#grace chooses (at length) to take responsibility but it takes a lot of work for her

[kindaorangey]

my vision for post-train grace monroe. love u 4ever bbg

bonus:

#grace monroe #infinity train #cult of the conductor #jesse cosay #lake infinity train #thunder's art #described #why is the third drawing rendered like im 12 yrs old discovering the blend brush for the first time ever? i dont wanna talk about it #im going through something #who wants to talk about the way grace is styled in the third drawing instead okay lets do it #first off. earrings. protective hairstyle. glittery purple clutch. these are things that denote grace's personality & preferences honestly #but then theres the beads at the end of the braids. and the yellow sundress. #these are things that denote youth and innocence #now cast your minds back to the debutante ball episode. that is the turning point in both simon and grace's arcs. #theyre newly 18. theyre adults. theyre an age where they ought to take responisbility and decide who they want to be in life #grace chooses (at length) to take responsibility but it takes a lot of work for her #when shes doing her talk shows shes regressing emotionally and so she wants to present herself as innocent and garner sympathy #hence the styling to make her look sweet and youthful #yeah. anyway

[aelloblu]

Sailor Ianna belongs to Sailor_Ianna

╔═════ ∘◦⛧ﾐ◦∘ ══════╗

 Princess Leonessa / Sailor Ianna

╚═════ ∘◦ ミ⛧ ◦∘ ════╝

:Mission:

A year has passed since Chaos Galaxia was banished to the Cauldron and guess who’s come to visit! The Starlights bring word of Kinmoku’s joyous rebirth hoping for a Tokyo vacation. Mamoru is back from Harvard and although Seiya is happy bunhead is happy, something is missing…

Suddenly in the wake of a falling star, the Inners find a girl crumpled and beaten. Princess Leonessa escaped her kidnappers, lords of the rogue planet Kur who plan to marry her and usurp her kingdom. But she won’t let them. She’s inherited the True Starseed of the planet Ianna, if she can just awaken it she can defend herself and take back her Kingdom!

Will she resist a singer’s charms and survive a Japanese highschool? Should the Starlights delay their return and protect her from the Seven Judges of Kur? Can Sailor Moon and the Sailor Guardians teach her what it means to be a defender of love and justice?

Can Princess Leonessa arise as the legendary sun warrior, Sailor Ianna?

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Civilian

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

:Name & Meaning:

To hide on Earth, the Princess took the name Hannah Girasole, claiming to be an Italian exchange student. Hannah is an Earth name of Hebrew origin that means ‘grace’, and Girasole is the Italian word for ‘Sunflower’, a bright yellow flower known for its beauty and resilience.

:Age & Birthday:

In Earth years, she is eighteen years old and was born August 21.

:Appearance:

Hannah can always be recognised at a distance by her bright orange hair that seethes like fire. She stands 5’1, and it’s thigh length, curtain straight with fan shaped buns and two thick locks framing her heart shaped face. Her eyes that blaze like stoked embers and her peach coloured cheeks have a high blush when she thinks she's being teased.

As royalty, she always felt stifled but now that she’s on Earth she’s excited to choose her own wardrobe. She has a 70’s flare, loving romper suits in colours and patterns. She also accents her outfits with glass crystal that refracts rainbow arcs as they remind her of home.

:Personality: 

Hannah is a hard headed person who thinks she only needs herself. It was how she was raised, her father demanded her strength as feelings would make her fallible. Her own wants and needs must always come second to those of her people.

She is afraid of being seen as frail or useless. Although she acts with kindness she keeps people at a distance and doesn’t encourage friendship. To rely on others is to admit weakness and as Queen it is her responsibility to bear the burdens of others, not the other way around. 

Earth has opened her eyes. Without her father watching over her she is slowly allowing herself to experience freedom to choose her own happiness and wellbeing and a warm light within her is beginning to shine! She now has others, and is slowly learning the power that friendship, love and trust can give. 

:Likes: 

Tiramisu, music, tea, coffee, pedicures, cooking and Seiya!

:Dislikes: 

Eggs, doctors, long hours of studying!

:Hobbies:

Since coming to Earth everyone has encouraged Hannah to discover herself. She enjoys working in the school gardens, the soil between her fingers and is in awe of the explosive growth of the sunflowers! Usagi and Makoto have shown her how to scrapbook which she has found as a way to show her feelings and collect her thoughts. She also has a knack for videogames and wastes her days with Usagi at the Game Centre Crown.

She also spends a lot of her time staring at the sky. She enjoys the peace of the stars, but loves the explosive colours of fireworks!  

She loves going to Seiya's concerts; just hearing his music takes away her worries.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Relationships

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

:Family: 

Born the only daughter of King Ciro and Queen Leon, she was their pride and joy. Her mother was always of a delicate condition but lavished her daughter with love and attention, playing and singing and telling her the stories of the Sailor Guardians and Ianna’s last great protector. She died when Princess Leonessa was four years old and has since become a hazy memory of warmth and refuge.  

 Her father was more serious about the responsibilities of her mantle which also made Leonessa resolute in her duties. She worked hard to make her father proud, studying and practising. Leonessa is twisted by guilt that the last time she defied her father it cost him his life. She must become the best Guardian she can be and save her legacy. 

:Friends: 

Although she is getting to know all the senshi, after landing disoriented and sobbing, she’s taken in by Makoto who becomes her best friend and Earth guide. The pair share her apartment and love to discover recipes. Hannah has fallen in love with the cheesy Italian dish called polenta! Makoto introduces Hannah to the school garden and encourages her to grow sunflowers but mostly she tries to distract her from her constant need to train.

Hannah has a more confused relationship with Usagi, a girl who shares her destiny as ruler of their Kingdoms. Usagi is cheerful, carefree and easily distracted. The Sun Princess is frustrated by her disorganised and undisciplined way of solving problems, but envies the joy she brings to those around her.

She has also been taken under the wing of the Kou family. They treat her like a little sister, Yaten playfully teases her adapting to Japanese custom and Taiki praises her dedication to returning to Pairidaeza. Seiya has become especially protective of her, seeing the same light that shines in their favourite princesses.

:Rivals: 

When Hannah landed the Outer’s were patrolling the Earth in the form of concerts and racing tours. When they returned they immediately greeted Hannah with suspicion. Not only did they consider her a trespasser to their system there was something about her Sunstone that interrupted the powers of the Talisman, the Holy Grail and thus Sailor Moon’s Eternal transformation. They dislike how Usagi immediately welcomes her and while they don’t view her as an enemy, the Pairidaeza may not be allies.

 It wasn’t until Sailor Moon achieved her new transformation did they begin to trust her. 

:Love Interests: 

Princess Leonessa was stubbornly resolute, always wanting to show that she could do things by herself and prove she could be the Queen her father wanted.

Seiya Kou started as a clingy brother figure and a distraction, and as Sailor Star Fighter she was overprotective, constantly interrupting her training as Sailor Ianna.

But as Hannah grew, Seiya loved to share all the wonderful things Earth had to offer and a heady freedom she never felt in the palace of Ianna. These experiences drew them closer together despite the knowledge that they would eventually have to go back to their homes.

:Sexual Orientation: 

Love was not something she had considered before Earth, but she knows that her feelings do not change whether they are male and human, or female and a Sailor Guardian.

:Background:

In the Pairidaeza (means Heavenly Garden in Sumerian) Star System, known to us as Alpha Centauri, Princess Leonessa was born the only daughter to King Ciro and Queen Leon; their hope and the future. 

For a time their lives in Palazzo Del Sole (Sunlight Palace) were perfect. Each night Queen Leon would sing her lullabies and tell her stories of the great protector of Ianna, and King Ciro would watch over them both although harrumphed at the frivolous fairytales. 

Sadly it wasn’t to last and when Princess Leonessa was four, her mother succumbed to a wasting illness. 

Wrought by loss, King Ciro pulled his daughter tighter. He became protective and knew it was his responsibility to raise his daughter into the Queen he knew she could be; poise and politics, law and integrity. 

The older she grew the more distant her memory of her mother became until one day when she was fourteen she sat at her mother's old duchess and a sunflower shaped jewel drew her attention. As she reached for it, it reacted to her touch, blazing with a warm golden light and a power she’d never felt before. Her father snatched it away with a fearful look in his eyes. She promised him she’d never touch it again.

Princess Leodessa grew into a sunny, energetic young lady working endlessly for her people. One day while meeting her people she was introduced to a shepherd named Tummuz. He declared his undying love and petitioned the king for her hand. King Ciro laughed good naturedly but dismissed the idea. 

A bitterness overtook the shepherd, he left the planet but he returned with unbelievable power and a coterie called the Judges of Kur, a rogue planet beyond their borders. They demanded Princess Leonessa as a bride. They ravage the land and demand the Princess as their prize. 

Desperate to stop the carnage, Leonessa snuck out to confront Tummuz and offer herself in exchange for peace but before the transfer could be made King Ciro interceded, sacrificing himself for his beloved daughter. 

As the light faded from his eyes, he pressed Queen Leon’s precious crystal into the princess’s hands. A glow enveloped her before she could say goodbye; she was thrust across space to awaken see on Earth.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Guardian Form

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

:Name: 

Sailor Ianna 

:Guardian Starseed: 

 It was said to be lost to myth, merely a dull artefact that sat on her mother’s mantle but when Princess Leonessa teleported to Earth the Crystal awoke and bonded with her starseed. It was known by many names. The Golden Light Stone, the Sunstone, the Crystal Sunflower; but within it lies the burning bright power of Ianna.

:Realm of Influence: 

Sailor Ianna powers reflects blazing sunlight, vibrant sunflowers and takes the vision of lions with manes burning like solar flares.

:Guardian Animal: 

As Princess Leonessa walked the halls of Palazzo Del Sole, Sir Luca (means Bringer of Light) was her constant companion and a knight of her royal court. He was a lamasso, a winged lion that is a symbol of the Ianna royal family. He is a loyal soldier and servant. He defended Queen Leon and will shield Princess Leonessa with his life. 

He will not give up his dad jokes.

In his lamasso form stands at shoulder height with a bronzed pelt, brass wings and a flaming golden mane. His roar can clear a concert hall and leave grown men quivering in fear. He is a fierce defender in any fight against the enemy. 

He’s frustrated by the Princess’s need to do things on her own, disregarding his advice and confronting the Seven Judges at every chance. He is even more outraged that in order to blend in on Earth she demands he take the form of a sandy coloured maine coon. He hisses, spits, scowls and swaggers at group meetings but standing a little over a foot robs his threats of disembowelment of their power. 

He smirks at Artemis and makes showoff, flirty winks at Luna but is equally trying to foil Seiya’s flirting with Hannah.

:Allies/Team Mates: 

Despite the newly minted Sailor Ianna’s independent declaration to take the Seven Judges head on by herself, she still needs help.

The Inners have become wonderful teachers, helping her hone the strength and accuracy of her new attacks and tell her tales of their past victories.

What’s more is that after seeing the death of their own princess, the Starlights have taken it upon themselves to act as her missing defenders. While infuriated by their ‘wrap her in bubblewrap’ approach to protection, Sailor Ianna eventually sees it for the genuine affection it is and as her experience grows they put more faith in her ability to take care of herself.

:Henshin Item: 

Sailor Ianna has a matching pair of armcuffs that appeared to her when she confronted one of the Judges for the first time. To a civilian eye they look like wired armbands twisted in the shape of sunflowers but anyone with a magical eye sees them for what they are. White circlets ringed in gold and hemmed in gold droplets, with amber diamond jewels with princess cut facets. It sits at a sunflower of gold petals and a ruby hexagram star.  When she transforms, Hannah crosses her arms across her chest to press each jewel and shout her henshin phrase. 

:Henshin Phrase: 

Ianna Sun Power!

:Henshin Sequence:

Ianna crosses her arms across her chest to press the jewels of her cuffs and shouts Ianna Sun Power! Sunflower petals, dust motes and golden rays of sunlight and whirling erupt from them. 

They spin around her in a whirlwind. They twirl past, she kicks out her legs and the petals cling to form her boots. Rays of light explode from her waist coalescing into her belt which then spill forth into her scarlet skirt in rippling satin waves. The golden sunflower petals continue to tumble, pressing against her chest and fuse into her golden plate armor. Light beams erupt from her chest to form her peach coloured bow and scarlet sailor collar. 

Finally the camera pans up behind her head and her flaming waves of hair. The motes of sunlight tangle like beads around her fan shaped buns to form their decorations. The camera spins to focus on her forehead where the symbol of Ianna shines like the sun and then melts into her toothed tiara.

 Finally she stands powerful as the guardian of Ianna, Sailor Ianna ready to do battle.     

:Symbol:

:Guardian Challenge: 

“The light of the sun rises up! Hear me roar in the name of love and justice! I, Sailor Ianna, will take you down!”

:Guardian Fuku:

The Pairidaeza fuku silhouette looks similar to the Sol fuku but is more striking and colorful.

Pinning her fan shaped buns are toothed bands. Her tiara is white with scarlet bands and a toothed pattern. Her sailor collar is scarlet with a darker maroon stripe. Peach coloured bows are set on her chest and back. Her bodice is white with translucent puff sleeves, a scarlet corset and gold V-d armor plating protecting her midriff. Encircling her upper arms, wrists, thighs and waist are white metal bands with gold trim. Her thigh high boots are maroon.

:Weapon: 

When the fight was bleak, Sailor Ianna was able to reach inside herself and manifest the ancestral talisman of the Ianna royal family; the Blade of Light. It is a long double edged sword made of the legendary sun-gold metal the Pairidaeza metalsmiths are famous for. Its hilt bears the family crest of jewel and sunflower, ruby coloured crossguard and with red grip crisscrossed in gold ribbon. The pommel is also decorated with rope tassels.

Sailor Forms: 

Light Lion  

Sunlight Lion. 

Ultimate Passion of the Light Lion. 

:Attacks: 

:Floret Sun Storm:

Ianna smiles, spectral petals of light blossom from her waist, more and more as she spins until as they sunder and rain down on the enemy in a hail of flaming petals. 

:Light Overdrive!:

Ianna appears curled up with the outline of a sunflower behind her. Light beads down from the sky, collecting in the center where Ianna glows brighter and brighter. Suddenly she unfurls with blazing glare of light to blind the enemy.

:Ianna Lion Roar Flare:

Ianna stands with her arms by her side, her hair sprayed out behind her, swirling like a flaming lion’s mane. Each tendril glows with a golden light and as Ianna raises her arms out from her side leaving glowing trails. As her hands twine above her head, the glowing tendrils of her hair look like the brilliant corona of the sun and as she cries the word “Blaze!” they flare to life and lash the enemy. 

:Inspirations:

:Soundtrack:

Transformation Theme: https://youtu.be/Ec4YbVP9R-A ~ persona 5 ~ last surprise 

Romance Theme: https://youtu.be/K_9QtL-L16o  ~ celine Dion ~ because you love me

Action Theme: ~ https://youtu.be/nBRuhvsKml8 ~ jane zhang ft big sean. ~ fighting shadows 

:Fanfiction:

:Website:

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

#sailormoon #sailor moon #sailor moon oc #sailormoonoc #otakusenshi #otaku senshi #otakusenshialliance #sailorianna #awesome otaku senshi

[allgather]

If the conditions were right, would your Shisui ever become a missing-nin?

YES !! I have thought about this a lot, thank you so much for asking.

shisui stays in konoha post-massacre and following his injury for a few main reasons. primarily, he stays to raise sasuke, because as much as he is afraid for his life and can't stand the isolation and grief which comes from living in the village that condemned him and his clan to die, he is much more afraid for sasuke. there is also an inherited responsibility and a deep love for sasuke that prevents him from abandoning him, so he chooses to stay, every time, if he has a choice in the matter ( i will return to this ). shisui also stays at first because he is too injured and too unfamiliar with navigating the world and, importantly for becoming a missing-nin, fighting without sight.

life in the village is horrible for shisui; it is breath-taking, suffocating, pressing the life out of shisui the longer he stays. i have talked about this at length with @xhatake, that shisui and kakashi dream of leaving the village and the way it's oppression and control over shisui's life leaves him so rigidly controlled, gasping for air. the way the two of them feel like the rug has been pulled out from under them and they are some of the only people who now see the village for what it is. violent, corrupt, unlivable if you aren't in its good graces. they talk and plan and dream of taking sasuke and running, just as soon as shisui is well enough.

and maybe in some verses they succeed, but we've also talked about the very real possibility that recovery is long, the time is never right, and sasuke's building anger becomes much more of a concern than their dreams of escape. and then sasuke leaves first. and for shisui, as much as he knows this place is poison, this terrifies him, the thought of sasuke going where he can't protect him. and this, in my mind, is the strongest impetus for shisui to leave.

i've also now have a verse with @kamuito where obito rescues shisui from nakano river following danzo's attack, helps him heal, and allows shisui to join in the eye of the moon plan. this is very much a shisui and obito get to do anti-state things and shisui re-builds a connection to his cousin who he hasn't seen in over a decade type beat, which i adore. working with obito and the akatsuki, taking down the village and the system that condemned him to die, and yet, like obito, he survived. and he uses this second chance to take this world apart at the seams, in hope for something better to take its place, even if it is in the form of unreality, a wonderful dream.

anyway tldr; shisui should get to leave konoha because the place is poison in his veins and suffocates the life out of him every minute he stays post-injury and post-massacre. free my boy!

#thank you so much for the question !! #shisui hours once again lads #(shisui)

[biaswreckme]

tear you apart | jjk

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader (established relationship)

Member: Jungkook

Length: 2267 words

Genre: smut

Rating: 18+

Triggers/Warnings: smut, bdsm, sub!jk, domme!reader, a bit of noona kink, praise kink, edging, ruined orgasm, overstimulation, rimming (not really though?), fingering (m), sex toys, crying, dacryphilia, safe, sane, and consensual sex, aftercare

A/N: So this emerged in a network chat conversation with @joheunsaram​ and somehow it turned into a request but also I needed to write this fic. It turned out wilder and kinkier than I thought it would be, but well, I guess that’s what happens when you’re working a lot and haven’t written any smut for a while. Thanks to @taegularities​ for beta-reading this ♥ ilysm and I’m sorry? haha. joheunsaram, I hope this live up to your expectations, and I Hope you all enjoy it 👀

Summary: No plot really, just some really filthy porn. 

This can be read as a stand-alone fic or as a part 2 to My Euphoria (in the sense that it’s the same idol!Jungkook/reader universe).

He always looks so incredibly pretty like this. Brown doe eyes wide open; moistness gathered in his eyelashes; face, ears, neck, chest flushed with a delightful shade of pink, enhanced by the sheen of sweat that perpasses his body; the small high-pitched whimpers and whines that leave his mouth, his begging. You lick your lips, looking at this beautiful picture you have been painting for the past couple of hours, appreciating your masterpiece. 

The first strokes of your brush happened in the living room, with Jungkook sitting on a chair with his arms tied behind his back, legs secured with the softest of scarves to the furniture in a way that displayed his erection and balls to you. You had teased him there, soft touches to his cock, the pressure never enough for him to be fully satisfied, slowly bringing him to the beginning of the edge and letting go time after time. You checked in periodically, needing to know he was still with you, and he always answered “green, noona”, his voice small and eyes glossed over. You continued painting the picture as you watched as small beads of sweat started to glisten on his body. He struggled to not move and his closed-mouth moans started turning into whimpers. And then you moved to the suite, getting more comfortable and giving his limbs some rest, but his cock stayed hard, the tip leaking with his arousal.

