#ep: sex and violence

[im-some-lionheart]

so I'm watching the siren episode and.

they really.

they gave dean a male siren.

In order to seduce Dean, the siren turned into a man.

A man who appreciated baby's beauty, and drank with Dean, and listened to Led Zeppelin, and who trusted Dean blindly, and who told Dean to consider him as a "brother"... Oh, gee, I wonder what other character on that same show will later on check all those boxes too

but I digress... the point is they gave dean a male siren. that is a very significant thing that happened.

they wrote and shot and aired that and said "yeah, that's very heterosexual."

[shinelikethunder]

[rat-hand]

Love that Sam was so surprised when Dean referenced the odyssey

[deansguns]

I think we should forget the anti stuff and all acknowledge the real reason that w* wouldn't work. and that's that sam isn't dean's type.

[thedarksideofmymoonhasmatches]

What can you expect from people that romanticize the stalking of Scully by Padgett, because he's a damn creepy stalker, or a man that thinks drugging women and getting them pregnant aka rape, get used to the word neanderthal, it's 2023 now, or worse that a woman and this even if she wanted a child a lot would be okay to be used as an experiment and get pregnant that way aka rape, would want anything to do with her offsprings, I'm shocked that a majority in the fandom actually support the idea. The only thing a woman want is to breed as an incubator. And incubator is the word I used in my 2012-2014 EP blog concerning the matter of women and forced breeding because it's what anti choice are.

[theunknownpoetandrewfoster]

I want to take a minute to talk about the books that are in the therapist's office in 'The Gang Gets Analyzed'. Now, I've watched this episode at least ten times, and I never once paid much attention to them, but upon viewing it today, they finally stood out.

The first one that caught my attention was the Child Sexual Abuse book sitting atop the Lesbian Subjects one. I had to pause and rewind, and immediately I couldn't help but think they were referring to Dennis, Charlie and Dee (I've read speculation about her sexuality and it's a definite possibility as we know Glenn stated that all the characters are a little gay).

Let's look a little closer at the other titles - (I can't make out the very first one on the left, no matter how close I zoomed in), but from there we have Soul, Mind, Body, Medicine : A Complete Soul Healing SYSTEM for Optimum Health and Vitality (again, Dennis, anyone?), Psychological Research in Prisons (Mac and his daddy issues?), Power vs. Force (a book that explains how anyone can tap into their inner power to change their lives and the lives of those around them) (Again, this cries Dennis to me), Identity and Anxiety (Mac again), and finally, Listening Perspectives in Psychotherapy, a book that illustrates four distinctly different styles of listening that have emerged in psychoanalysis (Dennis and how he analyzes the other four).

I just found the titles not only interesting, but quite specific to the characters' traits.

Moving on...

Next up, on the top shelf, the first book Medicine Without Menopause felt like a dig at Dee, followed by Adult Children of Alcoholics (Dee, Dennis and Charlie), (And I Can only partially make the next one out) The Handbook of Psychiatric x (I can't make out the part in white but it sounds like something Dennis would've ingested at some point), Sex After Sixty (Frank, no doubt), and lastly Collective Behavior which the very definition of describes the gang to a t - {Excerpt from the book} Collective behavior takes many forms but generally violates societal norms. Collective behavior can be tremendously destructive, as with riots or mob violence, silly, as with fads, or anywhere in between. Collective behavior is always driven by group dynamics, encouraging people to engage in acts they might consider unthinkable under typical social circumstances.

Then we have the other books that are standing - The Human Animal (Charlie and possibly Frank), Adult Bipolar Disorders (Dennis, Mac?), When Life Becomes Precious (a book about taking care of a loved one with a terminal illness i.e. in reference to Charlie's Mom Has Cancer?), Woman Heal Thyself (another dig at Dee), and lastly, How to Live Well on a Shoestring Budget (Frank and Charlie).

This screenshot was taken in the last few minutes of the ep, and look! A new book has been added to the pile - Childhood Socialization. I don't know why I found that one to feel like it was calling out Charlie specifically, but could quite possibly refer to them all as well.

I feel like all of these titles weren't just mere happenstance and that someone picked these out to represent the gang as a whole or individually.

Either way, just thought there were a lot of interesting choices in the mold. Thank you for listening to my ted talk regarding the Gang Gets Analyzed.

[star-girl69]

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

sypnosis: clarisse comforts you after a nightmare.

a/n: when luke in ep two said “we all get those super bad recurring nightmares” i don’t think he expected for me to screech and kick my feet and make fanfiction out of it. anyways, i hope you all enjoy!!

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

warnings: nightmares obvi, mentions of death, mentions of violence, kissing, soft clarisse I NEEEEDDDDD YOUUUUU, pretty much cutesy tho, not proofread, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Clarisse always called you baby. She called you about every nickname under the sun, but she always came back to that one. That’s exactly how you ended up here in her bed.

You’re both not quite asleep yet, staring at the ceiling, listening to her siblings still shuffle around. Clarisse has the best bunk in the cabin, a single in the corner, and all the power and influence to make sure that no one snitches.

She only does this every once in a while, dragging you to her bed even while you worry about getting caught, calling you baby the entire time. She kisses your worries away and says that no one will care, no one will even notice.

It’s not like you’re doing anything bad, you’re just sleeping.

You recently got a new cabin mate, a very sweet boy who seems very scared and very young, but Gods does he snore extremely loud. You almost wonder if the healers should have a look at him- but he seems to have no clue that he snores.

You’ve dealt with snoring half-siblings for years, but none of them have been this bad before. It’s so loud you swear it sounds like a roaring truck.

And of course, Clarisse noticed. Clarisse noticed how hard it’s been to sleep lately, she noticed how you always seemed to reluctantly split up from her at the end of the day, she noticed the bags under your eyes.

As night continues to fall, Clarisse’s grip on you becoming looser as she slowly drifts off.

“Quiet, right?” she mumbles, kissing your forehead. You listen to her heartbeat. Much more comforting, much more rhythmic, much more her.

“Quiet,” you affirm.

“Good. I-I’ma fall asleep now. Night, baby,” she mutters, and you can feel her heartbeat slow and she’s out like a light.

Clarisse has always had this amazing ability to just knock out whenever and wherever. Even for a five minute power nap, she can lay her head on the table and be up and refreshed. Sometimes you even swear she closes her eyes and falls asleep standing.

You follow her.

It’s so quiet here, except for her breaths brushing against the top of your head, except for her heartbeat like a lullaby. It’s such a cold summer night, but you’re so warm in her arms.

Falling asleep is a lot like falling in love, because it’s all the same action of letting your guard down and letting something in. You fall asleep every night just like you fall in love with Clarisse every day.

—-

It’s cold. It’s so, so cold. There’s the ashes of a fire next to you, and you feel so startlingly alone, like you shouldn’t be alone.

You’re in the woods, but there’s sand on the ground instead of dirt and leaves. You’re in the woods, but there’s leaves on the trees even while you’re teeth chatter.

You stand up, bare feet sinking into the cold sand, your arms wrapping around yourself. You’re supposed to be warm in her bed. All your wearing is a t-shirt. It’s like you’re at the beach at night and you forgot the sun is the reason it’s hot.

There’s a whisper of a sound, like wind blowing, and the fire springs to life.

You gasp and jump back into a tree, the rough bark scratching at your back.

You look around but there’s nothing, no weapons, and the tree branches are too far up to rip one down. There’s no wood burning the fire, just ashes. But now that you look at it, the sand around the fire is covered in some sort of bubbling black liquid.

Only on one side, like it had been blown at it.

There’s some sort of slithering sound, like a snake, and talons dragging against a tree, like a knife.

It’s coming from above you.

You look up and barely have a second to realize a drakon is staring down at you, roaring right in your face, before it looks into your eyes and you can’t move. Can’t breathe.

You can’t do anything except for get swallowed whole.

—-

You jump up, blanket’s falling around you, gasping as you look around the dark room. But it’s not there, it’s not that weird place, it’s just the Ares cabin. It’s just Clarisse’s bed. It’s just Clarisse.

She shoots up right behind you, awake immediately.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whisper, thanking the Gods none of her siblings have woken up to see you so shaken by a stupid nightmare. “Nothing, sorry.”

She looks out into the darkness like she’ll see something, but she doesn’t, of course, it’s all in your head. You know it’s all in your head, but you can’t help feeling like it’s real.

“It’s not nothing.”

You lay back down, pulling the blanket up to your chin. You stare at the wooden ceiling.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” you finally mumble.

“Y/N.” She always calls you baby, except for when she really wants to get your attention. “Tell me what happened.”

“Stupid nightmare. It was stupid. It’s all stupid and embarrassing.”

You can feel Clarisse visibly deflate. She settles back down next to you, laying on her side.

“It’s not stupid,” she whispers. “It’s normal. For demigods, at least.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

You press yourself closer to her and she lets you, she wraps her arms around you tight and folds herself around you. You feel shaky and uneasy, like there’s something under the bed, no matter how childish you know it is.

“Tell me what happened and I’ll tell you how I would have fixed it,” she says, her lips brushing your temple. She adds after a moment, “Or kill it. Was it a monster?”

“A drakon,” you whisper. She hums.

“Did it breathe fire? Spit acid? Have those creepy paralyzing eyes?”

“All of it.”

“Ooh,” she mumbles, like it’s a challenge. “I would… blind it with the electricity from my spear. And while it’s distracted, I’d stab it however many times you wanted.”

“I didn’t like that place either,” you whisper. “It was so cold. So dark, and it was like a forest was on the beach, cold sand.”

She doesn’t say anything.

Her hand travels up your body, tracing your face until she draws circles at your temple.

“I can’t protect you from what goes on in here. But I’ll always be out here, baby.”

“I know,” you say, and it’s true. “I know you will be.”

“So you won’t mind me telling you eight more times?”

“No,” you breathe, smiling.

“Good,” she kisses your temple. “I’ll always protect you. I’ll always protect you. I’ll always protect you. I’ll always-”

You shut her up by pressing a kiss to her lips. She smiles against you, slow and sweet, just you and her.

She drags herself up on the pillow, so her head is above yours, her arm under your head. Her other arm around your waist, hand splayed flat against your side.

“Sleep now, baby.”

“Clarisse.”

“I’m right here,” she says, like it’ll solve all the problems in the world. Yeah, the cabin’s burning down, yeah, there’s a tsunami coming towards you- but she’s right here. She’s right here. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby.”

And you believe her.

Clarisse always calls you baby. She whispers that name in your ear until you fall asleep.

—-

y/n, waking up: omg that was so scary

clarisse, fully ready to start attacking the air: WHERE THEY AT BABY WHERE THE DEMONS AT WHERE DO U SEE THEM

we love a gf who supports their slightly schizophrenic gf (me, i am the slightly schizophrenic gf)

—-

me after choosing a drakon (the monster that killed silena in the last olympian) as the monster that kills y/n in the dream 😊😊😊😊😊

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 1: Angst with a happy ending

,,Me too." | @tami-ryver

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 1,748

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Hunt Gone Wrong, Werewolves, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Major Character Injury, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Angelic Grace (Supernatural), AngstAngst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Blood, Fictober 2023

Summary: The silence is unbearable. Not even insects can be heard in the darkness, not even moon shines down on their path. The only source of light they have are the flashlights they took from the Impala. Armed with silver knives and the demon knife, they walk deep in the darkness of the forest, in search of the place where the massacre took place.

I Want You to Know That I'm Awake (I Hope That You're Asleep) | @starstiels

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 2,192

Main Tags/Warnings: depressed!dean (heavily implied), post-canon, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, first kiss, selectively mute dean, mental health issues, panic attack

Summary: Dean Winchester wants to cry. He wants to scream and yell and sob until his lungs give out and his eyes sting like needles.

The Covert Identity (WIP) | @rowanspn

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,623 (22,561 updated)

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, FBI Agent Sam Winchester, Florist Castiel (Supernatural), Crime Boss Lucifer (Supernatural), Kid Fic, Kid Jack Kline, Blood and Violence, Graphic depictions of violence

Summary: Dean Winchester loves his job; working as a secret agent has its perks. There is nothing quite like the thrill of saving people and hunting down criminals. And with his baby brother Sammy at his side, it’s a family business. However, when he and Sam are assigned to the case of Lucien Shurley, a suspected crime lord with a rap sheet a mile long, Dean’s semi-predictable life takes a turn for the unprecedented and over complicated. He and Sam must go undercover to investigate Lucien’s own family, his brothers Gabriel and Castiel, and his young son, Jack, to find out just how involved they truly are. As the stakes rise and the body count follows, it is up to Sam and Dean to solve the greatest mystery of their careers; who is Castiel Novak and what does he know?

he's gonna take my files | @autisticandroids

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,191

Main Tags/Warnings: Dean Saves Cas from the Empty, Afterlife, Triangulation of Desire, Memories, Trauma, Hurt Cas, Canon Divergent, Canon Remix, Warnings in Author's Note

Summary: Dean goes to the Empty, where Cas is floating through his memories.

when doves cry | @watchinghimrakeleaves

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 6,821

Main Tags/Warnings: Human Castiel, Season/Series 09, Not Canon Compliant, Winchester Coping Mechanisms, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: When Dean asks Cas to leave the bunker, all he can do is hope that the fallen angel is safe and doing okay. But when he reaches out to Cas to check in, he's surprised by the anger he's met with. Forced to consider whether or not he made the right call, Dean must reckon with how to fix things between him and the man he worries he may have lost forever.

Forest Fever | @amaranthhiding

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,586

Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Post-Ep 12x10, Monster of the Week, Hallucinations, Injured Castiel, Protective Dean, (Emotional) Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Praying, Angel Grace, Humor (mostly in the epilogue)

Summary: After the crushing events of episode 12x10 "Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets", Castiel is low on grace and morale. In an attempt to restore at least one of these two, Sam and Dean take him on a hunt. Things start going wrong when Sam gets injured and Cas seemingly disappears. They get worse when Dean turns from hunter to prey for something feeling far more at home in this dark, rainy forest than he does.

Send Me a Postcard | @blessyourhondahurley

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 10,387

Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel is Saved from the Empty, First Kiss, References to Depression, Bisexual Dean Winchester

Summary: Shortly after his rescue from the Empty, Cas hits the road late one night without telling anyone he's leaving. Two weeks later, a postcard arrives for Dean.

whisper your name without making a noise | @deancaskiss

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 12,577

Main Tags/Warnings: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Muteness, Mute Dean Winchester, traumatic mutism, Mutism, Major Character Undeath, Dean Winchester to the Rescue, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from the Empty, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel, Pining, POV Dean Winchester, Kissing, Boys Kissing, French Kissing, Rough Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Drinking to Cope, Drinking Alcohol, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Getting Together, Dean Winchester is Not Okay, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 15, Fix-It, Character Death Fix, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, The Empty (Supernatural), the handprint, Dean Winchester's Jacket

Summary: Losing Cas to the Empty felt like Dean was losing a piece of himself. I love you, Cas had said; and then he was gone before Dean got the chance to tell Cas how he felt. But Cas might have taken more than just Dean’s heart when the Empty ripped him away. Cas is gone, and so is Dean’s voice. Traumatic mutism: according to Sam and Eileen, Dean had been through a traumatic experience losing Cas and now he was mute. So, Eileen taught Dean sign language, and Sam bought notebooks for Dean to write out his thoughts. But Dean never stopped aching for Cas; praying to him every day and searching for a way to bring Cas home. When Dean finds a way into Empty, it’s a fight like he’s never fought before. Scream, Dean, scream, the Empty taunts. But Dean can’t stop until he’s rescued Cas, kissed his angel breathless, and told Cas the truth about how he feels—voice or no voice.

