autopartsmilesin

[anyadarkseid]

😳

[slythereen]

once again i am pleading with christian horner to realize just how cunty and diabolical and genius it would be to steal ferrari's golden boy aka toto's dream boy aka max verstappen's favorite rival

[midnightsslut]

religion is one of the most prominent recurring themes on the album, and it has been present in some capacity for quite a few records now. taylor previously compared love to religion: her saving grace, her belief system, and a fated divine intervention (false god, cornelia street, and cruel summer are the best examples of this). ‘sacred new beginnings that became my religion’ and ‘we’d still worship this love even if it’s a false god’ are two of the defining statements about her philosophy on the lover album.

taylor doesn’t want to leave all of that behind on ttpd, at least not at the beginning. the first supernatural force she mentions is the spaceship on down bad, which she compares to a skylight of freedom in the epilogue. *something* has finally come to save her from her life of suffering. she doesn’t care if it’s a force of good at first; if anything, she’s just fine being taken away by aliens. she views this man as her destiny. it isn’t until guilty as sin? that taylor starts to ponder the moral implications of what she’s doing. is she guilty as sin for wanting to leave her previous religion and relationship behind? she comes to the conclusion that, even if she rolls the stone away and gets resurrected/redeemed, she cannot avoid the fallout. she is okay with the thought of having to wait, as long as both lovers vow to be together forever, just as she once did with someone else in false god. ‘I choose you and me religiously’ finishes the bridge of the song in a direct callback to cornelia street.

the next mention of religion has murkier imagery. she claims that she does not need the Lord’s help to save this man. she sees the halo that he has, and she can fix him herself. now that she feels free of her prior cage, she isn’t looking for divine intervention anymore. she wants control. she is their route to salvation.

when the relationship falls apart, she retreats back into the position of a believer rather than a divine figure. she compares him to a Holy Ghost who promised to save her and take her to heaven. instead, she is in hell in every sense of the word: she’s down bad and feels guilty for digging up the grave. he was a jehovah’s witness who promised that she could break free of the cage imposed by love without changing her religion altogether; she would’ve just had to switch denominations. she could still have a marriage and kids! she could still have a blue tortured poet! the man was different, but not the dreams they had together. the story of the first part of the album ends here. her faith has been broken, and she has only found any semblance of sanity by refusing to mention these belief systems altogether.

side b/the anthology blends the christian imagery of side a with goddesses, sorcerers, and prophecies. she bargains with these powers to let her have the future she wants (the prophecy). she doesn’t sound like someone believing in salvation. if anything, she feels cursed. she decides that the concept of divinely ordained timing will never work in certain relationships (‘the goddess of timing once found us beguiling / she said she was trying / peter, was she lying?’). this disdain extends onto her perception of other people’s faith (‘bet they never spared a prayer for my soul’). she does position herself as a prophet in cassandra, but even then, she admits that the role has hurt her. perhaps the pain in thank you aimee was meant to be, or perhaps she was just strong enough to build a legacy in spite of it, boulder by boulder. is she a martyr? does she want to be? or did she save herself?

the only real love song on this half of the album makes no mention of fate or any divine forces. it wasn’t meant to be. it’s not a supernatural invisible string or lightning in a bottle. she is just in love.

the album ends with the manuscript, which revisits an old story of a defining, formative heartbreak. as she sings ‘at last, she knew what the agony had been for’ while describing the legacy of her writing, she seems to revert to thinking about the purpose of trauma. the only exception is that, in this case, she is the one who found meaning in her pain by turning it into a manuscript. writing is her belief system now, and she proselytizes by telling her stories and thus giving up the manuscript.

ultimately, her belief in destiny has chewed her up and spat her out. she so desperately clung to her existing belief systems that she was fooled by a conman, which left her feeling cursed. religion is supposed to be with someone even in their darkest moments, but the album explains that taylor often felt abandoned. the only constant in her life was, well, herself. she’ll be okay, but her pen will be her saving grace.

[palmettoshenanigans]

I fucking- I can't find it right now, but whichever one of you motherfuckers said Andrew's 'lack of control' was actually just intentionally calculated releases of pressure, that he was always in control when he lashed out because he lashed out in very specific and measured degrees - every single 'too far' was always 'just enough', its just no one else saw the raging volcanic inferno brewing just beneath the floorboards cus they were too distracted by how ear piercing the sound of the tea kettle going off was-

You're so sexy and I love you, but I wanna respond to you in spirit cus I can't find your post babes

We love 'biblically accurate' and 'devil's sacrament' as religious phrases yea? Well, my favorite (aside from 'heated fellowship', a black christian euphemism for fucking nasty) happens to be to 'know' or more specifically to 'know biblically', another word/phrase for fucking someone nasty.

stay with me this is going somewhere i promise pack a bag if you must

The interpretation I was raised with was that sexual intimacy was so vulnerable and exposing of one's most inner authenticity (that which apparently only God had such access to) that sex could make someone Know and See you the way Christ did (yadda yadda, "only fuck other Christians cus they'll be saved and sanctified enough to honor that blessing", yadda yadda) ANYWAY

THE POINT IS

You ever have someone in your life who just,,, saw you? Like, they could take one look at you and just Intuit Through The Vibes that something was up? Like they could just feel your energy and knew what to do or say or whatever? The kind of person who could walk into a room where you're minding your own business, doing something mundane, and they take one cursory scan of your posture and immediately ask "What's wrong?" like,,, what??? why do you ask??? what do you mean 'you can tell', I'm not fucking doing anything???

The kind of being seen for who you are that just leaves you feeling kinda exposed and tender? The kind of thing that leaves you bereft and yearning if you've never experienced it before (or had but lost it) because it feels like everyone only likes different mirages of you?

Andrew and Neil are so Relationship Of All Time because they seemed to See and Know each other like that even before they started locking lips on rooftops.

When Neil said "I want to see you lose control", i'm imagining Andrew probably felt so naked and flayed because everyone assumed he was perpetually losing his grip. On his anger, on his sanity, on reality, on his control. But like,,, Op's Spirit Of Post Long Lost, you were so fucking right. Every bit of Andrew's behavior was carefully calculated and intentionally released packages of what was his True Inner Turbulence that he would never dare release out into the open because that's not a target he's willing to give anyone a chance at aiming for.

Out of control? Andrew hasn't been that since he was probably a tween.

But Neil had never been fooled. From cigarettes and airport pickups to cigarettes and rooftop altercations, not once had he fallen for the mirage.

Without ever having needed to touch him in that way, Neil Knew Andrew. Biblically.

And that's why Andrew simply had to engage him in heated fellowship.

[etz-ashashiyot]

Hope you're doing alright. Recently in Pathfinder, the term "golem" has been removed in reference to certain monsters and replaced with other terms like Effigy in order to avoid cultural appropriation. I was curious about the original source material and in my search found that the Golem of Prague can be allegorical for a bunch of things, notably the hazards of aggressive resistance to bigotry. I found it enlightening and tragic, given the current bloodthirst on display so often.

I am gripping my sanity with both hands like the reins of a half-trained mule, thanks for asking! /hj

As for the golem, the Jewish Virtual Library says:

Often in Ashkenazi Hasidic lore, the golem would come to life and serve his creators by doing tasks assigned to him. The most well-known story of the golem is connected to Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel, the Maharal of Prague (1513-1609). It was said that he created a golem out of clay to protect the Jewish community from Blood Libel and to help out doing physical labor, since golems are extraordinarily strong. Another version says it was close to Easter, in the spring of 1580 and a Jew-hating priest was trying to incite the Christians against the Jews. So, the golem protected the community during the Easter season. Both versions recall the golem running amok and threatening innocent lives, so Rabbi Loew removed the Divine Name, rendering the golem lifeless. A separate account has the golem going mad and running away.

Indeed, an interesting lens through which to view current events — and equally so, that the exact message varies greatly based on whose story you tell. 🙂

[crowsoundsonly]

dr. barnes

pair: fbi instructor!professor!bucky barnes x fem!student!reader

word count: ~6.5k

summary: you ask for some advice from your reclusive and very attractive professor.

warnings: teacher student relationship so slight age gap but i had pictured it being less than 10 years, super soft bucky, smut at the end (~1.3k), fingering (f rec) but not super descriptive, crime scene descriptions, descriptions of blood, some christian/religious references at the crime scenes, (let me know if i missed any !!)

a/n: this one held me hostage for weeks. i literally could not stop thinking about it. do i have uni exams this week? yes. but did i spend my time writing this? also yes. i hope you guys like it !!

“Explain the killer. What does he do? What motivates him? How would you catch him? A thousand words printed by the next class. Have a good weekend,” your professor, Dr. Barnes, announces with a nod, cueing the shuffling of laptops and bags belonging to FBI trainees eager to get home on a Friday afternoon.

You load up your things, your mind still thinking about the brutal crime scene photos shown on the slides of the lecture today that made your stomach turn over. While you know you have chosen to be at the FBI, you can’t help but wonder sometimes what you are doing there. Your degree in psychology and doctorate in criminology has led you to the FBI Academy, but your mind still swirls when the most horrible acts of violence are placed in front of you. You chalk it up to you retaining your humanity and sanity, so you are not exactly upset over the fact. It just makes your job more difficult.

Dr. Barnes’ class is always the most brutal, but it is by far the most fascinating class you have. It does help that your professor is the most fascinating part, being very good looking and extremely private. He shares very little personal information, telling you only that he used to work homicide at the police department before beginning teaching. You notice that he does not talk to students often, simply giving his lectures, packing up and leaving after the sea of students flood into the hallways.

You are curious about him, about what he is like when he is not lecturing, and figuring that you have little to lose, you decide to come back after your classes to ask for some help. 

…

“Dr. Barnes?” you call out as you step into the lecture hall that is still lit, leaving you to believe that someone is there. You take a few more steps and find your professor sitting at his desk, photos piled around, staring intently at the laptop in front of him. He makes no movement to acknowledge you, his focus completely locked onto his work.

You walk all the way up to his desk, repeating his name which does little to deter him. You reach a hand out and give his shoulder a slight squeeze, causing him to jump in his seat and look up at you, eyes wide. 

“Sorry, Dr. Barnes. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

At your words, he scans your face, recognition dawning on his features. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he says quietly, his eyes focusing on the books you are holding in your hands. 

“It’s okay, Dr. Barnes,” you assure him.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he trails off a bit at the end of his question, asking for your name in its absence.

You fill in your name and explain, “I just have a question. I’m writing a paper for another class and was hoping that you could give me some insight on the topic. I’m really just looking for another perspective.”

“Of course,” he says as he leans back in his chair. There is not another chair, so you take to sitting on the edge of his desk.

“The paper is about female serial killers, and I was wondering what you think the most common traits and motives are. We have discussed some examples in class, but I wanted to ask what your experience has been.”

He thinks for a moment, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “They usually work in health care professions. They’ll, um, they will be married or have been married before. They usually kill to improve their situation, so they’ll target people they know, usually men. But not all women,” he stops and looks up at you before continuing to explain a case he had while working homicide where they investigated a series of killings that followed the signs of a male killer but ended up being a woman. 

Dr. Barnes runs a hand through his hair when he finishes, leaning back in his chair. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in this position and at this angle. His dark hair tousled and glasses twirling between his thumbs, you think about how it would feel to reach out and feel his hair between your fingers. You school yourself, your face becoming hot at the idea. He is your professor, and you would do well to remember that. 

You continue the conversation, asking him questions and prodding for more insight. When you figure you have taken up enough of his time, you bow your head a bit and begin getting up from your place on the desk.

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Barnes. I really appreciate you taking the time.”

He nods in acknowledgment, a small smile adorning his lips which you watch perhaps a little too intently as he says. “It was nothing. I’m glad I could help.”

You begin walking toward the door of the lecture hall but are stopped by your name being called out.

“Would you actually mind taking a look at these pictures? I’d like to know what you see.”

You turn back around. The look on his face is one of curiosity. You wonder why he would want to ask you, and part of you wants to believe that it is because he wants you to stay, but you know better. 

“Sure,” you shrug, making your way back to his desk. “I’m not sure I’ll be of much help, though”

“Just take a look. It’s not a test, if that’s what you’re worried about,” your professor says, standing up to hand you the crime scene photos.

They are gruesome, but you don’t know what else you could have expected with Dr. Barnes. You examine them all the while trying to ignore the way he leans over your shoulder as you fail to concentrate. You are so close that if you took a single step back, you would be flush to him. 

Pushing those thoughts away, you focus your attention on the photos, flipping through them, noticing the odd blood splatter near the baseboard that doesn’t have a body laying anywhere near it. 

“What would make the killer climb on top of the counter to shoot someone, get down, and move the body?” you think out loud as you turn your head to look at Dr. Barnes. You notice how close your faces are and let out a breath at the discovery. “Dominance?” your voice is more shaky than you wanted it to sound.

“I was hoping you could tell me. My guess is they were waiting there, but it still doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking past you and to the picture you are holding. You look back down as well, grateful you did not make eye contact, the idea of the intimacy of it alarming.

“If they were standing on it, that would make sense, but the angle doesn’t really fit. It seems as if they were waiting for them to get home, and they sat, swinging their legs, completely calm and casual about shooting this person,” you pause, mulling over your words before saying, “Maybe they even knew this person. The proximity to the counter could mean that the victim was comfortable enough to approach them, and that the victim was unaware of what was going to happen.”

He hums in agreement in your ear, and a feeling of satisfaction washes over you. Turning back around, you hand the photos to your professor and take a step back. 