And now, he is lying on your bed, waiting for what you are going to do next, his eyes pleading for some mercy. You reach the box of toys that are carefully and neatly organized under the bed, watching his eyes widen even more in expectation. It is time to bring out the new addition to the collection, perfect to keep him even more on the precipice as you deny his falling. You see his chest raise in time with his breath, a little quicker now, as you walk to the bathroom to wash it, and then put it on the bed alongside with its remote control, the bottle of lube, a towel, and some disposable gloves. This is not the first time you’re doing this, but he has never tried this type of toy before, so you are very intrigued as to what he is going to think about it. 

He obeys you promptly when you tell him to turn over and spread his legs. You get on top of him, starting to kiss the back of his neck, slowly going down the expanse of his back, kissing each mole. You hear his sob at the same time you see him clench his hands by his head and you stop, worried.

“Kook?”

He turns his head to the side and you see his furrowed brows as he says “green, please, noona, please…”

“Please what, Jungkook?” You feel the relief running through your body.

“Please,” he whines, “don’t tease…”

“Well, love, I want to tease you a little bit more and you want to be a good boy for me, don’t you?”

“Yes, noona, but…”

“Can you be a good boy for me, Kook?”

“Yes, noona.” His mouth turns into a pout and his brows furrow a little more, and you almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

“If you can be a good boy for me, I might let you come, how about that?” The plan that you made for this scene in your mind solidifies.

He answers with a nod and gets back into position, relaxing his body and laying his head on his crossed arms. So you continue your journey in kissing down his body, stopping at the bottom of his spine. “Spread yourself for me, Jungkook.”

He does so without hesitation, his hands pressing on his round cheeks to obey you and give access to all parts of him. You give him a slow lick, feeling his hole clench under your tongue, and you chuckle. He is so responsive when he is kept on edge like this; it is so entertaining to watch his reactions. But you decide to not waste any more time, getting the gloves and the lube. You put the glove on and drizzle a generous amount of the gel on your fingers, warming it up before slowly circling his hole with one finger, seeing him clench again. You tease the ring of muscle, alternating between circling around it and pressing just the tip of your finger inside until you feel him almost go limp under your ministrations. You apply more pressure on that finger, slowly inching its way into his warmth and going out, until you have your palm flush against his skin. Your other hand caresses his thigh while you wait for him to get used to the intrusion, and you know exactly the moment when it starts to feel good because his hips start moving ever so slightly fucking into the bed. 

You allow him to keep the movements going, letting him enjoy this for now as you help by moving your finger in time with his thrusts, loosening him up and getting ready for the next finger to join. You hear his moan when the second digit joins and you apply more lube to help, going slowly so as not to hurt him, moving it in and out until there is no more resistance. You begin opening him up more, going slowly, dragging your fingers against his walls and pressing down ever so slightly until his hips stop abruptly.

“Stop, stop, stop, please.” He is out of breath and begging, but no sign of pain in his voice.

“What is it, baby?” You pause but don’t take your fingers out yet, but you notice that his hips are raised from the bed.

“I was close. Too close,” he says in between breaths, and you feel a sense of pride and love filling your chest.

“Good boy, Kook. You’re such a good boy for telling me to stop, I’m very proud of you.”

You see him blush at the compliment and hide his face in the pillow, but you keep caressing his thigh and complimenting him as you wait for the edge to go down. When he lowers his hips again, you know you can continue, but you decide to move on with your plans. You picked out a smaller prostate massager, small enough that two fingers are the preparation he needs for now. You pick up the toy, lubing it up before you take off the glove and discard it by the towel, inside out. 

“Are you ready?” 

“Yes, noona.”

You start to slowly press the toy inside him, seeing as his hole opens up to accept it. He clenches around the toy, a high-pitched moan leaving his mouth, and you can barely wait to hear the beautiful sounds that will come from him when you turn it on. When it is completely inside, you get him to turn around. His cock is flushed and leaking against his belly, and it looks as hard as it has ever been. 

“Hands above your head now. Color?”

“Green, noona,” he says as he intertwines his fingers and raises them up to press into the pillow he’s using. 

The spit on his cock from before when you used your mouth to edge him has already dried, so you get some of the lube to make your hands glide across his cock smoothly and you pick up the remote control with your other hand. You press the button to turn it on at the same time as your wet fist closes loosely around him, and his loud moan is like music to your ears. Maybe one day you can record something like that… It does not take long until his breath quickens and little whimpers start leaving his mouth, signaling he is getting close. You wait until you hear that hitch in his voice and stop all movement, turning off the massager as well.

“No, noona, no, please…” he cries out, a tear rolling down his cheek as his lips round in a pout. “Please, noona.” 

“You’re being such a good boy for me, Kook, hang in there just a little bit more.” You emphasize the little part.

“Ok, noona.” He whines, clearly not agreeing with the idea.

Your fingers encircle his erection again and he cries out immediately, the edge not completely faded, still too intense for him. Perfect. You stroke him a few times, very quickly turning on and off the vibrator before stopping again, and you repeat this a couple more times, keeping his edges closer and almost constant until the point in which your palm touching him is enough to get him there. You see another tear rolling down his cheek as he begs please again and again so beautifully, and you decide it is time for the next step. You press the button on the control, making him feel the vibrations inside him a little higher this time, and your wet fingers enclose his cock more tightly. You barely move your fist up and down before a loud moan graces your ears and you know you have him right there at the precipice. Your fist moves up and down another time and when you feel his cock twitching on your palm, you stop the vibrations and take your hand off him, seeing him raise his hips, whine so loudly a resounding and long no as streaks of cum start to paint his belly. He thrusts his hips in the air, his cock twitching against nothing as the last streaks of cum from his ruined orgasm land on his skin. Your eyes are glued to his face, watching for his reaction, and as soon as it happens, the tears that have been threatening to fall for a while do so, rolling down his cheeks as he cries out in frustration. 

You turn the vibrator on again, choosing a high and intense setting, and the cum on him helps the hand you close around his softening erection move even better now. He clenches the sheets on the side of his body and tries to move his hips away from your touch, but you don’t relent, stroking him quick and tight. He whimpers loudly at your touch, whining that it hurts, but you keep going, feeling him harden again under your continuous ministrations. You turn on the vibration, setting up a notch and he thrusts in your fist in and out, pausing when he lowers his hips, and you can tell he is divided between giving into the slight pain and getting away from it. You give him time to think as you don’t stop, your thumb circling his head at each upward stroke on his erection. 

“Come on, Kook. You’ve been such a good boy, you deserve a nice reward,” you say softly while you keep looking at him, watching for any sign of real discomfort. “Come for me again, baby.”

It is as if your words coax the orgasm out of him, his moan turning into a sob as he cums again and cries, letting all the tears out. This time you stroke him through it, making him feel everything, his entire body shaking with the intensity of the second orgasm. When you see him start to wind down from the orgasm, you stop the movements and turn off the massager, carefully taking it out of him. You take the towel to wipe the excess lube away and you leave it at the edge of the bed, the toy on top of it; you can wash it in a while - now you need to take care of Jungkook. You hug him against your chest as he sobs, and your fingers entangle in his hair while you keep repeating that he’s done so good for you and you’re so proud of him, that you love him, that he’s special to you, that he’s your good boy. For the first few minutes he just slumps against you, but as he starts to calm down, his arms hug you back tightly, pressing you into his body. 

“I’m here, Kook. I’m here. I love you, baby, so so much.” You kiss his forehead and his wet cheeks, and then you start wiping down some of his tears, now that they are stopping.

You blindly reach behind you on the side table to get a bottle of water, making him take small sips while propped up on an elbow. He’s slowly getting back to you, and there is no rush. He is your priority right now. He clears his throat and speaks so softly you can barely hear him at first.

“Thank you, noona.” 

“Of course, baby, anything for you. We can talk later, ok? Don’t rush. Want to eat some crackers?” you ask, but he shakes his head in negation.

He nods and smiles, an euphoric look on his face, now that his sobs have ebbed down enough, almost sleepy. “I love you too, Y/n.”

“Shower?” you ask, but he shakes his head no. “Nap first?” He nods in affirmation, and you smile. “Let’s nap then, we’ll change the sheets later.”

“What… what about you?”

“What about me, love?”

“You didn’t…”

“Tonight was about you, Jungkook.” You kiss him, then continue. “It was all about you, no need to worry about me, ok? Now close your eyes and nap, baby, and when we wake up in a short while we’ll get cleaned up better and have some dinner.”

You hug him tighter and fall asleep together in the comfort of each other’s arms.

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagine #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk #jeon jungkook #btscreatorscorner #thebtswritersclub #bangtaninn #my work

[bts-bay-bee]

Jealousy

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 4621

Warnings: dom!Tae, cursing, fingering while being clothed, spanking, dirty talking, begging, lip biting, vaginal fingering, hair pulling, honestly Tae is kinda cocky and I live for it, orgasm denial, edging, finger sucking, sucking at your own arousal, hickies, a lot of hickies, oral sex (male and female receiving), degradation (slut, cockslut), deep-throating, mouth-fucking, choking on dick, lowkey crying, riding, unprotected sex (use a condom), breast play, choking, cream pie, unedited work

Summary: You watch Hwarang with your friend, Taehyung, on one of his rare days off. After your not-so-subtle comments about your crush on one of his co-stars, Taehyung shows you how he really feels.

***

 “I missed you so much, Y/N!” Taehyung coos into your hair as you laugh, his arms wrapped tightly around you. He still stood in the doorway of your apartment, too busy occupied with embracing you to step in.

 “I missed you too, Tae Tae.” You replied, grinning at him while he pulled away. When he finally decided to come in, he followed the sweet scent of baked goods, which ultimately lead him to your kitchen. You couldn’t help but giggle at his actions. “I made you cupcakes.”

 Smiling wide at you, he took one off of the counter, before peeling the paper off and feeding you a bite, before shoving the rest in his mouth. You rolled your eyes while chewing the sweet confectionary.

 “Do you want some popcorn? I thought that we could watch Hwarang today. You promised that you’d see it with me.” You asked, hopefully. Taehyung smiled at you and nodded slightly.

 Taehyung sat on the counter of your kitchen while you put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. There was a comfortable silence as he simply stared at you, completely mesmerised with the way you so effortlessly glided around the kitchen, pulling various snacks out for the pair of you. You glanced up at him, already finding his eyes on yours, which made you raise your eyebrow.

 “What are you staring at?” You asked, a teasing tilt to your voice, as he continued to unapologetically stare at you, his chin propped up on the palm of his hand. There was a small smile on his plump lips, which made your heart beat a little faster. When you realised that he was still staring, you raised your eyebrow further. “Tae?”

 “You look good.” He murmured, more to himself that anything else. Blushing slightly, you ignored him and continued making your hot cocoa.

 Half an hour later, you found yourself and Tae sprawled out on the couch, watching the first episode of Hwarang. You hadn’t exactly watched it, since dramas were never really your thing, but you did let it play for background noise when you were doing your household chores – just because something wasn’t ‘you’ doesn’t mean that you couldn’t support Tae. As long as your view counted, you were satisfied. However, you really wanted to watch the show, even it was just for a few snippets of Tae.

 During the second episode, Taehyung pulled you into his lap, while mumbling something about it being cold. So that was how you ended up cuddling: Tae was leaning against the couch, your back was against his chest, and his arms were wrapped around you tightly. You really didn’t mind though – you had always had a not-so-tiny crush on him.

 When he finally showed up on screen, you gasped, hitting his thigh lightly. “Tae! It’s you!”

 “Hmm…” He replied sleepily, taking a deep breath through his nose, and pulling you closer. You pulled away from him, frowning.

 “Are you sleeping?” You asked, turning to face him. When you saw how tired he looked, you immediately felt bad. His eyes were half-closed, a small frown on his gorgeous features. You leaned back onto him, his arms immediately snaking around you. You placed a hand over his, smiling when he knotted your fingers together. “I’m sorry, Tae. Go to sleep.”

 “Let me nap for a while. Then you can wake me up. Only for an hour, promise, Jagi.” He mumbled into your hair. As you heard the pet name, your heart started beating faster, a smile gracing your lips unwillingly. You don’t even think he called you that on purpose – it was just a result of his sleepiness.

 You felt Taehyung fall asleep under you; his breathing slowed and became deeper. Every so often, he’d wrap his arms around you tighter, but never once let go of your hand. You started the forth episode of the drama, yawning slightly because you hadn’t moved in about an hour, when Tae brought you closer to him, yet again, but froze when his free hand cupped your breast and palmed it lightly. Biting your lip, you felt your nipples perk up, and due to not wearing a bra, it showed through your thin shirt.

 “T-Tae?” You called out, pausing the episode, your heart beating fast. When he didn’t respond, you turned back lightly and saw that he was still fast asleep. Your throat going dry, you decided to just move his hand to your waist, so when he does wake up, it wouldn’t be so awkward.

 But you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You didn’t want to admit it, but you loved how readily your body reacted to his slight touch. Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to move his hand. As your petite hand hovered over his much larger one, you felt his hardening dick grow beneath your ass – you didn’t even realise it, but you were subconsciously grinding onto his length. Standing up abruptly, you walked to the bathroom, trying to calm your racing heart.

 Taehyung woke up when you walked away, and he frowned, wondering why you looked so embarrassed. He shook his head, not realising that his dick was half-hard, from your barest touch. A few minutes later, you walked back, now seeing Taehyung awake. He didn’t act any different, so you just decided to roll with it.

 “Where did you go?” he whined, making you roll your eyes.

 “I – uh – went to the bathroom, silly.” You lied, sitting next to him. He whined again, before pulling you back into his lap with the premise of ‘still cold’. You sat so stiffly in his lap, not wanting to subconsciously grind on him again, especially now that he’s awake.

 You felt there was an awkwardness in the air, but you failed to realise that you were the only one who felt it. Taehyung was still oblivious to his erection, which was slowly, yet steadily, growing harder and harder under your lower back. Trying to ease the atmosphere in the room, you started teasing Tae about his character in Hwarang, which was adorable, yet kind of… Slow. The overall effect was rather endearing.

 “Aww, you look so cute, Tae!” You said, laughing lightly, as he got poked in the head with a wooden stick. He just hummed in response, but in the reflection of the TV, you saw him roll his eyes. A few moments later, Ban-ryu showed up on screen, making you hum with appreciation; he truly was a sight. Once again, in the reflection, you saw him raise his eyebrow. When Soo-ho had a scene, you once again hummed, making Tae poke your side. “Ow! What was that for?”

 “You’re drooling a bit.” He replied, not answering your question. You scowled, knowing for a fact that he wasn’t serious about the drool. “And you’re basically eye-fucking them. Pay attention to the story.”

 “So what?” You replied, rolling your eyes. “If they’re sexy, then they’re sexy. It’s not my fault they’re blessed with good looks.”

 “How come I get called cute, and you call them sexy?” He snapped, causing you to sigh. If only you could really tell him what you thought about him.

 Turning your attention to the TV again, you saw Tae clenching his jaw, making your heart beat a little faster. His jaw was so defined, it looked like it was carved from rock. Your eyes trailed down his gorgeous features, feeling your core getting a little warmer. You licked your lips, unknowingly, making Tae irritated.

 “Now you’re thirsting after Hyung-sik?” He asked, clearly jealous. You would never admit it aloud, but his jealousy turns you on in unimaginable ways.

 You turned to him, sitting in between his legs, biting your lower lip, then said defensively, “I wasn’t even focusing on the TV, Tae.”

 “Then what were you licking your lips for?” He snapped, making you grow wet at the jealousy laced in his every word.

 You lowered your eyes, looking down, then mumbled, “Your reflection. Your jaw clenched really hard, because you were jealous, and…”

 You couldn’t bring yourself to look into his eyes; instead, you just focused on his chest. You felt your panties get wetter at the sight of his length, now so achingly hard that you could clearly see it. You heard Tae’s breathing hitch, before he sat up, his hand trailing on your thighs. Your eyes followed his large hands, gasping when you saw where it was leading to.

 Without realising, you had completely soaked your panties, which in turn, lead you to start soaking your thin, grey leggings. You tried covering up the growing wet patch, but Taehyung slapped your hand away. He ran a finger over your clothed folds, making you bite down on your lip to contain a whimper.

 “This for me?” he murmured, continuing to run a slender finger over your soaked leggings. You closed your eyes, not wanting to moan, which you so badly wanted to do. Taehyung clenched his jaw further, then spoke harshly, “Answer me when I speak to you!”

 “Y-Yes, Tae.” You replied, your eyes snapping open to meet his own. You saw the corners of his mouth lift slightly. His fingers began to push into you deeper, making you release the smallest whimper, causing him to smirk.

 “Such pretty sounds.” He murmured, continuing his assault on your folds. It was driving you crazy – not feeling enough friction to satiate your needs. “My pretty girl got so wet that she soaked through her panties, hmm?”

 “T-Tae…” You whined, abandoning your pride. He slowed his actions, his eyes shining with excitement.

 “Since you pissed me off so much by making me jealous of my friends, I’ll let you choose where I’m going to absolutely destroy this pussy.” He murmured, absentmindedly brushing hair away from your face. “Here? Your bedroom? The balcony?”

 “Here.” You replied, breathlessly, moving closer to him, causing him to chuckle. Taehyung always knew that you loved rough sex, probably something you let slip after a drink too many, but he didn’t realise just how much you changed during sex.

 “Take off your clothes.” He ordered, his authority only enhancing how wet you were. You scrambled to shed your thin shirt, then your leggings. Taehyung’s eyes grew darker and darker with lust as every inch of your body became exposed. As you reached to pull off your thong, his large hands stopped you; instead, hooking his fingers around the waistband on either side of your hips and slowly dragging them down. “Where’s your bra, baby girl? Do you enjoy teasing me that much?”

 “I wasn’t trying to tease you – ” You began, breathlessly, but a sharp slap to your ass made you stop abruptly.

 “Bullshit.” He snapped, his fingers running over your slick folds. “You think I didn’t feel you grind into me? Oh, I want to punish you so badly… Overstimulate you until you’re crying, begging me to stop.” At his filthy words, you subconsciously released another gush of sticky arousal over his hand, making him smirk. “You like that? You want me to fuck you senseless?”

 “Please.” You whispered, looking up at him, pleadingly. Then, for the first time, Taehyung kissed you. His plump, soft lips that you had only dreamed about, were on yours, moving perfectly in sync with you. He forced open your mouth with his tongue, the roughness of it only making you want him further. His tongue skilfully moved against your own, the velvety appendage massaging every corner of your mouth. Due to lack of oxygen, he began to pull away, but not before biting your lip, sucking on it gently to relieve the sting.

 Looking into his eyes, you saw a side of him that you only imagined – it was feral, lust clouding the surface of his gorgeous orbs. Without taking his eyes off of yours, he plunged two fingers into your dripping core, making you cry out at the sudden intrusion. At the sound coming out of your mouth, he smirked, enjoying having you at his mercy.

 “Feel good, my pretty girl?” He asked, his fingers curling to stroke every inch of your silky walls. He brought his lips to yours again, greedily exploring every crevice of your mouth, biting and suckling at your already swollen lips, while his fingers fucked into you mercilessly. As his long, thin digits pistoned out of you, relentless in its pace, his free hand knotted his fingers in your hair, tugging on it slightly, allowing him to pull your mouth closer to him.

