#internally i just seem to be frenzied.

[blackwaxidol]

there is nothing new about my being in such a kind of pain that it makes me sick, i think it gets old to mention it.

[moondirti]

animalic (1)

series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 1.9k summary: he won't stop until he gets you warnings: enemies to lovers, injuries, kissing, minor ATSV spoilers, size kink (?), mentions of gore and death, not spell checked nor edited, honestly not my best work but the horny is all that matters notes: stayed up all night for this because i had to get it out of my system before finals. there'll be a few more parts, i promise i'm not this cruel haha

“I thought grace was a prerequisite for your little spider-club.” 

Your quip sounds disjointed – even to your own ears – entwined with wheezes that rattle your splintered rib cage. In all honesty, the circumstances don’t seem to be favouring you; he’s got you confined upon the wreckage of your own fight, hanging off the remnants of a crane that dangerously tips over a quarry. And though this isn’t the worst you’ve faced, Miguel’s presence always seems to make things more complicated than they need to be.

You’d had a stable hold on the beam, ready to pull yourself up and dematerialise to wherever he wasn’t. Until, of course, the asshole kicked your elbows off. Now, your fingers remain as your only attachment to the structure, shaking violently with their diminishing strength. Your torso isn’t faring any better, either – the bleeding both internal and trickling from the gashes in your hoodie. 

(You wonder if he’s toying with you, like a panther with its food. Of the rare times he’s assigned another spiderman to pursue you, they didn’t tend to drag it out for this long. 

But, you suppose, Miguel’s different.) 

He takes a small step forward, lifting his foot over your digits. He could crush them like this, turn the bone to powder and keep pressing until it macerates in the gore. You can’t put it past him, really, not if you utter one more self-sabotaging word. You’ve seen him rip through steel and silk alike, fueled on the resentment that simmers deep within his very essence. Yours is merely the same fate that’s befallen every other obstacle that’s dared to come his way. 

But the tension buzzes between you two, thickening until it’s palpable enough to taste. Miguel is quiet as ever, completely still save for the flickering light of his dimensional travel watch. You envy his position – that resolute stature, brimful of power as his shoulders square, his calf rippling with subdued strength, still stretched over your hand. You blame that, or the mask, slick with sweat and humid as it sticks to your nose. Or the glasses that slowly slip to reveal your squinting eyes. You blame anything apart from what it is; that fear that steadily begins to flood your senses, numbing it all into one, cohesive panic. 

You’ve never been good at life or death scenarios. 

“Or, maybe, the big boss thinks he can break his own rules?” 

The air snaps. With an infuriated roar, he lunges at you, razor-sharp talons swiping at your face. In your frenzied dunk to avoid them, your fingers drop. 

You plunge to the bottomless chasm below.

Okay. Let’s try to get this right, one last time. 

Your name doesn’t matter. It hasn’t, not for a while now. 

For the past year, you’ve been on the run from the Spider Society. You don’t exactly blame them for it, either. Every world you’ve crashed has gone to shit, despite serious lack of trying. Food-barren wastelands, borderless warzones. Truthfully, after the mantle of Earth 7BB-1 convected in on itself, you were inclined to turn yourself in. 

Independant of the fact that Nueva York seems to be the only place you can’t fuck up. Regardless of the relatability you have with the residents of its lobby. You were bitten by a radioactive spider just the same, and for all the good you’ve tried to do, you’ve never been a spider-hero. If it meant that no one else got hurt, you really would have been able to cope with lifetime confinement.

(Greater good and all that.)

Would’ve. Could’ve. If it weren’t for Miguel O’Hara’s interjection, and his goddamn alternative solution, things just might have turned out that way. 

You’re not dead. 

The realisation whips your consciousness into high alert, eyes snapping open to survey your surroundings. You process the light first, its brilliance piercing through the bromine-doused cotton that stuffs your skull. Then, it’s the pain that, up until this point, had been thrumming in the background. It crackles, marrow-deep, tearing down the tendons in your shoulders to the throbbing area around your ribs. They’re in doubtlessly worse shape than they had been at the quarry, the ache searing across to engulf your spine too. 

He had let you fall on your back, that dickhead. 

But– 

You’re not dead. 

It doesn’t take you long to figure out why that is. 

A red forcefield entraps you, droning its monotonous hum, partially obscuring everything beyond your own reflection. You can see the faint impression of a silhouette – no, multiple – stalking you on the other end, a great shadow court. They warp and grow with every passing second, gorging on your offered vulnerability, awaiting some wordless signal from the harbinger of death, to execute justice upon the one who’s been causing them so much trouble. Jess Drew. Hobie Brown. Ben Reilly. 

(They’d been more forgiving, once. Willing to negotiate peace, to treat you more than the screw up you’ve proven to be. 

His voice overrode theirs. Always.)

It’s easier to make out the devil himself – more so than the others. You’ve come to memorise the slope of those shoulders, how his fists clench at his sides as he circles you. You imagine the smug set of his jaw and those eyes, just as luminous as the cage you curl within. The puck at the base is recognisable, akin to the capture weapons he’s thrown at you previously. He’d saved your life, then.

On a technicality. You’ll bury that thought to rage over later. 

“How–”

The question hardly forms before you’re ripped in two, the atoms of all but your spirit splicing into one another in a defect of blue and orange. The glitch exacerbates the fractures that threaten to knock you out, racking through your system as it rearranges your matter into amorphous forms. It’s only when something is thrown into the enclosure do you snap back to. A bracelet clatters to the floor. 

“Didn’t know whether you’d be used to the glitching yet.” A disembodied voice remarks. It’s at a particularly whiny pitch – you assign it to Ben. 

“We… tried to get it on you, kid. But you–” A feminine inflection crops up. Jess sounds the same since the last you spoke. 

You glower at them from the corner of your eye – unsure if they can actually see you – and snap the day pass on. Your spectral abilities were handy at the best of times; to shift from the corporeal, coming into immateriality, makes the most complicated situations evadeable. You credit it for your continued survival, if nothing else. Yet to speak like you could control it, especially while unconscious, was pushing it. You clearly weren’t able to activate it when you needed it the most.

And now you’re here. 

“I’m not going to ask what you want, so let’s keep this short– y-yeah? Either you let me go, or this Earth’ll be the next to unravel.” Despite your intentions, the demand escapes you in a long-winded croak. You hear Hobie snicker, the laugh teetering the edge of approval. Anyone can tell the promise has no foundation.

“That won’t be happ–” 

“Leave us.” 

The room clips into white noise. You fail to focus on anything but that echoing order. 

His voice comes across clearer than all else, too, cadence resonating past any natural boundary, tugging your heart right where it’s tender. There’s that fear again, that singular dread, only ever triggered by his indifference. Perhaps more potent than fury, his patience gives away an all-assured determination. Deadly. 

You bite your cheek, steeling your expression into one of similar apathy. It feels like a child’s attempt at dress up, grubby hands clutched around mother’s lipstick, painting on a clown’s complexion. Crackling apprehension brushes across your most vulnerable parts; layer by layer, you’re skinned as the group files out. Bare nerves are all that’s left for your faceoff with the hulking man.

He throws another puck to the floor. His own forcefield conjoins to yours. 

His cheeks have gotten hollower, you notice, emphasising the cheekbones that are just as keen as everything else about him. He offers no smile, no grand boast of victory. Instead, he breathes – calmly, fixedly, and lets you absorb the overwhelming magnitude of his size once more. He’s aware of what it strikes in you, can see it in the way you falter upon every reintroduction. Miguel is colossal, a reality that has never been more apparent than in this cramped enclosure. 

You know that if you stop to ponder it, it’ll ruin you. 

Rearing on your heels, you bounce from your place on the ground, making a grab for his watch. He anticipates it, having caught the decision blaze in your pupils, and side steps, pivoting to gain the upper hand while your back is still turned. You rebound off the field wall, stumbling back when he yanks you by your hoodie. Your shoulder presses into his chest, and he moves to wrap himself around your form.

Your skin prickles. His body passes right through you. 

His recovery time is nearly nonexistent relative to your last fight – quick learner – but you’re still swift on your feet, bolting to his watch again. It’s a millisecond too slow, for his talons sink into your forearm when you start to pull away. 

Your pained yelp loses momentum as he slams your back against the wall, using a knee to pin your other arm in place, his free hand wrapping around your neck. 

He’s close. Too close. Your stomach flips, pushing up on your oesophagus until you choke with the bile that sears its lining. Your breaths are as deep enough as his clutch will allow, index and thumb cutting off the circulation on both sides of your neck.

Ichor blooms from the puncture points at your wrist, the warmth puddling at your palm, not yet heavy enough to drip down onto the floor. You don’t think he realises how deep his claws are, how near he is to scratching bone. You don’t think you do, either. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and while you’re sure you’ll regret not prioritising it sooner, you don’t think– Don’t think–

“I-I’m not goi…going home,” You gasp. 

“It’s not up to you, Wraith.” Miguel growls, chokehold loosening.

It hits you, then. Animalic. He smells addictingly animalic. Like musk, a blend of brine and hot air and hints of a patchouli aftershave that still clings to his jaw. Your eyes flutter, seeking all you can get of the latter. Unwittingly, you move in closer. 

You haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time. 

His expression oscillates between a sneer and a grimace, nose pulling up to reveal the very pointed ends of his two canines. Set side by side with plush lips, you zero in on the thought of experiencing the contrast with your own. 

He’s huge. 

Closer. 

Completely overwhelms you, in size and presence and–

Closer. 

Your ribs ache. Your back groans. You’re quickly losing feeling in your fingers, and movement – soon – if you don’t do something. 

Your breath weaves with his. He doesn’t reciprocate when your lips brush, but he doesn’t pull away, either. 

You kiss him for longer than you should. Longer than you need to. It’s firm, and not unlike what you expected. 

(World-shattering, all the same.) 

Your skin prickles. It takes all of your rationale to pull away – dematerializing out of his grasp, and into the portal you’d activated from his wrist.

chapter 2 →

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[starsxblazing]

Die Of A Broken Heart

Ask and you shall receive. Here is some pure heartbreaking angst to feed us masochists.

Summary: Azriel goes on a mission that should have been simple only for it to end in one of the worst ways possible.

Azriel x Reader

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? You just got back last night and you’re exhausted.”

You watched your husband as he continued to get ready for his mission. It wasn’t really a mission at all unless one thought of the Hewn City that way. There were many that would call it such but to each their own. Azriel stopped his task of lacing his buckles together to give you a smile but when that didn’t seem to satisfy you, he pulled you into his arms in a tight embrace. 

“As soon as Cassian and I return, you will have me all to yourself,” he assured gently, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Try not to worry so much, love.”

You both admired and hated his work ethic. He was so loving, loyal, and devoted that he spread himself so thin but he was slowly making progress. Very, very slow progress but progress, nonetheless. The two of you had only been married for a few decades and it was as blissful as it could possibly be.

There had been an internal war within you when he had first started courting you. It was no secret that he wanted a mate, that all of the males wanted a mate. You had been hesitant in giving your heart to him because you knew that he had someone wonderful out there that the Mother had made just for him. 

What you hadn’t expected was a one sided mating bond. You had known since the night of your wedding but hadn’t been able to bring yourself to tell him. Azriel was always so loving and devoted to you that you didn’t have to question him. He assured you more times than you could count that even if his mate did miraculously appear, that he would still choose you. Since you knew that he was your mate, all of those worries had left your mind.

“But you still have to train your new spy for Spring Court,” you huffed, earning a quiet chuckle from him as he continued preparing.

“I have already told Rhys that it will have to wait.” He shot you a playful grin. “You are my priority. The female will still be there in another two weeks.”

“You, the amazing spymaster, are going to take an entire two weeks off?” you asked skeptically. “You are going to go insane with that much time off of work.”

“Actually,” he began, his voice dropping into that delicious seductiveness while he pushed you back into the wall. “I had every intention of keeping myself occupied in much more pleasurable ways.”

The hard length of him pressed into you, earning him a playful giggle. He simply pulled you into a deep kiss that left you both breathless only to do it again before he finally left with one last ‘I love you.’ You always hated to watch him go but knowing that he would be back later that night made it better. It also helped that you had a day planned with Nesta at the bookstore. 

“Did Cassian let anything slip about what they’re supposed to be doing?” you asked the female as you walked down the street.

“He was able to withstand my questioning, surprisingly,” Nesta huffed. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”

“Probably not,” you agreed.

You simply followed your friend throughout the stores, grabbing a few items for yourself before making your way to a nearby cafe. Nesta was relentless in getting you back into training so to appease her, you agreed. It was mostly because you missed the three females that you had made friends with but also because it would keep your mind busy once Azriel left again to train his new spy.

It was hours past time when your husband had promised that he would be home and it had you pacing a hole in the floor of your sitting room. This was the absolute worst part of being committed to someone with such an important job. Each time he was away from you, you prayed for his safety. That was exactly why you fell into a panicked frenzy when Rhys entered your mind to let you know that you were needed at Madja’s.

“What happened?” you demanded breathlessly, bursting into one of the healing rooms only to see a grumbling Azriel sitting up in the bed and holding his head.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Cassian waved it off dismissively despite the serious worry in his eyes. “He just took a hit to the head.”

“The culprit will have a fitting punishment,” Rhys assured when you went to open your mouth. “Take him home and watch over him.”

And so you did. It didn’t help that your husband was grumpier than usual, fussing and ensuring you that he could take care of himself. You weren’t convinced due to his slight stumble and how he continued to hold his bandage wrapped head. He all but fell face first into the bed and there was no way that you could leave him alone.

You awoke the next morning only to find Azriel’s side of the bed cold. It caused a deep frown to form on your face because he should be there. He was injured on top of promising to stay home. The very least that you had expected was for him to still be cuddled up to you since the sun could barely be seen in the sky. Even after searching the entire house, he was nowhere to be seen and not even his scent lingered in the air. 

In a sigh of defeat, you made your way to the House of Wind in hopes to find some answers. It was also empty up until you made it up to the training ring. Cassian, Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn were already there and beginning their warmups for the session.

“Finally come back to join us?” Cassian asked in a teasing voice but his eyes were wary.

“I was actually hoping to find my husband.” You almost tripped over the last word, almost revealing the secret that nobody else knew. “He promised that he would be home for the next two weeks.”

“He said something came up and training that new female was extremely important.” 

You eyed Cassian skeptically, noting that the general appeared uneasy with the topic of conversation. Something wasn’t right and your hand instinctively rubbed against your heart as if the bond was trying to tell you something. It was always there, always lingering and glowing brightly within you but it was dim today. Nesta, who seemed extremely in tune with you, pulled you into the ring with them, insisting that training would help but that dim light wouldn’t change your worry. There was something wrong if the strange new tug was any indication of it.

With nothing better to do, you relented and after warmups, you had a sword in hand. All three females had been training hard and it was a task to keep up with the high spirited Gwyn. You had always loved the priestess and the upbeat, determined energy that always buzzed around her.

You felt it just as soon as you blocked Gwyn’s attack. There was pain that tugged at your heart that caused you to stumble, earning a nice cut on your arm as you hit your knees. You were certain that a scream of pain, one that didn’t come from the new physical injury, left you but you were unaware of anything but the pain in your chest. It was sharp, as if a thousand daggers were piercing you all at once. 

A blinding heat then enveloped that same pain that had your head swimming. The bond that was there slowly dimmed further and you could almost see it. You could almost see the cord rip and shred, the feeling going straight into your chest. The burning paired with the sharpness continued until you could feel it through every fibre of your being where it settled into your very soul. It raged with an intensity that you knew had never been experienced by the world before.

Your heart stopped just as the last pieces of the bond shredded and broke before the blissful darkness took you.

Even in unconsciousness the pain didn’t stop. It felt like being tied to a spit and being turned over an open, blazing fire. The extreme heat didn’t stop and even after your mind began to clear, you were unable to open your eyes. It felt like you were dying from the inside out but muffled voices hit your ears, thankfully giving you something else to focus on.

“So you are telling me that your new spy is your mate?”

Rhys. That voice that was unmistakable and laced with frustration.

“It just happened, Rhys.”

Your husband. The one that was your mate that somehow had another mate. You searched inside of you and all that was left of the one sided bond were shredding sharp threads blowing in an openness of an unfamiliar void. Your mind couldn’t wrap around what was happening. You couldn’t understand.

“What do you plan to do?”

“I don’t know.”

Those three whispered words felt like another knife to the heart, continuing to slice into your already shredded soul.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You have a wife that loves you! A wife that you have been happily in love with for decades!”

The quiet words of the High Lord were nearly a growl, obviously angry with his spymaster.

“She’s my mate, Rhys!” 

Your husband was attempting to defend himself as if the mating bond had finally taken over him completely.

“You just met this female. She is supposed to be your apprentice. Your student. Nothing more.”

Azriel truly had left you, while he was injured, only to find his mate. You wanted to cry but the pain, the heat, kept you from doing anything. 

“Well that’s not what happened.” 

“What is more, your wife fell in training and has been unconscious for days while in a pain that none of us can figure out while you have refused to come back because you have been with your mate!”

It was all that you needed to hear. Your worst fears that had been present before the bond had happened. He had been spending time with his mate all while you had been unconscious and in immense pain and hadn’t bothered to answer his High Lord’s attempts to reach him. You must have finally been able to move because you heard quick footsteps just before a familiar set of hands were wrapped around yours.

“Y/n.” Azriel’s pleading voice barely registered in your mind. “Please look at me.”

