With his stupid messy hair and his stupid rolled up sleeves, showing off his stupid toned arms while he’s mumbling stupid sweet things to your favorite cat that’s currently coiling underneath his stupid big hand, getting the best belly rubs of her life from the looks of it. 

It’s not like you’re jealous or something, no; it’s just that you’ve been coming to this cat café for a year now and you thought you and the calico shared a special bond. Maru, who is just as her name implies, very round and very soft, has been sitting and purring by your side while you spend hours typing page after page of your next book. She’d also stretch out all over your laptop and remind you to take a break when you’ve been going at it for hours. Yes, it took you some bribery to win her heart but over the past months she really warmed up to you. Wow, she usually isn’t this friendly with people, you remember the café owner say once. 

What a blatant lie. 

Your peace has been disturbed. A slight shift in the universe when he showed up for the first time merely a week ago. It was easy to remember him, because he was sitting in your spot with your favorite cat purring in his lap, looking like he didn’t have a single worry in the world except maybe that untamed hair of his (and even this was kind of charming, you had to admit begrudgingly).

Sharing usually wasn’t a big deal for you–until it was. You come to this cat café almost every day, feeling much more inspired to write here than in the shoebox you call your apartment at the other end of town. Your landlady doesn’t allow pets, so this place has been a lifeline in the tiring times of deadlines and rejected book deals. At the end of the day there was always a cat rubbing against your legs, reminding you that not everything was bad and that no matter how severe things got, there was always a kitty waiting to be picked up.

You hold this place very dear to your heart, a secret gem you felt a need to protect. It is hidden away in a side street, far from the hectic buzz of the city. The interior is cozy, it isn’t too big and the owner, an elderly lady with candy cotton hair and knuckle tattoos, lives upstairs and treats the place like her second living room with all six of her cats. There’s never too many other guests around and in the corner seat by the window you can unravel your thoughts quietly. It feels homey, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

But now there is an intruder in a business suit and you didn’t really know how to deal with that new found irritation.

“That’s my spot.”

Balancing your laptop, notebook, a slice of carrot cake and a hot drink in one hand, all manners aside, you point at the stranger with your other. In your right mind you know it is rude to point at people, but to be fair he kinda started it by sitting where you rightfully belong. His eyes, a certain gleam in them, follow your movement down to the cat curled up on top of his thighs. With the amount of cat hair sticking to his suit pants you could only pray for him that he had a lint roller somewhere at his desk. 

He cocks his head to the side, giving you a boyish smirk that maybe would make your heart skip a beat if it wasn’t for his audacity. 

“Usually I ask someone’s name first and take them on a few dates before I let them sit in my lap, but I guess I can make an exception,” he replies and you never in your life before wanted to strangle someone so badly. If that wasn’t already worse enough, the tuxedo cat lifts its small head and slowly blinks at you before jumping down from his lap, as if it was trying to make space for you. My bad, didn’t know this seat was taken. Here, girl, you have it.

For once in your life you’re too stunned to speak. You watch the stranger check his watch and let out an almost inaudible sigh before he grabs his backpack (one that looks like he has had it since high school) and stands up to full height. He’s in your space now and you have to crank your neck slightly to meet his eyes. Mentally you’re adding stupidly tall to your list of things you hate about him. 

“Gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

True to his words he is there the next day, too. This time around you managed to secure your spot by the window, three cats idly sleeping next to you on. You’ve been stuck on a paragraph for almost an hour now when the doorbell chimes and his figure appears at the counter. The cats look up with interest but you force yourself not to pay any attention to him, which is hard when his order is literally “I’ll have whatever she is having”, followed by a nod in your direction and this cheeky smile again. 

This damn smile.

“You didn’t strike me as a dirty chai drinker,” you deadpan when he takes a seat at the table next to yours. The café is almost empty around this time of the day, which is no surprise since most of the workers in this district are having a hearty meal for lunch and not whatever sweet delicacies this place is offering. 

He peels himself out of his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. The same cat as yesterday jumps into his lap immediately after he sits down, giving you a look of “if you don’t want him, I’ll take him” and you almost roll your eyes. Kuroo (you learn his name from the ID he is wearing around his neck) seems to notice and he grins at you. 

“Then what did I strike you as?” he asks, his chin resting in one hand while his other finds the soft fur of the kitty, stroking it gently. 

You look him up and down, now taking your time while stretching out the silence between you two. Only the purring of the cats and the soft music in the background could be heard. At first glance he seems like your typical office worker in the three piece suit who spends his time filling out spreadsheets and drinking cheap vending-machine coffee from the conbini next door. Everything a little rumpled, himself included, someone so used to tristesse he doesn’t even notice it anymore. 