“I think you may be right,” he says with a nod, a small smile again creeping onto his features. You make eye contact and keep it, somewhat entranced by it.

“I’m glad I was able to help,” you smile. “Thanks again, Dr. Barnes. Have a good night.”

…

You anticipate going back to classes on Monday, knowing that you have to attend Dr. Barnes’ lecture. You don’t know if anything will be different after the night you spent talking to your professor. Part of you knows that nothing should be different. While there are only a few years between you, you are still his student.

But part of you wants things to be different. The entire weekend, you could not get out of your head the image of his face so close to yours or the sight of him as he leaned back in his chair, legs casually falling open. 

Dr. Barnes is not in the lecture hall when you arrive for which you are grateful. You settle into your seat and wait for the lecture to begin by fiddling with your laptop. When your professor does come in, you notice that he combed his hair today, letting it fall neatly over his forehead. The plaid shirt he wears still doesn’t match his suit, but you find it charming. He slips his glasses on and begins teaching.

The whole lecture you try valiantly to focus on the subject, but you fail rather miserably, unable to think of anything but how you stood right where he is, your back a foot away from his chest with him humming in your ear. It is going to be a long term if this is how every lecture is going to go.

You are brought back to reality when Dr. Barnes makes eye contact with you. He smiles which you quickly reciprocate, then he turns around, gesturing to the screen before anyone notices.

It is definitely going to be a long semester.

…

Weeks go on with you and Dr. Barnes smiling at each other from afar, both of you knowing that you would be playing with fire if you do anything more than smile. But the longer you go simply smiling, the more you want to do something about it.

And one day, he does something about it. On your way out of the lecture hall, Dr. Barnes stops you, calling out your name. You walk over, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

“I’ve another case I’d like your opinion on. Do you have time tonight to take a look?” he asks you quietly so as to not draw the attention of the students still exiting the room.

“Yes. Here at 7:30?”

He nods, making a flash of eye contact which you return with a smile. 

…

You make your way to Dr. Barnes’ lecture hall, your stomach roiling with nerves. You have thought too much about him, fantasized a little often for you to not think about it when you talk to him. The soles of your shoes click on the tile as you walk the hallway. You take a deep breath and open the door.

Dr. Barnes is reclined behind his desk, crime scene photos in his hand as he flips through them intently. At your entrance, his head flicks up to find your figure approaching his desk.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” he says as he stands up. 

“Hi, yeah. It’s – yeah it’s no problem, Dr. Barnes,” you manage to get out, tripping over your words more than you would have liked. Another deep breath to collect yourself. “What can I do to help?”

He leans against the front of his desk and reaches behind him to grab the photos he was examining before. You take a few steps closer to grab them from his outstretched hand.

“A recent set of murders. It’s odd to say the least,” he starts, watching you intently as you study the photos. 

The scene is horrifying, blood smeared across the walls, not as blood spray or splatter, but in an image. A lamb. Your mind spins as you look through more of the pictures, each of them showing blood splashed on the walls. You wonder what the killer did in order to get that much blood. There is too much for it to have come from just one body.

“How many people were found dead?”

“Only one,” he answers, leaning in to help you find the image of the body heaped over the table. You can’t help but notice everywhere his body touches yours, how his breath flutters against your neck, but you cast those thoughts away to focus on the case at hand.

“There had to have been more. There’s too much blood,” you mumble as you cart through the images again, counting as you go. A beat passes as you take in the scene, contemplating before constructing ideas.

“What do you see?”

“In ancient religious practices, a lamb would be sacrificed and the blood would be sprinkled around seven times. There are seven places where the blood was thrown on the wall,” you pause to show him each one. You glance up at your professor who is looking on intently, urging you to continue. “Then you have the body placed on the table. It could be sacrificial. The lamb was supposed to be perfect. Without blemish. Maybe – maybe the killer saw this person as their perfect – their perfect lamb, as someone who would put them in favor with God. The sacrificial lamb is sacramental. Symbolic. Messianic. It’s an act of repentance. So what was the killer repenting from?”

A hum from Dr. Barnes pulls you out of your reverie and breaks your focus from the crime scene photos. You lean around his form to place the pictures back on his desk, your shoulder brushing against his arm. His eyes follow you before he brings a hand up to rub his eyes, almost like he is physically rubbing away the images.

“Do you think the killer knew the victim?” he asks quietly, bringing his hands down to meet your eyes.

“I think they could be family. Family or close friends. They were their savior,” you answer, matching his tone.

Dr. Barnes nods in agreement and in that moment, you can see that he looks like a man who is carrying the world on his shoulders. He slouches forward slightly, his hair strewn around his ears with bags under his eyes. It takes everything in you to not reach out a hand to touch his cheek, to rub a thumb across his lips as you have in your dreams.

Appalled by your own thoughts, you take a step back to give yourself space to halt that train of thought. The movement makes him stand, subconsciously trying to keep the close proximity between you. You don’t break eye contact, making the moment intimate. Intense.

“This case has been keeping me up at night,” he confesses as he brings a hand to run through his hair with a sigh, breaking eye contact. “I wonder where the other bodies are. I can’t seem to get my mind around it.” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you say in nearly a whisper. “You’re good at what you do.”

“Thank you for your help. It’s some really great insight you had.”

“It’s no problem, Dr. Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he says quickly, rushing it out like he knows he shouldn’t let it pass his lips.

“Bucky,” you repeat, trying the name out on your tongue. 

You then fall into easy conversation, learning more about each other. You discover that Bucky has a PhD in criminology as well, and that he used to be a field agent but decided to leave it to become a teacher at the academy. Part of you wants to ask why, but you figure that it isn’t a conversation he wants to have while still getting to know you. He asks about your life, your family, your education. He is interested in why and how you landed at the academy. You answer him honestly, not inclined to hide away as you normally do when people ask those questions.

Bucky is surprisingly sociable. Based on his reclusiveness when it comes to students, you were not expecting to hold such easy and fun conversation. It makes you want to spend the whole night chatting, joking, exploring. But you know you should not stay. 

When the conversation lulls, you glance at your watch and ask, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Bucky? I think I might head home.”

Before you can even register what is happening, he takes a singular step forward and leans in to meet his lips to yours. In shock, you stand limply, not sure how to respond. You can’t deny that you have thought about this moment for weeks, dreaming about it, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Bucky. But you hadn’t expected it to happen tonight.

And before you have time to respond, he pulls away, opening his eyes to look at you with wide ones of his own.

“I’m sorry, I–”

You don’t acknowledge his apology, instead leaning in to kiss him again, only you are prepared for it this time. He responds immediately as his lips move slowly over yours, testing the waters. Your hands are still by your sides, but his come to settle in your hair and over your arm. His kisses are controlled and soft, not pressing for more than what you are willing to give. A sigh flutters from your nose which ghosts over his cheeks.

Breaking away for a second, you open your eyes and find his already looking at you. The both of you know that you are playing with fire. You are still his student, and he is your professor, but the feeling of his lips on yours overrules any rational thought at the moment.

You give a slight nod and he takes that as a green light to kiss you again. Bucky pulls you closer, and your hands find their way around his torso, snaking up into his hair. It is his turn to sigh at the action which causes satisfaction to roll down your back in waves that has you leaning further into the kiss, opening your mouth ever so slightly. He takes advantage and kisses you deeper. A soft moan escapes you at the feeling, followed by a shaky breath.

He pulls away, a triumphant smile playing at his mouth. 

“I’m not sorry,” he whispers.

“Me neither.”

He kisses you once more, chaste and short, but it carries more meaning than any of the other kisses. It tells you that he has thought about this, too. It wasn’t a spur of the moment, impulsive decision. And it tells you that he plans on doing it again.

…

You settle into a routine with Bucky. After class on Fridays, he stops you on your way out and quietly asks you to come back to look over a case or his lectures. You always nod and come back at 7:30. 

The unspoken truth of the need for secrecy looms over your blooming relationship, but you are almost spurred on by the illicitness of it all. You haven’t done anything more than kiss. You haven’t even interacted beyond the walls of the lecture hall. You both know that it is safest that way. 

The more time you spend together, the more you find yourself falling in love with Bucky. His quirks make you smile. The way he perks up when you walk through the door makes your heart flutter in your chest. You have never felt so valued by anyone before. He trusts your opinions. He respects your honesty. You admire his dedication to what he does. You find his quiet nature calming. 

The list of things you love about Bucky keeps you up at night as you replay scenes of kissing at his desk behind your eyes as you fall asleep. Bucky kisses you like you are ice cream on a sunny day, slow and hungry like he savors every second of your mouth on his. He never presses you for more, only going so far as to set you up on his desk, pulling your hips to his, allowing you to wrap your legs around him as you wind your fingers in his hair. He always sighs when you tug at it which gives you the opportunity to kiss at his neck, your chin always getting scratched by his stubble. 

You love the routine. However, it makes it hard to concentrate during the lectures since all you can think about when you look at his desk is how good his hands felt on your hips and how his lips were pressed to yours when you were propped up on the wood yourself.

The semester continues on following your routine. If anyone suspects anything, they don’t say. You can’t imagine that someone hasn’t picked up on the soft smiles he sends your direction during lectures, and stragglers leaving class late on Fridays must hear his whispers for you to come back. 

Steadily approaching the end of the term, you begin to question how long your routine will continue. You will no longer be Bucky’s student. Could you actually date? Would he want to? Is that what you want?

…

The familiar tug of nerves settles in the pit of your stomach as you walk to class with Bucky — Dr. Barnes if you were still professional, but you figure that his lips have kissed you a few too many times and in a few too many places for you to call him that. It is your last class in his lecture hall, meaning that beyond today, you are free to make a decision as to whether this is serious or not.

In your heart of hearts, you want this to keep going. You love how you feel around Bucky. While you have not said it out loud, you love him. You feel yourself aching to hear him say it, too. 

When you arrive in the room, Bucky is already there, nervously flipping through crime scene photos while running his hands through his hair, creating a rather haphazard mess on his head. He looks more anxious than usual, and it takes everything in you to not to stride to his desk and ask him what’s wrong. 

Instead, you brush past him, trailing a quick hand over his arm, hoping that it has a calming effect over him. His eyes flash to yours as you cast a look over your shoulder, smiling at him. He sends you a tight lipped smile back as his shoulders shrug down from their place beside his ears. 

From your seat, you watch Bucky pace around a bit, obviously concerned about something. You rub your palms over your thighs when you discover them clenched in worry. You wonder if his stress has anything to do with the reason you were nervous coming to class today — the talk you know is coming tonight. You figure it does when his eyes glance over at you every few minutes before beginning the lecture.

You find yourself becoming sentimental about the semester as you look around the room, taking in the feeling for the last time. If you and Bucky do decide to continue your relationship, you can never take one of his classes again. If you don’t continue to see Bucky, you doubt you will want to take one of his classes again. You will miss his funny side comments that come out of left field. You will miss his mismatched suits and disheveled hair. 

The sound of Bucky announcing the end of class breaks you out of your thoughts, and the shuffling of backpacks and feet brings you back to reality. A stream of students thank Bucky as they flow out of the classroom for the final time. You stall a minute, waiting for the throng to exit out the doors before approaching your professor.

“Hey, Bucky,” you say quietly, clutching your laptop to your chest. 

“Hey.”

You watch him lean against his desk, hands pressed to the edge of the wood. 

“How are you doing?” you ask the question that has been waiting to erupt since you entered the lecture hall an hour previous. “You seem nervous.”

A chuckle that comes out more as a sigh escapes him. “Yeah. I’m fine. I, uh, I just didn’t get much sleep last night. How are…how are you?”

“Wistfully contemplating the end of my time in your class,” you reply playfully, hoping that the happy tone will hide the melancholy you really feel about the idea.

This elicits a laugh from Bucky as he looks at you through his lashes — a look that always has your knees threatening to come out from under you. You take steps closer and set your laptop down on his desk, then place your hands on his shoulders, running them down his arms to settle in his hands.

“Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?” you ask, the words barely more than a whisper. You want to catch them in the air, afraid that your proposal to disrupt the routine will be rejected.

But Bucky smiles immediately, thinking for a moment before saying, “Why don’t I cook dinner?”

Your stomach flutters at the thought of watching him in the kitchen. You nod in response.

“7:30?”

“7:30,” you repeat before letting go of his hands to walk out the doors, throwing a smile over your shoulder as you go.

…

The drive to Bucky’s house is quiet but comfortable. About halfway through the trip, your hands link together, resting on your thigh. You talk lazily, asking questions about each others’ days since your morning lecture. There is something so calming about Bucky. You trust him. You love him.

Every once in a while, your eyes flick over to watch him drive, eyes intently focused on the road ahead. He can feel your gaze, so he sends a glance over to you with a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“What?” he asks when you don’t shy away from his eyes.

“Nothing, Buck. I just like being with you.”

“I do, too.”

The sweetness of his simple confession does more to your confidence than you ever thought possible. You feel comfortable around Bucky. You need only be yourself when you are with him, and hearing that same sentiment from him gives you hope that he wants this to continue just as much as you do.

You squeeze his hand, at which he laughs softly, squeezing yours back, brushing his thumb over the knuckles on the back of your hand.

Gravel crunching under tires and the faint sound of dogs barking indicates that you have arrived at your destination. You open the car door and follow Bucky to the front steps of a small house on the edge of town. A large open field is situated behind his house, neighbors nonexistent. Given Bucky’s personality, you are not surprised to discover that he lives alone, away from people, away from the city. 

A flash of nervousness pricks at your mind, as no one would be around if Bucky shows you that isn’t the guy you think he is. But you trust him, and you trust him enough to accept your fate if it does prove to be your downfall.

