#especially on the long term things start to slide just a bit - and will escalate on the long term

[mknightgrant]

💥 and 😳 with the moon bois, please??

💥 + 😳 A fighting headcanon + a confessing headcanon Not sure if you wanted it together or separately, but here are some hcs of some sort of fight that ends in a confession! This is my first time writing HCs, so pardon any mistakes <3 this is kinda long, I think!

Steven: It’s been agreed upon that Saturdays are to be spent with one another in the absence of your phones. The little blocks of technology serve as distractions, preventing face-to-face interactions from occurring other than the occasional “Oh god, look at this!” before sharing something found online. By the time this Saturday comes around, you and Steven decide on having a movie night–but can’t seem to get on the same page in terms of which movie you’ll be watching. While you prefer to watch a Disney film because, for some reason, your heart yearns for it today, Steven insists on watching another documentary on Ancient Egypt. The conversation between you two escalates into a debate, with Steven winning, to say the least. Winning in a sense that you’re this close to agreeing and just watching the documentary, but you aren’t one to back down so easily. That’s the exact reason why your hands start moving towards his sides, right where he’s most ticklish. The back of his ears are pretty ticklish too, but those areas aren’t exactly accessible to you at the moment, so his sides will do.

Laughter resonates in the flat, a mix of both his and yours, while Steven’s hands desperately try to fight and tickle you right back. However, it barely works, having been too distracted by your fingers poking, prodding, and wiggling at his sides. By the time he starts panting and begging for you to quit it, you’ve already managed to wiggle your way on top of him.

“Do you yield?” You grin, sliding off his frame as you push your hair back in an attempt to fix it.

“God. You’re lucky I love you. If you were anyone else, literally anyone, I think I would’ve tried harder to get to you. Would’ve been mad at you too.”

That catches you by surprise. Sure, you’ve been friends with Steven for quite a while now, but the L word was never thrown around like that. You had both agreed that saying “I” before “love you” makes things a lot more personal than saying the two words alone.

“You what?”

Marc: It was a rare occasion that you could get Marc Spector out of the house, and it was an even rarer occasion that he would agree to come with you to a local carnival. So, the second he suggests that you two go there for your next date, you jump on board the idea immediately. The day is mainly filled with going on rides, taking photos in the photobooths scattered around the lot, and you even managed to make Marc break his diet for a couple carnival sweets. So, to say that the day is going pretty well is an understatement–that is, of course, until you both agree to play the carnival games available to you. The thing is, there’s always been a competitive side to both of you, so when Marc suggests going through the different games and fighting to see who would win more prizes by the end of the night, you have to agree.

It’s almost unbelievable how many games he wins, especially given that he even wins the ones he used to be terrible at. The bean bag toss, the ring toss, the cup game, knocking down the cans, hell, he even manages to win Steven another goldfish for the tank in addition to the two that they already had.

“What the hell, Marc? How and why did you suddenly get so good at carnival games? Been training or something?” You asked, shoving the little stuffed toys you both won into a bag you purchased from one of the stalls. Was it overpriced? Of course it was, but there was no way you were carrying home this many stuffed toys in your two arms while Marc carries the beloved goldfish in one hand and the remaining toys in the other.

“Well, I may have gotten a bit of help? Steven’s got a pretty good understanding of the science behind the games and calculating the physics or whatever it is that we need to win, sooo…”

You obviously gape at the confession, straightening up your back as your eyes lock on his, causing him to smile rather cheekily at you.

“But hey! Before you tell me off for cheating or whatever, look at all the toys we got! And the newest addition to our goldfish family at home! We saved a life, you know. Could name them after you.”

"Marc!"

Jake: It’s a confession that comes in the middle of an argument. You’ve always known that Jake was one to splurge when it comes to buying things for himself. He spoils himself silly, and doing so, spoils Marc and Steven as well. Sure, they had differences when it came to their preferences, but they did share a couple likes and interests. You never had a problem with it–they do deserve it after all. However, when his spending habit started extending to you, as much as you appreciated his gestures, there was something telling you that you just didn’t deserve it. You tried telling him that he didn’t need to get you all these things, but he insisted, stating that his best friend deserves everything in the world. You inferred that one of his love languages was through gifts, so you let the smaller ones slide.

The fight ensues on the day that he presents you with a nicely wrapped box, which holds a rather expensive bracelet.

It was the one he caught you staring at the other day when you were out window shopping. Honestly speaking, you didn’t think that any of them would remember it, given that it didn’t seem like Jake was paying attention, having been distracted by the other things on display.

It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, but you saw the price and it definitely was not worth buying, especially not as a gift for you.

“Jake, this is too much, yeah? I’m thankful for it, I really am, but didn’t I tell you to stop buying things for me?” You asked, running your index finger over the rim of the bracelet before bringing your attention to him.

“Too much? Why would that be too much?” Jake asked, his brows furrowed. “Do you not like it, mariposa? I just thought it was the one you wanted back at the store. I could take it back and replace it. No es gran cosa.”

“Jake.” You repeat his name a little more firmly than you did earlier, closing the box and transferring it into his hands. You choose to ignore his second question, “If you said this isn’t a big deal, I swear. It is a big deal! You can’t just… you can’t go off and spend that much money for me, Jake!”

The rise in the volume of your voice takes him by surprise, causing him to tilt his head. “You’re mad because I bought you a bracelet? Querida…”

You barely give him enough time to finish the sentence before you continue, “No. I’m not going to take any reasons from you, Jake Lockley. There isn’t any reason in the world for you to spend this much money on me, and for what? You should already know that I love you for you, not because of how much money you have or whatever. I don’t need gifts from you, Jake. I don’t need anything else, okay?”

“Wait, you love me?” He asked, his eyes glinting with a spark of hope–not that you would notice, really. You failed to notice the smile forming on his lips too.

“What?” Your eyes nearly bugged out, having only realized what you said when he repeated it.

“What do you mean ‘what’? You said you love me!”

"When did I-"

"Te amo también, mariposa."

"What?!"

"What?" He grinned.

#moon knight #moon knight writings #moon knight headcanons #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant headcanons #marc spector headcanons #jake lockley headcanons #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #moonknight #moon knight series #gessi's take on emoji headcanons

[spielzeugkaiser]

@ineffable-monster-romancer that ask is old, but it never left me! Just them being human, but while cha-cha sliding a bit to the left. Geralt has spent most of his years with the minimum of interaction with humans and while Jaskier has lived with them throughout his life, he is at times even worse, because he just forgets that he isn’t the standard. And while peoples reaction to Geralt is often quite instinctual, with Jaskier who let’s his guard down it’s so much worse: Cause your eyes say ‘adorkable bard, harmless’ and your hindbrain screams p r e d a t o r.

#bear!jaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ciri #witcher!jaskier #adoreable jaskier nibbling at his apple with an empty stare that sees way too much at once while his eyes reflect the light: you want some? #but both of them?? #especially on the long term things start to slide just a bit - and will escalate on the long term #give it a few more years and Jaskier will still complain about Geralts manners while eloquently telling him to fuck off #while they fight for a piece of jerky like some wild animals #just boys being dudes but in extreme #half of this AU is h/c a quarter is plot and the rest is them going ABSOLUTELY feral (over snacks) #who knows Jaskier might still be growing #like how old is he??? omg #I'm giving myself ideas while writing the tags #yeah #poor me's thought process is exactly like that

[emwritesstuff]

as the world caves in | ch. 5 | bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.

You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.

But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.  

This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode four. Thread carefully!

masterlist | AO3

notes: I was going to make it only one chapter with the plot of episode four but it ended up HUGE, so I'm splitting this one in two. I’m posting the next one very very soon (probably tomorrow), just need to finish reviewing it sksksk

(warnings: mentions of death, gunshots, blood) (word count: 4K)

five: funeral

Ayo considered you for a moment, then turned to Bucky. “Eight hours. Do not forget.”

You exhaled slowly after she was gone, allowing yourself to return to a more relaxed state.

“You know Ayo?” Bucky said, after he made sure the door was well closed.

Sam mused from behind you.

“And you speak Xhosa!”

“When King T’Challa opened Wakanda to the world, I ended up leading the relations between our countries from our side. Learning the language was the least I could do.” You shrugged, smiling fondly when you remember the awkward phase where you still mispronounced everything, and how astoundingly lenient the King had been during it.

“Accomplished. It was sweet of you to defend me, at least.”

You raised an eyebrow at the glass of water you’re drinking, grateful that Zemo didn’t speak the language. If only he knew.

Well, you had a feeling he would. Eight hours. T-minus-fifteen.

“Hey, you shut it. No one is defending you. You killed Nagel.” Sam bit at Zemo, and you put down your water and took your phone.

It had been blowing up since the signal returned after your flight to Latvia, every single person who ever had your contact was looking for you. Understandably. It was your first “vacation” in a long time.

You swiped the notifications away, and your eyes met Bucky’s while Sam and Zemo squabbled.

“You shouldn’t be good at that. It’s not fair.”

“It’s just a phone, Buck.” You smirk up at him, and a corner of his lip tugs upwards in response. “And I’ve been around long enough to know how to deal with the ever-changing technology.”

“Does that mean you’re the older one now? I’ve been frozen.”

“Do I get older privilege?” You asked, not looking up from the screen. The news feed caught your attention, and you were quick to scroll past the one talking about The Winter Soldier’s appearance in Madripoor.

“…No.” Bucky pushed his bottom lip forward, shaking his head. You bit your lip to refrain yourself from telling him just how much of a child he was, but couldn’t hide your grin.

The next headline made the grin fall out of your mouth, it being replaced by a frown. You slid the phone to Bucky, you two sharing a concerned look as soon as he read it too.

“Sam. Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

You rubbed your temples and started pacing as Bucky explained to the other two men the situation. Three dead. Eleven wounded. Your heart wrenched, and you pressed a fist to your chest when you imagine how dire the things have to be for that to had become the latest desperate measure.

Wars have civilian casualties. People are bound to be caught in the crossfire. You knew this. You’d seen it. This was a deliberate attack, and it was a different time and conjecture, but you felt almost the same as you did when you walked through the rubble made of Europe, 80 years ago.

Seeds for a new war. You’d hoped you wouldn’t get to see it sprout again.

You finally looked up as Zemo questioned the three of you about having the will to complete the mission.

“She’s just a kid.”

You moved to rest a hand on Sam’s shoulder, but in the end, you might have been more looking to ground yourself than anything. He nodded at you either way, and you could see Bucky’s eyes on you from your peripheral.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there. You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of Super Soldier will always trouble people.” Zemo spoke with certainty, as if he was a professor and the three of you his pupils.

“I doubt she sees things that way.” You raised your finger as soon as he opened his mouth to retort. “Not everyone has the chance to be studying politics and understand how revolutionary movements can become extremism. Most people are just fighting to get to see another day.”

You wondered if Baron Helmut Zemo would ever understand that, the struggle. The uncertainty that wakes up with you and goes to sleep when you do, only to pose itself the next morning.

“It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.” His next line seemed to be enough of an answer. You let your hand slide off Sam’s shoulder, realizing you had it in a tight grip the whole time, and resumed your pacing.

You doubted Karli Morgenthau had much chance to reflect on the long-term consequences of her mobilization. She was helping people, people who needed things right away; she was providing immediate relief. The world only had given violence in return.

“She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo. The Serum never corrupted Steve.” Bucky retorted, but that obviously wasn’t enough to shake Zemo’s convictions.

The ache in our chest grew just a tad stronger, and you sank on the large sectional couch; Bucky seemed to have sensed your wariness, because soon enough he was bumping knees with you on the empty seat to your left. He radiated irritation, squared shoulders and head thrown back.

You laced your arm with his, nodding along with Sam as he talked about his aunt, understanding his plan when he reasoned that they might be doing a funeral ceremony for Donya. Bucky seemed to have loosened it up a little, and you agreed with him. It was worth a shot.

“You doin’ okay?” Bucky whispered, adjusting his arm so yours could have more room.

You raised your eyes at Zemo, stopping for a few seconds to observe the golden embroidery of the couch behind Bucky’s head before looking at him.

You squeezed his bicep. You mustered a small, strained smile.

Bucky’s eyes did not leave yours the entire time, two pools of blue and warmth and comfort that made you ache with how much you’d missed them all of these years.

“Jus’ fine.”

Bucky nodded.

“Liar.”

You flicked his ear with your free hand, which made him grunt. You giggled as Bucky shook his head and muttered something about you being such a child, and you could feel your nervousness easing up.

“Don’t be so grumpy, old man.”

---

You parted ways as Sam, Bucky and Zemo went to the displacement camp, and you went to the GRC office in Riga in search of information. You hadn’t been seen with them yet, so you took the chance of still being considered just a diplomat on a trip, seeking to maybe be of assistance in trying times.

It hadn’t been the most productive of mornings. The people at the office knew as little as you did of Donya Madani, or any of the other displaced people, which was appalling at the least. All they had was some half-assed records of when the camp had been formed, and that was months ago. Who knew how many people had joined by then. No wonder the Flag Smashers were at large, with more people joining and supporting the cause every day.

John Walker and Lemar Hoskins walked through the building’s doors, just as you were ready to leave. Hoskins recognized you immediately, whispering something to the new Captain America before both men approached you.

You shook their hands graciously, but your eyes remained on the door, you not wanting to waste precious time with the two. Especially Walker, who seemed to wear the shield on his back like it was a badge of honor, or even a safe-conduct to back up his moves.

It didn’t sit right with you, and not just because the man who wielded the shield before him was unreplaceable to you, and the man who stood before you seemed to have been handpicked to step inside Steve’s shoes, same size and all. His height, his built, his set jaw, the blue eyes, the blonde hair; as far as looks went, the perfect impersonator. It was the way he carried himself that set you off though, proud of himself and his own privilege. And you had barely any interaction with him aside from watching him perform in front of cameras, and, well, now.

“I’m very sorry gentlemen – but I should get going. This detour of my vacation is already on borrowed time.”

Hoskins nodded solemnly, but Walker took another step towards you. “I know about your previous work with Steve, it would be nice to have you on your side too.”

“Like I said, I’m off duty. Try not to make a mess out of it.” The lie slips off your lips easily, and you offer them an apologetic smile before turning to leave.

“There’s some Avengers on the hunt for the Flag Smashers too.”

Hoskins’ voice stopped you in your tracks, and you studied the two, wondering just how much they actually knew.

“Just think about it, okay? If you’re gonna help someone, make sure you’re helping the right people.”

That’s exactly what you were doing, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“Hoskins. Cap. Have a nice day.” You nodded at them, not looking behind you as you take off to the cobblestone streets.

---

Sam and Bucky turned to watch you when arrived back at Zemo’s condo, closing the door gently behind you.

“Nothing.” You answered before they could ask, shaking your head slightly. From the defeated way they were sank on that couch, you assumed they were met with dead ends as well. “And Walker’s here, so expect things to get complicated.”

“You met with Walker?” Bucky asked, his jaw tensing up as he looked up at you.

“More like he met me. Offered me a job.” You chuckled humorlessly at the irony of it. Apparently you were now known for getting Steve out of trouble, and not for getting into it with him. How the tables turn. “He’s lacking intel as much as we are though.”

You threw your coat on the coffee table, and watched it slip down to the floor unimpressed. Bucky dipped to pick it up, draping it over the back of the couch while shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. Sam giggled, earning himself a glare.

Zemo approached your group with a tray of steaming tea. Bucky focused his glare on him.

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, a taunting tone to his voice.

Zemo paused, and his eyes jumped from Bucky, to Sam, to you, and the ground. The mood is restless, charged with tension, ready to spark like an open wire at the edge of water.

The Sokovian visibly relaxes his posture when he bends down to serve himself tea. “The funeral is this afternoon.”

It wasn’t not surprising to you that he was withholding information, though it was bold. His confidence was baffling, if anything.

“You’re on thin ice, Zemo.” You narrow your eyes at him, and he offers you a small, lofty smile.

Bucky looked at you and nodded before reminding Zemo of the Dora Milaje and demanding he kept talking.

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli.” He retorts to Bucky and hums, shaking his head. “There’s still much I want to know, including why an American diplomat is tagging along for an altercation against a group of Super Soldiers.”

Zemo looked at you, inspecting your form as you leaned over a tiled column. He lingers on, but you know you have the higher ground. You don’t look the part of super soldier, in the way like the Flag Smashers don’t also. It’s advantageous, it gets you to blend in with the rest of world. You were aware that Zemo has been suspicious ever since you walked through the heavy wooden doors the first time, though, and he was trying to carve information out of you through veiled threats.

“I prefer to keep my leverage.”

This seemed to spur Bucky on. He got up from the couch, stalking towards Zemo in a casual gait, only to grab the teacup from the other man’s grasp and throw it violently at another column.

Your breath hitched.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?”

It sounded almost alien to you, the venom that dripped from Bucky’s words. You definitely hadn’t kept that in your memories of him, and you remind yourself that Bucky was no longer just that gallant boy from Brooklyn, he had more wars and baggage than anyone should carry.

So did you.

Sam got to Bucky before you could get your legs to move. “Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

As if on cue, Zemo tilted his head upright.

Sam retreats to make a call, whacking Bucky on the shoulder as he left the room. The sound makes you shift, and you walked forward to put yourself between him and Zemo.

“Thin fuckin’ ice.” You snarl. Bucky disengaged by leaning on his heels.

“Want some cherry blossom tea?”

You huffed and nudged Bucky’s waist to prompt him to follow you, wanting nothing more to get him – and yourself – away from Zemo before disaster ensued. He still held the information you needed, though his bargaining chips were running out.

You had the distinct feeling that he knew that too.

“No, you go ahead.”

The room you found yourselves next is small, but just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, with thick embroidered cushions littering a daybed and stained glass on the windows, casting colorful rays of light over the floor.

“You won’t go home if I ask you to, will you?” Bucky asked, and you chuckled.

“Absolutely not.”

A pained little sound left Bucky’s throat, and you sat down on the daybed to face him. He was leaning against the wall, eyebrows knitted.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all, Buck.”

“I do. That’s why I’m worried.” You rolled your eyes at him, making him look away from you, jaw clenched.

You sighed. “Bucky. I’m a highly trained super soldier.” Retired, too, and probably rusty, but you decided to not put that thought on his head. “I have more field experience than you, I bet. Don’t trouble yourself too much.”

His shoulders sagged, and you raised your hand to smooth the collar of his jacket, like you’ve done a million times before, back when you were still only a girl, and he was only a boy. The familiarity in those acts of intimacy covered you like a warm blanket, and you caught yourself wondering if Bucky felt the same.

“I worry about you too, you know. Why I’m here.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you, eyes roaming over your face. “How much did Sam tell you about Madripoor?”

“All of it, I think.”

There was torment in his eyes, that he tried concealing by looking at the floor. He nodded curtly, and the gesture propels you to leap forward and hold his face in your hands.

“Not worried like that.” You knit your eyebrows together, speaking firmly at him. “Worried about you throwing yourself into another fight. And losing you to it, again. So here I am, James, and stop trying to get rid of me.”

He either crashed into you or you into him, you’re not sure, but it barely mattered. Bucky had his arms firmly around you, his forehead resting on your shoulder. A hug that came eight decades too late, making you have to blink tears away.

“Don’t wanna lose you again too.” Bucky mumbled into your hair, and you squeezed him just a little bit tighter.

“You won’t. M’ here.”

I’m here. I’m here. You believed it, because you knew yourself. Keeping away this long, because you knew that once you were with him, you wouldn’t be leaving.

You hoped Bucky believed it, too. You’d tell him over and over, just in case.

The moment was short lived, though, coming to an end the when Sam knocks on the door. You pry yourself apart from him like a band-aid, and the door opens, leaving you and Bucky to compartmentalize and get ready for the next steps in your mission with your backs turned to each other.

“You guys good?” Sam asked, looking from you to Bucky, and you groaned internally at the sight of the slight curl at the corner of his mouth.

It’s not like that, Sam.

“Yeah. Are you?”

He quirks his brow. You quirk yours. His smirk is more out in the open, now.

“C’mon, old guard, we have a funeral to attend.”

You and Bucky shoot him a double glare and follow him back to the living room, then out to the cobblestone streets. Sam specifically said no weapons, no doubt intending to keep things civil, but you strapped a knife to your boot anyway.

Bucky smirked at you when he caught you red handed and showed you the handle of his own knife secured at his hip. It’s funny, how among so many things that haven’t changed at all, remaining intact as if eternized in marble, so many other things did.

It’s the caution. Having a plan B, C, D, up to plan Z. It’s knowing every possible exit points when you enter a room, and it’s strapping a knife to your body even if you’re going on a mission of peace.

You wanted to think that the years made to fade most of your scars, but the smallest things reminded you that faded didn’t mean gone. The weight of the blade on your left foot was doing that, as you walked through the streets of Riga beside Bucky, Sam and Zemo.

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.”

John Walker and Lemar Hoskins jogged down the steps in your direction. Bucky opened his arms in irritation.

“Ah! How’d you find us now?”

It wasn’t really a question.

“Come on. You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Hoskins questioned rhetorically back, and his eyes land on you. You raised your eyebrows at him. “Y/L/N.” He didn’t sound terribly surprised.

“No more keeping us in the dark. You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” Walker’s voice nearly overlapped Hoskins’, and his eyes traveled from Zemo to you.

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky quipped, and shifted to your side slightly.

“I thought you were on vacation.” Walker sneered, making you shrug. You waved idly at the buildings.

“What? I’m sightseeing.”

“Oh, this better have an unbelievable explanation—” He raised his arms, taking a couple steps in your direction, but you didn’t budge.

You were resigned to simply rest your hands at your hips and wait for his temper tantrum to be over, but Sam clapped him on the chest and commanded him to not make things weird. Walker simmered down enough, which makes you beam proudly at Sam.

“I know where Karli is.”

You’d never be caught dead saying that out loud, but thank heavens for Zemo.