Taking one for the team | @artichokegarden

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16,846

Main Tags/Warnings: Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Stanford Era, Sex Worker Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent, Voyeurism, Kink Negotiation, Kink Discovery, Praise Kink, BDSM, Spanking, Whipping, Bath Sex, Hair Washing, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Abusive John Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, POV Castiel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Porn with Feelings

Summary: Cas blinked slowly. “Your father sent you to his friend’s sex club as bait for a sex monster. And you want me to find your lost memories of this for you?”

“Don’t you start, Cas. We need to find out what happened, or those women are as good as dead. If I wanted to listen to a load of crap about dad’s parenting choices, I’d have told all this to Sam in the first place, instead of biting his head off for asking. Let’s just agree he wasn’t winning father of the year for this one and let it go, okay?”

When women start going missing from sex clubs, Cas investigates Dean's memories of a Stanford-Era case and finds some secrets there that could help their relationship in the present.

this bitter nightcall | @abi-cosmos

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 32,514

Main Tags/Warnings: Djinn curse, Jealous Dean Winchester, Hallucinations, Unreliable narrator, Heavy angst, Implied Castiel/Mick Davies, Inappropriate smut, Dean doesn't know what's real, Love confessions, Post-season 12, Very brief almost major character death, Hurt/Comfort, Case fic, True love's kiss

Summary: Dean gets touched by a djinn, but it's all cool. Or, is it?

Forced to confront his desires, Dean's grip on reality slips. Leaving Castiel, Sam, and Mick Davies trying to find a way to save him before it’s too late.

If only they knew that the cure is right in front of them.

Gracefully Yours, Always | @thefandomsinhalor

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 39,815

Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent, Episode: S09E10, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Temporary Blindness, Angelic Grace, Hurt Dean

Summary: As Dean hopelessly waits for Gadreel and Crowley to be expelled from Sam’s body, he and Castiel are unexpectedly ambushed by Malachi and the remainder of his soldiers, seeking retribution for what Castiel has done to his faction. Because Castiel gets gravely injured in the fight, Dean resists the urge to isolate himself, and instead returns to the bunker with his friend and Sam, determined to put an end to the fallen angel madness, and also, perhaps, try to understand why, after everything he’s done, Castiel still stands by his side.

Still Waters Run Deep | @thisisapaige

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 41,168

Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent After s15e09 The Trap, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Castiel, Mark of Cain, Aquaphobia, Claustrophobia, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester

Summary: In the darkest depths of the ocean, sealed into the ma'lak box with Chuck trapped behind the Mark, Castiel loses the battle against God's rage. When Sam and Dean find Castiel on a dark patch of highway— the Mark missing and his grace weak— he cannot speak.

It rains. It rains and it rains and it rains. It is a Great Flood.

In order to stop God, save the world, and resolve the issues simmering between them for years, Castiel and Dean need to communicate.

Perhaps they should build an ark instead.

When I Knew You | @friendofcarlotta

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 54,272

Main Tags/Warnings: Modern AU, Time Travel, Bartender Dean Winchester, Editor Castiel, Mutual Pining, Minor Character Death, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Incorrect Science, Social Anxiety, Sharing a Bed

Summary: Shortly after moving into his new house, Dean Winchester finds a strange, flickering light in the middle of his living room. When he touches it, he’s transported two years into the past, to the days when a man named Castiel Novak lived in the house.

Dean’s own time pulls him back eventually, but the gateway to the past keeps appearing, and Dean keeps visiting Cas — sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. They soon fall in love, but there is no possible future for them, for one simple reason: in a few weeks, Cas is supposed to die.

As the date of Cas’ death draws closer, will Dean be able to save his life? And if he does… will the two of them find a way to be together in the same time?

On the flip side | Joysprings (AO3)

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 64,357

Main Tags/Warnings: Lgbtq, Polyamorous characters, Blood and Injury, Time Jumps, Neurodivergence, Autistic Castiel, Emotional Abuse, Pilot Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, Grief and Mourning, Temporary Character Death, Domestic Destiel, Dean and Cas are dad's, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending I Promise,

Summary: A little over a year after airforce test pilot Dean Winchester's plane crashes and goes missing, its finally found. Castiel Winchester, Dean's widowed husband reflects on his grief and his memory re visits the most significant points of their relationship throughout their time together and how they shaped the present. The whole family is left to deal with the resurfaced trauma from the initial accident, and will finally learn about what truly happened, uncovering new and unexpected answers. This is their journey.

(Story will alternate chapters from the present to past time stamps)

the weight of your bones | Chi_Yagami (Ao3)

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 66,780

Main Tags/Warnings: afterlife, soulmates (sort of), canon divergent, hunter Dean Winchester, human Castiel, kid Jack Kline, angst with a happy ending, touch-starved, flashbacks/discussions of death, panic attacks

Summary: After rescuing his brother's fiancée from a house fire he doesn't survive, Dean Winchester finds himself in Heaven. He's immediately suspicious—after all, with everything he's done during his time on Earth... there's no way he deserves to be here. He lives in a beautiful neighborhood right down the street from his parents, in an amazing house that he shares with his new soulmate, Cas—a man Dean's never even met. Despite Dean's best efforts to keep his distance, Cas seems determined to make their new relationship work in the afterlife.

However, Cas doesn't understand... he isn't aware of Dean's past. Cas doesn't know that all Dean's good for is destroying relationships and ganking monsters. Cas doesn't know that Dean once got an innocent civilian killed on a case, doesn't know of the cave that haunts Dean's dreams. People are made of memories they bury or live by, and Dean chose to bury his a long time ago.

But as Cas chips away at Dean's resistance... the once-forgotten bones begin to surface.

When Tomorow Comes | @teeparadigm67

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 78,994

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Season 15 rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Angst, Lots of Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from the Empty (kind of), Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Dean Winchester is Saved, First Time, Castiel Saves Dean Winchester, Love Confessions, Castiel's Loss of Angelic Grace, Dean Winchester in the Empty, First Kiss, The World is Saved, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester's Taste in Music, Sharing a Bed, Frottage, Men of Letters Bunker, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Happy Ending, Alternate Season/Series 15, Season/Series 15

Summary: When hunting for the Leviathan blossom, Castiel gets taken. Tired, desperate and wanting to tell him all the things left unsaid before it’s too late, Dean prays to him. But he realises... standing there, in the grey hellish landscape, the portal home flickering just beside them with seconds left on the timer, they're already were too late.

Running himself ragged fuelled solely by caffeine, whisky, and that trademark Winchester determination, he will find a way to stop Chuck and to save Cas. However, this isn't the blaze of glory Dean had always envisioned going out in. But, deep down, he would go out swinging to save a loved one. Those bright shining penetrating tear-soaked eyes are the last thing he sees before his vision is marred, the desperate plea of his name dampened by the black ooze filling his eardrums as the essence of the Empty wraps around him and pulls him pulled from existence into the dark.

All because of that simple prayer, the ending Chuck had always planned was rewritten.

The Unbroken | @casblackfeathers

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 126,551

Main Tags/Warnings: zombie apocalypse, bed sharing, hurt and comfort, angel castiel, protective dean, soft dean, endverse, bamf castiel, bottom dean

Summary: Dean’s life had been made of running. He ran from a curse that had desolated his life ever since he was a child — whenever he got hurt, he turned into a goddamn human-torch, killing everyone around him — and he ran from himself and his own self-loathing.

But managing all that at the end of a world full of Croats lurking around every corner was easier said than done.

Until a mysterious man with tousled dark hair paired with blue eyes as clear as the sky during a hot summer’s day stopped him from free falling, literally. In one fell swoop, the stranger had not only saved his life but also calmed the wildfire threatening to burn everything in its wake.

There was something about Castiel that made Dean want to stop running but also hid something darker — something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. And between soft, pillowy lips and feather-like fingerprints, Cas could very well shatter Dean’s world and maybe help save the whole world in return.

Fortunate Son (WIP) | @friendofcarlotta

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 128,610

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Vietnam War, Character Death (but no MCD), Blood and Injury, Counterculture, Recreational Drug Use, Mutual Pining, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Period-Typical Homophobia, Coming Out, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Getting Back Together, Suicidal Thoughts

Summary: The year is 1966, the place is Kansas, and Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak are falling in love. But with Castiel under the thumb of his conservative parents and Dean set to ship out to Vietnam, there is no possible future for them.

As Castiel’s life turns upside down and the hell of Vietnam threatens to swallow Dean’s soul, it will take everything they have to find their way back to each other. But some things are worth waiting — and fighting — for.

[shesnake]

I wanted to know your thoughts on this but do you think it's fair to say either Louis or Armand are abusive in their relationship? Idek if this is a valid angle to view the characters from because I guess they're all monsters or whatever but a part of me thinks that it's kinda lukewarm to refuse to engage with the complicated themes of the show, which abuse is featured heavily and pretty clearly imo. This isn't aimed at you btw. Something I noticed is people tend to use some of Louis's less favorable moments to justify the violence he experiences. Like that post about Armand just matching Louis energy in ep 5, most of the notes are taking the stance that Louis is a cold, unempathic pimp who doesn't care about sa victims, that Armand genuinely is completely right when he says he is always cleaning up after Louis that he was only worried and tenderhearted and Louis escalated in the worst way and that after Louis said that he deserved everything that happened after. And I may be biased but to me that is so fucking crazy. To me it seems like fans, specially nonblack fans, have zero empathy for black abuse victims, actively enacting abuse culture even. But idk if that is a too reactive view. I don't want to say Louis isn't flawed because he is. But I mean we are watching the season about Armand getting Claudia killed on purpose and somehow people are still like Maybe Armand didn't do it, maybe it was all Louis, maybe Louis really asked for it. All of it. I think there's a problem there but idk I kinda feel a little crazy too. Btw disclaimer I fuckin hate Lestat this is not about comparing Loumand/Loustat lol

hi! and wow there is so much to discuss here...

I think it is fair to describe the actions of both Louis and Armand towards each other as abusive by definition but it's always important to remember that it is Armand in the position of greater power over him. Armand is older, stronger, owns dominion. He can walk in the sun, manipulate memories, and live without constant debilitating hunger for blood - all of which are things that impede Louis from being his own person outside of Armand.

Louis also faced this same predicament when he was with Lestat, but unlike Armand who uses his own innate powers against Louis, Lestat mostly used his social advantages of whiteness, wealth etc in addition to withholding key knowledge about vampirism to keep himself in control and Louis dependent on him.

and sure Louis can lash out all he wants! He can mock Armand's sexual trauma (trauma which Armand himself already gets them both to fetishise... but that's a whole different conversation...) he can hit back when Lestat hits him but when he's with either of those guys he is always going to be the victim. Nothing shitty he does to his partners, or to Claudia, or to Daniel, justifies what is being done to him by these men.

There absolutely has to be anti-blackness involved in any argument that says Louis deserves any of this. (Of course Armand as a brown South Asian man is not immune from fandom racism but his treatment is racialised in a different way that is also a different conversation). Any negative behaviour from a Black man is going to be seen by racists as exponentially more aggressive than it is, especially the cross-section with those you mentioned who aren't engaging with the complicated themes of this show exploring abuse.

They can see that Louis yelling at Armand is bad, but don't notice that Armand is being manipulative. They can see that Louis stabbing Lestat that one time during sex is bad (and still sexualise it), but don't notice that Louis is disassociating in every sex scene he has with Lestat afterwards (because they're too busy sexualising it). They can see that Louis making Daniel upset is bad, but don't notice that Daniel has been leveling dozens of racist and homophobic micro-aggressions at him since episode 1.

Armand got a few minutes to tell his tragic backstory in Louvre, Lestat had 2 or 3 different scenes in season 1 to recall his own. It's just been words. Meanwhile racists erase Louis' experiences with trauma because they never had enough fucking empathy for him to begin with to even register it happening to him! on screen! in real time! right in front of us!

And yeah Louis and Armand and Loumand are incredibly complex and compelling, and I do enjoy seeing Louis' moments of cruelty towards Armand! But he's never going to win against him in the game Armand built for him.

And in terms of Claudia, I do think that Louis failed her, as he has always failed her. And is responsible for her death in that regard. But that failure involved letting those other two fucking sharks eat her!!! I personally haven't seen anyone pushing the blame completely off Armand and onto Louis but I wouldn't be surprised. This week I've more pissed off about people levelling it all on Armand and think of Lestat as an unwilling participant.... this is of course the blonde white vampire show....

anyways sorry this is so long! thanks for the message this was really interesting to think about.

[heich0e]

bittersweet - vash the stampede/f!reader (trigun stampede): 7k, listen there's only been 2 eps and i don't know the lore so i am loudy and emphatically declaring creative license, in my mind this is set before the start of stampede but not by much, heavy on the wild wild west core here, light angst, smut, fingering, needy vanilla sex, domesticity, mentions of alcohol/alcoholism, boot-throwing related violence. 18+ NSFW MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

The desert smells bitter.

You wouldn’t think that sand would smell like much at all, but the fragrance that hangs perpetually in the air is heavy, singed, and acrid with the heady scent of life and its misery. Waste and runoff make their unpleasantness acutely known on the hottest days, and the fumes from old machinery that’s barely functioning thanks to age and disrepair—that no one can afford to fix, so they have to hold out hope it keeps running—clogs up the already noxious atmosphere as it rattles on throughout the day. 

Mama used to tell you that outside of Jeneora Rock, the world smelled different. There’s somewhere else past the walls that mark the edge of the only town you’ve ever known, even past the wastelands—a place where almost no one ever goes, but that your Mama saw once. Or at least she said she did.

She told you it smelled clean. Sweet. Untouched by anything but the sun’s heat and the five moons’ glow. 

Mama’s gone, has been for a long time now, and even though she never had much to give to you in the first place, that story is the most precious thing she left behind. You think about it almost as often as you think about her. 

The end of another long day is marked by a familiar heaviness to your bones. Between the suffocating heat that makes you groggy and a hard day's work, there’s a palpable weight that bears down on you as you climb the never-ending metal stairs to your front door—your feet drag a bit more with every step.

The lock to your home is getting hard to turn. You’ve noticed it a few times now: a resistance as you slip your key into the keyhole, a pressure as you urge the mechanism to turn and let you in. There may be sand built up in there to clean out, or maybe it needs some oil.

But oil costs money, of which you don’t have much, so you really hope that it’s the former rather than the latter. 

You examine the keyhole once you manage to force the lock open, dropping to your knees outside your door to peek into the narrow opening on the tarnished face of the lock. It doesn’t do you much good because the sun’s already dropped dark, and even if the light of day still hung overhead you doubt it would be enough to make the issue any clearer. You drag your thumb idly along a little scratch beside the keyhole that's probably been there for years; the metal is still warm to the touch from the heat of the day that still hasn’t quite broken, the surface a little rougher where the score is chipped in.

You sigh, picking yourself up off the ground and dusting off your skirt, and turn the knob into your home. 

It’s dark when you get inside, but something feels wrong.

You shut the door behind you as you enter, pressing your back flat against it as your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark. Your home, like every other one in town, isn’t really much to look at even in the plain light of day. You’re luckier than lots of people though, you’ve got a couple rooms all to yourself where some families have no choice but to cram many people into just one. Papa left you this house, cause now he’s gone too just like Mama, but not much has changed since the day he left it to you—except now there’s less empty bottles rolling around underfoot, and you get to call the little bedroom off the main room yours.

It takes a second for your eyes to get used to the dimness with the door shut tight behind you, so you blink hard to make it happen faster. You see the rickety little table against the wall near the door, and the chair on the other side of the room where you sometimes sit by the window to mend your skirts when they wear and tear—but only when you get home early enough to catch the last few moments of sun, cause Mama always used to warn you about sewing by lamplight. The shutters on the window are closed and locked now, but there’s no light outside them to let in anyway. 

Something shuffles in the dark.