It felt wrong to do so but you did. You loved him with all that you were and it was now your downfall. There was such worry on his face and his eyes went wide at whatever he found or didn’t find on your face. Even through the blazing haze, you barely registered the deep concern and made you wondered why he cared all of a sudden.

“Are you alright?” It was Rhysand’s voice this time as he pushed the shadowsinger away from you. “How can I help?”

“I’ll be fine,” you rasped, your throat raw as if you had been screaming.

“You have been screaming,” Rhys confirmed in a gentle but quiet voice. “Let me help you.”

A growl came from behind you but you focused on those violet eyes that made you feel just the tiniest bit better.

“I just need my bed and some time.”

He nodded, seemingly determined to give you whatever you wanted.

It took two weeks for you to pull yourself together enough to present yourself somewhat normally. Azriel had stayed with you for a week before leaving for his next mission, leaving you at the House with Nesta and Cassian. You knew that it wasn’t a mission. They didn’t know that you had overheard the conversation and knew that your husband had a mate that wasn’t you. 

By the time that the third week had passed, Azriel came into your room and watched you cautiously. It had taken you that long since the bond broke to act like your normal self but the pain, the burning of your soul never stopped. The broken threads cut into you over and over with no way to stop it. You were sure that you were going mad and you only allowed yourself to succumb to it whenever you knew that you would be alone for a while.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He sat on the edge of the bed but didn’t move closer. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” you asked as casually as you could even though a piece of you knew what was coming.

“I found my mate,” he whispered.

“Oh.”

This time it came out as a broken whisper, your fear only fueling the flame inside of you. Your heart picked up a rapid pace in your chest and you were sure that it was going to explode if it didn’t stop.

“I need-” He swallowed hard, his eyes lining with tears. “I need to at least get to know her.”

“You promised me, Azriel,” you croaked. “Please.”

“Just give me three weeks, y/n. Please.”

“Az…” Your voice trailed off and you realized that there was no point in arguing. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

Despite his voice sounding thick and desperate, he simply brushed a light kiss against your lips. Your heart continued to race in panic and that pain raged blindingly until it was dark once again.

Azriel felt horrible for leaving you because he had promised you for decades that he would never leave you. He promised that he would love you and only you for the rest of eternity and even though that would always be true, he had to be sure. No sooner than he was in the sky after leaping off of the balcony on the House of Wind, a pair of hands were around him and he was suddenly in his dungeon.

“What the hell, Rhysand?” he growled, frustrated and annoyed and Cassian and the two fae in the chairs barely caught his eye.

“I came back here with Cassian to continue the work that you should have done after being attacked and learned a great deal of information.”

“Like what?” he snapped, his feet shifting while he debated on winnowing away.

“Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.” the High Lord growled. “As it turns out, that blast of power that sent you flying into the wall and causing your concussion cursed you.”

That caused him a pause and he eyed the two males that he had met with.

“Your ‘mating bond’ is fake.”

“But-”

“Tell him,” Rhysand ordered the males, refusing to let him speak.

“The female- your wife- is your mate,” one bit out. “You are holding us back in this horrid place so we cursed you to be chained to another female so that you would move courts.”

Because he would. If his mate didn’t want to live in Night Court, he would follow her. He looked between his brothers who didn’t appear to have the first bit of sympathy for him. Rhysand obviously knew that he had just left you for his mate and didn’t care about his wishes any longer.

In his desperation to get back to you, to right his wrong and beg for your forgiveness, he began his methods. It didn’t take much to get them to break and the curse cured. In an instant, he no longer felt that fake mating bond but when he looked to his High Lord, he was pale and frozen in place.

“Let’s go.”

Rhysand grabbed both him and Cassian, winnowing them back into the House. They sprinted towards your room only to find Madja hovering over you, her face pale and grave when she looked at them.

“What’s happening?” he asked in a panic, running to your side and pulling your freezing cold hand into his.

“She’s dying.” Madja’s voice was just as grave as her face. “Her body is shutting down.”

“Y/n!” Azriel yelled, shaking you as much as he dared to try to get you to open your eyes.

Madja’s hand was over your heart, looking as if she was focusing extra hard on it.

“Her heart is beating too fast,” the female murmured. “I have no way to slow it.”

Panic overtook him entirely and he continued to shake you in desperation. Your lips had turned blue and there was no color to your face even though your chest rose and fell in an unhealthy rhythm. Finally, finally, you opened your eyes. There was no life there and the quick flicker of recognition was all that it took. A dim light simmered within him, a light wrapped around a simple thread that should have been tied to you. 

He followed it to the end only to find an endless void. That quick flicker of remembering him only lasted a second before your eyes closed again. 

Just as you closed your eyes and your chest came to a stop, the thin thread within him shredded apart.

He thought he heard himself scream, a scream of desperation and pain, as he felt like he had been set on fire. It was a heat that far surpassed the flames that had ruined the hands that you loved so much and he didn’t know if he could handle it. His wife, his mate, his true mate was gone and left shattered threads blowing in a new void in its wake. He couldn’t breathe as it felt like his heart was being shredded into pieces and it picked up its pace in his chest. It felt like he was about to implode.

And as the darkness pulled him closer, he realized what had been your fate and what would now be his. He realized what it was like to die of a broken heart.

Tag List:

@amara-moonlight @allygrace74 @sidthedollface2 @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @kalulakunundrum @historygeekqueen @bubybubsters @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @caroline-books @justvibbinghere @wisdomofthebrain @nighttimemoonlover

[strawberry-cowmilk]

first kiss with the older brothers

-> kissing them for the first time

-> brothers x mc

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

content warnings: none

-----

Lucifer

it happened in the music room, while lucifer was letting you listen to the latest record he got

before this, you were at one of diavolo's fancy parties so you were still wearing the extravagant clothes you wore to the party

the mood overall was very romantic, there were leftover sweets from diavolo's party on the table, the room was being lit by candles and soft music was playing in the background

lucifer was in the middle of explaining the story behind the song when he suddenly stopped and asked 'may I kiss you?'

it was quick and simple, afterwards lucifer went back to talking about the song as if nothing happened, but he seemed happier

Mammon

it was 1am and mammon just returned from his job at the fall, he was absolutely drained so he laid down on the living room couch

and somehow you were still awake too and found him, mammon talked to you about his shift and how he hurt his knee (after scolding you for being awake)

at some point he muttered 'so kiss it better' but you heard him, mammon denied everything he said followed by 'I mean if you really want to' (he wants a kiss)

you kissed his knee for him, mammon was absolutely losing it internally but then he asked you 'can you kiss me for real now?'

at first, he denied wanting you be kissed by you but after a moment of silence mammon realised there's nothing to lose

he got closer to you, said 'can I?' and then kissed you after you nodded yes

Leviathan

you and levi were trying to buy concert tickets for the sucre frenzy show, you two were literally sitting there with every computer and laptop in the house

it was not looking good until you got in with your ddd, levi literally screamed and praised you for being his savior

you got tickets for the best spaces they had (that were still available) and showed levi the order confirmation on your device

every ounce of shyness he was gone when he said 'I'm so happy I could kiss you' but he instantly regretted saying that out loud

you weren't against that though, so you allowed him to kiss you and he pecked your lips for 1 second and hugged you so you couldn't see him blushing

[animezinglife]

Everyone understandably wants SJM to show not tell when it comes to the "fire" in Lucien's blood (myself included), but what I want to see every bit as much is Elain thoroughly enjoying her relationship with him so much she's borderline drunk on it.

Elain not having a single reservation about taking the reins and letting him know when she wants him.

Elain lightheaded and spent and giggly waking up next to him in the morning but also feeling entirely safe and serene.

Their "frenzy" stage being worse meaning better than anyone else's because of the amount of energy they have pent up. Elain being worse about it than him and completely wearing him out to the point he's almost laughing. Feyre realizing the time that phase has lasted between them and internally asking Rhys if that's normal. Rhys laughing and telling her no (before, naturally, suggesting they give that duration a try themselves).

The two of them trying to be subtle, slick, and polite about the time they've had together when they finally re-emerge into society and it still hitting everyone like a ton of bricks to the point the sisters are fighting back laughter (and pride).

Lucien's control being as impressive and sexy as usual when Cass and Rhys goad him about it. Elain feeling him tense beside her but her giving his arm a gentle squeeze being enough to deter him.

The entire room feeling like a giant third wheel around them and Nesta making a crack to Feyre about "understanding how she felt" now being around her and Rhys. Feyre jabbing right back with how it felt being in the room with Nesta and Cassian.

Elain still seeming a little shy around others about her relationship with Lucien, but slowly loosening up and leaning against him, hugging him, beaming when he kisses her hair, and even after a drink or two, curling up in his lap in an armchair near the fire.

Lucien doing the hottest things as usual like taking her coat/cloak when they come in from outside, getting it for her and helping her into it when they leave, etc.

Feyre and Nesta having a shared understanding and mutual happiness for Elain that she's found not just her mate, but her soulmate.

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 say my name and everything just stops

pairing: harry potter x reader

warnings: ron & reader in an established relationship , pervy harry, male masterbation, smut, harry wanking it to a photo😸, that’s all i think idk

a/n: well well well…i’m back after what 3/4 weeks?😭 so here’s smut that was written in like 20 minutes

He felt… so fucking perverted about his thoughts of you, the way his entire body froze when your breasts squeezed over his chest, the way his hands lingered on your waist when all he wanted to do was lower them further, cupping your ass while you squealed, hitting his chest with those pretty giggles escaping your lips. “Can you help me out?” You asked with those doe-eyes. Harry was sure he would do anything you asked if you gave him that look. Any fucking thing. He nodded breathlessly, no words able to push past his lips as he watched you in awe.

Ron’s absence left Harry feeling uneasy, likely held up in some line to get what he wanted. Harry couldn’t shake off the guilt he felt as he looked at you, his mind painting vivid scenarios of you under him, craving more until he lost control. He struggled to contain his desires, a constant battle against his own urges. However, everything seemed manageable until you casually brushed past him, reaching for whatever it was you needed next to him.

It was a completely unintentional gesture on your part, most likely insignificant to you. However, the way your curves seamlessly fit against him, your proximity causing a stir in him, was uncharted territory for Harry. Mentally, he couldn’t help but envision you both as if you were naked. This realization hit him hard because all he could think about now was being intimate with you from behind, enjoying the captivating sight of your figure melding into his, your soft moans urging him on, his hips moving rhythmically, and his cock filling that perfect spot he often dreamed about.

He craved the thought of losing himself in a passionate frenzy with you, where your thoughts were consumed by him and the intense desire between you. He longed for you to be utterly captivated, pleading for release, desperate for more. The bulge in Harry’s pants was undeniable evidence of his arousal, with his cock straining against the fabric, pre-cum dampening the area. The urgency was clear; if he didn’t address this soon, he feared he might lose control entirely.

“I really need to use the bathroom, can’t hold it much longer,” he feigned, and you glanced up at him. “Oh! It’s fine, I’ll stay here; Ron doesn’t have many people ahead of him anyway,” you reassured with a smile. “Are you sure?” Harry asked, subtly concealing his erection with his hand. “Absolutely, I’ll give you a heads-up when Ron and Hermione return,” you replied cheerfully, waving him off.

He stumbled into the bathroom, letting out a sigh of relief as he locked the door behind him. Harry. He was convinced you were unwittingly tormenting him. Moving swiftly, Harry removed his trousers almost in a rush. He scolded himself internally, knowing he shouldn’t indulge in these thoughts. Yet, the vivid memories of you persisted, the way the short skirt highlighted your curves, how your lips moved as you focused on Ron.

Every memory of you transformed into a tantalizing fantasy, his mind conjuring images of your lips enveloping him, your tongue teasing him, and those innocent eyes gazing up at him. Harry couldn’t resist any longer as he crawled into bed, attempting to muffle his sounds of pleasure while freeing himself from his boxers. His cock responded eagerly, throbbing harder as he teased himself, spreading pre-cum along the tip with a hiss of arousal.

His throat emitted a deep groan as he shut his eyes, his trembling hands gliding slowly up his throbbing length. Harry’s mind was consumed by thoughts of you, aching with desire. His cock felt almost feverish in his grasp, pulsing with insatiable need. He craved you desperately, imagining you quivering beneath him, yearning for every part of you, begging for him. He longed to be inside you, expressing his love as he filled you completely.

The intensity of his desire surged as he envisioned filling you completely, not stopping until you were overflowing with his cum, coating your inner walls. His grip on himself tightened feverishly, his knuckles turning white with the force. But Harry disregarded the discomfort, driven by the vivid images of you that fueled his arousal. This overwhelming passion was unprecedented for him, feeling like he was losing control, utterly captivated by you. You were like an addictive substance, impossible for him to resist, and it tormented him knowing he couldn’t satisfy his craving.

Despite his efforts, Harry struggled to contain his moans, his mind inundated with explicit images of you. He envisioned you with your mouth agape, tongue eagerly awaiting his release, craving the sensation of his warm essence cascading down your throat. “Fuck—fucking slut,” he uttered involuntarily, intensifying his grip on himself. “Such—such a pretty baby for me, yea?” he praised in his mind, picturing you in vivid detail.

Without hesitation, Harry reached for his wallet tucked inside his trousers, retrieving a picture of you as he felt himself nearing climax. He studied the image intently, a string of curses escaping his lips. In the photograph, you stood beside him, and there was Ron. A surge of anger coursed through his veins at the sight of Ron, knowing that these feelings were utterly wrong. Yet, every fiber of his being resented Ron for having you. His thumb instinctively covered Ron’s face in the picture, his grip tightening as he fixated on you.

You looked incredibly beautiful in the photo. Your hands were delicately wrapped around his waist, leaning towards him with a radiant smile that made you look so genuinely happy. The dress you wore was stunningly small, emphasizing your curves, and your breasts were snug against the top, driving Harry wild with desire. His grip on himself tightened as he pictured you naked, imagining you squirming beneath him. “Please, Harry,” your voice echoed in his mind.

“Please, Harry. Cum inside of me,” he envisioned you whispering, your voice filled with longing. “Please, baby.. need your cum.” The image of you batting your lashes at him, tears glistening in your innocent eyes, intensified his desire. Harry relished in the fantasy of you begging for his release, fueling his need to fill you completely. The mental image of his essence spilling inside you consumed his thoughts.

Harry reveled in the fantasy of you begging for his release, his desire to fill you completely with his essence. The thought of you pleading for him flooded his mind, igniting every inch of his being. “Please, Harry, wanna be filled with your load,” he imagined you whimpering, the desperation in your voice driving him wild. “I’m gonna make you mine, honey,” he promised, his arousal heightening as he envisioned claiming you completely. “Shit—gonna fuck my load into you, yeah, baby?” he groaned, his strokes growing more fervent as he gripped the picture tightly. “Make you my fuckin’ cum dump,” he cursed, consumed by the desire to have you completely. “I’m yours, Harry,” he envisioned you mewling for him, and that final thought pushed him over the edge.

He released his warm essence over the picture, his loud groans of pleasure echoing in the room. He couldn’t stifle his satisfaction as he admired the image, his cum adorning your pretty face in the photograph. Just as he thought he was caught, you called out for him, and Harry froze in panic. He quickly covered himself as you yelled about Ron and Hermione being done waiting in line. Relief washed over him, knowing you hadn’t heard his explicit thoughts. You were indeed a tempting distraction, pushing him to the brink every time.

[submariini]

When Finland’s Käärijä took the stage at this year’s Eurovision, a star was instantly, explosively born. With an outrageous energy, infectious presence and that oh-so-catchy hook, the Vantaa-based rapper may not have won the contest but he certainly snatched the hearts of those in his home country and beyond. We ask Käärijä the million dollar question: what next?

[full article under the cut]

Last May, a peculiar frenzy engulfed Finland. Virtually all green foods – cucumbers, especially – were sold out from stores. Buildings across the land were bathed in vivid green lights. Social media brimmed with green-themed parties, while data obtained by Swedish fintech company Klarna showed a 570 per cent increase in the online sales of neon green shirts.

This phenomenon was all thanks to Käärijä, the rapper who represented Finland in the 2023 Eurovision Song Contest. His now-infamous, blazing green puff sleeve bolero – dreamt up by Finnish broadcasting company Yle’s costume design team and which he dons when performing the smash hit track ‘Cha Cha Cha’ – had taken on a life of its own, the lush hue uniting the entire nation amid the competition. “It was incredible to see it happen and so cool being part of it,” Käärijä says. “It wasn’t planned at all – it was the people who created the commotion. I’ll definitely never forget it.”

When we speak over Zoom, Käärijä, whose real name is Jere Pöyhönen, is lounging in his minimal apartment in Vantaa, a city just outside Helsinki. He appears on my screen shirtless, a chunky gold chain dangling on his neck. On his head sits a pastel turquoise cap adorned with little cat ears. As he gestures with his hands, I spot flashes of poison green nail varnish. Pöyhönen’s chosen attire, or lack thereof, is extremely fitting – he typically performs bare-chested (“It gets so hot during my gigs”) and his Instagram handle is @paidatonriehuja, or ‘shirtless rascal’.

Hot off a performance in western Finland, the 29-year-old is enjoying his first days off in a while. It’s been a sweltering summer of non-stop touring, with fans flocking to festivals and concerts nationwide to see his explosive live show. Things are not winding down either, with Käärijä heading off on his first-ever European tour this month. Some of these shows sold out in mere minutes, an indication of his immense international following. “It’s so exciting; I’m definitely jumping into a new territory with that tour,” Pöyhönen says. “But I don’t have any expectations – I’m just going to let everything happen organically rather than stressing about it.”