The new Captain America insisted on leading the action and turning it into a hostile one. You couldn’t stop staring at the shield on his back while he strutted ahead and turned, arguing with Sam about whether or not attempting to reason with Morgenthau was a good idea. She was indeed dangerous, but the echo of Sam saying that she was only a child earlier filled your ears.

It was risky, but Sam wasn’t reckless. You believed in him wholly.

“Is that why you roped a diplomat into this? There’s still time to change sides and save your job, Y/L/N.”

You didn’t doubt John Walker could and would get you to lose your job position, but you were aware of that possible outcome the minute you flew yourself to Latvia. That was the kind of inconvenience your future self would have to deal with. Sam looked at you for a brief second, forehead creasing with worry.

“Don’t threaten her, Walker.” Bucky warned him, and it was like you were fighting off a gang of bullies in an alleyway back home again.

“You’ll let him do this? Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier, alone?” Walker pressed on, holding Bucky’s stare.

“He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.”

You highly doubted that. These men were as hard-headed as you were, but you didn’t buy into the whole we-aren’t-friends thing. It was evident, in the way they checked on each other from time to time, and had each other’s backs.

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.” Sam stepped forward, and Walker was quick to resume the argument. He was desperate for a win, any win, and you caught yourself wondering if he was truly ready for the role he was given.

Hoskins seemed to be the voice of reason he lacked. Walker gave in, reluctantly, and motioned at Zemo.

“We’ll deal with you later.”

You tapped your feet impatiently.

“Boys, there’s no time for this.”

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead.”

There was a small girl waiting by the building in front of you. She guided the group to an abandoned factory of some sort, and Zemo announced that Karli was inside, and not long after he was being handcuffed to an iron vault door.

Sam stopped himself in his tracks while Walker manhandles the man, and you and him shared a look.

“You wanna come with?”

“No. It’s two against one, might set her off.” You shook your head, turning to look at Walker as he paced around. “You got this, Sam.”

Sam nodded at you and went in.

Ten minutes. You listened attentively for any signs of struggle, hoping things would go smoothly. Your knife felt heavy inside your shoe. Bucky seemed to be focused on the same task next to you.

John Walker grew more anxious by the minute, and you stopped listening to watch him pace around.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Bucky sighed.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.”

Rich, coming from him, who seemed keen on doing just that to everyone else. Walker squared his shoulders and marched on, Bucky having to stand on his way to stop him. You got off your post on the stairs and blocked the rest of the way. Walker glared at you, then at him.

“This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.”

Of course, he would consider the serum more of a blessing than the true curse it was. You exhaled sharply, struggling to keep your emotions in check, watching Bucky’s back as Walker continued.

“Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

You could almost see Bucky’s resolve wavering.

“Bucky, don’t.”

“You really want a casualty that big, Ambassador?”

“You need to cool down, Walker. Sam is—”

You didn’t get to finish, because Walker is barreling his way through you and towards Karli Morgenthau. Hoskins is pushing you and Bucky back as you try to get to Sam and the girl before things blew up even further.

“Walker you can’t—”

“Karli Morgenthau, you’re under arrest.”

Karli knocks Walker down, and Bucky managed to shove Hoskins away to run after her.

“Y/N, ten minutes!” Sam said as the both of you ran off to join the pursuit.

“I know, Sam! There’s no reasoning with this guy!” You groaned. “I’ll go this way, cover more ground.”

Sam nodded, his concerned expression mirroring yours.

You split up as you take off to your right, passing through archways and enclosed cubbyholes, finding nothing but old industrial machinery and junk.

Gunshots.

You counted four, at least.

You managed to pick up the source of the sound after the third discharge, somewhere at the lower level of the building. It would take you forever to find your way down the traditional way.

You landed on the ground floor with a soft thud, and couldn’t help but grin as you look up at the window you had just jumped from. Not bad, though the impact was unexpected and almost knocked the wind out of you.

The sound of smashed glass prompted you to snap back to reality and run into the basement of the factory, the place holding massive iron pipes and boilers. Zemo had his back to you, gun in hand.

A flash of red curly hair poked from behind the last pipe. You tiptoed your way to Karli, crouching next to her. She was clutching her side, blood seeping through her fingers. The receiving end of the shots.

Karli looked at you with terrified eyes, then up, and your gaze followed hers to a man you didn’t recognize, but one of her friends without doubt.

“Get out of here, kid. Go.”

She wasted no time, clambering up the stairs and disappearing through a metal door.

Faster than you and Zemo could acknowledge each other’s actions, he was hit on the heat with flying metal, sending him unconscious to the floor. John Walker stepped into the light.

“Morgenthau?”

“Gone. I was too late.”

Walker appeared to believe you, or he didn’t care, eyeing with interest the shards of fine glass littered on the floor. Zemo had smashed every single vial of serum before being hit with the shield. You kneel next to him and check his pulse.

“Is he…?”

“No. Just out.” You breathed. Walker let out a disappointed hum, leaving you to attempt to waken Zemo by yourself.

Bucky and Sam entered through the door that Karli had escaped through, and Hoskins through the doorway you came in before.

“What did we miss?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #will reblog w taglist

[robininthelabyrinth]

Hi! I really love your writing and was wondering if you would do a part 2 of the fic you did for @kitsunesongs birthday?

The one where Nie Huaisang meets Xiao Xingchen and "persuades" him to go to the Nie Sect.

sequel to this one

Xiao Xingchen and Nie Mingjue got along just as disgustingly well as Nie Huaisang might have predicted, and it was starting to tick him off.

Not just him.

“It’ll pass,” he remarked to the glowering young man sitting beside him. “It always does…eventually. Xiao Xingchen is no different.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Song Zichen said, voice tight and back even tighter. The temples and the sects were not on what one might call the best of terms – it was politely referred to as tensions – so Song Zichen had refused to even consider leaving Xiao Xingchen in Nie Huaisang’s not-so-capable hands, but he also wasn’t strong enough to stop him, so all it meant in the end was that he had to trail along with them like an imprinted duckling.

A duckling with no sense of humor.

“They all come and get knocked over the head with it,” Nie Huaisang said with a sigh, fanning himself. He’d seen it happen time and time again. “My brother, I mean.”

“Your brother…hits people?” Song Zichen said, sounding doubtful enough for Nie Huaisang to realize that even he’d fallen for it.

“No,” he said patiently. “They’re overwhelmed by admiration for how good of a big brother he is and want him for their own.”

Song Zichen’s expression appeared to be at war with itself: he couldn’t decide whether to scoff at Nie Huaisang’s patent ridiculousness, furiously deny that Xiao Xingchen was attempting to market himself for possible adoption, or sullenly acknowledge that he, too, would like to be the recipient of Nie Mingjue’s rough sort of affection.

It was all those meaningful hand-on-shoulder, serious eye-contact, respect-is-given-where-it-is-earned-and-I-respect-you things Nie Mingjue did without thinking about it – possibly it was just the dearth of decent parents among the Great Sects, and the smaller sects too come to think about it, but everyone was hilariously susceptible to it.

(He’d accidentally done it to Lan Qiren once, making the man actually glow with pride for a moment before he realized he was being complimented by someone at least a decade his junior and fixed his expression. It was a memory that warmed Nie Huaisang’s heart.)

“Still,” Nie Huaisang mused. “I will admit that this is getting out of hand.”

He’d known that Nie Mingjue would be fond of Xiao Xingchen, but he hadn’t anticipated how much his brother had apparently been longing for someone with whom he could have ethical and moral discussions that didn’t leave him scowling and looking sick to his stomach. The two of them shared a clear and forthright vision of the world – in which people were supposed to help others, fight evil and save innocents, and that everything else was a distraction – and what started out, to Nie Huaisang’s mind, as some sort of moral purist fan club had eventually sort of…escalated.

It wasn’t that Nie Huaisang forgot that his brother was a powerful sect leader and formerly the general of the combined forces of the cultivation world and therefore was a terrifying political powerhouse to be reckoned with, not really. It was that his brother so rarely ever did anything with his power and influence that it was easier to just…put it aside.

On a normal day, his brother was a simple person: he wanted his family and sect to be happy and safe and strong, the common people protected, and evil defeated – ideally courtesy of his blood-thirsty saber, after a brisk bit of exercise. Nie Mingjue was respectful of others, such that he rarely intervened where he wasn’t explicitly invited, and so his focus had always been Qinghe, its environs, and the surrounding sects that pledged their loyalty in exchange for Nie support and strength.

Xiao Xingchen had more ambitious ideas than that.

Maybe he should have done more to head off their enthusiasm before it got this far, Nie Huaisang grumbled in his thoughts. But his brother seemed so happy, lighter than he’d been in years, less angry at everything – and his sudden burst of activity was driving Sect Leader Jin up the wall, and that was just legitimately hilarious.

Still, it was one thing for Xiao Xingchen to say that he wanted to protect innocents and defeat evil, no matter where it was. In the end, he was a naïve and untried young man unfamiliar with the world, no matter how powerful his ancestry, and such things would always be met with indulgent smiles and virtually no interest, everyone assuming it was little more than a child’s daydream.

It was something completely different for Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-zun and Sect Leader to one of the Great Sects, to put out a call for all able-bodied cultivators with courage and skill to join together once more to sweep through the worst parts of the cultivation world and clean it up together.

After all, Lan Xichen might win the women’s vote, but among men, at least, Nie Mingjue was the most admired man in the cultivation world, bar none, the most idolized and revered and envied, and he was offering an opportunity to win valor by his side. Those who had fought in the Sunshot Campaign were enticed by the notion of something clean and straightforward, cultivator against evil the way it was supposed to be; those that didn’t have a chance to win glory the last time were champing at the bit to belatedly add “fought under Chifeng-zun’s command” to their personal legacies; those who had been too young for the war were excited by the possibility of fame and fortune…

Sect Leader Jin, who was advocating to be Chief Cultivator of the cultivation world, did not want there to be a roving war-bad of powerful cultivators under his chief-most rival’s personal command, traveling throughout the cultivation world and making friends with each other and winning fame left and right with only Nie Mingjue to thank for it.

Sadly for him, there really wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Especially not now that Nie Mingjue was no longer asking Jin Guangyao to come play for him so regularly.

The playing had been designed to help with his ever-worsening temper, if Nie Huaisang understood his brother’s curt explanation properly, but it hadn’t really been doing much, and Nie Mingjue was far too busy now to waste time with things like that.

(Nie Huaisang did not think about how his father had died, and how much stronger his brother was than his father had ever become. He did not think about the fact that Xiao Xingchen was said to be doomed, the way his brother was doomed, or the fact that his brother’s decision to stop listening to Jin Guangyao’s playing or Lan Xichen’s encouragement of it had come on the heels of meeting someone else who was trading away their chances at a long and happy life for a chance to try to improve the world.

He did not think about any of that, or of the slow halting explanation his brother had finally given him about all the things he knew-but-didn’t-know about his sect’s cultivation style, about his brother’s own personal prognosis, and he certainly didn’t think about how his brother clearly saw this whole ridiculous notion of a massive large-scale night-hunt as his final campaign, his legacy, to be left behind when he himself left the world.

It wasn’t relevant, because it wasn’t going to happen, Nie Huaisang wasn’t going to let it happen. So he wasn’t thinking about it.)

“It’s a good plan,” Song Zichen said, and Nie Huaisang looked at him. “I had wanted to start a sect with no bloodline, based only on friendship, but Xingchen and your brother are putting together a coalition of sects that is much the same thing. All of those young men becoming brothers in arms…”

“Women, too,” Nie Huaisang said, because it was true. There’d be plenty of unexpected marriages formed before this whole thing was done – Jiang Cheng had recently declared his intention of joining, the nephew he’d insisted on caring for personally carted around on a sling on his back, and he looked so positively dashing when he did it that the women of the cultivation world might even consider removing him from their blacklist one day.

Maybe.

Song Zichen nodded seriously. “Women as well. Regardless, the end result of what they are achieving is the same - unity, friendship, cooperation, rather than chaos.”

Nie Huaisang smiled. And then, because why not, he used the excuse to slide closer and nudge Song Zichen in the side with a hand that lingered. “Don’t count yourself out, Song-xiong. You’re contributing, too.”

Song Zichen did not appear convinced.  

“You are!” Nie Huaisang insisted. “You just need to figure out what you’re good at – some purpose for yourself, some mission, or even just something to pass the time pleasantly. I’ll even help.”

He was about to suggest that they go to bed together – listen, he was shallow and Song Zichen was a very pretty person – but Song Zichen frowned, ducking his head a little in thought.

“Well, there is something,” he said slowly. “I thought, if it was true, that I might go deal with it. Although it’s only a rumor I heard…”

“I love rumors,” Nie Huaisang assured him, shelving his proposition for the moment. “What is it?”

“Have you ever heard of someone,” Song Zichen asked, “by the name of Xue Yang?”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #song lan #nie mingjue #xiao xingchen #my fic #my fics #disaster incoming #Anonymous

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Alright, and I am back with another update! But first, some stuff a friend noticed in the first few pages and mentioned to me that I didn’t take in when I went over them on my own the first time:

The park they’re in as kids is pretty close to the apartment complex Izuku and his mom live in! Considering that said apartment complex is right there in the background. Which probably isn’t a huge thing, but a neat thing to note.

The age these kids manifest their quirks at seems to be more preteen / teenage years, though I don’t know whether that’s just because it is later activation or because there were (subtle) quirks before that, with the glowing baby just being the one that had people sit up and realize something was actually going on.

Endeavor ad! And it has the time of that event that day, too - 8:14 AM! I wonder what he’s advertising… or perhaps it’s a news report? An interview of some kind? It might just be a ‘breaking news, we got Endeavor on our channel’ sort of thing. The only part that I can read is the first three katakana for the biggest text, which is ‘E-n-de’ and matches the wiki’s katakana for ‘Endeavor’. If anyone can get a good enough look at the smaller text in order to tell me what the rest says, I would appreciate it!

Just a few things, but obviously I need to up my observation game if I want to catch all this stuff!

[No. 1 - Midoriya Izuku: Origin]

So now we’re at Aldera / Orudera Junior High, with Izuku’s class being in their last year before high school. Since Japan’s schools start on the second week of April, we know this has to be that first week of school, because Katsuki’s still 14 and his birthday is April 20th, which would almost always be the third week of April / second week of school. 

What is that writing stance. You are going to have an old man’s back by the time you graduate high school. I mean, I wouldn’t know anything about that personally, cough cough…

Anyways! We get a look at Izuku’s class and their quirks, and what a collection. Also, with an attitude like that, no wonder this school is seen as bad, like, what the fuck dude. Not exactly a competent homeroom teacher, are you?

The ones that I can see, from leftmost row to rightmost row, are [1] floating hair, stretchy fingers, dark matter, [2] smokey arms, spike fists, stretchy eyes, frog throat, some sort of flash/illumination quirk, [3] rocky body, ???, stretchy neck, flamethrower arms, extra arms, [4] sharp hair, big chompers, wedge face, [quirkless], mouth face (seen in the next panel and holy FUCK new sleep paralysis demon), [5] horns, telekinesis, [explosion], buff bod, ???, [6] wind control, ???

WHY.

But yeah, this also establishes the first rule of ‘don’t use quirks in school’ thing that… also gets promptly ignored the several other times we see stuff set in this school. Which, what a shock, people sort of sliding around inconvenient rules.

Anyways, Katsuki has proven that he hasn’t changed since those first few childhood panels way back (checks) ten pages ago. And Izuku is being… very shy and trying to avoid drawing attention. But no shaking, particularly, just… wallflower mode, more like.

But yeah, Katsuki is not exactly on great terms with the rest of the class, who are rightfully pissed off at him treating them rudely and calling them extras. Though honestly, I’m surprised that they’re surprised he’s aiming for UA, it’s not like he wouldn’t have been obvious about that for, like, years at this point. You’d think they’d all roll their eyes and be like ‘yeah yeah we’ve heard this spiel before’ or something. IDK.

Oh man, and Izuku already KNOWS what’s coming, look at how he’s hiding his face!

Katsuki is, of course, Fucking Extra and hops on his desk, and gets right into bragging, where, AGAIN, this should have been stuff this class has known about for ages, why are they so shocked?? And huh, interesting, he’s not only interested in surpassing All Might, but also in being one of the richest people in the world. Wow, I cannot even with him, especially knowing he lives in this house in particular:

Which, it should be clear, is an EXPENSIVE lifestyle when most families live in modest apartments because of space being so valuable in Japan. 

God this is a fantastic image. I wanna frame it on a wall somewhere. Hori managed to convey all the emotions in one face and I admire the man for it. 

With the whole class laughing, there’s a thing I want to note that fandom seems to not pay attention to: they note that Izuku gets good grades! I’ve seen fics that basically have him forced to sabotage his own grades to avoid getting backlash, but like… no, I don’t think that’s actually a thing. 

[Also an aside, we finally see one more class quirk, which seems to be some sort of bulked up arm? It looks a bit like mummy bandages, as far as I can tell.]

Izuku gets into defending himself, saying there’s no precedent, but he IS defending himself against them, so again, he’s not cowering as much as some people seem to think he does based on fics, and clearly he’s still willing to stand up for himself to some degree. 

...then of course, Katsuki blows up Izuku’s desk and sends Izuku sprawling. And is pissed that Izuku apparently thinks he, who is quirkless, can somehow be on the same level as Katsuki. Izuku swears up and down that it’s not about Katsuki, that he just really wants to try, and this somehow pisses Katsuki off even more. 

I want you all to remember this image - save it on your computers, bookmark this post, whatever you need to do. We’ll come back to it in, oh (checks watch) about 284 chapters. Or maybe sooner in a separate post where I can put it under read more and avoid spoiling people more than this does. Because DAMN can I gush on this moment.

Anyways, we have a change of scene, right after noon, with a thief with a sludge transformation and,,,,,,,, legs and pants,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Where the fuck did those pants go, sir. Sir. What the fuck, sir.

Also, we get our first meeting with the OG dad, the sunflower man himself, who blooms into 255 kilos of muscle in one panel. Also, man I forgot about the fucking giraffe neck Hori used to draw him with, holy heck, why are you so l o n g.

L O N G.

...right, anyways, back to the school, which is apparently over for the day. The rest of the class is heading out, and Izuku’s back to his chipper self, even humming a happy note as he grabs his notebook-

Before Katsuki nabs it from his hands. There are a few people who’ve hung back who notice the title and pick fun at izuku, so I guess Izuku actually… doesn’t talk about his desire to be a hero that much in middle school, if the others are all so surprised about it. He apparently doesn’t even make his notebooks obvious to them, since this is the first time any of them seem to be seeing it. Which I mean, it makes sense if the class will tease him for it, but like. Even with Katsuki stealing the book, Izuku’s not super panicked or having a nervous breakdown.

But yeah, Katsuki just blasts the book, but! It’s just the cover singed (and edges) when we know he could have demolished that book entirely. Again, he’s definitely being a bully and a jerk here, but he’s got way more self-control than fandom likes to assume. 

Izuku’s upset because of his damaged notebook, and Katsuki just huffs and throws it out the window while saying he’s gonna be the only kid from Aldera to go to UA. And Izuku, EVEN WHILE STRESSING, thinks of him as vain for thinking that way! That’s not the first thought of someone too terrified to do anything.

Edit: As pointed out to me in [this post], it was Katsuki’s crony who was thinking of him as vain, not Izuku. My bad!

Also note the lack of damage to Izuku’s school uniform. I know I’ve seen fics where there’s a hole made and a burn scar left that Izuku has to tend to, but Katsuki, again, has not directly used his quirk against Izuku. We’ve never seen it, just the smoke and flash used for intimidation. I’m getting more and more confident that Katsuki has never actually used his quirk against a person, which I’m probably gonna get a bit more into during the battle training in a few chapters.

But yeah, the cronies / extras basically call Izuku lame and that he can’t face reality. And then we get this scene:

That’s not the face of someone afraid. That’s Izuku’s determined face.

Izuku is about to stand up to Katsuki again. The way he always has, the way he always will. There has never been a point in the series where Izuku has NOT stood up to Katsuki when he feels it matters, and that’s part of the reason Katsuki is so pissed with him every time he does - because Izuku REFUSES to see his place! Not once!

(Please, for the love of god, respect the Izuku who didn’t need a quirk to stand up to others. Who isn’t ‘broken’ or ‘terrified’ of Katsuki or anything like that. He’s a stubborn kid and we Stan That.)

Izuku, however, is not confident enough in this situation to want to press the issue, so he relents and says nothing when Katsuki prods him to escalate things. And then we immediately get to the ‘you idiot, don’t fucking suicide bait!’ but you can tell it’s been a stressful few moments for him. 

So yeah, the summary of this section is ‘Izuku is not an uwu suffering babey, and Katsuki is way more restrained than people seem to think.’ 

I’m cutting it off here since, again, we got a lot of info and character examination, and honestly this whole chapter is a long ass one (55 pages!!!!) and it’s establishing the entire setting from the ground up. And honestly, I’m just vibing in being Right about how I’ve been viewing the characters at the start of the series… even if i am guilty of sometimes playing with fanon for my own means…

Still, this is fun! Hopefully y’all are having fun too!

#chapter 1 #opening arcs #readthrough #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #yagi toshinori #we respect canon characterizations in this household #I love how hori handles characters and I will definitely be taking notes through this #this time with the formatting done BEFORE I post it

[satanisnotapogostick]

no tenderness director's commentary, requested by @girlkingsam. under a cut for all the warnings that were on the fic itself (violence and discussion of rape mostly). go wild y'all

It starts with a couple beers in the bunker. Dean and Cas have already gone to bed, Rowena is almost certainly lurking somewhere among the artifacts, and Jack has been put down for the night.

Gabriel and Sam are left in the library, halfheartedly thumbing through research that isn’t going anywhere. Certainly it can wait until the morning.

*waves hand* There’s a Plot going on somewhere in the background. Don’t think too hard about it.