Papa left you a gun, too. Even taught you how to shoot it. Mama hated that. She hated how good you were at it even more. She used to say that shooting was gonna be your husband’s job someday, and that even in a world this wicked Papa was teaching you things you didn’t need to know.

But now Mama’s gone. And Papa’s gone. And the world is still wicked. And you’ve got no husband, but you have a gun you know how to shoot.

You keep it and a little stash of 7 bullets underneath your bed where you can get to it quick, but it’s on the other side of the house, and even though that’s not very far away you don’t know what’s waiting for you between the door and your bed. You don’t know if it’s faster than you are, either, so running for it would be a fool’s errand. 

Inside your chest, your heart starts pumping a little harder, ‘til you can feel the wet thump, thump, thump right in the back of your mouth.

You know you need light. You need to be able to see. You can’t make any decisions until you know what’s between you and your Papa's gun tucked up safe underneath your bed.

Slowly your eyes flicker over to the lamp on your table, just within reach. 

You suck a little gasp into your lungs to steel your nerve. The air is less sour in here—more familiar, a little more comforting—but the acrid scent of the desert still lingers on the edge of each breath. Slowly you reach towards the lamp and flick it on.

“PLEASE DON’T SHOOT ME!”

The frantic plea frightens you so terribly that it sends you tumbling to the hard floor, landing flat on your ass with your back thumping painfully into the wall beside your door. In front of you is a face that has no right being as familiar as it is; eyes wide in panic beneath a round pair of glasses, blonde hair tousled in disarray, two hands (one flesh and one crafted) lifted in innocence. 

Your heart is beating even faster now under the tight pull of your laced waistcoat. 

“Are you an idiot?” you hiss, instinctively tugging your boot off your foot and lobbing it forcefully at the unexpected intruder. “You scared the daylights outta me!”

The man sidesteps the projectile easily, and it clatters to the floor. The expression on his face morphs from one of panic to something a little more chagrined.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, drawing out the word. His tone sheepish, and his lips pull into an apologetic little smile.

You place a trembling hand on your chest, pressing down on the spot where you feel your heart thumping the hardest and willing it to slow. You stare at your scuffed floorboards and take a few breaths to ease the frenetic beat of your pulse, and feel yourself begin to wilt as the adrenaline in your veins starts to fade. 

“How’d you get in here, Vash the Stampede?” you ask, looking up again at the man in front of you from your place on the ground.

“I knocked first,” he says with a grimace, “but you weren’t home and I…”

“Broke in because you’ve got someone looking for you?” you finish his explanation for him, your tone flat and entirely unsurprised.

He sighs, shoulders slumping dejectedly as his head hangs forward. 

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

He lifts his chin only enough to guiltily meet your gaze.

“It’s just for one night,” he murmurs the plea, his bottom lip weighed down by a pout.

You shut your eyes tight, hands balling into fists over your skirt to hide the way they tremble.

“Fine.”

Vash falls to his knees in front of you, hands pressed to the floor as he gets right up in your face with a wide, cheerful grin. He’s almost nose to nose with you, the light of the lamp glinting in his glasses.

“Thanks so much! I promise I’ll be outta here before you know it!”

He doesn’t need to tell you that, because the pang in your empty stomach tells you that, even unspoken, you already knew it to be true. 

Vash is travelling light again, just like the last time you saw him. He’s only got one bag that he begins to unpack onto the rickety table in your kitchen, leaving you to quietly go about your own business like you would if you hadn’t found him in your home that night. On the other side of the kitchen you unpack the meagre amount of food you’d managed to buy for yourself that day from little satchel you carried it home in. It’s barely enough food for one, and now you’ll have to stretch it between two. 

“Where’s your father?” Vash asks as he fiddles with his gun at the table behind you. “I thought it was him coming through the door, and I thought for sure he was gonna blow my—“

“He’s dead.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Uncomfortable, even. Vash’s hands still even as yours keep quietly peeling the sad, withered skin from the vegetable in your hand with the blade of a half-dulled knife. 

“I’m sorry,” his next words are quiet. “Your father was a nice man.”

“My father was a drunk who got himself shot in a bar fight with a merchant who came to town and was talking big. He just worshipped you because you saved the plant.”

That same uncomfortable silence creeps in again in the wake of your words, but after a few moments you hear Vash pick up his tools and start tinkering away at whatever he’s working on once more. 

“Is the plant still running?” Vash is the first to speak again, though a fair amount of time passes before he risks another attempt at conversation.

“More or less,” you remark, setting a little pot on the stove to boil with whatever ingredients you’d been able to scrounge together into a meal. You watch the flame of the element burst to life as you flick the switch, a little hiss as the fire licks at the edges of your only copper pot. “Some days it’s more reliable than others. But whatever you did seems to be holding up all right.”

“Good!” Vash says behind you. “That’s good.”

You turn to face him, the unevenly mended hem of your skirt swishing around your ankles. You lean against the little countertop behind you, with your arms crossed behind your back.

“I’ll pop by the plant before I leave town—” 

You watch as Vash’s fingers nimbly fiddle with his gun, broken down into its component parts to be cleaned and maintained. You’re sure it doesn’t need it—are certain he’s fired less shots from that gun in the two years since you’ve seen him than you’ve heard in town this week alone—but it’s kind of nice to watch him work, to appreciate how certain and precise his every move is, and to see how concentrated he is while he goes about it. 

“—just to make sure everything’s still in good shape.”

He looks up at you, like for the first time he feels your gaze as it traces the lines of his profile. He smiles again, that same wide, willful expression of cheer that he always endeavours to wear even though he might be the person least entitled to it.

You hum. “I’m sure everyone would appreciate that. You should stop by to see Rosa too, she’ll box my ear if she finds out you blew though town and didn’t go see her.”

The two of you eat across the table from one another in silence. Just the scrape of cutlery and the occasional loud swallow passing between the two of you. Vash seems hungry, but appears to be trying his best to be at least a little restrained as he eats with you. Even though you’d given him the larger of the two portions, he’s still finished his plate before you’ve finished yours, but he sits patiently across from you waiting for you to swallow your final bite.

“I’ll take these,” he jumps to his feet before you have the chance to even push your chair back from the table, snatching both of your dishes up into his hands. “I’ll clean up, since you’re letting me stay.”

You don’t deny him, and instead slump back into your seat, dragging your wrist along your forehead. Your skin feels grimy from the hot day and the filth outside. Normally you would have bathed before you cooked, but you hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day—and Vash looked like it may have been even longer than that. 

“I’m gonna wash,” you say, standing from your seat. You pause, your fingertips tracing against the rough, rutted surface of the tabletop. You know you don’t have enough water for two baths in your tank. You used to bathe with your mother when you were little, then once you were older and Mama was gone, you got the bathwater first and Papa would get in after you were done. It’s never been an issue until now. “Er—Vash?” 

At the sink where your uninvited house guest is scrubbing at the dishes in the washbasin that you’d filled ahead of time, Vash pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. He’s taken off his familiar red coat, left hanging off the chair he’d been seated in at the table, and the black turtleneck he wears beneath it stretches taut over the musculature of his back as it faces you.

“The bath… there’s only enough water to fill it once. I don’t…Do you want…?” you aren’t sure what you’re even trying to ask him, but whatever is coming out of your mouth is even less clear than the thoughts running through your head.

“I’ll bathe second, don’t worry about me.” 

Vash’s smile is gentle and obliging, his eyes crinkling at the corners as they narrow into little crescents. You nod stiffly, feeling heat flush through you at the softness in his expression, and shuffle off towards the other side of your home while avoiding his gaze.

The walls of your home are paper thin, and you’re certain that Vash can hear the splash of water in the tub as clearly as you can hear the scratchy, garbled sound of his radio from the other room. Once your skin’s been scrubbed clean of the day, you sit in the water with your knees pulled to your chest and your chin tucked between them. You strain to try to make out what’s being broadcast, but it’s difficult to hear since the reception in town is always so piss poor, and whatever coherent bits of news you manage to catch are just as abysmal as always.

It’s strange, hearing someone else in the house. It’s something you didn’t realize had become so foreign to you in the time you’ve learned to live alone. The idle puttering in the other room is a sound you didn’t realize you had missed. You lean back and dunk yourself into the water, where everything goes quiet. 

The bathwater never gets very hot to begin with—tepid at the best of times, which seems unfair given the climate—but you know it’s not fair to waste time in the tub when someone else is waiting for it. You pull yourself up out of the metal basin, careful not to disturb the stopper in the bottom of the tub, and dry as much water from your skin as you can. Once you’ve deemed yourself sufficiently towelled, you pull on your nightdress and a threadbare housecoat overtop.

Vash looks up from the chair in the corner by the window when you emerge from the bathroom, and he meets your eyes so unwaveringly it feels decidedly like he’s trying hard not to let his gaze wander elsewhere. You fidget under his stare, fiddling with the fraying ends of the towel around your neck that’s catching the droplets that fall from your hair. He must realize that he’s unnerving you, because he averts his eyes to a point on the wall over your shoulder after a moment. 

“My turn?” he asks, his tone chipper but polite.

“All yours,” you nod, stepping into your bedroom and leaving him to his business.

There’s an old trunk at the bottom of your bed where you keep some of the things your father left that you haven’t yet been able to sell or make use of. You find an old shirt of his near the very bottom, soft and worn-thin from years of washing. It’s something you could have easily sold or traded by now, but that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to part with—though you’re certain the day will inevitably come when sentimentality can no longer outweigh your basic needs.

You stand outside the bathroom door for a moment, your father’s shirt clutched tightly in your hands. You can hear the splash of bathwater you’re sure has gone cold from where you stand, only a few feet and a thin door between you.

You muster your nerve and tap your knuckles lightly against the door.

“I have a shirt if you need something to—“

The door opens, and you find yourself unexpectedly facing the bare chest of your one-night housemate, still damp and glistening from the bath, lined with silvery scars that the low light catches on.

You toss the shirt at him unceremoniously and turn quickly away, and Vash himself makes a little sound of surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be—“

“It’s fine,” you answer before he can even finish his apology, still refusing to meet his gaze. You gesture vaguely over your shoulder without turning. “Just take that.”

The bathroom door clicks closed again, and you clutch the belt of your housecoat over your diaphragm. 

You need a drink. 

You cross your home to the cabinet in your kitchen, reaching to the back of the nearly-bare shelf and pulling out a dusty old bottle that’s been there since your father died. It wouldn’t have lasted a day if he were still living, and you’ve made it years without ever so much as cracking it open. 

Today however, you feel it’s well-deserved. 

The dust caked on the bottle smears against your palm as you open it, and you wipe the grime furiously against the material of your housecoat as you pour a long glug of the amber liquor into a waiting glass. It’s vile, lukewarm from the constant heat of your home, and burns every inch of the way down—but as you set the empty glass back onto the counter, you still find yourself grateful for it. 

You pour another drink. 

“Take it easy,” you hear a voice say behind you, accompanied by a breathy little laugh.

You turn and see Vash hovering not far from you, his black turtleneck folded over one arm and your father’s shirt over his no-longer-bare chest. His hair is wet, a towel draped around his shoulders just like yours, and he’s taken off his usual eyewear. The mole underneath his eye seems more prominent now that he’s scrubbed himself clean.

Your empty glass dangles from the tips of your fingers, the acerbic taste of the liquor lingering on your tongue. You hold it out to him in offering, and he scrunches up his nose a little bit. 

“I really shouldn’t—“

“It’s rude to turn down a drink your host is offering you, y’know.”

Things like rudeness don’t mean anything to anyone these days, least of all yourself. Decency is a luxury few people can afford. 

Vash sighs, still smiling, and takes the glass from you. Your fingers brush as it passes from your hand to his, and then you take the bottle and pour another healthy splash into the waiting cup. He brings it to his lips, wincing against the fumes alone that waft up from the glass. 

“It’s better if you don’t sip it,” you offer him, though even then you know the guidance doesn’t help much.

He tips it back and drains it.

Two drinks were enough to have you feeling woozy, but you pour yourself a third for good measure. You spare Vash the pain of another, much to his apparent relief, and let him off with just the one before tucking the half-drained bottle back into the cupboard you’d dug it out of. 

When you turn around again, Vash is crouched down, examining something on the ground. 

Your boot. The one you’d thrown at him earlier. 

He peers up at you from the floor, he lifts the shoe slightly. 

“It broke again.”

A memory floods back to you then, unbidden. 

Sitting side by side with Vash on the edge of the steps outside the same house you live in now, but when the way you lived was different. The plant had just been repaired, and there was a palpable feeling of effervescent joy sizzling through the town around you. An uncharacteristic camaraderie amongst the people of Jeneora Rock as the celebration of Vash’s handiwork spreading through the narrow, grimy streets. The two of you were away from it all, sitting quietly together in a strange sort of celebration of your own.

You were less a woman than you were a girl back then, but still somehow neither. He’d patched the sole of your boot back on when it had ripped loose. And you’d laughed when he handed it back to you with an endearingly clumsy flourish, the sound as high and bright as the sun that hung in the sky overhead. You still remember the way your laughter had made his smile grow.

The patch job had lasted a year. You’d sobbed the day it came loose again, just shortly after the death of your father. You’d been using twine tied tightly around the toe of the boot to hold it together ever since.

Vash blinks up at you from the ground as you stare down at him with what you’re sure is a vacant look in your eyes. 

“I brought you something,” he says, hopping up and skittering over to his rucksack with your boot still in his hand. He rifles around in the bag for a moment, his mechanical arm shoulder deep as he roots for what he’s looking for. His eyebrows shoot up and he grins when he locates it—a wide, brilliant smile splitting across his face as he pulls his arm out. 

He holds his find up in triumph. 

You look at it with narrowed eyes.

“What… is it?” you ask, after a moment of trying to identify the small, relatively unremarkable little container in his hand.

“Boot glue!” he says excitedly, waving it in front of your face. “I thought of you when I saw it! The merchant wanted an arm and a leg for it but I managed to—”

Tears have sprung up in your eyes against your will, and you quickly turn away from him to hide them from his sight. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Vash’s voice is softer now, less enthusiastic and more concerned. 

That softness is what upsets you more than anything. Tenderness is a foreign thing in the desolation of the wastelands.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, scrubbing your hand over your stinging eyes. 

For thinking of me.

For knowing that you’d come back.

You leave that part off, but you feel it just as much as what you say.

You drain that third glass that’s been sitting on the counter waiting for you, hoping the burn of the liquor as it sloshes down your throat to your stomach will give you something else to focus on. Or, if nothing else, that it might numb the sudden pain that’s laid roots down in your core.

Vash sits at the table as he patches up your boot under the lamplight, much like he had the first time. You watch him from the chair in the corner, under the shuttered window, with your knees drawn up into your seat with you. You’re more shameless now than you had been while he cleaned his gun, observing him keenly as he scrubs your boot with a rag and leftover water from the dish pan. He makes sure no more grime clings to it before he carefully smears a thick layer of the glue along the sole, pressing down firmly to make sure the adhesion takes. He holds the boot up in front of him when he’s done, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, eyeing it from every angle to survey his own work.

You watch him just as raptly. 

He turns in his seat once he’s satisfied, holding the boot up. 

“All done!” he says, hopping up to his feet and shuffling towards you. He crouches down in front of you and holds out his hand expectantly. Slowly, you stick your foot out, and he cradles it gently in his roughened palm.

Carefully he slips the boot onto your foot, tightening the laces once it’s fully in place. 

“How’s it feel?” he asks you, peeking up at you from his place on the floor. 

“Feels good,” you reply, with an equally breathy tone. 

The lamplight doesn’t reach this corner of the room quite as brightly as it does at the table, but you can still make out a blush that sits high and pretty at the top of Vash’s cheeks. You wonder if he’s starting to feel the flush thanks to the liquor, or if maybe it’s something else entirely. 