Although he created one of this year’s buzziest songs, the guy on my screen is humble and, save for his look, almost un assuming. I remark on the stark contrast to his fiery and flamboyant stage presence. “Through Käärijä, I get to channel all the craziness, quirkiness and hyperactivity I’ve had since I was a child,” Pöyhönen says, describing himself offstage as “just this ordinary dude”. Without delving into further details, he tells me that the name Käärijä (translating roughly to moneymaker) stems from a history with gambling. Despite the darkness of its origin, he notes that the moniker is to be taken with a grain of salt.

While it might seem like Käärijä exploded into the public consciousness from obscurity, Pöyhönen has a long journey in music behind him. Born in Helsinki but having spent most of his youth in Vantaa, he started dabbling in the medium at just three years old. Coming from a musical family (“My dad and big brother both play the guitar”), jamming sessions were commonplace in the Pöyhönen household, his instrument of choice being the drums. “I was playing with pots and spoons before I got a set of those plastic kids’ drums,” he says. “When we moved to a bigger house, we built a band room downstairs where me and my brother spent a lot of time practising.”

At that time, rap music hadn’t yet entered Pöyhönen’s life; he was strictly a self-described “metal guy”. His older brother had instilled in him a love for the genre, particularly metal icons Rammstein. Upon starting high school, his musical taste broadened and he began listening to Eminem and popular Finnish rap groups Fintelligens and JVG. “Me and my friends were filming our own music videos to old rap songs, learning the words by heart,” Pöyhönen says. “It [making rap music] pretty much started as this humour thing I did with my mates.”

Encouraged by his loved ones, Pöyhönen began writing his own songs, still playing it for laughs. Turned out he had a knack for it. “Since I was little, I’ve been an avid storyteller – my imagination ran a little wilder than the rest of the kids’ at my school,” he says. “So when I started making music, I didn’t even need inspiration; I was able to whip up the lyrics from my head.”

But then, at 15, an unexpected turning point came by way of a severe sudden illness. Rushed to the hospital with ulcerative colitis, a chronic inflammatory bowel disease, Pöyhönen underwent emergency surgery to remove his colon. Had he not been treated immediately, the complications could have been fatal. “I was writing songs in the hospital – music became a source of strength for me,” he says. “I decided that if I make it through this, I’m going to give my all to music and be serious about it.”

After over a decade of hard work and countless hours in the studio, Käärijä released his first album, Fantastista (Fantastic), in 2020, but it would take three years for him to become a household name in Finland. After snapping up the top prize in Uuden Musiikin Kilpailu (the Finnish contest for new music) with his party anthem ‘Cha Cha Cha’, a song dedicated to a hedonistic night out fusing rap, electronic music and metal, he secured the coveted spot as his country’s entrant for the 2023 Eurovision, held in Liverpool. One of Pöyhönen’s craziest dreams had come true.

For Pöyhönen, Eurovision was “an amazing but immensely tough experience”. The event’s intense schedule and the little time carved out for practising surprised the artist. There was no room for errors or retakes once it was time for rehearsals. “They didn’t give much mercy,” he says. On the bright side, the long days filled with “lots of press conferences and waiting around” gave Pöyhönen a chance to get to know the other artists. “The group we had there was wonderful – there wasn’t a competitive atmosphere at all,” he says. One of the contestants he became especially close with was Sweden’s Loreen, with whom he exchanged numbers and promised to “meet up and talk about everything else but music”.

By the time the grand finale came, Käärijä’s explosive performance and infectious song had made him one of the favourites to win. Ultimately he came second, while Loreen nabbed first place. How did Pöyhönen handle the letdown? “It was a huge disappointment, but in the end, the feeling didn’t last long,” he says. “When I thought about how far I’d gotten, the incredible journey it was and all the new friends I made, I realised that these things are far more meaningful than winning.” Plus, he still achieved something major: ‘Cha Cha Cha’ made history as the first ever Finnish song to reach Spotify’s global most-listened charts. The track’s reach proved to Pöyhönen that language doesn’t matter; it’s all about creating a singular, infectious sound: “The mouth is just as much of an instrument as the piano or the guitar is,” he says.

Having made history, I ask Pöyhönen if he felt any pressure after the Eurovision bubble had burst. “Of course there are the thoughts of ‘what now?’ and ‘is this going to be it, will anyone be interested anymore next year?’ – I’m aware that the hype won��t last forever,” he says. “But I’m onto creating the next thing, trying not to feel any pressure for future releases. I haven’t done that before, so why would I do that now?”

Pöyhönen hints at a new album dropping sometime next year, but in the meantime, he’s enjoying the attention – including his Vogue Scandinavia debut. Shot at the extraordinary home of the late interior architect Antti Nurmesniemi and his wife, textile artist Vuokko Nurmesniemi, we find the space where Pöyhönen and Käärijä meet, the quiet confidence mingling with that more-is-more persona.

And while Käärijä might develop as a character (“I want to show that he’s more than just a bolero chap”), he’s adamant that he will stay true to his music and keep singing in Finnish, despite the sudden international attention. “In the end, I’m doing this for myself,” he says. “Also, why change something that works?”

Photographer: Karoliina Bärlund Stylist: Sanna Silander Talent: Käärijä Hair Stylist and Makeup Artist: Neea Kuurne Photographer Assistant: Milja Laakso Stylist Assistant: Nelli Korhonen

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Trigger Points

Pairing: Erotic Massage Therapist Ezra x f!reader (not romantic)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Medical kink, massage kink (is that a thing?), erotic massage, mentions of sexual dysfunction and difficulty orgasming, consent forms, the clinical is erotic now, power imbalance due to the masseur/patient dynamic, mentions of uhhh *checks notes* anal massage, lots of vaginal fingering I mean massaging, pelvic floor massaging but make it erotic, dubcon only in the sense that Ezra says orgasm is not the goal and then definitely deliberately gives her one anyway, g-spot orgasms, squirting, Penny gets on her soapbox at the end

Summary: Ezra is a massage therapist. What kind, you ask? Internal massage. That’s it that’s the fic.

A/N: I wrote this in twenty-four hours in a horny unhinged writing frenzy. Am I embarrassed that this came from my brain? Yes. Am I posting it anyway? Also yes. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for the beta (and all of the screaming) and to @leslie-lyman for egging on the medical kink that I definitely don't have.

Masterlist

You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.

This isn’t like you.

As you stare at the nondescript building–no sign, no name on the door–you think back to the seemingly random circumstances that brought you here.

The party you hadn’t wanted to go to. 

The friend–acquaintance–who insisted.

The man with a distinctive blonde streak that kept lingering by the snack table and popping cocktail shrimp into his mouth with an enthusiasm that had made you look twice in wary amusement.

Like so many men, he’d taken your glance in his direction as an invitation to come over and start a conversation, but the resulting discussion was decidedly unlike any other man–or human–you’d come across.

Loquacious to the point of being humorous, the man–Ezra, he told you–was disarming and insightful. You opened up to him immediately; he seemed to have this uncanny ability to pull your life’s story from your lips, much to your surprise and chagrin. Did you really tell a strange man at a party that you’ve been from doctor to doctor, complaining of sexual pain and dysfunction, only to be given dismissive, unhelpful advice? Have a glass of wine, one said. Use different soap, said another. Make sure your laundry detergent is fragrance-free. 

“I think I’m just built wrong,” you said bitterly, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Anyway, it’s fine. You didn’t sign up to listen to a stranger’s problems at some house party.”

“On the contrary,” Ezra replied mysteriously, raising one eyebrow as he regarded you with amusement. “I think our fortuitous meeting must have been arranged by the universe itself.”

Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, he had handed you a business card that had only his first name–Ezra, no last name, and a phone number.

“I just happen to be a certified massage therapist, trained to assist with the very complaints of which you speak.”

“What kind of massage?” you’d asked, scrunching up your face in skepticism.

“Internal massage.”

You may have told him to fuck off then and there. You may have made your excuses and left the party in your embarrassment over having spilled your heart to a stranger with a questionable line of work, to say the very least. 

…You may have called two weeks later to inquire about an appointment.

The woman who answered the phone in that same kind of warm, soothing tone that seems to be common in so many legitimate massage practices made you feel slightly less insane about calling. The lengthy consent form she emailed after hanging up, however, sent you spiraling again.

Extensive questions about sexual history, your beliefs about sex, your relationship to sex, your experience with pain, dysfunction, your sexuality, etc. Check boxes indicating your level of experience and comfort with a number of sexual acts and situations. And at the end, three check boxes asking whether you would like to be massaged vaginally, anally, or both. 

A bell tinkles pleasantly when you open the door, and the scent of lavender fills your nose. Soft, soothing music plays from a hidden speaker somewhere, and one of those self-contained rock garden water fountains bubbles away in the corner of the brightly lit waiting room.

A woman behind the desk greets you–it must be the same one you’d spoken to on the phone–and checks you in. She walks you through what to expect during the appointment–first, you’ll meet with Ezra to discuss the consent form, then you’ll be asked to disrobe and lay on the massage table under a sheet. The type of care you’re given, she tells you, depends on what you put down on the consent form, which of course she hasn’t read, so she can’t tell you any specifics. 

“But he specializes in women with sexual dysfunction?” you ask skeptically. It had said as much on the forms. 

“Oh, yes,” the woman nods enthusiastically. “I know it’s an unusual service he provides, but Ezra is a professional, conscientious, and passionate about the work he does.”

You nod slowly, and she flashes you a warm, comforting smile before instructing you to sit anywhere.

You do, trying not to look too nervous as you wait.

Thankfully, you aren’t there for too long before a door opens, and Ezra softly calls your name.

Your nerves cause you to babble as you follow the man to the quiet, dimly-lit massage room. “Sorry I told you to fuck off,” you say. “That was pretty rude, and I’m sure it’s weird that I’m here now even though I clearly thought you were a pervert at the party, and–” you trail off, standing awkwardly beside the massage table as Ezra sits on a rolling stool.

“Now, now. Water under the bridge, I assure you, sprite. My profession is often met with skepticism at best and outright hostility at worst, but I let the testimonials speak for themselves. I assume you’ve read them?”

You nod, thinking back to the paragraphs of women saying they’d never known their bodies were capable of such pleasure before experiencing what they had called erotic massage.

“And I have read your consent form very carefully; I like to commit these things to heart, you see. Helps me do my job to the very best of my ability. Now, I did have a question about your very last answer: you made a checkmark indicating you were interested in vaginal massage only, but drew in a little question-mark next to anal massage.”

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, too quickly, jumbling the words together. “Depends on how… how…”

“How everything goes. Of course.” Ezra nods, making a quick note on your form. “I’ll consider you to be a vaginal-only patient for now, to be revisited at a later date if so desired.”

“Kay,” you squeak.

“Allright, let me give you a rundown of how this works. I’m not a sex worker; my job isn’t to make you orgasm. Like any massage therapist, my job is to find muscles that need to be worked out, and work them out. I just happen to specialize in muscles that other areas of practice typically ignore. This will involve both internal and external work–you might find that I might press on your lower abdomen, for example, with the other hand inside you. I always start slow with new patients; I’ll begin externally, massaging the entire pubic area and finding spots that might require extra attention. When you’re ready, we’ll move to an internal massage starting with one finger and seeing how many is most comfortable for you right now. Eventually, as we progress through your appointments, the goal is for the internal massage to involve two hands.

“Now, all that being said, the goal of these sessions might not be orgasm, but I want to let you know that it is normal and okay if that happens during your massage,” Ezra continues. “This is a safe space, and your comfort and pleasure is encouraged through this process. All of that seem hunky-dory?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod rapidly.

“Perfect. If you’re ready to get started, I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed. You can undress only from the waist down if you’re comfortable, or you can disrobe completely; the rest of you will be covered by the sheet, so it’s all down to what you prefer.”

Ezra leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, and you take a few moments to steady yourself before taking off only your pants and underwear. Grimacing at the awkwardness, you tuck the underwear into your jeans and place your shoes on top of both on the spare chair in the corner of the room. Then, you lie down under the sheet and wait.

Ezra taps lightly to herald his return before opening the door. “Good,” he says, seeing you laying stiffly on the massage table. “I’m going to check in many times during this first appointment especially,” he explains. “So much so that you may tire of it. You may simply say ‘good,’ when I ask how you are feeling, and I will continue. If you do not feel good at any point, I must ask that you say so. Sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, this massage table is custom made for my area of practice specifically,” Ezra explains, reaching under the table and unfolding a pair of stirrups–the kind you’ve seen many times at the gynecologist–and you grimace.

“Ah, I know, most people on this table do not have the most positive memories associated with these,” Ezra tuts, “and if you aren’t sure about using these, we can simply rest your legs on either side of the table.”

“I think I’m okay,” you tell him, cautiously reaching your feet out until your legs are uncomfortably splayed open. 

“You tell me if that changes.” Ezra sits down on the stool and rolls it over to sit at the front of the table. “I’m going to do the external massage with the sheet down,” he says. “No need for a cold breeze if it isn’t necessary, after all. As discussed before, I’m going to feel around the entire pubic area, finding anything that needs extra attention. If you’ve gotten a regular massage, you might notice that this one is much gentler; there won’t be any harsh poking or prodding, just light pressure and rubbing. If that’s all good, sprite, say the word and I’ll begin.”

“I’m good.”

“Very good. First, we’re going to warm up a little by touching your inner thighs. All muscles in this area are interconnected, so this will help soften things up as well.” 

You keep your eyes closed and let out a slow breath through pursed lips as you feel Ezra’s large, warm hands slowly working out the tension in your thighs. The unfamiliar feeling of someone’s hands in such an intimate area is an odd one, at first, but you can’t help but slowly begin to relax as he works out the delicate muscles of the upper-most part of your legs.

“Checking in again, sprite, how are we feeling?”

“Good,” you answer, with a little more confidence this time. “It’s good.”

“Excellent,” Ezra praises. “If we’re feeling nice and comfortable about it, I’m going to start to move upward and inward. You’ll feel me touch your outer labia, your perineum, and your pubic bone as we move forward. How do we feel about that?”

“Nervous,” you admit, giggling awkwardly. “But good.”

“Of course, sprite, it’s normal to be nervous about an unfamiliar sensation. Always remember that you are able to say ‘stop’ at any time.”

At your nod, Ezra’s hands shift, his thumbs beginning to rub up and down the outside of your labia. He rubs little circles around the entire area, including–something that makes your entire body flush with heat immediately–the skin just above your little puckered hole. 

“I know, I know,” Ezra soothes. “Just trying to get a complete picture here. We aren’t doing any internal massage in this area, but you may feel my fingers on the skin around it occasionally.”

“Okay,” you agree, nodding again.

“You’re doing so well, sprite. I’m going to stay external, but we’re going to start to examine a little deeper, does that sound okay? I’ll be rubbing your inner labia this time, spreading them apart to examine your vulva, urethra, and clitoris with my fingers. This is where it might start to feel pleasurable, or it could feel odd and uncomfortable as you become accustomed to this type of massage.”

“Yep,” you say, voice tight with anxiety again.

“I need a little bit more than that, sprite,” Ezra chastises. “Are you good to continue?”

“Yes. Good.”

“I can tell you’re nervous; why don’t you take a deep breath in for me for the count of five…” he counts slowly as you obey, “...and as you let it out slowly, you’re going to feel my hands move inward.”

The feel of Ezra running his slicked fingers up and down your inner labia doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as you’d feared. You’ve never been touched like this, or even touched yourself like this. It’s an exploration of sorts, collecting some data that means something only to him, perhaps. After a short time, he pulls you apart with his thumb and forefinger, spreading you open. 

“I’m going to rub back and forth just on the surface level,” Ezra says, “You might feel my thumb press down on a few places to locate any areas to focus on later.”

You take more slow, even breaths as you feel his warm thumb move from your perineum to your clit, then back down again. In a few places, he presses down, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as he locates some unknown source of tension.

“How well you're doing,” Ezra praises warmly. “I've definitely found some areas of tension that we can work on during your sessions. This isn't the end of the external massage, per se, as I'll still want to work on some of those spots, but this is where I start to add an internal component, if you're up to it. What are we thinking?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I'm okay with that.”

“Good. As I explained before, I'm going to start very slow. I work with clients with a wide range of comfort levels and ability, and I'm not going to push anyone too far before they're ready. Not to be glib or reductive, but this is not dissimilar to a basic shoulder massage. I'll be working all along the muscles of your vaginal wall. We'll start with just one finger, and if that's comfortable for you, we'll see how it goes with two. I'm going to slowly slide one finger in, let you adjust to how that feels, and then I'll begin the massage on your right side, moving to the back, the left, and then the front, around in a little circle like so. At the same time I'll be gently pressing with my other hand so that I can get a feel for the muscles that are stiff, sore, or carry any tension. If at any point any sensation is unpleasant, please bring it to my attention immediately. In that event, I will stop and reassess. If that discomfort is the result of muscle or pelvic floor tension, we will slowly, slowly work through it without causing you any pain. Is all of this acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“And am I okay to begin your internal massage?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Just as before, I'm going to spread open your labia nice and wide, only this time you are going to feel my finger slowly enter you. Once inside, we'll take a few deep breaths together, I'll ask if you are comfortable, and I'll begin the massage.”

As Ezra speaks, he does each action in turn. You feel your labia being parted, and then one slick, warm finger slips inside. It hits a bit of resistance when he passes your pelvic floor, but doesn't cause any pain. At his instruction, he guides you through three deep breaths as you become accustomed to the sensation.