Gabriel looks up and catches her eye.

“Look, Sam, in the Cage—”

She stops him with a wince and a shake of her head.

“Just, don’t.”

He nods.

A few more minutes pass before Sam slowly closes the book and leans back, meeting his eyes.

“So.” She feels her heart racing. Even after everything, it still feels like such a sin, like this is what will bring the divine fire. “You got any plans for the rest of the evening?”

This is integrated into teen mom AU so like this version of Sam very much did not have sex until marriage. And then all of the events of Supernatural happened and turns out maybe that one wasn’t such a big deal after all but the gut feeling is totally still there.

Gabriel looks confused for a second but then smiles slowly, leaning forward. “I can think of a couple options.”

I had in my outline notes: Gabriel tries to bring up Lucifer and Sam distracts him with sex. That is very much the dynamic that is going on here.

She swallows the instinctive rush of fear and takes another swig of beer. Keeps her voice steady, calm and husky.

“Why don’t we take this to my room, then.”

The fear is one of the little phrases I’m quite happy with in terms of the context above. First of all, I think Sam is still afraid of sex full stop. But also Gabriel is an archangel and Lucifer’s brother. This should actually be a scary situation for her even if she’s initiating it.

She stands up and Gabriel follows the motion. Leads her down the hall with a hand on her back.

When they reach her room, Gabriel spins her lightly and backs her into the bedroom, kicks the door shut behind him. She pushes him back against the door, kissing him for the first time. She has to crane her neck down to reach him, but it’s remarkably human. No spark of grace in her mouth, just flesh and spit. She runs her tongue against his bottom lip, thinking of the stitches that were there not too long ago.

She might be a woman but she’s still taller than Gabriel. Nonnegotiable. Also whenever she makes an observation about Gabriel there’s an unspoken comparison, of course.

Gabriel grabs her thigh and uses the leverage to pin her against the door instead, dipping his head to bite at her neck. She hisses, lets her head fall back. With hands on her hips and waist, he turns her around to face the door, mouthing at her shoulder as his hands dig in almost painfully at her hips. She braces herself against the door and leans into his touch, seeking the sensation. An idea forms. A way to make sure they’re truly alone.

It was also important to me that she’s not the only one bringing any violence whatsoever into the bedroom, even if she takes his love bite and immediately raises him murder.

“Kill me.”

“I—what?” His hands still.

“Not permanently. I just want to make sure that I’m out, you know. That he won’t bring me back, that he’s not watching.”

This of course is a moment from one of the posts that inspired this all. “oh sam asks gabe to kill him and then bring him back. just to test it out and see if lucifer will let him die or is secretly out there waiting to drag him back to life”

“And you want me to bring you back instead.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the point.” She turns her head, looking back at him. “Five minutes. You can do whatever you want in the meantime.” She presses herself back against him to communicate the point.

Gabe laughs. “I’m not a necrophiliac.”

“You sound so certain. So you’ve tried it, then?”

“You’ve been alive as long as I have, you’ve tried a lot of things.” He looks at her. “I saw the first death, you know.”

“And you’ll see mine, too.” Gabriel’s hands have loosened, so she turns around in his grip to face him. She guides Gabriel’s hand to her neck, leans into it. “Do it.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he wraps both hands around her neck anyway.

There was a choice between regular smiting and an uncomfortably sexual death, but the latter seemed necessary given that this is all literally happening in the middle of a hookup.

It’s relatively quick and easy, as easy as death can be. Sam’s been choked out before—he’s definitely taking away some of the pain, the fear and panic. There’s only so much that he can do, though. She tells herself not to fight it, but that’s easier said than done, and she’s gouging at his arms before she goes limp.

When she comes to, she’s laid out on the bed. She gasps involuntarily, clawing her way upright. Where is—right. Okay. Here she is.

Gabe is watching her with tight eyes. She composes herself and smiles wolfishly.

There was the question of how into any of this Gabe would actually be, versus like weirded out and confused. I was expecting more of the former going into this, but it wasn’t happening that way. Because he’s pathetic and cowardly but he’s not actually sadistic per se. So he’s not going to stop this especially if he thinks this is what Sam needs but like, it’s not where he would have gone with it.

“So it worked. We’re really alone then, no hidden cameras. You gonna join me?” She pats the bed next to her.

He walks over and sits on the bed between her legs, tearing off his shirt. She runs her hand up his torso, feeling the heat of the skin. He leans over her, pushing her back down onto the bed. She goes easily, sighing.

He slides a hand up her shirt and she presses into it, raising her leg alongside his torso.

“Come on, I know you got more than that.”

He snaps his fingers and silk ties appear in his hands. She reaches out to touch them.

“No, rope instead.”

The silk changes to heavy fraying rope. He looks at her uncertainly.

Because like, Gabe actively avoids pain and discomfort, that’s his whole thing. But because of the whole situation, Sam has to be the one stepping on the gas.

“Isn’t this going to hurt?”

She stares at him like he’s an idiot. “Well, yes, that’s sort of the point.”

He looks at her for a second. She unbuttons her shirt, slides it off her shoulders, and he shrugs. The ropes appear at her wrists, binding them tightly above her head.

LOL I definitely forgot a sentence here. I’ll fix that late but the context I’m missing is that he tied her hands before taking off her bra.

“You’re an angel, just fucking cut it off. We’ll deal with it later.”

A snap and a knife appears in his hands. He cuts the bra loose, nicking her in the process. Blood wells up in the center of her chest. He dips his head and licks it up, then moves to lick at her nipple.

Sam laughs, wriggling under the movement.

“Not sexy, man, I just stopped breastfeeding like 3 months ago. Nipples are a no go right now.”

Gabe laughs, sits back.

“The tradeoffs of getting a hot MILF in your bed, I guess.”

Oh I do not like the word MILF actually like it’s so porny. Like older ladies are hot we don’t need to be weird about it. But Gabe is a creepy porn man so I had to have him say it. Also I was not planning on making this have like, a postpartum moment. But he was licking her nipples and it just didn’t seem right to let that go without saying something.

He moves down her stomach instead, flicking open her jeans.

This is the exact moment where I almost gave up. Keep your jeans on!!! And that is why we get our first timeskip over the action.

After he eats her out he releases the restraints. The ligature marks are red along her wrists, and he runs his fingers along them.

She kisses him again, tasting the salt and acid of herself in his mouth. He palms at her breast and she moans into his mouth. He returns in kind. She climbs entirely out of her jeans and underwear, and he unbuttons his own.

Oh this is super unclear huh. The implication is that her jeans/underwear were pushed down for easy access and then she removes them entirely afterwards. I’ll go back and edit that later.

She pushes him down, holding him down by the throat, and straddles his waist. He removes his pants eagerly.

“We don’t need a condom, right? You’ve got that under control?”

“I’ve had a vasectomy, both literal and metaphysical. And angels can’t get syphilis. We’re good.”

I just thought that was funny. Also condoms aren’t sexy but she’s not reckless enough to just not mention it at all.

She nods, and takes him into her hand. He bucks up into the touch, and she grins. She eases him inside of her, gasping at the sensation before she starts moving.

A few thrusts later and Gabe takes control again, wrapping hands around her waist and knocking her back on the bed.

He flips her over, twisting her arm behind her back. It pops loose from the socket with a sickening noise and she screams, more from the shock than anything.

Another part from the posts! It was a little bit of a challenge to integrate this one in, but it had to happen during the act itself. I’m not entirely sure that the escalation is earned, but Gabe was having a harder time really getting into the violence than I had anticipated so this was a necessary way of forcing his hand. Plus you know the Winchesters have had every joint dislocated in their time so it’s not too much of a stretch that this could accidentally happen.

Gabriel is immediately off of her, putting his hand on her shoulder, ready to heal. She shrugs him off. The motion sends sharp pains all down her arm and collarbone.

“Not yet,” she pants. “Not until we’re finished.”

“As in…”

“Happy ending and all.”

She shoves back with the captive shoulder, shakes him easily. Pushes him back onto the bed, climbs back on top to straddle him.

“You soundproofed this room, right? We can be as loud as we want without Dean barging in?”

He strokes her hips, looking up at her.

“I mean, yeah, but that wasn’t exactly the type of noises I had in mind.”

She shrugs. There’s something like concern in his eyes. It pisses her off. He doesn’t have the right to pity her.

Another one of my favorite little moments. This sentiment is why this encounter is even happening at all!

“You can’t tell me you’ve never experimented.”

There’s a pause, then--

“What did he do to you?”

One thing I really enjoyed about writing this is that Lucifer’s name is never mentioned but any time any of them say “he” they both know exactly who they’re talking about, no context needed.

She rolls her hips. Gabriel moans at the movement.

“What do you think? I’m sure you were imagining it, after you faked your death again. What do you think he did to me? Tell me.”

Gabriel’s voice is thin.

“He tortured you, didn’t he. I saw what he did with the woman, the demon. The first one, Lilith. How he made her.”

“And what did he do to her?” Sam’s breath is coming harder now.

I’m so sorry for making this conversation happen literally between like pants and moans, like genuinely sorry, but it’s what the scene demanded.

“He turned her inside out.” Gabriel pants. “That was his favorite. He would cut into her skin and pull it off.”

A classy amount of flaying!!!

Sam taps her sternum, where a speck of blood still remains. “This is where it would start, the vivisection. He would peel my skin off, or crack my ribs and then have me eat my own heart. He would put his hands inside of me, inside of my ribcage, trace the sigils that Castiel put there. Scrape them off with his teeth.”

I’m happy with that little detail, too. I’ve never seen the sigils referenced in any cage fics but it just came to me while I was writing the sentence and yeah he would totally do that. You thought you could hide from me? Etc.

Sam breaks off, breathing heavily. She leans forward onto Gabe’s chest. He strokes a hand across her back softly, looking horrified but hanging onto every word.

He both like really wants to hear this and really doesn’t you know which like. Again is the dynamic that is the reason any of this is happening.

“The torture wasn’t all. He’d fuck me, too. Get inside of me a different way, like you are now. Make me ask for it, beg for it.”

She punctuates each word with a roll of her hips, increasing the pace. Gabriel tenses underneath her, and she can feel him come inside of her. There are tears in his eyes.

Sorry!! This is another one of my posts although I cannot find it to cite it. But Sam tells Gabe about the Cage during sex and he cries. So.

She relaxes, pats his stomach in some sort of halfhearted apology.

He deserved to hear it.

Just like, his coming back makes the previous seasons a betrayal in retrospect. Like where the hell were you, you know? She deserves to be super angry at him about that.

He flips her over, and she hisses in pain and pleasure both.

“Asmodeus preferred beating. It only took me a year to crack under the torture. I wasn’t used to pain. Hadn’t experienced any in millennia. I was soft.”

I had to go onto the wiki page for Asmodeus and look at the pictures of Gabriel and just kind of feel out what vibes I got of what Asmodeus would do to him and the vibe I got was a lot of punching and kicking. If I’m off don’t tell me.

Sam looks up at him through her lashes.

“Do you want to learn? How to take it?”

Fucked up little moment. Seductively asking if someone wants you to torture them.

Gabriel nods.

“Okay, then.” She strokes the side of his face, down to his chest.

“I’m going to open up your chest, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I’ve got you, I’ll walk you through it.”

He nods again. “Okay.”

This is like. I thought the violence would happen more during the sex and some of it did but Gabe wasn’t really getting into it so I had to improvise. I like this better though, it feels more in character.

She takes the knife back from him and starts. Teaches him how to breath, when it’s helpful to scream and when it’s best to just stay silent. To learn what your own limit is. You don’t have to be scared as long as the person with the knife isn’t going past that. You can relax.

And the fact that like they both are thinking of this as a favor that she’s doing for him.

When they’re done, Gabriel is clammy and sweating. He dry heaves over the side of the bed, but there’s no actual food in his stomach so nothing comes up. Sam strokes his back.

He sits back up.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have the right to apologize to me,” she says tightly. He nods.

He nods a LOT in this fic but sometimes you’re just nervous about putting your foot in your mouth you know. Because so much has to be left unsaid.

She breathes.

“There you go. You feel alive now, don’t you.”

She slides off bed, kneels between his legs.

“May I?”

This BJ was thematically important to include because I needed the torture to be in the middle of sex, not after. And I needed some element of like, aftercare without it actually being personal, comforting, or helpful.

When she’s done, Gabriel heals her shoulder. He knits the skin back together, cleans up the blood, removes the bruising from her neck. She asks him to leave the bruises that would be covered by her shirt anyway.

Also she does all of this with an actively dislocated shoulder. Do not forget.

When they’re lying in bed, afterwards, he snaps and a pack of cigarettes appears in his hand. Unfiltered, the old kind. He hands one to her.

“Cigarette after sex?”

She laughs, takes the cigarette from him.

“You’ll remove it from my body, right? It won’t affect Jack, no secondhand smoke or anything?”

“It would take a lot more than a single cigarette to do shit to Jack, you know. But yes. I’ll take care of it.”

I just think that after all that Sam worrying about the effect of secondhand smoke from one single cigarette on her magical devil baby is very in character. This came to me on a walk one night and was actually the moment where I was like oh. I gotta write this.

They smoke in silence, staring at the wall, unwilling to meet each other’s eye.

It’s gotta end badly. It’s gotta. They never sleep together again and they have wrecked any possible chance at friendship, and both made themselves feel worse. That’s what it’s about, baby.

[allegedlyfranzferdinand]

horses? in MY westerns?

It’s exactly as likely as you think! That is, very likely! The genre wouldn’t exist without them, and I feel like people should talk about them more often, especially wrt fics and fic-writing! So, that’s exactly what I hope to do: give a little run-down of how these very strange dogs work, and how to make them seem a little more real in your transformative works. 

DISCLAIMER: I’m an English rider who’s been riding English for almost ten years now! I don’t ride western, and I could count on one hand the amount of times I’ve been in a western saddle. Even so, the people in western flicks aren’t exactly competing in shows, and I think a lot of the basic principles carry through. If I get anything grievously wrong, though, feel free to correct me!

Long post below the cut:

PART ONE: ANATOMY 

Both of the horses and of tack, anatomy is important for understanding how things work! Since I suppose people only really need to know the anatomy of a horse as it relates to the equipment placed on said horse, I’ll mention it as it comes up. 

I. The saddle

Western saddles differ from English saddles in lots of ways, but the main difference between them is that western saddles are designed to be comfortable for the rider to be in for hours at a time. They have deep seats with a high cantle and pommel (back and front, respectively), which makes them easier to stay in than a flatter English saddle. That’s how people can stand to stay on horseback for those long trail rides, or days at a time spent in the saddle moving a herd across the desert. Saddles sit just behind the withers (above the highest point of the shoulder on a horse, that visible ‘bump’ after the neck ties into the back), usually with a saddle pad or blanket between the saddle and the horse’s back. The cinch, which is the strap that holds the saddle onto the horse, wraps around his barrel (essentially his belly and sides, the main barrel-shaped part of his body. Go figure.) just behind his front leg. Some horses also are fitted with a breast collar, which is a strap that attaches to the middle of the cinch and the front of the saddle through his front legs to keep the saddle from sliding back. 

The horn on the front of a saddle might look like a tempting handhold while you’re on the horse, but it’s not meant for grabbing. The horn comes from the saddle’s purpose on cutting and reining horses, and is for tying roped cattle to. Grabbing it while riding is more liable to put you off-balance than anything, as you’re hunched forward and out of the stirrups. 

Speaking of! The stirrups are the things that you put your feet in while you’re in the saddle, and they attach to the saddle with stirrup leathers. Western stirrups can’t be removed from the saddle like English stirrups can, but this is mostly because they’re a lot thicker than English stirrups, and combined with a high-heeled cowboy boot, it’s a lot harder for the rider’s foot to slip through the stirrup and get stuck, especially in the event of a fall. The stirrups are where a lot of the rider’s weight is while they’re riding, alongside their seat, and losing a stirrup can really throw you off-balance.

II. The bridle 

This would be the piece of tack on his head! Most western bridles don’t have nose bands (a piece of leather that wraps around a horse’s nose several inches above his nostrils) as they’re not really necessary for functionality, but most working styles do have throat latches, which is the piece of leather that goes around his cheeks, and a browband, which is the strap that goes in front of his ears, as both help keep the bridle more firmly in place. Both of these attach to the cheek straps, which run down his face lengthwise.

Honorary II.5 on this list is the bit, the piece of metal in the horse’s mouth that the reins attach to. In most of the westerns I’ve seen, most of the horses are wearing a Tom Thumb or some other kind of shank bit attached to split reins. Split reins are pretty much what they say on the tin: reins attached to either side of the bit but which do not connect with each other. This can give the rider more control, and also makes it real handy to just hop off a horse and tie one of his reins to a hitching post. 

Now for the bit ipse.

The above is what a modern Tom Thumb bit looks like. It’s a jointed piece of metal that goes inside a horse’s mouth, attached to a shank that’s anywhere from 5 to 7 inches long. I’m grouping all shank bits together here, since they all have basically the same effect: pressure at the poll (the top of a horse’s head behind his ears) and pressure on the mouth. Since the reins are attached to the bottom of the shank, the rider is given a significant amount of leverage when they pull on the reins; a general rule of thumb is that with a 5″ shank, every pound of pressure the rider puts on the reins is multiplied by three in the horse’s mouth. This lever motion puts pressure on his poll and his mouth, and when the rider pulls sharply, a lot of pressure on the corners of his mouth, and a twisting of the jointed part of the bit that makes it come into contact with the roof of a horse’s mouth. This can cause a horse to toss his head and gape his mouth, something that’s unfortunately seen in lots of westerns. 

Shank bits like this can be incredibly harsh in the wrong hands, and can damage a horse’s mouth if they’re used too aggressively. Honestly, I feel bad for most of the horses in these films, where they’re under an inexperienced rider who often saws away at their mouth with a harsh bit like this. If you’re writing a story, remember that for most horses, it isn’t necessary to haul back on the reins to get a horse, even a hot horse, to slow or stop. 

III: miscellaneous 

Shoes: shoeing a horse makes him better suited to hard surfaces and long-term work. Any horse expected to be used for work would be shod. Horses can throw (somehow get rid of, don’t ask me how, little buggers. . .) shoes to varying degrees of trauma to the hoof, and while it should be fixed as soon as possible, it’s rarely too serious.

Spurs: technically a piece of apparel for the rider, but since everything else a rider wears is kind of a given for any self-respecting cowboy, I’ll chat about spurs. The stereotypical janglin’ cowboy spur is a rowel spur, named after that funky star-shaped thing that spins. Spurs are used to help encourage forward motion, and trained riders can ride a horse in rowels without any harm done to the horse. Even so, overuse or misuse can lead to damage and bleeding on a horse’s side, and deaden him to your legs. 

PART TWO: ACTUALLY RIDING A HORSE 

Unsurprisingly, riding a horse for a long time can be very tiring. Even in a saddle designed for comfort, someone unaccustomed to riding for long distances will find their back and core hurting something fierce. Worst of all, though, would be the strain it would put on a rider’s legs. Riding for extended periods of time makes your thighs ache, and can rub you pretty raw in the inner thighs and knees even with proper trousers. It can also have you walking bowlegged, which is pretty funny to watch.

Stability when riding starts from the bottom up. A good rider has a steady seat and good legs that grip the horse without pinching at the knees or the ankles (remember those big spurs you’re wearing, cowboy? ouch!). They stay with the motion of the horse, which can be difficult when you're just starting out. Beginner riders might find themselves too tense and easily thrown off-balance, since they're not working with the horse. Though western saddles make the act of staying on easier, developing a good seat and the muscles necessary to stay balanced on horseback can take a while. 

In western riding especially, the reins don’t need to be taut while you’re riding. The horse isn’t responding to aids from your hand, he’s responding to your seat and your legs. The reins are helpful to direct and to slow him, but they’re not the star attraction. A horse moves forward in response to pressure from the lower leg, and if he doesn’t listen to that, a rider can angle their foot to press the spur into his side, removing the spur and the pressure as soon as the horse responds to the aid. To slow, a rider settles into the saddle and applies gentle pressure on the reins, escalating as needed, but again, removing the pressure as soon as a horse responds. Anything else is more energy expended than necessary on the rider’s part, and it’s also just kind of mean.

In addition, though I hope I don’t actually have to say this, flicking the reins will not make a single horse on god’s green earth go forward. Why is this a thing. 

SO, LIKE, HOW LONG CAN I KEEP DOING THIS?

Mileage varies a lot as to how long a horse can run before he gets tired. A good average is about twenty miles a day if you’re planning on going long distances, which obviously can also vary depending on an individual horse or rider’s endurance. A horse can only gallop (their fastest, four-beat gait--think racehorses) for a mile or two before he’s exhausted, but he can canter (a three-beat gait that’s generally around 10 or 12 mph) for a while longer. Quarter horses, which I assume most of the horses in these movies are meant to be since they're the standard horse for working cattle and ranching in the U.S., aren't built for running long distances; they're significantly better at running short sprints. If a rider wants to cover a long distance in a short amount of time, it behooves them to switch horses along the way so he’s never riding a tired horse, and can run the horse they do have harder while they’ve got him. 

An important thing to remember is that a horse should always have a chance to walk for a bit after he’s been working hard. Walking is more effective to cool a horse than just standing still is, as it allows the blood flowing through their legs to cool down. As well, it’s generally a bad idea to let a horse just drink his fill after he’s been working. Ideally, he gets smaller amounts of water over time. 

A lot of these examples of less than stellar horsemanship might seem a bit like splitting hairs in fiction, but I think they can serve lots of different purposes. Does your villain have a horse whose skin is rubbed raw behind the cinch since he never lets up on his spurs? Does your hero have to make a daring escape, only to find his horse sick from exhaustion? Horses are a pivotal part of many stories, and there's lots of aspects to them as creatures and as methods of transportation that can be used in many different ways!