The door creaks open, and Bucky flicks on the light. Two big dogs come bounding to greet you both, circling his feet until he crouches down to give them the attention they are begging for. To see Bucky with his dogs makes your mind go fuzzy and warm, the tenderness of the scene eradicating your doubts from before.

“Charlie and Duke,” Bucky says, showing you which dog belongs to which name, rubbing each of them affectionately before standing and grabbing your hand.

“They’re adorable.”

“They’re good dogs.”

He leans in for a quick kiss, the domesticity of it causing your breath to catch in your throat. He pulls away smiling, then tugs you into the kitchen where he drags a chair out from the table for you to sit on.

“Sit,” Bucky says with mirth in his voice.

You laugh but do as you are told. 

“I was thinking of making steaks. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds great.”

You watch Bucky make his way around the kitchen, obviously having done this a lot. He looks comfortable. He catches you staring, meeting your gaze head on, an easy smile adorning his mouth before asking, “What are you smiling at?”

“You. I like seeing you here,” you say quietly. 

“Not as much as I like seeing you sit at my table. I’ve thought about this a lot,” he admits with his back to you as he throws the steaks in the pan. “I like being around you. I’m more comfortable with you than anyone else. You make me feel — you make me feel normal. Most people don’t do that. They don’t — they don’t want to understand me. My old friends can only think about who I was before I quit the force. They don’t — they don’t want to like who I am now.”

The words spill out of Bucky before he can stop them, opening up to you in a way that he has not before. He has let you in here and there over the months you have been spending together in the lecture hall, but he has stayed rather private even then. Not sure what to say in response, you simply move from your place at the table to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your cheek on his back. You can feel him relax into your touch, and it is a comfort to you both.

“Bucky, I think I am in love with you,” you whisper into his shirt. His body tenses, the sizzling of the meat in the pan filling the silence. Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for him to say something. Burying your face further into him, disappointment and embarrassment creeping in your stomach, settling heavily when he doesn’t say anything. When a minute that feels like an eternity passes in silence, you mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry.” 

You let go of Bucky and take a step back. He quickly takes the pan off the heat and whips around to face you, pulling you back to him, whispering your name. 

“I love you,” the words are sure and confident coming from his lips. “I know I do.”

He looks at you intently, not shying away from your eyes before leaning in and kissing you softly. You get lost in his kisses, the pounding of your heart racing at a steady quick beat. Bucky backs you into the counter where he cages you with his hands as you weave one of your hands into his hair, the other running up his spine.

“Stay the night,” he mumbles between kisses.

You pull away and nod, meeting his eyes again, kissing him once without breaking the contact.

…

Settling on his couch after laughing yourselves silly over the dinner table, Bucky is close behind you with bowls of ice cream in hand. He hands you a spoon before sitting down right beside you, pulling your legs to stretch over his lap. He runs a hand absentmindedly over your shins as the two of you eat your ice cream. 

“Why did you come talk to me that night?,” he asks between spoonfuls. “You didn’t really need my help. You knew everything I was telling you.”

You smile like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I did need your help,” you assert before admitting, “but I also just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

The sound of his laugh makes your heart flutter the same way it does when he looks up at you from behind his desk. 

“Hey, not all my professors are attractive recluses who deserve a starring role in my nightly fantasies.”

“Oh, so you fantasize about me,” he presses, the smirk on his face unlike any expression you have ever seen on him. He looks smug, proud, teasing. It makes heat flash to your core.

You hum but it comes out more as a squeak, your focus turning intently on the ice cream melting in your bowl.

“Do you want to know what I’ve fantasized about you?” Bucky asks lowly, grabbing the bowl from your hands, causing your eyes to lift to his. You watch him set it on the floor. Your heart begins pounding again as he moves to climb over you, settling between your open legs.

“What have you fantasized about, Bucky?” you ask quietly, voice shaky.

You take a breath when he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You open your mouth to deepen it, and he takes advantage, his tongue pressing to your upper lip. The feeling has your hips rolling and sighs falling from your throat.

He pulls away to murmur into your neck, “Every time I would sit on my couch, I thought about laying you down and kissing you until you can’t remember your own name.”

Your eyes are screwed shut as you tug at his hair, his words forming pools of heat between your hips where his own apply pressure. Your words fail you, only a whimper escaping you. His lips move along your neck, working their way back to your mouth, giving due attention to the places on the way that have you squirming beneath him. You hands tug at his shirt to slip your fingers beneath the fabric, skimming up his back, scratching lightly.

His kisses become feverish at the feeling of your nails down his back. One hand hooks your knee to pull your form even closer to his, hips slipping into place. You can feel yourself becoming wetter by the second, the slow circling of his hips against yours creating friction that has you moaning.

In one swift motion, his hands are gliding up your sides, taking your shirt with you. You lean up to help him before settling back down against the pillows. He sits on his heels to take his own shirt off which allows you to see him in the faint light casted by the lamp in the corner.

You notice a shining scar that extends from one hip to the other below his navel. Fingertips reach out to touch it, barely making contact before his own hand stills your movements. 

“Is this why you quit the force?” you ask barely above a whisper.

He only nods, his feelings of vulnerability silencing him. You aren’t disgusted by it. It doesn’t change how you see him. You don’t pity him. You are simply curious. And amazed at his strength. He survived whatever left him this scar.

“Can I see it?”

Bucky takes a fluttering breath through his nose then nods again. You climb to the floor, resting on your knees between his legs. You glance up at him and see his head lolling to the side as he looks down at you, eyes hazy and soft. His eyebrows are scrunched, letting you know that he is concentrated, but the dam of secrecy surrounding Bucky is breaking with every passing second.

Tentatively, you stretch a hand forward, your fingertips grazing the scar. His stomach flexes beneath your touch. 

No one has seen his scar since the doctor sewed him back up. He has a fear of pity. He knows that people won’t see him the same when they see the effects of what happened to him — of what was done to him. But he doesn’t see pity in your eyes. He sees awe and amazement. 

Without warning, you press your lips to his stomach, the intimacy of it rendering his mind blank. You hear him swear quietly which urges you to keep going. You kiss all along the scar, his hips, then upwards before you climb into his lap. You find his lips again and kiss slowly, surely, passionately.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too.”

You share a few more kisses before he stands up, pulling you with him to his room. He fumbles through his dressers to find a shirt and pair of shorts for you to wear. He hands them to you, then rummages through the bathroom cabinets to find a new toothbrush for you to use.

You thank him after he says that he will meet you back at the bed. The calm and comfort of being with Bucky is undeniable. The domesticity of the night has your heart skipping beats. You quickly change and brush your teeth before making your way to his bed. Noticing books stacked on the nightstand on one side, you slip under the covers of the other, sighing contently when you settle in.

Bucky comes in a moment later with only sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He decided to not put a shirt back on, relishing in the freedom that being with you gives him. He doesn’t climb into bed immediately, but rather stands and looks at you for a moment, curled up in his sheets.

“What have you fantasized about here?” you ask teasingly, but your voice comes out thinner than you had intended. 

At your words, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He approaches the bed slowly, kneeling down beside you. 

“I want to know yours,” he says, his voice husky and low. You bite your lip, your eyes widening. A shaky inhale.

Soft kisses line the inside of your knee, trailing a path up your thighs. You let out a hitched moan when he places a kiss to your clothed core, your hands winding themselves in his hair. You tug slightly, inviting him to come up to the bed with you.

When he climbs up, you lean back, your shirt riding up over your stomach. Wordlessly, you pull his hands to your body, his calloused palms caressing the exposed skin. He runs his thumbs under your breasts, causing you to arch into his touch. Bucky can’t believe that you respond to him so keenly. He barely touches you and you are curving beneath him, aching for more. 

His lips find your neck, behind your ear, sucking gently. Your hands pull his hips to yours, rocking steadily into him. You suck in a breath, gathering the courage to grab one of his hands to lead it to where you want to feel him the most.

Bucky follows your lead without resistance, kissing you softly in an expression of consent. He helps you pull your shorts off, then presses two fingers to the wet patch on your panties. The pressure has your hips jutting into his touch, overwhelmed by the sensation when his fingers push the fabric to the side.

Your hips move in circles with his movements, his lips kissing you through it all. Moans slip and tumble from your mouth, leaving you hiccupping in pleasure. The cords in your stomach begin snapping when he speeds up his ministrations, your body contracting through your release.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers to you as he helps you come down from your high. 

Your eyes are crimped shut, but after a moment’s respite and a few encouraging kisses from Bucky, you come back to yourself. You open your eyes to find him watching you intently. You smile lazily then breathe, “Your turn.”

a/n: yayayay !! thanks for reading this !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :):) and here is my masterlist if you want to check out my other work ! and check out MY SLEEPOVER going on right now !!

[myfictionalboyfriendsandme]

Tell Me I'm Not Dreaming

Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x female!reader, Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini x Luna Lovegood

Prompt(s): "Shut up, I'm trying to confess my love to you."

Word Count: around 4,100

Warning(s): very AU, sad reader, swearing, DRAMIONE FOREVER, Sirius and Remus are alive FIGHT ME, mentions blood but nothing graphic, changing certain rules about Hogwarts to fit the story (prefect rules specifically), no house for the reader is mentioned but I suppose it's implied that she's gryffindor??

Rating: T (one f bomb)

Author's Note(s): This is so self indulgent, lol. I love fictional Theo. I don't know if y'all picture someone specific in your head but I always envision Cody Christian as Theo. Enjoy!

-----------------

"(Y/N), are you okay?"

It was always the same question.

(Y/N), are you okay? 

(Y/N), do you need anything?

(Y/N), can we do anything for you?

And she always gave the same answer.

"No, I'm fine."

But she wasn't fine, and she hadn't been fine for quite some time.

She sat alone in her bedroom at 12 Grimmauld Place. The rain pattering down against the window like tears against the glass. The fireplace was lit, emmitting a soft glow about the room. A shabby knitted blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, keeping in what little warmth she felt. There was a cup of tea sitting on the side table that she hadn't touched since Mrs. Weasley put it there, the heat long gone.

She was surrounded by people. The entire Order of the Phoenix would spend their days coming and going. The permanent residents of 12 Grimmauld Place, like the Weasley family and of couse Sirius and Remus, wandered the house daily awaiting news of anything.

And she still felt so lonely.

No one in the house really understood why she felt the way she did. No one except Hermione. Hermione was in the same situation as her, she just hid her feelings better. No one knew that Hermione would sneak into (Y/N)'s room at night and the two girls would cry themselves to sleep, hugging each other in comfort. (Y/N) was the only one around who knew how Hermione was really feeling.

Distraught.

Sad.

Frightened.

On the verge of losing the only shred of sanity they had left.

There was a sharp knock on (Y/N)'s door before she heard it open, knocking her from her melancholy trance.

"(Y/N)."

She turned to look at Hermione standing in the doorway.

"Sirius just sent a patronus." She said, her voice laced with urgency. "He's on his way here and he has three defectors with him."

(Y/N) immediately stood up, the blanket around her shoulders abandoned in the chair, her eyes wide. "Hermione..."

The other girl nodded. "I know."

Bounding towards the door, (Y/N) wiped her eyes. "Could it be them?"

"I don't know."

"Did Sirius say anything else?"

"No."

"Absolutely nothing?"

"Just that he's on his way here."

She felt like she'd been struck by lightning.

"(Y/N), we have to be emotionally prepared if it's not them." Hermione whispered.

"Fuck that, Hermione."

"(Y/N)..."

"No. I can't take this anymore. I really can't."

Before Hermione could say anything else, there was a commotion from downstairs. The two girls whipped their heads toward the staircase. Muffled screams were coming from the main level of the house.

(Y/N) looked at Hermione before the two of them exited the room, moving to look over the third floor banister. They saw Harry and Ron rushing down the stairs, Ginny and Luna close behind.

"Let's go." (Y/N) said, already making her way to the top of the stairs.

She hurried down the steps as fast as she could without hurting herself, Hermione on her heels.

Please, please, please let him be here. Please let him be okay.

Once they reached the landing between the first flight of stairs and the second, (Y/N) scanned the main floor. Harry and Ron stood at the bottom of the stairs, their attention turned towards whatever was happening in the dining room. Her eyes moved towards the doorway and she froze. Standing there was Blaise Zabini, Luna Lovegood wrapped in his arms.

Her heart stopped.

"Blaise?" She asked.

His eyes moved towards her.

Another body moved through the doorway revealing a head of platinum blonde hair.

Hermione gasped. "Draco?"

His head snapped to where they stood on the landing. "Hermione!"

Hermione moved past (Y/N) and rushed down the rest of the stairs before throwing herself into the boy's arms.

(Y/N) stopped breathing.

Three of them. There's supposed to be three of them. Where is he?

She carefully made her way down the rest of the stairs, moving by a very disgruntled Ron Weasley and a rather perplexed Harry Potter. "Where is he?" She couldn't help but notice that Blaise and Draco were both covered in blood. Her voice cracked as she felt the tears well up in her eyes. "Blaise, please."

He looked at her, his brown eyes tired and full of sympathy. Another scream echoed through the house. Without a word, he looked towards the dining room.

That's when her heart cracked in two.

Members of the Order were scattered around the room. Ginny was running back and forth between the dining room table and the parlour carrying bandages and vials of what looked like healing salves. Remus and Sirius stood with their backs to the main doorway, going through the vials and picking out what would be the most helpful before setting them on the table in a separate pile. Molly was scurrying this way and that around the table, her attention set on something different every few seconds. But on the table was a boy, bloody and writhing in pain.