“I'm going to begin moving now,” he announces. “Beginning on your left side.”

It's an odd feeling to adjust to, the way Ezra’s finger moves inside you. With his other hand pressing sometimes on your hip, sometimes at your side, you can feel him pressing against your wall in–true to his word–the same way one might massage a shoulder. This is just… very different. Or perhaps it's the same, and your brain only perceives it as such. 

Despite the awkwardness of having someone rubbing such an intimate, deep, vulnerable part of your body, you can admit that something does feel good about this. Ezra is right, of course; there are muscles internally as well as externally, and you've never had yours attended to in such a way before. 

Ezra’s finger rubs this way and that, covering all possible knots and tense spots on that particular side. 

“Checking in, sprite,” he intones gently. “How does it feel?”

“Weird… but kinda good. I think I understand why you say it's just like a shoulder massage–I never really thought about having muscles there, but… I can feel them relaxing the same way they would as… as if it were my shoulder.”

“No physical difference between the two,” Ezra says, voicing your earlier thought. “Only up here do we make a distinction.” He taps the side of his head and gives you a sideways grin. “If we’re feeling pretty good with one, would you like to try adding one more? It all depends on your level of comfort, but it is easier to get at the muscles with two, rather than one. Would you like to try?”

The gentle loosening of the muscles you hadn't even known were tense is surprisingly soothing, so of course, you agree.

“You're doing so well at checking in with me,” Ezra says. “Take a nice deep breath for me, and we’ll switch to two fingers. Ready?”

You make a little noise of assent, and as you exhale, you feel the pressure inside you increase as Ezra slips another finger inside you. 

“Doing good, sprite. I’m going to move to the muscles at the back of your vaginal walls now, which means my other hand is going to be pressing up on your lower back and buttocks. Is this fine?”

“That’s fine, yeah,” you nod, and at your consent, Ezra goes back to his steady, methodical working of your pelvic floor. 

At this new angle, the sensations inside you are new and different from before. When he was massaging your left side, all you could really feel was the gentle push and pull as your muscles were soothed and relaxed. You can still feel the muscle tension easing away… but it’s very quickly being replaced by a different kind.

You try to focus on taking deep breaths in and out of your nose as Ezra seems to draw heat into your core with every stroke. You stop focusing on the relaxation entirely, instead concentrating every effort to not make any awkward noises that indicate how much your body is responding to his touch.

You really should have known better.

“Many people find that different areas of the vaginal wall can cause different kinds of sensations,” Ezra says quietly as he gently rubs small circles from within you while pressing just above your puckered hole. “The front vaginal wall, of course, has the tendency to produce the strongest impression because of what most people call the g-spot, but the rear wall is also very responsive. I want to remind you of what we discussed earlier; that you are welcome and encouraged to lean into those feelings. It is common for patients to come to orgasm multiple times during a session, and can be helpful for further muscle relaxation. All this to say, sprite, you don’t have to work to suppress the fact that this feels pleasurable. Of course it does. It’s far more advantageous for you to allow it to happen rather than spend the session working to rein it in. Understand?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, trying to sink back down onto the massage table again and stop fighting against your body’s automatic responses.

Even so, you don’t really believe you could orgasm from just this. Hell, you can barely orgasm during sex even when you use a vibrator. Your body’s need for intense, prolonged clitoral stimulation is simply a fact. A law, as immutable as gravity, and no amount of “internal massage” would ever have the same effect. 

“If you ever do wish to revisit that last little question on the consent form, one type of treatment that can be incredibly effective is to massage the area in between, if you take my meaning,” Ezra comments lightly, as though discussing the weather. “It’s perfectly workable through what I’m doing now, of course, but even though I’m capturing the same general area, in my years of practice I’ve actually found that anal massage is an important component in achieving a comprehensive relaxation of all pelvic muscles.”

“Okay,” you say dumbly. His words–all the more impactful because of the detached clinical tone–combined with the constant pressure of his fingers, are creating a maelstrom of pleasure in your brain. You still aren’t sure if you’re “allowed” to find this entire situation to be incredibly erotic, but you worry you’ll soon have no choice, especially if your mind keeps conjuring up how it might feel to have both of Ezra’s hands rubbing something deep within you. How full you might feel.

“Nothing that needs to be discussed now or even in the near future, sprite,” he adds. “But just something to keep in the back of your mind as we progress through treatment.”

“Mm,” you agree. It’s–oh God, are you going to come? The pressure is building, building inside you, and even though there’s nothing touching your clit, it feels as though you might be reaching that point of no return. You make a soft, whining, desperate little sound as Ezra massages your vaginal wall with methodical precision.

“I know, I know,” he soothes in that syrupy voice of his. “Take a few deep breaths for me–I promise, it’s okay to let it go. Allow your body to do what it’s meant to do.” At this, he presses down even harder, and you gasp as you suddenly begin to clench around his fingers. Your chest heaves as you ride the waves of pleasure until they subside to a gentle ebb. Ezra remains still throughout it all, waiting patiently until you stop twitching with aftershocks.

“See? So much better when you listen to your body,” he praises. “Can you feel that? It causes your muscles to relax even further, so much more effectively than even I can manage. Feel the difference right here–” he rubs a wide circle up and down your wall, “–there’s so much less tension now, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” you agree, still catching your breath.

“Let’s do a quick check-in before I move on,” Ezra suggests, “and while we do, I’d like to make a quick recommendation, if you are amenable.”

“That’s fine,” you answer. 

“Give us a quick run-down of how you’re feeling,” he says. “Any pain? Discomfort?” When you shake your head, he continues. “How about mentally? Orgasm can make us feel vulnerable, and that’s perfectly okay, of course, but not if it leads to feeling uncomfortable or unsafe.”

“It still feels a little… strange, but I’m okay.”

“Ah, of course. Now, as far as my recommendation… Now that you’re far more relaxed, I think it might be helpful to switch to three fingers. How do you feel about that?”

You swallow. “It might feel like a lot,” you admit quietly.

“Indeed,” Ezra agrees. “As a general rule, the more fingers I am able to use, the more effective the massage. The ideal internal massage would be either with all four fingers on one hand, or a combination of three and two. If you’re feeling at all apprehensive about discomfort, however, I think it would be better to wait and see, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod gratefully. 

“Moving on to your right side, sprite,” he says cheerfully. “Halfway there, and doing great.”

You can see what Ezra had been saying–you can feel that your walls are more pliant and moldable after your orgasm. However, it’s also made your nerves more sensitive to his touch, and the intense feeling of pleasure continues to flicker inside you with every gentle probe of his fingers. 

You begin to float, losing track of time and simply focusing on the sensations within you. Ezra quiets down when he senses your more meditative state, and continues to massage with minimal commentary. When his thick fingers begin to move, pressing upward toward your abdomen, however, your breath catches and your hips lift of their own accord.

“My apologies, sprite. I should have warned you I was moving to the front wall before I did so, but you were in such a state of utter relaxation that I was loathe to speak up.”

“S’fine.”

“You may find this area to be the most intense in terms of sensation,” Ezra comments. “There’s a reason I usually save it for last.”

You make a slightly garbled, strained noise of assent as his other hand rubs gentle circles on your mons pubis while the other continues its deliberate path up and down your walls, soothing out all of the tension and finding some incredibly sensitive spots as it does.

Ezra pauses over one such area, and, in such exquisite torture that makes you actually cry out into the room, curls both fingers up to apply even more pressure.

“Ah, that,” he chuckles to himself. “That thing–the little area they call the ‘g-spot’–it’s not some mysterious, unique phenomenon, nor is it mythological. What they didn’t know at the time–and far too many people still are not aware–is that the clitoris is much larger than just the little bit that we see on the outside.” His fingers rub little circles, back and forth, up and down, massaging so meticulously that it feels almost ruthless. “Sooo many nerves in one relatively small place,” he murmurs. “Stimulating the clitoris is normally the most reliable way to acheive orgasm, and yet so little of it is accessible. But here–” he presses up again, and you gasp, “–here we are able to access the other end of the organ.”

You can hardly concentrate on the original goal of muscle relaxation with so much pressure on your g-spot (or, apparently, the back of your clitoris) but you can still feel Ezra dutifully and clinically working out the tension in your pelvic floor. 

“Doing so well, sprite, so well. One nice, big, relaxing orgasm for me and then we’ll gently explore how the tension lessens afterward.”

Despite his insistence before your appointment that orgasm was not the goal of these sessions, you can’t help but notice Ezra appears to be guiding you towards one with masterful precision. With one hand applying light pressure on your abdomen and the other pressing upward to meet it, it feels as though he’s got the most sensitive organ of your body trapped between his fingers. He plays it like an instrument, each finger working independently to stroke different parts of the soft, spongy membrane. 

Finally, finally, the pressure becomes so much that you simply seem to implode; all at once, you clamp down on Ezra’s fingers like a vice as your lower back lifts from the table. A feeling of pure, hot, wet relief surges through you, and the release feels endless, as though your body simply cannot stop pulsing and contracting. Dimly, you realize that it must be the ruthless stimulation from Ezra’s hands keeping you suspended in what feels like a never-ending orgasm. His fingers press upwards, rubbing quickly and insistently back and forth against the sensitive organ, and the movement draws more and more rhythmic clenches that seem to ripple across the entire area. 

And–Oh, God–with each intense throb, little streams of fluid splash out over Ezra’s hand, and you realize with absolute mortification that the sheet, massage table, and Ezra’s white coat are already soaked with your release.

“Oh shit, I’m sorr–” you try to apologize as soon as you have the presence of mind.

“Now, now, not to worry, little sprite. Any manifestation of pleasure is welcomed and encouraged here, and I’ve been at this long enough to know that stimulating the back of the clitoris oftentimes results in strong and voluminous ejaculations…” You twitch with one last, pathetic aftershock, and Ezra soothingly rubs his fingers up and down your wall in the same way one might rub someone’s back after a long day. “But feel the difference, little sprite. Feel how supple and pliant your muscles are compared to before. This is the state we strive for, little sprite. Complete and utter relaxation. When you find yourself starting to tense up again–such is the consequence of the stressful lives we lead–I want you to call up this moment, and the way your pelvic muscles so easily move for my hand, and try to get back to this state. With enough practice on your own in between sessions, this will become easily achieved.

“I’m going to do a couple of nice, wide circles with my hand to stretch out those muscles one last time, and as I do, I’d like you to take some nice, deep, easy breaths with me. Once we get  to five nice big breaths, I’ll slowly remove my hand. Does this sound good?”

“Yuh-huh,” you nod.

“Nice big inhale,” Ezra reminds you, and you dutifully suck in a deep, cleansing breath of air as you feel his hand circle around your vaginal walls, pressing deep into the muscle as he does. You repeat the action four more times, and on your very last exhale, the light feeling of pressure within you finally abates as his fingers slip out of you. 

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty relaxed,” you say with a relieved laugh.

“Mentally?” he prods.

“I dunno, fine,” you shrug.

“Any feelings of vulnerability are normal,” he says as he stands from his stool and helps you guide your legs out of the stirrups and back onto the table under the sheet. “You may find that these feelings may be delayed by a few days, even, so be gentle with yourself for the next week or so. Light muscle soreness is also normal, in the same way it can occur after a normal massage. If at any time this light soreness transforms into pain, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Ezra picks up your consent form again and scans it briefly before setting it back down and giving you a serious, thoughtful look. “You told me three weeks ago that you were ‘built wrong,’ and you mention several times in your form that you have difficulty bringing yourself to orgasm. Little sprite, I have lost count of the number of clients who have the same complaints and who have similarly insisted their bodies were simply different from ‘normal’ people’s. Now, mind you, the sample size may be biased, but from this data I can only conclude that no human being is ‘built wrong.’ The problem lies in our minds, and more specifically, in the social conditioning we’ve all received since birth–conditioning that in no way favors the female experience of pleasure. Society has failed you, has labeled your pleasure as secondary, illusive, impossible, or even imaginary. Your sessions with me will help to reverse the physical symptoms from a lifetime of unhelpful social conditioning, and now that you know your body is not only capable of experiencing pleasure, but of doing so in ways you weren’t even aware, your mind will follow.”

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck by how different you feel. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, little sprite,” Ezra says, briefly patting your hand in a comforting manner. “When you’re ready, go ahead and open the door and I’ll walk you to the lobby to schedule your next appointment.”

[beansmack2021]

Can I request yandere 🦌 Alastor 🦌 x reader where its like phantom of the opera or phantom of the radio? Alastor sometimes haunts his old radio station in his free time and falls in love with the intern reader and her voice and she mostly just gets everyone's coffee but he wants to hear her voice on the radio so he uses his "skills" to push her up the ranks from weather girl to co-host then after a while of being co-host she gets real popular and the radio host starts to flirt with her so Alastor drags her to hell to be his personal co-host and at first the reader is scared and confused but later accepts it and likes him?

The Point of No Return

Amazing request! I love the idea behind this and hope I did it justice.

TW: Mentions of murder, creepy man, Alastor being scary

He wasn't sure when he started coming back to his old radio tower. He wasn't sure when he started slinking into the shadows and making his way up from hell to observe the living. He knew why he kept coming back though.

She was beautiful. She had shiny (h/c) hair, big (e/c) eyes, and freckles that dotted her face the way the stars dotted the sky. Everything about her was beautiful. Everything about her was gentle. She walked on the balls of her feet. She barely made a peep when she entered a room. She also went unacknowledged, but boy, were Alastor's eyes on her.

The first time he heard her speak, his dead heart stopped again. Her voice was soft, floaty. He never wanted her to stop speaking. He would've listened to her for hours, but unfortunately, she isn't the one broadcasting her sweet sound to the world.

Some cranky old man had taken over as New Orleans most prominent radio host. He ordered her around a lot. She was sent on coffee runs. She took notes, and she'd try to pitch her ideas, but often went unheard. If he were still alive, if the station was still his, he'd let her take over for him any time she so wished. She wouldn't be a mere intern, she'd be his cohost. They'd be partners. Alastor's face grew even redder.

Her voice was just too calming, too smooth. She needed to move up in the world. He could help her. She may not know him, but he knew her. He knew that she deserved a much higher position than the one she had. He could take care of that for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N wasn't expecting to get called into the station so early. She wasn't expecting her boss's panicked frenzy as he told her that her coworker, Dave, was found dead in his car that morning and that she needed to come in and take over his position for an indefinite amount of time.

She scurried into the office, a cup of coffee in her hand, plopped down at her new desk, and was immediately set to working on sorting through different stories that her station's host could report to the public.

They all seemed to be about the same thing. Copycat killers, all of whom followed in the footsteps of the Killer of the Bayou, sprouted up everywhere. He'd been dead for nearly 20 years. His name was Alastor, but other than that, the only thing she knew about him was that his story gave her the creeps.

She briefly wondered if one of the copycats killed Dave. Suddenly chilled to the bone, Y/N noticed the sun moved to hide behind the clouds for a moment before the station got brighter once more.

The police hadn't done an autopsy yet. Anything could have happened to Dave. She'd probably pick out the report for it that their radio host would read during the morning and afternoon news.

She was right. Just days later, she had to find the least gruesome report, and hesitated as she handed it over to Henry, their radio host. Dave was murdered, there was no question of that. He'd been strangled, but there were no finger prints, no rope fibers, no shoe prints in the mud by his car. It was like the killer ghosted through his murder without a trace.

She shivered. Was it cold in the station?

"Thanks, doll."

He sniffed once, wiping his snot with the back of his hand. She grimaced, tried to cover it with a smile, and politely nodded.

"Say, you got a real pretty voice. Would you maybe wanna use it? Jane's retiring soon. She did the weather. Glad to see her go, she was kind of a drag."

Y/N didn't want to be excited about the offer because Henry was awfully... unhygienic. She didn't want him to get any ideas with her either. Still, she couldn't stop the light from dancing its way into her eyes. She nodded eagerly, excited to finally get her chance to have their listeners hear her voice.

Each day, she'd come in and tell the people who tuned into their station that it'd be sunny, or rainy, or windy, or snowy. Each day, she slowly spent more and more time on the air. Eventually, Henry decided that she'd simply be promoted to his cohost.

She was appreciative, but apparently not nearly as appreciative as he would've liked. Henry got flirty. He'd compliment her clothes, her hair, and her shoes. He'd tell her how smart she was. At some point, the seemingly harmless compliments turned into him hitting on her.

"You've got a sexy voice, babe."

"Oh, um. Thank you, but please don't call me babe."

He took that pretty personally.

"Listen here, you little bitch. I'm the reason you have this job. You wouldn't be anybody without me. So why don't you be a good girl and keep your mouth shut."

He got closer and closer to her, and louder with each step. But just before he'd reached her, a large crack appeared in the floor. Tendrils of shadow slithered out of the crack, and a horrific looking man rose from the gaping red crevice.

"I believe the nice woman said "please". Now, I'd like you to say sorry."

The man was terrifying, with a short red bob, black eyes with glowing red pupils, large antlers growing from his head, and what appeared to be deer ears. Everything about him seemed very pointy.

"What the fuck?!" Henry screamed.

"Nope, those aren't the words I was looking for."

The shadowy tendrils that preceded the man shot out at Henry, wrapping themselves around his throat and pulling him from his feet, into the air. The man turned to face Y/N, a smile stretching the width of his face. His antlers shrunk down and when he blink, his sclera turned red. "Hello, my dear. I'm here to take you away."