BONUS PART THREE: COLORS

Horses of every color show up in westerns, mostly because quarter horses can come in just about every color! Here’s a brief rundown of what different colors are called in horses, so you’ve got some words better than ‘brown’ to work with. 

Chestnut: also called ‘sorrel’ when talking about western horses, a chestnut is a horse whose mane and tail are the same color brown as their body. They can range from light, cool browns to deep red browns, but the main thing is that their mane is the same color as their body.

Bay: a bay horse can have any of the same colors as a chestnut, but his points (that is, his ears, nose, mane, tail, and all four feet) are black. A bay horse can still have white markings on his feet, as long as all of his other points are black.

Palomino: a classic western horse, a palomino is a golden or yellow horse with a white mane and tail. A chocolate palomino has a body darker than a normal palomino's, but maintains a white mane and tail.

White/gray: while many horses may have white hair, very few are truly white. A white horse has white hair and pink skin, while a gray horse has white hair and black or brown skin. Most ‘white’ horses are, technically, gray. Generally, it’s safer to refer to a horse as a gray. Horses will also become a darker gray as they age, even if they’re born white.

Buckskin: A buckskin horse has tan or gold hair similar to a palomino, but black points like a bay. Similarly, a dun horse also has a tan coat and black points, but also has a black stripe called a “dorsal” stripe down his spine, a remnant of ancient breeds of horse. 

Roan: a roan horse has a coat that’s equal parts white hairs and colored hairs, and solid-colored points. They can have a blueish or blush-colored look, depending on what colors are mixed in their coats.

HEAD AND LEG MARKINGS

Stars and snips: a star is a white mark on a horse’s forehead, and a snip is a white mark on his nose.

Stripe: a stripe is, rather self-evidently, a white stripe that runs from a horse’s forehead to his nose. They’re generally fairly thin, because when they’re thick they’re called a 

Blaze: a blaze is a thick stripe of white down a horse’s face that does not cover his eyes.

Bald face: a horse with a bald face has white on his face that does cover his eyes, and usually most of his nose.

Socks/stockings: socks are white marks on a horse’s leg that only goes about to his fetlock, the first joint above his hoof. Stockings are white markings that come up between his fetlocks and his knees on his front legs and his hocks on his back legs.

IN FINE

Wow, that was longer than I thought it would be! Hopefully it helped someone. 

I thought about talking about feed on here, but honestly, I have no idea what feed looked like in those days, and this post is long enough without advice that amounts to “probably they got lots of grazing on what you can find in the desert”, so. . . 

Most of the information here is pretty basic, but there’s lots of resources online for further research!

Happy riding and happy writing!

#writing #writing ref #horses #western #oh god im sorry in advance #spaghetti western #reference #the good the bad and the ugly

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House - Part 3.1

I am working more slowly than I used to, so I decided to split the planned chapter to appease someone’s thirst *cough* @equalstrashflavoredtrash *cough*

Previous installments here - the Reader is living with Ivar and Ubbe for free, in exchange for doing all the chores. She’s a kinky little girl who’s sincerely hoping one of them will take advantage of the scenario in more interesting ways…

Here’s more burning burn, now with actual physical contact not through a beer bottle!

It’s time. It’s not like you to take the initiative in these things, but after that little scene in the garden, you just can’t play the waiting game any longer. Ivar and Ubbe have been treating you with nothing but respect, sticking to the terms of your agreement, and all it’s done is make you ache for someone to finally take advantage of you.

Neither of them is going to cross the line unless you give a clearer signal. You’re sure of that now. Everyone has retreated to their own rooms for the evening, and while you’re longing for Ivar to burst into your room and continue the scene he started out in the garden, he’s been acting like nothing happened since Ubbe came home and you can’t bear to just wait for the stars to align again.

But, Ivar gave you the means for signaling you wanted to play, didn’t he? Right after you moved in. The French maid dress still hangs in a position of honor in your closet. You’re gazing at it now, while your skin still tingles at the memory of Ivar holding your hip while pressing his icy-cold bottle between your thighs. Imagining the weighty gaze he’d give you if you walked into his room wearing this, now. There’s no way things wouldn’t escalate.

Your limbs begin to tremble with anticipation as you strip off your shorts and shirt. You find black lacey underwear that match the style of the dress in your drawer, and your breath seems to be coming a little fast as you change into the lingerie. Your body already feels different as you stride across the room from dresser to closet. You’re floating, sailing, and you pause for just a moment as you catch sight of yourself in your full-length mirror. You look good. You strike a pose like an underwear model, making yourself giggle. Just wait until Ivar gets a load of this.

The maid costume is smooth and silky against your skin. Ivar did not buy something cheap. It’s comfortable; even the stiff taffeta of the petticoat has no scratchy seams, and the constriction of its tight waist feels erotic. The skirt barely reaches the middle of your thighs, but that just means the view is going to be pornographic when you bend over… you step to the mirror to check.

Bending at the waist, imagining you’re leaning down to pick up an errant sock, you take a look at the long line of your legs. The skirt puffs up, framing your ass in white ruffled fluff, exposing the strip of black lingerie between. Perfect.

It’s not like you haven’t thought about doing this earlier. You even had gone so far as to buy matching stockings for the outfit, white thigh-highs that are actually loose enough around the top to stay up without pinching, and a garter belt in case they didn’t.

You weren’t certain about the garter belt, but now that you have the dress on you see that it completes the look. You fumble with all the straps and fasteners until you finally get it set right. You wonder if Ivar has already gone to sleep in all the time it’s taking you to get your plan set up, but you’re committed now. This is happening.

The heels that match the dress are higher than you would wear to go out, but perfect for slow, sultry steps around the house. You hear movement through the wall to Ivar’s room, so you know he’s up. A flush of nerves paralyzes you for a moment. Are you really going to do this? How will Ivar react to the sight of you opening his door, dressed like this?

You’re not sure if you can bear to even imagine making eye contact with him. What if he’s annoyed at the intrusion? What if you read everything wrong, and he’s only weirded out by your attempt to roleplay? What if—oh fuck, what if you roll your ankle in these heels, what if you try to say something sultry about “room service” and stumble over your words instead…

But what if his jaw drops open. What if his eyes burn in that way that only Ivar has, what if a sultry smile spreads over his face and he starts giving you orders. Inventive, increasingly-explicit orders. Your body starts to tingle in the good way again.

You move close to the mirror, inspecting your face. Your lips are especially flush and full already, just from the anticipation. You decide you don’t even need more makeup. You feel beautiful, and hope that Ivar will see you the same way.

Your heart pounds when you step to the door, finally ready to make your move. Your plan is to grab a bucket and a rag, step into Ivar’s room, and declare your intention to clean. Then, just see what happens next. How could he not try something when you’re dressed like this, bent over just inches away from him.

The click of your doorknob sounds loud as you step out into the hallway. For some reason you’re petrified that Ivar will exit his room at the same time, and catch sight of you before you’ve begun your little act. You slip across the hall to the bathroom to grab the cleaning supplies.

When you come back out into the hallway, Ubbe is there, on his way from the kitchen to his bedroom. He stops short at the sight of you, wide eyes traveling up and down your costumed body. He purrs your name with a note of wonder in his voice.

“Ubbe,” you nod, feeling a little bit awkward, and delightfully exposed, under his gaze.

The bag of chips in his hand makes a loud crinkling sound as he tightens his grip. “Doing some cleaning?”

You look down, spreading out the frilly hem of your skirt a little. “That is what the uniform is for.”

“Is it.” He leans in toward you, body straightening and relaxing both at once.

Ubbe’s eyes are gleaming but it was Ivar’s hands that had worked you up to this moment; Ivar’s devious mind, Ivar’s boldness. You find that you don’t want his handsome older brother to derail you. “Yes, I was just going to go work in Ivar’s bedroom.”

Disappointment definitely touches Ubbe’s eyes. “Oh.”

You can’t resist the urge to tease as you slide past him in the narrow hallway. “Maybe I’ll come do yours next.”

You’re close enough to just about feel the rumble in Ubbe’s chest as he makes an agreeable noise. “Or you could come now.” He takes one backwards step, toward his own room.

It’s tempting. But not as tempting as the cool command you saw in Ivar’s eyes in the garden. Ubbe’s probably capable of ordering you around the way you like, but Ivar’s the one who’s shown you dominance. You’re sticking to the original plan. “I’ve been around you guys long enough to know how things work,” you say, shaking your head while you smile. “Ivar always gets what he wants.” You reach beside you for the door handle, knowing Ubbe’s just going to stand there, keep trying, until you make a dramatic exit. So much for pulling your poise together privately before knocking on Ivar’s door.

The latch clicks, and with just a little push the door falls inward. You hope your silhouette in the door looks dramatic enough. You turn away from Ubbe and find that you can’t spare him another thought.

Ivar is sitting at his computer desk. The dim lighting casts dramatic shadows on his sharp jaw and hooded eyes. His white undershirt clings to the muscles of his chest. “What was that about?” he asks before turning his head, evidently having heard at least the last part of the conversation outside his door. When he does look up, the last syllable of the question dies on his tongue. He gazes up at you, all pretense fading out of his face as his eyes widen and fill with appreciation. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t look you up and down like Ubbe did. He seems to lose all awareness of himself at all, focusing in only on the sight before him.

You step inside with dainty, spike-heeled steps clicking on the wood floor. You shut the door behind you. “Housekeeping,” you smirk. You set the water-filled bucket down beside the wall, bending your knees with a coy little twist to your body. “Just here to do my job.”

Now a masculine sort of smile starts spreading over Ivar’s face, and his eyes drift a little over your form as he recovers himself. “Very good.” He tears his gaze from you just before the silence gets awkward, looking at the mess around the room. “I have been letting things get neglected.”

Something about his words flushes your face as you move to pick up the little piles of discarded pants and socks. You move slowly, bending gracefully, coyly, and fling a few things into the laundry basket before daring to glance over your shoulder to see his reaction.

He’s not even looking at you. His face is turned back to his computer screen. Your heart sinks. Then you hear the music change, to something with a deeper, slow beat. Something much sexier. The next time you glance up at Ivar his eyes are riveted, tearing from the back of your legs to your face as you turn. “Do you like wearing this uniform?” His words are slow, strong, deliberate. Like the way he had talked to you outside.

You have to swallow before you can speak. “Yes, Ivar.”

Satisfaction spreads across his face at your submissive tone. His eyes follow the lines of your little white apron.

“Do… do you like me wearing it?”

His smile is rich, slow, gloating. “Yes. It’s even better than I imagined.”

Warmth spreads through your chest. Ivar was imagining you in this outfit. What else had he been dreaming of? You smooth your hand along your waist, down the short length of the skirt. Hoping to entice him to reach out to you. “It’s so silky, too. Feels wonderful.”

His hand moves a few inches, then he curls his fingers in, retracting it. “The laundry basket is full. Will you take it out?”

You’re not sure if it’s an order or a question, his voice was soft and dreamy as the look on his face. “Of course.”

You turn to the basket, making sure your hips are aimed squarely at Ivar as you bend at the waist to pick it up. You know from your experiment with the mirror just exactly what kind of view he’s getting. Was that a soft groan that you heard behind you?

The basket is pretty heavy. It’s a little awkward to manage it on the spike heels you’re rocking, but you get it up in two hands, turning to face him and move toward the door.

Ivar has recovered his poise again, face looking mischievous now. “Wait, one more.” He crosses his arms at the waist and pulls up the hem of his little white tee. The tip of his tongue protruding between full lips, he whips the shirt off over his head in one smooth motion. A few long strands come loose from his hair-tie with it, drifting down to frame his face.

You step toward him, willing your legs not to shake, so he can drop the shirt in the basket. Something in his eyes captivates you and you freeze where you are, all your weight on your right leg, the left crossed behind you.

His fingers brush the back of your thigh, just above the lace top of the stockings, and you jump in surprise. “Careful,” he teases. “Don’t drop anything.”

That tongue. It’s sticking out again, locked between his bright little teeth, as Ivar’s fingers ghost along your upper thighs. “I like that you added this,” he comments, pressing a finger under the garter strap clipped to the back of the stocking. He flicks it, making it snap a little against your butt. You wobble again, because you still haven’t shifted your weight to a steadier stance.

“Thank you, Ivar,” you breathe.

His touch grows bolder, his whole palm, so warm, so strong, sliding along the sensitive skin framed inside the garter line. His fingers contact the lace edge of your cheeky panties and his eyebrows jump. Your body is on fire. You’re not sure if you’ve ever felt this turned on before. And then he smacks you, right on the butt under your fluffy skirt, and nods his head toward the door. “Alright, you can get back to work now.”

Your head is spinning. There is nothing to do but obey. The basket is heavy in your arms, and he had asked you to take it out. He can’t have meant he wanted you to go down to the communal laundry room shared by every tenant in the building, not right now, dressed like this… But you can at least go put it by the front door for later.

The doorknob is a little awkward to manage with your hands full, and when you cast an embarrassed glance at Ivar you see that he is enjoying watching you struggle. Sexy bastard. You add a little extra flounce to your skirt as you step around the door and into the hallway.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as your heels clack on the wood floor in purposeful strides, past the kitchen to your left and living room to your right. You bend to set the basket near the door. Only as you’re turning back do you realize that Ubbe’s sitting on the couch in the dark room behind you, sprawled comfortable in basketball shorts and clutching a beer bottle by the neck, and he must have gotten almost as good a view up your skirt as Ivar just had.

On to Part 3.2

Taglist is open: @walkxthexmoon   @swagmonstertoes @hanhanxx @perfectus-in-morte @xxdearlybeloved@littledeadrottinghood @persephone-is-here-omg @rekdreams247 @what-the-heart-desires @inforapound @creepshowzombae @tomarisela @vladsgirl@youbloodymadgenius @walkxthexmoon@funmadnessandbadassvikings @trashqueenbitch @justlovelifeblog @earl-aive @supernaturalvikingwhore @equalstrashflavoredtrash @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen @ceridwenofwales @grungyblonde @pokeasleepingsmaug @hvittysmutanon @honestsycrets @wuxiesalt @thorins-queen-of-erebor @writingfromasgard

#ivar imagine #ivar/reader #ivar/you #ivar the boneless #vikings fanfic #vikings modern au #college au

[marinaaniseed]

Gleaming auction

Song: Gleaming auction from the album Final Straw by Snow Patrol

Summary: Someone from Natasha’s past is a guest at Wanda’s birthday party. Thor tries to comfort her. 

Pairing: Thor x Natasha Romanoff

Length: 1,285 words

A/N: Violence, sexual violence, electrostimulation, derogatory name-calling, sterilisation, tiny bit o’ smut. See here for what this is all about.

***

“Lie back and suffer now,” commanded the Black Widow. “We've both earned our reward.”

It wasn’t how Thor had pictured the evening going. 

A clear night, clear glasses containing clear spirits. Wanda’s birthday party, on the roof, looking over New York.

Thor was merry. Merry until one of the Sokovian guests had repeatedly gotten handsy with Natasha. She’d been polite at first, the situation escalating, until she’d smashed her glass over his head.

“You would never know when to take the hint,” Wanda scolded the older man. Thor couldn’t tell if Wanda was angry or upset. He’d left the man covered head to toe in blood and fear, following Natasha back inside, as the others tried to salvage the party, cleaning up the broken glass and blood.

Thor had to ask FRIDAY where Natasha had gone. He found her in the gym, unleashing her fury on a punchbag. Her long lead grey dress moving across the floor as she changed her stance, unleashing jabs and hooks against the leather.

She wasn’t wearing gloves and her knuckles were bleeding.

Thor approached cautiously. He’s physically much stronger than her, of course, but he doesn’t want to startle her or make things any worse. Whatever the man did must’ve been bad, he’s never seen her act like this.

She swore at him in Russian, telling him in no uncertain terms where she wants him to go.

“Lady Natasha, please. You are hurting yourself,” Thor said, wrapping his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides.

She struggled against his grip, kicked and screamed and swore. Even tried to bite Thor. Eventually, she calmed down, realising that Thor wouldn’t relinquish his hold on her until she did.

“What happened?” he asked, loosening his grip a little. “I’ve never seen you angry.”

“He tried to flirt with me. Wouldn’t take the hint. Tried to touch me up, I went to reach for a weapon when he started calling me a Russian whore. That I could live with. But then he started blaming me for what happened in Sokovia. Accused me of spearheading the plot to destroy his country. Then he went back to calling me a Soviet slut, a frigid bitch with a bad attitude. I told him ‘You're the one with the attitude. Don't try and make me out to be the root of the evil in the whole rotten affair,’” she answered.

“But why did you hit him with your glass?” Thor wondered. “It was a waste of good drink.”

“He told me his name,” Natasha explained. “It had been so long, I had forgotten his face. I won’t forget it again. He was the one who sterilised me. He told me he was glad to have done it, glad that I couldn’t bring any more Russian whores into the world.”

Thor didn’t know what to say. He was a God of fertility, but this might be outside of his powers. For all the kindness he’d been shown on earth, there was also a lot of evil. To take that away from someone without their consent, to remove their choice. It was nothing but cruel.

He carried Natasha over to a gym mat, lying her down and placing his jacket over her. Now that she’d let it out, the emotional exhaustion hit her. So did the vodka.

“Where are you going?” she inquired as Thor turned to leave.

“To finish the job for you,” he growled. “We should find you a broken bottle so you can return the favour to him.”

“No, Thor. I appreciate the offer, but that would make us just as bad him. Stay with me, please?”

It was odd, jarring, to see her like this. He sat down and cradled her head in his lap, gently stroking her hair. She melted into his touch. It had been so long since someone cared for her so tenderly; it had been so long since she let someone care for her.

She knew she had nothing to fear from the gentle giant. His strength, his power, his might would never be used against one he cared for. It was the ones who hurt the ones he cared for who needed to worry.

Natasha napped for a while. Her brain needed to reset from the turmoil of the evening, as well a process some of the alcohol she’d drunk.

Thor couldn’t stand to move her, so he stayed as he was, stroking her hair. Tony, Clint, and Sam appeared at one point, and Thor silenced them with a finger pressed against his lips before they could say anything. All were uncharacteristically quiet, in shock at what had happened. Seeing her dozing in Thor’s lap, they retreated back into the clear night.

When she woke up, it took Natasha a few seconds to register where she was and why she was there. She licked her lips and smiled up at Thor.

“Thank you for looking after me, Thor,” she said,

“Think nothing of it, Lady Natasha. I was but helping a friend.”

Thor had an odd way of categorising people as friends. It seemed as though every kind person was a friend to Thor. They were teammates, colleagues but friends? Natasha didn’t think they knew each other well enough. However, she did want to get to know him more intimately.

She sat up, turning to face Thor.

“Well, in my country, when a friend helps you, you give them a kiss, like this,” she said, pressing her mouth against Thor’s lush lips. It was a bald-faced lie, of course, but perhaps Thor would take it at face value.

“My brother is the God of lies, Lady Natasha,” Thor smirked once they separated. “I know a lie when I hear one. If you desired to kiss me, why did you not ask?”

“I thought it would be considered a little bold. We don’t talk that much, after all.”

Thor mulled it over. It was true, he was much closer to others on the team, especially Banner, but he considered Natasha a friend. He didn’t talk to her as much because, if he was honest, he was intimidated by her. An ordinary Midgardian, not enhanced, but with extraordinary skills in combat and a mind that was just as sharp.

He pulled her onto his lap, and began nipping at her neck before he asked, “What else do you desire, my lady?”

“I want to fuck you,” she said bluntly. “I want to fuck you and forget. Forget my past, forget tonight. I want to be in charge. I want to be in control. I want it to be rough.”

“How rough?”

“The lightning flows through you, right?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, as he moved from her neck to suck on her earlobe.

“I want to use my bracelets on you, but only if it won’t hurt you.”

“I think it might tickle a little, in a way that is both pleasurable and painful,” Thor noted, his hands sliding down the front of Natasha’s dress to grab her tits. “It would not be as powerful as my lightning, but it is a different sensation. If that is what you wish, then you may use me as you please. Is this also how you reward people in your homeland?” he asked with a smirk.

“No, this one is all me,” she noted, standing up from Thor’s lap, his hands letting go as soon as she began to move. She pressed against his shoulders, encouraging him to recline onto the mat.

“Good boy,” she said as she straddled one meaty leg and began to grind herself against it. “Lie back and suffer now,” commanded the Black Widow. “We've both earned our reward.”

#366songshots #thor #natasha romanoff #black widow

[perksofhs]

‘I’m not sure but I think it’s time’

The missus goes into labour at one of H’s concerts but doesn’t tell him and they don’t quite make it.

39 weeks and 3 days, that’s how far along in your pregnancy you were. You were feeling exhausted, uncomfortable and entirely fed up, and Harry could tell. You were 4 days from you due date, you were convinced you weren’t going to make it, but most of that came from you being impatient. It didn’t help that you had both decided to wait until the baby was born to find out the gender and you were sick of waiting. To top it all off Harry hadn’t completely finished his tour yet, dates being finalised long before you even knew you were pregnant. Thankfully the last two shows were in London, the first of which was tonight.

“Babe are you sure you want to come tonight? I won’t be mad if you’d rather just stay home and relax you know that right? You’re almost 40 weeks pregnant, no ones expecting you to be out and about.” His voice was laced with concern, he’d been trying to talk you out of going all week but you had stay steadfast on your decision. It was, after all, a big deal to him to be playing the 02 on his first real solo tour. “Harry nothing you’ll say is going to change my mind so just give up ok? I’m coming whether you like it or not” you laughed padding over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck before pecking a kiss to his nose. “Fine, but make sure you stay with Mum the whole time ok? And if you feel anything tell her or Jeff or Lou, like even an extra strong kick.” You smiled, you kind of loved how protective he was over you and your little one, and they weren’t even here yet. You didn’t doubt that he’d just drop everything and leave if anything started happening, even if it was his own show. “I’ll be fine H, I promise, now go get dressed Jeff will be here in 15 minutes and we need to be ready to leave” you swatted his bare chest playfully. It was 3pm and all you’d done us laze around in bed watching cliche rom coms enjoying what you knew would be the last few days of you just being a twosome.