Only at second glance do you notice the small wrinkles around his eyes, not from age but from laughter. The dimples when he smiles down at the tuxedo cat in his lap, now showing off its belly. His calloused hands, atypical for an office worker, more like you’d see them at craftsmen or athletes. Something in his eyes that radiates warmth and an air of calm confidence. None of it is unpleasant.

“If I had to guess, maybe three espresso with a pump of caramel and honey,” you say, more to yourself than to him. Kuroo looks at you in surprise before barking out a laugh. You hate how you like the sound of it.

It’s the beginning of spring and you award Kuroo Tetsuro the title of the greatest nuisance you’ve ever met.

In the midst of summer, you pity him. 

“I’m just saying that maybe you radiate a natural fragrance of catnip,” you say as you stir your iced oat milk latte. Kuroo got you that one when he popped in during his lunch break and saw that your glass must have been empty for a while. By that time you were hunched over your laptop, trying to decipher your notes from last night. You had saved him a seat at your table, but if he asked you, you’d say you just happened to put all your belongings on one chair and nothing more.

The man is swarmed by the cats of the café. They didn’t even bother to hide who their favorite is, rubbing around his legs, sitting pressed to his side or just straight up climbing his shoulders. It would’ve been enviable if he wasn’t already sweating from wearing a suit in the humid heat of the summer month alone. 

“Can you get at least one or two off me?” he asks and his tone is close to pleading. It makes you laugh as you stretch out in your light sundress, giving him a look as if you’re contemplating his question. 

“I could, but it’s really much funnier seeing you struggle like that. Serves you well,” you chime and pull out your phone, snapping a photo of this moment. You hold it up for him to see, a kitty phone charm dangling from it (they just happened to come in a pack of two and you gifted him one out of generosity, nothing more). He snatches it from your hands and makes a face.

“So you like seeing me suffer, is that how it is?” he snarls at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His slender fingers fly over the screen of your phone and you let out a small gasp.

“Don’t you dare delete it,” you huff and grab the orange tabby mercifully off his shoulders so you can lean over him better. 

“Relax. I’m only saving my contact info since you never bothered asking me for it despite being my constant for the past three months.”  

There was this cheeky smile again. You blame the flutter of your heart on the caffeine and not the way his pupils are dilating when he gazes at you. 

He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Suddenly you’re very aware of how close you’re leaning over at him. Kuroo gives you a little glance from the corner of his eyes and taps the now revealed side of his neck. 

“What do you say? Do I really smell like catnip?” 

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two. You can feel the heat radiating off him and for a brief moment you wonder what it would feel like to press open mouth kisses on his skin. Your eyes flutter shut as you engrave this moment into your heart. 

“Definitely irresistible,” you murmur once you pull back–reluctantly, as if a hidden part of you ached to be in his proximity, in the inside of his soul.  

By autumn you miss him on the days when he was gone. 

He traveled quite a lot. You didn’t know one would need to be on the road so much for something as simple as volleyball (you can imagine the look he’d give you over this). But he was passionate about it and that’s also something you liked about him. The way he talks about the sport holds so much love and you wonder what it would feel like to be loved by a man like Kuroo Tetsuro.

Gentle, you think. Honest. Treasured.

A tap against the window pulls you out of your thoughts and when you look up, you're met with a pair of honey glazed eyes. Whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s making him grin from ear to ear before he hurries towards the entry door, eager to meet you again.

Kuroo is holding up a bag, some brand of sweets from Hokkaido he’s been texting you about, but you didn’t think he’d actually go so far and bring you some. He sounds breathless when he speaks, as if he rushed all the way to get here and when he keeps on rambling, you order him and yourself a hot matcha boba and a chocolate mousse to share. 

The cats are happy to see him back too, and you laugh when you help him take his scarf off before some kitty claws can tangle up in it. It was a precious gift after all, one you knitted for him, under the feeble excuse of “keeping my hands busy helps me come up with ideas for my writing process”. It makes you happy to see him wearing it, and the color makes you feel as if you took the red string of fate connecting you two and turned it into something to help him stay warm.

You think a lot about kissing him now. Sometimes your hands would brush against each other on the table, neither of you pulling away. He spends his lunch breaks with you and comes to pick you up from the café in the evening, walking you to your station. The two of you still bicker at each other, but underneath lies a certain kind of softness, one that feels too fickle to put it into words just yet but also too bright to ignore. The leaves of the trees are falling and so are you. 

With winter comes snow and the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, it’s unadulterated love. 

You spend a lot of time huddled together in the corner by the window now. He looks over your shoulder when you type on your laptop, one arm resting idly on the back of your chair, fingertips brushing against your spine sometimes. You don’t think he even notices when he lets them run up and down there. Often you forget which cups on the table belong to who but it doesn’t matter since you order the same things anyway and because this could count as an indirect kiss, right? 