 At a particularly deep thrust, you cried out into his mouth, causing him to let out a breathless chuckle. Your walls began to clench tightly around his fingers, indicating that you were close, so close. You felt him add a third finger into your core, making you whine at the stretch, the burning sensation only getting you more aroused.

 You felt your thighs start to tremble, a sure sign of your oncoming orgasm. Taehyung continued to assault your pussy, not taking his eyes off of where his fingers were entering and leaving you. Needing to feel your release, you began to rock your hips against his hand, desperately trying to fuck yourself deeper with his fingers.

 As you were about to reach your much-anticipated climax, your core was suddenly empty, pathetically clenching around nothing. You almost sobbed, the pressure in your lower body slowly ebbing away, guaranteeing that your orgasm was lost.

 “Taehyung!” You cried out, the heat of your climax nowhere to be found. He ignored your words, simply kissing you again, the lewd sounds of open-mouthed kisses were the only sounds that filled the air. Your thighs trembled slightly, almost your body’s way of asking why your orgasm was denied.

 “I get to say when you cum. This is your punishment for making me jealous.” He said, softly, stuffing his soaked fingers into your mouth, making you suck at your own juices. He pulled on your hair, tightly, bringing your face closer to his. “If I decide to stop you from cumming, then you shut the fuck up and deal with it. You’ll only cum on my cock, understand? Not on my fingers, not on my mouth, but my cock. I told you; you’re gonna be crying, begging me to stop, begging me to let you cum.”

 You nodded slightly; eyes closed as you swallowed hard. Smiling at your obedience, Taehyung slipped his fingers out of your mouth, moving you to sit on the sofa, your legs spread. Seeing your dripping, pink pussy, he felt his cock twitch on his pants, desperately wanting to plough through your slickness. His eyes found your clit, swollen and red, probably from how roughly he had fingered you, paired with being denied your orgasm.

 Spreading your legs further, he dropped to his knees and began to kiss, suck and nibble on the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. Leaving a garden of dark purple bruises in his wake, he took a deep sniff of your arousal, before attaching his lips to your clit and sucking harshly. Your moans and whimpers of his name only spurred him on, licking at every drop of your juices.

 He ran his tongue around your soaked entrance, resulting in you letting out a breathy moan. Stiffening his tongue, he began to thrust it in and out of you, simulating what his fingers were doing earlier. He hummed at your taste, savouring the never-ending torrents of arousal that coated his mouth, some even dripping onto his chin.

 “Fuck, you taste so good, pretty girl.” He said, stopping his actions to see the way your entrance clenched around nothing, practically begging him to resume his previous activities. He licked a stripe from your core right up until the top of your clit, then began to suck on it, his tongue pressing against the sensitive bud harshly.

 He felt your heavily marked thighs began to tremble around his head, indicating your fast approaching orgasm, making him suck harshly, getting the last taste of your juices, before pulling away, making your chest heave, wanting nothing more than to cum around his prodding tongue.

 “Did I not fucking say that you aren’t allowed to cum unless it’s on my cock?” He snapped, grabbing your hair so that you looked up at him. You felt yourself somehow, possibly become even more aroused at this side of Taehyung; you never thought that your cute, cuddly best friend would ever be such a rough, dominating man in bed.

 Seeing you peer up at him with innocent eyes, flushed a light shade of pink, caused a rush of heat to make its way down to his dick. Wanting nothing more than to hear your voice, your moans and whimpers for him, and only him, he was quickly getting even more pissed off when you didn’t respond to him.

 “If you don’t want to respond to me, put your mouth to better use.” He said, harshly, slipping off his shirt, trousers and boxers, mindlessly kicking them onto the floor. You immediately dropped to your knees, making him chuckle as he took a seat on the couch. “You’re such a pretty little cockslut, baby.”

 Shining at his praise, you took his lengthy dick into your mouth, your hands behind your back. Swirling your tongue around the head, you licked off the salty pre-cum, before slowly taking more of him into your velvety soft mouth. He let out a huff, seeing how your ass and tits stuck out of your delectable body as you took bobbed your head on his cock.

 “All of it.” He murmured, brushing your hair away from your face so that he could gather it in a ponytail at the crown of your head. You sunk your head lower onto his length, struggling to encompass his girth as well as the sheer length of his manhood. “Come on, you can fit me in that sweet, sweet mouth, baby. Be a good girl and take it all.”

 Hearing his voice going down an octave, you pushed your gag reflex aside, wanting nothing more than to please him. Eventually, the tip hit the back of your throat, resulting in you gagging slightly.

 “Now swallow.” He instructed, relishing in the way your throat muscles tightened and loosened around him when you did that. Your nose was nestled against his pubic bone, making your breathing a little difficult. When you couldn’t breathe anymore, you pulled away, tears burning your eyes from the lack of oxygen.

 Once you had enough air, you sheathed him in your throat once again, the second time much easier than the first. He moaned out your name, pre-cum still coating the surface of your tongue. You felt him pull away from your touch slightly, only for him to thrust back into your mouth, going deeper. Holding your head in place, by pulling on your hair, he continued to snap his hips against your mouth, essentially fucking it.

 He loved hearing you choke on his dick when he thrust a little too far in, the sound only encouraging him to go further and deeper. If possible, you enjoyed it more; you loved seeing Taehyung fuck himself into you, you loved seeing his mouth part, and most of all, you loved hearing his groans, especially if it was your name. But you could only survive without oxygen for so long. After a minute or so, your lungs were screaming for oxygen, tears running down your face, and your spit dripped down your chin, having spilled out of the sides of your mouth when he so vigorously fucked your mouth.

 You tapped his toned thigh, his muscles flexing as they helped him rut into your mouth. He got the message and pulled out, running the head of his dick along the expanse of your now swollen lips, his pre-cum slowly ebbing out and joining the mess on your face.

 Looking up at his face, you felt a sense of pride, seeing him look down at you with such adoring eyes. He reached down, brushing away your tears, which had only run down your face due to the lack of oxygen, not because you were in pain. Tae seemed to know this, and simply smirked. “I told you, I’ll have you crying, pretty girl.”

 “Please fuck me, Tae.” You begged, your sticky arousal beginning to coat your hickie-filled thighs. You were desperate for his touch. “Please, I promise I’ll be good. I won’t make you jealous again. Just please fuck me. I wanna cum. I wanna come so badly on your thick cock, please, Tae.”

 He smirked at how submissive you were, which was a complete 180 from your usual demeanour. Scooping you up effortlessly, he brought you up to straddle him, but didn’t slip into your aching entrance. Leaning in, he licked the mixture of pre-cum and your spit from your chin, collecting the liquid on his tongue, then deposited it into your mouth, making you moan.

 When he sufficiently cleaned you up, he latched his lips to your own, kissing you deeply, running his tongue against your own. He quickly pulled away, the throbbing of his cock not allowing him to take his time with you the way he wished to.

 “Gonna bounce that tight pussy on my cock, pretty girl?” He asked, lining up at your entrance, your mouth going dry at the thought of finally being able to cum. You were denied your orgasm twice, making the ache between your legs spread throughout your entire being. “Gonna cream on this dick?”

 Every rational thought left you. The only word you seemed to know was ‘please’, which is what you whimpered to him repeatedly, needing him in you. Resting your hands on his broad shoulders, you slowly sank down on his length, whimpering as his head stretched your poor pussy. While you were taking in his cock, he began to suck harshly on your tits and neck, leaving numerous love bites as he moved over the expanse of your body.

 Taehyung got impatient and abruptly thrusted into you, burying himself deep in you; deep enough for your swollen, sensitive clit to be pressed against his pubic bone. You choked on nothing, feeling your walls stretch, burning as your body felt it was splitting in half from Taehyung’s generous, girthy length.

 It had been so long since you had been laid that you felt as if it was your first time again. Sure, earlier, Taehyung had tried to stretch you out, but that was about an hour ago, and your body had seemingly forgotten about the preparation that had been done to it.

 “Fuck, you feel so good, Y/N.” Tae groaned, feeling your tight walls stretch to encompass his girth. “So fucking tight for me. Such a pretty little slut for me.”

 Swallowing slightly, you decided to ignore the almost-painful stretch and began to bounce up and down on his length, immediately feeling the burn ease. Taehyung had one of his hands on your lower back and the other on your upper back, holding you so that you wouldn’t fall as you arched your back, pushing your chest into his own.

 Swivelling your hips, you began to grind down on him, enjoying how the curve of his cock allowed him to repeatedly hit against your g-spot, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

 “That’s it, baby, use me to get off.” He groaned, feeling your walls clenched around him. You returned to bouncing on his dick, knotting your fingers in his hair as he kissed your neck, biting down on the soft flesh harshly. His large hand began to roughly knead your breast, tweaking your nipple in-between his fingers.

 “Fuck!” You moaned loudly, still bouncing on his generous length. He let out a breathy chuckle, seeing the completely fucked out expression on your delicate features. His eyes trailed down to the marks he left across your neck, tits and thighs, a possessiveness growing within him. Taehyung suddenly pulled your hair backwards, making you whimper.

 “Whose pussy is this, Y/N?” He growled, now thrusting into you at a relentless pace. “Scream my name, you little cockslut.”

 “Yours! Yours, Taehyung!” You whimpered, your body trembling as he pounded into you, panting heavily. You felt him remove a hand from your back, instead using his slim fingers to rub tight circles into your overly sensitive clit. Throwing your head back, you felt a familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach, forcing you to clench tightly on Tae’s length.

 “You wanna come for me, baby?” He groaned, his voice deeper than it usually is. Nodding in response, unable to speak coherently, you made yourself bring your eyes to his.

 “Cum with me.” You choked out, feeling his hips stutter at your wish. You leaned in to kiss him, immediately slipping your tongue into his mouth. “Please Tae. Cum in me.”

 “Oh, fuck!” He said, loudly, thrusting sloppily because he was so close. You knew you needed something to set you off, so you removed one of his hands from your hips and placed it around your neck. He got the idea, and squeezed gently, effectively shutting off enough of your oxygen for it to be pleasurable. You sobbed, feeling your orgasm race through your entire body, causing you to collapse on Taehyung’s strong chest; your body finally giving in to the euphoric feeling of climaxing. You felt your cum drip out of you, only to get fucked back into your core by Taehyung.

 First making sure that you rode out the high of your orgasm, Taehyung soon came in you, moaning out your name as he buried himself to the built then released strand after strand of thick, hot cum deep in your pussy.

 You buried your head in the crook of his neck, feeling his chest rise and fall rapidly, trying to catch his breath after expending so much energy. Once he had calmed his raging breath, he caressed your back lightly, leaving a trail of goose bumps down your spine.

 You lifted your head up, using a hand to cup Taehyung’s face, then brought his lips to yours again, already missing his touch. Smiling lightly against your mouth, he playfully nipped at your lip, making you giggle.

 “Is your pussy sore, baby?” He asked, gently, his openness making you flush red. He chuckled in response, rolling his eyes at your shyness. “I just came in you, Y/N, maybe you should get used to me asking you these prodding questions.”

 “It’s sore.” You admitted, burying your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the flesh.

 “Let me go run you a bath then, pretty girl.” He murmured, stroking your hair. You let out a noise of irritation, wanting nothing more than for Taehyung to remain buried in you, cuddling you and playing with your hair.

 “No. Stay here.” You sighed, cuddling closer to his chest. “We’ll move later, Tae.”

 “So needy.” He teased, but complied with your requests, wrapping his arms around you tightly and kissing you deeply.

 ***

#taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #bts #bts smut #v #bts fan fiction #bts x reader

[phantasmagoriaoriginals]

Here There be Monsters: Mage Basic Intros (Part 2)

Cybele

She/her, ??? Mage.

Around three hundred years ago, Cybele wanted to help find peace between humans and Creatures. To do this, she found a way to merge with magic itself, change her form, and become something that the world would listen to. From there, with new, unheard-of powers, she formed the Organization and shaped it to work toward her goal and dream. 

While Cybele started out as a remarkably kind, gentle, loving person, her passions reached heights greater than she was meant to handle. Merging with magic turned her into something inhuman, and as it is, she’s slipped into a dream-like mental state where she only sees the reality she wants to. She’s lost in her own head and forgetting the world around her. 

Cybele’s magic is unique in that she can use all seven kinds with near mastery. This should be impossible, however, and the consequence of such power is the slow deterioration of her mental state. 

5′6, early 30′s (physically). Statuesque, shapely build, gentle, pleasing features, and light, rosy skin. Waist-length, golden-blonde, curly/wavy hair with distinct bangs, ocean-blue eyes with a bright sparkle in them. A soft smile almost always graces her lips, and her eyes are kind. 

Gisette

She/her, Blue Mage.

Born to a high-ranking Mage family, Gisette spent her youth with high expectations. She was supposed to be perfect from day one— with all the constant work that comes with that. Indeed, she grew to reach a powerful position in the Organization, but along the way, she’s become jaded to the world and the supposed purpose of making it better. 

Stern, strict, and severe, Gisette is the kind of person who doesn’t need to be big to be terrifying. She holds high, hard-earned authority, and her very posture makes it clear she knows it. An outstanding strategist, Gisette has spent years with the weight of responsibility heavy on her shoulders, choosing“should” over any “want” she may have had. 

Gisette’s magic involves bringing written messages to life. This mainly suits her work as a strategist and organizer, as she can send moving, encrypted, and physically activated text wherever she pleases. 

5′4, early 50′s. Waist-length, dark brown, almost black hair usually worn in a high bun. Dark gray eyes, pale skin, a fair amount of wrinkles. Usually wears earrings. Despite being a petite woman with a fairly slight build, the way Gisette carries herself shows her status well. 

Maximus

He/him, Red Mage.

Like Gisette, he was born to a powerful Mage family and experienced much of the same pressure. The two were childhood friends and held feelings for each other from a young age. Maximus was the one who could never quite let go of them, even after Gisette gave up on her personal longings in favor of what she knew she had to do. 

The opposite of Gisette in almost every way, Maximus is animated, dynamic, and imposing. His physical size makes most people cower, but his boisterous nature either sets them at ease or makes it worse. While he’s more than capable of taking things seriously, a beaming smile and openly held passions get him where he wants to be. 

Maximus’s magic involves augmenting his physical strength. Instead of merely utilizing his energy, he doubles it back and ups his capacity for strength and movement, giving him nearly superhuman capabilities. 

6′10, early 50′s. Huge, heavily muscled, powerful build. Shoulder blade-length, curly/fluffy hair a shade of blue so pale it’s almost white, almost always restrained in a low ponytail. Tanned skin, dark crimson eyes, chiseled, handsome features, and a good few wrinkles from age. 

Rosaria

She/her, Green Mage.

Aurora’s older sister. From a young age, she was considered a prodigy at Green magic and was showered in the attention and praise that followed. While she remains a sweet, caring person, Rosaria’s outlook toward the world and other people has been distorted by the way she was treated growing up. She can be quite oblivious and ignorant. 

Charismatic and sociable, Rosaria is the picture of the person everyone loves. Between her gift for magic and her skills with interpersonal relations, she’s well-respected and well-loved by almost everyone around her. Rosaria is quite a friendly, cheerful, and kind person, but she struggles with considering others’ feelings properly. 

Rosaria’s magic is typical Green magic— drawing from the world around her to manifest various effects. In her specific case, she augments both her physical strength and her speed capabilities. 

5′9, late 20′s. Tall, curvaceous build with an hourglass figure. Short-cut, chin-length white hair worn in a bob that frames her face. Wide, deep gray eyes with a slight green tint to them and pale lashes. Her features are quite appealing and she always seems to be wearing a smile. 

Adrian

He/him, Yellow Mage.

In his early teenage years, Adrian made a mistake with his magic that caused his body to stop aging. He’s forever stuck at the age he was when the incident happened, even though his mind continues to develop. He became a skilled Mage nonetheless... but life seems to never give him a break. An unfortunate incident with a girlfriend was the tipping point. 

Adrian is intellectual, poised, strict, and somewhat snobby. He has the personality of s stuck-up professor, and definitely enough ego to mirror it. Despite being internally depressed and angry with the world, he’s determined to ignore his unpleasant history and pretend like he’s not miserable. He has more than his fair share of pride in himself. 

The magic he uses involves bringing his words to life. When Adrian speaks a command with magical intent, it happens. He has to be quite careful with it, as the exact mechanisms are tricky and complex. 

4′11, late 30′s. Adrian’s body is youthful, small, and unaging. Brown, past chin-length hair in a fairly straight cut, with bangs, and brown eyes only a few shades warmer and more hazel. Carries a near-permanent scowl and posture that conveys his pride and experience. 

Gloria

She/her, Yellow Mage.

Formerly a Mage of high rank, Gloria’s magic started to affect her mind about a decade ago. From there, it’s been a slow slide into delusions and distorted thinking that have left her with a very different role. When she was younger, she loved her magic for what it could show her and the things she could experience, but now, she can hardly keep track of them.

Gloria used to be a composed, passionate woman who handled her job well and enjoyed every second of it. She was outspoken, bold, and graceful in both speech and mannerisms. After her magic changed her, though, she’s become very disorganized in thought. She has trouble telling what’s real, what’s tangible, and what’s in the present.

The magic that twisted Gloria’s mind is the ability to see into the past and future. While limited, it was highly useful, and she pushed herself too far with it, leading to her mind being unable to handle the information. 

5′5, mid 30′s. Graceful, art-like build with a soft figure and not a lot of muscle. Caramel-brown hair worn in a shoulder-length style with longer sidelocks, shining, golden-hazel eyes, and fair skin. Her eyes have a vacant, spacey look in them more often than not. 

Coulson

He/him, Blue Mage.

For the most part, Coulson has a normal past. He fought his way through education and training to be as skilled as he currently is, and that fight gave him an unhealthy amount of pride. He’s always been competitive and authoritative, and can’t stand others besting him in any way. He worked his way into the Organization for the sake of power. 

Coulson is strict, self-absorbed, and demanding of others. In his mind, he’s almost always the most capable person in the room and he acts like it. He’s a stickler for rules (when they suit him), dismissive of other people and their opinions, and aggressively fixated on his authority in the chain of command. He takes a lot of pride in his power and abilities. 

For magic, Coulson uses a variety of small tattoos self-engraved into his body to create a variety of effects. He adds new ones quite frequently as he learns new applications and methods of utilizing them. 

6′0, mid 30′s. Tall, somewhat lanky build with unnerving strength for how little muscle is visible. Dark blue, curly hair slicked back on the right side and left loose on the left. Darker blue eyes, pale skin, and two silver piercings (right nostril and right earlobe) connected with a thin chain.

Rochia

She/they, Brown Mage.

A perpetual hard worker, Rochia grew up with a love of both machinery and magic. She enjoyed experimenting with everything she could get her hands on and seeing what worked. Once she joined the Organization, Rochia wound up assigned to a top-secret project that killed her optimistic view of the world, leaving her bitter and pragmatic.

Sharp-tongued, logical, and no-nonsense, Rochia is dedicated to her work— even when she hates it. She dislikes unrealistic fantasies and people who go against rules and sensible choices and favors those who devote themselves to something tangible with their whole hearts. Despite losing faith in the world, small parts of her still cling to hope. 