You slipped on one of Harry’s tees and a pair of your last actually well fitting maternity jeans, which you’d thanked yourself for buying all those months ago. Harry had thrown on a shirt and the nearest pair of jeans with a pair of boots before heading downstairs. “Babe do you want a cup of tea before we leave? I’m making one” he called from somewhere downstairs. “Peppermint please!” You called back, grabbing your phone and sliding on a pair of sneakers on your way out of the bedroom. You sat down in the breakfast nook, watching Harry potter around the kitchen, grabbing mug from here and the tea bag from there. “I’m excited to see you perform tonight, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to” you’d been told by your doctor that you were fine to fly and everything was going smoothly but you’d both decided that after the 32 week mark it would be better if you stayed at home just in case, the idea of going into labour let alone early labour in another country terrified you. “I’m excited for you to be there” he said, placing your tea in front of you pressing a quick kiss to your lips before taking a seat across from you. “I’m still a little worried though, what if you go into labour? It could happen, you’ve been full term for 2 weeks” his brow furrowed as his sipped his still rather hot tea. You reached across to hold his hand, “H stop it, I’ll be fine, I haven’t felt anything even resembling a contraction, I’m positive it’ll be ok” you reassured, although you weren’t being completely honest. You’d had a few twinges of pain here and there over the last few hours but they felt no strong than the Braxton Hicks contractions you’d been having for weeks so you’d just brushed it off. You didn’t want him to miss his own show. You knew how much the London show meant to him and his fans and you didn’t want to let what could be nothing get in the way. He smiled bringing your hand up to his mouth pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

You talked aimlessly about the show and the baby whilst you finished your tea and as if on queue just as you’d taken the last sip the doorbell rang. You gathered your things and walked out to the waiting car and headed off the venue. “How have you been feeling? Sure you’re up for this?” Jeff asked “You sound so much like Harry, he’s been convincing me not to go all week, but I’m fine, the baby’s perfect and I’m definitely up for this” you smiled, leaning into Harry’s side, resting your head on his shoulder. The car turned into the venue and you watched as fans stood behind the barricades, yelling and screaming knowing full well who was in the blacked out van. The van drive down to the underground entry out of the way of prying eyes and you followed Harry in making your way to the dressing room where you were met by a very happy Lou. “Hiya babes! Ah look at you! You’re about to pop!” She enveloped you in a hug before standing back to take you in. “Hi Lou, I know I’m massive!” You joked, “Oh hush you look beautiful, I could only have dreamed to look this good when I was pregnant with Lux, I’m so jealous! Now Harry love let’s get you ready.” Harry gave you kiss before allowing Lou to drag him towards hair and makeup “H I’m starving so I’m going to head to catering, your Mum texted and said her and Gem are 5 minutes away” you called “Ok babe, can you grab me something too? A sandwich or something?” “Will do, I’ll be back in a minute” you wandered out of the room towards catering, quickly grabbing a couple sandwiches and a bottle of water before heading back to the dressing room. “Hello there!” A familiar voice called from down the hallways has you walked out, you looked up to find Gemma and Anne walking towards you arms open “oh honey look at you! I can’t wait to meet this grand baby” Anne said before engulfing you in the warmest of hugs. “Mum stop you’re suffocating them!” Gem jokes before hugging you too. “I’m excited too, how have you guys been? I haven’t seen you in a whole two days” you smiled laughing a little, his family had been involved in every step of the pregnancy, especially when Harry was away, and you couldn’t have been more thankful. You’d all wandered back to the dressing room and chatted while Harry continued to get ready. The room slowly filled as the band arrived to get ready themselves, the sound of warm ups and chatter filled the fairly small space. More friends and family arrived, greeting both you and Harry, you were sure that by the time show time can around there was at least 25 people ok the room but you loved it. You loved seeing him surrounded by all the people he loved, and that loved him the most in the world.

“Ok everyone, show time!” The stage manager announced, Harry quickly turning to you, giving you a fairly passionate good luck kiss, his hands resting on your bump before lowering himself down rolling up your shirt and placing a gently kiss to your tummy. It was a pre show tradition ever since you’d found out you were pregnant, he couldn’t go on stage without kissing both of his loves.

As Harry and the band headed for the side of the stage, security escorted you, Anne, Gem and Lou out onto floor of the arena. You waved to a few fans as you walked towards the reserved area. Harry had been incredibly clear that there needed to be extra security around the family and friends section, even though you’d assure him there had never been any problems before, but he was adamant on it. As you were walking out however the twinges you had still been having got that tiny bit stronger and your stomach twisted with anxiety. You weren’t going to ruin the show though so you kept it quiet, knowing that if you uttered even one word about being in pain that things would escalate fairly quickly.

The lights went down and the room erupted in ear piercing screams as the opening notes of Only Angel filled the arena. You stood up along with the crowd, watching as the band filed into the stage followed shortly by your husband. Concerts were always one of your favourite things about Harrys job, the atmosphere was electric and always instantly put you in a good mood and you loved seeing him be so passionately himself on stage. The lights came up as he began to sing, walking from one side of the stage to the other blowing kisses and waving before he blew a kiss to you with a wink. Just at that moment a particularly strong wave of pain rippled through your stomach and you flinched, eyes squeezing closed momentarily as the pain ebbed away. Thankfully everyone was preoccupied with watching what was happening on stage. The concert continued but so did your pain, it wasn’t too intense though and you knew that you could hold on. As Harry headed down off the main stage towards B stage he locked eyes with you, smiling bigger than he had all night before blowing you another kiss. You smiled, playfully catching the kiss before blowing one back. He couldn’t tear his gaze off you during Sweet Creature, knowing it was your favourite song off the album and how emotional it made you. You smiled up at him, tears forming in your eyes as usual, half way through the song however another contraction started to build but you hid it well enough, stroking your bump tenderly and taking a deep breath. Harry smiled, finishing off the song before going straight into If I Could Fly, turning and focusing his attention to the eager crowd. “Umm what was that?” Gem asked, her eyebrow raised “what was what?” You responded, praying she hadn’t noticed what you thought she might have “Oh I don’t know, the sudden deep breathing? Massaging of your belly?” She retorted. Fuck she’d noticed. “Was that a contraction?” All you could do in response is nod, holding back tears. “Um ok we’re ok! Mum!” Gem called for Anne who was only a few metres away, she saw the slightly panicked look on yours and Gems face and ran over. “What’s happening love? Are you ok?” She asked grasping your hand and looking over you with a worried expression “I’m not sure but I think its time! Don’t tell Harry ok? It’s not that bad yet, the contractions are still only every 10 minutes or so and they’re not too hard to handle yet!” You blurted out in hopes that they’d leave him oblivious at least for the next hour until the show was over. Anne let out a deep breath before nodding “Ok if you’re sure you’ll be ok we can do that. Do you want to go backstage though? Out of the noise and the crowd?” You nodded and Gem and Anne started leading you backstage and back into the comfort of the dressing room. 

To your surprise you’d managed to go unnoticed by Harry, although Sarah and Mitch had definitely seen you make a quick escape and looked at each other a little confused. You’d always stayed out for the whole show before, but they brushed it off and kept going. You walked into the now empty dressing room, deciding that the couch looked the comfiest you slipped off your shoes and sat down, laying on your side for some much needed weight off your back. “Gem can you grab Harry’s phone for me? There’s a contraction app that helps you time them somewhere in it” you asked and she scuttled around the room, finding it shoved in his bag before handing it to you. You’d gotten the app open just as another contraction started, and pressed the start button before handing it back to Gemma. “You’re having one right now?” She said, eyes widening. You nodded, squeezing your eyes closed as the contraction came to its peaks before starting to dissipate. “Ok press stop” you said and she obliged. “How long was that one?” You asked “About 40 seconds what does that mean?” She responded. “It means we still have time, they said don’t come in until the contracts are at the most 5 minutes apart and lasting longer than a minute each time” you said, sitting up. At that moment Anne came tumbling into the room a cold water bottle and some crisps in hand giving them to you “You should eat something before you can’t, and stay hydrated honey, I remember during my labours getting a little dehydrated and it’s not fun”. You nodded, taking a swig of the water before snacking on the crisps. Over the next 45 minutes you continued to contract and they were getting closed and longer each time and it was starting to worry you. Harry had 2 songs left plus the encore but you were quickly getting to the stage where you should think about heading to the hospital. “Why is this happening so fast?” You asked through gritted teeth as another contraction gripped your body “First babies aren’t meant to come this quick” you moaned as Gem held your hand while Anne massages your lower back, the circular motions soothing your now aching muscles. “Sometimes babies just come when they want to come, you’ll be alright, we’ll make it, Harry will be off in 10 and then we can start heading to the hospital ok?” You nodded, focusing on your breathing as the contraction started coming down. 

It wasn’t long before you heard a clamouring of people down the hallways before a heap of sweaty bodies came bounding through the door on a post concert high. Harry turned to you immediately noticing the look on your face and came running over to you, “Baby what’s wrong what’s happening?” He asked, the post I meet high completely gone. You couldn’t help but start crying “I think I’m in labour H” he went pale at the statement, his eyes wider than you’d ever seen them. “W-what? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” He was looking  around at his mother and sister for answers “I told them not to, I didn’t think things would speed up like they ha- unghhhh” another contraction started to build, his hands found yours, your head in the crook of his neck, trying not to yell as the pain radiated through your belly and down your thighs. “Just breathe baby, just breathe” Harry soothed “we have to get you to the hospital ok? Can you get up?” He asked cautiously. You nodded and he put his arm around your shoulder helping you up. The room was quiet, everyone had eyes on the situation, Jeff had already called the car around, Anne had collected your things and the rest of the crew were staying out of your way and helping where they could. Harry led you out of the room, his arm still resting around your waist, his other hand gripped yours. Just as you reached the car park doors you stopped in your tracks, “H stop oh god” another contraction hit, this one even stronger than the one you had previously, a swell of pressure between your thighs built up and released along with a gush of fluid that pooled in your jeans. “Harry my waters broke” you were panicking, and if he was honest so was he “It’s ok baby, I have a spare pair of joggers in my bag, you can change in the car” you could only manage a nod as the contraction continued. “It hurts so bad Harry” you whimpered, your head pressing into his chest, your weight on him for needed support and comfort. As the contraction ended you both exited the building in climbed gingerly into the waiting black van, Anne and Gemma quickly following suit. You took your seat next to Harry but found the position excruciatingly uncomfortable “ I can’t sit like this, I have to kneel, it hurts too much to sit upright” you moaned, tugging at the seat belt to get it off of you, Harry helped you rotate around to kneel on the carpeted floor of the van, your arms folded across Harry’s legs, resting your head against his tummy. His hands massaged down your back, paying particularly attention to your hips which were aching more and more with every contraction. The car sped up the drive and out onto the main road the however the post concert traffic proved to be an absolute nightmare. With minimal traffic it was a half hour drive to your chosen hospital, but in the conditions before you right now it was going to be more like an hour and a half if you were lucky. 

Your contractions started coming every 1-2 minutes and had increased to a pain level you’d never experienced. You’d been in the car for agonisingly too long and you knew you didn’t have much time left. You could feel the baby moving down, lower and lower, edging closer to entering the world. You couldn’t speak, a series of grunts and moans being the only noises you could emit. “Harry, I need to- hmmmmm- I need to get out of these jeans” and without hesitation Harry started manoeuvring the wet jeans down your legs, bringing your soaked underwear with them before riffling through his own bag to grab his jogger bottoms, sliding them back up your legs. Slowly but surely you could feel the pressure building in between your legs and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you needed to push. “Harry I can feel it, I can feel the pressure” you moaned and he felt his heart drop. “Just hold on baby we’re almost there” he reassured although he wasn’t really sure where they were or how far away the hospital was. His mum and sister were getting increasingly worried too, Anne had been through it herself and knew you really didn’t have much time left and chances were this baby was coming in the car whether you liked it or not. 

“Excuse me sir how far are we from the hospital?” Harry asked the driver, who had been trying his hardest to dart through traffic as quickly, and safely, as he could “I’m sorry but we’re still about 25 minutes away sir” the driver responded knowing it wasn’t the answer anyone wanted to hear. “I can’t wait that long, I need to push and I need to push now” You growled, the contractions now continuous and the pressure between your legs so intense that your body was taking over. Harry froze, this isn’t how it was supposed to happen, your baby wasn’t supposed to enter the world in the back of a van stuck in traffic in the middle of London, but he couldn’t dwell on it too long when you moaned before he felt you tense up and he knew you were pushing. “Whoa baby slow down, just breathe through it, what do you need hmm? What do you need me to do?” He cooed in your ear, he needed some sort of guidance but there isn’t really a manual on how to deliver babies in traffic. “I need these pants off Harry, I can feel the head” was all you could manage, Harry obliged, quickly tugging the jogger bottoms down your thighs but you knew you couldn’t move to rid of them completely so they rested at your bent knees. “Harry I have to push ag-aghhhh” you let out a guttural groan as you pushed again, you reached down, your fingertips met with the top of your baby’s head as it crowned. “Harry I need to change positions, I need to squat or lay on my bac- nghhhhh” You pushed down again without control, your body taking over, Harry helped you up into a squat and now with your pelvis fully open you couldn’t stop, Harry cooed encouraging words into your ear as you bore down, watching intently as his baby’s head slid out between your thighs, “Breathe baby, you’re doing so well, our babys almost here” Harry spurred you on, reaching his hands down ready to catch the baby as you let out a yell and with one final almighty push the baby slid out into Harry’s hands and he lifted the disgruntled sticky little one up to your chest. “Oh my god, I did it, I did it, oh hello, oh look how beautiful you are” you cried in relief, looking down at the wailing infant on your chest, Harry was crying, as were Anne and Gemma. “You did my love” Harry said, kissing you before leaning down and placing a kiss to his child’s head. “What is it? Is it a boy or girl?!” Gemma piped up, her impatience very evident. “Go on Harry, have a look” you urged. “Its a boy!” He exclaimed, his tears intensifying as did yours. “Oh my goodness a little baby boy, I have a grandson” Anne said, blubbering uncontrollably. “Welcome to the world Arlo Flynn Styles” you whispered, kissing the crown of his head. “Oh I love that name” Anne gushed, whipping out her phone to take a photo of the newly created family. “I love you both so much” Harry cooed, kissing your cheek once more, his hands stroking down his little baby’s back, taking in the beauty of what was in front of him. He couldn’t believe how strong you were, how brave you were and how beautiful his little boy was, he was in absolute awe of what just happened. Your hearts were both so full at this moment and you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. 

A couple of hours later with all of the nights dramas finally over you were soundly sleeping in the hospital bed. Harry was holding Arlo, the tiny baby protected by Harrys rather large hands as he bounced gently around the room. “You have the best mummy you know? She’s so kind and beautiful and she loves you so so much. I love you too, so much, and we will always tell you how much we love you so you never forget. You were a cheeky one to arrive so quickly, but we’re both so happy you’re here.” He placed a gentle kiss to Arlo’s tiny nose, he was truly the most beautiful thing Harry had ever laid eyes on, and although he was only mere hours old, you both loved this tiny baby more than anything in the world your little family was whole and filled only with love and adoration. “We love you Arlo, so so much”. 

And there we have it lovelies, little Arlo is here! I feel like its super dooper long but I just can’t ever seem to get rid of anything! Let me know what you think. I’ve been watching way too much One Born Every Minute and this story has been on my mind for the last few days so I just wrote it all down! Feel free to send  me any requests! E xx

#imagine harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry edward styles #daddy harry #dad harry #harry #hes #harry edward #harry styles one shot #harry one shot #harry styles 1d #harry styles one direction #the words you speak #baby #harry labour and delivery #harry styles labour #imagine 1d #1d fanfic #1d fic #1d preferences #harry styles preferences #niall horna #niall horan #liam pa #liam payne #louis tomlinson

[stitches-for-solo]

I Dunno About This One...

Sorry for the wall of text. This is why I need to figure out how to put in a “Keep Reading” cut.

I feel like I slept all day. Probably because essentially, I did. I’m sliding further and further back down the hole I threw myself into a long time ago, and am watching the progress I’ve made since the almost dying incident vanish before my eyes. I know fucking well enough that I’m responsible for my own actions, but little things here and there only give me a tiny bump of positivity, motivation, and energy, if anything at all. (I keep thinking of the minute payback of doing something small, like getting dressed, like taking a little bump of coke off a key, which, to be clear, I’ve never done.) To be frank, considering my mindset and the effort little things can take when you aren’t well, some days, it’s not worth it. Almost instantly, my dysfunctional brain gobbles it all up as fast as it can. Like... [insert creative comparison here, akin to a starved man who’s just been served a 5-course meal, but, y’know, creative]. In theory, if I could take all the little bits of brightness I can manage to churn out and hoard them all in one big pile, ingesting them at the appropriate time, satiating my chemical receptors, and then letting them rest, regulating the process, I would. (Depression for Dummies?) Just like my problems with alcohol and drugs, my brain is a fiend for serotonin, that instant gratification, and there’s nothing I can do about it, or any deficiencies of other neurotransmitters (dopamine, norepinephrine) I probably have. (And man is it sloppy up there in my head, which is appropriate, since I’m the epitome of messy. Unorganized. Shit is everywhere, yet I know where everything is. Yeah, I’m one of those... but it’s not dirty — don’t ever call me dirty. It’s simply a disaster to the untrained eye. I’ve actually read articles linking neglecting to clean with depression, but I’m not sure where or how credible any of the research was. It makes no difference — either way, I’m not the best at keeping areas tidy. I keep going off topic...)

Anyway, I’m really in no condition to do anything drastic that would potentially yield a more substantial “reward”. Everyone tells me to just try. Try the little things, and you’ll adjust, and before you know it, you’ll be ready for more significant things. But good things are just that — good. They aren’t fixes and they aren’t cures. And I’m not using the previous sentence as an excuse to lay down and give up. I’m just being realistic. I know too much about my own problems, thanks to my higher education. I know too much and my peers/family know too little. There’s gotta be a balance between the right actions/effort and the right medication(s), and none of that is happening for me. There’s not a whole lot I can do about my medications, besides take them. It’s apathy that’s the fucking bitch. Why did I sleep till 3pm and not get out of bed until 5pm? Because I didn’t care, you can’t make me care, and I certainly can’t make myself care. (Also, I stayed up all night and it was really cold in my house so I didn’t want to get out from under the blankets...)

Now consider this — it would be one thing if that’s all that I was dealing with. But that’s just a portion of it, and I don’t even know what is wrong with me anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just weak and make bad decisions, then blame said bad decisions on my weak resolve to even try to do the right thing. Maybe I’m just overly sensitive and I am content with wallowing in my own self-inflicted misery. After all, I get to be the laziest, most spoiled bitch I know, sometimes. Big emphasis on sometimes. But then something inevitably happens, and that sick fantasy is shattered over and over again and I have to face facts — it’s not just my personality. I think it’s normal for me to sorta gravitate towards strange things and (trying to choose my words wisely here) unique people. But unless everyone I know is hiding things from me, I sure do feel like a dysfunctional fool a lot of the time when I try to explain certain thoughts or feelings or physical responses that I have to various stimuli. I don’t mind being different. I don’t think there is anything wrong with being drawn to the macabre and unusual things. I enjoy horror movies/books and crime shows, and like researching things like diseases, old torture practices, serial killers, and the crazy shit you can supposedly find on the dark web. And yeah, I’ll cheer for the bad guy. (Kylo 🖤) None of that makes me disturbed or ill. I like normal things, too, like cats, space, sports, game shows, and the Food Network. And music is sometimes my salvation. It’s my thoughts & actions that bother me. I was driving last night and I had a pretty pathetic thought: I don’t have a mental illness; I’m mentally ill. 😶

It probably sounds ridiculous and that I’m dramatic, lazy, not trying, overreacting, making excuses, annoying or even infuriating, but I don’t share everything that goes on upstairs with just anyone. I’ve been places, and I do not want to go back. I will not go back. So I keep my mouth shut. It tends to get me no where good or anywhere fast. Which is fine; I think it’s throwing a wrench in my doctor’s attempt to properly treat me, but if I was completely open and honest, I don’t really know what would transpire and where I’d end up. And in terms of friends/family, I firmly believe it drives people away. I see it. I’m not stupid. People abandon me. They tell me I deserve better, but they don’t give me better. Maybe they just want someone else to do it. They want to know it’s happening, but don’t want to/ can’t put the effort in themselves. I know I’m not verbally or emotionally abused or mistreated, and I think I tend to treat people as they do me. I don’t yell at people unprovoked. (There are exceptions, one of which I have written about above.) I don’t attack my friends and then try to make them feel guilty about it. Sometimes I get frustrated when I get sent pictures of someone’s (boyfriend’s) brand new house for the 6th time and I have to be all excited for them, meanwhile I’m living in my little sister’s old room. Yep, I had to move back in with my parents because I got too sick to be alone and had no where else to go. My mother wouldn’t even give me my old room back. And equally as frustrating is when I have to hear for the 15th time “I put my hand in the cage, and it bit me again. This time I’m bleeding. I know something isn’t right and it has to change..” But then, it’s right back to the same. And I get it. I’ve been there. My ex ripped my heart to shreads, and not just once. And I just kept letting him hurt me, because I believed that somehow, if I just kept trying, if I just kept changing, if I just let all the shitty parts run their course(s), in the end, it would be worth it. Was it? Of course not!