Theo.

She fell to her knees, her face in her hands. "No..." The tears that had been pooling in her eyes finally fell. A pair of arms wrap around her. "He can't die. He can't die. He can't die."

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N). Come on, you don't need to see this." Hermione held her up, supporting almost all of her weight so she wouldn't fall back to the ground. "Mrs. Weasley knows what she's doing."

(Y/N)'s eyes darted back to Theo. "I can't leave him."

"Let's just go to the kitchen and let them work. We won't be far."

As Theo let out another agonizing cry, (Y/N) let Hermione lead her away. She looked back towards the dining room entryway but it was blocked by Blaise, Luna, and Draco who were following them down the hallway. The three looked back at her with sympathetic eyes.

The next thing (Y/N) knew, the group had entered the kitchen. Hermione had pulled out a chair for her to sit in before taking the seat directly to her right. Draco followed suit and sat next to Hermione while Blaise and Luna sat across from them. Once they were situated, Blaise grabbed Luna's hand and held it in his lap.

"We didn't know you and Blaise were seeing each other, Luna." Hermione observed.

Luna laid her head against his shoulder, smiling softly despite the sadness of her friend. Blaise glanced down at her before answering. "We're both rather private, Granger. We didn't really want to advertise our relationship to all of Hogwarts, especially considering the state of the wizarding world."

Hermione nodded. She looked at Draco. "I understand that. I think we all do."

There was a moment of silence as everyone at the table took in their current situation. (Y/N), finally snapping back to reality, looked at Blaise again. There were blood stains covering the front of his shirt and a rip in the sleeve of his jacket. Draco also looked disheveled, his usuaully styled hair unkempt and scruffy. Both boys had dark circles under their eyes.

"What happened?"

Blaise made eye contact with (Y/N). More screams sounded from upstairs. "(Y/N), I don't think-"

"I want to know." She interrupted.

He sighed. "Okay." He looked at Hermione then back to (Y/N). "We've been planning to defect for months. I think we all came to the same conclusion around the same time. The night Dumbledore died."

Out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) could see Draco squeeze Hermione's hand.

"We wanted to stay that night, but it was impossible. They would have killed us right then and there. We had no choice but to leave." Blaise paused and looked at Draco. "We practically had to drag Theo." He cleared his throat. "Earlier today, we were summoned to go on a mission. Someone had gotten word to the Dark Lord about Order members being in Diagon Alley. We were told we would have the upper hand so an ambush would be easy. That's when Draco sent his patronus to Sirius."

"Draco, that could've been dangerous! What if someone had seen you?" Hermione scolded.

The blonde rolled his eyes. "No one knows I can even form a patronus, Hermione. It was the only way to get word to the Order as fast as possible."

"Yes, now we all know that Draco's patronus is an otter. Adorable, mate." Blaise quipped.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, piss off."

"Anyway," Blaise continued, "when we showed up, it was already a shit show. The fighting had already begun, so they sent us in as reinforcements. Luckily for us, it looked like the Order was winning. That was the only way our plan was going to work."

"I saw Sirius right away." Draco added. "There was no one else around right then so I helped him disarm Yaxley, then before anything else could happen I cast my patronus again. Poor bloke looked like he'd seen a ghost."

"That's when Theo asked him for help." Blaise leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "Sirius rushed us into a side alley and asked if we were being honest. It didn't really take much convincing though. We all looked rather... anxious. Then he told us to apparate to the Burrow. Said he'd meet us there after the fighting had stopped."

There was another pause as Blaise hesitated.

Draco continued. "The four of us were about to apparate, but-"

"The four of you?" Hermione asked.

He nodded then bowed his head. "Pansy was with us, too."

(Y/N) watched Hermione put her hand on Draco's back in comfort.

"Before any of us could leave, we were cornered in the alleyway." Blaise spoke up. "Sirius stepped in front of us and blocked a curse, which obviously tipped off the one's shooting at us that we were no longer on the same side. It was Dolohov and Theo's dad. They just started shooting anything they could at us, yelling about blood traitors and the like. Well, that caught the attention of Bellatrix."

(Y/N) felt her blood run cold at the name.

"She rounded the corner and when she saw Draco, she went ballistic." Blaise explained. "She sent hexes at all of us but she took one last look at Draco before she sent the killing curse his way."

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair. (Y/N) saw a tear form in his eye. "Pansy saved me." He sniffled.

Hermione whipped her head at Draco in surprise as (Y/N) let out a light gasp.

Blaise took a deep breath before he continued speaking. "None of us could have seen it coming. She just... stepped in front of him. Then she was gone. We didn't have time to do anything about it. I saw Lupin and a Weasley come up behind Dolohov and then Sirius yelled for us to go, so we apparated."

"So what happened to Theo?" (Y/N) asked, wiping her eyes.

"It was his father." Draco sneared. "Bastard sent a cutting curse at Theo before he could apparate."

Blaise sighed. "Sirius and Mr. Weasley showed up seconds after we did. They probably planned on more of an interrogation but then they saw Theo and brought us straight here."

There was a lull in conversation then. None of them had anything else to say. Hermione was rubbing circles into Draco's upper back. (Y/N) just stared at a spot on the wooden table, unable to meet eyes with anyone.

Another screamed echoed through the house.

Luna stood up. "I think I'll make some tea."

As the blonde moved about the kitchen, (Y/N) felt heartbroken. Heartbroken for Theo. Heartbroken for Pansy. Blaise. Draco. All of them.

They didn't deserve any of this.

-------

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting at the kitchen table staring at the same spot of wood, but she noticed the tea in front of her was cold.

As usual.

"(Y/N)?"

Her head snapped to the doorway. Ginny stood there, observing everyone in the room before looking back at her. "Uh, mum says you can come up if you'd like."

She didn't have to be told twice.

Dashing up the stairs two by two, she didn't think she'd ever moved so fast in her life. She made it down the hallway and to the dining room entryway in record time, the rest of the group following behind her. (Y/N) looked into the room and saw that it wasn't as chaotic as the last time she'd been standing there. The dining room table had been transfigured into a bed. Mrs. Weasley stood near the foot of it, looking at Theo who had been laid against the pillows. His arms and his chest were wrapped in bandages, but he was breathing.

"(Y/N), dear." Mrs. Weasley whispered, beckoning her closer.

Inching her way into the room, (Y/N) looked to the motherly woman. She looked exhausted. "Is he...?" (Y/N) asked, trailing off.

"He's going to be fine." Mrs. Weasley answered. "He lost a lot of blood, but we gave him a blood replenishing potion. He probably won't wake up for a while yet, but I can assure you he will be okay."

(Y/N) released a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding.

"Do you need anything, dear? What can I do for you?"

(Y/N) was in awe. What would any of them have done without Molly Weasley?

Finally taking her eyes off Theo, (Y/N) turned to face her. "You've done more than enough, Mrs. Weasley." She made her way closer to the woman and threw her arms around her in an embrace. "I can't even begin to thank you for what you've done."

(Y/N) felt Mrs. Weasley's arms tighten around her just a smidge before pulling back and smiling at her, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Is this boy the reason you haven't been drinking your tea?"

In that moment, she really couldn't help herself. (Y/N) gave a soft chuckle before turning her face towards Theo. "Is it that obvious?"

Mrs. Weasley continued smiling, her eyes softening just a touch. "Oh, (Y/N), the boys under this roof might be a bit dense, but I'm not." She moved to grab a blanket from a chair in the corner before making her way back. "I knew something had to be bothering you. I would've bet anything that it was a someone." She wrapped the blanket around (Y/N)'s shoulders. "Does he know how you feel?"

(Y/N) didn't know how to answer. Did Theo know how she felt? She thought he did, but come to think of it, she'd never out right said the words I love you to him.

In the grand scheme of things, (Y/N) and Theo hadn't actually been together for very long. She'd always had a crush on him, there was no doubt of that, but they hadn't really spoken to one another until their sixth year at school. If (Y/N) was really being honest with herself, she'd always been too nervous to even look in his direction, afraid she'd do something to embarrass herself. Then, one fateful day in potions class, Professor Slughorn introduced amortentia.

It was like she was there. The same fragrances she registered in potions suddenly wafted into her nose, overtaking the rest of her senses. 

That day, down in the dungeons of Hogwarts, (Y/N) was overcome with a feeling so overwhelming she really didn't know what to do. She couldn't help but look at him.

Little did she know, the same thing was happening to Theo.

They locked eyes across the classroom and (Y/N) thought she might have died a little inside. He smiled at her and her body erupted into butterflies.

One would think after such an earth-shattering experience, a person could maybe gain the confidence to talk to another.

That was not the case.

(Y/N) and Theo didn't have any other interactions, big or small, until almost four months later.

Because Ron and Hermione weren't speaking to one another, there was some tension among their table in potions. (Y/N) and Harry, the two who were stuck in middle ground territory, were trying their best to make everyone get along. There weren't any positive results as of yet.

This led to their group being separated, because as Slughorn put it, "Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

She wasn't sure how it happened, or why, but she was then sat at a table with Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott. (Y/N) tried her best to avoid eye contact with the cute brunette, and was actually doing really well until she realized she had forgotten to grab an Ashwinder egg. She sighed, rather deeply, and made to move to the storage cupboard, but before she left her stool, a gloved hand entered her peripheral vision and set an egg down next to her cauldron. She quickly looked to her left and saw Theo looking right at her.

And that was only the beginning.

It was Theo's idea. They find a spot and meet in secret. They were both prefects, so it wasn't hard to do. Without raising too much suspicion, they would trade shifts with whoever was partnered with the other. They would walk the halls doing their prefect duties and then they would go to their special place.

The astronomy tower.

Not many people ventured to the astronomy tower. It was secluded and sort of cut off from the rest of the castle. It was the perfect place for two young people to meet without anyone else finding out. Until the night Dumbledore was killed.

Theo had been acting weird the couple days leading up to it. Everytime they were together (Y/N) noticed he seemed on edge, almost nervous to be around her. (Y/N) was beginning to think he had changed his mind. Maybe he didn't feel the same way she did. Maybe he wanted to move on from her. Maybe there was someone else.

"Are we meeting at the usual time tomorrow?" (Y/N) asked, looking up at him. They were sitting near the edge of the astronomy tower. The sky was clear and the stars were shining bright.

Theo didn't say anything right away. He was staring out at the grounds surrounding the castle as if in a trance.

"Theo," (Y/N) said, her voice trembling, "are you okay? You've been acting... different."

He seemed to gain some awareness back before he looked back at her. "No."

She was shocked. "What? Theo-" But she was interrupted.

"You can't be here tomorrow night."

In an instant, (Y/N) knew something was wrong. "Why?"

"Please, (Y/N)," Theo said, grabbing her hand and holding it tightly, "you can't come anywhere near the astronomy tower tomorrow night. Promise me."

(Y/N) didn't know what to think. After a few moments of silence, her eyes met his. "I promise."

Theo let go of her hand and moved his hand gently up to the side of her face before bringing his forehead to hers. "Whatever happens, we'll see each other again. I know we will."

Any doubt (Y/N) had been feeling about him immediately lifted. She could feel her eyes start to tear up. "Why does this feel like a goodbye?"

Theo pulled back to look her in the eyes. "Because it might be." Then he leaned in and kissed her.

That was the last time she had seen him. The next night, she was roaming the halls with other members of the D.A. when the death eaters had broken into the school and Dumbledore was killed.

(Y/N) was suddenly shifted back to reality.

"We never..." (Y/N) started before trailing off. "I never got the chance."

Mrs. Weasley smiled softly then patted (Y/N)'s arm lightly. "Well, it looks like you'll get the chance, dearie."

-------

(Y/N) couldn't remember falling asleep. After her conversation with Mrs. Weasley, the rest of the teenagers that were in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place made their way up the stairs into the dining room as well. Draco and Blaise wanted to check on their friend and both made sounds of relief upon seeing he was going to be okay before they were ushered up the stairs where the bedrooms were located.

Moving the comfiest chair she could find to Theo's bedside, (Y/N) kept the blanket Mrs. Weasley had given her and sat down. She tried to make herself as comfortable as possible before she grabbed Theo's hand. She must have fallen asleep looking at him because when she woke up, her face was sideways on the edge of the bed and his hand was still in hers. She propped her head up with her open hand and took a moment to look at the bindings across his arms and his chest, her eyes moving all the way up to his face.

It took her a second to realize Theo's eyes were open and looking at her.

"Theo?" She whispered. Her voice was hesitant, as if she thought it was a dream.

He smirked at her but it was full of adoration. Only Theodore Nott could make a smirk look adorable.

"I told you we'd see each other again."

(Y/N) didn't know what to do. "Please tell me I'm not dreaming."

Theo chuckled gently. "Would you like me to pinch you?"

She felt a flood of relief overtake her body and it was so powerful, she started to cry.

"Oh, darling, no." Theo tried to move but grimaced before deciding it was probably better to lay still. "Darling, please. Don't cry."

(Y/N) sniffled and brought the sleeve of her shirt up to her eyes to wipe the tears away. "I can't help it, Theo! I was so worried!" Theo attempted to interrupt but (Y/N) continued before he could get a single word in. "I've been worried for months! I didn't know if you were alive or dead, and then you show up here covered in blood!"

"(Y/N)-"

"And then Draco tells me you were hit by a cutting curse by your own father! You could have died by bleeding out if you hadn't gotten here sooner than you did. Then the last thing I would've said to you before you died would've been something stupid and not "I love you" like it should have been-"

"(Y/N)-"

"But I was too scared to say anything to you about it the last time we saw each other-"

"(Y/N)!"