On some days he’d just close his eyes and laze next to you, with his head resting on his folded arms on the table and your fingers idly weaving through his hair, before he had to hurry back to work. On others he would tell you excitedly about a special match he was organizing and you can hear the pure joy in his voice. It’s contagious.You get them now, the cats. How drawn they are to him, like chasing sunbeams. 

He spells L-O-V-E on your back with his fingertips and something inside of you softens. 

Then there’s snow, more snow than you’ve ever seen in your entire life, and Kuroo comes to pick you up early, the tip of his ears bright red and his cold hands seeking yours to warm them up. 

“I’m really sorry but I’m closing the shop early today,” the café owner apologizes and puts a box of cinnamon rolls for you on your table. “You two kittens better hurry and get home, too. On the radio they said they’re gonna shut everything down soon.”

It can’t be that bad, you think. But when Kuroo and you stand in front of the closed station, it dawns on you that maybe you’ve underestimated the amount of snow a teeny tiny bit. You huddle a little closer to him for warmth and to shield yourself against the snow as you pull out your phone. 

“If there’s no more trains running, I better start looking for a place to stay. With some luck there’s still a few vacant rooms in the hotels nearby…”

Kuroo puts a hand over your screen and gives you a stern look when you open our mouth to protest. 

“You can crash at my place for the night. I live close by," he mutters and it doesn’t really leave room to decline his offer. Maybe it’s not really an offer to begin with; more of a silent pleading to stay. Not just for the duration of the snowstorm, but forever maybe. 

His place is just like you imagined it would be like. Not overly spacious but it feels like a home in every corner. There’s photos on the wall, back from when he was a kid to his high school and college years, and pinned with a magnet to the fridge is also a polaroid he took of you back in summer. In it you’re laughing about something silly he said and you’re holding up two cats at once, one strap of your sundress almost slipping down your shoulder. You still remember how he fixed it for you because you didn’t have a hand free and how his fingers lingered for longer than necessary. 

You hope one day he won’t pull his hand away anymore.

The apartment is certainly not messy but you can see he lives in this place, with some papers scattered across the coffee table and the unmade bed and the slightly concerning stock of buldak noodles in the kitchen shelves (in which you peeked out of curiosity into while he was in the shower). You imagine yourself living here, too. Maybe you’d get a cat on your own and plants for the balcony once this winter was over. 

The laundry machine rumbles quietly in the background after you step out of the bathroom, too. It wasn’t just the steamy shower that had your cheeks feel hot, it was also his clothes that he put out for you, with his scent lingering on them and engulfing you softly. Kuroo appears with two cups from the kitchen and pauses when he sees you, his mouth opening and closing again as his eyes flicker over your form. He doesn’t want to stare but also he does want to stare, wants to drink you in and memorize every detail of this moment. 

You can see his Adam's apple bop slightly when he swallows and nods over to the couch, and it’s at this moment that you know you’re not leaving this apartment again before every inch of your skin has been plastered in kisses. 

“It’s not as good as the one’s at the café but I tried my best for my special guest,” he laughs quietly when he hands you your cup, his fingers brushing against yours. The hot chocolate looks impossibly sweet, with whipped cream and sprinkles on top (they’re not ordinary sprinkles, you realize, but tiny cat shaped ones), and the first sip would’ve been enough to send you in some higher spheres if you weren’t in a state of bliss due to his proximity already. You put the cups to cool down on the coffee table and sink into the couch. 

Outside the snow is falling relentlessly, muffling the sounds of the outside world and opening up a new one, right here in these four walls.

In his arms. 

Without realizing you both settled down in your now familiar positions, only closer this time. Huddled next to each other, with one of his arms around your shoulder drawing you nearer to him. It feels natural, the way your head comes to rest against his shoulder and your legs thrown over his lap, the two of you sharing a blanket. 

He’s warm. Kuroo is so warm. 

And when he presses a fleeting kiss on top of your head it’s like everything is falling in place; the months of pining and yearning and unspoken desire. In the midst of a snowstorm both of your hearts are set ablaze, with a tenderness you haven’t experienced in this lifetime before. You sure hope he will find you in the next and the one after that as well because you never want to miss his embrace ever again. 

“That’s my spot,” you murmur and Kuroo laughs, the kind with his head tilted back and his chest rumbling. His grip around you tightens and he pulls you impossibly closer, till you’re really in his lap now, your head tucked under his chin. 

“Damn right it is.” 