It’s fucking frustrating when someone you care about is being mistreated. In fact, it blows my mind what some people will put up with, but again, I understand, because I did it, too. I think it’s a lesson everyone has to learn for themselves at their own pace and on their own time. These things aren’t teachable. And I know it’s selfish, but sometimes I get a little irritated that I end up so far down on a friend’s list of priorities when I’m only trying to help, and I feel like I could use some help, too. There’s other contributing factors and every situation is unique, of course. But when I’m just trying to be genuine and caring, even if it does come off as harsh, that sucks. But it’s life. It just makes me feel like I’m believing a heaping pile of bs, which does upset me. I’m not egotistical. I don’t need to be #1. But there’s a big difference between not being #1 and being put off to the side so the friend in question can go spend time with the someone else who treats them like absolute shit. (I need to expand on this, because it’s misleading, and I don’t believe an explanation will fit in this post. I’ve also moved things around so much, I feel like it’s not flowing properly, so I’ll be making an additional entry — in a little while. So wait before you judge or assume anything.) But I’m also not stupid. I say that a lot, but my actions must betray my words. Somehow I must be giving off the vibe that I’m an idiot. It’s painful, especially when I want to give more of myself to someone.. invest more time, energy, support, all those things, into the friendship, but the feeling isn’t mutual. I wonder what people think of me. “I don’t want anything to do with her, but she’s fucking insane so I’m afraid she might come after me or hurt herself...” I mean, I am crazy, am I not? So why wouldn’t someone think that? Especially when I’ve heard the same words come out of their mouth before, but about someone else. And I’m not just talking about one or two people here. This seems to be an ongoing theme, and the common factor is me. When I was going through rough times with my ex, I think that’s when the alienation from some of my friends started. I guess they could only take so much, and everyone has a limit, but I also think the person being hurt sees things very differently than those on the outside. I can’t do much, y’know? So I try to give advice or help, but I think I need to learn to back off. I’m scared I’m destroying the relationships with the few people I have left in my life. Sometimes I already feel a shift. Hell, I know things are different. I don’t want to lose everything I have left with my handful of friends, but I am not the type of person who can take unhappiness and paranoia and anything else negative and just squash it and keep quiet. I have to let things out, or they grow until they reach monstrous proportions and I completely lose control. As annoying as it is, I have to ask family and friends “is everything okay?” “Did I do something wrong?” “Are you mad at me?” and eventually it escalates to “What the hell did I do?” “Why are you ignoring me?” etc.. Christ, I must be fun to know.

I was kind of writing before about things that make me feel happy. Having friends made me happy, and I try, but it seems that beyond talking online, no one wants to take me up on any offers anymore. I think I burned all my bridges and trying to start all over is challenging at my age when most people have careers and families. I don’t fit in anymore, and honestly, I have a suspicion that potential dating partners my age are still single because they’re not interested in settling down. I feel like I’m going to end up alone. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Life was supposed to be so much more fulfilling and just a pleasure to live. I know everyone goes through rough patches, and I absolutely hate talking like this, but I know I was expected to be so much more than this. It wasn’t me who was pegged as the one who would make such a fucking mess out of everything. I’m in a position where putting myself out there for rejection is a bad, very bad idea. It’s damaging. But so is being alone/surrounded by people who you don’t get along with. I’m stuck; I don’t know what to do, where to turn, and who really cares. One more note about friends.. Or who I refer to as my friends. I write about them in here, and they don’t even know this blog exists. No one really checks up on me, and I know that could be for lots of reasons. I don’t tend to reach out anymore either, but it’s because I don’t really have anything to offer. One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do was to accept that my old best friend didn’t consider me his best friend anymore. I guess it’s been a while now, and I’m okay with just calling him a “friend” or by his name. But it was tough. I was so broken down about my breakup that I completely fell apart, and he really just abandoned me. I’d see all the pictures he would post on Facebook.. out hanging out with his “BFF”, all smiles and having fun while I’d stayed in bed and cried all day with no one left to go to for comfort or company. I felt so disgusting, needy, weak, insignificant, hopeless.. all this after I let him borrow a substantial amount of money because he had moved 1500 miles away and needed financial help getting home because he had decided he didn’t want to be there anymore. I was so desperate and distraught that I let him borrow.. a lot of money. And that was what I was met with when he got back. I was still alone, he never wanted to hang out because I was always so down, and I haven’t seen a dime of my money. I could go on... but I won’t. Lesson learned.

I think there’s some parts here that don’t make sense. I was copying and pasting and moving stuff around and adding/deleting things, and it’s almost 7am. I might work on this later after I get some sleep. Or I might decide it’s a waste of time cause no one reads my rants anyway. Obviously I didn’t mean to offend anyone, and I mean no ill will towards anyone I know. Like I said, there are some things I just have to get off my chest.

#Mental Health #Depression #Friends #Friendships #Rambling Rant #Lonely #Alone #Expanded Above

[lamgrace1993]

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#How To Save Your New Marriage Portentous Useful Tips #Can God Save A Hopeless Marriage

[soylentramen]

Words are like toothpaste

Inspired by @lordzuuko’s wonderful Voltron Family AU. The kids are in middle school. The toothpaste thing is not my invention – I’ve seen it posted around a couple different places, and I just love the concept.

——–

“What did you say?” Lance asked the boy sitting across the table from him, his shoulders tensing.

His group partner shrugged, gluing another piece onto the diorama they were making in class. “I mean, it’s like with my step-dad, right? It’s not like either of them is your real dad, so why do they get to tell you what to do?”

Lance jumped up from his seat, the legs of the chair screaming as they dragged along the tile floor of the classroom. Before he could do anything with his tightly-clenched fists, though, he felt a steady hand on his shoulder. “Just ignore him, Lance,” came Hunk’s calm voice. “He doesn’t know anything about our family.”

The younger boy didn’t move for a moment, his slender frame shaking with the need to do something. But then, just as quickly as it had come, his temper left him in a long, slow breath that had him sagging in his chair like a deflated hot-air balloon. Sparing a final glare at his partner, he put the whole conversation out of his mind and went back to his work. And that was the end of it…

… until the next time he and Daddy Keith got into an argument. It wasn’t even anything that important; it just sort of escalated from heated discussion to, “What would you know? You’re not even my real dad!” before he had a chance to filter the words through his brain first, and then everything just… sort of… stopped. The expression on Keith’s face was not unlike the expression of the fish Lance had caught the last time they went camping: wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and struggling for breath or words or anything, really. “I…” Lance started again once he found his voice, and the sound seemed to break Keith out of his stupor.

“Go to your room,” he said, and his voice was so, so quiet. “Do your homework, and don’t come out until we call you for dinner.”

“Please, Daddy Keith, I….” In that moment, Lance’s one wish was that he could have unseen the way Keith flinched at the familiar name.

“Lance. Go. To. Your. Room,” he said, his tone clipped and eyes closed to hold back the tide of his emotion. “Now.” Once the boy had gone, Keith allowed himself to lean against the wall and slide to the floor, the strength having left his legs. He was still sitting like that, knees drawn up to his chest, his face buried in his arms, when Pidge came back from her computer club some time later.

“Daddy Keith?” she asked, coming to a stop a short distance away in the hall. “Are… are you okay?”

He looked up with a start, hastily scrubbing at the moisture around his eyes. “Yeah, sweetie, yeah.” He paused to clear his throat. “Just… a little tired. It’s been a long day.” He stood and offered her an approximation of a smile. “Wanna help me get dinner going? Daddy Shiro has a long shift today, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to come home to find everything all ready to eat.”

Pidge wrinkled her nose slightly at the suggestion. “I’m no good at cooking, just ask my home ec. teacher. What about Hunk? Or Lance?”

“You and Hunk could both help, if you wanted. We could have some family time. Lance is on timeout in his room at least until Daddy Shiro gets home, though, so we’ll have to do without him.”

“Uh oh. What did that idiot to this time?”

Keith shook his head. “Pidge, honey, that’s not a good word to call other people, especially your own brother,” he chided gently. “And we don’t gossip in this house, do we?”

“No, we don’t. Sorry, Daddy Keith.”

He felt a genuine smile on his lips as he reached out to ruffle her hair. “I’ll let it go this time, but just try to keep it in mind for the future, okay, peanut?”

“I will.”

“That’s my girl. Now, how about a hug before we track down your brother?” If he held her a little tighter and a little longer than normal, she didn’t complain.

By the time Shiro got home, the table was set and the food was prepared, and Keith, Pidge, and Hunk were only wearing a few of the ingredients on their faces or clothes. “Thanks for making dinner, love,” he said, swiping a bit of sauce from Keith’s cheek with his thumb. “It smells delicious.” He looked around a bit. “But… where’s Lance?”

Sighing, Keith looked away down the hall. “In his room. If we’re ready to eat, please let him know he can come out for dinner.”

The meal was pleasant enough, though Lance and Keith were both uncharacteristically quiet. Hunk and Pidge left the two of them to their own devices and instead discussed their days with Shiro, who decided he would worry about the others later. When everyone was finished and the table was cleared, Lance stood quietly, running his hand nervously over the hair at the back of his head. “Well, I’ll just… uh… I’ll get going back… to my room, then.” Without waiting for anyone to reply, he scurried off and vanished behind his closed door again. Shiro followed him with his eyes and then turned a questioning gaze on Keith, who heaved an exasperated sigh.

“I can tell it’s been eating at you all evening,” he said, waving Shiro toward Lance’s room with a flick of his wrist. “Go on, go talk to him. I don’t particularly want to repeat what he said.”

Nodding, Shiro walked down the hall and knocked on Lance’s door. “Hey, buddy. Can I come in? I wanted to talk about whatever’s been bothering you and Daddy Keith tonight.” He waited a moment for a response, and then began slowly opening the door only to wind up with an armful of tearful brunet a moment later. “Hey now, easy. Deep breaths. Let’s go sit on your bed, can we? Let’s talk it out. It’ll be okay.”

Snuffling pitifully, Lance stepped out of the hug and hurled himself onto his bed. “No, it won’t. I ruined everything,” he wailed.

Shiro sat carefully on the edge of the mattress and ran his hand soothingly over Lance’s back. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m sure you didn’t ruin anything. Just tell me what happened.”

“I… I got in a-a fight with Daddy Keith,” he started, his words punctuated with occasional hiccups as he struggled to master his breathing again. “And I s-said something really… really mean, and now he’s never going to talk to me again, and it’s all my fault, and I don’t even know why I said it, I just…”

“Okay, okay,” Shiro cut in. “Slow down there, bud. What did you say?”

“I said… I said that he wasn’t my r-real… my real dad.” At Shiro’s sharp intake of breath, he buried his face in his blankets again. “I didn’t mean it,” he added quietly, though the down comforter muffled the words almost beyond recognition.

“I…” Shiro began, only to pause, searching for the right words. “I think I see now why you two were acting the way you were. I’ve got an idea. I’ll be right back, buddy, okay? We’ll figure this out.” Shiro ducked out of Lance’s room and returned a moment later with an unopened tube of toothpaste and a heavy-duty paper plate. “Okay, sit up.” He handed both the toothpaste and the plate to Lance. “So, you’re feeling pretty upset right now, right?” Lance nodded. “Okay. I think what might help you feel better is to open that toothpaste and see just how fast you can squeeze it out onto that plate. Does that sound fun?” Lance nodded again, attempting a smile. “Okay, then. Let’s do it. All of the toothpaste onto that plate, just as fast as you can.”

Sticking his tongue out slightly in concentration, Lance began squeezing the toothpaste onto the plate. Then, at Shiro’s prompting, he applied more pressure to the tube to increase his speed. At one point, his grip slipped, and a glob of toothpaste striped the bridge of Shiro’s nose, causing them both to break into genuine laughter for the first time all evening. Once the job was finished, Shiro turned back to Lance. “All right. Are you feeling a bit better now?” When Lance nodded again, he continued, “Okay, good. So what we’re going to do now is to see how quickly you can get all this toothpaste back into the tube.”

Wide-eyed, Lance looked quickly between the uneven loops of spilled toothpaste on the plate and the crumpled, empty tube, his face falling. “But… but, Daddy Shiro, I don’t think I can….”

“No?” Shiro followed his gaze. “You know, you may be right.” With one finger, he swiped the toothpaste off his nose and added it to the plate. “You know, this toothpaste is a lot like your words. It may make you feel better in the short term to say a lot of things without thinking, but once those words are out….” He gestured to the plate. “You can’t take them back.” Next, he pointed at his nose, where a thin residue of toothpaste still remained. “Sometimes, you’ll even miss your intended target. And if you’ve ever bitten your cheek and forgotten about it until you started brushing your teeth, you know that sometimes words can find the little things that bother a person and really make them hurt. That’s what happened with Daddy Keith today.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The truth is, Lance, we know that we’re not your birth parents; there’s not a day that goes by that we don’t think about it, that we don’t worry about whether we’re doing the right thing, or if maybe you three would’ve been happier with some other family. But we do our best, and… and I think we do all right, most days. So, Daddy Keith has been biting his cheek, and today you just got some toothpaste in it. But I bet it would help him feel better if you apologized. Okay?”

Leaving the empty tube and the plate of toothpaste on Lance’s desk for the moment, the two of them exited the room and set out to find Keith. When they found him reclining on the couch with a book, Shiro gave Lance a gentle nudge forward and cleared his throat. “Lance has something he would like to say,” he said once Keith looked up. Keith’s only response was to arch an eyebrow and lay the open book across his lap. “Go on,” Shiro prompted quietly.

Trying to formulate the best apology, Lance shuffled slightly from foot to foot. “Um… Daddy Keith, I… I’m….” Any plans he had managed to form went out the window when he finally managed to speak. “I’m sorry I hit you in the face with a plate of toothpaste.”

“… What?” Keith glanced between Lance, who was growing increasingly flustered, and Shiro, who was failing at stifling his laughter, and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You didn’t hit me with toothpaste, Lance, you….”

“I know!” Lance interrupted, frustration evident in his own voice. “I know what I did, what I said, and… and, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, even when I said it. I just… I wasn’t thinking, and the words just came out. I almost got in a fight with someone at school the other day when he said that to me about you, so I don’t… I don’t know why I even… You both are our real dads, no matter what anyone says, and I just… I’m so, so sorry….”

There were no longer any dry eyes in the room as Keith jumped up from the couch, his book forgotten. He pulled Lance into a tight hug. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay. I forgive you. Everyone says something they don’t mean every once in a while. It’s what you do afterward that counts.” Standing up straight after releasing the embrace, he looked at Shiro, tilting his head to one side quizzically. “Do I want to know why there’s toothpaste in your hair?”

#lordzuuko #voltron family #voltron legendary defender #voltron lance #voltron keith #voltron shiro #sheith #sheith family #think before you speak #what are tags

[yuriyuu]

Pretty Boy

Sometimes Yuri misses it, misses the short skirts and the cute dresses and the thigh high stockings with the garter belts, misses the way his legs look in high heels. He misses kissing boys, having his lipstick smeared all over their necks and faces. He’d never admit it out loud, and he'd never be seen in public like that, but maybe, just maybe Viktor can convince him to indulge in such things again.

Pairing: Viktor/Yuri P

Word Count:  6250

Rating: M

Please note that this fic contains non-explicit sex scenes and crossdresing kink with a trans male character, so please be aware of that. 

Written for the @yoi-shit-bang! The matching artwork was illustrated by @iron-stride and can be found here. Please give it a look! ^^

(read on AO3) 

There are many things in life Yuri loves to indulge in. He loves wearing tacky leopard print punk clothing, he loves foods which are way too high in carbohydrates, and he loves cuddling with cats, fur on his expensive black clothing be damned. Still, in spite of how unapologetic he is for his vices, there are some which burn in the abyss of his soul, never to see the light of day, and as he runs his fingers over the black pleather miniskirt on display, he is reminded of such things he yearns for that he will never, ever partake in.

“You want it, don’t you?”

Yuri jumps back, pulled away from his thoughts and attention averted from the skirt on display. He shoots a glare toward Viktor, “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” He grumbles a bit too loud. Viktor merely chuckles in response and lovingly wraps his arm around Yuri’s waist.

“Sorry about that, Kitten, I didn’t mean to startle you, but I suppose you were a bit lost in thought there.”

Despite his grumbling, Yuri leans into Viktor’s grasp, a silent apology accepted.

Still, Viktor’s not one to leave Yuri’s desires unattended to, and when his first inquiry goes unanswered, he’s quick to ask again.

“Still, that’s a cute skirt that got your attention. Do you want it?”

Yuri immediately bristles at the question, pulling away from Viktor’s arms and giving him a look, which is all it takes for Viktor to know he fucked up and asked the wrong thing.

“Do I look like a girl to you?” He growls, resentment dripping from his voice.

“No, no! Of course not!” Viktor says, putting his hands up in sign of apologies and yielding to Yuri’s sudden contempt.

That seems to placate him, as he hears him take a deep sigh and soon finds Yuri’s hand in his own.

“Hey, let’s go get ice cream,” Yuri says. It’s a question disguised as a statement, a silent let’s get out of here and not speak of this anymore , and Viktor happily obliges.

While he knows ice cream isn’t really want Yuri wants, it’ll at least make him smile and take his mind off of things which Viktor knows he’ll never be able to fathom. This isn’t the first time he’s caught Yuri staring longingly at things such as miniskirts and cute lingerie, and every attempt he’s made to buy Yuri such things is met with utmost venom. He remembers the younger days in which Yuri freely wore such things with confidence, but Yuri was also a different person back then, lived a different life than he does now. He can’t deny the struggle Yuri’s been through to get to where he is now, the heartache and the sacrifice. Maybe he doesn’t understand why Yuri denies himself what he wants, but he sure wishes he could help him learn that he no longer needs to sacrifice parts of himself for acceptance.

Of course, the last time he’d even dare suggest that, Yuri had gotten royally pissed off.

“You don’t understand, Viktor,” he had said, “Of course it’s just clothes for you. People like you get to wear whatever they want. People like you are celebrated when they fuck around with gender norms. People like me? We have to look our part. We don’t have the luxury of dressing outside of what’s expected of us. The minute I step away from that, everything I’ve worked so hard for will be stripped away from me.”

He really, really doesn’t understand how clothing could have so much power, but he remembers the long nights where he held Yuri as he cried from his parents hounding him over the daughter they claimed to have lost, that he was no son of theirs. He remembers Yuri isolating himself after the media outed him long before he was ready to tell the world on his own terms, if he ever even wanted to, and he sure as hell remembers the nasty comments and rumors which followed. The last thing he wants to see is for Yuri to deal with any of that again, not after the gossip finally died down and people seemed to have moved onto something else. Yuri’s much happier these days, living as Yuri, but the longing he sees in Yuri’s eyes at the cute feminine clothing is sometimes too much for Viktor’s heart to bear.

It’s a lazy weekend night in, and Yuri’s holed up in the bathroom playing around with his make up. If it’s one thing Yuri refused to give up, it was his make up.

“You think I’m gonna let some random person do my make up for shows? Yeah right. I’m doing my own thank you very much ,” is what he’d always say.

They have Georgi to thank for that. Viktor vividly remembers a few days after Yuri had come out, Georgi took him shopping for cosmetics, where they then spent the entire night in the bathroom playing with their new toys, sharing tricks and tips with each other. Viktor knows that Yuri would have probably given up make up too if it weren’t for him, and Viktor feels nothing but appreciation toward Georgi’s acceptance and support.

“Vitya,” Yuri says as he walks out of the bathroom into their living room, “What do you think of this lip color?”

He’s got on a deep crimson red, and Viktor can’t help but think about how the gloss he’s got layered on makes his lips look absolutely kissable.

“It makes me want to kiss you.”

Yuri scowls, blushing a bit as he does before it turns into laughter. “Funny you say that, I kissed my first boy I met at a party when I was 14 wearing a color similar to this. I remember I saved every penny I had to save up for that lipstick; it was my first high end one. Anyway, I went to that party wearing that, and I ended up making out with some hot older boy off to the side. By the time we were done, the color was all over his face and neck, and everyone knew what we had done. And you know what? I didn’t care. He was embarrassed, but I was damn proud of my work. He was my prize for the night.” He pauses for a moment, lost in thought before he adds, “Shame I never got his number. I think he was about to enter college, he could have hooked me up with some hot college boys.”

Viktor looks up at Yuri, and the flash of possessiveness in his eyes make Yuri’s mouth go dry. He chuckles slightly before saying, “Surely I’m better than some drunk college boys, no?”

He’ll never get over how Viktor’s slight jealous streak makes him weak in the knees. “I’ve kissed many drunk college boys before we got together,” Yuri begins to say as he makes his way over to Viktor, straddling his lap and bringing their faces dangerously close, “But you’re better than all of them. My only regret is I never got to lay my mark on you.”

“Then kiss me. Make me your prize.” It’s not a suggestion, but a command, and Yuri doesn’t need to be told twice. He instantly closes the gap between them, wrapping his arms roughly around Viktor and pulling him close. Sometimes Yuri’s kisses are shy and timid, but tonight, he’s anything but. Tonight, he’s all lust and insatiable hunger.

It’s not long before Yuri becomes bored of his lips, and begins trailing sticky, glossy kisses down his jawline and toward his neck. Viktor remembers kissing girls with lip gloss on, remembers the feeling being gross and sticky and unpleasant, but somehow Yuri leaving his aggressive lipstick trail down his face and neck does just does something for him in a way he didn’t quite expect, and boy, does he feel it in his gut.

When he feels Yuri begin to suck at the skin on his neck, he lets a noise halfway between a moan and a gasp. “Yuri! Wait,” he starts to say. He doesn’t really feel like walking around with hickies on his neck, but Yuri isn’t deterred.

“Oh hush,” Yuri says shutting him up with a kiss. “I’ll cover them up for you. You know I’m an expert at that.”

It’s true, and he’s seen Yuri cover up some pretty impressive bite marks that he’s so lovingly left on him in some quite obvious places. Maybe he should learn to be more thankful for Yuri’s escapades from his younger days. Viktor unfortunately, has grown to be a bit more modest in his older days, especially since he never managed to pick up the valuable skill of hiding your hickies with make up.

But right now, fuck modesty, seeing Yuri so into this is hot and turning him on beyond belief. He’ll make a noble sacrifice for this, his neck won’t mind.