"Shut up, Theo, I'm trying to confess my love to you!"

And then there was silence.

(Y/N) was sure her face looked as red as a tomato. Her skin felt like it was vibrating off of her body. She could feel the palpable silence between her and the boy in front of her.

She looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry." She stood up and turned her back to him before making her way to the entrance of the dining room.

"You love me?"

She froze. It was so quiet (Y/N) wasn't sure he'd actually said it. Turning back to him, she saw he was still looking at her, a new emotion in his eyes.

She took a deep breath. "Theo..." She moved back to the chair at his bedside. "I always have."

Theo narrowed his eyes as if he couldn't actually believe it. "Really?"

(Y/N) nodded and swiped a piece of hair behind her ear, looking down at her hands in her lap.

There was a beat of silence before Theo spoke up again. "I love you, too."

She smiled. The words she had always longed to hear. It was like a symphony of angels. Her eyes reached his and they looked considerably brighter than they did before. They both chuckled lightly.

"Now you tell me I'm not dreaming." Theo whispered, a tone of astonishment in his words.

(Y/N) smirked. "Would you like me to pinch you?"

He opened his arms wide and beckened her over. Hesitantly, she moved closer to the edge of the bed before slowly moving into his embrace and relaxing into his chest. "Are you sure this is okay? I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm just a bit sore this morning, love. I'll be fine." He pulled her even closer to his body. "Just let me hold you and I'll overlook the fact you told me to shut up."

(Y/N) laid her head against his shoulder and into the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry."

She felt Theo leave a soft kiss against her hair. "You're forgiven, my love."

[lexlovergirl]

ྀCross ྀ

Farleigh x fem (Christian/virgin)reader

Tw: smut, unprotected sex, fingers sucking, mostly the foreplay, reader wears a cross but this isn’t in mocking Christianisme it’s just something I thought about don’t be mean 😭 I’m not being disrespectful towards any religions,

You and Farleigh were dating for a few weeks now, you guys haven’t gotten further then making out and dry humping. You were a virgin and you wanted to take your time with him.

Farleigh waited for you, he wants you to feel safe around him and won’t force you to do anything.

But tonight felt different, you were ready. Once again you guys yourself on your bed, you were on Farleighs lap,arms wrapped around his neck. Farleigh has his hands all over you, they roamed from your back to your butt, squeezing every time he’s there.

You pull away to breathe a little and look at the beautiful boy in front of you. Your hands move to cup his cheek, stroking gently. Smiling softly you give him that look that tells him everything, all you wanna do with him.

His eyes widened slightly as he understood. “Are you sure” he asks with low voice. Your only response is a small nod. Farleighs smile grew bigger with your answer.

With your consent given, he grab the back of your thighs are sit you on the bed as he got up to stand in front of you.

A hint of nervousness washes over your body as your fingers comes to play with the cross on your necklace as a reflex. Farleigh takes notice of that movement and the way you’re also biting your lip. He couldn’t help but to think how beautiful you look, the way you are looking up to him and while you bit your lip, it was something straight out of a movie.

“Are you nervous…?” He ask with a small smirk on his face. “A little” you shyly reply. “A little?… is it because we’re about to do something you’re not prepared for” he says half teasing and half worried.

“I am prepared” you say trying as hard as you can to sound confident. His smirk grew larger he wanted to you to be officially his, he wanted to steal that innocence of yours. “How about you take my necklace off? I don’t think there’s place for Jesus in the room right now”

As you say that his eyes go down to your necklace. “Right…. I can see what you’re implying here” he says in his teasing tone as he moves his hands to slowly take the jewelry off.

You watch him slowly take it off, the little cross reminding you of your sins. You felt the necklace come off, his teasing had cause your mind to wonder to your sins. But that didn’t matter to him, what matters is that the necklace is now off.

The necklace now in his hand, your own hand place itself on your collarbone, tracing your fingers over the spot it used to be. He also takes notes on that movement and also the fact that you are tilting your head and biting your lip. Something about that was driving him wild in your beauty.

He then puts the necklace in his pocket, seeing the look on your face he place a few words to reassure you. “I’ll keep that has a souvenir, I’ll get you a new one” your response was only a nod as you feel his hand come up to your collarbone.

Your hand met his and you play with his fingers. They were now being moved and traced as you play with them. That go his attention as the gesture felt so amazing and so right to him. A smile replaced easily his smirk.

“I love your fingers” you say soft as you bring them up to kiss them. He was a big fan of what’s happening even more when your kisses get sloppy. That got him more into it; the way you were so messy with it. You were driving him past sanity.

You focus more on his pointer and middle finger almost sucking the tip. Those fingers you were kissing, were his favourites at the moment after seeing the way your lips were in them. “Can i?” You ask of a soft voice.

There was a pause and he finally nods his head in a yes to your question. You take those two fingers in your mouth, lightly sucking, showing submission to him.

“God damn” he moans, Farleigh haven’t been that turn on in so long, your submission was something that was doing it for him.

You kept sucking and sometimes twirling your wet tongue around his fingers. You are doing an amazing job at being his good girl, your boyfriend was very pleased with the way you are around him.

Unfortunately you pull away from his soak fingers , a groan leaving his lips. “You like that” you ask a fake look of innocence on your face, you are no saint and he knows that. “You know I love that” he responds looking down at his now saliva coated digit.

“You know how to please a guy, don’t you?” He ask with a familiar smirk. And your reply is perfect, almost heavily. “I know how to please you” that made his smirk widened. “And that’s all that I really care about… right?” He says in his teasing manner.

“Yea” you whisper softly as you kneel on the bed to unbutton his shirt placing a kiss at each button. Your voice, when you talked made his body tremble. His shirt came off so you can stare at his body…his fit body…the way the muscles on his arms showed…the smooth skin that was once hidden from you.

You take a minute to admire his body but your gaze go back to his face, it always were your favourite part about him. His breath was heavier when you looked at his body. You staring at him like this makes everything feel all more real.

You offer him small smile before placing a kiss on his lower stomach. He takes this as a signal to unbuckle his belt, throwing it in the floor. Farleigh is excited, he’s waited for this moment for so long, even before y’all got together. It was finally happening.

On your side you are still a little nervous but Farleigh guides you and he will continue to do so. “It’s okay, baby, take your time” he reassures you stroking your cheek gently as you un zip his jeans. As much as he wanted to take you now he wanted you to be comfortable and safe.

Farleigh takes off his pants completely leaving him half-naked. He smiles at you a tilt his head to indicate what’s next and assuring you it’s all gonna be fine. So you lay down the bed like he told you too. All sort of feelings in you but you trust him with them.

It’s a matter of seconds before you feel his hand undoing your pants. Once they’re thrown on the floor he takes a good look at you. You notice his boner becoming more evident. You know how you make him feel, he wants you all to himself for the night and the next ones.

His eyes burns through you. As if he tries to remember all the smallest details about you. He acts as if he’ll never see you like that again but you both know it’s not true; it’s only the beginning. “So beautiful” he mumbles leaning down to press a kiss on your stomach.

Your panties were matching your bra, all pink and all pretty, all for him. Pink was a colour attractive to him, he loved the way it looked innocent in a context that had non of it. But they’re in the way…

Before you can even tell him to go on, he takes your underwear off. He admires your pussy, it was so perfect and it was his. But you’re soon to close your thighs embarrassed, seeing this reaction Farleigh places his hand on your knees in a comforting way.

“Do you really want this” the boy asks. You’re quick to nod your head but he wait for verbal consent and makes that clear by giving you a certain look. “Yes, I want this, Farleigh” you whimper almost getting impatient with the pace of the events.

“Good girl” he says opening your legs. It was like heaven for him, you spread open on the bed as you just look up to him with a needy stare. Farleigh then kneels between your legs, his big hands making your thighs look small as he rubs them.

You watch me get closer and closer to your heat. It was something so sensual and lustful. He looks at you in a way no one else did before, he feels so attracted to you like a magnet you dawn him.

“After that your all mine get it?” He says slightly harsh, seeing how beautiful you look he wants that sight for him and only him. It was selfish and possessive maybe a little bit toxic but he didn’t care you are his forever.

“Yes, I’m all yours” you say desperately. Farleigh only chuckle he love seeing you that way, admitting that he’ll be the only one to see that perfect body of yours. He tried to act confident but Farleighs stomach is flipping the sight of your body made him feel all types of way.

“I wanna see those beautiful tits” Farleighs voice pierced through the air, he always love your breast. He could fuck them but he is going to fuck your pussy first, he didn’t want to be that selfish. You unclamp your bra as you knew he wouldn’t be capable. The second you do, Farleigh takes it off you throwing across the room.

You let out a small chuckle at your boyfriends behaviour. “By the way you act it looks like you want to fuck my boobs” you roll your eyes playfully but realize your boyfriends face turns red. You make the maths and laugh. “Seriously, Farleigh?” You ask but that makes him groan. “Stop” he whines burring his face in your chest, leaving kisses there.

His kisses trail up to your neck, making dark marks on it. He never cared if the hickey were visible or no, he cared about making you wet by it. To test that his fingers find their place on your folds. He was right, he always were, you are soaking wet. The contact make you gasp and as soon as you make the sound his leave your cunt.

Of course Farleigh wants you to get pleasured but now it’s his dick or nothing. His painfully hard dick, you almost felt bad at the sight. Your gaze was down looking at his covered cock, only you weren’t nervous. You feel excited and needy. You want him so bad and he feels it.

Following your gaze, Farleigh chuckles shaking his head before he takes off his boxer, now both of you naked. You gaze doesn’t move still looking at him. Butterflies intensify in your stomach, from the sight and the sudden feeling of his warm hand on your breast.

“You ready?” The curly headed boy ask running his tip on your entrance, wanting you to be prepared. Your response was quick and simple “yes” and it was all it took him to push himself slowly in, he took his time stretching you out. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he wants you to be pleasured.

You moan at the feeling, it hurts but a good type of hurting. You feel him twitching inside of you as he waits for you to be adjust to his size. A nod of your head and he begins to trust inside of you.

Farleigh keeps a slowly pace, he wouldn’t want to overwhelm you. You closed your eyes, enjoying the sound of both of your moans. You knew Farleigh was a vocal man, just not to that point. But for him it’s was heaven, your cunt was so tight around him, clenching when he hits that spot. It is impossible for him not to moan and whimper not when the pussy is so good.

“One rule when you fuck me,…” Farleigh says in in between breaths and moans “eyes on me” he say this time harshly , you open up your eyes meting with a beautiful view; your boyfriend, mouth wide open, his swollen lips, sweat rolling down his forehead and his curls out of place. “Good girl” he whimpers.

He went a little deeper into you, hitting that spot over and over again. Your moans get louder and louder, his also. You are both reaching your climaxes, looking for that blizz of pleasure. “Far-Farleigh… i can’t”you whimper while scratching you nails down his back and that one little move makes his dick twitch.

“I know baby, you’re being so good right now” He praises you, his tone soft. “Come for me baby, I know you can” Farleigh adds as he cups your cheek to wipe the little tears you didn’t notice had fallen.

His mouth connects with your breast, kissing each one of them multiple times. And your gone,with such a little action he got you into pure euphoria. You moan loudly it makes Farleigh look up, a soft smirk forming on his lips.

You come down a minute later, Farleighs cock still trusting in you as he soon reaches his end too. “You can cum inside” you say, your thighs shaking form the overstimulation. “Fuckk..” he moans as he finally cums inside of you.

When he pulls out you both whine, everything that has happened was just so good. He was so delicate with you, sometimes you realize he’s only done with you, a warm feeling of validation forming in your chest.

The moment Farleigh is laying beside you, you take it as a invitation to curl yourself against him. That makes him a little surprise but he gladly wrap his arms around you. His fingers are tracing forms on your bare back. “I love you” he mumbles after a while. “I love you too” your response was immediate, no need to think about it.

It was surely the best first time ever and did I mention first “I love you” too?

ྀིྀི ྀིྀི ྀིྀི

[percervall]

I'm not a woman (I'm a god)

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Horner!reader Words: 3194 Warnings: Greek Mythology AU, descriptions of misogyny and sexism, Christian Horner is painted the villain, implied age gap (both are legal adults), smut, masturbation, p in v, loss of virginity, no beta we die like my sanity during f1 silly season

In which you claim what's rightfully yours

---

As the meeting progresses, you can’t fight the urge to speak up any longer. Had you still been at RedBull, you would’ve; you would have bitten your tongue until it bled because your father didn’t much care for your opinions, as he called it, despite the fact you had spent years on getting your Masters and then spent another three years on studying all the strategy calls the team had ever made to see where things could improve. No, your father allowed you to sit in those meetings just so he could keep an eye on you. But you are no longer under his watchful eye and scrutiny; Toto Wolff made sure of that. Oh, people like to say that you were stolen from the RedBull garage, your father playing the role of victim like he was born to do so, but nothing could be farther from the truth. You weren’t stolen like the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix; no, you chose to be claimed by Mercedes and their team principal. Thus, here you are, part of Lewis’ team as a strategy engineer, about to do the one thing your father always reprimanded you for: speaking out against a figure of authority.

“Are you going to say what’s on your mind or do I have to make do with your facial expressions?” Toto drawls, making your decision for you. You can feel your heart beating against your ribs as nerves flutter in the hollow of your chest.