Rochia’s magic is something of a mystery. It relates to creating and maintaining magical machines, but the exact nature of what she knows and does is kept secret by the higher-ups of the Organization itself. 

5′2, mid 20′s. Petite and rather stocky in build, with few curves. Dark brown hair worn in a shaggy, somewhat messy pixie cut easily kept out of the way. Gray, brown-tinted eyes with perpetual dark circles underneath, light skin, and forming wrinkles at her brow. 

#Here There Be Monsters #Cybele #Gisette #Maximus #Rosaria #Adrian #Gloria #Coulson #Rochia #Character Info

[detroit-smash-my-ass]

Yandere Alphabet - All For One

Masterlist

Yes, technically this isn’t NSFW per se, but it gets into topics racy enough that I’m posting it here. And c’mon, who doesn’t enjoy delving into the twisted maze that is AFO? He’s neck-and-neck with All Might as the scariest yandere in this series anyway, but that’s another can of worms.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

He’s very generous with the affection, but only if you’ve kept in his good graces. He’s not picky about doling out punishments if you act out. He keeps it fairly innocent unless the mood strikes, and even then he doesn’t care who’s in the room when he decides to seduce you.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He’s the single most dangerous villain in the history of Quirks and has no hesitation to take what he wants when he wants. I feel like that should answer itself fairly well.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He’s gentle with you, but firm. His first priority is to make you dependent on him, and comforting you even as you demand answers. Depending on how violent/aggressive you get, however, he’s not above leaving you alone by yourself in a locked room for a while to stamp out that temper. As soon as you start acting nice, he treats you kindly again.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Not in the classic physical sense. He’s manipulative, yes, but he’s not going to force you into anything -- at least, not yet. He wants your will to bend and break before he truly starts doing things with you that you might otherwise say no to. Patience is key - and lucky for him,  he’s got a lot.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He tells you very little about himself other than the basics you already know: all-powerful villain who can take and give any Quirk he gets his hands on. He might liken you to his little brother once or twice, and perhaps if in a good enough mood he’ll tell you stories of when they were both young, but otherwise he’s a mystery to you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Amused. There’s literally nothing you can do to him that hurts, and for a while he’s content to let you think you’re gaining back control, only to crush that determination at the most heated moment. If you continue to act out, however, he will start to lose his patience and will treat you harsher and harsher, outright abandoning you in a locked room with food and water delivered once a day until he feels you’ve learnt your lesson.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It doesn’t matter if it is or isn’t; chances are, he’s already won. He does enjoy watching you go about, thinking you’re being sneaky when he’s already figured out your entire plan to escape. At the very last moment when you think you’re going to get out, he enjoys seeing the hope fade from your face as you realize you’ve failed. It gives him a lot of pleasure breaking you.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Being locked in a cell, alone, with nobody to talk to until he arrives to bring you food. He only wants to isolate you like that when you’re being stubborn; otherwise, you’re locked in your shared bedroom.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

First and foremost, he wants to rule his new empire with you at his side as his loving spouse. Your Quirk is deemed helpful enough that, should you be able to, he would like a few children sired with you to see what kind of Quirks they would get (or not, in which case he’d be delighted to share one of his with them and train them to use it).

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He’s not exactly jealous, but rather paranoid. His way of coping with that is to keep you locked away. You’re his, not anyone else’s, and he wants you to accept that.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He’s very affectionate. Loves holding you in his lap as he caresses your hair, maybe a kiss or two on your forehead. He’s very charming, too; likes to joke around with you and is quite playful when you’re in his good graces.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He met you while you were briefly in Kamino Ward and afterwards desired to have you for himself. He found out where you lived and worked and started sending anonymous gifts (along with a cell number) in the guise of a ‘secret admirer’ until you agreed to meet him over text. When you did meet, you were a bit intimidated by his size, but after a few successful dates you were already falling head over heels.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Absolutely. Most of the time, he acts charming and enigmatic, but when you piss him off, everyone knows it. The sheer weight of his aura is enough to even make All Might shake in his boots, and for good reason. He prefers not to let his charismatic mask slip, though. It’s much easier to manipulate others when they believe you to be weaker than you are and think they have the upper hand at all times.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Depends on what you did. If he thinks you’re just being bratty, he may spank you, chiding you the whole time. If you piss him off? Total isolation. 24/7, 365-366 days a year. At least, until he believes you’ve learnt a lesson. You’re locked in a cell with only a cot, toilet, and shower, and he himself delivers food to you once a day as your only form of human communication. Cameras are trained on you at all hours that only he can access. He doesn’t fuck around.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

At first, he’s quite generous. He allows monitored correspondence between you and your family. He allows you to go places only with either him or Kurogiri present at all times. He allows you near sharp objects only with supervision (like when you cook dinner together). But if you piss him off, he takes everything away, including privacy. Get sick? Need an exam? He gets Garaki to check you out, and he watches the whole time.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He can be exceedingly patient. His thinking is that you’re just a petulant child who needs to learn their place, and if he has to dole out a few punishments along the way he will. He just wants you to realize that he won’t let anything happen to you and that he just wants the best for you (that issue is subjective).

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

You know how he (presumably) reacted to his beloved little brother dying? That. Again. And this time, he would be less lenient on those he deemed responsible. He rules with an iron grip.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Doesn’t feel guilty at all, and absolutely won’t let you go. It’s partially his Quirk to blame; when he sees something (or someone) he desires, he just has to have it/them. He considers you to be totally his, and he won’t stand for anything else taking you away.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

As stated above, it’s partially his Quirk, partially due to being born in a turbulent time of history. Quirks were still becoming more common at the time, and he was already protective of his brother due to his perceived Quirklessness and because he was using his Quirk for good. He made too many enemies that wanted to hurt those close to him, and due to his paranoia (as well as his possessive nature), force of habit dictates that he isolate those he deems his.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Condescending pity. He dealt with that kind of behavior once, with his younger brother, and it nearly broke him then trying to get him to see how much he loved him. Now he’s older and more patient, and all he can do is try and comfort you by petting your hair and telling you that it has to be this way, he just wants the best for you, why can’t you just understand?

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

When he does lose it, he doesn’t ‘go mad’ in the classic sense -- rather, his resolve hardens and he retains his temper. His is more of a tranquil fury - it’s not immediately obvious unless he chooses to show you. He wouldn’t physically hurt you either -- well, not enough to wound you. He would consider spanking, but he wouldn’t break your legs.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Oh, honey. You really think he won’t see what you’re doing and shut it down when you think you’ve gotten free? He’s All For One. There’s not a weakness he hasn’t already thought through.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Aside from light things like spanks, no. Mentally, though? He’s a manipulative, gaslighting monster. He will not hesitate to turn you against everyone you’ve ever loved if it meant you were more dependent on him alone.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He goes the traditional gentleman route: wooing you slowly enough that you don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. He reveres your body in all of its beauty when you get intimate, but he rather wants you to worship him devotedly.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

If anything were to make him snap, it would be you (against all odds) escaping his grip. Maybe one of his underlings somehow slipped you out under his nose. Maybe another decided to just dump you somewhere. Either way, he’s going full lockdown mode and will not stop until he finds you. And believe me, he will find you.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

That’s probably the first thing he does if you’re stubborn/defiant enough. If you prove to be totally into it and are willing to be totally dependent on him, congrats! You get to escape with your will mostly unharmed!

#yandere alphabet #all for one #afo #yandere all for one

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #8: under his loving gaze: Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

In which Steve discovers it’s possible to love two people to the bone and still be crushed by loneliness. 

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers (sort of) x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) VOYEURISM of the truest, you-don’t-know-you’re-being-watched kind. Vaginal sex. Male masturbation. Lots and lots of pining for not so many words. 

Notes: Another one for my Marvel friends today :) The prompt for day eight is ‘Voyeurism,’ and does he ever watch. Somehow this one turned angsty. I... don’t think I’m sorry, though. 

Kinktober Masterlist

Friday nights never used to be this pathetic.

Steve’s not completely sure when he got so boring. Even when he was a kid, Bucky always had one place or the other to drag him on the weekends. He’d stumble in from a backbreaking shift at the docks, c’mon Stevie, the city awaits, and Steve never really wanted to go, but it was Bucky’s sweat that paid for the roof over their heads, so he never felt good about saying no.

These days, though, his idea of fun is an evening pouring over his briefings. Letting the security footage from the compound flick idly across the monitor. He doesn’t need to watch it. Not when there’s an AI system more sophisticated than any on the planet monitoring their premises.

But Steve’s always been a little old-fashioned.

Tonight, there’s something else on his mind. It’s not something that should be plaguing his thoughts, but his brain doesn’t often listen when he decides he doesn’t want to think about something.

“Gonna be taking your post again tonight, Captain?” Tony’s voice, no matter how genuine, always felt edged with an air of mockery. Tonight’s dinner had been no different. Above the idle chatter surrounding plans for the weekend, he’d decided to speak up.

“Whaddaya mean?” Sam had asked, quirking an eyebrow in Steve’s direction with a bite of chicken-something (prepared by Vision) halfway to his mouth.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Steve remembers low dread curling in his gut at the snappy response from Tony, knowing he was setting up for a lethal blow. “Steve’s been watching all of you do the nasty.”

After his cheeks had gone an appropriate shade of maroon, Steve sputtered through the rest of dinner, insisting that there weren’t any security cameras installed in private areas of the compound.

Then again, based on the way that Tony’s eyes had sparkled once he let the subject drop, Steve isn’t so sure anymore.

The mystery of whether seems hell-bent on keeping Steve from getting any work done tonight. Any time he so much as lowers his eyes to the page, the question plagues intently at the corners of his thoughts, forcing him to re-read the same briefing line at least a dozen times before he gives up and pushes the papers aside.

He’s just going to have to figure it out. Once and for all. He slumps over the edge of the desk, taking the mouse in one oversized hand and navigating to the edge of the window that he’s got open- flicking through the normal course of security footage. Front door, hallways, kitchen, gym, garden, repeat.

Steve is not blessed with extensive computer knowledge. But he knows that the black bar at the top of the screen, scrawled with words like file, edit, preferences, refers to a list of possible commands. So he keeps clicking through them, scrolling through each option until he finds something that points him in the right direction.

Under the view tab there’s another series of options. After mousing over one called ‘cycle settings,’ he realizes that the current feeds cycling through the monitor are only one option of many.

His eyes find ‘quarters’ far more quickly than he would care to admit. For an honest moment he sits there, cursor highlighting the option. He chews hard at his lower lip.

It wouldn’t be right. It would be a violation of privacy. But it’s Friday night. Steve’s willing to bet that hardly anyone is even home at the moment. What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?

Oops, he thinks to himself as he clicks, curiosity getting the best of him. My hand slipped.

The feed that pops up before him is, as he expected, mostly empty. Some of the bedrooms are unused, showing bare rooms with bare mattresses and naked walls.  Even the ones that are designated to his teammates are mostly unoccupied right now, some beds neatly made, some haphazardly rumpled.

There’s a flicker of motion out the corner of his eye that draws Steve’s attention. His heart clenches. Hard.

It’s your room. And you’re there, but you’re not alone.

The relationship that you have with Bucky is no secret. You connected with one another right away, finding peace in one another and happiness. You’ve turned Bucky into a shred of the man he used to be- smiling, grabbing for you in the kitchen, holding you close when you gather in the common room to watch movies or binge Seinfeld.

Steve’s supposed to be happy for you. Both of you. The two most important people in the world to him have found happiness with one another.

But he can’t help the rush of greed that consumes him every time you’re in front of him. Every time you put that love so proudly on display.

He wants you both for himself.

He clicks on the feed and it quickly expands to fill the entire monitor. This way, it’s easier for him to see the way Bucky looks, laid out on top of your stretched body. His knees are between your thighs, and though his hair hides your faces in a sweep of chestnut, his body doesn’t hide the way his hands are currently working themselves under the edge of your tank top, crawling up your ribcage as he kisses you like a man starved.

Based on the angle of the feed, Steve can surmise that the camera is probably situated in the control panel by your door. He should have guessed. Tony’s a sneaky bastard at the best of times. And the concept of boundaries has always been a foreign one to anybody named ‘Stark.’

Bucky rucks your shirt up over your bare chest. Steve swallows hard. He glances over his shoulder to make sure the door to his study is closed, then turns his attention back to the screen. Bucky’s palming one of your breasts, but he’s already kissed his way down to your chest and sucks attentively at the other one.

He’s worshipping your body. God, he’s so in love with you. Steve’s not sure which one of you he wishes he could be. Both. Neither. He wants to be in the middle.

His cock is already beginning to twitch to life inside his stiff chinos, and he shifts a little to palm the growing swell of it down one thigh. His mind is working a mile a minute- wrestling between how badly he knows he shouldn’t be doing this and how badly he wants to anyway.

Bucky tugs your sweatpants down over your hips in one swift motion and Steve reaches for his fly. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

It’s not like you’re going to look over and see him there, peering at you from the other side of the camera.

He’s just thankful that there’s no sound, or he would have definitely lost it by now. He can see the way your lips are moving, though, and imagines what you might be saying to each other. Are you tender? Dirty? He wants to know it all.

Bucky’s got your pants off now, and he’s shimmying out of his shirt, too. Steve tries hard not to admire the graceful dip and swell of his best friend’s muscles. He’s loved Bucky since he was a chubby-cheeked kid, and he wished that neither of them had ever been touched by any of this. But Bucky’s beautiful now, gorgeous in a way that Steve will never be. He handles his new mass with elegance.

The dull silver glint of a dog tag dangles from Bucky’s throat as he crawls up your body again, shucking down his pants. Steve’s already digging through the fabric in his lap, pushing the folds of his pants aside and pulling out his cock. He can’t stop. It’s like his limbs are moving all their own.

You’re both naked now. To Steve, it’s like a trip to the Louvre. Priceless artwork laid out for him alone. Both your bodies are so perfect. He never knew that he could want two things, two people so badly, but to choose between you would be to choose between breath and heartbeat.

He grips the base of his cock and groans as he watches Bucky line up. He’s so careful with you, worshipping your body at every turn. He slips his metal hand beneath your thigh, intertwining his flesh fingers with yours. He leans down to kiss you, so slow and soft it makes Steve’s chest ache to watch.

He’s seen the two of you kiss before. But this is an intimate moment, meant to be shared by just the two of you. For an instant it hits Steve how intrusive this is, to be looking in on a ritual as tender and sacred as this one.

Bucky’s hips ease forward, clean lines of muscle sinking into the sides of his thighs. Steve’s hand gives an involuntary jerk. He needs this- no- deserves this- and what you never find out won’t hurt you.

For all the softness that Bucky’s shown you in the lead-up he settles into a brutal rhythm, pounding rhythmically into your body as your legs twine around his hips to pull him in. It’s even more beautiful to watch from afar, and Steve quickly matches the rhythm of your lovemaking with his fist, pumping his hips into a closed hand and slicking the fluid that leaks from his tip up and down the length of his shaft.

“Fuck,” he gasps, despite himself. “fuuuck.”

Bucky lasts longer than he does.

Steve can’t help himself. Bound by nothing but his own pleasure, he cums fast. His thighs hit the underside of his desk as he swears and jerks and tugs on his cock, bucking his hips into nothing and spurting quick bursts over his fingers and palm. The pleasure that rushes his system is little compared to what he’d feel if he were with you, but… it’s all he can bear to take for himself.

He stays to watch the two of you finish, transfixed by the way Bucky’s hand slips between your legs and your mouth pops open in a silent cry. Even without hearing you he can tell when you’ve hit your peak- your whole body shivers and he fucks you through it, calm and steady as the tide.

He doesn’t last much longer after that, though, and Steve watches in awe. Bucky draws up so tight before he cums it looks like he’s going to snap, all the tendons and muscles in his body stretched to the breaking point. And when it hits him, he collapses forward, thrusting madly into you before his knees go shaky and he just buries himself to the hilt and stops. He trembles against you. Trails kisses down your whole body. And when he pulls out, his softening cock is followed by a handful of fluid- so much- and Steve comes back to himself so quickly he closes the entire security program and unplugs the desktop.

The weight of what he’s just done settles over his shoulders. But, fuck, he loved it. The image of you and Bucky and your bodies moving as one is printed permanently into his mind.

As he cleans himself up and gets dressed again, he wishes there was a way for him to make you both see. If he could just show you how much he adores you, both of you, maybe you’d let him in. If you knew that he didn’t want to come between you, maybe things would be different.

For tonight, though, all he’ll have is stolen memories. And for now, it has to be enough.

#stucky x reader #stucky x you #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #MCU #captain america x reader #kinktober #jbbkinktober2020 #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #bucky

[oftatteredwings]

Name: Jonah Matthews Nicknames: Jo, Jones Age: Thirty-four Date of Birth: 3rd May 1987 Birthplace: Manhattan, New York Length of time in Seattle: 3 years Occupation: Emergency Room Doctor @ Seattle Grace Hospital Romantic/sexual orientation: Biromantic/bisexual Positive traits: Determined, clever, compassionate Negative traits: Obsessive, flighty, volatile Faceclaim: Kit Harington

BIO | VISAGE | MUSINGS

ABOUT.

tw: car crash, child death, death, depression, alcoholism

Jonah was born in Manhattan’s Upper East Side and pretty much lived an idyllic life as a youngster —- if you didn’t think about the fact he and his sisters were raised by nanny’s alone anyway, their parents only around on weekends if there was somewhere they needed to be seen. 

He was known for temper tantrums as a child and that seemed to follow him into his teens, although it was more of a violent mood swing by then. Emotions always seemed to come out in an explosion for him.

A bright child, he skipped a grace in middle school, something that certainly brought on one of those tantrums. It didn’t work in his favour on this particular occasion.

At seventeen he received early acceptance to Harvard to study medicine and wasted absolutely no time in accepting the offer.

The move took him from his family, but he was quickly distracted, throwing himself into a new life. Hiking became a prominent part of it and that’s eventually where he would meet the would be mother of his child.

Luke was born two years after they met. A bundle of pure joy and happiness. Jonah was completely besotted and also completely in love with his work. He decided then to put everything into it, choosing to continue his education and specialise in surgery, wanting to go as far as he possibly could.

They created a life for themselves, moving to Chestnut Hill where he worked on renovating their house in his spare time (what little of it he had).

When Luke turned five, however, there was an accident. Mother and son involved in a car cash that would become fatal. Their son passed away in the back of the ambulance.

Within twelve hours Jonah had been back at the hospital demanding a change of department. He threw himself into work, ignored everyone's warnings and switched himself off from everything. Working as a paramedic was supposed to make him feel better, stop him from blaming himself for what had happened.

It didn’t turn out that way. In fact, two years later it led to a complete break down. For the first time since the accident he began to cry... and he couldn’t stop. The following morning he left his girlfriend (actually told her they had nothing in common anymore other than a grave), left his job, and then jumped in the car.

Two days later he arrived in Seattle (somewhere his sister had relocated to) and that’s where he’s been ever since. He picked up a job at the local hospital, at first not wanting to take on too much responsibility, but gradually moving his way back up. He is now working as a doctor in the ER.

His mental health is still a struggle, especially so when the anniversary of Luke’s death rolls around each year.

HEADCANONS.

Despite the breakdown of his relationship with Luke’s mother, Jonah still has a passion for hiking and is often found making his way around the trails around Seattle in the early hours of the morning, basking in the golden glow of sunrise.