"Where are we going?" Y/N trembled. The man's face looked very familiar, but she couldn't quite place a name to it.

"Hell, of course."

Hell? As in, the Bible's Hell? Y/N felt her heart stop.

"Who are you?"

His grin got even bigger. "Oh, I'm sure you recognize me, dear. You've been staring at my portrait for months."

She racked her brain, when an image from one of the papers she'd skimmed through flashed in her mind. Her blood ran cold. "Alastor. You're Alastor."

"Bingo! Now, let's go. I have somewhere to be tonight."

He grabbed her hand, and the two were forced through the ground. She screamed, and the noise was silenced as the crack in the floor sealed itself shut behind them.

[lovelyiida]

INSIDE JOKE ➤ TENYA IIDA X GN! READERミ★

IIDA NOTICES HOW YOU’RE ALWAYS LAUGHING AROUND HIM. YOU TELL HIM IT'S AN "INSIDE JOKE"; AND HE WANTS IN.

➜ masterlist

➜ tag list

➜ words: 1k

WARNINGS ➜ bullying?

“So that’s why he walks like that?”

Snickers, a chuckle, and a giggle or two sound off on the right of Iida’s ear. This wasn’t the first time he’s involuntarily heard in on you and a couple of students’ “gaggle-fests” as he would name it.

sometimes they’d range from short snorts to full-out laugh attacks. He’d watch in utter confusion as he’d watch you curl on the floor, eyes brimming with tears as you fell weak from hysterical laughter.

Whenever he comes to your aid (because you’re so weak you can’t stand) you breathe out. “It’s an inside joke.”

“An inside joke? I see.”

Iida would come to terms with that for a short period of time. Seeing as your laughing fits bring a certain air to the classroom. The feelings of an educational-based professionalism flew right out the window whenever a tiny giggle passed through your lips.

Seeing you get sent out the room to finish your fits of laughter by yourself. You somehow made things less…tense?

Iida didn’t mind your inside jokes, but he wondered why most of your “jokes” were in fact “inside”.

…hm

He also wondered why as soon as he turned to you, you’d burst out laughing. And he also wondered whenever he’s interacted with you; you always seem as if you’re bound back by a giggle.

And he also, also—wondered why whenever he’d pass you by in the halls you’d hold back your laughs and go into a hushed whisper.

Why was Iida always at the scene of your humorous crimes? Why was he never committing the crimes? Why was he never an inside whiteness?

“So you’re telling me…you think you’re being bullied?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Midoriya pulls a thin line onto his lips. “Well, then we have to contact Aizawa sensei at once. Bullying isn’t nice; trust me I’d know.”

“Right, let’s go— wait!” Iida halts his steps and ponders for a moment. Turning to the green ball of hair, he frowns.

“Well we can’t base our accusations just off of a hunch, I need full proof evidence.” The raven-haired man pushes his crafted glasses up to rest a little too snug against the bridge of his nose.

“And how would we do that?” Midoriya questions (a twinge of sass in his voice). The two men sit in silence for a while, at least while that was happening one of them was thinking of solutions.

“I think I’ll just confront them about it,” Iida says.

“Yeah, I think you should.”

Giggle, chuckle, snort, cackle—today was the day he’s had enough.

It wasn’t just your gaggle-fest that sent him into an internal frenzy. Iida was currently trying to process his current bi-weekly progress report. This was created by himself, of course.

Iida’s currently realized that he’s 20 points down from his last mark. He’s supposed that he was in due for an upgrade on his engines. But he also noticed that he was marked off by sensei during sparring for doing an illegal move.

“Too dangerous for your caliber.” Or whatever.

He’s also noticed that it takes a little bit longer to finish his homework. His hair has grown exceptionally longer than he’d like. Due to this, he’d constantly have to move his hair out of the way and readjust his glasses.

So his academic performance is deducted by some points.

Great. Now he’s down 30 points. This is his all-time low—

“Shut up!”

You cackled.

As loud as ever, of all days. It had to be today.

Shoulders growing stiff, eyes going wide, and hands becoming pin-point sharp. He snaps.

“Y/n, we need to talk!” His voice rang loud, echos bunching off the four corners of the classroom. Usually, the classroom would be unfazed, but this time everyone jumped (or at least turned their way) to look over.

He was yelling at you.

He watched as the yellow-haired goober silently cackled next to you. But this time IIda looked at you dead in the eyes. And you weren’t laughing this time.

“Okay”

“You’re going to report me to Aizawa—for bullying?” you grimaced.

“Yes.”

“May I ask why?”

“…Yes.”

“…Why?”

“Well…”

Iida began his rant to you. His feelings of always being the butt of your inside jokes without him knowing. He always felt as if he was purposely put out of the loop. He just wants to be included, he wants to know what makes to giggle…

He wants to know what makes you topple off your chair and clutch your stomach crying-laughing for dear mercy. He wants to make you smile in a more wholesome/genuine way. Not a knifing smile you show him when it seems you’re obviously talking shit about him.

He just wants to make you smile…well sounds a little more like a personal goal–

“Iida” you deadpanned.

“Yes! Sorry for the ramble.”

“I feel as if you’re expressing something a little more than what you want to express.” You show a smirk at him.

“W-what?” Iida grows nervous as the conversation has gone from confrontation to interrogation.

“But it’s okay, because you’re right” Your tone sounds defeated, a little disappointed. Iida’s eyes widen.

“Of course! Like I said; you must be reported to Aizawa–“

“Do you wanna know what the inside joke is?” You asked, a twinge of sassy anticipation trickles through your words as your smirk grows into a smile.

Pushing his glasses out, he lets out a hum. He really wanted to hell out his answer, but chose to keep his composure last minute.

“The joke is…you’re just so clueless! Plus you’re cute.”

Plack! Iida’s glasses dropped.

“Excuse me?”

HEY GUYS!! Do you guys like my new theme? I made it myself :DD

TAG LIST:

❥: @xo-evangeline, @nar00, @king-dynamight, @gold24fish, @lovra974 , @bakugospartner , @gaby-11 , @akqsa-xxi , @jolynegf, @goldenglow149, @aliruuiz, @zukowantshishonourback, @ilovedenk-i, @atsushiki, @smolbeanzzz, @lem-hhn, @stevenknightmarc, @ryumiii, @idontevenknowlolls, @lyn07, @kennshifts, @ackerman-suck-3-r, @elegantvoids, @thecurlyhairedgoddess, @sunyrose, @thisbicc, @thekookiecorner, @snxwycloud, @skylardarling, @cosmic-rainstorm, @venus-xxoo, @iluv-ace, @yoonievrse, @chixkadee

[dnsbarbie]

DEAR READER | C.L 16 (FOUR)

Pairings: Charles Leclerc X Intern!OC

Warnings: Google translated French, degrading headline, people who don’t mind their own business

Note: There’s a reason I’m dragging the fuck out of this story. It’s gonna be worth it, I promise !!!!

❝Dear reader,

If it feels like a trap, you’re

already in one ❞

THE BRILLIANT ILLUMINATED ELEVATOR cradled through the rapidly infectious tension in Natalia’s bloodstream. The gap between her and the equally as anxious Monegasque caused the ongoing brawl in their heads to amplify. She glanced down at the carpeted flooring, casually shifting her gaze to the shuffling feet of her company.

She let her thoughts wonder somewhere else, opting to think about the disastrous path they had to conquer in order to acquire the tranquility they have at the moment. Although, her trembling hands and the intensive battering of her chest generated the thought that perhaps road raging in Charles’ Ferrari to avoid the prying eyes of the general public provided a greater deal of enjoyment than this.

“I was thinking,” Charles spoke, moistening his drought lips. “Since it’s your first time here in Netherlands, I’d like you to try authentic Dutch dishes from the restaurant the team took me to last year.”

Natalia nodded, half of her mind floating into a dreamless space. “That sound great,” She faced him, hoping to defy the rising tide of her anxiety. “I honestly didn’t know anything about Dutch culture until I did a quick research about their food.”

Charles didn’t contain his smile, finally looking at the brunette. His gaze journeyed to her luscious naturally straight chestnut locks, previously tied into a neat ponytail but was now released from the gathered style, falling graciously passed her shoulders.

He snapped back into his regular self as he reached the line of her eyes. Immediately saving himself as he followed up on her statement. “Oh? And what did you find?”

Charles despised the way she’d tuck her bottom lip in her every time she needed a second to gather her thoughts. Couldn’t she just think like a normal person?

“Apparently, there’s this food called Profferjes?” She struggled pronouncing the supposed name given to the delicacy she was referring to.

Charles’ face brightened in amusement at her confused appearance but he nevertheless, nodded, having an idea of what she was talking about.

“The mini pancakes?”

Rhapsody laved across her once perplexed expression, pointing a finger at his direction before confirming his guess.

“Yes! That one— but I think they only serve them in the morning,” She sighed, eyes lingering at Charles. A sudden concept bubbled in her mind, showing in her face as a small simper.

The judgement was also beginning to bloom on Charles’ face as he took note of the naught sparkle in Natalia’s orbs.

“Unless— you know—” She drawled her words, making the smile on the receiver of her antics widen. “Charles Leclerc were to call in—”

He disintegrated into a pile of frenzy at that. Clutching his stomach as his laughter, joined in by Natalia’s own, bounced uncontrollably against the four walls of the enclosed space.

“I’m not sure they’d do their beloved Max Verstappen’s rival a favor.” He acknowledged.

“Oh—right.” Natalia had completely forgotten that Max was Dutch. She knew Charles meant it as a joke but the harsh reality seemed to have overtaken its intended merits.

Then again, she was quick to dispel the impending depressive state. “You know, according to my research, Dutch people are very friendly even if they like speak their mind . . .”

An appreciative hum sounded at the back of Charles’ throat, thankful for her efforts of comfort and the ding of the elevator that indicated their arrival to his floor.

In an unconscious move, he reached for Natalia’s hand, grasping it gently in his. To which the latter responded by gawking at him while they both stalked through the nicely lit corridor.

Charles’ room was two doors away from the very last one, and when they arrived, he tapped in his key card, never seeming to have the intention of releasing the chilling palm that rested in his hold.

As the door opened, along with the grating creak of the door was the heightening of Natalia’s senses. The fresh scent of lavender infiltrated the previous musing scouring at her wits.

She inhaled the saving grace of her sanity, finding the soothing aroma also matched the overall aesthetic of his room.

The fuzzy brown carpet at the center of the room adorned the flooring, to which an oval glass coffee table was placed

“Sit wherever you want,” He said, freeing her hand. “Make yourself feel comfortable.”

As he started to walk away, Natalia bent down balancing her weight with her hand on the doorframe as she untied the laces of her boots.

Charles turned to her, hearing the sudden rustling. “You don’t have to take your shoes off,”

She immediately halted her actions, eyebrows wrinkled at the absurdity of all that. “There’s no way I’m stepping my shoes on a carpet,”

The crease in her eyebrows worsen at that thought of her mother. She could almost see the utter disgust on her face when she finds out Europeans don’t particularly care for what she called “unknown bacteria” spreading through their home.

She set her boots aside, plopping on the pearl colored seating. “My mom would’ve strangled you if she heard you say that,”

Her remark made Charles chuckle, shaking his head on his way to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Depends.” She thought, reaching for a magazine on the coffee table. “What are you having?”

Natalia heard a series of cabinet creaking followed by clinks of what she assumed was glass.

“Well, of you’re craving something sweet, I have orange juice and iced tea,” He replied, peaking his head on the doorframe.

Charles took in the sight of Natalia’s wandering eyes on his apartment, ignoring the sudden pang of nervousness creeping up on him.

The curious girl whipped her head towards his waiting figure, lips pursing with a uncaring shrug. “I’m good with that. But if you want to drink something. . . stronger, I wouldn’t judge.”

She watched the chuckle bloom out of Charles’ relaxed features, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

While he was arranging beverages, Natalia reviewed what he had observed from his apartment.

Firstly, she found it surprising that he owned a living space in this country. Him always hopping on a jet to different countries every week, defeats the purpose of buying one. It didn’t look like he used it often either.

It had one of those minimal modern designs. Like the ones she’d see whenever she was at Summit Furniture, a furniture store she frequented at in Monaco. She currently sat on a white polyester loveseat with tapered rosewood legs that angled outwards. It all seemed like they’ve just been bought yesterday. No scratches on the wooden legs nor flaws in the fabric seating. Same goes for the rest of his furniture that she had seen so far.

The television looked like it had yet to serve its purpose and the tables be marked with any stain or evidences of usage.

Her deep observation caused a barricading and tension within her sense. The unbelievable tidiness and perfection of her surroundings made her more conscious of her actions.

“Here we are!” Charles’ unforeseen appearance rattled her core, prompting her to sit up straighter. He had brought a tray of various drinks.

Natalia eyed the colorful liquids in different types of glasses. Some in one in a high ball, champagne and cocktail glass. Beside those were a bottle of Heineken and Jenever.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trapping the laughter threatening to pull through, settling for a supportive nod.

“I’m guessing this is the orange juice?” She plucked the high ball glass from the tray, a teasing smile adorning her face.

“Yes, it is,” Charles took out his phone, the unwavering nerves still present in his veins. “I know I said I’ll order for you, but here’s the menu, you might see something you like—”

She raised his hands, shaking her head. “Trust me, the only food I’m sure are gonna be are Stroopwafel and those ball shaped snack I ate at the paddock. Besides, I’m not picky with food, I’ll swallow anything you give me.”

Charles’ thumbs stopped their typing, his lips thinning at the intrusive thought in his head.

Anything, huh?

“You’re disgusting—”

“I didn’t say—”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to! It’s written all over your face!” Natalia growled, motioning to the idiotic smirk hanging of his face across her.

“Think what you want,” Charles chimed, resuming his attention to his device. “That’s what I’m doing anyway hmpf—”

A soft object suddenly collided at his face, laughing as he realized that Natalia had thrown a pillow at him.

He removes it from obstructing his view, glancing up at the glowering figure in front of him, now bringing her lips close to the tall glass of juice.

“Give the phone. . .” She said, extending her arm forwards for Charles to pass her the device.

He hands it to her, inclining his body towards her. “I personally love Hachee, it’s meat with mash potatoes and gravy—”

“Frog legs!”

Charles stopped talking, staring stupidly at her exclamation. A wide smile plastered on her face as she turned the phone towards him and pointed to the certain dish.

“You eat frogs?” Charles didn’t mean for it to sound condescending, but the overpowering shock at this discovery halted all sense of thinking.

“Yeah? And?” At her defensive tone, Charles quickly held his hands up, waving them at her.

“No! That’s not what I mean!” He scratched the back of his head, hoping to ward away the embarrassment of his mistake. “I-I just mean, you’re the first girl I’ve met who’s actually excited to eating frogs,”

Natalia raised an eyebrow at Charles. “That can’t be true, frogs are eaten a lot in Manaco,”

“Doesn’t mean everybody likes them,” Charles remarked, taking the bottle opener from the table before twisting it on a Heineken beer.

Natalia watched him take a sip, crossing her arms at his statement. “You mean to say— of all the Monegasque girls you’ve dated— not a single one ate frogs?”

Charles felt amusement trickling at his through as he spotted the doubt on her face. “Well, I did let them try it.” He restored. “But they either pretended to like it or just straight up told me, quite frankly that they’d rather eat dirt.”

Natalia lights up at that, bringing her hands together in an mirthful clap. “At least some were honest about it,”

Charles nodded, glancing up at her as he began to wonder wether or not he should consume more alcohol to gain the courage to ask her questions that may be deemed too personal. Threading lightly on the subject, he reached for the Daquiri, giving in to its undeniable seductive calling.

“Is it a common food in the Philippines?” He asked, eyes traveling to the curvature of her expression.

Natalia’s lips disconnected from the cold glass rim, licking away the numbness spreading through her mouth. “Not exactly all over the country, but in my province, we do eat it a lot,” A mirror of nostalgia passes by her eyes, slotting in the depths of her memories.

Charles observed as she spaced out, blankly staring at the wooden coffee table. Instead of snapping her out of her trans, he waited patiently for her to regain her train of thought.

Blinking rapidly, the fog of her brain slowly disappeared, a large intake of breath released from her lungs before she cleared her throat.

As she craned her neck back to the person she was talking to, her heart lurched at her throat at the intensity of his stare. His eyes were drowned in unbelievable intent, as if she’d disappear if he was to look away.

“Let’s play that game again,” He said, softly.

“What?”

“That game in the car. 20 questions,” He clarified, tilting his head at her, “I want to play it again.”

Dread filled her mind, mouth beginning to ache, along with the slight tremble of her voice. “Why?”

“We’re going to spend a lot of time together,” He pointed out. “I’ve know you for quite a while but I don’t know anything about you. . .”

“There’s nothing to know,” She huffed, eyebrows coming together in a pinch. “My life isn’t interesting in the slightest.”

Charles narrowed his eyes at her, careful not to overstep. “I’ll ask basic questions then,”

She scrunched her face up at him. “Like what?”

With his eyes on her, he shrugged. “How did you end up in Monaco?”

“That’s not—” She sighed, pulsing her palms into an alternating clench. Her hands came up to snatch the beer off the table, taking a large gulp of it.

This was not a good idea from the start but then again, she made no complaints about it either.

Setting the bottle down with a loud clank, she tuts at his waiting figure. “I applied for the scholarship grant, almost failed the final interview, found out I didn’t, and— lo and behold, I’m here.”