“With all due respect, sir,” you start, the room breaking out in a mocking chuckle but you will not let that deter you, “With all due respect, but this strategy will cost you points. You are all so sure that this race will lead to a safety car while experience tells us that the chances of that happening this weekend are 2% at most, and all safety cars deployed in the last six years have been due to car malfunctions. If you want to end up in the points, I would propose a two stop strategy, allocating at least two sets of mediums for the race on Sunday and forgoing softs all together seeing as how much they suffer from tyre deg at this circuit.” The room is dead silent when you finish. Toto’s eyes remain on you, his face a stoic mask.

“Check my numbers if you want,” you add, growing in your confidence the longer this staring contest continues. Toto looks at one of the other engineers, eyebrow raised with a silent command. You hear someone frantically typing as they run the numbers. Leaning back in your chair you take a sip of your coffee, willing your hands not to tremble despite how nervous you feel. Whispers of she’s right flitter around the room as more people join in with re-running your calculations. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling smugly at being proven right four times over. 

“Very well, Ms Halliwell,” Toto says, silencing the room once more. “We’ll try your set up with Lewis’ car and stick to what was already decided on by the senior members for George.” This is as much of a win as you are going to get right now, and you will gladly take it, but there’s a twinkle in Toto’s eyes that has your stomach in knots. You’re not sure whether it’s pride or awe; either way, it fills you with a feeling you can’t quite place yet you know you will crave it for weeks to come.  

When Sunday rolls around, you pray to whoever will listen that your numbers check out. You have gone over the statistics of this grand prix so often that you could probably recite them in your sleep at this point. Had it been any other race, you would have accepted whatever outcome, but this one means more. You need Mercedes to do well here in Austria, but more than anything you need your father’s team to suffer the consequences of their misogyny and ignorance. As you walk into the garage ahead of the race, your heels clicking against the cement, your eyes lock with Toto who gives you a slow smile as his eyes rake over you, taking in the way the stark white fabric of your team issued blouse and your tapered black trousers show off all your assets; you know you look delectable, and you know he knows it too. From the moment you met him for your job interview (which you landed under false pretences, using your mother’s name), there’s been an undercurrent of tension. It should’ve made you cautious, fearful even, of powerful men in powerful places, but Toto has been nothing but gracious, always indulging your retorts and meeting you tit for tat, a flirtatious game of cat and mouse that you’re enjoying immensely.

“I want you next to Bono during the race. You decided on the strategy, it’s only fair you get the recognition –whether it works or not,” Toto tells you. Nodding your head, you put on your headphones and take your place at the centre console. No more hiding in plain view, your father will see exactly what you are capable of –what you could have given him. Fighting the urge to chew the skin around your thumb, you keep your back straight and shoulders back as the race starts. You keep an eye on the weather satellite, scanning for any changes that could mess with the chosen strategy while listening to Lewis’ feedback for Bono, making suggestions for minute corrections to the set up of the car. Bono graciously forwards your ideas to the driver who slowly but surely climbs his way through the field. The RedBulls are still leading the pack, but you’re certain that your father’s confidence will be his downfall. As you had predicted, there is no need for a safety car during the race and, judging by the call to pit by your father’s golden child, they had been betting on one by using the softs at the start of the race.

“You were spot on with the tyre deg stats,” Bono tells you and you can’t help but smile wickedly back at him. There’s five laps left, and both RedBulls are on the hard tyre, which will never warm up in time to benefit from their longevity. George seems to be suffering a similar fate while Lewis is fighting with one of the McLarens for P2. Your eyes remain glued to the feed of Lewis’ on board camera as he begins the final lap. He is quickly gaining on the McLaren and in what can only be described as a masterclass, overtakes it to secure a P2 finish. Lewis’ radio message doesn’t even register; all you can hear is white noise as it dawns on you that you have shown everyone just what you’re capable of. It has whetted your appetite for more –for destruction. 

The team is celebrating a podium finish as if it’s a win, and you suppose to them it most definitely feels like one. You’re standing on the edge where the garage meets pit lane, watching them with a smile on your face when Toto comes to stand behind you.

“I want you front and centre when Lewis climbs that podium. You have earned this accolade and should be rewarded as such. Let your father see what he’s done,” he murmurs, voice low. It sends a shiver down your spine but you manage to nod in agreement.

“Good. Oh, and as part of your reward, I think we should celebrate accordingly in private, wouldn’t you agree? The choice is yours, take it or don’t. No hard feelings either way,” he adds, chest brushing against your back as he leans closer. Swallowing thickly, you nod once more, not trusting your voice as heat pools low in your belly at the insinuation. You can feel him slide something into your back pocket and you don’t have to check to know it’s the keycard to his hotel room. 

During the podium celebrations you stood front row, eyes steadfast on the podium with a smile so wide, your cheeks ached. You can only imagine the tales Crofty and Martin are spinning about you; no doubt making inferences about how distraught your father was to have his only daughter working for the rival. Let them spin their fairy tales, you had better things to get on with –or, more accurately, a better man. Sliding the key card into the lock, you enter the hotel room of your boss. Once you take this step, there’s no turning back, but you are willing to eat the proverbial pomegranate seeds. 

Toto turns around when he hears the lock click and you lean against the door. He looks incredible; sleeves of his shirt rolled up and a few of the top buttons are undone. 

“Wine?” he asks, picking up the bottle from the desk. 

“Yes, please,” you respond, accepting the glass he hands you. Toto smiles, and it’s so sly, bordering on debauched, that it has you squeezing your thighs together.

“Still some manners left in you. I wonder how long that will last,” he muses, raising his glass at you as he sits down on the edge of the bed. 

“They claim you have stolen me from RedBull, much like they claim Hades stole Persephone,” you say, straddling him before taking a sip of your wine. He can’t help but laugh when he sees the twinkle in your eyes, one of his large hands coming to rest on your hip.

“Oh, Meine Liebe, we both know you were not some prize that could be stolen. You saw the hell they created for you and thus you fled so you could set the world ablaze.” His use of a term of endearment is not lost on you, and you crave to hear more of it. 

“Stolen or not, I am here. What are you planning on doing to me?” you ask him, holding his gaze. 

“Oh, I plan on doing everything, darling. Every depraved fantasy you could think of and more,” Toto says as he puts his glass on the nightstand. You grow hot all over at his words. Despite your sharp wit –and even sharper tongue, if your father’s word is anything to go on–, you are about to enter previously uncharted waters. Of course you heard stories from your female friends while at University, devoured smutty book after smutty book, but actually doing any of it? Your father would dig himself a grave so he could roll in it if he ever knew what his little girl was about to do. The nervousness you felt earlier today is back in full swing as you try to find the words to tell him your biggest secret. 

“I-.. I’ve never done this before. I attended Oxford so I could live at home, remain under his watch,” you confess, not even able to say the words out loud. Toto studies your face, filling in the blanks with how your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

“No man has ever touched you?” You shake your head as you bite your lip. 

“Have you touched yourself, darling?” Toto asks and while he says nothing that could be construed as dirty, you gasp as if he has. Nodding your head, you can’t help but roll your hips against him, inadvertently grinding your pussy against the hardened bulge in his trousers. Toto swears under his breath, gaze darkening as he tightens his grip on you. 

“Will you show me, Liebling? Will you show me how you make yourself feel good?” 

Even if you wanted to, you’re not sure you could ever deny this man any request; not when he asks so caringly, as if your pleasure is the sole purpose of all of this. Breathlessly, you nod, letting Toto take your wine glass from you while you strip out of your work clothes. As you slide your blouse down your arms, you hear Toto groan as he takes in your figure clad in nothing more than your pale lilac bra and panties. It’s not the sexiest set you own, but it’s one of the few that doesn’t show through the white fabric. Before you lose your nerve, you climb back on the bed, eyes locked on Toto who leans against the footboard of the bed. He gives you a look, so openly full of desire that it makes your head spin and your pussy throb at being the object of his lust. Closing your eyes, you lean back into the pillows while your hand wanders. You can almost pretend you’re alone, your brain quickly supplying all the sordid fantasies you would never dare to say out loud. As your fingers inch under the elastic of your underwear, you can’t help but bite your lip as your hips writhe on the sheets. The tip of your pointer finger rubs against your clit and you gasp at the sensation, head thrown back. You’re already so sensitive, it won’t take much to send you over the edge. Applying the slightest bit more pressure, you begin to rub tight little circles, letting out the neediest whining noise.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Toto groans. 

“Please,” you whisper, lifting your head so you can look at him. His legs are spread and he palms his bulge while he watches you pleasure yourself, and that sight alone sends your head spinning. 

“Let go for me, darling,” Toto orders gently, and who are you to disobey him? Your body arches, head thrown back as you come undone under his watchful eye. 

When you open your eyes, you can see movement to your right. Sitting up on your elbows, you watch how Toto strips down to his underwear, and walks into the ensuite. You can feel your cheeks heat up when you spot the foil packets and the bottle of lube in his hands. Toto drops them on the bed before climbing on. Hovering over you, he brushes a strand of your hair back behind your ears.

“I want this to be enjoyable for you. Please tell me when you feel uncomfortable, tell me when something makes you feel good.” You nod, breath caught in your lungs. Toto smiles so tenderly at you that it makes you forget about everything else. He moves his hand from your cheek, down your neck to your bra strap.

“Can I take this off, Liebling?” he asks quietly. You can only nod, too enthralled by him to form words.

“Need to hear you say it, darling. I will always need to hear you,” Toto murmurs.

“Yes,” you whisper, swallowing down your nerves about him seeing you naked. He gently unclasps your bra, moving the straps down your arms before pulling it away completely.

“Beautiful,” he says softly, his eyes taking you in and you fight the urge to cover yourself up. Toto’s hands caress your skin, as if he is trying to commit every line and curve to memory. You arch up into his touch as he cups your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple and it sets something alight in your core. Toto’s hands move lower, fingers curling around the elastic of your panties.

“What about these?” 

“Yes,” you reply quietly, lifting your hips to help him. He sits back on his knees, hands sliding down your thighs and his fingers are so close to where you’re aching for him, it makes you whine. Toto chuckles, moving his body over yours once more.

“You want it so bad, don’t you Liebling?” he murmurs in your ear, and the only reply you can form is a quiet uhu. He smiles against your skin, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw before moving away to fully strip. Biting your lip, you watch him tear open one of the foil packets and roll it down his hard cock. Anticipation and nerves flitter low in your stomach; he’s definitely bigger than the vibrator you have hidden away in the back of your closet.

“We’ll take it slow, okay? You decide how far we go, you’re in control,” Toto reassures you, moving closer so he can lean down to kiss you.

“Okay,” you whisper before his lips are on yours. Your fingers tangle in his hair while he drags his cock through your folds and over your clit. Toto moves his lips down your neck, kissing and sucking gently, sure to leave marks. Your body seems to have a mind of its own as your hips grind against him and you feel a desperation taking hold of you.

“Please,” you sigh.

“Tell me Liebling, what do you want?” Toto murmurs.

“Please.. Need you- need you in me,” you all but whimper, “Fill me Toto, please..” He groans against the skin of your neck at your request. Toto fumbles blindly for the lube and applies a generous amount to his cock and your pussy. Biting your lip, you lean up and watch as he slowly, so very slowly, sinks himself inside of you. The stretch has you panting and you feel how you clench around him. He holds you close, letting you adjust to the sensation of being filled completely. 

“Need you to move, Toto,” you moan, fingers clawing at his back. 

“Doing so good for me, darling. Taking me so well, fuck..” he groans against your skin as he sets a languid pace, and while it’s slow, his thrusts are so deep. 

“Ha-harder.. I can take it.. Please..” you whine, Toto eagerly complying with your demand. The only thing you’re able to do is cling to him as he keeps fucking you, whimpering every time he hits a spot inside of you that brings you just that teeny bit closer to the edge.

“Need you to cum, darling. Can you do that for me?” he asks as rubs his thumb over your clit. 

“Uhu,” you whisper meekly, unable to form a single coherent thought as you feel your orgasm approaching.

“Close.. Toto… Please.. Need.. Need to-..” 

“That’s it. God, you look so beautiful, just taking my cock like this. Come for me, darling.” And with that something snaps, your body arching as you feel your pussy clenching around him in waves. Toto keeps fucking you through it, chasing his own release, but you’re too far gone to pay attention. He keeps pressing kisses to your temple and hairline as he carefully pulls out, making sure the condom stays on. The loss has you whimpering.

“I know, I know,” Toto coos, “I’ll be right back. Did so good for me, so proud of you.” He gives you one last kiss before getting up to dispose of the condom and returns with a flannel to clean you up best he can. He throws it down by the side of the bed, and takes you in his arms. Your body feels completely boneless and you try to stifle a yawn. 

“Take a nap, Liebling. We’ll get properly cleaned up in a bit.” Nodding you allow sleep to pull you under as Toto whispers sweet nothings against your hair. 

written as part of @footballffbarbiex’s kink bingo challenge

It's not the 10k fic I joked about, but I finally managed to write the Greek Mythology AU I've been thinking about since early last year. Wanted to get this done and up before more information comes out during this delayed silly season, so if things feel rushed, it's because they are. This fic was heavily influenced by Bea Fitzgerald's Girl, Goddess, Queen; if you love retellings of Greek mythology, please check it out

Please let me know what you think; you comments, tags and likes mean the absolute world to me! 💜

[hminnj]

Have My Heart

gojo satoru/reader

cw: fluff, angst that isnt angst, comfort, gojo satoru is his own warning, not fully proofread or edited, short maybe bad writing, more experimental than anything

an: wrote this with have my heart by maverick city in mind (its christian music, just in case you decide to look at it), no religious themes in the fic tho dw

-

Satoru loves with no reservation.