You can feel his heart drum, or maybe it’s your own that’s doing somersaults–either way, it’s the same rhythm, a steady thrumming and rattling, begging to be felt. Time seems to freeze at this moment and you’re both quiet. Cat’s got your tongue. Kuroo has both arms around you now, and one of his hands settles on your waist, at the part where your sweatshirt is bunched up a little. His thumb draws small patterns against your bare skin, his touch featherlight and gentle.

You lift your head, only enough so you can catch his gaze. For the first time in your life you understand what it means to have your heart in your throat, because he takes your breath away with a simple glance. His other hand comes to rest against your cheek, cupping your face softly while his grip around your waist tightens a fraction.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters and you can see his sharp teeth flash in the corner of your eyes when he laughs. 

“Like what?” “You know what.” “I think I’ll need to have it spelled out for me.”

He laughs again and this time he leans in closer till his breath is fanning over your skin and everything is happening all at once. Honey and caramel eyes asking you to drown in them. The heat of his body mingling with yours. Your fingers playing with the shaved part of hair in the back of his neck, sending small shivers down his spine.

“Oh, I’ll spell it out for you alright.”

Kuroo kisses you with all the gentleness of the world. It feels as natural as if he had done this countless times before, as if he had kissed you in every life prior to that. He hums into the kiss and smiles when your lips part for him so willingly, and then he deepens the kiss in a way that makes you forget your name for a heartbeat or two. 

Sweet, you think. Soft and saccharine. And warm. So warm. The same what loving Kuroo feels like.

[venusbyline]

I know you write Dark!Jace but what are your headcanons for normal Jace?

HEADCANON: Betrothal with twin!Jacaerys

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x twin sister!reader

— type: smut, fluff

— tags/warnings: female!reader, soft!Jacaerys, betrothal, Targcest (twin brother/twin sister), loss of virginity, vaginal sex, cowgirl position, vaginal fingering, fingerfucking, argument, wedding ceremony, implied Lucerys Velaryon/Rhaena Targaryen, underage sex, switch!Jacaerys, switch!reader, canon divergence (No Dance of the Dragons). no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes: Since you asked my "normal" headcanons about Jace, I decided to write something related to Twincest, because besides being one of my favorite pairings, I also think that Jacaerys is the HOTD male character who would be most likely to marry his twin sister.

— high valyrian words used: Kostilus (please), Ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved)

❥ about me • Jacaerys masterlist • HOTD masterlist • main masterlist

• Jacaerys would make a perfect betrothed. As the heir to the Iron Throne, the prince had enough privileges to be able to marry any woman of Westeros. At first, everyone thought that marrying him to a Lady from an important house would be a good move, talking about political terms. Daemon even tried to convince Rhaenyra to betroth Jace to his daughter Baela, just as Lucerys was betrothed to Rhaena by their own choices. However, Rhaenyra had always made it clear that she would not meddle about her children's future relationships and would let them get betrothed whenever they wanted and with whomever they wanted.

• Although Rhaenyra was slightly surprised when Jacaerys told his mother that he would like to be married to you, his twin sister. She did not oppose her children's decision. She had always noticed how close the twins were since their birth, and two House Targaryen's siblings betrothing would not be nothing new to the realm.

• Jacaerys would do everything to always be as next to you as possible since your betrothal announcement. He was euphoric at the idea of finally being able to express to the whole world how much he was in love with you. He would hold your hand during dinners and stay by your side during the Small Council meetings.

• Flying together would be one of your favorite couple's activities. You would ride your dragon and Jacaerys would ride Vermax so you could pass through the skies together and then stop somewhere, a little time away from the Court and with more privacy. At first, Jace always tried to be a gentleman, chuckling when you took advantage of the moment alone and kissed him almost roughly. Jacaerys let you guide his body further away from your dragons and lying on the floor so you could sit on his lap and not just kiss him, but also rub yourself against him.

• "Gods... You are such a tease, sweet sister." He murmured as you rested your hands on his torso, your hips moving back and forth, the friction causing both of you to moan even though you were dressed in your flying clothes.

• Jacaerys tried to wait until the wedding. He really tried very well. He was a gentle young man and had been successful in never going to brothels. But prostitutes were nothing compared to you. Your twin only had eyes for you, and it was not long before the two of you fucking in secret. It started when he went to your chambers during a night when he was insomnia, managing to get through without being caught by the guards thank the Seven.

• You were horny that night. All it took was a bit of small talk between you until the night turned into sighs and low moans of pleasure as Jace sank into your cunt, his eyes wide and full lips parted, making whimpering sounds and enjoying the warm of your tight walls.