Yuri seems to catch onto this, because he’s taken to grinding down on him as he kisses him all over the place.

“My Kitten is feisty today,” Viktor purrs into Yuri’s ear.

“Yeah? Let me suck your dick,” Yuri whispers back, his voice low.

Viktor supposes it’s pointless to say no, considering Yuri’s already sliding down in between his legs and slipping his pants off. Not that he would say no to Yuri sucking his dick anyway.

Neither of them intended to things to escalate so much. By the time they’re done, Viktor’s got the faint remains of Yuri’s crimson lip stick peppered about on his inner thighs, and he’s pretty sure it’s elsewhere on him too, not that he’s exactly complaining.

Yuri looks equally roughed up, what was once clean, sharp lines on his lips is now a smeared mess all over his face. It’s a good look on him, and Viktor wants to see more of that.

“You look hot like this,” Yuri tells him, tracing his handiwork on Viktor’s skin as they get ready to go in the shower. “This is the proof you’re mine now, and only mine. Shame it’s about to all be washed off.”

Viktor nonchalantly shrugs before saying, “Guess you’ll just have to make me your prize again.”

“Definitely. I think I’ll even wear purple next time.”

Yuri’s missed this, smearing his lipstick all over the boys he kisses, though nowadays, Viktor’s the only man he kisses, the only person he has any desire to make a mess of these days. It’s one of those things he didn’t know how much he missed, not until he got to actually do it again. And somehow, doing that as a boy made it that much hotter, so much sexier than his days of doing that as a girl.

Viktor seemed to be really into it too, though he supposes that’s the difference between kissing a random boy you meet at a party for a fling, and kissing a man you’ve been with for a while. It was always a turn off when those boys would make a big deal out of him getting lipstick all over them. Like duh? That’s the point? Viktor though, what an enabler he is.

If it’s one thing Viktor’s good at, it’s enabling people. One evening, during a round of after sex snuggling, Viktor has the gall to learn over and whisper, “Hey, you know what would be really hot?”

Yuri immediately scoffs. God, does he wanna know? Does he really wanna know whatever weird fetish Viktor is about to unload on him?

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I think it would be really hot if you dressed up for me.”

It takes all of Yuri’s self-control to not smack him over the head with his pillow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“I just think it would be really hot if you dressed up in some cute lingerie, maybe a short miniskirt with some thigh highs…”

Viktor hopes, he prays that Yuri will take the bait. He’s so much more confident when he gets to strut his femininity, when he gets to unapologetically own it. Accidentally discovering Yuri’s little lipstick kink was the best thing to happen, because shit, he’s never seen him so confident and in charge before. Something about that confidence felt different than his usual confidence, and Viktor can’t quite place what it was, but it did things to him and he wanted to see more of it. And judging by Yuri’s tendency to wear lipstick much more often around the house these days, he’s enjoying the feeling too.

But judging by Yuri’s incredulous stare and his gaping mouth, he’s not making very much progress.

“You’re crazy, absolutely out of your mind,” Yuri bristles, shaking his head. “I’m not dressing up like a girl for you just so you can get off.” Stupid Viktor.

Oh, ouch. Maybe he should have phrased that better, because the last thing he wants is to see Yuri as a girl, those days are long gone, and he needs him to understand that. “No, no. You wouldn’t be dressing up as a girl, that’s the last thing I want. No. You’d be a guy wearing some cute panties underneath a little miniskirt.”

He leans in toward Yuri, kissing him on the forehead and saying in a low voice, “You know, I’ve always had a thing for guys in short skirts.”

Yuri feels his face heat up and flush red. “You’re lying about that!”

“No! I’m not! My one ex and I used to crossdress for each other all the time,” The look of disbelief Yuri’s giving him is a bit unnerving. “...Really. We did. I actually might still have some of my old outfits...”

Viktor can’t help but feel embarrassed to admit that. Talking about your past sex life with an ex to your current long-term boyfriend just feels a bit...wrong. But he supposes Yuri talked about his past sexual escapades all the time with him, but that’s different, Viktor always reasoned, Yuri didn’t actually date any of those people.

Crossdressing, huh. Viktor’s got a thing for crossdressing. He’s surprised, but also not surprised at all. Goddamnit, why does Viktor always know how to get him to agree with him? Viktor knows he can’t dress this way, but damnit, if it’s for their private life then maybe it would be okay? No one would ever know, right? Ugh, he misses wearing mini skirts and showing off his legs. Shorts don’t and never have had quite the same appeal to him.

“Go to sleep, you’re delirious from sleep deprivation,” is Yuri’s response.

Well, it wasn’t an outright no, but Viktor decides that’s enough pushing the subject for one night.

Over the next week or so, Yuri spends more time than usual longingly browsing clothing websites and staring wistfully at all the cute skirts and dresses. High heels as well, can’t forget those. He adds shit to his cart, only to take it out, only to put it back in again.

He repeats the process for all of his favorite lingerie websites he used to buy from back in the day.

Suddenly, he regrets making Viktor throw out all of his old lingerie from when they first started dating, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter considering it’s not like any of it would fit anymore anyway. He no longer has boobs, and testosterone changed his body shape.

He buries his face into the couch pillow and groans. Why is life so difficult? This is what he’s been longing for, to be able to wear skirts and high heels and lingerie again, and Viktor’s gone ahead and provided the perfect chance for this. Yet, for whatever reason, he just can’t seem to jump on this opportunity. If Viktor and his ex-boyfriend can crossdress in bed together, why can’t he?

Hell, Viktor even specified that he likes guys in skirts. When he started dating Viktor back when he was a girl, he was never asked to wear a skirt in bed. Now that he thinks on it, the lingerie was more of his thing as well than Viktor’s thing back then during his pre-coming out days.

Overthinking would be the death of him. It would be for them, and them only. No one would know, there’s no one to judge. Plus, Viktor’s not stupid, he caught on a long time ago about how much Yuri misses girly clothing, and presenting it in a new light, Yuri decides that maybe, it’s fine. Yuri wants to do it, Viktor specifically likes boys in skirts, the stars have aligned and if he doesn’t do this now he never will and then he’ll hate himself for wasting the opportunity.

Later that night, as they’re curled up on the couch together watching some stupid TV show neither of them are particularly paying attention to, Yuri looks up at Viktor and says, “Hey, Vitya, take me shopping this weekend. I…” He doesn’t know why the next part is so hard and embarrassing to say. His heart is beating disproportionately in his chest all things considered, “I want to be pretty for you.” Not the most direct way of asking, but it’ll have to do. He’ll know what he’s talking about.

Viktor’s stupid grin makes the situation even more embarrassing. “I thought you’d never ask!”

If it’s one thing Yuri didn’t anticipate, it was how anxious he’d be actually buying things in person. He’s not an overly anxious person by nature, but this, this is overwhelming and all he can do is grumble to VIktor the entire time. It’s as if the entire mall just knows and is judging him and waiting to take his status as a man away.

Still, Viktor is unphased by Yuri’s grumbling. He wraps a protective arm around his waist, pulling Yuri closer and giving a small smile when he feels Yuri relax into him.

“Hey,” he begins to say, “let’s go see if that skirt you were looking at is still here. I think you’d look very cute in it.”

“Cute? Screw that. I’d look fucking hot in it, don’t you think?” Yuri’s got that haughty smirk on his face, the one VIktor loves to see.

“That’s the spirit! You’ll look amazing.” Viktor leans over to Yuri and whispers in his ear, “Especially when you show off your legs. I can’t wait.” He’s always had a weak spot for Yuri’s legs. Soft, long, and strong.

“You’ll need to buy me a pair of high heels then, so I can really show off my legs to you.”

By the time they get to the store, Yuri’s nerves seemed to have mostly calmed down. Luckily for them, the black pleather miniskirt is still there, and in what he guesses would be his size.

Yuri takes it off the rack, holding his breath as he does. He can’t believe he’s actually going through with this. How long has it been since he last wore a skirt? Too long, it’s been too long. But all that doesn’t matter now. Soon he’d be able to indulge himself, and Viktor as well.

“Are you going to try it on?”

He makes a face. “Hell no, not here. I’ll try it on when we get home. And plus,” Yuri says as he holds it up to his waist, “I’m pretty sure this is my size. It looks like it’ll fit, right?”

Before Viktor can respond, Yuri immediately shoves the skirt into his hands and says in one breath, “Anyway, thanks for buying this for me! Love you! See you outside by the ice cream stand!” With that said, Yuri turns around and bolts, leaving behind a very perplexed Viktor. He sighs to himself in amusement. How typical of Yuri, to be so excited and yet so bashful at the same time. He both gets and doesn’t get the rational behind Yuri’s nerves. To him, it’s just clothes, but to Yuri, it’s more than he can ever comprehend and he’s just formally resigned himself to accepting the fact he’ll never truly understand Yuri’s perspective. Still, it’s been a long while since he last saw him so excited over their shopping trips.

Viktor pays for Yuri’s skirt, and as promised, Yuri’s standing over by the ice cream stand, eating a cup of strawberry ice cream.

“Here, I bought you a chocolate cup because they’re your favorite,” Yuri says as Viktor makes his way over, handing him over a small cup of ice cream.

“Aww thank you. You spoil me,” Viktor coos, and Yuri just rolls his eyes.

They sit down on a bench somewhere off to the side together, eating their ice cream in a comfortable silence, at least until Viktor ends up breaking it.

“So, we need to get you a pair of high heels so you can show off those lovely, lovely legs of yours, right?”

“Damn right,” Yuri says while shoving the last remains of his ice cream into his mouth. “And the lingerie. We can’t forget that.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t let that happen.”

They finish their ice cream, and the rest of their shopping continues on smoothly, with Yuri continuing to bolt every time Viktor has to go and pay. Oh well, what can you do?

The minute they get home from the mall, Yuri barricades himself in their bedroom with his new clothes. He stays in there for an awfully long time, and Viktor begins to suspect there might be something wrong. He knocks once on the door before asking, “Hey, is everything okay?”

Yuri jumps a bit when he hears Viktor knock. “Everything is fine! Don’t come in!” He yells back.

Really, he doesn’t mean to worry Viktor (or lock him out of their bedroom for that matter), but right now, he just wants to enjoy himself. He looks at himself in their full length mirror, looking at the way the lingerie clings to his flat chest, how it accentuates subtle curves of his body which lingered post transition. Curves used to be his enemy, but somehow seeing them in this light, especially now that he’s not anywhere near as curvy as he used to be, he finds he rather likes them like this. Plus, he’s totally enthralled by how cute his ass looks in the black ruffled panties they bought.

And when he tries on the skirt, the top, and the shoes they bought, he finds himself breathless. He finds his hands shaking as he puts on his outfit, unsure of whether or not dysphoria would ultimately kick his ass and ruin the entire thing. Would it be just like staring at his old self, his old life as a girl? He never wants to look like her again, she’s behind him now.

But after everything is on, he looks at himself in the mirror, and finds that he still looks like a boy, just prettier. Really, he’s speechless. He walks around their bedroom in his new heels, clacking them against the hardwood floor. Years of not wearing heels leaves him a bit wobbly, but he soon catches his momentum again.

The sound of his heels clicking against the ground, it’s another thing he’s missed.

Viktor, he can’t wait to show Viktor. He almost runs out of the room in giddy drunken excitement, but stops himself last minute. No. He wants Viktor to see him when he’s truly all dolled up, make up and everything, not when he’s hastily trying on clothes after a long day.

So he takes everything off, dresses back to his normal clothes, and leaves their bedroom.

“How does everything fit?” Viktor asks as Yuri walks into their living room

“Everything’s fine,” he replies. He doesn’t sound particularly excited, but Viktor knows that’s him being shy about it. If he wasn’t excited, he wouldn’t have spent the past hour holed up in their bedroom staring at himself in their mirror.

“Do I get to see?”

Yuri hums slightly to himself before plopping down into Viktor’s lap like an overgrown cat. “Hmm...not yet,” he says, “I want it to be special for you.”

Viktor can’t help but feel a bit bummed out that Yuri wouldn’t let him see him in his new clothes quite yet. Really, he supposes Yuri has his reasons, and he’s not about to push him, but damn was he really looking forward to it.

Some time passes, and neither of them pushed the topic since the weekend they went shopping. Viktor would be a dirty liar if he said he wasn’t getting a bit impatient, however. Still, after a day of running continuous errands, he was not expecting to walk through the door and be greeted with what he was greeted with. He’s greeted with Yuri, sitting cross legged on the couch, the straps of his lingerie top he has on peeking through his shirt which is slightly off the shoulder and hanging low on his chest. He’s got the skirt on, and the straps of his high heels wrapped around his calves make only serve to make his legs look better than usual if Viktor dares say so himself.

Yuri immediately looks up from his phone when he hears Viktor walk through the door, and Viktor immediately notices his make up. It’s dark, smoky, and sultry, and he’s wearing the same exact crimson lipstick which served as the catalyst to this from so many weeks ago.

He makes his way over to Viktor, heels clicking on the floor as he does. He’s no longer wobbly, as he’s made sure to perfect his strut for this. “How do I look?” He purrs.

Viktor can barely believe how good Yuri looks like this. He’s seen him dress like this before, back when he had the body of a girl, but seeing him dressed like this in the way he truly sees himself, in a body he’s actually grown to love and be comfortable in, he looks more than good, and Viktor can feel the confidence radiating off of him in a way he’s never quite felt before.

“You look amazing,” Viktor whispers, breathless.

He feels Yuri link their hands together. “Good,” Yuri says, “I wanted to be pretty for you, as pretty as I could be, but I also wanted to surprise you. Now come,” he continues saying as he gently tugs Viktor in the direction of their bedroom, “Come rough me up, let me be your prize. If you won’t do that, I’ll just have to rough you up and make you my prize.”

“Wait,” Viktor commands him, “I want to look at my prize, really look at him and enjoy him. It’s been a long day; I want to relax a bit, and I want you to sit there and look pretty while I do.”

Yuri clicks his tongue in mock annoyance. “Yeah, I guess I can just sit here and look pretty for you.”

Viktor can’t help but chuckle at Yuri’s impatience. “Patience, Kitten. You went through all of this trouble to look beautiful for me,” he says, brushing Yuri’s bangs out of his eyes and planting a gentle kiss on forehead, “So let me sit and enjoy the result, okay?”

He nods. Yuri supposes it’s only fair after he made Viktor wait for so long.

“Good, now go stand next to the TV where I can see you,” he tells him as he sits down on the couch and turns on the television. Yuri obeys, and they both know Viktor’s not gonna be paying to the TV at all, that it’s only turned on as a formality.

Still, Yuri obediently stands where Viktor can see him, can really take him in. He feels his face flush a bit knowing he’s got all of Viktor’s attention, knowing he’s being hungrily eyed up and down. It’s almost bit overwhelming, yet seeing the lust in Viktor’s eyes is exhilarating. Tonight, he’s Viktor’s eye candy, and somehow, that makes him feel powerful, that eventually Viktor will break down, unable to resist any longer. He can’t help but wonder which one of them will give in first, but deep down, Yuri knows it will be him giving in. The fact Viktor’s been eye fucking him is already making him squirm impatiently, and all Yuri wants is for Viktor to pin him down, make a royal mess out of him, and fuck him into the mattress.

Viktor though, he’s got the patience of a saint when he wants to. He’s established that tonight, he’s in control, and hell will freeze over before he lets Yuri have it back.

Still, he’s not totally ignorant to all of Yuri’s increased squirming.

“You can sit down if you’re feet hurt,” Viktor says.

“Oh please,” Yuri grumbles, “My feet are fine. I can stand here all day, but I just want you to fuck me already.”

“So you’re just horny? You can wait a bit longer then. I'm rather enjoying you like this.”

Yuri just pouts and whines. “Viktorrr.”

Viktor has to admit, seeing Yuri so worked up over how much he wants him is doing things to him too. He’d love nothing more than to carry Yuri to their bedroom right this instant, but no, he wants to soak in Yuri’s beauty a bit more, really let Yuri feel how much he wants and appreciates him. Judging by how flustered he looks over there, Yuri’s feeling it.

Plus, those legs in those heels, he can stare all day, and the way the straps of his lingerie peek through his exposed shoulder is starting to tease him more and more. He really, really can't wait to unwrap him and see what's underneath.

That's when he decides that maybe he’s had enough of simply looking. He motions over toward Yuri. “Come.”

Yuri immediately does, and the moment he’s in reach, Viktor pulls him down into his lap and kisses him. He knows lipstick is about to get everywhere, but that's just part of the fun.

“I'm ready to unwrap my prize,” Viktor whispers into Yuri’s ear, his hand creeping up his thigh and under his skirt.

“Finally. I thought you’d never-” He stops mid sentence and turns slightly red when he feels Viktor’s hand roughly cup his ass. Boys cupping his ass underneath his short skirts, he’s glad he can share that experience with Viktor.

“You’re wearing the panties.”

“Of course, and my ass looks amazing in them. Don't you wanna see?”

“Get up, let me take this off you.”

Yuri does, and Viktor slips his fingers under the elastic band of the skirt and slowly begins sliding it down passed Yuri’s hips and thighs and letting it drop down around his ankles.

“Arms up,” Viktor says tugging upward on the shirt Yuri’s wearing, “Time to take this off too.”

How slowly and delicately Viktor is undressing him drives Yuri crazy, but when the shirt is discarded off to the side somewhere, the look of absolute amazement on Viktor’s face drives Yuri even crazier.

“You’re beautiful and so, so pretty. I can hardly get over this,” Viktor whispers softly to him. “I hope you know how beautiful you are.”

“I feel beautiful, I really do. I love the way you’ve been looking at me all night and it's driving me absolutely crazy.” Yuri doesn't add on that he’s never felt more beautiful in his life, that he never realized he could feel this enticing to someone, but they both know. Some things don't need words. It's one thing to feel hot and attractive, Yuri usually feels attractive, but it's another to really be able to feel Viktor’s lust for him, to know he's really driving him nuts and testing his self control. It's powerful and intoxicating, and Yuri feels as if he could get drunk off the feeling.

“Turn around, I wanna see everything.”

Yuri turns around, and he's greeted with Viktor grabbing his ass before giving it a small unexpected slap, causing him to yelp slightly. Well, he’s certainly glad his ass looks slappable according to Viktor.

“You’re right, your ass does looking amazing in these.”

“I know it does,” Yuri replies, giving it a slight wiggle. He can be quite a cheeky shit at times, but it’s one of the many reasons Viktor loves him.

Then suddenly, Viktor roughly pulls him down, pinning him between his body and the couch. “I'm gonna make a mess of you,” he says.

Yuri grins. “About time!”

Viktor’s especially rough tonight, not that Yuri minds. His kisses are all lust and hunger, and all Yuri can do is writhe underneath him as Viktor sucks bruises into the more sensitive areas of him. When Viktor takes a fist full of hair and yanks back to expose more of his neck, Yuri moans. He drove Viktor to this point of debauchery, and he was going to revel in every moment of it since he's damn satisfied with himself.

Soon enough, Viktor decides he's bored marking up Yuri’s neck, and he pulls Yuri up toward him and repositions him so that he's sitting up. Viktor wastes no time before spreading Yuri’s legs apart and sinking into the area between them on his knees. Yuri barely has time to react before he feels Viktor’s rough grip on his ass as he goes to work marking up his inner thighs.

It's not long before Viktor realizes the panties are now in the way and decides that they need to go. Yuri’s got his hands knotted up in Viktor's hair, moaning and babbling incoherently as Viktor slowly and teasingly works between his thighs.

“Stop teasing me and fuck me,” Yuri’s getting more and more desperate the closer Viktor brings him. Soon enough, Viktor brings him there and his grip tightens in Viktor's hair. He moans louder than intended to, and all Viktor can do is chuckle in amusement as Yuri slightly slumps down over him as he loosens grab onto his hair.

“Now I think I'm ready to fuck you since now I get to work you up all over again. You know, working you up like that is my favorite part,” Viktor coos. Yuri just glares the entire time as Viktor carries him to their bedroom.

By the time they're done, they're both a mess. Yuri’s got mascara and eyeliner running down his face, and lipstick is haphazardly smudged across both their faces. Yuri's neck is a mess of bite marks, and Viktor’s now sporting some as well.

Yuri’s always the most affectionate after sex, and this time proves to be no exception.

“Hey, Vitya…” He says, cuddling closer into Viktor's arms. “Thank you for that. I...I kind of needed that. I missed that a lot. I just never realized how much. And doing this...it was better than I thought it would be. I didn’t think I’d ever get to experience those things again.” He looks away a bit, feeling stupid for spilling his feelings like this.

It’s a culmination of little things he’s missed. Heels clicking across the floor as he walks, showing off his legs, the mess of make up, feeling powerful and sexy and desirable and unapologetically feminine. It’s all things he assumed he’d never experience again since coming out, that he’d have to sacrifice for the sake of people taking him seriously. But Viktor knew, and Viktor knew how to get him to pay attention to those sides of him again. Maybe he doesn’t get it entirely, and as angry as he’d get, he’s glad Viktor didn’t give up on pushing him.

Viktor leans over and kisses the side of Yuri’s head. “I know you did, and I'm glad we got to indulge each other. You really did look lovely like that.”

“I felt nice, I really did. I’ll never let anyone see me like that though, no one except you. That's for your eyes only.”

Viktor hums to himself. That he can live with. He understands Yuri isn’t willing to express that side of himself in public, and to be honest, after seeing him tonight, he doesn’t want to share that with anyone. It’s a sign of Yuri’s trust to be seen like that, and that’s part of what made it special. “Good, you’re too beautiful like that to share with anyone else. I want to be selfish and keep that side of you all to myself.”

“Good, it's a deal then. When do we do this again?”

“Whenever you want, but first, let's go get cleaned up. You look like you're about to fall asleep.”