“G-good!” he stammers a little, fiddling with the laces at your ankle. “I’m glad!”

“That glue must have been expensive,” you say. “Thank you, Vash.”

He shoots you a smile as he loops his fingers through the laces. “It's the least I could do, especially with you putting me up for the night.”

For the night. 

Just for the night. 

The reminder makes you ache a little.

Vash helps you slip your boot off again, carrying it over to the door and setting it down beside its mate.

“I’ll leave this here for you, in case you need it again,” he says, screwing the top back onto the little pot of adhesive at the table. “There’s not much left, but there’s some.”

You nod from your seat in the corner, one leg up and one leg still down—your nightdress drawn up to your knee from when he’d helped you into your boot. 

Vash ruffles the hair at the nape of his neck, dry now after his bath. Yours remains a little damp, but you’re sure it won’t last long as the residual heat from the day still hangs in the air even though the sun has long set. 

“It’s late,” he finally says after a moment. “You should sleep.”

You hum in agreement, moving to stand from your chair. The room spins slightly around you, those three glasses you’d knocked back sneaking up on you while you’d been sitting down. Your foot hooks in the hem of your nightdress because of the way you’d been sitting, but before you can stumble theres a strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. A warmth pressing into you as your face meets a heaving chest.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Vash murmurs, his grip on you tightening for the briefest moment. 

Your hands clutch at his shirt, and you don’t meet his eyes as you nod, letting him lead you towards your bedroom. 

Your hands fumble at the belt of your nightdress, pulling it off and tossing the garment across the end of your bed as Vash helps you onto the mattress. You tuck your feet under the thin sheet before leaning back against your pillows, and Vash is quick to turn and head towards the door after helping you pull it up to your waist.

“Wait,” you call to him before he can retreat. He pauses in the doorway, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Where are you going to sleep?”

You hadn’t thought much about this, and you ought to have considered it earlier. You only have the one bed, but you have two pillows you can share and a spare blanket in the trunk at the end of it that you could offer him if he wants to sleep on the floor. 

But you don’t want to tell him that.

“I’ll just take the chair,” he says with a blithe smile, jutting his thumb towards the armchair in the other room. 

It won’t be comfortable. You know that from experience, having fallen asleep there a few times yourself after a particularly gruelling day. The stuffing is lumpy and the springs are painful if you press against them the wrong way. You know he won’t complain about it. You even know that it’s probably still more comfortable than lots of other places he’s rested his head over the past two years. 

But you want to be selfish.

For once you don’t want to be alone. 

“Vash,” you say quietly, and you watch his entire body go rigid at the sudden bare vulnerability of your tone. “Please stay with me.”

You’d asked him the same thing once before, but different. The words once murmured desperately against his lips as you clung to his red jacket. Staring at him with eyes full of hope and a freshly patched boot on your foot. 

He’d looked at you the same way back then too. That smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. As gentle of a no that he could ever offer you.

“I know you have to leave,” you murmur, eyes downcast to your hands as they rest atop your lap. “I don’t expect anything like that from you. I know it’s just for tonight.”

“Please don’t cry.”

The bed dips beside you, and Vash tilts your face up towards him. He looks troubled when you meet his gaze, even in the dim light of your bedroom you can make out the conflict on his features. It’s strange to see him not smiling, wrong almost.

But your eyes are dry.

“Stay,” you repeat yourself, meeting his gaze resolutely. You swallow hard over the lump in your throat, bracing yourself for the impending sear of rejection. 

Vash cups your cheeks in his hands, and you can’t tell if it’s your cheeks or his touch that feels so warm.

“You deserve someone that can say yes to that and mean it properly,” he says ruefully, not dissimilarly to what he’d said the first time you’d asked the very same thing of him.

“I’m not asking anyone else,” you whisper, “I’m asking you."

You wonder if your mouth still tastes like liquor as Vash’s tongue dips inside of it, hovering over you as you lay sprawled across your bed. 

It didn’t start like this, of course. The first kiss had been gentle, hesitant even—like Vash wasn’t quite sure if he was going to see it through at all, poised to flee at any moment. But neither of you could deny how right it felt when his lips brushed yours, an immediate wash of relief and of unadulterated want inundating you all at once. You’d been the one to crane up and bridge the gap, but soon Vash was crawling into your bed overtop of you, easing you back to lay flat as he succumbed to the same need you felt thrumming through your veins.

Your hands are tangled in his hair now—a gesture that earned you a pitchy, needy little groan from him as your fingers twisted through the blonde strands. It only seemed to make him more eager as he parted his lips against your own in a deeper kiss.

There’s something a little clumsy about it all, an eagerness and inexperience to every touch and graze. But it’s not the same as it was at first, no longer hesitant or wary—his reservations have been peeled away as surely as the clothes the two of you are wearing, until you feel nothing but his skin against your own.

Vash’s hands are as greedy and rapacious as his mouth; touching, grabbing, grazing anything he can reach. His calloused fingers cup themselves around the swell of your chest, squeezing lightly, and when you reward him with a little moan it stokes the flames of his curiosity, and his touch moves to the pebbled bud of your nipple next. He rolls it tentatively between his fingers, pinching ever so slightly, and when you gasp against his mouth, arching further into his touch, he makes his own little pleased sound of surprise before lavishing your other breast with equal attention. 

His metal hand touches you more gingerly than the other, and he tends to favour the one made of flesh and bone. The contrast in sensations is a little disorienting—smooth, hard metal versus the life-roughened heat of skin on skin. It’s dizzying. You want more.

“Vash,” you murmur against his mouth. 

Your lips are stinging now from the constant kissing. He’s scarcely left your mouth uncovered by his own since they first connected, but at your hoarse whisper of his name he pulls back slightly, watching your face for any sign of reproach. 

“Touch me more, please,” you say to him, cupping his cheeks as he presses his forehead into yours, both of you sharing the same breath in the little space between you.

He makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a hum, nodding a little, and kisses you again as his hands slip further down your willing, waiting form.

If he’s surprised by the wet wet heat he finds between your legs, it doesn’t stop him. One finger and then two find their way inside you slowly; he moves in gentle thrusts and scissoring motions that have your jaw going slack. His palm presses against the swell of your clit, and each time your hips jump it grinds into the heel of his palm, earning a keen from the back of your throat.

“Feels good?” Vash trails kisses up the top of your cheek until his lips are by your ear. His breathing is laboured and the air of each breath is hot as it ghosts across your skin. Your tongue feels leaden, but you nod repeatedly, wrapping your arms around his neck and keeping him close.

“Yeah,” you finally manage to breathe out, “’s good.”

It’s even better when you feel the stretch of him pressing himself inside.

The sound that’s pulled from the depth of Vash’s broad chest as he carves his way into you makes your toes curl—high and sweet and desperate.

“’S hot,” he slurs, his hips giving a shallow, desperate thrust.

He’s needy, pulling you closer as he moves you how he wants you. He loops your knees up over his elbows, his mouth frantically finding it’s way back to yours as the weight of his entire body bears down on you. 

The next thrust is harder, deeper. And the pace only increases after that.

The rickety headboard of your old bed knocks against the wall each time he brings his hips down against yours. It’s loud, but so is the sound of skin on skin, and you have the distant thought as the bed frame creaks that it sounds like it might splinter underneath you—but you don’t find it in yourself to care as the pressure in you core steadily builds, threatening to burst. It blinds and deafens you to anything but the pulse that pounds in your throat. It makes your fingers curl against the skin of Vash’s shoulder blades until your nails dig into skin.

He’s still kissing you, wet and messy and noisy as his tongue presses into your mouth. He never stops kissing you.

It's nice to be with someone. To be touched. To feel wanted and needed.

Especially by him.

Your eyes flutter open, and as though he can sense your gaze on him Vash’s do the same. His expression is heavy-lidded as he pants, a little drop of sweat sitting high on the edge of his blushing cheek. He smiles a little, a soft, gentle expression you’ve never seen before.

A tenderness in his gaze unlike any you’ve ever experienced.

The pressure in your core comes undone.

He takes your face in his hands as pleasure rips through you like a sandstorm, blistering and unescapable. He’s still kissing you. Keeping you so near. In the haze it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins, everything clouded into something thats both and somehow neither. Something new.

“Close,” Vash whines, grinding his hips down against your own.

Your muscles ache, the pleasure has worn you raw, and your lungs are pricking with the need for a full deep breath you haven’t been able to draw into them now for some time. But even so, you don’t want it to be over. Can’t bear the thought of being apart.

The headboard rattles a few more times, and then the pressure between your legs is gone as Vash pulls out and spatters his spend across your stomach with a long, low groan.

It’s hot. The mess on your skin, the sweat that clings to you, the paltry breaths of air you draw into your lungs. Even the sheets of your bed have absorbed the heat from both of your bodies, sticking to your skin as you collapse into them in boneless heaps, chests heaving and hearts racing side by side.

You tilt your face towards the boy crowded into your narrow bed beside you, and find him watching you expectantly.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing a piece of hair away from your eyes.

You hum, leaning into his touch.

Vash’s gaze travels down your body, eyeing the mess he’s made of you with wide eyes. He pops up suddenly, clambering out of bed and tripping clumsily over the sheet that’s fallen half-way off the mattress as he skitters out the door. You’re not too worried that he’s going far, considering he’s still stark naked, but you watch the doorway curiously as you wait for him to return.

When he does, he has a cloth in hand—still damp from your bath earlier in the evening. As gently as he can, Vash cleans you up; the cloth cool is against your sticky skin, and feels nice. Once he’s satisfied with his handiwork, he presses a kiss to the valley between your ribs, lifting his face to smile up at you.

You shoot him a feeble smile back.

He slips into bed beside you once more, crawling up towards the pillows and pulling the rumpled sheet up to your chins as he goes. He settles in, and with one sweep of his arm he tucks you safely against his chest, with your ear resting over his heart. His hand pats gently along the back of your hair down your spine, keeping you close to him.

Vash smells good. Clean and comforting. It makes you think of the place your mother told you about once. You wonder if he smells like that place, or maybe even better.

You wonder if he’s ever been there before.

You wonder if he’d tell you if you asked.

You open your eyes, though the effort pains you in your exhaustion, and you see him peering back at you. Vash’s lips pull into a smile, but it's one of the ones that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. An expression that you know is more for you than it is for himself.

You think the two of you have a lot in common, then. That maybe the two of you understand the same loneliness. The same feeling of being haunted.

Your ghosts live on in the trunk at the end of your bed and at the back of your cupboard, covered in dust, tucked away out of sight. 

Vash’s live on inside of him, and it’s where he seems determined to keep them. 

In that moment you know that even if you were to ask, he’d tell you nothing—and he’d do it for your own sake.

Tomorrow you’ll wake and the air will smell bitter and burnt, and he’ll be gone, but your boot will be mended, and the little pot of glue will remind you he was there. But tonight you’ll dream about the place your Mama told you about, and tomorrow you’ll still have the smell that clings to your sheets. So for now, the world smells different. 

And that has to be enough.

[itshermocrates]

POISON- Ep. 4 Analysis

I have no idea if someone has already done something like this but these two unfortunate souls have been in my mind since I watched the show TWO WEEKS AGO. So I'm gonna share with you this personal analysis of what we saw during the Poison scene in Ep. 4 of Hazbin Hotel.

Again, I don’t know if anyone has already talked about this (I’m not very active on tumblr), but I think that what we see as Angel sings Poison is made not only to tell us how the relationship Angel has with Valentino is but ALSO how it came to be thanks to everything that's happening on screen while he's singing.

Of course the lyrics are also important so I’ll make some reference to those as well, but I’ll focus mainly on what we see. Since I can only add 30 pics in this post this will be a bit difficult but I will try my best.

SOME CONTENT WARNINGS! I'm not sure if this is even necessary but anyways,,, Pychological abuse, abuse, violence, domestic violence, drugs, addiction, sex work, dubius consent, sexual violence, abusive relationship, unhealthy power dynamics, angst, suicidal ideas (hinted), etc.

Now, without further ado, let's begin!

Before the song, Valentino and Angel have a fight in his dressing room. I want to start here because during that fight Angel gets a black eye and we get to see how the walls of his room are filled, not only by security cameras, but also by a lot of eyes that follow Angel wherever he goes inside the room. We will see more of these eyes soon enough.

After that fight Angel sends Charlie back home and we see a bit more of what we could expect from Valentino with his manipulation tactics. The sweet tone and the praise as he embraces Angel from behind, too close and too intimate considering he will be soon forcing him to go back to work.

These are the tricks every abuser uses to manipulate and control the people around them, and it’s what Valentino uses all the time with Angel.

This is the behavior of an abusive boyfriend, a dynamic they have in the present, but once Poison starts, we are presented with their backstory. Now we will get to see how that dynamic is even possible, how these two ended up together and how their relationship started and evolved.

Valentino sits next to the movie director and everyone starts moving to prepare the scene they are about to film. He is the one in control here, the one calling for action again and deciding who does what and when. And just like that we see how Angel's black eye is concealed by makeup, erasing the marks of what had just happened and metaphorically erasing the violence of the relationship he is in now.

Angel closes his eyes in displeasure, focusing on what Valentino wants from him. When he opens his eyes again, his expression is completely different, this Angel without bruises, is not only a version of him from minutes ago, before the fight with Val, or even prior to the abuse… This is the Angel before Valentino.

He walks backwards, as if he was going back in time, moving easily with the playful shamelessness that characterized him back then. When he sings “I’m not above a love to cash in” he was most likely referring to his past as a sex worker or at least, as someone who didn’t mind to sell his affections to get what he needed/wanted. During this time, he would most likely go clubbing every night, since it offered a good way to earn easy money while he had a great time, partying, drinking, consuming…

Angel probably was the type of person who used those who desired him to get whatever he wanted, a game he knew how to play. Even if it could get risky or inconvenient, he was a free soul, he was still in control of what he did or didn't do with all those people, so at the end of the day, he always won. That’s what he believes as he playfully lays back on the setting’s bed again.

That had always been true after all, or at least it was until he came across someone that beated him at his own game. Someone who would take that freedom and control over his own body away from him.

His expression changes again to one of terror when a shadow looms over his body from outside the frame. That’s the silhouette of the men he was previously filming with, but we can also imagine that this figure suddenly changing the way he moves, reacts and feels, was meant to represent Valentino.

After the other actors surround him, and the scene fades to black, we are shown what could have been Angel's previous workplace. A stripclub where he danced for money and probably engaged in sex work in a somewhat safe and controlled environment. Back then he had become popular enough to be "the star" of his own show, and a performer good enough to get a reputation that would eventually reach the ears of one of the most powerful overlords in that district.

Valentino discovered him maybe by chance, or maybe not. Maybe he had heard of Angel Dust and wanted to see for himself if this dancer was as good and pretty as all those people said. And after watching him perform Valentino was the furthest from disappointed, he had enjoyed the show so much that he decided to take a closer look at this Angel Dust’s skills.

He approaches him, maybe as a client, or maybe just as a guy interested in what he had to offer, and although Angel doesn't trust him at first, he ends up entering his game.

He was just another man who wanted to fuck him, one that had enough money to spoil him all he had ever wanted and more. It was quite the opportunity for someone as low in the food chain as him, and Angel had already played with rich men like Valentino before, he knew what he was doing.

So Angel took the bait, and had sex with Valentino. Probably a blowjob in that same club he danced at that served as a test for Valentino.

Now we have a scene with two Valentinos, one that is about to get head from Angel with a video camera on his hand, and another Val standing behind the cameras and lights of what we now know to be another movie set. The first Val we saw, extending his hand before Angel when he finished his performance, was the Val of his past, the one he sucked off the night they met. That was someone Angel thought to be somewhat honest, or, at the very least a man he heavily underestimated.