• After taking your virginity and losing his too, Jace held you in his embrace, both of you naked and sweaty, your breasts pressed against his chest until you finally fell asleep. He stroked your damp hair and placed a kiss on your forehead, covering your body before leaving, so as not to arouse any suspicions whisper. Even though Rhaenyra was not against sex before marriage, neither you nor Jace wanted your mother to know about you two already doing it.

• Free time at the library was also a joint pastime. It always started with you accompanying your twin during his study hours, helping him learn High Valyrian, correcting him when he pronounced something wrong.

• Jacaerys was always embarrassed when he was corrected, his cheeks red and a pout on his lips to try to hide his slight anger. You knew how much he pressured himself, afraid of not being a great King in the future. Some alternative study methods were needed and established then.

• "Kostilus, ñuha jorrāeliarzy..." Jace moaned tearfully, the High Valyrian pronunciation of the plea and the sweet words sounding perfect for someone who was feeling his betrothed riding his cock. "Ride me faster. I need to cum inside your cunt so bad..." Your brother grabbed your hips to help you move the way he needed.

• During the betrothal, Jace was so soft when he was fucking you, unfortunately needing to avoid love marks that would make it very clear what you were doing hidden in the free time. He also focused more on your pleasure than his own, always making a point of caressing your sensitive pearl with his fingers and playing with them inside you, until you had to put the palm of your hand in your mouth to muffle the moans, sounds wet sounds echoing throughout the room.

• When your lunar blood arrived, your twin's behavior was something mixed with relief and disappointment. A part of him was less worried knowing that you were not pregnant until the wedding ceremony. A pregnancy before the right time could cause a lot of bad rumors about the two of you. But he was also so fucking frustrated, thinking about what your future children would be like, so eager to make that dream come true soon.

• You were not a termagant couple. The few times you fought during the betrothal were because Jace was being stubborn and childish on a daily basis. If he was reprimanded at a Small Council meeting, he would sulk for hours, making you two argue because you tried to talk to him about the situation and he just gave you the silent treatment, even though you were not directly connected to the problem. The arguments did not last long, ending with Jace entering your chambers late at night to apologize, making you sigh with relief and then welcoming him to your bed so you could spend a few hours together to make up the lost time.

• We can say that Jacaerys would be extremely excited for the wedding ceremony. The more the days approached, the happier and more talkative about that your twin brother became. He had been waiting for that specific day for months like an eager boy, also secretly dreaming about a life like this for years. It would be a classic Valyrian Wedding rite and Jace would be smiling at you all the time as if you were the prettiest girl in all of Westeros. And in his eyes you really were. His twin sister, the love of his life. Now his dear wife, the one who would be the mother of his children and his Queen Consort.

[auroralwriting]

just breathe

finnick odair x victor!reader

masterlist

your stylist must hate you, putting you into a corset so tight. thank god finnick odair is there to save you

warnings: female reader, finnick and reader are friends with implied feelings, mentions of capitol people being awful people, finnick being a sweetheart, no use of y/n

If there was one thing you were certain of, it was that you hated Capitol parties. They were always extremely extravagant, filled with the most obnoxiously unaware people you had probably ever met. Being a Victor was nothing less than a major pain in the ass. You lived, but you also lived with the pains of the Capitol and Snow breathing down your neck every five seconds.

It wasn't uncommon for Victors to be invited to parties in the Capitol. It was actually rather unusual for them not to be invited. After all, they were the real Capitol stars. So, here you were, drinking some bubbly liquor that tasted incredibly awful in comparison to any other drink, fake smiling and laughing with some socialites who wouldn't leave you alone for more than two minutes at a time.

Their stories were very unimpressive. Dull and lifeless, like how someone stepped on a bug while shopping, or how another ate so much they had to throw up six times. Stories from the Districts were always better. Folk stories or real, it really didn't matter. At least they were interesting and not about something stupid like fashion or gossip.

The worst part of the whole night was that your stylist must've hated you. You wore some long, pirate-esque, flowy skirt with the most painful heels that had ever been made along with the tightest corset you'd ever worn. It was squeezing all of your insides in all the wrong ways. If you turned the wrong way or breathed too hard, it really hurt. You were sure if you bent over, you'd crack your ribs. It was torturous to be wearing such a thing.

You managed to laugh at all their jokes, share stories back and forth, and pretend to be interested just long enough to tolerate the pain. But now it was becoming a little bit too hard to manage. It felt like you could no longer breathe normally. You were all too aware of your breathing. If you stopped thinking about it, there was a chance you'd stop completely, at least, that's what you convinced yourself. Your fake smile seemed harder to keep up as a socialite finished their story.

"Honestly, isn't that just the most terrible thing you've heard?" You fake laughed, nodding along as best as you could with your circumstances and disinterest. "I mean, I couldn't imagine anything more awful that a broken heel!" How ignorant. Ever heard of The Hunger Games?