The vagueness of her answer made Charles roll his eyes. “You almost failed? Why?” He questioned.

Natalia frowned at him, wagging her finger up at his line of vision. “No—no, it’s my turn,”

Charles sighed, defeated, downing a shot of tequila as the former thought of her first question. “Who’s your favorite sibling?”

Taken aback, he smiled at her random choice of words. “I don’t have one,”

His answer was met by a judgmental glance. “Boo! Everybody has one. Come on!”

Hesitation reeled him in with the desire to end thos query immediately. So, with all the shame warped into a giant ball in his heart. Je all but murmured a name.

“Sorry, say that again?” He could practically feel the teasing smirk on her face as she neared her ear on his mouth.

His eyes fluttered close, amusement and annoyance dancing at his veins. “I said, Arthur—”

She laughed, finding his imminent torture to have soothe her pounding heart. “Don’t feel bad, it’s pretty obvious anyway,”

At that, Charles didn’t indulge in her usual provocative style. Instead, thwacking her back with another personal question.

“What do your parents to for a living?”

She coughed, the sharp taste of alcohol pricking at her throat as it violently drew back to her nose.

“Are you okay?” The concern etched visible at the lines of Charles’ face as he stood up to hand her a tissue. He sat next to her, plucking more out of the box as she attempted to stop the liquid pouring out from her nostrils.

She gratefully took the tissue from him, blowing her nose into it. She would’ve found it embarrassing as she heard the disgusting noise it made as she emptied her now stinging nose of the culprit if it weren’t for her spinning mind.

She wiped her jeans, trying to play it cool as she responded. “My parents— My mom was an accountant and my dad— he. . . used to trade oil.”

Charles peaked onto her face, wiping of the remnants of beer on her cheek. “What’s wrong with that?”

Natalia swallowed the painful block of her throat, hand coming up to where he had his on her face. “Nothing. . . I-it’s not their jobs. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask about my parents.”

“We—”

The loud ringing of a phone interrupted their conversation. Natalia felt the vibration in her bag before she realized it was hers.

This dispelled the heavy ambiance of the atmosphere, waking the occupants from their trance.

Oh shit, Natalia thought as she saw the caller’s name flash on her phone.

Nicolas Todt

As soon as she pressed the green button signifying her death, the device was gone, only to be taken by the tutting Monegasque beside her.

She immediate shuffled up, desperately trying to get the phone out of his grip. It was too late, however, as he stood up at the sound of his manager’s voice.

Deflating in defeat, Natalia hopelessly smothered her head on the soft cushion’s of the couch.

“Hello?”

“What are yo— Hello? Charles? Is that you?”

Natalia winced at the pure hostility in Nicolas’ tone. Even after figuring out that the taker of the call was indeed his well-loved client, it didn’t quell the scorching heat of his flaming outrage.

“Oui c'est moi. Quoi de neuf?” Yes, it’s me. What’s up?

In contrast to Charles’ collected attitude, Natalia could feel her insides churning slowly into a blob of mush. Her only wish was for Charles not to ruin this job for her was beggining to whither away with the his careless actions.

“Quoi de neuf?” What’s up? Nicolas echoed, his sharp scoff going through the phone’s speaker and stabbing Natalia directly in the deepest part of her chest.

“Vous n'avez pas vérifié votre téléphone?” He spat, as it were acid poured on his tongue.

At the word phone, Natalia’s head shot up from the condoling compressor of her resting place, panicking as she searched for her phone.

The cumulus fog accumulating her head, clouded the clarity of her thinking, making her forget that someone else had possessed the thing she was looking for.

Charles nodded along to the string of profanities Nicolas kept rambling through his ear, shifting her attention to the frightened girl on his couch. Her heightened vigilance evident as trembling her hands patted wildly along his furniture.

He aided her frantic movements with a soft brush of his hand on her cheek, tapping his thumb on her paled skin.

Natalia whipped her head around to face him, breathing out of sigh of relief as she followed his finger pointing to his phone.

Wasting no time, she snagged it off the table, nearly shoving it on Charles’ face when it demanded a passcode after failing the face recognition system.

Charles careened his head backwards to avoid the object barreling into his face.

Natalia waited, anxiously fiddling with the stitchings of her clothing, as the daunting atmosphere worsened every second that passed by.

She almost tore Charles’ entire arm from his body by the vast amount of force she exerted at him. Quickly tapping on Google app, her hands shook as they hovered over the keys, thoughts failing to conjure words she needed.

“Charles Leclerc girlfriend. . .” A whisper came next to her.

She gritted her teeth at the awful joke. Perhaps as knew it wasn’t an impossible headline. It dawned to her the severity of their offense as she typed his name on the search bar.

It appears that her groan of indignation was loud enough for Nicolas’ ears as Natalia heard his mocked version of it despite being on Charles’ space.

“Did you see it?” Nicolas queried, his tone unreadable.

Natalia turned the screen to Charles’ vision. And the idiot had the audacity to laugh.

Merely hacking into his balled fist, the presence of his teeth behind his lips irritated both Nicolas and Natalia.

In disgustingly big letters, the headline read:

Natalia swiped at the screen, ticking her brow in victory as the smile drained visibly off his face at what she had shown.

“Now, that’s not funny. . .”

You don’t say. . .” She gritted, padding a hand on her chest to feign shock.

Charles offered her an apologetic pat on the head of the sneering girl. The latter slapped his hand away, force firm but not enough to do any harm.

Natalia could hear the faint murmurs of Nicolas before his voice was amplified by Charles’ simple tap of the speaker phone.

“Listen, both of you,” He commended. “Gossip magazines aren’t exactly fond of what ever it is you’re doing.”

“I am so sorry—”

“You are not.” The dripping venom in his tone made Natalia flinch back, leaning away from the source of his voice as if he were to pop out of the screen. “I don’t know what you were both thinking but luckily social media loved your little rendezvous.”

Silence fell between the scolded individuals, eyes creeping up to see the other’s reaction. Like staring directly at a mirror, they alined body language that could only be read as confusion.

“So. . . That means?” Natalia trailed, leveling her vocals in light of steering clear of another possible volcanic eruption from Nicolas.

“It means. . .” Nicolas pressed, annoyance still present. “You have to continue your. . . what you call it?”

Natalia listen intently as Nicolas asked someone for the word he was searching for. “The what? Oh— yes that. . . Your situationship.”

“Ew no!” Natalia’s extreme protest was met with sheer bewilderment on Charles’ part, struggling to process the meaning of the foreign term.

“What is that? What’s a situationship?”

At his question, Natalia stirred back to him, giving him a look of disbelief. Nicolas on the other hand simply clicked his tongue, sighing brfore supplying the answer to his client.

“They’re two people who have no sense of direction regarding their relationship.” He explained, and though he cannot see the expression on Charles’ face, he knew very well what it was.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Natalia’s jaw slackened, palm slapping on his forehead. And although she knew Nicolas’ explanation of situationship was a fairly watered down version of the real deal, she didn’t have the strength to further Charles’ knowledge on the subject.

Nicolas ignored his question. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. I advise you to not step out of that building until daylight.”

Natalia’s eyes widened at that. “What? You want me to stay here?”

“Certainly.” He concluded.

Sensation drained completely from her body. The electric feeling of lacking blood, slowly spread in an infectious manner. With it, the chill of reality came to set in.

“I’ve already informed Toto of the situation.”

As if it wasn’t enough, after hearing that, the lavender scent of the atmosphere that was thought to have the a calming effect seemed impotent, in comparison to the vigorous hold this ghastly chain of anxiety had on her.

Of all the things she feared, the idea of disappointing Toto Wolff and Susie Wolff was an absolute nightmare. How could she face the people who gave her the opportunity of a life time if she were to do dim-witted things like this?

In the midst of her internal battle, her head stirred to the cause of her misbehavior. He just so happened to be looking at her as well.

Unlike the pointed glare she blatantly jabbed into his face, Charles offered her a worried glance that could bloom flowers on his pretty little head.

Despite her scornful demeanor, she couldn’t shake away the guilt of being in this position. She was aware that it wasn’t Charles’ fault alone but perhaps putting all the blame in him would ease her desire to simply jump on a boat and abandon everything she ever dreamed in her life.

Natalia recoiled at the sudden warmth on her arm. Look towards the source, she relaxed at the sight of Charles’ hand on her skin.

He had ended the call, sitting back down on his previous place. “How do you want to do this?”

Natalia heaved a heavy sigh, afraid that the force might collapse her lungs. “I honestly can’t think of anything else but being fired. . .”

Charles took her hand in a grip that he could only hope held the comfort he was trying to induce. “You won’t. I’m the reason you’re here. I’ll talk to them.”

“You better. . .” She huffed, shoving a strong palm at his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look my classmates in the eye when I have to go back to University, though.”

“When do you have to go back?” He asked.

“In three days. We have to submit a report every two weeks regarding our performance.” She expounded, thinking about the sour look on her headmaster’s face at the sight of his achingly popular student walking in her office.

“Well, in that case, you can say that you helped me increase my fanbase by 2% in just three weeks.” Charles tried to provide a consolation.

Natalia hummed, lips curling as she was reminded of that information. “You make it sound like I’m a one-man team. . .” She shook her head.

She was sure that Charles’ PR team wouldn’t appreciate her taking all the credit for the improvements in the Ferrari driver’s personal accounts.

“Probably not. But most of it was your idea.”

It was intended to aid the boisterous voices crowding the little space left in her brain that wasn’t consumed by the nauseating noise of failure but alas proved to be ineffective as she abruptly stood up and took her phone from Charles’ lap.

Tapping the number she knew would cover the gaping hole of fear continuously scraping at her brain.

She watched as her phone started ringing, the name of her partner in crime flashing on the screen.

Lissie

[leesmustardgarden]

Meet-cute Through a Window (Though it Shouldn’t be Possible)

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, mentions of plague, a bit of swearing (couldn’t help myself, really), good ol puppet fear, I love P so much he’s so everything to me

P x (gn) reader

In the ruins of an ever rotting city, love is the last thing you’d expect to find. Rubble cannot foster the gentleness love necessitates, nor can it pretend to. In the ticking heart of a special puppet, filled with oil and ergo ever pulsing, love finds a way to fester. Pinocchio proves to be an exception to many things, and in loving you he has become an exception to the very notion that love cannot find purchase on the ledge of a burning society.

You meet through a window tucked away in the far corners of Krat, one you’d thought to be hidden from the puppet frenzy. It had been your honest mistake; a moment of forgetfulness wherein you peaked through the curtains and found yourself under his curious blue eyes. Crystalline and shining, they shocked you frozen to the spot. Any initial noise you might have let out dies with a weak flutter in your throat and you beg internally for this person to be a person and not a puppet.

A small whirr fills the air in the next second and your heart drops into your stomach. His expression is unchanging even in the face of your panic, but his shoulders sag (—holy shit is that a sword on his back?) in something like surrender and he tilts his head.

If you didn’t know any better, he might have just looked like a curious, yet apathetic boy peering at you through your window. With the sword on his back and the gentle whirr that rings in the silence, it’s hard not to know better. Never mind whatever the fuck is on his metal arm, you’re just ignoring that for the time being or you’re sure to go mental.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He whispers at the same time you say, “Please don’t kill me.”

If he’s surprised or hurt by what you say, he doesn’t (or probably can’t) show it. The words are muffled through the glass, but you’ve trained your ears to hear through the small opening at the bottom. He holds both palms open and says nothing else.

You… want to trust him, really. More than just the fact that his eyes are so pretty they shine like a fantastic lake straight out of a story book; or that his freckles paint him like an old, long dead painter might have painted the stars. You want to trust him in the open and gentle way he seems to offer up his hands and promise you more than what the rest of Krat has since the frenzy.

In the rubble of a burning city crashing in on itself, there is not a speck of gentleness to be spared. This— puppet has it in spades, and it draws you out of your panic just enough to pull the window open bit by bit. You do not break his gaze for a moment as you tug it up and open, and he is patient enough not to be the first to do so. Instead, he stretches a hand out to you and waits for your warm skin to meet the cold smooth synthetic surface of his own non-legion hand.

It would be just your luck if somehow puppets learned how to lie, too, but something tells you he means it wholly and honestly when he insists he will not hurt you. The whirring picks up gently, almost imperceptibly quicker, but you don’t pay it any mind. The edges of your instincts are sharp with distrust, but you lay your hand and life in the hands of this puppet and find yourself minding it less and less with each second.

A loaded pause passes— you stare down at your hands barely touching and he watches you with that same, frozen expression. You thickly swallow before you wrap your fingers around his hand and look up right into those beautiful blues.

“Would you… like to come in?”

Now, you don’t have much experience in how to fuel (feed?) an automaton; wasn’t your job before the frenzy and certainly hasn’t become since, but you could learn. It’s a silly thought to have, but you haven’t had a guest in god knows how long and a sharing a cup of tea sounds lovely (if puppets could even have tea). And — sure, maybe openly inviting the literal enemy of every human being in Krat into your house isn’t the smartest thing to do, but you can’t help it. More than just his pretty face, his gentle hand caresses yours so softly and the nod he gives is so warm that in the loneliness of having been the last sentient thing in the area, you couldn’t help but falter.

The world around you tastes of ash and rubble, but you meet someone who seems to bring about a breath of fresh air. His eyes are bright like ergo, and his hair fluffs like a black cloud. When he nods ever softly, something whirrs and clicks in the air. Your heart pounds against your ribs, and you don’t know if it’s really out of fear anymore.

Your world ended in a frenzied flurry of plague and massacre; it started again when you peaked through your window and met him.

[sebstanaddict]

A Winter Miracle Part 2 : Snowbound Delivery

Sebastian Stan x Reader One Shot

Summary:

After surviving the adventurous journey from Atlanta to New York, Sebastian finally arrived in New York only to find out his wife was really in labor. But her cold and icy behavior towards him raised a big question in his head. Did he do something wrong? And was she really in labor?

A/N : This story is part two of Sebastian Stan one shot titled A Winter Miracle: Flight of Frenzy. Read the first part here to understand more about this story.

Hope you enjoy this and please vote and comment. I will really appreciate it. Thank you!

Warning : some fluff and sexual references

Word count: 8.9k

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Delta Airline 228, Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, Atlanta, USA - Jan 19th 2024 - 1.30 pm

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"Iubirea mea.. I'm having contractions.."

---

Sebastian's heart seemed to stop as he read the last message from his wife Y/n. He immediately called her and waited impatiently for her to pick up.

"Excuse me, sir. Could you turn your phone off, please? We're about to take off." A stewardess came to him and reminded him.

"But my wife is in labor!" He protested.

"We know, sir." The stewardess said.

"We know." Passengers around him also chorused along with the stewardess, startling him.

"Fine." He sighed as he looked at his cellphone which had disconnected automatically because his wife hadn't answered it.

"Thank you, sir." The stewardess smiled then finally left.

He typed a quick message to his wife letting her know that he was finally on his way to New York, then he turned the airplane mode of his cellphone on.

He let out a deep sigh as he put his cellphone back in his pocket and looked out the window, praying he could still make it on time to see his baby's birth.

Even though the journey from Atlanta to New York took only two hours, it felt like the longest two hours of his life. When the plane finally touched down in New York, he was the first one to be out of the plane.

"Thank you for flying with us, sir. And hope you can still make it to see your baby's birth." The beautiful stewardess who recognized Adriana and helped her earlier smiled at him as he stepped out of the plane.

"Thank you." He smiled back and immediately walked towards the terminal.

With long and quick strides he dragged his suitcase with one hand and pulled out his cellphone with the other. He turned off the airplane mode on his cellphone and immediately called his wife.

"Honey.. please pick up." He said under his breath as he continued to walk towards the exit of the airport.

"Seb.." his wife finally picked up after five rings and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh Y/n sweetheart.. where are you? How are you? Are you still having contractions?" He asked, panic in his voice.

"I'm at the Brooklyn Hospital Center waiting for dr.Selena to arrive. Are you in New York already?" She asked.

"Oh okay. Yeah. I just landed at JFK."

"Oh thank God. What happened?"

"Long story, honey. I'll tell you later. How are you? Are you still having contractions?"

"Umm.. not really. The last one was before I left for the hospital, like an hour ago. I haven't felt it again. So.."

"Oh okay. Well it's best to still get yourself checked."

"Yeah. I know."

"Okay. Just hang in there. I'm going straight there."

"Okay."

"See you in a bit, honey."

"See you soon, Iubirea mea."

"I love you."

"I love you more." She replied and he smiled.

"Not possible." He responded and she laughed.

"Just get into a taxi and come down here quickly, Iubirea mea." She commanded.

"As you wish, my queen." He replied and she giggled.

"Bye, Iubirea mea."

"Bye, sweetheart." And they finally hung up.

Listening to her voice made him miss her so much. The last time he saw her was two weeks ago. He was supposed to get days off every week but the Thunderbolts shooting schedule towards the end was so tight that he ended up working overtime and didn't get the chance to go back to New York last week. In any case, he was glad she was okay and that it seemed he would make it to his baby's birth.

"Taxi!" He yelled as he finally made it out of the airport and immediately hailed a taxi in front of the exit of the terminal.

A cold breeze passed him and he shivered a little as he stood on the sidewalk and waited. The air felt colder than in Atlanta he thought as he continued to raise his hand up and try to catch a taxi. Thankfully an empty taxi pulled over moments later and he immediately got in.

"Where to, sir?" the taxi driver asked as he slammed the taxi door shut.

"Brooklyn Hospital Center, please." he answered and the driver nodded.