It's the playful man that winks seductively at him in the set from afar with those red hot eyes he fell for, the same that quickly turns into a different guy with similar clothes (red jacket and white fur) now recording him on set. Someone who quickly became a stranger to Angel, just as he is for us, since we can’t even see his face.

The second Val it's the real one, the one standing next to the movie director watching everything with calculating eyes and a dangerous smile. That's the man who told Angel all those red hot lies he believed to be true, and the one judging with this first meeting if the spider was a worthy investment or not.

Angel proves to be good enough. Valentino likes him, and after that night he starts to actively pursue Angel but he didn’t do that as a simple client. He can tell Angel isn't a common whore, he has talent, charisma and he's been playing this game for long enough to know all the tricks. One can only become so successful in this world knowing how to play their cards well.

It’s obvious then what he has to do to turn Angel into his next movie star. Valentino needs to make him fall in love with him and make him believe that Valentino can love him just as much. This is exactly what he is going to do.

On screen we see how Valentino's sex pollen (he's a moth guys, it has to be sex pollen) starts to fill the scene, and as it expands it engulfs Angel, making us know just how captivated, how absorbed he will end up being.

Note: I know there’s a theory that says that Valentino’s power comes from his saliva or something like that and I haven’t read it or anything, but I do believe the smoke/fog that surrounds him has the same effect as the “sex pollen” trope. Or at least it’s similar.

The red fog expands all over the frame, emphasizing Valentino’s overpowering skills and charisma. When it clears, we see Angel in a different place while he sings the second line of the lyrics “What’s the worst part of this hell, I can only blame myself”.

His expression is one of pure anguish and regret, and he’s saying this while standing in front of Valentino in his apartment. He's talking about how naive he was for believing all of Valentino's lies, to truly believe that what he felt for Angel was love. He blames himself for buying this love story and falling for him so hard it made him very easy to manipulate. He regrets not having seen it before it was too late.

Because when Valentino’s back appears at the left corner of the frame, with an extended hand and smoke-made chains, it’s Angel the one who finally cuts the distance and accepts the chains Val is offering him.

Angel was too blinded by Valentino’s courting, by his sweet words and lovely gestures, but also by the constant push and pull of their dynamic, the flirting, the teases, the seduction. He loved the attention and he loved the sense of control, of power, he could feel when he was with Valentino, an overlord no less, a demon so rich and powerful he could have anyone he could have ever wanted. But Val had chosen him, him of all people.

This brief initial moment represents the regret he feels when he remembers how it all started, when Angel thinks about the beginning of their relationship, a time when everything seemed fine and their sexual chemistry made him lose all sense of reason. Because with Val everything ended up leading him to his bed.

After this short display of regret, we are presented a sequence made to represent the fantasy Angel indulged himself in, an illusion tinted in pink colors and fun costumes. This is the story Valentino had carefully created for him to make him fall in love with him, a story that made the spider feel so good when he was by his side, he could easily excuse any warning sign in his sight.

Because Angel would obviously want to be with Valentino when all he knew about him was his lover persona, a facade that portrayed him as a passionate lover and playful partner, his (soon to be) poison.

They had fun and even when Valentino showed little fragments of his true intentions and personality, Angel was too blinded to notice that he was starting to lose the very game he had considered himself a master of. Valentino and the relationship Angel had with him was addictive, so it didn't matter what happened, Angel always came back. You can think of this as the result of Valentino’s sex pollen, his charisma or a combination of both, depending on what flavor of angst is your favorite.

What we can know for sure, is that they were both performers in their own ways, both players in the game of love, so Angel could have excused and normalized a lot of things he shouldn't have. Knowing their line of work, of course that they could get a bit too intense every now and then, of course things could get a bit out of hand between them, they were just sooo dramatic.

It was that rollercoaster of emotions, the raw intensity of it all what ended up hooking Angel so much. The playfulness that could get a bit dangerous really fast, even if the Valentino he thought he knew would never really hurt him. Right?

A few little details I like about this sequence are the way we get to see Valentino’s home in the background and how the colors of his clothes and body are darker than usual but still lighter in comparison to what we will see in the following scenes, indicating how this was still the “nice” version of Valentino.

In the same way, Angel is playing with the chains bounding his wrists together, not his neck (yet), telling us that he’s playing with fire, quite literally dancing with the idea of being owned by Val, but he is still a free soul. In this moment he was falling hard and quick for Valentino’s lies, but he wasn’t his captive yet.

He’s having fun while being manhandled by Valentino, both physically and emotionally, but he still thinks of it as a game, another part of their sex life and how they naturally work as a couple. It’s exciting, it’s new and Angel loves it.

Not knowing that the longer he stays the more power is giving Val over him. Valentino is starting to show his true colors, in these last frames we can see that his figure is getting darker as Angel is slowly discovering the manipulative side of Val, the controlling and abusive nature he had been hiding from the spider since the beginning.

The push and pull continues as we see their silhouettes dancing, even if in reality this is Valentino pulling from his side of the chain to keep Angel close, to keep him with him.

After the shadows sequence, we get back to the playfulness Angel had shown when he took the chains for himself and started to tease Valentino. Only that this time, Val’s colors are darker and his touch more possessive, more aggressive. He’s groping him and even choking him while Angel sings “I made my choice and every night I’m living like there’s no tomorrow” with a grin, showing us how this was still a game for him.

He made his choice staying with Val because he loved him and he thought he was loved in return, when the moth had been only toying with him from the moment they first saw each other. This is Angel’s greatest regret, the fact that he truly believed Val’s lies, that despite all the warning signs he kept choosing him over and over again.

Choosing to stay, to kneel before Val, to obey him with the promise of a new wave of pleasure, a new high. Just as Valentino wanted him to do as we can see the vicious smile he wears during this entire sequence.

I think the next couple of seconds tells us how, for a while, they were together and Angel was still able to keep his job at the club. He was still allowed to see his friends (his coworkers most likely) and spend time with them, while Valentino made sure to feed all his previous bad habits and addictions, giving him gifts (we know Fat Nuggets was a gift from Val), a lot of money he could spend on a whim and eventually, probably the substances to use as well.

The smile on his face, the smugness of it, makes me think he’s telling his friends about this rich guy that pampers him in every way and treats him like a prince. He has found the ultimate Sugar Daddy, a man that has changed his life forever in the best way possible. Now he can have whatever he wants, party for days without having to worry about not having enough money to eat at the end of the month or a place to stay.

Angel would have used drugs before, maybe occasionally, maybe only at parties, maybe to get the worst bits of his job done, maybe he was already a bit of an addict, but it’s now, when he has the means to consume every night that he definitely becomes one.

Valentino made sure of it.

During this time, Valentino would secure the control he had over Angel, weakening his mind and will by worsening his addiction problem while continuing convincing him of how much he loved him. The parties were incredible, the sex was amazing, and Angel felt on top of the world at every moment. He was “living like there’s no tomorrow” without realizing the higher he raised above the ground, the hardest would be his fall.

And maybe this is just me over analyzing a kinky moment, but after this, after Valentino bites Angel causing him a wince of pain and maybe even making him bleed, everything changes.

They are having sex, far from the flashing lights, they are together as Anthony and Val, as the real person who oftenly hides behind his stage persona. The person who is deeply in love with Valentino, who is vulnerable and allows his lover to hurt him however he wants because he trusts that the pleasure that follows will be worth it.

But after that bite, he’s no longer in bed with Val, he's in the same bed from the very beginning of this music video, surrounded by lights, disoriented and confused… As if he was expecting Valentino to be between his legs and not this stranger.

When he finally comes to his senses and sits, we hear for the first time the line “My story’s gonna end with me dead from your poison”. This was the beginning of the end of their honeymoon phase and the point of no return. Valentino had considered Angel weakened enough to take a step further, and a new part of him is finally uncovered when he carefully introduces Angel to the porn industry. He would do so (probably) while Angel was too intoxicated and definitely too blindly in love to know what he was doing.

Valentino becomes this overwhelming shadow that covers Angel’s body, a silhouette he can’t escape from, and when we are shown what Angel sees, we can no longer see the color of Valentino’s clothes. His colorful persona, his facade of playful lover it’s no longer in place, he has stopped pretending and acting as the good boyfriend the spider had always wanted. Now before Angel there’s only the demon that owns thousands of souls, a vicious drooling smile and sharp red eyes. An overlord to fear and be intimidated by.

The background is filled with filming equipment, and even if Valentino’s body language is meant to appear welcoming, Angel feels terrified. This is not the Valentino he knew, and now he is completely trapped. He can’t refuse now, this is a choice he is being forced to make even if his soul still technically belongs to him.

After being pressured, Angel becomes part of this industry, and although he doesn’t really like it, he still trusts Valentino enough to not run away. The overlord can be scary, but he still believes that he’s safe with him, that if Val is by his side nothing wrong could ever happen to him. And after all, he had done sex work before, right? What difference did it make to fuck strangers for money in front of a camera now?

He’s not comfortable, and every day that intimidating side of Valentino that wasn’t really there before grows darker, fiercer and scarier. Angel had seen the ugliness of Valentino before, as a man, as a possessive boyfriend, as a controlling partner, but never as the powerful demon he truly was. So he still obeys Val and features in a few movies of his choice.

We can see these doubts, Angel’s discomfort and even a bit of his trust in Valentino at the beginning of the next sequence, when they appear on the set of a different movie.

Angel was a performer, he had faked his own pleasure before, he could do it again now, and he could do it while earning way more money. He could do so, because he knew Valentino was there, guiding him, helping him, making sure his lover was safe. He always thought that Val was looking out for him, making sure he was getting the right roles in the right movies, the right contracts, and when he was nervous, Valentino was right by his side to comfort him.

But Valentino had never cared about Angel’s safety. And once Angel started to voice his doubts or show his discomfort, he made sure he couldn’t do it for much longer. The comfort Angel sought for was quickly replaced by something chemical, something that eased his nerves but also left him dazed and disoriented.

It was then that Valentino drugged him, tricked him and made him sign the contract that would leave him with only half a soul inside his chest.

Valentino had fed Angel’s addiction for a long time, adding to the mix not only the illusion of a love story, but also his own drug, his sex pollen, something that numbed the spider’s mind enough to go through all the things Valentino wanted him to do in front of the camera. Oftenly Angel was left too intoxicated to respond, too vulnerable and weak. In his last moments of lucidity he always could see Valentino, his lover, the man he thought would always take care of him, turning his back to him and leave him.

Valentino is the last thing he sees before everything fades to black around him, before he disappears. He’s no longer Anthony or Angel Dust, the stage persona, now the lines between those two different identities blurry beyond repair, and the person he becomes is a little more Angel Dust and a lot less Anthony.

I don’t think that it was just a coincidence that they used a BDSM scene to represent the moment Angel definitely lost control of his actions, his body and most likely also his soul. BDSM is all about power dynamics and the control that’s exchanged between consenting partners, only that, in this case, Angel didn’t really have a choice and there was no consent. This lack of control and safety is emphasized precisely by the type of session Angel is forced into.

He’s restrained in every way possible, he’s tied up, a blindfold covers his eyes and a gag is forced onto his mouth, one that would prevent him from closing it no matter how much he tried. He has no way to end the scene, no way to say a safeword, to complain or to stop what other people do with him or to him.

This is meant to represent the moment he signed the contract, and how he felt every time he entered the set of a new movie after he signed it. He stopped being his own person, he had disappeared, and what had been left of him was nothing but a sex toy for Valentino to control in each of his productions.

Now we see the Angel Dust that survived this state of numbness and dissociation, the one that has consumed Anthony just so he could keep himself alive.

While Angel Dust dances, seemingly enjoying the show, performing as he has always done, in the background screens we see what’s left of Anthony, of the boy feeling trapped and used with no single way out of it. This is accompanied by more fragments of that BDSM scene that changed it all, since that was a traumatic event that repeats itself in Angel’s mind every time Valentino forces him into a new role, a new movie, a new lie.

These frames show us not only the stress Angel is feeling, but also how Valentino is always there to exploit his body in the way he deems more profitable. We know this because he appears in between Angel’s anguish, but also because the same eyes that covered his dressing room walls are in the background while someone fucks Angel from behind.

While this happens we hear again “I made my choice”, a reminder of Angel’s regrets, shame and guilt. In addition the line “Every night I’m living like there’s no tomorrow” now has slightly changed, indicating the shift in Angel’s life and condition as no longer a free soul. What we hear now is  “Every night I’m wasted like there’s no tomorrow”.

Where once he was happy, he’s now desperate, begging to get a way out.

We see a bit more of the playful performer, Angel Dust, and the pain of Anthony in the background before Valentino approaches him again like a great imposing figure, putting an end to his show.

The second Angel notices Valentino, distress becomes clear all over his face. He points to the left, outside of what we can see, and when he tries to escape, Valentino grabs him and pulls him closer.

He has finally come face to face with the real Valentino in all his twisted glory and he wants to run away. He knows now that what they had wasn’t love, it had never been, and it’s painful. But he’s afraid of Valentino, he can’t do anything to escape his contract and he now belongs to him (at least while they’re on set).

That last frame with Valentino embracing him, a vicious smile on his face in contrast with Angel’s terrified expression puts an end to their story, to the narration of how they came to be what they are now. After that, we are presented to the aftermath, the Angel that’s no longer intoxicated by his poison and can only dread the many past choices he would like to change.

He is now fully aware that there’s no way out of his hell, that for as long as he is alive he will be Valentino’s toy. He’s destroyed in every way, his mind is a mess too dependent on the drugs Valentino has been feeding him to properly think, and his body has stopped to feel as his own a long time ago.

How could he consider that pile of bones, fur and chemically loosen up muscles as his own? He’s disgusted, drowning in this feeling of helplessness.

And he’s even more grossed out when he notices the remains of Valentino’s poison, his drug, still lingering on his tongue. He’s so lost, he doesn’t even recognize himself. This is not where he was supposed to be, he shouldn’t be in Valentino’s apartment, he doesn’t want to be there anymore.

The substance that once had brought him so much joy, such a delicious bliss, now slips past his lips burning his skin like acid. The itch reminds him of the reason why he’s there, and he can only feel pain. The only cause for most of his problems had always been his addiction. To Val, the sex they had, his poison, the drugs he bought for him…

No matter how hard he tries to get used to this life he has with Val now, he simply can’t do it. It doesn’t matter how many movies he appears in, they are never enough, they will never be enough for the overlord. Because he’s nothing but a tool to make Valentino and the other Vs even richer and more powerful.

That’s Valentino’s business and what initially made him get close to Vox. They complimented each other and together they felt capable of ruling Hell like that was their birthright. A power Angel would never get to know firsthand, because for Valentino he was nothing but another whore to use, exploit and eventually discard.

Angel is sick of it, is tired of living a life he hates, a lonely life full of pain and abuse, all caused by the person he loved the most.

He has spent years trapped in the V Tower, watched by the countless cameras placed in every wall and every corner of his prison. Even when he’s not on set, controlled by Valentino and his team, he feels Vox lenses following all of his movements, and despite the luxury he lives in, every day he goes to sleep wishing to never wake up.

That's all, folks. I hope you liked it, or at least got as sad as I felt while analyzing this. Again this is all what I could understand from that segment of the episode I don't know if y'all already knew this but I did wanted to share it. If you liked this check my bird app account bc there is where I spend most of my online time or my Ao3 profile, although I post mostly Skfs content now <3

[baddestbittyontheblock]

bucky barnes fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

✧╯ all things pink by @bucky-barnes-diaries tfatws!bucky x female!reader | fluff, 1.3k

-bucky being the sweetest boyfriend by bringing you flowers on your birthday.

✧╯ protector by @buckybabesonly bucky x female!avenger!reader, platonic steve x female!avenger!reader | angst, fluff, jealous bucky, bucky being slightly mean to reader out of over-protectiveness, minor character injury, 4.2k

-when steve gets injured on the field protecting you, bucky lashes out at you from fear of seeing you in danger, and jealously of steve’s arms around you.