Most would think because he grew up wanting for nothing, that Jonah would spend his money like it was going out of fashion, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Since his move to Massachusetts at 18 he started putting money away, always saving for a rainy day, refusing to spend a lot unless it was absolutely necessary.

He is a major bookworm, he has an entire room in his apartment filled with books, wall to wall, like his own personal library. If he’s not out at work or hiking, he will usually be found there, glasses resting at the end of his nose, engrossed.

Jonah is very much a closet alcoholic, something he is attending meetings for in secret. It’s one thing he’s never wanted people to know about.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

- ex girlfriend/mother of luke; there’s a lot to work through for them but i’d love to see her around. - two sisters; one younger, one older. the youngest has lived in seattle a while. - close friends from nyc; anyone from his childhood. - close friends from boston; anyone who knows of his past. - close friends in seattle; anyone he’s grown close to since moving. - exes; either from boston before luke’s mom came on the scene or attempts at moving on now he’s in seattle. - fwb; he’d definitely find this easier to navigate right now. - fellow hikers; anyone he’s met or joins him on the trails on a regular basis. - other aa attendees. - work connections.

#☆ jonah ( about ) #seattleintro

[dontshootmespence]

Through It All

Part 22

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 1,457

Warnings: Breath play with a belt, p in v, doggy style.

A/N: My next entry for @cm-kinkbingo​ run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt. This fills my breath play square.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you and Spencer talk a lot about how you want to expand your family. The more you think about, the more sure you are in your decision, but bringing it up to Spencer as a finality is a little nerve-wracking. Again, you have no idea why. You know exactly how Spencer will react.

Charlotte is just a week shy of her first birthday. It’s astounding that she’s already growing into this whole little person. As Spencer cuts up some scrambled egg and banana (her favorites), you decide to bring it up. “So you wanted to know how I felt about another pregnancy versus adoption and told me to take my time, right?”

“Yea,” he replies, almost buoyantly. Your relationship with him, your family -  it’s his pride and joy. If it weren’t for the fact that you were tired as all hell right after Charlotte was born, he would’ve had your desired three children all at once. Honestly, you would have too. “Have you decided?”

Nodding, you wait until he turns around, lovingly placing some food down on Charlie’s high-chair. “As much as I loved being pregnant, I think for my self-image and the fact that I’ve always wanted to adopt, I want to go with adoption. That okay?” You ask, nibbling on your lip. You know it is. You know Spencer. But something deep in the back of your head always worries. You’re a work in progress.

Spencer dips down to kiss you, whispering softly in response. “More than okay. Now we have to look into adoption agencies.” His easy, excited smile makes you feel a million times better in an instant. “What about closed or open adoption?”

“As long as the parent or parents want to be involved, I’m okay with that to an extent. Like I wouldn’t want them visiting once a week because that would be confusing to the baby as they grow, I feel, but like texting them updates and meeting up with them every so often I would be fine with. You?”

Thankfully, he feels the same way.

While Charlotte eats, the two of you talk more about what adoption means for your family. Especially when it comes to being chosen. Sometimes it’s months, sometimes it’s a lot more than that. On top of that, open adoptions come with more complications. Since the birth mother chooses the adoptive family, there’s the possibility that she will change her mind at the last second, so it’s a reality you have to come to terms with, no matter how difficult.

With orange juice for toasting, you clink your glasses. “To baby number two.”

---

The tenseness that settled into your shoulders during all this finally dissipates once a decision is reached. And it feels amazing. Even though it took almost the entire year to feel comfortable in your skin again, in your relationship with Spencer, as both his wife and his sub, you’re feeling confident in all aspects of your life. You’re not a perfect mother, but no one is. You’re not a perfect wife, but what is perfect and perfect is bullshit. And as a sub, you are as fulfilled as you’ve ever been.

“What’s so funny?” Spencer asks.

After putting Charlotte down to sleep for the night, you climb into bed and snuggle into Spencer. Whenever he reads to you, there’s nothing to worry about. Everything going through your brain comes to a full stop. “Nothing, I’m just happy. Finding our routine with Charlotte around has been difficult and it’s taken me about a year to stop looking in the mirror and putting so much stock in what I see, and I just...feel good.”

Slipping a bookmark in between the pages (more for you than him because he can always remember exactly where you left off down to the word), he places it back on the bedside table. “Want me to make you feel really good?” He asks rhetorically, knowing your answer. “Because I’ve got an idea.”

You lie back and pull the t-shirt you’re wearing over your head. Your attention is focused completely on him as he reaches down to the side of the bed to grab his belt. At first you think you’re in for a spanking and your pussy starts to quiver, but then he wraps it gently around your throat and you just give yourself over to him.

Playing around with the belt has happened before, but Spencer practiced on himself first, wrapping the belt around his own throat so he could make sure he wouldn’t be hurting you or impeding your ability to breathe more than you wanted him to. As the leather slipped gently around your neck, you gave yourself over to him and shut down all mental faculties. “On your hands and knees.”

Doing as he instructs, you rest your head against the soft blanket and whimper when he tugs on the free end of the belt. You push back into him, searching for him, but his hand remains still and the belt keeps you in place. “Does my little slut like putting her life in my hands?”

“Yes, Sir.” There’s something about knowing implicitly that Spencer could end your life right here and now but wanting to do the exact opposite that allows you that release, the ability to literally give over all semblance of control. “I trust you.”

He bends down and kisses the small of your back, every word he could possibly say rolled up into that one gesture. When he yanks on the belt again, gently bringing you into an all-fours position, your mouth drops open and you arch your back, shaking your ass a little for him. Spencer smacks your ass and grunts in appreciation, pulling you back against his still clothed length. “How badly do you want my cock?”

“So badly, Sir,” you whine, bucking back into him. “Please use me. I want you to. I need you to.”

Eyeing you hungrily, he bites the corner of his lip and lets the belt fall to the bed. “Show me while I undress and then I’ll give you what you need.”

While he hooks his thumbs into his sweats and pulls them down, you move your ass up and down on his length, feeling the hardening length of him press against your skin. Every move makes you more and more wet. Without thinking, Spencer bucks his own hips forward; he’s close and yet so far. Quickly, he moves backward off the bed. He can’t get his pants off fast enough.

Climbing back onto the mattress, you feel the dip and let out a slow, guttural moan when he pushes inside you with one swift movement. “Fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck me, Spence.”

When his grip tightens on the belt, you’re slack-jawed, tuning everything around you out. You don’t want to think anything. You don’t want to see anything. You don’t want to hear anything. All you want to do is feel. His cock sliding in and out of you. Your arousal slipping down your leg. The tension on the belt around your throat cutting off just the right amount of air.

Every feeling starts to sharpen. You feel fuller and the belt tightens more. Air is minimal but none of that matters because you feel like you could float among the fucking stars. As you fall over the edge, Spencer tightens the belt again, helping pull you into the hypnotizing trance for just a little while longer.

When Spencer pulls out and comes onto your ass, you’re still quivering, hot and cold switching places in rolling succession. “God, I love belts,” you giggle softly as he pulls it off and tosses it back on the floor. He gathers you into his arms and clumsily crosses the mattress on his knees to set you back down on the pillows. He comes to lie behind you with every inch of him against your back. Both of you can’t help but yawn. In his arms, comfort lulls you to sleep.

---

The next day after you both got back from work and began preparing dinner, you flip open your laptop and start searching out adoption agencies in DC and Maryland and Virginia. You and Spencer take turns cooking and seeking out agencies, discussing each one and trying to figure out which one is the best fit for you. “What about this one?” Spencer asks, slipping a piece of banana into Charlotte’s mouth. “Cradle of Hope.”

You shut the stove off and sit in Spencer’s lap, glancing at the website and reading their about page. “Wanna call tomorrow?” You ask, smiling at Charlotte mashing a banana on her high-chair.

“Yes, please. I think Charlie needs a brother or sister.”

@heycasbutt @ultrarebelheart @katherineisagubler @proud-slytherin-ghost @randomwriter23 @fandom-queen67 @sixx-sic-sixx @xqueenofthecraziesx @aofay02 @groovyreid @criesinreid @jdougl-love @xreider @cringeemospntrashassbutt @prettyboyeffect @prettyboyreid @themanip @spencerreidsthings @augustgraceful @whollytaciturn @prisonreid @factualfic @jasmine-negron @snitchthewitch @ellabobella051419 @crazyforsstuff @kaatelyyynn​ @jane-dough @dreatine @bitter-post-millennial @adlerorzel-blog @hallieedrew @psychedelephantt @krisymccall996 @4ueijos @mclaujac @ray-likes-starwars @nurseemilyblog @slightlyvicked @she4567 @guesswhosback129 @princessdolan @happycreatorfangirl @fallwhisper @nyemadowell @sammy-jo1977 @sin-bin-and-tragedies @imsuperawkward @ahhahahaheehee @crispygiantsaladgarden @reputay-swift @pizzarollsfordayz @andiebeaword @timey-wimey-lovi @garbagecanfics @friedparadisetale @dereksbetaa @idontevenknow2 @holyfishloverfarm @nohemi2500 @typeshitbih @sadgirlhan @kmc217 @bigbuttsowhatuniverse @charmedfandomgal @im--blushing @dangerouspersonllamabagel @fichoe21 @yes-sir-hotchner @thefandomallrounder @mrsenos08 @walkerchick007 @letsdisneythings @winchesterqueenie @specialagentleigh @spn-wheresthepie @haileymew @bitchyoulied @geniusgub @urdicksmol @6lack6erry @slutlanna976 @downondilaudid​ @baileysb1tch @la-vie-en-amour1​ @letsdoit-tomorrow @eideticprettyboydrreid​ @lazynoodledragon​ @shybaby231 @aimzonicles97​ @grace-superpowers​ @softestlavender​ @ssa-dr-ladylock​ @drprettyboy​ @patricks-fabulous-face​ @tearosaria​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @marvels-gurl​ 

#through it all #the most natural thing in the world #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dontshootmespence

[quickspinner]

On commenting and feedback

Hey friends...so something’s been bothering me a little and I want to talk about it for a sec. I want to be clear I’m not making this post to call out anyone in particular, this is an entire trend I’m seeing and I just...kind of want us all to take a breath for a second.

Every so often I feel like there’s a wave of posts that goes around about how important commenting and reblogging is to support writers. And that’s absolutely true. A fandom that doesn’t interact with its content creators dies a pretty pathetic death, it’s absolutely true.

But the tone of a lot of these posts have started to bother me, especially as I see newer writers pick them up, and I just want to put some things in perspective here, and leave some thoughts for both the writers, and the readers.

Readers, your comments are absolutely valued and extremely motivating for creators to receive. At the same time, there’s no contract that says writers are entitled to a certain level of feedback. It is not on you as a sole individual to reach an invisible standard of interaction that will cause them to create more. And if you’re sweating and freaking out and guilting yourself over commenting--then don’t. Find the level of interaction you’re comfortable with that, and accept it, and don’t feel guilty about it. If writing a comment for me causes you agony and robs whatever joy you took out of my story, then I don’t want it. I truly don’t. Just leave the kudos if you can. There’s lots of helpful advice out there on how to comment if you want to but aren’t sure what to say, and when in doubt, read the other comments and feel free to add “what they said!” or use them as a model for your own comment. But absolve yourself of the guilt. Do your best.

Writers. My friends. My colleagues. There’s nothing wrong with wanting validation and feedback. Yes, it is absolutely disheartening when you put a lot of effort into your work and you don’t receive the level of reaction you are hoping for. You put yourself on the line and you did something scary and you should be very, very proud of that. At the same time, no one chained you to the desk. No one forced you to pour out your soul. No one guaranteed you a certain number of comments of a guaranteed minimum length. Sometimes you throw out a line out there and nobody picks it up, and you feel sad and alone, but that’s not the fault of whoever was on the other side. You chose to put yourself out there, I hope because there was just something inside you that had to come out. And the best you can do is make that choice with your eyes open. Just like there are plenty of good published books in the world that never made the bestseller list for reasons completely unrelated to the effort put into them or the quality of their content, sometimes you publish something at the wrong time, or to the wrong audience, or in the wrong place, and it just doesn’t hit the way you want it to. 

And I especially want the young writers and the new writers to hear this: you know what? This problem has always been there, and it’s never going to go away. I’ve been publishing fic off and on since I was 18 and the major form of feedback was leaving messages on a website’s guestbook. It’s always been a problem. As writers we’re hungry for feedback. We want to know someone is on the other end. The supply is never going to equal our demand. Regardless of whether or not that is fair or the way things should be, that’s the way things are. You’ve got to find a way to be at peace with that, or you’re going to be frustrated and discouraged forever. It will get better as you grow in your craft and grow your audience - and as it does, it will take more and more to satisfy you. So just, take a minute before you lash out because you feel your effort isn’t as reciprocated as you feel it should be. I’m all for spreading awareness of how much writers crave feedback and what a boost it is for us to receive it, but we don’t have to throw a temper tantrum to do that.

I encourage you to think about your piece a little bit before you publish it and calibrate your expectations. Every piece has it audience and some of them are going to be smaller than others. Sometimes that is not “fair;” by which I mean, an audience’s response is not necessarily proportional to the amount of time, effort, and emotion put into a work. As of the time I wrote this, my silly little piece that I wrote for fun in an afternoon has literally three times the number of notes as the fic I have put the most heart and work into, despite the one being extremely short and the other being multiple chapters. I’m not particularly bothered by that, it was entirely predictable (although sometimes it’s not; sometimes audience is very, very unpredictable). Things that are funny or sexy are almost always going to get more attention than things that are deep and angsty, things that are short are frequently going to get a bigger audience than things that are long. Just consider your expectations. 

It also takes time to build an audience. I recently reblogged a post of mine from early last year when I was newly returned to tumblr that had 9 total notes and it quickly shot up into the 70s. Same fic, not a word different, it’s just that over the last year I’ve built a bigger audience. So consider that, as well. As you’re trying to build that audience, do you really want your brand to be ‘that author who’s always complaining about people commenting’? There are some things in life where you have to get angry to effect change. I don’t feel that fic feedback is one of them.

“But how am I going to improve?” My friends. Expecting to improve your writing from internet comments on your work is like fishing with a deep sea trawler. You might get some good stuff but you’re going to dredge up a lot of trash in the meantime, and it’s probably not worth your effort and the toll on your confidence to wade through it. Find yourself a group of people, either in real life or online, who you trust to give meaningful feedback. Sometimes that’s super easy, and sometimes it’s not. But it’s completely worth it to find people who both challenge and encourage you, and it’s a lot less discouraging than inviting internet trolls to beat you over the head. Be specific, too, in asking for the type of feedback you want. I myself am extremely sensitive to criticism, so I choose to ask for it only in very limited ways, from very specific people. To continue the previous metaphor, use a fishing pole in the right type of water with appropriate bait, to make sure you’re getting the kind of feedback you want. 

But you want to know a secret?

It’s okay to not care about improving. It’s okay to just enjoy what you’re doing. So if you want to improve, by all means try. But if you just think you should want to improve, when in reality you just want to write a fun story, that’s totally okay too. Sometimes you have to give yourself permission to not necessarily be the best that you can be. Let yourself write the fun silly crack once in a while; not everything has to be a V. Serious Undertaking. 

I’ve rambled on long enough, so let me just conclude with this: It’s okay to want validation. It’s okay to encourage people to comment, to tell them how much their comments and reblogs mean to you, to ask them to leave you feedback whenever they can, and give helpful tips about ‘how to comment if you’re not sure to comment.’ It’s not about the request, it’s about the tone. It’s not okay to browbeat people, accuse them of killing fandom, to tell them that they’re the reason that you aren’t writing more/anymore, because that’s patently untrue. You are responsible for your own creative process, and if it can’t thrive without constant reassurance, then that’s not an audience problem, my friend. That’s a disease that’s terminal for your writing. 

And finally, remember to support your fellow writers and creators. Nobody gets it the way fellow creators get it, and if we can’t depend on each other for support, we’re certainly not going to get it outside our own community. If you do feel compelled to reblog one of those rants on commenting, I hope you paused before you did it to go leave comments yourself. Creating content doesn’t give you a magical exemption from supporting others. None of us can hold up the fandoms and float our ships all by ourselves. Do as much as you can to support your fellow creators, and if you can’t, then that’s okay. Just extend the same grace and courtesy to your own readers, okay? 

#quickrambles #unpopular opinion maybe #on writing #on feedback #readers thank you for your support

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (6/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5]

Pretending things hadn't changed might've been the dumbest thing Clarke had ever agreed to do. When Lexa dropped in the following days, sometimes in the morning and other times in the afternoon, Clarke knew there was no going back to whatever their normal had been.

This was the woman she'd shared a vision with - that didn't go away after one rushed conversation. But Lexa seemed to choose the busiest moments and Clarke couldn't exactly leave Gaia and Harper to manage the orders so she could pick Lexa Woods' brain.

It was the doodles she thought about the most. Lexa had mentioned seeing some framed, but Clarke didn't have anything like that at her place. She had sketches and portraits from college lying around in closets and pressed between the pages of the books on her coffee table, but that was it. The only piece she'd framed had been a charcoal landscape her dad had liked and specifically requested for his birthday. Clarke didn't frame any of her art, let alone doodles. Those were for her own piece of mind; a way to entertain herself when all the coffee machines were cleaned, all their customers were happy, and the phone was quiet.

So what could she have possibly scribbled that would be worth framing? And how far in the future could it be?

Clarke was pondering the very question while she went through stock in the back of the café. It was a small, cramped room with her desk in a corner, but it was tidy and, most importantly, it was quiet. Until people bust in announced, that was.

"Hey!"

Clarke clutched her heart. "Raven, oh my God! Why do you hate knocking so much?"

Raven laughed. "Because then I miss that look on your face."

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"It's 6:30pm and you didn't answer my text about the party."

"It is?" Clarke glanced at her watch. "Fuck." She focused back on Raven and vaguely remembered the email she'd gotten earlier this week. Octavia and Lincoln were having a housewarming party tonight and had invited her. Clarke knew she'd clicked on it but the café had gotten a call at the same time and she'd forgotten about it after. She didn't know Octavia or Lincoln beyond meeting them once, so she was fairly certain they'd invited her on Raven's request.

"I forgot. I'm not going," she decided.

"It was rhetorical, grandma!" Raven exclaimed. "Wells and I are stopping by his parents for a bite and then we're picking you up. It starts at nine."

Clarke shook her head. "I barely know these people."

Raven paused. "You know what? I'm not doing this again. You don't want to go, that's fine."

"Raven."

"No, I'm serious. I'm not responsible for your social life anymore. I quit."

Clarke crossed her arms. "For someone who works in a theater you're a really shitty actress."

Raven narrowed her eyes at her. Clarke held her gaze before huffing and throwing her hands up. "Fine. I'll go."

Raven smirked. "Pick you up at 8:45. Oh and I'm pretty sure Lexa will be there. Bye!"

"What? Raven!"

Clarke was in a grumpy mood that entire evening, pulling clothes out of her closet and putting them back in for a good thirty minutes before she settled on what to wear. She didn't get like this. She knew what worked on her body and what made her look like a potato sack barely stitched together. This wasn't a date or even an intimate get-together. It was going to be an apartment packed with new faces and most likely very little room to walk around, let alone take in what people were wearing beyond blotches of fabric and color. With that in mind, she stuck to a navy blue dress and a sweater, having spotted some angry clouds on her way home. She grabbed her coat when Raven called to tell her they were waiting in their car, and was out the door after taking a deep breath.