"I would have thrown a fit it if were me," another socialite said, seeming very remorseful.

A different one nodded, "Truly the most nightmarish ending to your evening."

As you stood there, you wondered if it could it be possible that the corset was getting tighter. There was no possible way it could have been, but it sure felt like it. The squeezing was becoming incredibly unbearable. Every little breath ached your ribs and sides. You were positive there would be bruises in the corset's place tomorrow. Maybe the injuries you'd sustained during your Games a few years ago weren't so bad seeing as you were sure you were about to suffocate and die right there on Snow's courtyard.

"The only nightmarish ending I can think of is leaving this party without a lovely lady on my arm." It was like the heavens had graced you with Finnick's presence. If you could have released a breath of relief, you probably would have. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen," Finnick turned to you, giving you a small smile. You returned it, strained, but you returned it.

Oh, sweet Finnick. He was your best friend. His presence was so comforting no matter where you were. It was times like these you wondered how he could just waltz over when you needed him the most. You weren't sure how he did it, but you were damn thankful that he did. You were hoping he would get the hint that something was wrong without needing to raise all hell to make it obvious.

"I can't see you having a hard time leaving without a gorgeous, lucky woman on your arm," the first socialite said to Finnick. She must've hoped it was her. "After all, you are our Golden Boy."

Finnick chuckled, smiling with those gorgeous teeth of his. "Well, someone has to keep the standards high."

"I'm sure you won't have trouble leaving here with a lucky man, either, darling." Your eyes shot over to the third socialite who had addressed you. You could barely breathe, let alone speak anymore.

"I'm sure I won't." Your voice felt strained. Did it sound strained? You hoped it didn't. The last thing you wanted was to look like you were suffering.

Finnick, however, could sense the tone in your voice from a mile away. You were his friend, after all. Probably his best one if he was being honest. The sharp nod you gave, the raised, airy tone to your voice were all very worrisome signs. His eyes searched your face for answers you tried to hide from any prying eyes. However, the way you tugged down at the bottom of your corset was.. something. Were you anxious, uncomfortable, upset? Finnick couldn't place it. There were just too many missing details. He knew something was wrong. It was like putting together a puzzle without looking at the picture on the box.

The conversation continued onwards. Eventually, you found yourself leaning into Finnick's hand that moved to softly rest on your lower back. You couldn't decide if it was for comfort or in case you passed out from lack of oxygen. You assumed it was for comfort. The good news was that if your face turned blue, you'd match the shades of your outfit for the night. If you considered that good news. Maybe it wouldn't look all that displaced after all.

Only one singular minute had passed and you quickly realized that not even Finnick's welcomed gesture would be enough to help you. You felt yourself begin to panic, the worst possible thing you could do in this situation. The more you panicked, the more your breathing would increase. That would only cause yourself more pain and frustration, not to mention it would double your anxiety. What a horrible domino effect that would be.

Keeping your cool was becoming impossible. You tried to hold as still as a statue to keep from moving and upsetting the corset more, but it was proving very difficult. Holding your breath wasn't really an option here, so the only thing to do was try and remain calm.

When the first very sharp pain radiated through your ribs, you knew you were done for. You sucked in a very noticeable breath, thankfully, only Finnick had heard. The conversation had continued, but the words had fallen deaf to your ears. It had been long forgotten amid your growing panic.

"Ah," Finnick said, abruptly pausing the conversation, "we completely forgot, but we're meant to meet with the president. If you'll excuse us." Finnick was pushing on your lower back, now. He guided you through the crowd, up some stairs and into one of the first open rooms he could find. The moment you were inside, you pressed on your stomach, trying to give yourself comfort, but ultimately failing. "What's wrong?" Finnick quickly asked, approaching you with worry in his expression. "Sweetheart, talk to me."

Now you were positive you couldn't talk. Your head felt dizzy and your tongue felt numb. You shook your head, tears brimming your eyes as you scratched at the corset. Finnick's eyes were darting to your hands and back to your face over and over, trying to understand what you were trying to convey to him.

You opened your mouth, trying to find words, but all you could manage was an awful wheeze. Your lungs and throat burned like fire. You were sure your face was turning red. Finnick's eyes widened as he quickly grabbed your shoulders, turning you around so your back was facing him. You felt his hands on your back again, but this time, they had a mission. Finnick grabbed a hold of the ribbon of your corset, not so much as grunting as he tore it apart.

The moment the ribbon tore, you gasped, sucking in as much air as you could as you fell to your knees, holding the front of the corset to your chest as you heaved, the air feeling so incredible that you took note to never take breathing for granted. Finnick was by your side in a heartbeat, hand on your back rubbing soothing circles on your now exposed skin. "It's okay, you're okay. Slow, deep breaths. Don't rush, nice and slow." His voice slowly worked the panic out of your system, your inhales deep, but exhales shaky and unsteady.