✧╯ take me home by @miserable-sarah bucky barnes x reader | unprotected smut, NSFW, choking, kinda rough, praising (ALOT), smut, dirty talk.

-a guy hits on you at a club, bucky takes control.

✧╯ protector by @vxntagedior mob!bucky barnes x fem!reader | angst, arranged marriage, age gap, insecurity, violence, fluff ending, 1.5k

-the moment bucky fell in love with you

✧╯in the wee small hours of the morning by @hopelessromantic423 ex!bucky barnes x reader

-after breaking up with bucky, you miss him greatly but you don’t feel it’s your place to contact him. one sleepless night, bucky shows up at your doorstep and you two reconcile.

✧╯ one step at a time by @tmpestuous bucky x avenger!reader | angst, slight protective!bucky, mentions of death and killing, mentions of torture, blood, injuries, trauma, injured!reader. 4.5k

-when you get brutally injured on a mission with no way to contact anyone, bucky goes out to find you.

✧╯ touch it by @tmpestuous bucky x reader | 18+, MINORS DNI, smut, dom!bucky, needy bucky, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, explicit content, established relationship, some fluff, 2.7k

-bucky needs to feel your touch.

✧╯ i'm sorry if i scared you by @venusfalling bucky x reader | reader has long term injuries from previous battles, talk of injuries, canon typical violence

-you deal with the fallout of going to Madripoor with Bucky. part 3.3 of Where You Go, I Go. Based on Ep. 3 of TFATWS

✧╯ vodka on the rocks by @kinanabinks best friend!bucky x fem!reader | mature themes, angst, offscreen reader x john walker, sexual harassment, pictures taken without consent, hurt/comfort, protective!bucky, physical violence, mention of blood, fluff, a kiss.

-when you find out that someone you slept with secretly took photos and videos of you during sex, you feel betrayed - but bucky won't stand by and let that happen to his best friend.

✧╯ steel blue by @rassvetsky  bucky barnes x reader | [4.3k] exes to lovers, angst to smut to fluff hehe, alcohol consumption, smoking, unprotected sex, making out, cunningulus, spit kink, marking, choking, bucky's such a gentleman

-"without giving you a chance to fight, bucky left. For your own good. but almost a year later, as it turns out, neither of you can handle being apart, and bucky missed you too much to play it nice when you're moaning out his name like that."

✧╯ dear january by @writing-for-marvel  bucky barnes x enhanced!avenger!fem!reader | a little angst with discussions of bucky’s past & references to him having ptsd, reader has empathy related powers, fluffy ending

-while everyone else is celebrating the new year, all bucky can think about is his resolution and you, though the two are inextricably linked.

✧╯ 3 weeks waiting by @alwaysf0rev3r dbf!bucky barnes x fem!reader | needy!bucky (he needs a warning), m & f masturbation, face sitting, hand jobs, riding, desperate sex, slight sub/dom dynamic, m in f penetration, dirty talk, absolute filth, hair pulling, slight degrading, praise, creampie, age gap (buckys the age he is in the movies, and reader is in college, maybe in early/mid 20s?)

-you’ve been hooking up with your dad’s best friend for months, but you accidentally ghosted him during finals week. saying he’s desperate is an understatement.

✧╯ sunflowers by @bi-disaster-yn bucky barnes x fem!reader

-when bucky and natasha are assigned a mission to go undercover as husband and wife, reader can’t help but worry that their feelings from the red room will resurface.

✧╯ hold my girl by @pellucid-constellations  bucky barnes x reader | 2k, fluff in bucky’s pov

-bucky comes home from a mission and needs time to hold his girl.

✧╯ bucky fic by @angrythingstarlight bucky barnes x reader | little bit o' smut, needy, whiny bucky

-“i have to go,”

✧╯ flash bang by @crushedbyhyperbole bucky barnes x reader | 18+ content mdni, smut, some angst, arguing, moody bucky, 1.2k

-how to win an argument with Bucky Barnes?  Flash your tits, of course.

✧╯ sniper by @adrinktostopyourthirst bucky barnes x agent!reader | 18+, smut, violence and light angst, 8.9k

-reluctantly, you get thrown into an assignment with bucky and yelena, but bucky doesn't trust you as far as he can throw you. when he's proven to be correct, it turns out you're still a hell of a good team.

✧╯ almost speaking by @intrepidacious bucky barnes x fem!reader | 5.4k, miscommunication dialled up to eleven bc it's me; friends to lovers with lots of seething in between; set around christmas, but not a christmas fic; slight spoiler warning for wakanda forever just to be safe

-you and bucky aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. that doesn't mean you're getting out of having to pretend to be married for a mission.

✧╯ three hundred by @adrinktostopyourthirst bucky barnes x reader | 18+. fluff and smut, 5.8k

-bucky always makes sure his best friend is okay, because that is what you need. he's caring, but very passive and nonchalant, because you need it. not him. he doesn't need that. he doesn't need you. does he?

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hey,after seeing the scene in the park with Louis and Lestat I was wondering if the writers are implying that Louis has a somewhat "intense" way of loving or showing his love? I am choosing my words carefully because I do not want to be misunderstood (not by you)

I have this impression there was a certain parallel between this scene in the park and when Louis and Lestat kiss at Antoinette's house in ep 6,or maybe there a lot of repression in Louis and it always ends up exploding

Well, I mean... I think they're getting at the fact that the last time Louis let himself feel the love he had for Lestat fully... was here:

When he killed him.

He needs to pair it with violence to have the "excuse" to show it, in a way. In so far the comparison to the "hate sex" scene does hold, yes.

Here, in the park, it's desperation, and in a way Louis is punishing himself with it.

And of course... there is also that little nod towards the "little death" (aka orgasm) there, since he kills that man (that is a stand-in for Lestat) and has bitten him to feed on him (as we learn later).

Louis hates and loves the lust and blood and love he feels in equal measure.

He will come to accept it though, eventually - this is (part of) what he says to Lestat in Blood Communion:

"You are my life. I have hated you for that and love you now so much that you’ve been my instructor in loving."

And I think that sums it up pretty well.

[bbyquokka]

You love me though ˗ˋ꒰♡꒱ˊ˗

➥ pairing: Lee Minho x F!Reader

➥ genre: fluff, smut. MDNI

➥ synopsis: Minho helps you cook for you and your date, despite feeling jealous. However, when your date stood you up, Minho comforts you, making you realise your true feelings.

➥ warnings: smut, protected sex, fingering, clit play, blowjob, nipple play, blood [mentioned, not described], violence [mentioned, not described], cheating, unrequited love, explicate language, dirty thoughts [m], alcohol consumption, pet names [babe, kitten], jealousy – if i missed any, lmk!

➥ words: 7.5k

➥ a/n: i know, i know. another minho fic but this has been unfinished in my drafts for a while plus i have minho brain rot rn i blame taste soooo. i also got this idea from rewatching minhos vlogs and skz code ep 10-12, where he would cook for the boys. i hope y'all enjoy!

Feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

➥ m.list

Flicking through various cookbooks, you groan, slowly feeling yourself becoming frustrated. You discarded the current book you were flicking through beside you.

You run your hand through your hair, looking at the piles of discarded books and printed recipes. You grab your phone, looking for something online but to no avail.

"What am I going to do? All these recipes are too difficult for me." You mumble to yourself. You put your head in your hands, feeling frustrated tears pooling in your eyes.

You sniffle, blinking back the tears as you thought of what to do. You have a date tomorrow night and – for some reason – you agreed to make them dinner at your place.

You have been talking to your date for 1 month before deciding it was time to take it a little further. Unbeknownst to him, you cannot cook a single thing, no matter how hard you try.

"Wait.. I know someone who can help me!" You grab your phone, pulling up the contacts. You press the call button, putting your phone to your ear as it rings. After two rings, you got an answer.

"What do you want?" You scoff.

"Well, nice to hear from you too, Minho."

"I'm busy, (Y/N)" Minho exclaims. You hear the sounds of something rustling, Minho making cooing sounds. You raise a brow.

"And by busy, you mean, 'I'm actually spending time with my three fur children so could you please leave me alone?'" you mock, doing your best Minho impression. Minho sighs. You can practically see his eyes rolling at you.

"Exactly. You know this so why are you bothering me?"

"Minho?" You question. You receive a small "Mhm" from him, indicating that he is half listening and half occupied.

"How long have we been best friends?"

"Since we were children, why?" Minho sighs again, realising where this is going. You giggle. "Okay, spill it out (Y/N) what do you want from me?"

"I need help, like desperately!"

"Okay, with what exactly?"

"Uh, well, you know how I've been talking to someone," Minho hums. "Well, they're coming over to my place."

"Look, if you've called me just to ask me for love advice, I'm not interested." Minho removes his phone from his ear, about to hang up on you.

"Nonono, waittt." Your desperate voice echoes through Minho's apartment. He rolls his eyes, placing his phone back on his ear.

"I'm cooking.." You mumble.

Silence. You blink, looking at your phone screen thinking Minho disconnected, but he was still on the phone with you.

"H-Hello? Minho?" A fit of laughter suddenly erupts in your ear. You can practically see his eyes scrunching up at the corners, his teeth on display as he clutches his stomach.

"Y-You?! Cooking?!" Minho splutters between his fits of giggles. "No way!"

"Minho! stoppp!" You whine as you pout, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

"How did you manage that?" Minho's laughter dies down, a finger coming to the corner of his eye to wipe away a tear.

"Man! I don't know, okay! I guess I just want to impress them, so I said I would cook. I've looked at so many recipes, but they're so complicated, Minho." you grumble.

"Okay, first of all (Y/N) recipes are not complicated, they're designed to be fool proof. You just, really suck at cooking." You roll your eyes, moving you mouth in time with Minho's words, mocking him.

"Second of all, just order and pass it off as your own, I'm sure they wouldn't see a difference."

"I can't do that! That's just – morally wrong, Min!" You gasp.

"Then if you don't want to do that, why phone me?" Minho says, petting Dori who took vacancy on Minho's lap.

"Well, I was thinking–"

"Yeah, no wonder it smells like burning. Don't think too hard, you'll fry your brain." Minho laughs, interrupting you mid sentence.

"You're so meann!" You whine.

"You love me though, Kitten." You blush softly, going shy at his words. You can feel his smugness radiating through the phone.

"Fuck you, Min." You softly speak, playing with the ends of your hair like a shy school girl who has a crush.

"You wish."

"Min, stoppp. let me speak!" Minho chuckles.

"Okay okay, I'm sorry. You were saying?" You clear your throat, gaining back your composure.

"Anyways – I was thinking, seeing as you're so good at cooking – you could help me!"

"Uh, no."

"Huh? Why?" You whine

"Because, you got yourself in this mess, you can get yourself out of it."

"But Min! I'm your bestest ever friend in the whole wide world! You love me!"

"Yes and–" Minho cut himself off, clearing his throat as he runs his fingers through his hair. "I'm not helping you, Kitten."

"But, what if I start cooking and I suddenly burn my apartment down?!" You gasp, getting an idea "Then I can come and live with you Min! Wouldn't that be so much fun!!"

"Absolutely not! I have all the fun I need in the form of my beloved 3 cats."

"Plus me. It'll happen Minho. If I cook and I burn my apartment down, I'm going to live with you! It'll be so much fun! Just think of all the pampering sessions we would have."

You smirk, hearing Minho groan. You have him right where you want him – you won.

"Ugh! fine, you win. I'll help you out!" You grin, cheering victoriously

"Thank you Min! I love youuu." You coo

"Yeah yeah. Just get your ass down to the supermarket. I'll meet you there." Minho hangs up. You punch the air excitedly, basking in your glory.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Standing at the supermarket waiting for Minho, you shiver as the crisp autumn air runs shivers down your spine. You nuzzle into your scarf, hands in your coat pocket.

You look around at the various people walking past you and inside the supermarket. You look at your digital clock on your phone, your wallpaper background being of you and Minho, taking a cute selfie together.

You look up, seeing Minho walking towards you. You beam, waving your arms in the air before running to him.

"Minho!!" You shout, giggling as you run to him. Minho looks up, rolling his eyes at you before laughing softly. He stops in his tracks, opening his arms wide. You run into his arms, Minho grunting at the sudden impact.

You nuzzle into Minho's chest, taking in his scent as you hum. Minho looks down at you, smiling softly as he wraps his arms around your figure.

"I've missed you, Minho!" Your words muffled against his chest. Minho laughs softly, ruffling your hair. You whine, pushing his hands away.

"We spoke literally 10 minutes ago!" You pull away from Minho, fixing your hair as you pout at him.

"You know what I mean. You spend more time with your cats than you do with me." You whine.

"Because my cats are adorable and oh-so sweet."

"And I'm not?" You raise a brow playfully. Minho takes a few seconds to think, humming in the process. You scoff, playfully hitting his chest. He grunts and laughs.

"You know I've always found you adorable, kitten." Minho smirks, winking. You blush, burying your face into your scarf.

"Fuck you and your charms." You mumble. Minho hums, loving how you always act shy around him. It makes his heart swell up with more love for you.

Minho has loved you for as long as he can remember. He believes that you two are soulmates. He didn't realise he had feelings for you until you got your first serious partner.

Minho hated it. He hated it so much. How he couldn't have you to himself – it made him green with envy. Your partner wasn't exactly nice to you during the relationship. They had a history of cheating in the past but, for some reason, you thought you'd be different.

However, 2 months in and they had already fucked someone else. You stupidly forgave them after they spewed lies about how they would 'change' and 'it meant nothing, just a one off'. The cheating carried on for months as well as the constant disrespect

Your ex partner hated Minho because Minho wasn't blind. Your ex had you wrapped around their little finger so they knew they could get away with anything, however, Minho's different.

He saw past the bullshit and that scared your ex. They knew you went crying to Minho, they also knew that Minho 100% tried to convince you to leave them.

To add fuel to the fire, Minho and your ex got into a fight. Minho was around yours and your ex hated that, accused you of doing sexual things with him. You were dumbfounded, your blood boiling with rage as your ex screamed accusations after accusations.

Seeing you in so much pain and distress caused Minho to stand up for you, joining in calling him a bastard and that they don't deserve you. Due to rage, Minho said some things that should not be repeated. Your ex hated that, felt threatened so, in their usual cowardly ways, they swung so Minho swung back.

You broke up the fight, your ex calling you both bitches. You were in floods of tears. A busted lip and a black eye along with some blood were the only injuries Minho sustained. You helped clean him up and once done, Minho had a serious talk with you.

Minho is direct, he doesn't sprinkle sugar onto shit because at the end of the day, it's still shit. The words Minho spoke hurt but it had to hurt in order for you to open your eyes – which you finally did, after 9 months.

Since then, you have been healing with the help of Minho. He was so good to you, making sure you were eating and staying hydrated. Occasionally, he would storm into your apartment, swing you over his shoulder and force you to get dressed by throwing random items of clothing at you.

He loves you and as much as he wants to tell you his feelings, he's scared. He doesn't want to lose you and if that means being friend zoned until the day you both grow old and live with 10 cats, then so be it.

You take Minho's hand into yours. Minho made a mental note of how soft your hands feel against his skin. His heart rate speeding up a little as you drag him inside the store.

You grab a shopping cart, pushing it into the store whilst Minho walks beside you.

"So, what do I need?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After half an hour of shopping for ingredients, amongst other things, you paid for it all, walking out the store with multiple bags in hand. You and Minho walk to your apartment. You somehow convinced him to help you cook and by that you meant – 'You cook, I watch'

But how could Minho say no to you when you give him your best puppy eyes, ones that make him melt.