It's clear in the way that he answers to your beck and call- his whole body attentive to every word and every movement of your lips. He doesn't look away once, carefully observing and picking out the gems of information you give him about yourself- about your day, what you like, your family. He treasures them like a historian's sacred relics, cataloging everything properly so nothing is forgotten, and making sure they're kept clean, as neat and tidy as can be. It's something he's always done, and you see it with Suguru and Shoko as well, it's sweet of him to do so.

.

Satoru loves with no reservation.

You're late one day, it's raining, and you promised Satoru you'd meet up with him early today. You're expect some sort of whining or complaint from him, some sort of pettiness. But he doesn't do anything but grin when you're finally there. Offering up a greeting and then turning, expecting you to follow him. An apology starts to come out but he stops you before you can get any further. Giving you a smile and telling you its alright, that he'll forgive you, and he always will. You don't believe him that day, but now the countless times he's given you grace proves it to be true.

.

Satoru loves with no reservation.

He doesn't ask or expect perfection in anyone. (except himself but in his defense he's already perfect. You, Suguru, and Shoko argue otherwise, however you all agreed the infinity keeps anything from getting into his head). Satoru sees you for the first time that day, you've come back from a visit to your family not long ago. Sitting outside quietly, letting the breeze blow over your features, but everything feels so stagnant. He approaches with light steps, placing himself gently on the bench, and he stays quiet.

His presence is comforting, its peaceful, and you think he'll ruin it when he opens his mouth in about three seconds, likely teasing you about the look on your face and how exhausted you are, but he doesn't. It feels like a breath of fresh wind, blowing away your countless thoughts. You don't know how he does it, but it's nice.

.

Satoru loves with no reservation.

Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College is quiet today. The loud one enabler (Suguru) is out on a mission and as are you, which leaves Satoru and Shoko. Shoko doesn't provide him enough entertainment, and neither you nor Suguru text him throughout the day, which leaves Satoru with two options; bother Yaga or simmer in his glorious thoughts and ideas, he chooses the latter.

You arrive back to your dorm late into the night fully prepared to crash but lo and behold, your bathroom light is on, there's more bags than you can count on your desk of what you think is mostly food, and Satoru has his left foot in the sink under the running water.

You ignore him for your sanity, skimming through the bags to find not just food but surprisingly a few pieces of jewelry and other miscellaneous items. Satoru recieves a raised eyebrow when he comes out of the bathroom with a water trail behind him (a slug, you think), shrugging in response with an "I missed you" that just free-falls from his lips and then immediately going through the bags to show what he bought for you. His behavior is akin to a cat bringing back its finest catch to proudly show their owner. You don't think you'll ever get used to this.

.

Satoru loves with no reservation.

You're talking with Shoko in the classroom about something that Suguru did the other day; a small mess up, which is strange for the black-haired male, but makes for a good conversation nevertheless. Your phone buzzes and theres a reminder you accidently snoozed earlier about your non-sorcerer friends performance, you apologize to Shoko and dash out in a hurry, calculating how late you might be until Satoru stops you right at the door of the building, a questioning look on his face.

After you explain he immediately offers to take (teleport) you but your refusal comes with the fact that you wont have a way back. So he says he'll stay the entire time and leaves you no room for arguing as he hugs you tightly and you're suddenly at the concert hall. The white haired teen smiles at you, getting you back home safely after the few hours the performance is and the extra time you spent with your friend even though you know he has work to do.

.

Satoru loves with no reservation.

Affection practically spills from him, you think he's overflowing with enough of it to fill more than two Earths full. Even in his banter with any of your fellow students it escapes, and especially Suguru. They yell at each other but from Satoru's end you can see the fondness seeping through his words and actions.

You can tell in his sleep as well, unguarded, comfortable, and digging into your side; attempting to mold his body to yours as a movie runs in the background. Suguru is usually the victim for Satoru's "cuddles", but he sits at the table, pleased with the lack of the roach this movie night. From the other side of the couch, Shoko looks over ever so often amusedly to see you get more and more entangled with the six foot being, and she can only offer her "condolences". Eventually you find a somewhat comfy position and play with his limbs and hair, unable to do anything else being physically restricted. It's cute how he subconsciously leans in to your touch.

.

Satoru loves with reservation once.

Its only been two days since then but it feels like an eternity, and the sunlight blaring down on the school isn't helping anyone. You've never seen Satoru like this, silent with a permanent frown, and maybe this is the only time you can say there's something that shines brighter than he does.

It doesn't take you long to follow your feet that lead you to Shoko; she's doing paperwork, and you know she's only doing it to distract herself. That's why you're here after all.

The buzz of the infirmary and the shuffling of papers fills your ears. It's like that for a few minutes until she speaks up.

"You should go talk to him." Of course that's what she says.

"I thought he wasn't willing to converse with anyone." Talking about Satoru doesn't help with the hoarseness of your throat, it just makes you think even harder.

"He isn't but you're... you know." You turn to her confused, and she gives you a look. She's probably messing with you, but she seems so sure of something.

You cave eventually. It takes a lot out of you to stand up, but you do, dragging your feet and your heart in the direction of a dimming sun.

Satoru's on the same bench when you find him, and just like last time it's a breezy, sunny day. You copy his actions, walking over, gently setting yourself down, and quietly observing. He looks so tired. But you don't say it, you know he wouldn't either.

It hurts to look at Satoru in this state. He's less than half a meter away but it feels like there's an infinite distance between the two of you.

He's quiet, too quiet.

It's strange, but you can't think or bring yourself to say anything to fill in the gaps he's left.

Instead, your body moves on its own, shifting closer and gently taking his glasses off, not making eye contact because you know it's the last thing he wants. Then you pull him close and cradle him tightly, he doesn't object. His body lays against yours limply like he's dead weight, and Satoru feels like he should be dead right now. He doesn't hug back, you don't expect him to.

The only thing you do is stay with him like this, until the second-brightest star in your life begins to fade.

.

Satoru loves with no reservation.

He's given you his entire heart and being by now and still attempts to give you more even if after his being there isn't much left to give. The students see it more than ever, with how their sensei brightens (more than he already is) when you show up, words of endearment flowing out of his mouth so easily (his current favorite is wifey), and the overbearing physical affection that you'd have to be blind and deaf to miss.

It's maybe your favorite thing about him, said male would say otherwise, but a sweet smile can't help but reach your face when he talks about his students' daily meanderings to you. Treating them like close family, with the same type of love he's shown you.

-

thank you if you read <3, likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated

gojo is hard to write for ngl ughh

[remus-in-docs]

just to ramble for a second as a buddy apologist, his death is hitting me in a way i didn't expect. as a queer agnostic from the south who grew up surrounded by religion, i have a lot of complicated relationships with real world buddies. brennan has so beautifully captured a very specific type of christian zealot that i am prone towards sympathizing with. bc if i hated every hyper religious person i came across i wouldn't be left with a lot of people. my extended family would shrink down to nothing. so i learned to compartmentalize the often micro aggressive things they're saying for my own sanity. i have to believe that they are just ignorant or brainwashed or misinformed or whatever or accept picking fights with everyone i meet. this is easiest when they're like buddy: dumb and sweet. so i put my faith in hoping that they are good but have been misled. i hold onto the hope that i could fix them by being kind to them. i know it's not likely, but we've already seen it happen with kristen in season one. i convince myself that i can fix the south by just living in it as myself and that these people will learn to truly love their neighbors by watching me do it. and then for buddy to be killed by his adventuring party, who already killed the cleric before him, is so jarring. bc even if buddy is "one of the good ones", he never got saved. so all that's left is the harm that he's done even if he did it with good intentions. buddy is dead and bobby's plan lives on and the south is still the south no matter how much southern charm i try to throw back at bigots in an attempt to gain their respect

[babyslutbuck]

hotshots buddie getting together after one of them gets shot. hotshots buddie kissing in their kitchen while christian, the son they coparent, is asleep in his room. or staying over at his other parent's (Sharon? Sean? if the wanna do some genderbent sapphic buddie thing to make is less obvious). tim can bring back devon for that to kill us all. hotshots buddie but chuck gets struck by lightning after freddie tells him "let's go, hotshot". oh and chuck and freddie's shipname is fuck, because fuck my sanity honestly.

Like im literally holding a gun to my head rn do you understand?

[lilyrizzy]

omega daniel, cw: dubious consent

When Christian first asks Daniel to fuck Max, he thinks he’s being bullshitted.

But-

“No Daniel, I’m not joking,” Christian insists, despite the horrified expression that must be branded onto Daniel’s face right now. “You’ve seen how much he’s been struggling so far this season, he needs some-“ he has the balls to grimace then- “tension release.”

“Tension release,” Daniel repeats, voice an octave higher than he’d like. “Where’s the fucking clause about tension relief in my contract, remind me again?”

Rubbing a hand roughly over his stubble, Daniel has to tip his head back and stare at the grey-blue shade of the painted ceiling for a moment. Counting the cracks in the paint, he’s silently pleading with the universe to have returned to normal when he looks down at Christian's face again.

No such luck.

“His rut is coming up in a few weeks,” Christian continues like Daniel didn’t speak, like this is all very normal and not borderline sexual harassment. “This is three races now he’s crashed out of. We are hoping a good rut can help him break that streak. He needs an omega”

“Then you get him a service,” Daniel almost yells, moving to grip the edge of Christian's desk with shaking hands, “you don’t-“

Searching his face for a trace of sanity, he doesn’t find any. Instead, Christian levels him with a look he definitely doesn’t like, like he thinks Daniel is being dense or something.  

“We both know Max won’t use a service,” he says, eyebrows raised.

“Why is that my problem?” Daniel asks, voice weaker.

“Because we both know you don’t want him to use one either.”

Daniel’s mouth snaps shut so quickly the clack of his teeth vibrates harshly along his jaw. Christian leans back in his chair, hand folded over his stomach. He looks like he just threw down a royal flush. Read them and weep.

“Christian-“ Daniel tries, but Christian shakes his head.

“I have eyes, Daniel. And a nose. So whatever mental gymnastics you’re doing right now, I think the easier thing would be to just help each other out. And in doing so help out the team.”

The fucking team.

“I-“ Daniel starts again, but it seems he’s become incapable of stringing a sentence together. His face is burning like he just finished racing in the desert, his mouth just as dry as one.

“He likes you,” Christian sighs, sounding exasperated now. Like Daniel is the one who asked for any of this, came skipping into his office picking the petals off daisies asking, Max Verstappen loves me, Max Verstappen loves me not. “You remember being a teenager, don’t you? Wouldn’t it have been nice if your first crush was your first fuck too?”

Daniel’s first crush wasn’t eight years older than him. Wasn’t his teammate.

Wasn’t a pervert that was like, borderline obsessed with the idea of having him in bed, working to make him feel good.

He should tell Christian to get fucked.

Swallowing, he opens his mouth to but the weight of Christians's words suddenly settle with a hot shock in Daniel’s stomach.

“Max is a virgin?” tumbles out of him instead, and right here sitting across from his boss, he gets wet. There’s no way Christian can’t smell it.

The smug smile that spreads over his face is enough to tell Daniel the battle against his restraint is finally lost.

[vxm1tcxre]

Pvrging harm reduction masterpost (from someone who’s had severe bul1m14 for 3 years, and who wishes they’d gotten this advice)

I get asked a lot and see posts asking for “tips” around pvrging.

I absolutely do not condone it. It’s a horrendously dangerous, unpleasant, and addictive behavior, and often a slippery slope to full-swing bul1m14 (and trust me, that is not something you want, for the sake of your wallet and sanity).

However, I do acknowledge that that doesn’t get in the way of the urge to do it. It certainly didn’t for me. That’s not how 3ds work. Being told how dangerous and horrible something is often is just more enticing. I know people are going to try it regardless. And frankly, I’d much rather focus on tips to stay safe over just telling you “don’t do it” like a Christian parent preaching abstinence. Harm reduction is king, especially on a platform like 3dblr.

So, here is a list of things to help you stay safe.

1. I feel like I should reiterate this again- if you at all can, don’t start. It’s not the c4ls-be-gone magic spell it might seem to be. Starting is what ended my r3str1ct1v3 phase. I thought it’d just be a last resort for when I ate too much. Fast forward to now, it’s been 3 years since my first time and I consume a good 6k+ c4ls every single day, have g4ined a ton of w3ight, feel like shit all the time, have no control around food, am constantly broke, have done things that would make people gag, and have all the risk with no reward. Ultimately, you will not l0se w3ight with pvrging. It gets harder and less effective the longer you do it. While the “you can only get rid of 50%” you often hear is a myth, being bul1m1c destroys your control, and eating maintenance in addition to whatever c4ls you didn’t manage to pvrge will inevitably lead to w3ight gain over time. It simply isn’t worth it.

2. DO NOT USE FOREIGN OBJECTS. It is legitimately so dangerous. Massive choking hazard and generally terrible for your throat. If you can’t get a response with your fingers, don’t do it. I promise, getting rid of some chicken nuggets is not worth getting a plastic fork lodged down your throat and almost dying. (Yes, I am speaking from experience)

3. Some people are simply incapable of inducing v0m1t1ng. It’s more common than is talked about and is completely normal. Frankly, if you have urges to pvrge and find that you can’t do it, consider it a sign.

4. Do not brush your teeth directly after. This is because the bristles of your toothbrush will rub the acid into your enamel, increasing the chances of decay.