There was absolutely no reason to be nervous.

* * *

Octavia and Lincoln's apartment in the Green Strip was on the highest floor of their building, a spacious three bedroom with earthy tones and wooden furniture. There was something immediately welcoming about it when Clarke stepped inside behind Wells and Raven, smiling at Octavia when they were all greeted with a hug.

"You made it," Octavia beamed, soon ushering them into another room where they could put their coats.  

They were directed to the living room, a wide open floor plan with the kitchen on one side. Tall windows opened to a balcony, still empty from what Clarke could see. The room was already buzzing with at least twenty people, some that Clarke recognized from the night at Barton, others not at all. She could see why Octavia and Lincoln would want to show off the place - it was perfect for entertaining.

"See Wells, this is a couple's place, not your den beneath the ground," Raven elbowed him playfully.

"You like my den. You moved into my den," Wells reminded her.

"Only because you're freakishly clean and it always smells like apple pie."

Octavia laughed. "Trust me, you have it good. It took Linc' and I forever to settle on a place together."

"Is it pure coincidence you're this far from the Polis Hotel?" Raven asked jokingly.

Lincoln rubbed the back of his head with a smile. "I appreciate my heritage, but some distance from it never hurts. Besides, this is close to Octavia's work and I can write anywhere."

Octavia gave his arm a gentle squeeze, their eyes locking while Raven fussed with the collar of Wells' shirt. Clarke was used to it by now - feeling like the third or fifth wheel, that was - but it didn't prevent her heart from sinking a little bit. The front door buzzer seemed like her saving grace from the display of domestic bliss. 

"Please, feel free to grab a beer, wine, chips - we've got it all!" Octavia told them before darting away.

Raven grabbed Clarke's arm. "Let's leave the men to find common ground," she said, giving Wells a subtle wink before ushering Clarke toward the drinks set up in the kitchen.

"What was that about?" Clarke asked.

"Wells thinks Lincoln is going to be the next playwright superstar. He's crushing hard."

"He hasn't even seen his play yet."

Raven poured herself a glass of red. "Octavia sent us a copy of the script after I told her about his birthday gift. Wells practically peed himself when he opened the email."

"Cute."

"You know him, he only read the first ten pages to preserve the theatergoing experience."

They shared a knowing look and laughed. "Nerd," they both said affectionately.

Raven glanced over Clarke’s shoulder and then smiled widely. "Speaking of nerds, yours seems to be having a ball."

Clarke turned around in confusion. When two people moved, she caught a glimpse of Lexa in a plaid shirt sitting on a couch alone, head down while she typed something on her phone.

"Definitely not mine," Clarke muttered while grabbing a beer on the table.

"What do you think is her deal?" Raven asked. 

"I don't know. It's none of my business."

Lexa had shown at the Polis Hotel she could be the center of attention if she wanted, so Clarke had given up on guessing. 

Raven arched a brow. "You want it to be, don't you?"

"I'm not going to pine over someone who isn't sure if they want me or not."

Raven took her shoulders and turned her around to face the room. "Good thing there's other eligible people here. And we're talking crew; that's carpenters and painters and electricians - plenty of talented, rough hands to make your dreams come true."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "I should've never told you."

"You started a business from the ground up. I know you have it in you to charm the pants and skirts off of everyone here."

"Raven. I don't want..."

"What? What do you want, Clarke?"

Unsure how to even start answering, Clarke took a sip of her beer and shook her head. "Forget it. Let's just have a good time."

Raven squeezed her shoulder. "Let me make sure my boyfriend hasn't started sweating his ass off."

"You really make him sound so lovely."

Raven laughed. "Yep, and he's all mine!"

* * *

No one started a business without some talent in schmoozing. Raven was right about that. But it was one thing to be driven by passion and another to be driven by... well, Clarke wasn't entirely sure. She knew her dry spell wasn't sustainable, as evidenced by how tense she felt most of the time, but the end of her casual relationship with Niylah hadn't been for no reason either. Casual wasn't what she wanted anymore.

So tonight she'd learned some names and talked about her café, laughed at jokes and listened to stories, a lot of them about the visions, still the go-to topic that could last for hours. But inevitably Clarke knew she'd be asked about hers, which was why she discreetly excused herself from a group before it could come to that.

She was sipping on her second beer when the person whose gaze she'd carefully avoided all night approached her.  

"Hello."

Clarke turned from her spot by the wall, her grip on her beer tightening. "This is a surprise. I thought you were hiding in some other room."

Lexa shrugged. "Stay too long in one spot and someone is bound to notice you. Theater people can be… enthusiastic after one too many drinks."

"Something tells me it's not just theater people you keep at arm's length."

Clarke saw something flash on Lexa's face, almost like hurt. It was true though - Clarke had never seen Lexa with a friend. She'd always come to the shop alone; sat alone; worked alone. She'd never been around with a colleague either on her lunch breaks, which told Clarke she possibly kept her life carefully split. Clearly she hung out with her cousin and his entourage, but didn't she have a Wells or Raven in her own life? 

"Well, I'm here now. I was hoping we could get to know each other," Lexa said.

Clarke looked away with a curt laugh. "You don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Feel obliged to talk to me because you go to my coffee shop. We don't need to make weird small talk because we're at the same party."

"That's a bit harsh."

Clarke's head snapped toward her. "Harsh?"

"'Weird small-talk' - is that what we do?" Lexa asked.

"I think you made it pretty clear there is no we."

"Lex!" Octavia called out, prompting her to turn around.

Octavia walked toward her with one of the houseguests, an older man with salt and pepper hair.

"This is Semet. We were just talking about his vision- I think you want to hear him out."

He smiled at her. "Octavia told me you were compiling stories?"

Clarke felt she was the odd one out and slipped away.

"Oh uh, yes, I am," Lexa told him, briefly looking over her shoulder before she extended her hand. "I'm Lexa."

Clarke didn't hear the rest, but as she saw the various groups of people talking, she felt out of place. Even Wells and Raven were deep in conversation with another couple, his hand casually resting on her waist.  

The party was nice, and Lincoln and Octavia couldn't have been more welcoming. They clearly kept good company and, in any other situation, Clarke might've been more comfortable easing her way into another conversation. As it was, she realized just how unsociable she'd been in the past year and habits died hard.

Feeling unsettled, she sneaked out the open front door for a breather. Raven's words after Barton came back to her - the deliberate choices she'd made to stay home instead of going out. She'd kept her distances and now it was no surprise she felt so rusty. Nothing had really changed aside from the café's opening. The change in lifestyle had been a shock, but Wells had worked just as hard as her - if not more, especially on their bakes - and had still managed to find a balance in his life. She'd never really asked him about it, assuming it was simply in his DNA to be absolutely brilliant at everything.

But Clarke wasn't horrible at managing her time either. It wouldn't be that difficult to have a life outside of her business, she could admit that much. She just hadn't put in the work and now it showed. 

Dipping her toe back in the dating pool felt daunting. She'd never tried dating apps and couldn't imagine putting her energy into that. Harper was on three different ones and from the chats she'd overheard with Gaia, it always seemed like an endless struggle of deciding what was appropriate and what wasn't. 

Clutching her beer close, Clarke spotted a stairwell at her right and decided to try her luck. She made her way up and stepped out to the rooftop. There was an area with planter boxes and some chairs, which Clarke figured had to be communal. It was a pretty relaxing setup and she was sure summer saw a lot of tenants up here, but the promise of rain and the chilly wind tonight left it empty.

Unperturbed, Clarke walked to the area and stood by the tall parapet, resting her forearms on it. She took deep, calming breaths as she looked over the residential streets of Costial, the city she'd called home for ten years now. She could barely make out the mountain chain in the distance, but she knew it was there, majestic as ever surrounded by the sprawling forest. She briefly thought about the Mountain Men and how they'd survived for a century beneath the ground. What it must've felt like to see the same people every day, to never meet a stranger, or to never feel the sun on their faces.

"So maybe you don't like small-talk with anyone."

Clarke didn't need to turn around to know that voice by now. "I just needed some air for a few minutes."

Lexa leaned against the parapet next to her, though with a good three feet between them.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I was thinking about the Mountain Men actually. How abandoned they must've felt."

Lexa looked toward the horizon, where the mountains hid in the night. "They were forgotten, but I don't think they dwelled on it. You'd be surprised how many good stories I had to leave out to fit my report. Memories about times where their parents and their grandparents laughed, kissed each other, and danced together. People are resilient no matter the cards they're dealt. They made lives for themselves - different from ours, but who's to say they were any less fulfilling?"

Clarke turned to her, not knowing what to say for a moment. It didn’t escape her that Lexa seemed to genuinely want to engage with her. 

"It must've been fascinating to listen to them."

"It was. Opening the channels of communication took time, but I went into journalism for these stories."

"Have they had visions?" Clarke asked, curious.

Lexa shook her head before taking a sip of her own beer. "I didn't ask. It wasn't appropriate at the time and looking back I know it would've made them uncomfortable. They're very… spiritual. Connected to the world in a way we could never be. I'm sure their insight would be fascinating, but some lines shouldn't be crossed."

Clarke lifted her bottle. "I'll drink to that."

Lexa smiled back, drinking another sip of her own.

"So did Semet say anything that throws a wrench in your theories?" Clarke wondered.

Lexa chuckled and looked over at the city again. "He gave me his number to talk further, but he did mention he wasn't in it. Only saw his brother."

Clarke's eyebrows rose. "His brother?"

"Hm-mm. That got my attention too. I don't think I've ever heard about someone not being in their own vision."

"Seems like we still have new things to learn."

Lexa considered her next words carefully. "Writing about people's visions has been… the most gratifying experience of my career. It's pushed me to think differently and it's changed the way I work."

Clarke could tell it wasn't easy for Lexa to talk about it. Not her work, but the way it made her feel. Maybe it was just a morsel, but she was opening up and it was more than Clarke had ever heard from her.

"I haven’t drawn any conclusions and I probably don't know any more than a blogger or someone's Twitter thread," Lexa continued with a small shrug. "But there's still a part of me that questions the degree of influence. I've heard too many stories about people being changed to their core to not be slightly wary."

Clarke frowned: "You don't think they're a positive thing?"

"I told you about the woman who left her husband because of a vision. Do you think he'd see her vision as a positive? I wouldn't say they're either/or, but the repercussions aren't negligible."

"Leaving him was her interpretation of it, though. We can't know for sure that's what the vision meant."

Lexa nodded. "You're right. It'll always be up to the person who has it."

Clarke cleared her throat. "You and I - we had the same one. I had the during, you had the after. Has that ever happened?"

Lexa tilted her head to the side. "Not that I've heard of, but it might not have been…" she trailed off, tongue-tied.

"What? The same time?"

"Hm."

Clarke laughed before taking another sip of her beer. "Alright then."

Lexa looked away with a growing smile. "You're the one who brought up interpretation."

"Uh-huh. If that's what you want to tell yourself."

It was flirting plain and simple and Clarke was very aware they both knew it. She'd missed it - that flutter in the pit of her stomach when flirting with someone. The first steps around each other; testing the waters; knowing the attraction had to be mutual by now. This was a game she could play. 

"Twice," Clarke hummed. "That's very presumptuous of you."

"I'm just taking the facts at face value. There's no clear indication of a timeline and-"

"Do you know I'm not even sure it was you?" Clarke interrupted.

Lexa narrowed her eyes. "You said it was."

"I guessed. Messy brown hair, slim but fit - could be anyone."

Lexa pushed off from the parapet, stepping closer. "I don't believe you."

Clarke stood her ground, feeling a throb of desire. When Lexa was intense like this, she had no doubts it'd been her. But then there was that other side of her - distant, impenetrable - and the clear image in her mind shifted into a blur again.

"Why not? Does it upset you that it might be someone else?" Clarke asked, challenging.

"You wouldn't have told me if you weren’t certain."

"Maybe I wanted to get you off my back."

Lexa smiled slowly. "I think that's exactly where you want me."

Clarke's mouth dropped open. "Are you drunk?"

"Barely tipsy."

"Lexa. What are you doing?"

Lexa stopped short. "I'm sorry, I thought-"

Clarke was the one stepping closer this time. "No, I don't want an apology, I want an explanation. Clearly, you want… something from this. You talk to me; you flirt; you asked me out."

"I had a spa-"

"Come on. You don't even believe that."

Lexa swallowed. "Maybe I was wrong too. Maybe it wasn't you."

"It's one step forward, two steps back with you. I don't get it." Clarke set her bottle down. "Fine then, there is one way for me to be sure. We can settle this right here, right now."

Lexa's eyes flickered down to her lips before she caught herself. "There is?" She asked barely audibly.

"If you'll let me…"

Slowly, Clarke reached for her wrist. She felt Lexa tense and then relax, holding her eyes while Clarke undid the buttons of her sleeve. When they were loose, she pushed the sleeve up her arm. Clarke felt her heart beat faster the more skin she uncovered, gently pushing the fabric past Lexa's elbow. She tried not to think how soft and warm she felt beneath her fingertips, or if she was imagining the way Lexa's breathing stuttered a bit.

Lexa must've known what Clarke was trying to find out. Her eyes darkened when Clarke finally glanced at her arm. The bottom of a tattoo peeked out from beneath the bunched up sleeve, thick lines wrapping all around her bicep. Clarke's hand fell like she was burned, but a quick Lexa reached out to take it in hers.

"Lexa," Clarke gasped.

"Is that all you need to be sure?" Lexa asked quietly, face drawing closer.

Clarke found it hard to even think. "I-I could always find another way."

"Oh?"

Clarke's eyes closed when she felt Lexa's nose brush against hers, but the anticipation of a kiss remained just that. 

"Then make sure of it," Lexa ordered tenderly in her ear as their fingers laced together. "Close your eyes tonight and make sure it was me."

Clarke felt her skin become heated, the pulsing between her legs desperate for attention. "What if it is? What if it's not?"

Lexa stepped back, her eyes hooded like she was drunk. "I guess we can put my theory to the test."

"Your theory?"

"Whether we're inevitable or not."

"Lexa-"

Lexa let go of her hand and walked toward the exit. "Have a good night, Clarke."

* * *

When Clarke got home after Wells and Raven dropped her off, the stillness of everything was in stark contrast to the apartment full of life and laughter she had been in for hours. She didn't mind the quiet though - loved it, even, especially after long days at the café. But maybe there could be... a little more life to the place. 

By the time she got to bed, her body was buzzing. Clarke turned on her back and took a deep, steadying breath. She couldn't stop thinking about the way Lexa had touched her. What she had husked in her ear. 

She hadn't… dared. Not even once. Getting herself off to the thought of Lexa had felt all sorts of wrong, especially knowing she'd have to face her at the café on a regular basis. But it was unbearable now. Clarke slid a hand beneath the hem of her sleep shorts and between her legs, moaning when she found herself wanting. It was no surprise - not after the rooftop. She closed her eyes and tried to focus, remembering her vision in fragments at first.

But her vision wasn't what she wanted. Her vision was just that - a fantasy. She wanted the reality of Lexa; the Lexa she'd felt against her tonight; the Lexa who'd made her dizzy with mere words.

So she imagined the rooftop instead: her, pressed against the parapet, and Lexa pressed against her. She imagined Lexa's hand going up her thigh, slowly pushing up the fabric of her dress. She could still smell her, could still feel her mouth by her neck. Lexa hooked her fingers in her underwear and slid it down, encouraged when she felt how wet Clarke was. Clarke had to imagine how Lexa would moan; if she would be vocal or not; how deep her fingers might reach. She touched herself slowly at first, head thrown back and mouth agape.

She didn't know if Lexa was a talker in bed, but it was easy to recall the shiver down her spine when she'd told her to think of her. This time her words were dirtier, spurring her on. Clarke's thighs widened as the ache inside her swelled and she added a second finger. 

"Lexa," she gasped, bringing her other hand to her breast to squeeze it roughly.

Her thoughts scattered all over: Lexa gripping her hips to turn her around, leaning down so that Clarke felt her weight on her back. Lexa taking her from behind, filling her with two and then three fingers. Overwhelmed, Clarke turned on her stomach and groaned in desperation, knees pressing into her mattress while she brought herself over the brink. She moaned loudly into her pillow, her orgasm blindsiding her. 

Clutching her sheets with one hand, Clarke's grip loosened slowly. She let out a small moan and felt her muscles loosen as her knees finally caved and she flopped onto her mattress. It had been far too long.

Turning on her back, Clarke kept her eyes closed as her breathing returned to normal. She wasn't too eager to open them to a lonely room, at least not for now. She moved her body to drag the sheets atop her and slipped her hands beneath her pillow, her stomach already in knots at the prospect of seeing Lexa tomorrow. 

But there was no going back now. Clarke was sure Lexa knew it too. No matter what this was between them, if two nights were all they'd need to work out the tension between them, denying it was not in the cards. At least not the ones Clarke held.

-

[part seven]

#f: a bit of clarity #clarke x lexa #clexa #clexa fic #w

[in-tua-deep]

Guessing Game Word: child

WOW that’s a word i apparently use a LOT, this is a mixed bag of tua and witcher content so have fun with guessing what is from where out of context

---

After all, if anyone even breathed the words ‘kid’ or ‘child’ or even ‘young man’ around their smallest brother someone was liable to be stabbed or maimed.

Klaus took a deep breath of the fresh air where he was flopped back against one of the blankets, only an arms length away from where Mom was flipping the page in whatever book she was working on at the current moment while she waited for her children to be hungry enough to eat.

He was a child soldier, and then an apocalypse survivor, and then a temporal assassin and then - he wasn’t quite certain what he was now. Was he a child, or an adult? What was he supposed to do with himself now?

He was back now, and perfectly capable of asking, but he didn’t. He looked at his siblings and saw strangers and missed his childhood even with the shadow of Reginald looming over them all.

He wasn’t the child who left on that fateful November day. He would never be him again.

He only snarls a little bit when Allison pulls him into her quick hugs, pressing a kiss against his hair before she swirls out the door with all the grace and glamour that she only pretended to have as a child.

“Yennefer.” Renfri says seriously, “Raising a child with love or whatever doesn’t do shit about your own awful shitty childhood. You can’t just, what, vicariously live out a happy childhood through some kid, okay? All you’re going to end up doing is push your issues on them and fuck up a perfectly good child.”

 “When we came home,” She tells him carefully, like she knows he’s one second away from running, “We weren’t the same children who left. And the people we’d left behind - they didn’t understand why we weren’t the same.”

“It has fertility properties.” Yennefer says with dignity, only flushing a little when she sees the complicated gymnastics that Renfri’s face is going through, “It’s not a dragon child. It’s a child child. A regular child. It’s just going to… help fix me.”

Jaskier points accusingly, and tries not to feel like a child tattling to a teacher.

“Our mother and father loved us, but they didn’t understand us. They weren’t there in Narnia. They didn’t see us grow up, see us fight, see us live. And we’d grown up without them. We’d forgotten how to be children, and we’d forgotten how to be parented. So we missed each other. They missed the children we had been before the way, before we’d been sent away. And we missed the parents we remembered them being, the ones who understood us.”