"I couldn't breathe," your voice was soft, almost as if talking were still too much to handle, "every breath hurt."

Finnick nodded, "I know, honey. I know, it's alright now. You're okay." You looked up to Finnick, watching his expression. He no longer looked panicked, but he still looked just as worried as before. "Do you need anything? Water?"

You shook your head. "Sit with me? Please?"

The two of you sat against the couch, sitting on the floor looking utterly exhausted. It was obvious the night had worn you both out, from the socialization to your near suffocation. Your head fell over, leaning on Finnick's shoulder as his head rested on top of you own.

"Do you want to go sailing tomorrow?" Finnick quietly asked. "I heard the waves will be perfect. You can bring that book you're reading and we can have lunch."

"That sounds nice," you hummed, "I'd like that a lot."

After a few more quiet minutes, you realized both of your absences would start to look rather suspicious. You both knew that it was long past time to go back to the party, but the silence you shared was too nice to give up just yet.

"Thank you for saving me," you thanked, looking over and up at Finnick.

He shook his head with a soft exhale, "You don't need to thank me. I'm just glad I got you up here in time." Finnick slowly stood up, holding your head as he stood so you wouldn't fall over. He held out a hand to help you stand up.

"Wait, I can't go back out there like this." You could. The Capitol people would love it. Seeing you holding the corset onto your chest to cover yourself. You knew deep down that the position you were in would make the people go wild for you. It was the kind of attention you weren't looking for. The kind of attention you never looked for.

Finnick didn't hesitate to take off his poet shirt, leaving his upper half bare, besides his shark tooth necklace. He didn't even need a second thought. The moment you started to speak, he knew what you were going to say. It was an easy choice for him to make. He would do anything to protect you.

Denying Finnick's kindness wasn't something he'd let you turn down, so you accepted. Finnick turned around while you put it on, only turning back around when he heard you fumbling with the sleeves. He helped roll them up so they weren't as long, while you began to tuck it into your skirt.

"You'll get cold," you commented worriedly, remembering what the chilled breeze had felt like on your own skin not too long ago.

"Then stay with me and keep me warm," Finnick replied, a small smile on his face. You chuckled airly, smiling back at him. "You look beautiful. They'll think we both just did a small wardrobe change. And that's what we'll tell them if they ask. I doubt they will. Capitol isn't all that observational."

You looked at Finnick, biting your bottom lip, "I wish we didn't have to go yet." You wished you could stay in this room with Finnick all night. Unfortunately, that was no option.

He seemed to agree based on the way his smile turned lopsided. "Just think about all the fun we'll have tomorrow. The waves, the wind, us. I'll even bring us some coconuts to crack open."

"And my book," you insisted. "I'll read it to you."

"My favorite activity," Finnick nodded. He held his hand out to you, "C'mon, honey. Let's get this night over with." His offer was easily understood, even if he didn't say it. Let's get this night over with together.

[deadsetobsessions]

Fae adjacent! Danny, pt. 3

Jason returns to consciousness with a scream trapped before it could come to life. He twisted his neck back and forth and back and forth.

It was the last thing he did before he died. When the Joker left and told him to say hello to the big guy, Jason could not muster up the energy to make a single sound.

But Bruce… Bruce was here this time, heavy head making the mattress by his leg dip.

The scars that ran over his face stretched as he blinked.

“…B?”

Bruce’s head shot up, eyes bloodshot and bags heavier than a Gotham socialite’s solid gold Dior purse.

“Jaylad.”

Jason- Jason was alive now. Bruce’s hug felt warm, the tear spot on his shoulder was damp as his dad cried while hugging him.

And Jason should be happy. He’s alive again. His dad loved him.

But all he could think about was the cold of the coffin, the squelch of mud and dirt, and the unerringly wrong feeling of knowing he came back but he came back wrong.

——

Tim had wandered Gotham in the weeks following Jason’s reawakening. He wasn’t avoiding Bruce Wayne. He wasn’t. But Tim knows he’ll have to answer questions soon. He just wasn’t ready.

Tim looked up at the den of pixies- pixies were real!- and squared his shoulders. He did his research. Tim Drake walks into the den with nothing but foolish hope and Gotham-brand audacity. He’ll get answers about Danny today. He will.

——

Soul-Plucker, they called him. Danny Fenton, the proprietor of Fenton Artifacts. The High King.

“I thought King Oberon was the High King?”