Once home, you got to work unpacking. Minho rolls up his sleeves, washing his hands as you did the same. The ingredients for the meal you plan on cooking spread out across the counters.

"Okay. First things first, we need to cut the meat." Minho instructs. You nod, grabbing a knife. Minho keeps an eye on you, ready to come to your aid in case you hurt yourself. You place the meat on a chopping board, cringing at the texture.

"Ew! it's so slimy!" You whine. Minho shakes his head, laughing softly.

"Slimy? It's raw pork belly (Y/N) How can it be slimy?" Minho chuckles, grabbing a knife also and the veg.

"It just is okay. Don't question my intelligence." You state playfully. Minho looks at you as he washes the veg, eyebrow raised.

"Intelligence? What intelligence?" You pout, glaring at him as he dried the veg, smirking at you.

"You're so mean, Minho!"

"Yet you love me, kitten." Your face flushes red, heart rate slowly speeding up, like it always does when he is his usual charming self.

"Yes, I do." You admit, slicing up the pork. Minho swallows, pressing his lips together. He knew you meant it in the friend way however, he couldn't stop his heart from racing, pounding against his chest.

"Ah, this sucks." He whispers to himself, voicing out his thoughts as he peels and chop the veg.

"Minho!!" You whine, placing the knife down. His head spins to the side, eyes widening as he notices blood from your finger.

"Shit. Are you okay?!" He rushes to your side, looking at your cut finger.

"It hurts, Minho." You sniff.

"I know kitten. Go run it under the water. I'll get first aid." You nod, placing your finger under the cold water. You wince at the sting as Minho comes back with the first aid kit.

"Can I?" He holds his hand out to you. You nod, placing your hand on his. He brings your hand close to his face, looking at your wound.

"Oh kitten. What are you like." He chuckles softly. You pout, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "Lucky, it's only a small cut so, you'll be okay. I'll clean it and put a plaster on for you, okay?"

You nod, your bottom lip still sticking out. Minho cleans your wound and puts a pink plaster around your finger. He kisses it softly, making you go shy at the sweet gesture.

"Now, no more accidents. Okay?"

"Yes Sir!" You salute, giggling softly as Minho rolles his eyes and ruffles your hair.

"Let's get back to work kitten."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It took you and Minho exactly 4 hours to prepare and cook the meal for your date. You're currently getting ready whilst Minho sits on the sofa, sipping some cold water and browsing on his phone.

You instructed him to stay. You insisted you needed help in what to wear for your date and knew Minho would give his honest opinion. As much as Minho didn't want to, he did. It was bad enough he had to help you cook a meal for someone that wasn't him, but hey, if you're happy so is he.

You walk out your bedroom dressed in a sexy yet elegant dress. Your hair styled and face decorated with minimal make-up. You press your lips together, smoothing down your dress as you clear your throat.

Minho looks up from his phone, eyes widening at the sight of you. His body feels warm suddenly, blood rushing south as he looks at you up and down. His mind went blank

"So..?" You nervously ask after seconds of silence "How do I look?"

Minho's brain short circuits. He's speechless. To him, you're the most beautiful women on the planet and even though he is use to seeing you in casual clothing, seeing you in a elegant dress, was breath-taking to him

"Beautiful. You look absolutely beautiful, (Y/N). You're so breath-taking." You look at your feet shyly, playing with your fingers as you smiled softly

"R-Really?"

"Absolutely." Minho stands, walking towards you. He cups your face in his hands, making you look at him "You're the most beautiful woman on this planet."

Your face flushes red. The rosy red blush you used to decorate your cheeks, merging together with the colour of your flush.

"Y-You don't mean that Min." You whisper, hands coming up and placing them on top of his.

"I mean it kitten. With all my heart, I mean it. I've never seen a more beautiful, yet elegant woman in my life. You make me speechless."

He wants to kiss you. He saw your eyes flickering to his lips and back up again. He wants to convince you to not have this date. Every fibre in his body is screaming at him to just kiss your soft lips, even if it means you hating him for eternity.

He just wants a feel, a taste. To feel your soft skin against his fingertips. To hear your sweet, delicate moans. He's always wondered what you would sound like whilst his cock strokes the deepest parts of your body.

Are you loud or are you quiet? Do you whimper and beg or do you demand? So many questions he's asked himself. So many sinful thoughts he's masturbated to. So many times he's wished he could do sinful things to you

Now is his chance. Should he grab it with greedy hands or should he leave, allow you to have your date even if it means he has to watch from afar, yet again.

He wants it

He wants you. It's so close, he can taste it. That forbidden fruit coating his taste buds, making him addicted to you. His mind fuzzy as your perfume hits his nostrils. It's the same perfume you always use and has no effect on him, however this time, it's different. He feels dizzy. Greedy. Needy. He wants you so bad.

You clear your throat, removing your hands from his. Minho clears his own, blinking a few times as he comes back down to reality

"My date will be here soon."

"A-Ah. Yes, of course. I'll uhm, I'll get going." Minho rushes to the hallway, putting on his coat and shoes. "Have fun kitten. I hope it goes well for you!"

That's a lie.

He doesn't want it to go well. He wants it to end terribly. He wants you to phone him up, sobbing as you decide to tell him how much of an asshole your date is. He wants to be the one to hold you, kiss your forehead and tell you it's all okay. To soothe you of your pain, in more ways than one.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hours pass by. Minho keeps checking his phone in case he misses you phoning or texting him, but nothing. Knowing that it was probably going well for you, he sighes, his heart heavy with despair and jealousy. Picking up Doongie from his lap, he rise up from the sofa, deciding to call it a night.

Taking off his clothing so he was just in his boxer shorts, he gets into bed. As he's about to shut off his lamp, his phone rings. Looking at his screen, a burst of excitement and hopefulness runs through his body as your contact pops up

There's only one reason why you would phone him so late – your date went terrible

"What do you want?" Minho gives his usual greeting. Silence. He blinks, looking at his screen thinking you disconnected before placing his phone back on his ear

"Kitten? Hello? Are you there?" That's when he hears it. Your heartbroken sobs. Minho shoots up out of bed, redressing himself.

"M-Minho." You sob.

"Hold on kitten, I'll be there."

He drives to your apartment, breaking every law possible but he didn't care. He hates seeing and hearing you cry however, when it comes to your heartbroken sobs, it hits Minho differently. It breaks his own heart.

He knocks on the door before using the spare key you gave him years ago. He lets himself in, looking around your place. He notices the food and table you set has been untouched. The bottle of wine plus one glass was missing from the table

"Kitten?" He softly calls out.

"Living area." Minho rushes to where you were, his legs carrying him as fast as they could. The living area is dimly lit with a lamp that was suppose to set a romantic atmosphere but now held a much sadder atmosphere

His eyes fell on to you, his gaze softening as he sees you sipping the wine on the sofa. He walks over to you, sitting beside you as he cups your cheeks softly.

"Oh kitten. What happened?" Tears prick your lower lash line, spilling over and replacing your dried mascara stains with new ones. Minho's heart break.

"T-They never came! I waited Min. I waited and waited and nothing." You speak through broken sobs, your breath hiccupping in your throat. Minho frowns, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

"Not even a call or text?" You shake your head.

"Nothing! Nothing at all. They just stood me up Min! It'd hurt less if they gave me a shit excuse but no."

Minho pulls you into his chest, rocking you back and forth slowly as he wrapped his arms around you gently. He strokes your arm soothingly. You rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

His musk cinnamon scent hit your nostrils and before you know it, you broke down. Your sobs shake your body, breathing becoming erratic. Minho hushes you softly, stroking your hair to calm you down.

He thought he would be ecstatic to hear about your failed date. That way, he could selfishly have you all to himself. However, seeing and hearing you in so much pain, broke his heart and he no longer felt ecstatic, but sad and stupid.

"There, there kitten. It'll all be okay in the end." His soothing words calm your cries. You pull away from Minho's chest, your breath hiccupping at the back of your throat and chest.

Minho wipes away your tears gently. Your eyes swollen and puffy as they look glossy from the tears. Your cheeks flush red as your skin feels warm from your outburst.

"M-Minho." You hiccup, struggling to catch your breath.

"Before you even think about doing or saying anything, you need to calm down kitten. C'mon, take deep breaths with me." You copy Minho in taking deep breaths, slowly calming down and feeling your heart rate resume its natural pace.

"Good girl." Minho praises, kissing your forehead gently.

"Am I cursed, Min?" You mumble. Minho looks at you confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Every relationship I have fails. Maybe I'm cursed. Maybe I'm destined to be forever alone with 10 cats." Minho chuckles softly, shaking his head.

"You're not cursed kitten. You just haven't found the one yet."

"Have you found 'the one'?" You looked up. Minho was taken aback by your sudden question.

"Why'd you ask?"

"Well, I know you've had relationships in the past but when was your last one? 1, 2–"

"4 years kitten. It's been 4 years since my last relationship."

"Why so long Minho? You're a handsome man, you could have anyone you want."

"But I don't want just anyone, I want you" – is what he wanted to say. He ruffles your hair softly, making you pout.

"Thanks kitten. I'm flattered." Minho winks. "Now, go get changed into something comfortable." You pout, nodding slowly before standing and walking to your bedroom.

You return bare faced, hair down and wearing shorts and an old oversized t-shirt that once belonged to Minho. He smiles, his heart warming up as he sees the t-shirt.

"You still have that old thing?"

"Of course! It's special." You speak, sitting down next to Minho and grabbing your wine glass. He hums softly in acknowledgement. He spent some time with you, helping you clean up the forgotten food. Once he was convinced you were going to be okay, he decided it was time for him to head home.

"Well, I'm going to leave now kitten. Now that I know you'll be okay, I'll be on my way." Minho turns his back to you as he was about to walk to the hallway.

Your hand fly's out instinctively, grabbing Minho's wrist. He looks back at you over his shoulder, slowly turning to putty as you look at him with doll eyes

"Don't go." You whisper. Minho swallows. He's spent the night with you numerous times, however, tonight feels different. He nods slowly, agreeing to stay with you.

"Okay, I'll stay kitten."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

2am rolls over. You and Minho are sitting on the sofa, laughing and gossiping. You both have had a drink so you were feeling a little bit tipsy.

"Don't you miss it, Min?" You ask before bringing your wine glass to your lips. You sip the red liquid, licking your top lip to rid of any residue.

"Miss what?" Minho's eyes dart to your tongue, watching it lick your top lip before disappearing back into your mouth.

"Sex." Normally, Minho would have rolled his eyes, scold you about how nonchalant and straight forward you can be when it comes to sex. However, with the alcohol running through his bloodstream, he didn't mind.

"Yeah. I do."

"What do you miss about it?"

"Everything. The touch, the taste, the sounds. I miss all of it kitten. I am a man after all and just like you, I have needs." Minho winks, sipping his alcoholic beverage. You stick your tongue out at him playfully "Do you miss it?"

You think for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah. I miss having a connection with someone though."

"What do you mean?" Minho looks at you, his hand placed on your thigh gently as he strokes your soft skin with his thumb.

"Well, I don't mind one night stands but I miss sex with a meaning. I want to feel connected, feel what my partner is feeling. I want to share it and enjoy it." You let out a deep sigh before speaking "I thought I did, but turns out they're just like the rest of them." You mumble bitterly.

"Don't worry kitten. You will find the one eventually. You're gorgeous, smart and adorable" You roll your eyes at Minho.

"Ahuh and pigs can fly."

"Don't be like that, kitten. I mean it. To me, you're perfect."

"I am?" You ask, looking at him with those eyes that makes him melt. He swallows his saliva. Now is his chance. It's now or never, even if it means sacrificing the friendship.

"Yes, you are. To me, you're the most perfect and beautiful woman to have walked the planet (Y/N)" You blush a deep shade of red. Your heartbeat speeding up and thumping loudly against your chest.

Your skin on your thigh feels hot where Minho is stroking and truth be told, you've forever felt like this around Minho. You've always thought it was because he's a charming man but maybe that's not the case.

Is this – love? Has 'the one' been right under your nose this whole time?

"Remember when you asked me if I've found the one?" You nod "The answer to that is yes, I have."

"Who??" Minho closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, preparing himself for impact. He opens them again, leaning in close to you. You swallow, frozen in place as his face gets dangerously close to yours.

"You." He whispers against your lips. Whether it was the events that happened or the alcohol in his system, he feels a surge of confidence run though him.

He leans in, connecting his lips to your own. Your eyes widen in shock. Minho's lips stay still as you struggle to understand what was happening. Minho's heart beating against his chest so hard, he thought it was going to rip out from his ribcage

Seconds went by painfully for him and when he thought all hope was lost, that he lost you for good, you close your eyes and move your lips against his, encouraging him to move in sync with yours.

A burst of giddiness and disbelief washes over him. You, the person he has loved since forever, was kissing him. It feels like his birthday had come so soon.

You don't hate it, in fact, you love it. Minho's lips are soft and plump. They mould together with your own, like you're made for one another. It's blissful to you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers interlocking behind his neck to keep him close to you. Minho squeezes your thighs gently. You deepen the kiss, lust and want slowly washing over you and consuming your mind

Minho nibbles and licked your bottom lip, silently asking for permission which you granted. Your lips part for his tongue to dive inside. He tastes the inside of your mouth, wine coating his taste buds.

He hum in the kiss as you whimper. Your tongues meeting together. The wet muscles colliding and fighting for dominance – a fight that was guaranteed for you to lose. Saliva pools at the corners of your mouth, your fingers buried in Minho's hair as your skin feels hot to the touch.

Your mouth feels good. Minho's skilful tongue tasting and battling against your own. Lust pools at your core, breathing becoming irregular. Minho parts from your lips, panting softly as the oxygen resumed back into his lungs.

Your lips swollen, cheeks flush as you look at him and whimper.

"Minho. More."

Minho snaps. The rationality that told him no. That told him to hold on, snapped. He stands up, before picking you up by your ass. He cups under it as you wrap your legs around his waist, arms around his neck.

You mewl, feeling his erection against your clothed pussy. As Minho walks to your bedroom, you lick a long, wet strip up his neck, stopping at his ear. You nibble the lobe, causing Minho to shiver and grunt before kissing his neck softly.

Once in your room, Minho places you on the bed gently. Your back landing against your soft mattress. Ethereal. You look so ethereal to him. He wants to caress you, take his time with you. He wants to drive out each and every sweet moan from your lips.

He's wanted this – wanted you – for so long, that every fibre in his body is screaming at him to just pounce on you. Take you roughly, corrupt your mind. He wants to piledrive into you, make you so sore that you'd have no choice but to depend on him for help.

He's a rational man, but when it comes to you, the beast comes out from hiding.

"Minho." You mewl. "C'mere." You extend your arms out, doing grabby hands at him. Minho laughs as he kneels between your legs. The mattress dipping at his weight as he leans over you, hands planting firmly on the mattress against your head.

Leaning in, his lips attached themselves to the skin of your neck. Sucking and nibbling, you moan softly, hands tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt.

He pulls away for a second, taking his t-shirt off. You hum at the sight of his toned body. You place your hand on his chest, feeling how sturdy it is against your fingertips

"You've been working out?"

"From time to time." Minho states with a shrug. He takes your hand from his chest, kissing the palm of your hand gently as he looks in your eyes. You melt as you see nothing but love coating his honey eyes.

"Beautiful. You're so beautiful (Y/N)." you whine softly, turning your head to the side to avoid his gaze. Minho leans over you, tilting your head back to face him with his fingers against your jaw.

You whimper again, closing your eyes as your lips connect again. This time, the kiss is filled with passion, want and love. It's slow and seductive. It allows you both to bask in the feeling of each other. You feel Minho's love radiating from him and you hoped he felt yours.

He's always been the one. You've just been too blind and stupid to realise it – until tonight.