It's not long before Yuri sends Viktor on some errands, only to come home and find him sitting on the couch, all dressed up and ready for him. This time he's got on tiger stripe panties, slightly hidden by a short black skirt. He’s got on a matching top, but more importantly, Viktor notices the thigh highs being held up by garters. The fact Yuri remembered his secret love of thigh highs makes his heart swell. His hair is clipped back as well, which is nice because he loves Yuri’s eyes.

“I got you something too,” Yuri says to Viktor as he points toward their bedroom, “Come be pretty with me.”

Viktor grins at the thought of dressing up with Yuri. “I’d love to.”

They’ve both opened up Pandora’s Box with this, but neither of them would have it any other way. This is their thing, away from the judging eyes of the outside world, and nothing would ever take that away from them.  

#vikturio #victurio #yuri plisetsky #yuri on ice #yoishitbang2017 #trans yuri plisetsky #also please don't tell me I wrote Yuri's experience with gender wrong #it's heavily based off of my own personal experience #my writing

[tricksters-captain]

FP Jones/Riverdale imagines - The Whyte Wyrm

AN: I strung a few requests from you guys together to come up with this. A lot of you requested smut so here we go.  Also if you like this make sure to go check out my FP series ‘Oh Dear’ if you haven’t already, 

PS. I will have a better smuttier fic than this one coming up next weekend but this is just until then ;)

Summary: FP walks into the Whyte Wyrm one night and things escalate pretty quickly

Pairing: FP Jones x reader, Sister!Reader x Betty Cooper

Word count: 1,168

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids), some strong language, FP being older than reader

You had come back to town about a month ago. It was a shock to everyone considering you were the Cooper daughter with the most promise to do something great with your life, especially after graduating Harvard last year.

You had been living in New York with your long term college boyfriend and you had a fancy new job with very good pay but after finding out your boyfriend was cheating on you, you realised that whole life was not what you wanted. It was what your parents conditioned you to want.

You had no idea what you wanted to do anymore, so you thought you might as well start from the beginning and move back home.

In the mean time, you had been working odd jobs. Mainly a waitress in the day at Pop’s and then most nights you worked on the Southside in a bar just to piss off your parents.

Betty never approved of what you were doing since you were only doing it to annoy the family but she never tried to stop you as she knew far too well that you Cooper girls were the most stubborn of the town.

The Coopers were seen as the picture perfect family but with Polly away and the murder mystery going on in the town, you figured you might as well prove that not everything is so great.

However, there was another reason you worked on the Southside and it had something to do with a certain Serpent to which you had taken a liking to. Actually he was the leader of the Serpents.

“Evening (Y/n).” A couple of the usual Serpents greeted you as you handed them their usual drinks.

“Evening, boys.” You beamed them a bright smile and they handed over the cash including a tip. “Thanks.” You winked as they walked away before pulling out the rag from your back pocket and wiping over the bar top.

Your eyes flickered over the bar’s front door as it opened, you had been waiting for a certain Serpent all evening. 

You tried to push back the smile on your lips as your eyes dropped down to the counter top when you spotted the familiar face of the man you had been waiting for.

“I’ll be back.” You told the other girls behind the bar as you ducked under the bar top to take a tray of drinks over to the pool tables.

Your eyes locked with FP’s across the room and he smirked at you. 

You saw him disappear into the back and you knew better than to follow on nights like these but you did it anyway. 

“You shouldn't be back here.” FP told you as he heard you enter the small storage room. 

“Actually since I work here, I can be back here, you can’t.” You smirked as you closed the door, leaning against the cool wood of it. 

FP turned and his eyes crawled up your body from your legs. You smiled and looked down for a second.

FP moved towards you and you took a step towards him. 

He groaned softly when you bit down on your lower lip and he linked his finger into the belt loops on your jeans, pulling you closer to him. 

You leant up onto your toes to capture the man’s lips with your own. He only groaned again when you only brushed your lips against his teasingly.

“What are you doing to me?” He asked softly as he backed you up until your back hit the wall of the storage room. 

He held your cheek in his hand and kissed you, taking the air literally out of your lungs. You pushed yourself against him and your hands shot up to tug lightly on his hair. 

FP’s hand pressed against the small of your back so that your pelvis was firm against his and you could feel just how hot you made him already. 

You rolled your head back and exhaled deeply as FP kissed down your jaw and along your neck, nipping lightly at the skin on your collarbone. 

You tightened you grip on the mans hair and he let out a small growl. 

FP was quick to remove your t-shirt and the small black apron that normally hung on your hips. 

You pushed his leather jacket and flannel off; they hit the floor as you clung onto his back, digging you nails into his skin. 

He brought his lips back to yours whilst his hands fumbled with your jeans, ripping them down your legs and then he tugged at his own. 

You lifted yourself onto him, feeling his erection press against your covered sex. 

You were already soaking for the man. FP smirked at that. 

There was no time for foreplay in a place like this so FP pulled your panties to the side and you felt the tip of his member slide along your lips. You let out a shaky moan and squeezed your eyes shut. 

He thrusted himself between your folds and your nails dug themselves harder into FP’s back. 

“Shit...” You whispered, clinging onto the man. 

“You alright?” He murmured, pressing his lips lightly against your collarbone. 

You nodded, and moved your hips, begging for him to pick up the pace. 

FP got the hint and pumped in and out of you, a hand on your ass to keep you steady. You bit hard on your lower lip to keep yourself from making too much noise. 

You almost felt bad for how hard you were holding onto the man, he would definitely have bruises on his back tomorrow. Not that he minded. 

FP’s scratchy facial hair, tickled your shoulder as he sucked on the sweet spot of your neck, making your stomach do somersaults and your mouth part with a quiet moan. 

“Fuck, FP.” You breathed as he picked up the pace, hitting your G-spot each time. 

FP’s own breaths came out hot and heavy against your skin. 

His tongue darted across his lips as he tightened his grip on you, holding your whole body against his. The rough material of his top against your skin made you weak. 

You felt yourself start to throb against his dick, and FP knew you were close. 

You lifted yourself up using FP’s shoulder to try and help ride your orgasm along and FP growled against your neck as he felt himself about also about cum. 

You leant your head forward, trying to suppress your cry as you felt yourself reach climax. 

FP pumped himself deeper inside you as he rode out your climax, soon reaching his own. His seed dripping down your legs as he pulled out of you. 

You both just stayed like that as you caught your breath, FP holding you between the wall and himself as his own legs were weak. 

You chuckled and kissed the man, he smirked into the kiss and then rested his forehead against your own. 

“Hello to you too.” FP teased, 

All FP writings tags 

@itsfangirlmendes @always-blame-jefferson @shannon-posts

#fp jones x reader #fp jones imagines #fp jones #fp x reader #Forsythe jones #forsythe jones x reader #forsythe pendleton jones #riverdale #riverdale imagines #riverdale drabble #drabble #smut #imagines #imagine #one shot #skeet ulrich #skeet ulrich x reader #betty cooper #polly cooper #alice cooper

[arplis]

Arplis - News: Great seat, so-so service: A review of KLMs business class on the 787-9 from Amsterdam to Toronto

TPG Rating

80 100

Pros

Beautiful, comfortable seat and bed; ample options for inflight entertainment; greatly improved lounge at Amsterdam airport.

Cons

Slow, disjointed meal service.

16/20 Ground Experience

26/30 Cabin + Seat

12/15 Amenities + IFE

15/20 Food + Beverage

11/15 Service

Dutch flag carrier KLM is a major presence in the U.S. and Canada, with year-round flights to Amsterdam (AMS) from 14 cities. It sends across the Atlantic pretty much all of the airplane types in its long-haul fleet: the Airbus A330 and Boeing 747, 777 and 787. The last one is the only one offering business class with direct aisle access for all seats, while the other types feature configurations with seats in a 2-2-2 layout.

Its a much different story on the 787s, which began joining the fleet four years ago and sport a 1-2-1 configuration in business class, with seats laid out in a reverse-herringbone pattern. On paper, its a totally competitive offering across the Atlantic, at least in terms of seat.

KLM is also a member of SkyTeam, the alliance that includes Delta Air Lines, so flyers can earn and redeem Deltas SkyMiles on all flights, as well as Air France and KLMs own Flying Blue miles.

For more TPG news delivered each morning to your inbox, sign up for our daily newsletter.

Weve reviewed KLMs business class before several times, including the classic upper-deck experience on the 747. Every time, we found it to be a good, but not great, way to fly at the front of the plane.

What would we find in 2019, which also happens to be the 100-year anniversary of KLM, the worlds oldest airline?

Booking

The Flying Blue program has become complicated lately, but youll be able to navigate it easily using our guides. You can also get Flying Blue miles by transferring points from Citi ThankYou Rewards, Chase Ultimate Rewards, American Express Membership Rewards and Marriott Bonvoy.

When we found a great award fare from Amsterdam to Toronto (YYZ) for 45,375 Flying Blue miles plus $226.15 in taxes and fees, we went for it without hesitation. We value Flying Blue miles at 1.2 cents each, making this a transatlantic flight in business class for $750.65. You can pay a lot more in coach!

On the KLM app, I was able to select my seat in advance not my meals, unfortunately and I was off for one of the cheapest premium-class Atlantic crossings of my entire frequent-flyer career.

Ground Experience

TPG Rating

16/20

PH-BHP

Tail

1yr

Age

11%

Late

h 16m

Avg. Delay

17:45

Departure

7h 37m

Duration

Amsterdams Schiphol Airport is one of the easiest airports in Europe to navigate. Connections are a breeze compared to Paris Charles de Gaulle (CDG) or London Heathrow (LHR), getting there from the city is easy with plenty of trains and the airport itself is well designed.

When I arrived at the departures hall at 2:40 p.m. for the 5:35 p.m. departure to Toronto, I found the check-in area and departure gate already displayed on the monitors.

Biz-class passengers and elite members of the SkyTeam alliance could check in using a separate gated area, indicated by the SkyPriority logo.

Within this area were both traditional, staffed desks and self-service kiosks, useful if you dont have baggage to check. KLMs institutional blue color, with accents of Dutch orange, appeared in tasteful touches.

Despite having already checked in on the app, I got a paper boarding pass from a desk employee you never know when you might need it. Then I used the priority access to security and the departure gates, clearly indicated within the gated area.

After a quick and painless security and passport check, I was out in the departures area, headed to a duty-free shop for the delicacies I always make sure to bring home from the Amsterdam airport stroopwafels, salty licorice, Gouda cheese and then to one of the KLM lounges.

Even without lounge access, I would have had plenty to see and quiet areas to sit in. Schiphol is a nice airport to be in if you dont have lounge access. Its also a quiet airport, with no announcements on loudspeakers.

TPG contributor Eric Rosen has reviewed in depth the renovated KLM Crown Lounge, one of the two at AMS (the other one is within the area restricted to flights within the European Unions passport-free zone.) Eric explains in detail what you can find there, but I can sum up my time in it with one word: Wow!

This was a far cry from the cavernous, rather boring space it used to be. It had been completely transformed into a large, world-class lounge.

Immediately upon entering, I could see things had changed from my previous visits.

As befits the name, it now had lounge chairs. And much, much better food options, including an la carte restaurant on the second floor, called Blue. (Too bad it was not free, unlike the food and drink in the lounge.)

I spent a delightful hour exploring, and liking, the buffet food and the decor. Another reason to pick a transfer at AMS over other European gateways.

Monitors in the lounge included a mention of how long it took to walk to a specific gate. Armed with that knowledge, I could maximize my time in the lounge and timed my arrival at the gate just four minutes before the start of boarding, long enough to admire the beautiful blue 787-9 that was to fly as KL695 to Toronto.

KLM names its 787s after flowers, and this one, a year-old Dreamliner, was called Tulip. How much more Dutch can you get?

Priority and general boarding lanes were clearly marked, and nobody was crowding the boarding area. At 4:50 p.m., boarding began right on time.

Cabin and Seat

TPG Rating

26/30

1-2-1

Configuration

81in

Bed Length

2

Lavs

KLMs 787-9 has 30 business-class seats, in a single cabin. The longer 787-10 has 38.

It was, even at first sight, a huge improvement over the 2-2-2 biz classes of previous KLM birds. The reverse-herringbone layout and that particular seat type have been around for years, but in KLMs incarnation, they exuded quiet elegance.

Of course, as is usual on this aircraft: No window shades! 787 windows are dimmed electronically, with the touch switch under them.

The inflight-entertainment screen swiveled out with a press of the blue button to the left.

Headrests were adjustable in height and angle, and had adjustable wings. The seatbelts had airbags, as happens more and more in premium seats.

In the lie-flat position, the 22-inch wide seat turned into an 81-inch bed. Though a mattress pad for sleeping was not available, the bed offered enough space in the footwell to move comfortably. The only thing I didnt like about it in bed mode was the clunky airbag belt, and the pillow could have been firmer, too.

When sleeping under a blanket or comforter, fasten your seat belt over it. That way, if theres turbulence and flight attendants come to check if youre buckled in, they can just take a look and not bother you and youll make their job easier, too.

The armrest on the aisle side could be lowered with the blue button. Flight attendants asked passengers to keep them in the lowered position for takeoff and landing.

It would not have been possible to store large electronics like laptops or tablets anywhere other than the overhead bins, but the closed storage cubby next to the IFE remote was ideal for wallets, phones and other small items. Headphones for the IFE were hanging in it from a hook.

I especially liked the clever mirror inside the door, in classy KLM blue.

An international power outlet and powered USB outlet were under the armrest by the window, with a sign indicating their location.

The tray table extended from the same armrest with the press of another blue button. It was a bit small, but still OK for a 15-inch laptop, and once extended it could slide forward, letting the seat occupant get up during meal service. This is a key element that not all airlines get right; for example, Virgins swanky new Upper Class forces you to stay seated when the table is out and a meal is on it.

The seat controls were intuitive, and I didnt see any other passenger have to ask a flight attendant for help figuring things out. From the top, the four buttons are: slide seat forward and back, bed mode, seat back up and overhead light.

Besides the overhead light, which could be controlled from the remote too, there was a reading light built into the seat. Two adjustable air-conditioning vents were above the seat, the latter a feature not found on all aircraft. (Some European airlines, like Lufthansa, are notorious for keeping cabins far warmer than what Americans are used to.)

The bathrooms were more or less normal, save for a KLM classic, the Delft-house decorations. Theyre found all over its branded materials, and even on the escalator to the Crown Lounge.

Amenities and IFE

TPG Rating

12/15

16in

Screen

250

Movies

200

TV Shows

No

Live TV

No

Tailcam

As customary, I found pillow and comforter already on the seat, and headphones in the mini storage locker. Amenity kits were distributed later.

The amenity kit by Dutch designer Jan Taminiau, featuring the colors of the Dutch flag, was distributed to each passenger just after flight attendants closed the overhead bins prior to pushing back from the gate. It had the basics for a long-haul flight: socks, toothpaste and toothbrush, eye mask and earplugs, moisturizer, lip balm and a pen useful for immigration forms.

More toiletries were found in the two bathrooms exclusive to business class, which were spotless throughout the seven-hour, 40-minute flight. Hair gel, body mist and hand-and-body lotion were a limited edition by Rituals for KLM. Besides the pillow and comforter, I didnt receive any other amenities like slippers or pajamas.

These KLM aircraft feature crisp, 16-inch screens, with about 250 movies to watch in at least 14 languages, and a gorgeous moving map: this was a good IFE, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

The Wi-Fi internet disconnected a few times, but was otherwise quite usable. I paid 18 euros ($20) for the whole flight, a much better deal than the other choice of 8 euros ($9) for one hour. (If you just wanted to send or receive text messages, that was free.) The Speedtest app kept timing out, but the internet was fast enough for videos, albeit with some buffering.

The headphones supplied by the airline were of the fairly rare three-prong kind, with OK not outstanding sound quality.

The beautiful 3D moving map could also be loaded on the smaller display in the remote, which retained full pinch-and-zoom functionality.

The cockpit-view function is increasingly popular in IFEs, and for aviation geeks its a delight every time. After our takeoff on schedule at 5:45 p.m., I followed on the screen our climb from sea level straight to our initial cruising altitude of 36,000 feet in 25 minutes which happened in near silence, despite my position just in front of the righthand engine.

The flight unfolded entirely in darkness. In late June, say, the views out of the window would have been spectacular, one long sunset seen from the edge of the stratosphere, but in early November we flew at night from start to end.

Food and Beverage

TPG Rating

15/20

2

Meals

Nicolas Feuillatte Brut Rserve

Champagne

No

Dine on Demand

Are you even flying on a Dutch airline if youre not offered a Heineken? Of course not, and a can of the national beer of the Netherlands was on the tray that a flight attendant brought down the aisle as boarding finished. There were also Champagne, orange juice and water. (Incidentally, the two stripes on the flight attendants sleeve identified her as a senior cabin attendant in the KLM rank insignia system.)

At my seat, I found a menu and wine list, with the KLM logo inside a Delft-porcelain motif. The airlines Champagne may have been a midrange Nicolas Feuillatte Brut Rserve, but its taste in graphics was impeccable.

On the wine list, I noticed a cocktail described as a special lighter, crisper version of a Negroni, with Dutch genever (a typically Dutch kind of gin), chosen because both KLM and the Negroni were born in 1919. When the drinks cart arrived at my seat, half an hour after takeoff, I asked for it, with a small bowl of nuts and sparkling water.

The nuts should have been warm and the drink in a wider glass, but those are minor quibbles to have at 36,000 feet, and the Negroni-ish was indeed lighter and crisper than the original, a true pleasure.

For dinner, I could choose among two appetizers, three entrees and two desserts. For the appetizer, I had tomato soup over the other choice, salmon and spicy mango with hazelnut-cucumber-pepper-and-mango dressing.

All three main courses featured potatoes, in an apparent nod to a classic Dutch staple food. My choice was panfried cod and Dutch prawns with herb potatoes, roasted sweet potatoes and broad beans in a mussel gravy. The other two entrees were miso-marinated chicken thigh with carrots, potato puree, Brussels sprouts in an orange beurre blanc sauce; and beef stew with red cabbage, potatoes and cornichons.

For dessert I could have a cheese plate blue cream cheese, Klaver Roem and Leerdammer Caractre, all Dutch cheeses, served with crackers and grapes or sweet bites: brownie with ganache, a chocolate-caramel tartlet and a lemon cheesecake with raspberries. I went with the cheese, and a glass of New Zealand riesling from a simple, five-wine list. It also featured a Chilean chardonnay and three reds: a grenache from France, an Argentinian malbec and a South African shiraz.

Things sounded promising on paper. But when dinner service began, they went awry.

The galley ran out of the salmon appetizer for everybody who wanted it, and flight attendants proposed alternatives to at least two passengers. This happens, I said to myself, no biggie. Space on board is limited, and not everybody gets their first choice on every flight. In any case, I had the tomato soup, which was very good, and though the salad was a bit wilted, it came with a zingy beetroot dressing that was as cheeky as the salt and pepper shakers in the shape of Dutch clogs.

But then I waited 30 minutes between the appetizer and entree, and the flight attendant assigned to my aisle got confused and thought I had ordered the chicken, not the cod.

They hadnt loaded enough cod anyway, he said, seeming a little confused about what was going on in his galley, but after some inquiry he turned up one stray cod entree for me. And good thing he did, because it went beautifully with the riesling.

The silverware had pretty inlaid handles, and the carts were ornamented with the same motif as the menus.

With dessert, the flight attendant brought around a box of chocolates in the shape of, you guessed it, Delft houses. I had two, and I could have had more. They were excellent, and so were the cheeses. By the time I was done with all of it, though, it had been a 90-minute dinner, and when your flight is under eight hours and at night, you may want a service flow that maximizes sleep instead of time spent eating.

A half hour later it was lights out in the cabin, when we were already nearing the southern tip of Greenland, four and a half hours out from Toronto.

Ninety minutes before landing, after some sleep, it was time for the second meal service. The appetizer was a sweet-potato salad with white cheese and pomegranates, followed by either a cheese quiche or an Angus beef burger with cheese, and then by an apple pie. The meal was served with pepper jelly and deep-fried onions on the side. I got the burger and a Coke, which proved to be a good choice. And the apple pie that followed was perfectly warm.

KLM did not let me go hungry. It wasnt top-quality, but it was perfectly competent airplane food, in abundant amounts.

Service

TPG Rating

11/15

No

Extra Pillows

No

Turndown Service

Would you like a house, Mr. Riva? the flight attendant asked me after the last dish had been removed from my tray. On any other airline, I would have thought that a weird question, but in KLM business class it could mean only one thing. It was time for the distribution of the miniature Delft porcelain houses filled with liquor, which the airline gives away as souvenirs to business passengers.

The one distributed on KL695 that day wasnt any old house, either.

Its the house where our king and queen live, he said.

According to the booklet that came with it, Huis ten Bosch is the residence of King Willem-Alexander, Queen Mxima and their children. Thats the very king who occasionally moonlights as a KLM pilot, but there was no royalty at the controls on my flight: His Majesty is qualified on the Boeing 737, not the 787.

That very nice interaction with the flight attendant and the story behind the Delft house ended the flight on a high note for me, but overall, the service was OK, not great. There were moments of slight confusion during meal services, and dinner lasted way too long.

Overall impression

You dont need to be an aviation enthusiast to see how pretty this 787 was on the inside and out, and even a casual flyer notices the Dreamliners smooth, quiet ride. Add a very good biz-class seat, and you have the makings of a very nice Atlantic crossing.

Coming off the flight on a cold night in Toronto, I reasoned that Id just flown in a better biz seat than most Delta One seats, certainly better than any Lufthansa seat short of first class, and on par with the best seats offered on KLMs sister airline, Air France. It would just have needed better service to compete for greatness. That said, you would not be disappointed if you redeemed a reasonable number of miles for KLM biz class on the Dreamliner.

All photos by the author.

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/great-seat-so-so-service-a-review-of-klms-business-class-on-the-787-9-from-amsterdam-to-toronto