Julian. Jaskier. Dandelion. A name was something freely given, but like all gifts it was on the receiver to accept or reject it. There was no shame in taking a gift that had outlasted its purpose and throwing it away, no shame in outgrowing a shirt given in childhood upon hitting a growth spurt.

Susan hums gently, “I remember when I lived in the city, oh the air was thick with smog! The streets were filthy, and the people had no money and too many children. The conditions were terrible, but there was beauty in there as well. There was kindness. People who had nothing to give have always given the most, in my experience.”

And he can get away with it, because Reginald was rich and none of the children wanted for money when they had access to his resources.

Renfri had spent almost her entire childhood being called a monster, and sometimes she thinks that’s a prophecy in and of itself. Tell someone enough times that they are a monster, and soon enough they become one.

Certainly it was something that Reginald had parroted frequently, usually before attaching some manner of sensor to the children or before the testing of some other hypothesis. Their powers were not magic, it was science, and any child who dared question was punished harshly. There was no room for daydreamers in the manor.

Maybe if they were in their adult form, a shapeshifting daemon wouldn’t matter so much, but as it is, well. Five remembers the pitying looks, the comments about his maturity and childishness.

“No need for such a silly childish nickname.” The Shrike stares at him with a smile that is not so much a smile as it is a baring of teeth, “Please, Witcher. Call me Renfri.”

“It’s just not as obvious, that’s all. That’s what my siblings never understood, why they never understood me. We were children of two worlds, and when we were forced to choose was it so unthinkable that I might choose this one?”

They really aren’t all that long on him, and his childish waist is really not all that different from his underweight adult self’s. Which is tragic, when he thinks too hard about it. 

“But in other ways - I’m old, Five. My children don’t need me anymore. They have their own lives, busy lives, far away from here. My grandchildren are busy, and my great-grandchildren are focused on school. My family doesn’t need me, so - I would be tempted.”

The woman just looks at him like he’s a child and she’s disappointed he asked such an obvious question.

“Do we worry about him? Yeah. He’s a worrying sort of guy. But if he’s out of the house and exploring instead of staying in this creepy shrine to our shitty childhood 24/7, I’m gonna call that an improvement.”

Is it worth it though, to shed the clothes of the Commission only to don the clothes of his childhood?

Ciri, on the other hand, is a child who plays and laughs and romps through the castle with an eagerness and carelessness that drives the staff to distraction.

The thing is, Renfri knows monsters. Not just the monsters that lurk under children’s beds, but the sort that lurk within people’s heads. She knows monsters of cruelty, monsters of greed and monsters of rage.

Five is - he’s violent, but they’re all violent. They were raised to it, with the sweet drawings of children gouging each other's eyes on the walls and training sessions where they were encouraged to take their opponents (their siblings) down as quickly and brutally as possible.

But the window is unlocked, and the vines thick and walls uneven enough for a child to get good at scaling as long as she is quick enough to avoid detection.

Admittedly there has been precious little gentleness in his life at all, save perhaps Grace’s efforts when she tended to the children. But she had always gravitated towards the children who needed her most and Five… was not one of them.

Maybe that’s why her mother kept them. Because he sounds - he sounds like a friend, not a subject, and Ciri is a child but she is a princess and she knows that her status colors every interaction she has ever had.

Klaus sticks his tongue out and Five fights down the urge to stick his own out childishly in response.

#have fun with this wall of unrelated out of context quotes lmao #ask game #wip game #internet-or-sleep

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Hello! I'm pretty sure I saw you mention a while ago that you were disappointed by confessions of the fox, would you mind explaining why? I've seen mostly good things about it myself. If I misremembered then I'm sorry and I hope you have a good day :))

I think this is one of my less popular opinions. And I understand - we so rarely get historical fiction with trans folk as the titular character (indeed, we rarely get any fiction what that). So I get people’s desire to laud it. 

For me though? It fundamentally didn’t work as a book. As a story.  

Let me count the ways. (Apologies in advance for the length of this.)

First: If you’re trans-ing someone who was historically cis instead of seeking to find a real, historical trans or gender-nonconforming person, I have questions. 

Most of the questions can be summed up as: Why? 

I struggle with historical fiction that takes a cis person and re-imagines them as trans as if there aren’t already literal historical, real trans people out there whose stories can be told. It smacks as (unintended, well meaning) erasure of lived experiences. 

Jack Sheppard, to the best of our knowledge, was a cis dude. There were trans folk in London in the 1710s and ‘20s. You might have to dig a bit for them, but they’re there. Because trans folk have always been there. 

Second: Characterisation 

This is more personal taste, but I found Jack and his girlfriend Bess to be inexcusably boring. How a trans, thief and gaolbreaker in 1720s gin-soaked London can be written as boring is anyone’s guess. But he was. 

Jack had no real personality and I found his story to be uninteresting. Oh, he’s the world’s best thief and gaolbreaker, that’s nice. But on its own it isn’t enough.

He had few to no faults. Childhood trauma isn’t a personality. Nor is being trans. And the author relies heavily on gender + occupation (thief-ness) to equal personality. So it falls very flat.  

Bess, his girlfriend, is a mixed-race sex worker from the Fens (even though actual real-Bess was from Edgeware). She seems to only exist to demonstrate that Jack is good at sex. She also veers a little into the Mystical Woman of Colour Healer Who Aids The White Person on their Journey of Self Discovery trope. 

Neither Bess nor Jack undergo any real change in the book. They exist in a weird stasis and experience no development, despite living through some harrowing things. They’re wooden dolls who move through the story without really engaging with, or being influenced by, the things around them. 

The other “main” character is a modern Academic who “found” this supposed “manuscript” of Jack’s life and is annotating it. His story unfolds in the foot notes and it’s just so messy if not a bit contrived. It didn’t make sense. I think the author was trying to convey that the Academic was in a sort of dystopian future, but if that’s the case it didn’t work. And if that’s not the case, the entire inclusion of the Academic’s story served only to annoy and take me out of the reading experience. 

E.g. There’s a scene where the Academic is being taken to task by the Dean for playing stupid games on his phone during office hours and like honey, lapsed-historian/academic here, trust me the Dean doesn’t give a fuck what you do during your office hours so long as you’re in your office and students can come bother you about their poor marks. 

The manuscript is supposedly being sought after by this pharmaceutical company for nefarious reasons that never struck me as being entirely realistic/believable. Also, the university was spying on this non-tenured, slightly useless Academic as if he somehow mattered? Which made zero sense. Anyway, it was stupid and should have been ripped out of the final version. OR changed substantially. 

Jonathan Wild, the thief taker (main antagonist to Jack), is probably the only interesting person. 

Third: Lack of Follow Through, or, the Fabulism Was Not Used Well 

The book tries to blend in some fabulism to the world by giving Jack the ability to “hear” the thoughts of inanimate objects. This could have been fun and gone to some interesting places, but it failed to deliver. 

I personally found the shoe-horning in of “capitalism commodifies everything” to be sloppy and heavy handed. It was done with little grace and didn’t sit right given that we are dealing with the early modern period. Yes, you can use the past to critique our modern woes, but do it intelligently. Don’t slap modern points of view and understandings of things onto the past and expect them to make sense. 

Anyway, Jack spends the book hearing inanimate objects talk to him, asking him to “free” them, or something. And uh .. .it doesn’t go anywhere interesting after that. 

Also the correlation one can draw from these objects to, you know, slaves, is uncomfortable. Especially as it’s the cargo of the EIC ships that Jack hears. I don’t think it’s intended in any sort of malicious way, but the allusion is there and I always found it to be distinctly uncomfortable. 

Fourth: Misuse of Marxist Theory, or, More Heavy Handed Moralizing that Annoyed the Dear Reader because it wasn’t subtle and, more importantly, it wasn’t done intelligently. 

So, the author is an academic - studies 18th century lit. Which is readily apparent as his Academic (self-insert) character is, I believe, supposed to be a historian and uh ... you can tell that the author doesn’t know enough to wing that. E.g. How he interprets some of the laws and customs of the time. Instead of understanding the social, economic and, most importantly, environmental issues that gave birth to laws like “the corporation of the city of London owns the streets so you can’t muckrake” he chooses to understand them through a very 21st century lens (and a Marxist one at that. I know I’m perhaps a bit uncool for this, but I find the application of Marxist theory to the early modern period to be ... not useful). 

Do you know why, mid/late 17th century London passed these municipal laws? Because of the god damn fucking plague you numb nut. You absolute buffoon. It had nothing to do with “oh the City/government is evil and wants to own you” it had to do with the fact that no one cleaned the goddamn street. So the city took over doing it. 

Prior to this, in London, you were supposed to keep the street in front of your building clear of waste, debris, refuse etc. No one did this, of course. I live where it’s cold and snows a lot and people can barely shovel the 2 sq ft of sidewalk in front of their driveway in the winter. I dread the idea of an average homeowner being expected to keep the street clear and clean. 

Anyway, guess what dirty streets attract? Vermin. Guess what comes with vermin? Plague. Guess what happened in 1665/66? The great plague of London! 

17th century England might not have understood germ theory, but they did understand correlation. (Also, the population of London was doubling at the back half of the 17th century and streets needed to be reliably cleared for through-traffic reasons etc. etc.) 

ugh, sorry, that one in particular drove me up the wall. Not everything is a capitalist conspiracy. Especially when we’re talking about municipal by-laws from the 17th century. 

And I understand the temptation to read a lot of modern interpretation of words like “corporation” and “company” onto bodies that used these same words in 17th and 18th centuries. But the weight, meaning and connotation of “the worshipful company of merchant adventurers” is different from, I don’t know, “the tech company google” or whatever. The early 18th century is when we start seeing the birth of the stock market, of “venture companies” (i.e. merchant adventure companies), of a lot of the language and proto-iterations of what will grow to be economic institutions of our time. But it doesn’t mean they’re the same and that difference is important. Because Jack Sheppard is a man living in 1720 he’s not going to be having our modern 21st century critiques of capitalism because his engagement with the economic systems of his time would have been radically different to our own experiences. 

Fifth:  Unbelievable Top Surgery & Recovery 

So, Jack gets top surgery. In 1720s fever-ridden London. While quarantining in a brothel. 

And he lived! No infection! No tearing! He was up and about in a matter of days. I don’t remember if his nipples survived the operation or not but somehow Jack did. Without anesthetics! Or you know, any concept of hygiene. 

His Mystical Girlfriend Who Exists to Show How Good Jack is at Sex is also somehow Magically Very Literate and also Magically a Surgeon? and performs this surgery on Jack in the middle of a plague. 

The entire ordeal was so poorly handled in terms of believability that I literally set the book down and said “what the fucking fuck” to the empty room then drank wine before finishing the chapter. 

An aside, it is funny thinking about the quarantine chapters at this point. I read COTF when it first came out a few years ago. Sweet summer children, we none of us had any idea how to write quarantine scenes. 

That reminds me: the entire quarantine thing was presented as the government trying to control movement and take away people’s rights etc. instead of a very normal, typical response that cities had been enacting since 1350. Samuel Pepys, who lived through the 1665/66 epidemic, barely even notes the restrictions. He’s like just “hmmm I’d love to go to the pub but I also don’t want to die. so. *shrug*” 

At the time of the author’s writing, most of us in the western world had no idea how normal and day-to-day disease was for our ancestors and yes, sometimes there would be crackdowns to try and curb it if an epidemic hit. That was part and parcel of life. So again, Jack and Bess wouldn’t be like “ooooh we’re 21st century slightly libertarian lefitsts who think the government is doing this to control us and for nefarious purposes”. Much more likely, they would have been like Pepys and viewed it as nuisance, albeit a necessary one. 

Sixth: Overall Lack of Realism 

I think I’ve noted the big moments where I was like “no one in the early 18th century would think that I’m pretty certain”. This isn’t to say people didn’t grouse, complain about London government (and the king etc.), critique or question the world they lived in. They absolutely did! Regularly. With great verve and gusto, if the broadsheets are anything to go by. But their critiques, their complaints, suggestions for bettering life, are not the same as ours. Because how could they be? They lived in a different world, were responding to specific things, grew up hearing and believing certain things etc. 

Jack, aside from having minimal to no character, really did read like a modern slightly-libertarian leftist who was plunked into a novel that takes place three hundred years ago. 

In addition to unrealistic political views, his understanding of body, gender, sexuality and identity also read as incredibly modern. Now this is harder, because we have so few extant sources from that time on those who lived non-gender conforming lives, and from their point of view, so yes creative imagining and interpretation is the rule of the day for writing that. 

But, we do know how in general the average person engaged and understood gender and sexuality and that would, naturally, inform anyone whose experience was different. And that base line of “probably what a typical cis Englishman or woman felt about their body and identity” wasn’t present. At all. 

Indeed, gender engagement at that time was interesting. The concept of the body, the role of the physical body, how it was interpreted is absolutely fascinating and the author could have done some really cool things with that. But he didn’t. He went for slapping a modern interpretation onto the past. 

At this point, write a dystopian novel and make Jack a fictional character. That probably would have gone over better, for me at least. The conceit can remain the same: It’s the year 4056 and an Academic found a manuscript from the year 3045 when the Dystopia Was a Thing - and go from there. 

--- 

I think part of what made this very popular and why people seem so taken with it is that it reads smart. It reads like someone who has immersed themselves in that world etc. because of the slang and language used. 

Yet, for me, as someone who has studied this period extensively, especially queerness in London in the late 17th and early 18th centuries, it read flat and unrealistic. 

I was initially very enthused when I started it. There are some posts to that effect on my blog. But it very quickly went south. It tries very hard to be Radical and Smart and Subversive and Critiquing Everything and so I think it fails at the fundamental thing it should be doing: telling a good story. 

(Note: The book does try and address racism in London at this time. It also felt a bit forced. And Jack seemed to have no prejudices or preconceived notions about Indian and Black folk which isn’t realistic. Like, it might make him #Problematic but my dude, you’re writing a man born in 1702. He’s going to have some iffy views. That can be challenged! Absolutely. But they still would have existed.) 

---

Thank you for the ask! I again apologize for the length of the reply. 

#reply #ask #anon #lit #books #writing #confessions of the fox

[duker42]

💜Give Me Tonight💜

💜Give Me Tonight💜

Y/N calmly watches her two squad members square off. It took so little to set Jean and Eren off, she simply rolled her eyes and continued to watch from her tucked away spot.

The celebratory meal sat before her, untouched, her portion of the scarce meat had been given to a younger Cadet, their eyes expressing their eternal gratitude for the slice of beef. The younger soldiers around her failed to realize the reasoning behind the benevolent gesture of the officers. This was the last real dinner many of them would ever have.

Tomorrow evening the Scouts would embark on their most dangerous mission yet. Retaking Wall Maria and reaching the Yeager basement in Shiganshina. As the announcement was made about the serum that Captain Levi would be carrying, Y/N heart sank. She knew that the numbers of dead would far outweigh any previous expedition. The years spent working beside the men standing in front of them told her that.

While she was new to Levi Squad, she was one of the few veterans the Survey Corps had left. The last member of Miche Zacharias’ squad, her injuries sustained during the 57th Expedition had prevented her from accompanying them to Utgard Castle. It was ultimately her saving grace. With the rest of her squad wiped out by the titans that moved at night, Commander Erwin has reassigned her to the Captain’s squad, the oldest member apart from the Captain himself.

She raised an eyebrow as the man moved quietly among the crowd, making his way to the two squaring off against each other. The lightening fast kick to Eren and punch to Jean quickly ended the squabble. Y/N snickered at the disgust in Levi’s voice as he demanded Jean’s puke be cleaned up. She watched as he slipped over to the barrels of ale, poured himself a tankard and disappeared outside. Making her decision, she picked up her own mug and made her way through the crowd, following her Captain into the night.

She spent several minutes tracking him down. Walking slowly down the narrow alleyway, she sees that he is concentrating on a conversation behind him on the Main Street. His mug is sitting on the ground next to him, his arms propped up on his bent knees, back against the wall. As she drawls closer, his grey orbs flicker up to her and he puts a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. Y/N hears Armin’s enthusiastic voice talking about something called the sea on the street beyond. Eren’s low reply came as she lowered herself to sit across from Levi, her legs stretched out in front of her, brushing the tips of his shoes.

As the group shuffles off to find their beds, the silence is broken as Levi says pulling his mug up to take a swallow “Their dreams are big, I hope it helps them survive this.” He puts the mug to his lips, downing a healthy gulp.

Humming her agreement, she observes the man beside her. His causal clothes look just as good as his uniform. The dark trousers and form fitting grey long sleeved shirt are a bit more approachable without the formality of his cravat. His eyes catch hers as he turns to look at her. “What are you doing out here? You should be resting.”

Sighing, she steels herself against the rejection she knows she is about to face. “I wanted to ask you something. Would you.....spend the night with me tonight?”

She watches as he his eyes widen in shock. Of all the things he could have heard come from her mouth, that was the last thing he was expecting. Nodding towards the mug in her hand he manages, “How many of those have you had, Y/N? Are you drunk?”

She shakes her head. “First one and only one, haven’t even had half.”

He shakes his onyx colored hair as he awkwardly takes a larger gulp of his ale. “I.....I.....”

She hurriedly interrupts his stuttering. “Before you answer, let me explain. This time, two days from now, one or both of us is going to be dead. Along with the majority of those we know. I just.....I just want to experience a little more of what life has to offer before I go, you know?”

His steel colored eyes study her as he contemplates her words. She nervously twitches under the penetrating scrutiny. “Why would you choose me? Of everyone here?”

“That’s easy. I trust you and I like you. Plus, you are like me. You have dealt with a lot of this world’s suffering, but experienced very little of its pleasure.” Y/N’s eyes sparkled with honesty as she made her case. She glanced down at the hands folded in her lap. “I have killed with these hands and will continue to kill for humanity. But for once I want to use them to comfort and satisfy. I’m just asking that you give me tonight.”

Levi looked down at the feminine hands clasped together on her lap. Slender fingers he knew could wield a blade as well as anyone, scarred from the busted knuckles of past fights and skirmishes, calloused from hours gripping blades. He thought they looked very similar to his own.

He had tried to push away any physical attraction he had held for anyone his entire life. Repressing the hormones of his earlier years had been easy in the constant fight for survival. As he had grown older, it had served him well as countless of those around him had fallen. Still, he had always been curious of how it would feel to hold and be held, to lose himself in another, even if it was just a night. And Y/N was attractive, every male within the Scouting Regiment had said so. Better yet, she was practical and older than the other brats around them.

He drained the rest of his drink and climbed to his feet. Holding his hand out to her his response was simple. “Yes.” Pulling her up, he let go of her hand and turn to walk back to the barracks.

When they entered the building, she turned towards him, stopping him with a warm hand placed on his arm. He looked at her, surprisingly disappointed, thinking she had changed her mind. She stunned him with her next words.

“We should go to my room.” His brow furrowed in confusion, so she elaborated. “That way you wouldn’t have to deal with any...memories of me in your room.”

Understanding flooded his system and he was humbled by her request. Rationally, she knew that he stood a better chance of returning from Shiganshina. Y/N was trying to insure he wasn’t haunted by her presence in his bed. Nodding quietly, he followed her as she turned down a different hallway than his own. She stopped at her door and opened it, throwing over her shoulder as she stepped inside. “I made sure I cleaned.”