He pulled out his cellphone again as the taxi started to move and sent a message to his wife, letting her know that he was in a taxi and was heading to the hospital.

"And now for the weather forecast. New York City will have clear skies for the rest of the day but starting tonight there might be some snowfall as the temperature drops to 30 degrees. More light snowfall is expected tomorrow in the city as well as around Roxbury, Albany and Poughkeepsie. Expect the skies to clear up on Saturday evening but get ready for a snow storm in the city, Roxbury, Albany and Poughkeepsie starting Sunday with temperatures as low as 22 degrees." The sound of a female weather forecaster came out from the taxi's radio.

Snow storm? That doesn't sound good. He thought as he looked out the window. Chad's wedding was going to be held on Saturday at the Plattekill Mountains which was in Roxbury. He hoped the forecast was correct and the snow storm really happened on Sunday instead of Saturday. A wedding during a snow storm definitely doesn't sound ideal. But then again, at this point he didn't know if he was going to be able to attend it. If his wife really was in labor he definitely couldn't come to the wedding.

His mind wandered to his wife again and he remembered the last time he witnessed her giving birth to their first child, Starlene. It was incredible to witness how strong she was during the whole thing. She insisted on not using any pain relief and wanted to give birth as normal as possible. He saw how much she was in pain but she withstood it all and just used the hypnobirthing method to manage the pain. He remembered witnessing everything from when her cervical dilation was zero until it reached 10 cm and she finally pushed their baby out into the world. He wasn't sure he could be as strong as she was if the position was reversed. He remembered how painful it was to recover from his broken leg and how he couldn't function without the pain killers.

He realized how sensitive she was that she felt pain even when her cervix was not yet dilated. She sounded calm the last time he called her so maybe the contraction really was a false alarm and they could still go to Chad's wedding.

The taxi screeched to a halt all of a sudden and he heard a loud crash as his body was jolted to the front, his face almost hitting the head rest of the front passenger seat.

"Oh f**k!" The taxi driver cursed as he looked to the front. The taxi just hit another car! Steam came out of the taxi's hood and the taxi driver immediately got out of the taxi.

He sighed and shook his head in disbelief. Today felt like his honeymoon all over again with all the bad things happening to him.

He peeked to the front and saw the taxi driver talking with a man who he assumed was the driver of the car they just hit. They both looked tense and seemed to be yelling at each other.

Obviously he couldn't continue riding in the taxi so he got out and approached the taxi driver, dragging his suitcase and carrying his backpack with him.

"Don't you dare blame me for this! You stopped all of a sudden!" The taxi driver yelled.

"I was stopping because someone was jaywalking! I had to stop so I didn't run over him!" The man replied in agitation.

"Excuse me, sir." Sebastian said.

"Oh, I'm sorry about this, sir." The taxi driver turned to him and shot him an apologetic smile.

"It's okay, I'll just get another taxi." He said as he gave the taxi driver two hundred dollars.

"Wait! This is too much!" The taxi driver exclaimed out loud.

"It's fine. Take it." He said as he clapped the shoulder of the taxi driver and smiled then he turned to the other man.

"You okay, man?" he asked in concern.

"Yeah. But my car isn't." The man replied in annoyance as he gestured towards the back of his car. The bumper of the car had quite a deep dent right where the taxi had hit it.

"Here. I hope this is enough to cover the damage." He said as he pulled another two hundred dollars from his wallet and gave it to the man.

"You don't have to do this, man." The man said, raising his hands up, refusing to take the money but there was a small smile on his lips.

"Just take it, man." Sebastian insisted as he continued to extend the money to the man.

"I.. well.. okay. Thank you so much." The man smiled as he finally took the money.

"No problem." Sebastian smiled.

"Where are you heading by the way?" the man asked.

"Brooklyn Hospital Center." He replied.

"That's like three blocks away. I'm heading to Manhattan. I can take you there." the man offered.

"Oh okay. That's great! Thank you." He exclaimed in relief, glad that he didn't have to find another taxi. The weather was quite cold and he wasn't looking forward standing in the cold too long waiting for a taxi.

He followed the man into his car after saying goodbye to the taxi driver who kept thanking him. The man's name was Sean, he was from Brooklyn and he was apparently going to visit his friend's house in Manhattan.

At first he didn't think Sean recognized him. He did tell him his name was Sebastian but he didn't mention his last name. It wasn't until he arrived at Brooklyn Hospital Center that he realized Sean knew who he was.

"Thank you, Sean." He said as he extended his hand and shook Sean's hand.

"No, thank you, Bucky." Sean winked and he laughed.

He got out of the car and waved at Sean. Sean saluted him and he watched as Sean drove away. Just then his phone buzzed. His wife was calling and he immediately picked it up.

"Seb? Where are you?" Y/n's voice came out from the speaker. He noticed that she sounded annoyed.

"I'm at the hospital, honey. Just arrived at the entrance. Where are you?" He replied, wondering why she sounded annoyed.

"Oh okay. I'm on the second floor. Dr. Selena just arrived. They're calling me in."

"Okay. I'll be right there."

She hung up without replying, which made him feel even more curious. He wondered what he did wrong. She was usually like this if he did something wrong.

He sighed as he put his cellphone back in his pocket and continued walking into the lobby of the hospital. As he walked in he remembered the events several years ago when his wife was hospitalized at that hospital with Covid while pregnant with Starlene. He spent days at the hospital watching over her so he knew the hospital well. He immediately took a left turn towards the elevators.

When he got there many people were queueing to enter the elevator so he decided to take the stairs. As he went up he kept wondering what was wrong. He replayed their conversations earlier on the phone and text message but couldn't pinpoint anything that could potentially get her to feel annoyed at him other than the fact that he was late to arrive from Atlanta.

Moments later he arrived on the second floor at the Obstetrics and Gynecology Clinic and found his wife and Starlene sitting on chairs in front of dr. Selena's office.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Starlene jumped off from her chair as soon as she saw him and immediately ran towards him. He smiled wide as he let go of his suitcase, went down on his knees and embraced Starlene in his arms.

"Hello Starlene, my darling little star. I'm so happy to see you." He hugged her tight and started pecking her cheeks and face with kisses making Starlene giggle.

"Seb.." Y/n's voice entered his ear and he looked up, smiling wide at her. He expected her to smile back but she just stared at him, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Honey. Are you okay?" He stood up and went closer to her, intending to give her a hug but she stepped back, startling him.

"Are you having contractions again?" He asked.

"No. Let's just go in. Dr. Selena is waiting for us." she said, beckoning her head towards dr.Selena's office.

"Oh okay. I'm really sorry for being so late. You won't believe what happened." he said as he carried Starlene with one hand and dragged his suitcase with his other hand.

"Oh yeah. I know. You saved a child from a kidnapper didn't you?" Y/n stated.

"Yeah. I did. Guess the news travels fast." He chuckled.

"Indeed it does." She said with a hint of sarcasm, making him wonder what was going on with her but they were already in front of the doctor's office so he couldn't ask her again.

The door to the office was opened and a nurse stood in front of it.

"Hi Emily." Y/n greeted the nurse and the nurse smiled.

"Hi Y/n. Please come in." Emily said and she stepped back to allow them to come in.

"Good afternoon dr.Selena." Y/n greeted her and the doctor smiled at them.

"Ah, good afternoon Mrs and Mr Stan. It's lovely to see you both again." dr. Selena smiled warmly.

"And ooh, look who it is? Last time I saw you, you were just a tiny baby." dr. Selena smiled at Starlene who smiled shyly back at her.

"Yes, can't believe it's been almost two years now." Sebastian chuckled.

"I know. Time really flies doesn't it? Anyway, please sit down. What can I do for you today?" dr.Selena asked as they took seats in front of her.

"Umm.. first of all. I'm really sorry that we didn't come back to you before today. We decided to try water birth to deliver our second baby and we found out that we couldn't do it here." Y/n started to explain.

"Oh. That's fine Mrs.Stan. I know we don't have that facility here so it's great that you can find it somewhere else." dr. Selena smiled.

"I'm glad you think that, dr.Selena." Y/n replied.

"So, what can I do for you today?" dr.Selena asked again.

"Well. I'm currently 36 weeks pregnant. Earlier today I felt a contraction. A pressure at my lower back. At first I thought it was Braxton Hicks contraction but then it happened multiple times over the course of an hour. So, I decided to come here to get a check. The birthing center is in New Jersey and my husband was not here when the contraction happened so I decided to come here because it's closer to where we live." Y/n explained.

"Oh yes. You were all over the news Mr.Stan! Saving a kidnapped child in Atlanta huh? A real life hero." dr.Selena exclaimed and he chuckled. He glanced at Y/n and she was not smiling or laughing along, she had an icy expression on her face as she glanced back at him and that made him feel a little scared and wondering again what he did wrong.

"Anyway, have you felt any more contractions after that?" dr.Selena asked, turning her attention back to Y/n.

"No. It stopped before I came here." Y/n responded.

"Very well. Please come to the examination bed Mrs.Stan so we can check on you and the baby." dr.Selena said as she stood up and Y/n stood up too.

He watched as dr.Selena checked Y/n's cervix and did an ultrasound on her stomach. His eyes widened as he made out his baby's figure on the ultrasound screen.

"Well, you have no cervical dilation yet and it seems your baby is breech." dr.Selena said, pointing on the screen at the baby's bottom who was near the bottom of the uterus.

"Oh no. Is it still possible for the baby to turn into head first position?" Y/n asked.

"Yes, don't worry. Most babies will be positioned head first at 36-37 weeks. There are some exercises that you can do to help and some other methods you can try at home. But if by 37 weeks your baby is still breech, there's a procedure called ECV, External Cephalic Version, where we try to turn the baby from the outside." dr.Selena replied.

"Oh okay." Y/n nodded.

"Are there any risks associated with the procedure, doctor?" Sebastian asked.

"Yes, there are small risks of early onset labor, premature rupture of the membranes, minor blood loss for either the baby or the mother and fetal distress that could lead to an emergency C-section." dr.Selena replied as she put the ultrasound's transducer away. He was horrified as he listened at the risks and it seemed dr.Selena caught up on that.

"Don't worry Mr.Stan. Considering the weight of your baby and the adequate amount of amniotic fluid surrounding your baby, there is still a high chance of your baby to turn on its own naturally." dr.Selena replied as she returned to sit in front of him while Emily the nurse helped clean Y/n's stomach from the ultrasound gel.

"Okay. Thank you doctor. So, back to the main question. Is she in labor?" Sebastian asked.

"As far as I can see, no. It seemed it was Braxton Hicks contraction that you experienced Mrs.Stan." dr. Selena said, referring to the mild and irregular practice contractions that could happen during pregnancy that doesn't signify actual labor.

"Oh okay. That's a relief." Y/n finally smiled as she sat next to him and he couldn't help but smile too. But her face turned cold again as she glanced at him, his heart plummeted at the sight.

"Why is it a relief, Mrs.Stan? If you don't mind me asking?" dr.Selena asked curiously.

"Well, we're supposed to attend our friend's wedding tomorrow in The Catskills, so it's a relief that I'm not in labor yet." Y/n explained.

"I see. In any case, since your due date is near I would advise for you to have a plan in case you go into labor at your friend's wedding. Especially if you're going to spend the night in The Catskills. I mean, it's far from New Jersey." dr.Selena said.

"Yes, the venue is about two to three hours away from the birthing center." Y/n responded.

"I see. All the more reason to be prepared." dr.Selena said.

"Of course, doctor. We'll make sure to be prepared." Sebastian said.

"Good." dr.Selena smiled and she continued to advise them on what they could do at home to help turn their baby to the correct position. She mentioned some form of exercise, music and other methods. Some sounded weird but others seemed to make sense. There was one thing he thought he read somewhere that could help but he was too embarrassed to ask about it and decided to Google it later.

"I'm sorry doctor, does sex help in turning the baby?" Y/n asked, startling him. Apparently she had the same thought as he was. He glanced at her and gave her a side smile but her face remained cold making him question again what was wrong.

"Well, there is no scientific evidence that it helps. Just as there is no scientific evidence that listening to music and putting something cold and warm on your stomach helps. But as long as you don't have any vaginal bleeding, I think it's something that you can try." dr.Selena advised.

"Alright, thank you doctor." Y/n nodded.

"Remember to come and have another ultrasound next week, here or at the birthing center. If your baby is still breech, you might want to consider having ECV or C-section for delivery." dr.Selena reminded them.

"Very well, doctor. Thank you." Y/n nodded.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" dr.Selena asked.

"No, doctor. Thank you so much." Y/n responded.

"Thank you, doctor." Sebastian said.

"You're very welcome Mrs. and Mr.Stan." dr.Selena smiled.

"So.. do you think you want to try and have sex tonight?" Sebastian asked as soon as they were out of dr.Selena's office.

"Is that all you can think about?" Y/n replied, her voice a little high.

"Honey.. what's wrong? Why are you mad at me?" He finally asked the question he had been dying to ask since they met that day.

"I don't want to talk about it here. Besides, we need to get going if we want to make it to Chad's rehearsal dinner tonight." She reminded him.

"Oh, right." He said, glancing at his watch. It was almost 6 pm, they were surely going to be late as the dinner starts in an hour.

It was quite a miracle that one and a half hours later they were already in their car, heading towards Plattekill Wedding Venue in Roxbury. Sebastian had called Chad earlier explaining their situation and Chad was thankfully quite understanding. He assumed they would arrive at the venue quite late so Chad directed him to go straight to a house that he had rented in Roxbury for them to stay over that night. The wedding ceremony was going to be held the next morning at 10 am and Chad had rented several houses around the venue for all the guests to stay at.

Sebastian glanced at Y/n who was sitting in the front passenger seat, her expression still cold. He sighed and glanced at the rear view mirror. Starlene was sitting in her car seat right behind him while Lucky sat next to her. They decided to bring Lucky because they couldn't find anyone to help watch over him. All of his and her friends were going to be at the wedding and they couldn't possibly leave him alone at their apartment.

Lucky was quiet while Starlene had an iPad in her hand and was busy watching YouTube. He decided to ask Y/n again on why she was angry at him. He couldn't stand seeing her so cold to him like that.

"Honey.." he slowly said, his heart rate increased a little.

"Hmm?" She responded.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked gently.

She sighed and didn't answer immediately.

"I can't stand seeing you so cold to me like this." He said as he slowly reached out to pick her hand up.

"I've missed you, sweetheart." He said, kissing her hand gently. He was glad she allowed him to do that but his heart plummeted as she pulled her hand away.

"I did too, Seb. Until I saw this." She said as she pulled her cellphone out and started swiping on the screen.

"You have some explaining to do." She demanded as she showed her cellphone screen to him.

"Let me pull over for a bit." He said. They were not on the highway yet and he saw a gas station up ahead. He decided to stop there. He glanced at the fuel meter and realized they also needed to refuel.

He pulled over right after the entrance to the gas station then turned towards her.

"Let me see." He said as he extended his hand to her and she gave him her cellphone.

There on the screen he could see footage of him at the Atlanta airport, talking to the airline staff who had asked for his autograph. He shook his head in disbelief. Someone had taken a video of him talking to the staff. It also showed how they went behind the counter in front of the gate and emerged minutes later to an angry Delta staff. The caption written on the video made his blood boil.

"Sebastian Stan caught cheating with an airline crew!"

"Oh my God! I can't believe this." He protested.

"Is it true?!" She asked, her voice raised.

"Honey.. of course it's not true! How could you think that? I would never cheat on you! You know that." He pleaded.

"Well then, explain to me what that is!" She demanded, gesturing towards her cellphone.

Sebastian sighed. "The airline staff was a fan. She wanted me to sign the back of her neck. I thought it would look rather weird if I did it in public. It would have raised some questions so I suggested doing it behind the counter. I didn't think anyone saw it."

"She wanted you to sign behind her neck?" She asked in disbelief.

"Yes! She wanted to get it tattooed, like that fake tattoo I got for Monday." He explained.

"That's all that happened?" She asked.

"Yes! I have her phone number. You can call her yourself if you don't believe me." He said but as soon as he said it regretted it. Y/n's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance again upon hearing him saying it.

"Why do you have her phone number?" She asked coldly.

"I.. I offered her tickets to Thunderbolts premiere and I need her number to arrange for that."

"And why did you offer her tickets to Thunderbolts premiere?" She asked, the crease on her eyebrows got even deeper.

"Because I had lied earlier to the other airline staff telling them that you were in labor but when I talked to her I.. umm.. I forgot about that lie and told her you were not in labor. So I basically bribed her so she wouldn't tell anyone else that I lied."

She stared at him for a moment with no reaction on her face, making his heart beat faster in anticipation. Then slowly her expression became more relaxed and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ooh Seb. You lied about me being in labor?" She asked, shaking her head.

"Yeah.. yeah I did." He said, grimacing.

"Maybe that's why I had the Braxton Hicks contractions. Your lie manifested." She pointed out.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I just wanted to get here as soon as I could. At the time it seemed like a good idea to tell people that your wife is in labor in order to speed things up, you know." He explained sheepishly.

"Well, it didn't help at all, did it?" She said and he couldn't help but agree to it.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He said again as he returned her cellphone to her and placed his hands on the sides of her face.

"You know you're the only woman for me. My heart belongs only to you. Please never doubt that, sweetheart." He said as he gazed at her intently, trying to convey his love to her through his gentle gaze.

She gazed back at him and smiled slowly. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the love again in her eyes.

"I love you." He said with all his heart.