Minho slips your shorts off, throwing them on the floor. You shiver as his fingertips stroke the inside of your thighs, getting dangerously close. You pull away from his lips, lifting the t-shirt up and over your head.

You blush a deep shade of red, feeling exposed in just your baby pink cotton panties. Minho's eyes scan up and down your body, taking in every detail and curve you have to offer.

"M-Minho. Stop staring." You whimper, head turned to the side. You put your arms over your breasts, covering them. Minho clears his throat as he grabs your wrists gently, removing your arms.

"Don't hide. You're extremely gorgeous." His words coated with love as he speaks softly. He looks at your breasts, licking his lips before looking at you "Can I?"

"Of course." You nod. His head dips low. He plants soft kisses down your neck and between your breasts. He cups your left breast in his hand gently, squeezing the soft flesh as his lips kiss your right.

You hum softly. The tip of his tongue circled around your areola as his fingers gently stroke over your hardened nipple. He rolls the sensitive bud between his thumb and pointer finger.

You hum at the sensation, the tip of his tongue flicking across your nipple before he sucks and gently nibbles it. You groan softly, feeling his lips attach to your skin. He kisses and sucks the skin of your breast, leaving marks behind.

He pulls away from your breasts, his cheeks flush. He looks down at you, biting his bottom lip softly.

"Fuck, you drive me crazy." He whispers before kissing your lips again. His hand travels down your stomach to your inner thighs, stroking them slowly.

He gently parts your legs before moving to cup your clothed pussy. You groan in the kiss, his fingers rubbing up and down your slit, feeling a wet patch from your slick slowly forming on your panties.

He gently starts to rub your clit over your panties. Minho swallows each one of your sweet whimpers. Your fingertips lightly travelling down his back, goose bumps rising on his soft skin.

You tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, wanting off. Pulling away from your lips, he takes his sweatpants off, throwing them beside your t-shirt before sitting on the bed, back against the headboard.

You swallow, eyes darting to his crotch. An obvious tent had formed in his black boxer shorts, a wet patch slowly forming from his pre-cum. This time, it was Minho's turn to feel shy

"Stop staring kitten." Minho blushes, clasping his hands together in front of his erection. You sit up, crawling between his legs as you remove his hands slowly

"Don't hide, baby. Show me." You mewl. Minho groans softly, feeling your fingertips dance along his shaft through the material.

"You feel so – girthy. I wonder how you're going to fit inside me." You mewl, locking eyes onto him. He presses his lips together in a thin line, shivering at your words.

"I'll take care of you kitten, don't worry."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that Min." You kiss his shaft gently through the material of his boxer shorts as you hook your fingers under his waistband. You look at him with questioning eyes, to which Minho nods, granting you permission.

You pull down his boxer shorts, discarding them on the ground. His cock springs free from its restraints as a sigh of relief leaves Minho's lips. You swallow, eyes widening.

His cock a little over average in length however, he's girthy. Tip red and coated in a thin layer of pre-cum. His veins protruding along the side, fading at the tip.

"Kitten seriously. Stop staring at me. You're making me shy."

"You're so adorable Minho." You coo. You wrap your hand around the base of his penis, his skin hot against the palm of your hand. You hum softly, slowly stroking him as you lowered your head. The tip of your tongue connected with his tip.

You give small kitten licks, humming as the salty flavour of pre-cum coating your taste buds. You alternate between stroking him and massaging his balls causing Minho to groan softly.

You look up at him through your lashes, your core clenching at the sight of him. Rosy cheeks, glossy eyes and lips parted – he looks so dreamy. You close your eyes, wrapping your lips around his tip. You slowly lower your head, your warm and wet mouth trapping Minho's length. You take half of his length in your mouth.

You bob your head up and down slowly, wasting no time. Your tongue swirling along his length, saliva accumulation in your mouth threatening to spill from the corners. You stroke what you couldn't reach, wrist rotating.

Minho grips the bed sheets, sweet moans leaving his lips. He cannot believe his eyes. He's dreamt of this for so long, that seeing you give him a blowjob feels like another dream.

Your lips around his shaft, the feel of his cock stroking the insides of your mouth as your tongue swirls along his length feels so heavenly to him. He tucks your hair behind your ear, looking down at you as you look up at him through your eyelashes. You hum, the vibrations hitting his cock sending shivers down his spine.

You pull away from him, hand still stroking his cock. Your lips plump and eyes glossy with lust.

"Fuck, I can't." Minho grabs your shoulders gently, pushing you down so your back is against the soft mattress. You squeal, laughing softly.

Minho pulls down your panties, his mouth salivating at the sight of your cunt. Your slick coats your folds making it shine in the dim light. Using two fingers, he parts your folds before stroking up and down your slit getting his fingers coated with your juices.

You hum softly at the feeling, biting your lip as you anticipate his next move. He press his finger against your sensitive clit, rubbing it slowly as he uses your slick as lubricant. Your hips buck at the sensation, Minho chuckling softly.

"Everything okay kitten?"

"M-Mhm. everything is fine just, I haven't been touched like this for a while."

"Do you feel good?"

"I feel amazing, Minho." You look in his eyes and smile softly. Minho's heart leaping out of his chest. He wants to take his time with you, show you how much you mean to him. He's going to handle you with care, like you're the finest pottery on the planet.

"Gosh, you're so beautiful (Y/N)" He whispers, his eyes scanning your body. You were about to protest his statement until you feel a finger slowly insert inside your entrance. He stops at the first knuckle, slowly moving it. He can feel how tight you are. Your cunt clenching around his finger.

"Kitten, relax." He softly speaks, leaning down to kiss your lips again. You hum, allowing yourself to relax which allows Minho to pump his finger inside you. He can feel you loosening around his finger, more of your slick coating him.

He wants to add a second. He wants to penetrate you with his thick cock, but he vowed to himself that he would treasure you. Make it just as pleasurable for you as it is for him

You may have been friends since childhood. You may know each others habits, however, when it comes to sex, you both clearly have some exploring to do. It's all about the chemistry, the connection. It has to feel good for you as it is for him and vice versa.

Only when you moaned out a breathy "more" did he insert a second finger, slowly. You groan, feeling his fingers scissor and stretch you out. He curls his fingers against your walls, his fingertips brushing against you. You wither, soft moans leaving your lips as you grip onto Minho's bicep. His muscles visible tensing as he thrusts his fingers inside you, veins slowly protruding alongside his arm.

Minho takes this time to admire your body. The way your stomach tenses and chest rises rapidly from your laboured breathing. How you would struggle to hold onto something because you feel too good. Your hair fanned out on the sheets, a thin layer of sweat slowly forming on your body.

This image of you will forever be engraved in his mind.

"M-Minho. I need more, I need so much more." Minho swallows, slowing down his thrusts. His cock twitching at the implication.

"A-Are you sure, kitten?" You nod your head fast, looking at him with doll eyes, begging him to penetrate you. "Okay, only if you're sure."

"A hundred percent Minho. Please, I need you so badly." You whimper as Minho pulls his fingers out off you slowly.

"Protection?" You point to your side draw. Minho raises a brow, opening the drawer to reveal a pack of condoms. He takes one before kneeling between your legs.

"You have a habit of keeping condoms in the side drawer or?" You playfully glare at him as he smirks.

"You can never be too sure, Minho! Its always best to keep protection close by."

"I guess." Minho shrugs as you raise a brow

"Don't you keep a pack close by? You know, just in case you bring home a one night stand?" You question.

"Nope." Minho opens the packet, taking the condom out.

"So you mean to tell me that you don't use them?" Minho shakes his head slowly as he smirks at you "Why."

Minho pumps himself a few times before rolling the condom on his length. "Because kitten, I prefer to go in raw."

You press your lips together, shivering at his words. "Maybe one day, you can fuck me raw."

"Don't tempt me kitten. It's bad enough that I'm battling between being rough and being gentle." You smirk, opening your legs wide. Grabbing the base of his cock, he guided his tip to your entrance.

"Ready Kitten?" Minho speaks softly.

"I'm ready." Minho pushes himself slowly inside you, taking extra care not to hurt you the best he could. You hiss, the burn radiating throughout your body from the stretch.

Minho pushes half his length inside you, pausing to allow you time to adjust. Your tight cunt clamping around his length, making it harder for him to cling onto the little bit of rationality he has left.

Minho interlocks his fingers with yours, stroking your hand softly with his thumb hoping to relieve you of your discomfort. You squeeze his hand gently.

"It's okay kitten. Take your time. Just let me know when you're ready." He speaks softly. You whimper, nodding. Minho patiently waits for you to adjust. Seconds later, you indicate that you are. Taking your waist in his hands, he slowly starts to thrust.

You groan at the feeling, the pain slowly turning into pleasure the more he thrusts. Your warmth encapsulated Minho's cock, making him shiver and slowly drown at the feeling

"Minho, faster, more!" You whisper. Minho grips your hips tightly, inserting the remaining of his length until he's bottomed out. You groan at the feeling of fullness, gripping the bed sheets in your hands. Minho's thrusts become powerful and fast. Skin slapping on skin, moans mixing and bouncing off the walls. You wither beneath him, unable to comprehend the amount of pleasure you're receiving.

Minho was also struggling to comprehend his own pleasure. Your warm, wet cunt feels so good around him. He feels like he's drowning. His head kicked back as soft groans left his lips. His body shining in the dim light due to it being coated in a thin layer of sweat. Beads of sweat run down his forehead and temples as his hair stocks to his skin.

"This is so much better than what I imagined." He groans between pants. You purposefully clench around his cock, making his moan.

"You feel good babe?" He nods fast, bottom lip captured between his bunny teeth. "Me too, It feels so good."

Minho's hips began to falter, his movements becoming sloppy. He squeezes your waist tightly, panting hard before the pad of his thumb comes into contact with your clit.

He rubs the sensitive bud as he thrusts into you. Your thighs shaking as your body jolts at the new sensation. You moan and whimper, the knot in the pit of your stomach tightening. Minho feels it from the way your cunt has a vice grip around his length, making it difficult for him to move.

"I think I'm going to cum." You struggle to say between your pants.

"Cum kitten. Cum around my cock." You squeeze your eyes shut, your orgasm washing over you in an instant. You cunt clenches and releases around Minho as your body shakes and empty moans leave your mouth. From how tight your cunt has a hold of him, Minho stops moving as he groans, emptying himself in the condom.

Minho continues to rub your clit, helping you rid out your high as he shallowly thrusts inside you to help rid out his own. Once calm, you push his hand away, claiming you're sensitive to the touch.

Minho chuckles, pulling you out of you and taking the condom off. He ties it before disposing of it in the trash. He lays next to you as your eyes slowly close.

Pulling your sweaty body against his own, you snuggle into him, enjoying the warmth and comfort he provides. You hum softly in contentment as you feel yourself relax – sleep slowly consuming your body

"Hey, no sleeping. We have to get cleaned up Kitten." Minho speaks softly

"What's there to clean? We used protection." You whisper.

"Well, you're probably sore and sweaty, so we have to help you get comfortable."

"I guess so, but I'm too tired, so carry me!"

"Absolutely not." You pout as you whine.

"You're so mean Minho!"

"But you love me."

You smiled softly at him. The typical banter between you both now having a new meaning.

"Yes. Yes, I do."

[greenqueenhightower]

hi again! and i’m sorry if i sounded rude i didn’t mean to!

yes i was talking about ep 9!

but if you say that it isn’t manipulation why then rhaenyra and criston’s relationship is considered that? especially when they have sex? is a bit hypocritical no? because if it is then alicent has MUCH more power play in their situation:

1. he is her employee

2. she is THE QUEEN

so it still counts as manipulation simply because she knows what to do with her power in this scenario and she KNOWS he would do anything because he is dutiful but at the same time he will be the first to not listen to her as many times is shown (when he kills the guy in the council out of the blue or when she ASKS for him to take lucerys eye which she never asked for violence but when she does he doesn’t do it).

but is just my opinion saying this from a female standpoint and seeing alicent more of a player in this situation because you say he is her only ally, but is the ally she can play and say what he needs to do. In a way otto and larys are a mean to an end, because what they show is rooted in violence and greed and we can’t forget that still is a misogynist world (her father is still a high born and well her father, larys is a high born and a type of “gossip girl” (didn’t find a better word for this sorry English is not my first language)).

Criston is a low born and a guard: manipulation is still a thing that happened here.

Hey again anon 💚

Dw, I didn’t find it rude, I was just confused a bit. Thanks for elaborating.

I think that the difference between Alicent and Criston’s relationship and Rhaenyra and Criston’s relationship is that they are based on totally different values. Rhaenyra x Criston are bound together by desire and momentary passion but lack devotion, duty, and sacrifice. Alicent x Criston don’t exercise upon desire and passion but have honor, duty, loyalty, devotion, etc. This means that both parties (Alicent & Criston) feel more self-realized and valued within the auspices of their relationship because it gives them exactly what they ask for.

To Criston, it gives him a purpose, namely his role as a sworn protector. Remember what he said to Rhaenyra? His relationship with her deprived him of his own feelings of self-worth: “I took an oath”/“I stained my white cloak”/“It’s all I have to my name.” To Alicent, that relationship gives stability and security unlike any other relationship she has with a male in power. She knows that Criston will not ask anything of her beyond what they have agreed upon. He won't betray her, neither will he use or manipulate her. And Criston feels the exact same trust towards Alicent because he feels that he will not be used again as he has been used by Rhaenyra. Therefore, their relationship dignifies both of them.

Going back to your comment about manipulation, the fact that Criston is free to affirm or deny what Alicent commands once again shows that his role as her sworn protector dignifies rather than restrains him. He knows who he is and where his duties lie, and he knows that he can refuse Alicent’s command to take Luke’s eye, exactly because his worth is not measured by how much and how well his actions will please her, which would be the case if he was constantly manipulated into doing something either out of fear, either out of personal gain, either out of loss of self-respect. As you very well point out, Criston can refuse Alicent because he knows very well that he can. That his life doesn't depend on whether he complies to her wishes or not. Because he knows that if he doesn't want to do something, she will not enforce it nor will she degrade him because of his choice. That's why Criston can have that much self-confidence in his position as Alicent’s sworn protector and member of the King’s Guard. At the same time, he further displays how he can act of his own free will, no matter how horrible it is (and don't get me wrong-Lord Beesbury’s killing was horrible!). But in the context of whether he is being manipulated or not, it once again shows that nope, Criston “is a man in his own right” to use the words of Emma D’Arcy, and he can make his own decisions. (Further commentary on his unlawful killings fuelled by bloodlust that explain his character you can find here.)

In my opinion, Criston can be himself in his service to Alicent just as much as Alicent can be herself and can trust him with everything (one of many examples is when she talks to him about Viserys’ prejudice towards Rhaenyra’s sons even though it is forbidden to do so because she trusts that he will keep her confidence). In short, Alicent and Criston’s relationship is built upon mutual trust and respect, and it doesn't quiver when Criston fails to meet Alicent’s demands. If Alicent really did manipulate Criston and the incident at Driftmark was the only time he failed to comply, then wouldn't she have been extremely angry? Wouldn't she have felt betrayed? But she didn't feel that, because she too KNEW that what she had asked him was way out of line, way beyond his agreed-upon duties and therefore violated their agreement.

And you can compare their relationship with a very clear cut example of manipulation as we see it in the show: think about how Criston behaves with Alicent versus how Alicent behaves with Larys. Is Criston petrified of her? Does he feel that his life might depend upon keeping her happy and satisfied? Does he think that she might twist his words and actions to harm him if she doesn't get what she wants? No.

[sammygender]

just know that if there was any justice in the world. metamorphosis (4x04) would be here. it didnt quite 100% make the cut but im sick over it. its on equal level to most of these but one had to go. swan song should be here also. But Whatever.

other people pls do this its so fun and tell me your reasoning in the tags/comments <333