Stepping inside the room, Levi felt a nervousness that was foreign to him. He had no experience to draw on. Unsure of what to do, he waited for her to direct him. “Um....If you want to get undressed, I’m going to wash up really quickly” Y/N offered as she slipped past him into the small en-suite.

Disrobing quickly, he laid his folded clothes on a chair and stood beside her bed. He noticed that she had put fresh sheets on the bed, indicating this truly wasn’t a drunken whim.

He turned towards the sound of the opening door as she re-emerged, stopping short as she saw him. Her blush filled her entire face as she drank in his frame. He suddenly wondered if he should have been under the covers when she came back in. Cursing his inexperience, he pulled back the sheets and slipped into her bed, watching her as she crossed the room.

If she had been attracted to him clothed, she wasn’t disappointed by his nude form. Y/N had almost gasped at how well built the shorter man was. All hard muscle and sinew, he embodied pure male testosterone. His manhood, even soft, was an impressive display. She was almost afraid to see how he would look aroused.

Stopping near the chair he had placed his clothes, she reached up to remove her own shirt. His eyes narrowed as he watched her, an arm coming up to fold behind his head. Her shoes came next, and then she slowly unfastened the skirt she had worn, letting it fall to the floor. She felt hot as he gaze roamed over every inch of her skin. The bindings she wore on her breasts came next, a soft sigh escaping her in relief. Her nipples puckered in the cool air and a fascinatingly hungry expression crossed Levi’s face. Sliding the panties down her hips and thighs, she bends over to pick up her clothes when his words wash over her. “Leave them. Come here Y/N.”

He moves over to make room for her as she slides under the covers with him. This was her first time being in a bed with a man. Her nerves were starting to fray, and breathing rapidly increasing as she wondered if she had asked too much. She felt his hand gently grasp her’s and pull her into laying on her side, facing him. His hand stopped at his chest and left hers resting there. Her erratic breathing matching the beat of his heart, fast and unsteady. They were both equally nervous. That thought gave her confidence as her fingertips slid over his warm skin. He shivered slightly and his breath caught as she traced the ridges of his stomach. He exhaled loudly causing her to smile as her hand dipped lower.

It was her turn to gasp as her hand brushed his erection. Not expecting that contact so soon, she pulled her hand away as if burned. A strangled laugh came from Levi, causing her to glance up at him watching her.

“It’s different.” She offered. “It wasn’t....”She stopped talking as he took her hand and put it back, right above him.

Hesitantly, she felt the tip of his length with her fingers, feeling him jump against her touch. She giggled and ran her hand down the shaft. His groan worried her, think she had hurt him, but his eyes were closed and his jaw clenched when she looked at him again.

She was right, he was frighteningly large when aroused. It gave her a rush of power and pleasure to know that she had brought him to that state. Moving her hand against him again, she gripped him, wrapping her fingers around his girth, eliciting a louder moan from him. A small push of his hips signaled what he needed in that moment, and she complied.

She felt his tentative hands start to wander over her skin as she stroked him. His touch was gentle, almost reverent as he mapped her body. His mouth covered hers in an electrifying kiss. She tasted of mint, him of the ale he had consumed. Their tongues mated slowly as they explored each other. His hands paused at every location that elicited a sigh or gasp from her, delicately replicating the movement as if testing it was pleasure or pain that brought that reaction. Eventually his caresses grew bolder as he learned and tapped into an instinctive need to pleasure his partner.

Ready for more, she shifted underneath him, opening up as he settled between her thighs. The weight on top of her felt right as he slid his hands under her back and ass, positioning her body to accept him. The first thrust was an artless mess of limbs and need. Stilling, he clenched his jaw in determination to stop himself from immediately spilling like a wet-behind-the-ears boy. The tight heat surrounding him made it difficult to wait for her, and he was relieved when she arched up against him. Slowly finding the perfect pace they descended together into a pleasurable abyss. Nothing existed but that moment and the two of them. At the peak of release, both are surprised at the intensity and the beauty of watching the other come apart.

After washing up, Levi was surprised he didn’t feel the need to return to his quarters. Coming back to Y/N’s bed, he waited for her to finish her toilette and pulls her into his arms again. Soft kisses and gentle caresses was all that was needed. No words pass between them as they slip off into a dreamless sleep as the first rays of light break across the horizon.

~~~~~

The blast over Shiganshina worried Levi. Hange and his squad sprang into his mind as he wondered about their safety while standing on the other side of the wall. A fleeting picture of Y/N in bed beside him came to the forefront of his mind as he turned his attention back to the Beast Titan.

The morning after wasn’t awkward like Levi had feared it would be. He had been woken up in a way that he thought was a gift from the Gods. Her hot mouth had been on him with her hand wrapped around his shaft as he had opened his eyes. When he was almost about to explode, he had flipped her over and slide into her easily. Their mutual orgasm was just as good as the night before, leaving them both breathless. Y/N had kissed Levi goodbye as he dressed, but there were no tears nor sad smiles. He had pulled her close and told her to be careful as he walked to the door.

When the squad had assembled for the ride to the lifts, Y/N had treated him with the same respect she had always bestowed upon him. She hadn’t sought him out during their nighttime trek through the forest, opting to stay in her assigned position in the formation.

As he began the run towards the Beast Titan, Erwin and the rest of the soldiers distracting him with a suicide charge, Levi wonders if perhaps it will be Y/N that survives today. Or if that one night will be the best memory they both hold before they give their lives for humanity.

~~~~~

Y/N stood on the rooftop, her eyes filled with sorrow as she held a nearly hysterical Eren back from Levi. She understood both of the arguments for saving Erwin and Armin, and couldn’t fathom having to be in that situation. When she had shown up with Hanji and pulled Mikasa off of Levi, his shout of relief at seeing both of them had given her a moments pause. Concern for Hanji, she understood. They had been comrades and friends for years. But he had shown the same emotion for her. Did that mean something? Listening to Hanji’s monologue, she saw her own fallen comrades in her mind’s eye. When she carried Eren away from the four people on the roof, she was overcome with the emotion of the day.

She volunteered to sit with the Commander’s body as Levi and Hanji found a place to lay him to rest. He deserved so much more than an abandoned house as a coffin, but so did all those laying on the field outside the gates. The devastating total of losses was overwhelming. Ten people had survived a campaign that was two hundred strong at the onset.

Leaving the two to pay their final respects to their friend, Y/N made her way to the wall where Sasha and Armin were recovering. Watching Floch, Connie and Jean look for any survivors among the mangled bodies on the field below, she silently wondered if the information they might learn in that basement was worth the price.

She didn’t know how much time has passed when she felt someone sit down beside her. Turning her head, she saw Levi looking out over the battlefield, his downtrodden expression speaking to his own thoughts on the outcome. Long minutes passed before he turned and met her compassionate face. He hesitantly reaches for her hand, his fingers gently intertwining with hers as he turned his head to look forward again.

“I’m glad you’re alive. I didn’t know what to expect when the explosion.....” He stumbled over the words, trying hard communicate things he normally never expressed.

“We were lucky. All of us.” She tightened her grip on his hand, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin, proof he was still alive.

“Y/N, I want another night with you. I want as many as you’ll give me.” Levi looked at her again, his grey eyes filled with weariness and loss but also hope.

Y/N smiled at her handsome Captain as she laid her head against his shoulder. “You can have all my nights, Levi.”

Mobile MasterList

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[hutchhitched]

Bucky’s Very Bad Day

A couple of weeks ago I stumbled upon this post by @musette22, and it sparked an idea. Even though it was originally Evanstan, I heard Stucky in my head. I haven’t been reading Stucky long. I’ve been writing fanfiction for The Hunger Games (Everlark, specifically) since 2013, and while I enjoy Steve and Bucky, their voices weren’t inside my head (metaphorically, of course) telling me two write down their stories. I don’t usually get nervous posting fanfiction anymore, but writing something for a new (very large, very active, very talented) fandom is unnerving. If you choose to read, I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to @stjohn27 and @musette22 for extra eyes and support.

Rating: Excessively Fluffy Warnings: No content warnings apply. Length: approximately 2200 words AO3 link

Prompt: Chris Steve and Sebastian Bucky trading soft, sleepy kisses as they cuddle up in bed after a long day, burrowed together under a soft, fluffy duvet. Their guards down, eyes closed, curled into each other as they steal soft little kisses right before they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

 ___________________________________________________________

“I’m here,” Steve calls as he enters his apartment. He’s been waiting all day to get home to Bucky, and he’s finally able to toss aside his responsibilities and spend time with the person he loves most in the world.

 There’s no answer, which he finds a little disconcerting as he sets his bag down on the couch and shrugs off his jacket. Patches of lights from floor and table lamps litter the walls, but the apartment is quiet and lacks the liveliness he expected as he anticipated his arrival. Bucky’s supposed to be here.

 Steve jumps as a soft thump echoes behind him. He turns to see an upturned face with wide eyes and a swishy snow-white tail. With a fond grin, he scratches Alpine under the chin and coos, “Where’s your daddy, sweetheart?” The cat leans into his fingers before yawning widely and sauntering out of the room and down the hall. As he watches, she disappears into the master bedroom without a care in the world.

 “Buck?” Steve asks as he patters behind the animal. “Where are you? What are you doing?”

 He enters the bedroom and swivels his head to survey the entire area. Bucky’s nowhere to be found—that is, until Alpine jumps up on the bed and the lumpy mattress makes an unglorified “hmph”.

 “Bucky?”

 A grumble emanates from under the duvet, and Steve approaches the bed and pulls the blankets down to reveal his boyfriend tangled in the sheets. His long brown hair spills over his shoulder blades, and Steve trails the tips of his fingers over the bare skin of his neck peeking through the dark strands.

 “Bad day?”

 Bucky nods and sniffles as he buries his face deeper into the pile of pillows until his head almost disappears.

 “You want to talk about it?” he asks gently, hoping to get Bucky to turn over and give him a smile.

 Bucky shakes his head fiercely, which only succeeds in burrowing his head further until he’s covered down to his shoulders. Sighing, Steve nudges him sideways so he can sit on the edge of the mattress. When he’s braced enough not to slip off and land on the floor on his ass, he tries again.

 “Is there anything I can do to convince you to come out from under there?”

 Bucky grunts but, otherwise, doesn’t move, so Steve seeks out the warm skin of his boyfriend’s lower back. Bucky hums at the touch, but that quickly turns to a whimper when Steve rises and moves away from the bed. Without looking, Bucky reaches with his right arm and grasps at empty air.

 “Give me a minute, sweetheart. Bathroom, pajamas, and then I’ll join you.”

 Bucky’s hand drops so the crook of his elbow curves over the edge of the mattress. Steve takes that as his cue to move and does his business and changes into sleep pants and a tank top in record time. He slips through the apartment turning off the lights and setting the alarm before moving back down the hall and standing by the bed.

 Bucky’s still nestled so deep in the bedding he’s practically invisible, and Steve chuckles softly at how adorable his boyfriend is when he’s sad or happy or excited or irritable or upset or—well, really anything. Bucky’s always as precious as gold, especially when he’s hiding from the world and waiting for Steve to come home to help make things better.

 “Hey,” Steve says as he pulls back the duvet and slips underneath. When he’s on the same plane as Bucky, he can just barely make out the furrowed brow and trembling lips of the love of his life, and he reaches over and brushes hair out of those beautiful gray-blue eyes. Eyes that happen to be filled with tears and sorrow. “What’s wrong, baby?”

 A broken noise catches in the back of Bucky’s throat, and Steve scoots closer so he can press up against his side. He’s stiff with tension, and Steve works to ease the rigidity of Bucky’s upper body.

 “Shhh, I’m here,” he says in a soft, soothing voice that he hopes radiates a comforting vibe. “I’m right here. What’s got you all huddled up under the covers hiding from the big bad world?”

 Bucky curls instinctively toward him and tucks his head under Steve’s chin. His hair tickles, but Steve tightens his arms around him and holds on tightly. The sniffles and whimpers intensify for a few minutes and then subside into quiet sighs that hold the weight of the world in their echoes.

 “You’re so strong, Bucky. Brave and smart and loving. Selfless.” He drops a kiss to the crown of his boyfriend’s head. “Generous and compassionate. Tender-hearted and kind.”

 “No, I’m not,” Bucky grumbles, and he shakes his shoulders miserably.

 “You are,” he insists in a soft whisper directly into Bucky’s ear. “You’re all of those things and a hundred other wonderful things more. I’m so proud of you. Love you so much.”

 Incrementally, Bucky’s shoulders relax under the resolve of Steve’s embrace until he’s limp and calm. His breaths even out into deep inhales and slow exhales that puff against Steve’s chest and trail along his neck.

 “I went to the grocery store,” Bucky mumbles against Steve’s shoulder. “You asked if I could pick up a few things, and I had a list. I thought it was going to be okay.”

 “I take it things didn’t go as planned?”

 Bucky shivers in his arms, and he runs his hand absently along Bucky’s right arm, all the way down to his wrist and then back up to his biceps, solid and hard even when unflexed. The latent power beneath Bucky’s soft skin is one of the sexiest things Steve’s ever had the pleasure of feeling.

 “There were so many people there. Some sort of vendor appreciation day and people with samples at the end of every aisle. All of them shoving stuff in my face and yelling at me to take it. I couldn’t find what you—we—needed, and there was no one to ask for help, and then someone dropped a gallon of milk, and I—” He chokes on his words, and Steve squeezes his elbow to comfort him. “The bang was so loud, Steve. I had to get out of there.”

 “That’s okay, Bucky. It’s okay. You did great.”

 “I ran home, and I crawled in here. All you wanted was for me to help you out. All I had to do was get some milk and eggs and bread and whatever the hell else it is that you think we need when a storm’s coming, and I couldn’t… I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, Stevie.”

 “You don’t have to apologize to me, Buck.”

 “But I—”

 “No, stop. You followed your instinct. Fight and flight are two perfectly acceptable options, and in this case, I think you hiding in bed is a hell of a lot better than beating up a baby boomer in a black apron and baseball cap hocking cheese to unsuspecting grocery shoppers.”

 Bucky snorts, and Steve’s heart expands three sizes in his chest. That sound is music to his ears.

 “So, can I get a kiss? Because I’ve been home for approximately 25 minutes, and I still haven’t even seen your face.”

 Bucky pulls back to loll his head against Steve’s shoulder. A wry smile graces his lips, and his eyes are hooded and gloomy. “What? This old mug?”

 “I happen to really, really like everything about it.”

 “Like what?” Bucky asks, his tone suddenly cheeky.

 “I don’t know,” Steve answers. “Maybe these lips.”

 He brushes his over Bucky’s, and both release tiny moans as electricity sparks between them.

 “These old things?”

 “Old just means they have experience and know what they’re doing.”

 A contented sigh reverberates through Bucky’s chest, and Steve slants his head to capture his boyfriend’s mouth in a searing kiss. Their lips part, and Steve slips his tongue into Bucky’s mouth. Heat spirals into a comforting, scorching bubble that eventually eases Bucky’s worries until he’s grinning so hard they can’t kiss anymore.

 “Feel better?”

 Bucky nods and smiles sheepishly. “Much. No beating up anyone in aprons today.”

 Steve smooths the hair off Bucky’s forehead and kisses him there gently. “Have you eaten?” he asks and rolls his eyes when Bucky shakes his head self-consciously. “You forget?”

 “I forgot.”

 “Up,” Steve insists and tosses the duvet aside. “You need food.”

 “I don’t want food,” Bucky whines, but he rises from the bed and follows Steve dutifully into the kitchen. Steve knows he’s hungry, no matter how much he pretends to be put upon by having to leave the bed. Steve heats some food and whips up a salad while pointing at Bucky to have a seat at the table.

 “Sit,” he insists. “I’ve got you.”

 Although it always drives Bucky a little up the wall to be coddled this way, Steve can tell his panic attack earlier exhausted him. Bucky watches him with tired eyes until Steve blushes.

 “What?” he asks, a rueful grin twitching at the corner of his mouth.

 “Just grateful for a boyfriend who loves me enough to take over when I’m not okay.”

 “It’s definitely a hardship,” Steve teases, but Bucky refuses to let him make light of his words.

 “I’m serious, Stevie,” he insists. “And even better than you taking over, I also know I only have to eat before I can climb back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and cuddle with you while Alpine curls up into the curve behind my knees. Because that sounds really amazing right now.”

 “Well, here’s to amazing leftover spaghetti,” Steve announces as he sets a plate in front of Bucky.

 Steve fills his boyfriend in on his day at work as the two eat. After a few minutes, he remembers the bottle of wine in the fridge and pours them each a glass. There’s certainly not enough alcohol to get either of them drunk, but sipping the drink seems to ease the tension in Bucky’s face.

 “Leave the dishes,” Bucky pleads once they’ve eaten. “I know it bothers you not to clean up, but I’m a little desperate here. Sensory overload is a thing, and I could use a blank slate. White sheets seem like a great idea right about now.”

 Alpine meows from beneath the table, and Steve smiles indulgently. “Give me five minutes. Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

 Bucky doesn’t resist, so Steve hurries as much as he can. It only takes a few minutes to get the kitchen the way it should be, and then he rushes into the bedroom where Bucky’s…asleep. Curled on his side with wisps of hair brushing against his cheek. Steve can’t stop the dopey grin from sliding over his face. He has the most remarkable boyfriend in the entire world, and it doesn’t help at all that there’s a soft, fluffy, pristine white cat curled up on the pillows purring like a machine.

 He crosses to his side of the bed and as carefully as possible lifts the duvet to slide under it. He’s not cautious enough because Bucky wakes as the mattress dips, and he blinks at Steve through sleepy eyes.

 “Hey,” he says with a wide yawn. “I know you.”

 Steve leans over to brush his lips against his boyfriend’s and is rewarded with an uncharacteristic giggle. “I know you, too. Your name’s Bucky.”

 “Who the hell is Bucky? What a dumb name.”

 “It’s the worst. If that’s what people called me, I’d be totally embarrassed.”

 Bucky smirks as he scoots across the bed, so he’s pressed up against Steve. “Good thing I don’t embarrass too easily.”

 “You don’t, huh?”

 “Not even remotely,” Bucky answers, his voice as husky as Steve’s.

 Their lips meet. And then again. Over and over in sweet, gentle caresses until Steve melts.

 “I’m sorry about your day, baby,” he whispers into the darkness between them. There’s just enough light from the windows for him to see the sparkle in Bucky’s eyes. “If I could have, I would have gone with you.”

 “That’s because you’re a good human, Stevie. A really, really good human who also happens to be a really terrific kisser.”

 Steve slides his arms around Bucky and pulls him closer until their foreheads meet. “Are you sure?”

 “I might need more evidence.”

 Their mouths slot together repeatedly, soft whispers and confessions falling between them as their eyes grow heavier. Steve pulls the duvet up to their chins and slips his arms back around Bucky as their fingers and legs tangle together under the sheets. Steve’s chest warms his boyfriend’s back, and he curls tighter until they’re spooned together.

 “Love you, Stevie,” Bucky slurs, his voice heavy with fatigue.

 “Love you, too, Buck,” he murmurs. “Go to sleep, baby.”

 His eyes droop closed, and he brushes his lips against Bucky’s twice more before they both drift into sleep. Alpine watches them both for a few minutes before yawning and curling into a ball next to Bucky’s chest. She kneads the material for a few seconds and then follows her owners into slumber.

#stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky fanfiction #writing for a different fandom is hard