5. Baking soda is magic. Swish about a teaspoon with some water in your mouth to neutralize the acid. Swallowing some (significantly less- about 1/4 to 1/2 tsp) is also an easy remedy for acid reflux. Get checked and have your teeth cleaned at the dentist’s regularly- if damage starts occurring, you can catch and mitigate it early.

6. Maintain good dental health as much as you can. Continue to brush and floss regularly. Keep in mind, however, that you can’t avoid tooth decay forever. It’s inevitable with long-term pvrging.

7. One of the biggest risks is electrolyte deficiencies. You often hear of people dying from cardiac arrest. This is because thr0wing up depletes your potassium, which helps with muscle contraction. Your heart is a muscle. If it’s unable to contract, it will fail. After pvrging, replenish your electrolytes. Coconut water, Gatorade, pedialyte, anything that contains the nutrients you just got rid of.

8. Also remember to stay normally hydrated. Even just drinking water is better than nothing. pvrging dehydrates you.

9. DO NOT FLUSH. It’s one of the most dangerous games you can play.

10. Try and eat something safe after the fact, especially if you’re having symptoms of low blood sugar (shaking, dizziness, sweating, a rapid heartbeat). This can be easier said than done but it’s crucial to getting back to normal. Something easy on your stomach with some c4rbs is ideal- toast, rice cakes, crackers, etc.

11. Avoid hot showers or baths or exercising directly after. You will lose more water through sweating. Wash your hands and face- especially around your chin and mouth, pvrge-induced acne is a real thing- and rest for a while.

12. Warm drinks or cold foods like popsicles or ice cream are very soothing on the throat. Throat coat tea and hot chocolate are quite nice. The former may be best if your stomach isn’t feeling well.

13. You will bloat like crazy whenever you eat if you pvrge long term. It’s hell on your digestive tract in general. It’s one of my biggest struggles and pet peeves. Honestly, you can only really wait for it to go away. Remember that it will with time, and do something to distract yourself from it. Some things that in my experience have made it less severe are to eat at a reasonable pace, chew your food thoroughly, and sip drinks rather than chugging them.

14. L4x4t1v3s absolutely aren’t worth it. You don’t really get rid of anything and it’s a fast track to dependency and being horrifically constipated whenever you don’t use them. Stay away. If you must, opt for natural remedies like teas, fiber-rich foods, chia seeds, etc.

15. If you take medication, wait several hours before pvrging. It obviously won’t work if you just get rid of it.

Feel free to reblog this with any advice of your own. I hope this helps some of you; stay safe out there.

[ginsengkitten]

༺ Beautiful Dangerous ༻

༺☆༻

Chapter Eleven

Written in Plain Sight

A/N:

Tysm for your patience with this one. May is a difficult month for me for personal reasons. I’m still writing and I’m so excited for you guys see where this heads. I hope you guys enjoy <3

Dear Slash,

Im sorry I didn't write you sooner. Things have been a little crazy since I got home. Well, not home actually. My parents have turned me in to this special all girls Christian school that specializes in "troubled young women". Apparently they can legally do that even though I've just turned 18! I never agreed to it, they just left me here. In the middle of nowhere- with these weird nuns. They haven't told me how often mail is sent out so I'm not sure how often I'll write, but I promise I will.

I'm sorry how I left things. I didn't know they were coming to take me home. I tried to say goodbye but they gave me no chance. Please forgive me. This summer was the best time of my whole life. Because I met you.

I know letters are a little prehistoric these days, but I've no access to a phone here. Again, I promise to write often. I'll call you as soon as I'm out.

Love, Foxey.

-

Dear Slash,

I'm not sure if you are receiving my letters. If you are and just don't want to speak to me, I understand that. I know mail can take a while... anyways. I figured writing to you helps me pass the time here. This place is awful. It's been 2 weeks of hell. I was forced to detox from everything. It's been so hard. I hardly sleep at night. But when I do, I am so happy because I dream of you. I also daydream a lot. It helps me get through the day. The days are long and boring. There's not really a curriculum here. Even though they call it a school. The nuns are mean. They took away all my clothing and I have to wear a white dress everyday and every night. It's cold and uncomfortable. Each day consists of the same thing. They wake you up at 6 am every fucking morning. It's barely light out. Then you have to clean your room. If you can only eat breakfast if you pass morning room inspection. I've failed 5 times so far...

Anyways. Sorry. I don't mean to complain to you. I don't have anything exciting to write about. I hope you have having very exciting experiences in LA still. Please write me when you can... I want to know how you are!

Love, Foxey

-

Slash,

Today was horrible. Just horrible. I'm sorry to write you only my miseries, but it feels like that's all I have left lately. Turns out, if you don't comply with every single whim and precision- even making the wrong face, or the tone of your voice, the nuns will be violent with you. They carry rulers, books and at times, even their bare hands- are weapons. I can't exactly remember what I did first to step out of line, all I remember was sister Agatha (she's a total bitch) slapping me so hard across the face, the stinging lasted for hours. I cried a little but only in private. I don't think I want to let them see me cry. I don't want them to know they have that power!

I still wait for your reply. I hope you are well.

Love, Foxey.

-

Hi There,

It's been a while. Sorry for that. I don't have much different to say to you. Or much at all. I think I get your message from your silence. If it all meant nothing to you after all, then so be it. I think maybe I belong here anyways. It's best for everyone. I want to let you know it really hurts me to accept that you are done with me. With us. Just like that. But I respect your decision- even if it's shitty. Maybe that's all rockstars are is shitty. So there. You're shitty and I wish we never met. I hope you're happy.

Best of luck with everything. I love you.

Y/N.

-

And just like that. It was over. The silence from Slash over the past two months was only an added pain to the hell you already endured. For your own sanity, hope was crushing you and you had to give it up. Your parents had called once, but the nuns ensured you weren’t telling them the truth of what it was like there. As quickly as it all unraveled, you sank into your new reality. Pushing out thoughts of escape as the former attempts were futile and had only ended in harsher and harsher punishment .

It was colder now into early November. Other girls had come and gone periodically, none staying long enough for it to be worth harboring any sort of relationship. You spent your days in the day room, a dim, sulky living room type space in the center of the building. Empty tables with broken chess pieces and puzzles with missing pieces scattered. You took throne to an old green chair by the large window.

One person you had managed to form any sort of connection with was the oldest nun in the practice, Sister Graham. She seemed worn down and tired of it all, due to her age, and lack of violence and stern, she’d been demoted down to a secretarial duty. She’d find reasons to come and talk to you when she could. Small but meaningful conversations. The two of you formed a secret bond of hatred for this place. A mutual understanding that this was all that was left for both of you. She’d share bits of her life before she became a nun. She had been sent away at the age of 16 after running away from an arranged marriage to a man 20 years her senior at the time. You felt sad for her, sorry for her, confused as to why she remained here. You told her about your past, how you ended up there. You even opened up to her about Slash and the magical summer you had. She seemed to appreciate the glimmer that became of you when you spoke of it all. Like she understood what it meant to feel young and in love. What it felt like to feel misunderstood and suffocated by the normalcy of the world. She made you feel special amidst it all. And then, one day, she was gone. You waited all week for her to show.

You prodded at nuns all morning as to where she was, “did she die?” “Did she retire?” “Is she sick?” You skipped around. Each question was met with harsh and rude snaps of silence and threatening looks. The confusion and hurt flatlined you again. Back to nothingness. You shifted in bed, staring at the ceiling, images of Slash, summer, everything, bleeding through your mind like a movie. The anger of his silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it stung within you so badly. Allowing it to get to you, you angrily chuck your pillow to the other side of the room with a frustrated sob. Feathers bust out of the pillow, completely ruining it. You came to your senses quickly with regret and knelt over the pillow to pick up the discarded feathers. You hadn’t changed your pillow case this week, and now you’ve broken the pillow altogether. Great. It was sure you’d get punished for this in the morning. Your hand brushes against a piece of paper as you sift through the feathers. That’s odd- where did this come from? You pick it up and it appears to be a small folded note. You take a precautious look at your door before unfolding it.

“R. 308

Nov. 21. 8pm to west wing parking lot.”

What the hell? You don’t recall writing this down. This was clearly stuffed in your pillow case. When? Why? What does it mean? Did someone put this here? Your heart beat with confusion, apprehensive to feel any sort of excitement at fear of being disappointed again. It was late, and there was seldom to do with this new information except to sleep on it. So you did.

Surely enough, as you had predicted, the nuns took notice of your destroyed pillow and sentenced you to janitorial duties for the entire day. You scrubbed away at the hallway at the end of the wing. Dragging your bucket of dirty water like a gross companion. You grumbled to yourself as you mopped. Suddenly a sister enters the hallway from out of a room and almost slips on the fresh wet floor. She gives a stabbing glare.

“Well hurry it up and get it finished so you’re not such a hazard girl.” She snarks as she walks away. You want to bark back but you know better. The room she had left was left cracked. You stared at the door with curiosity before noticing the room number plaque before you .

“Room 308”.

Wait a minute. R308? Like the note? You take yet another precautious glance behind you to the empty hall to ensure no one would see you now sneak yourself into the room.

Surely there’s something of importance in here? It appeared to be some sort of administrative office. Piles of papers decorated the entire room. You strolled around carefully eying everything. This is a mail room, this is all mail? This is all patient mail, no? It is. How interesting? Why’s there so much in here? Your eyes scan and roll over a large stack prominently sticking out of a box on the desk. You recognize the stationary and realize it to be some of your own letters to slash. What the hell? You start shuffling through the box in a greater panic and confusion. These were all supposed to be sent out, sent to Slash! Were none of them ever mailed?! Your heart dropped to your stomach and your chest tightened.

You wanted to stay longer, to further examine and investigate this, but the reality was clear. No letters written had been sent to anyone. They lied. You hurriedly skimmed through the pile to see if any had come in from Slash but you only saw the ones you wrote. All of them opened too. They’ve just been reading them and keeping them….

Before you could sulk, you quietly exited the room to ensure no one saw you sneaking in there. Clearly you were not supposed to know this. Rage, Hurt, Confusion, coiled inside you once more. All this time? Out of all the emotions rushing through you at that moment, the scariest one was now hope. Hope again filtered into you. Maybe Slash had never ignored you. Maybe he just didn’t know where to write!

After returning to your room that evening, you re read the obscure note once more.

“Nov 21”

That’s tomorrow. Nov 21st is tomorrow. Someone wants me to go to the west parking lot at 8pm tomorrow. But who? And why?

[ahoppingmagician]

Nope

Alright, Viv just stop this train wreck, pull the plug, change your name and move to a mountain in the middle of nowhere. his woman is fully grown and I won't coddle her like the rest of the world.

Warnings: SA and Racism(If you aren't in the right head space please don't read these sections or this post)

SEXUAL ASSAULT

Alright, let's start with sexual assault. It shouldn't be treated like a joke or erotic because it's not. What else can I say to get it through people's skulls that SA isn't funny or sexy? If you truly need a post to understand why it's not acceptable, you are dangerous or too young to watch this show. This 30-something-year-old knows it's serious, but chooses when it should be taken seriously depending on her twink of the day. (You don't pick or choose when a topic is serious Viv, but go off)

Also, she needs to give things warnings, like I did for this post, for people to be

Happy

Healthy

Safe

Is it more hassle for you? Not at all. Will it be mentally damaging for the viewers? Yes, because you didn't warn them like a responsible creator about something they might have lived or have similar experiences with being shown on screen.

Goofy Rant

Now I'll brighten the mood by being a hateful bitch.

What is this plot? seriously how did we start with a hotel and then get to a threat of war between heaven and hell in like six episodes. That alone is two seasons, never mind every character's trauma, and other people that want the hotel cast dead, oh yeah and backstories for most of our cast...im six episodes.

VIV SLOW THE FUCK DOWN

If you have to cram every major plotline into your story then you failed. What she should of done is trim the fat off this burnt peice of bacon. Get rid of the Vees because they are pointless to the other plots or maybe the angel demon war because why would this show need it, or all the unfunny jokes.

Characters are shit adjacent but is that a surprise to literal any...wait her rabid fans. If your a fan of this series for god knows why then good for you...unless your a FAN fan. I have many words to say to them but that's for another day.

Edit: (Didn't even fucking know I posted this today, so sorry, onto racism)

RACISM

Now I am as Caucasian as can be so maybe I shouldn't speak on this, POC let me know if I can or if I should just shut up and let you do it.

I don't know much about voodoo/voodou, but I do know that it is a practiced religion, not a vibe VIV. You can't add a different religion to this show because it's a CHRISTIAN show, it explores the faults of God's judgement, heaven, and hell. Also, voodoo/voodou shouldn't be used as "evil" magic because we aren't in the 1900s to early 2000s anymore VIV. Also, you know it's a heavily if not completely black religion.

Alastor, Husk, Velvette, Emily, and Sera(Millie from HB aswell) don't look black. Now maybe I'm an asshole for this or even racist but where is the textured hair, like box braids, dreadlocks, afros, afro puffs, or just curlier hair in general. Why aren't you exploring the trauma that Alastor definitely went through because he was a biracial man in the early 1900s which could easily explain (not excuse) his behaviour, you could have a nurture versus nature theme.

Nifty feels...weird to me. First of all an Asian woman in the 50s who seems to have been raised or travelled to the USA, again racist trauma and all that being completely ignored. She feels like a stereotype, between the constant cleaning, obsessive behaviour, and her erratic behaviour. It feels like the crazy Asian woman stereotype.

Alright, that's it for right now, Have a wonderful day or night and wear whatever because it's all about your comfort because the world if making my own sanity crumble.