The pixies chittered at the little human that could have been kin. Their wings fluttered at their backs, muffled by cloth. It’s not often they find kindred. It really is too bad that Fenton had his mark on the child. How they would have loved to whisk him away. He would have made entertainment that would last a millennia! Or until the court decided to cut of his tongue, at least. How well he had tricked them!

“Of course! Of course! King Oberon is our king, see?” A younger pixie swirled her drink, a shining red and blue thing. “But he’s the High King of another court!”

“The High King of the Infinite Realms, encompassing far more than King Oberon and Queen Tatianna could ever reach.”

Another pixie chimed in, on their fourth glass of amber colored nectar. “The Soul-Plucker!”

“The Beginning of the End.”

“Afterlife IRS department!”

“He who wanders.”

“Death-Caller.” Another one said, grave and serious.

“The Arbiter.”

“So, he’s like, the boss of bosses?” Tim asked. What kind of entity did he make a deal with? Why was he kind to Tim? What motives did Danny have?

“Uh huh!”

“Then what’s he’s doing here?”

“Who knows? The whims of the most powerful are unknown to us.” The pixies clustered around Tim. “Won’t you play another game with us, Alvin? You’re so good at it! Oh, how about a drink?”

“Can’t. I gotta get home. Also, I’m a minor.” Tim slipped passed their fluttering wings and manic smiles. They move to let him past, waving drinks at him in a tantalizing manner.

“And where is that, sweet one?”

“Somewhere, Liltri. Somewhere.”

Tim Drake was a child of pure will, pure hard headed foolishness, a mind sharper than any blade, and luck more terrifying than the creatures he now dealt with. And so, he stepped out of the Pixie Bar with more questions than answers but he stepped out unharmed.

——

“Who are you?” The shadows shift as Lady Gotham unveiled her knight.

Danny felt his eyes cool, glinting green and blue. Lady Gotham forgets who her liege is.

“Haven’t you done your research? You who walks along the edge of shadows, my shop is not a place to dismiss decorum.”

“You brought… you brought him back. How. Why?”

“You want answers? Then give me something in return.”

Danny gestured to the circle his clients have come to know as the deal-maker. Danny doesn’t ask for much in return. Just… something equal to the request.

“Ah,” Danny pointed up at the sign. “I am legally able to deny you my service, so don’t get any ideas.”

Batman was studied up on myths. But he was not a believer, and that both hindered and helped him. What was a god, in front of the faithless? What was the faithless in front of power?

The vigilante stepped into the circle, unable to see the subtle shimmering of magic but remained unbound by the virtue of his disbelief.

“What do you want for answers?”

“You do not often deal with the occult, do you?” Danny tapped the counter. Batman remained silent.

“I have a soft spot for vigilantes,” Danny continued. “And so I won’t ask for much. Just… your cape.”

“Not my hair? A body part?”

“If you were dealing with the fae, you’d probably would lose something of that value, yes.”

“You aren’t fae.”

Danny merely smiled. “Do we have a deal?”

“My cape in exchange for honest answers to my questions.”

Danny huffed, approval glinting in his eyes.

“Your cape for honest answers to three questions,” Danny pointed at the sign, still hanging above them. “Three questions or nothing.”

Batman grimaced. “Deal.”

“Ask your questions, protector.”

“Why did you bring Jason back to life?”

“I didn’t.” Danny grinned. The Bat should have stipulated that he must answer elaborately. He looked like he realized that. Oh well. His mistake. Well, not like there was actual magic binding Danny, so technically, Danny could lie off his ass.

“…Will Jason stay alive?” Danny had a heart and this man was a much better father than Jack ever was.

“Yes. Barring unnatural causes, his soul is firmly attached to his body and will not shuffle off the mortal coil without warning.”

The lines of Batman’s shoulders slumped. Relief. He paused.

“What are your intentions in this city?”

“To run my shop… and to enjoy retirement.”

Danny laughed at Batman’s stoic face. “Disappointed I am not up to nefarious deeds, little knight?”

“No.”

Danny tapped the table. “My payment?”

Batman shucked off his cape and handed it to Danny.

“Why my cape?”

Danny smiled a fanged little thing. “Because your costume looks stupid without it and I could use a laugh.”

Batman grumbled and turned to leave. Ha paused, eyes catching on the glint of camera lenses.

“How much for that?”

“For the little sparrow’s camera?” Danny sighed, eyes fixed on the form of a vigilante who was more kind than angry for once. “Two thousand dollars.”

“That’s a huge markup.”

“That’s how much it means to me, compared to the rest.” Danny slid beyond the counter, a ghostly air about him. He pinned his newly earned cape up. “My shop, my prices, little knight.”

Batman silently handed him two thousand dollars and left with the little sparrow’s camera.