"I love you too, Iubirea mea." She smiled and he smiled back.

He stroked her cheeks gently with his thumb and slowly leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on her lips. Home. He finally felt like he was home. Butterflies flew around in his stomach as they continued to kiss and forget about everything around them.

"Daddy.. I want a kiss too." Starlene suddenly chimed up and they broke apart, laughing.

"Well, I'll give you a kiss later okay? It's hard to turn around to reach you in this position." Sebastian said, turning his head to face Starlene.

"Okay." Starlene said happily and she returned her attention back to her iPad, making them both smile.

"So. Anyway. Do you want to try to have sex tonight?" He asked as he drove the car closer to the fuel dispensers. Kissing her earlier woke up the desire in him and he couldn't help but imagine making love to her.

"Seb. I don't know. Aren't you tired? Besides, remember the last time we had sex while I was 37 weeks pregnant with her?" She asked, pointing her thumb back at Starlene.

"I remember. That was amazing sex and it brought our star out into the world." He winked and she smiled. Indeed, Starlene's birth was induced by their love making. He wasn't sure if it was a coincidence but she was right to be concerned about it.

"Exactly. I don't want to induce labor while we're away in the mountains far from the birthing center." She said and he nodded.

"Okay, honey. Maybe we can try and do it after we get back from Chad's wedding. I mean, you do want the baby to turn, right?" He asked.

"Of course! I don't want to end up having a C-section if I could." She replied.

"Okay." He nodded.

He stopped the car right next to a fuel dispenser and got out of the car. A cold breeze entered the car and he felt something cold dropped on his nose.

"Mommy, daddy, snow!" Starlene pointed out towards the sky.

"Oh yeah, it is snowing. Beautiful isn't it?" Y/n responded.

Soft snow had started to fall from the sky, specks of white layered the ground and parts of their car.

Sebastian picked up the fuel nozzle and put it into the car's fuel tank inlet. He rubbed his hands as it felt really cold and vapor had started to come out from his nose.

As he waited for the gas tank to fill he remembered the weather forecast he listened to earlier in the taxi. Looks like it was correct. It really started to snow that night.

A sudden gust of cold strong wind suddenly passed him and he shivered. Snow started to fall even harder on them. He checked the fuel meter on the fuel dispenser and decided it was enough. He immediately pulled out the fuel nozzle, returned it to its place and closed the fuel cap. He opened the door of the car and welcomed the warm breeze coming out of it as he sat down and closed the car door shut. The radio was on as he started to drive the car out of the gas station and he turned the windshield wiper on.

"And now for some updates on the weather forecast. As forecasted, New York City, New Jersey and the surrounding area are experiencing snow fall tonight. Moderate to strong snow storm is expected to arrive starting Saturday morning and will clear up by Sunday. It is highly advised to stay indoors during this time." a female weather forecaster announced on the radio.

"Snow storm tomorrow morning? That's not good." Sebastian shook his head.

"I know. Poor Chad and Madeline. Aren't their ceremony supposed to be held outdoors?" She asked.

"Yeah. Up on the mountains." He sighed.

"Do you want to give him a call?" She asked.

"Chad? No, I'm sure he's busy with the rehearsal dinner. And I'm sure they have a back up plan should a snow storm really happen." He responded.

"Okay." She nodded.

It was 8 when they finally left New York City and headed into the suburbs. Snow continued to fall throughout their journey. Coupled with the fact that it was night time, at times he found it hard to see the road. So he drove slowly and avoided going too fast.

Throughout the journey he told Y/n about his adventure earlier rescuing Adriana as well as the anxiety-inducing incident on the plane that caused the oxygen masks to drop.

"Wow. That must have been really scary." She commented.

"Yeah, it was. I kept thinking about you, Starlene and little bean." He said as he reached out to pat her bulging stomach.

"I wasn't ready to die. I didn't want to miss seeing both of my kids grow up. You know." he said as he felt her warm hand on top of his and felt her squeezing it gently.

"Well, I'm so glad you're here now, Iubirea mea." She turned to him and smiled.

"I'm so glad too, honey." He glanced at her and smiled.

"Hmm.." Y/n shifted in her seat and rubbed her stomach.

"What is it, honey?"

"I think.. wait.. yeah.. I'm having contractions again." she said and his heart seemed to stop.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah.. but it's okay. Keep going. It's probably another false alarm."

"Honey, are you sure?"

"Yeah yeah. Keep going. Let's just see how long this one lasts and how often."

"Okay. We're about two hours away from the house Chad rented. We can still make a turn and go south to Morristown." He said as he glanced at the satnav.

The birthing center they had decided to go to for the birth of their baby was at Morristown, New Jersey, southwest of New York City while Chad's wedding venue was located northwest of New York City.

"Yeah, okay. Just keep going, Iubirea mea." she said and he nodded.

The contractions came again several times in the next hour but it came sporadically. It didn't seem to hurt too much either. By the time they entered Roxbury two hours later it had completely stopped. So they concluded it was another Braxton Hicks contraction.

"Sweetheart, maybe you're just dehydrated. I read Braxton Hicks can happen because of dehydration." He said as he drove his car to the small street where the house Chad rented was located.

"Yeah, maybe. I was kind of tired too today. These two have been testing my patience to the limit." She said, pointing her thumb at the backseat and he laughed.

"They are quite a troublesome duo huh?" He commented.

"That's an understatement." she sighed and he laughed again.

"Well, I'm going to fully help you now until the baby is born and for at least three months after that. So don't worry about it, okay?" He said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

"Yeah. Thank you, Iubirea mea." She squeezed his hand back and smiled at him.

"You're very welcome, my love." he smiled back and she blushed. He loved seeing her blush. She always looked so pretty when she did, making his heart warm.

"So, here we are." He said, turning his attention back to the street and stopped right in front of a house behind a long wooden fence. Another car was parked behind the fence right on the driveway, it was Chad's car.

He pulled out his cellphone and dialed Chad's number.

"Hey Chad. We're here." He said into his cellphone moments later.

"Okay. I'll be right out." Chad replied.

"Okay. Thanks." He nodded then hung up.

The front door of the house was opened and Chad came out, waving his hand and smiling at them. He opened the wooden fence and Sebastian drove the car into the driveway and parked next to Chad's car.

"Hey man, so glad to see you finally make it here." Chad shook his hand and gave him a brief hug as soon as he got out of the car.

"Yeah, I'm so glad too! It's been an adventure trying to get here." he chuckled.

"Oh yeah! I saw you on the news! You're a real life hero huh?" Chad commented and he just laughed.

"Come, come in, I've set up the fireplace." Chad said and he guided them all to enter the house.

The house, well, more like the cottage, was a two story cottage with wooden walls and floors. It had a rustic charm with a red and green color scheme in the interior making it feel like it was Christmas. It consisted of a warm and homey living room, well equipped kitchen, spacious bathroom with a bath and two bedrooms fit for four people.

With help from Chad, he put all their luggage in the cottage while Starlene, Y/n and Lucky went inside and settled in.

By the time they were done putting all the luggages in the cottage, snow had fallen even harder that it was more than likely a snow storm was coming.

"So, seeing how the weather is like, any change of plans for tomorrow?" Sebastian asked as they sat on the sofa in the living room.

"Yeah, we were supposed to have the ceremony in the morning up on the mountains but if it's not possible, we're just going to have the ceremony indoors in the reception building." Chad replied.

"Okay. Sounds like a good plan." He nodded.

"Yeah. I just hope the road will still be accessible. There's a shovel in the garage by the way in case you need to use it in the morning." Chad said.

"Okay. Thanks. Where are you and Madeline staying by the way?"

"Oh, we rented a large house about a quarter mile from the venue. All her family and my family are staying there." Chad replied.

"Okay. You're not staying in the same room as her are you?"

"Of course not!" Chad laughed. "You know she's a wedding planner. She knows all the dos and don'ts and all the superstitions about weddings. It's kind of frustrating at times, but I know she means well."

"Yeah. Based on my own experience, you should follow through with it." He responded, remembering the disastrous events happening during his wedding and honeymoon.

"Yeah, I'm trying my best. Anyway, it's kind of late, I better get going." Chad said and he stood up.

"Alright, see you in the morning, man. Try and get some sleep." He stood up and gave Chad a brief hug.

"Thanks, man. See you." Chad smiled and clapped his back.

Once Chad was gone he looked around and found Lucky, sleeping on a rug in front of the fireplace. He went into one of the bedrooms and found Starlene already tucked in bed, sleeping soundly. He walked closer to her, leaned over and gently kissed her forehead. She shifted a little but didn't wake up. It seemed she was really tired. He caressed her head gently and smiled, thankful he was still alive after the eventful journey from Atlanta and was able to see his daughter again.

A warm hand surrounded his waist and he was startled. He looked to the side and found Y/n, standing next to him and circling her arm around his waist.

"She looks so peaceful and innocent." She commented and he nodded as he placed his arm around her shoulder and squeezed it.

"But it all changes when she wakes up." she complained, making him laugh.

"How did she find those toilet papers?" He asked, remembering the mess Starlene and Lucky had made earlier that day in their apartment.

"Well, you know I keep the toilet papers in the lower cupboard in the bathroom. She found them." she sighed.

"She's a smart girl." he chuckled.

"Yeah. I moved them to another cupboard and locked it."

"Okay, I guess we need to inspect everything else that is within her reach. Especially things like detergent, soap, drugs and things like that and then move them somewhere she can't reach." He suggested.

"Yeah. I already did. Spent the day today doing that before the contraction happened." she replied.

"Hey, maybe that's the cause of the false contraction. You know tiredness can cause that, aside from dehydration."

"You know what, you're right. Maybe I was too tired." she sighed.

"Let's get to bed then. I'm tired too. It's been such a long day." he suggested.

"Okay." She nodded and they went to the other bedroom hand in hand.

Despite feeling tired, being in close proximity with her made his desire arise. He knew it wasn't really the longest time that they hadn't made love. They survived three months without seeing each other right before their wedding so theoretically they should survive just two weeks without seeing each other. But being close to her that night on the bed and seeing her beautiful face sleeping next to him inevitably made him turned on. She truly was the only woman who could make him feel this way.

She was sleeping on her right side facing him and he laid down on his left facing her too. He glanced down and saw her cleavage underneath her nightgown and he swallowed hard.

"Honey.. wake up." He whispered.

"Hmm.. what is it?" her eyes slowly fluttered open and she looked up at him curiously.

"I.. umm.. I'm really sorry sweetheart. I know you're tired but I'm still feeling kind of tense, if you know what I mean." He said, his eyes went downwards where he could feel himself starting to harden down there.

"Oh Seb, you know I don't want to induce labor up here in the mountains." She protested, her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

"I know.. I'm sorry. But maybe you could just.. you know." He said, blushing again as he raised his hand up and realization dawned in her.

"Please.." He said, giving her puppy dog eyes and she couldn't help but laugh.

"Fine, come here you big puppy." She said as she pulled his head by the neck and started kissing him passionately. He smiled as they kissed and soon was lost in the act of love and passion.

Before they knew it they ended up making love that night, expressing all the love and lust they always had for each other for the past twenty three years. He felt really lucky to be married to her. There was nothing else better than feeling completely in love with your significant other all the time. He knew it was something rare in the world having his fair share of heartbreaks, so he treasured it as much as he could.

"I love you so much, my love, my queen." He whispered as he held her tight after they reached the peak of pleasure together.

"I love you so much too, Iubirea mea." She whispered back and her arms held him tight.

For a moment he felt at peace as they continued to hold each other, unwilling to let the other go. Then he felt her tensed under his arms.

"D**n!" She cursed as she let go of him and held her bulging stomach.

"Sweetheart, what is it?" He asked in concern.

"I think.. I think the baby had turned." She said, her eyes scrunched up in pain.

"Oh really? That's great then." He smiled.

"Yeah. I usually feel it kick my bladder but this time I feel the kick on my ribs." She explained.

"Well, that's great. No need to do the ECV procedure then."

"Yeah. Thank God."

"Are you still in pain?"

"No, but.. d**n!" She exclaimed out loud as she held her lower back with her hand.

"Another contraction?" He asked in concern.

"Yup." She sighed as she rubbed her lower back.

"Okay. Here, let me help rub your back and we'll see what happens." He said as he reached his hand around her and started to gently rub her back.

"Thank you Iubirea mea. That feels good." She smiled.

"You're welcome, honey." He said as he kissed her forehead gently.

For the next hour the contraction kept on coming and it became even closer together. There was no doubt that Y/n could really be in labor. So they called their midwive from the birthing center in Morristown to ask for her advice. After listening to her advice, which was to monitor the contraction again within the next hour, they concluded that she could really be in labor.

"Seb, it's snowing really hard out there. Are you sure about this?" She asked as they prepared to go to Morristown.

"But honey, you could really be in labor. You need to get to the birthing center. At least to get yourself checked." He reasoned.

"Yeah.. but maybe we could at least wait until the sun is out. I mean, you could hardly see out there with all the snow."

"Sweetheart, are you sure? What if the baby comes out here before we get the chance to get to the birthing center."

"Seb, do you remember how long it took for Starlene to come out after I first felt the contraction?"

"Yeah, I remember." He sighed. It took twenty nine hours for Starlene to come out since Y/n started to feel the contraction.

"So I think it's much safer to wait until morning."

"Well. Okay. If you're sure."

"I am sure." she insisted and he could only nod.

However her feelings changed within the next three hours. The contractions came much more often and much closer together and it had become rather painful that she finally agreed to go to the birthing center.

It was 4 in the morning when they got out of the house and drove to Morristown. Starlene and Lucky were both woken up from their sleep and were forced to come because they didn't want to bother their friends and asked them to take care of Starlene and Lucky.

Unfortunately, the snow storm had started as Sebastian drove the car slowly down the mountain. On his right Y/n was grunting and trying hard to withstand the pain while in front of him fierce wind blew snow onto the front window, obscuring his view. The sun wouldn't come out until a few hours from now and he didn't dare to speed up with the dangerous condition.

"Seb! Why are you driving so slowly?!" Y/n asked in between contractions.

"Honey, I can barely see! I don't want to get us into an accident!" He protested.

"But the baby is coming, Seb!" She protested.

"I know, honey. I know. I'm driving as fast as I can, okay? Hang in there." he said as he reached out and placed his hand on her stomach.

Y/n didn't answer him and instead she resorted to using the hypnobirthing method to try and ease the pain.

"That's it, honey. That's it. You're doing great." He said, trying to calm her down even though deep down he felt extremely nervous.

"Aaarghhh.." Y/n exclaimed in pain prompting Lucky to bark and Starlene to start crying.

"Oh dear." Sebastian sighed as he listened to all of them.

"Starlene, dear, please don't cry. It's okay. Mommy is okay. Your sibling is about to be born. You should be happy." He said as he looked at the rear view mirror and saw Starlene still crying her heart out.

Among all the loud voices he suddenly heard a rumbling sound coming from above them.

"What the h**l." He looked up and his heart beat so fast in his chest as he saw the massive body of snow coming at them from above the mountain.

"Seb.. it's an avalanche!" Y/n shouted in panic.

"I know!" He said as he stepped on the gas and tried to avoid the avalanche.

The rumbling sound felt so close to him that for a split second he was sure they were all going to be buried underneath it. But he suddenly realized they were on a straight road now for several miles up ahead and decided to speed up even more.

"Hang on, honey!" He yelled as he stepped on the gas and the car sped up quickly on the road. The ground shook as the avalanche finally reached the ground behind them missing them by inches.

"That was so close!" He exclaimed as he glanced back for a second and saw the large pile of snow behind him.

"Oh no.. no.. no.." Y/n suddenly said out loud.

"What? What is it, honey?" He asked, his heart still racing after their near death experience.

"I think my water just broke!" She replied and his heart plummeted. He glanced at the satnav and saw that they were still one and a half hours away from the birthing center.

"What should we do?" He asked as his brain tried to remember anything from the birthing classes he had attended or the numerous pregnancy books and articles he had read.

"I don't know! Aaarghhh! The baby is coming, Seb! I can feel it!" She shouted, making him feel even more panicked.

"Hang in there, honey. Try to raise your feet up." He said as he remembered something he read in a pregnancy book on what to do when the water broke.

"I can't!" She protested and he realized that the space on the front passenger seat was too narrow for her to be able to raise her feet up.

"This is all your fault! Aaarghh..!" She protested as he continued to drive, not knowing what else to do.

"If only you didn't ask me to have sex earlier, I wouldn't be in labor now!" She continued angrily and he couldn't help but feel guilty.

"I'm sorry, honey. I really am." He said, glancing at her for a second and felt his heart break seeing her in so much pain.

"I'm trying to drive as fast as I can. Please hang in there, honey." He pleaded.

She didn't respond and when he glanced at her again she was reaching down, her hand trying to reach under her nightgown.

"Seb.." she said slowly.

"What?" He asked, dreading her next sentences.

"I can feel the baby's head.." she responded.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Yes! I can feel his head and his hair!"

"Oh dear.." he didn't know what else to say.

"Seb, stop the car! Help me deliver the baby!" She shouted, startling him.

"But.. but.. I can't!" He protested.

"Aaaarghhh.. I'm pushing now! I can't hold it anymore!" She shouted again.

"No honey, hold it! Don't push now!"

"Seb! God d**n it! Just stop the car and help me deliver the baby!" She shouted and he had no choice but to obey.

He pulled over and stopped the car on the side of the road. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. Cold breeze hit his face as he ran to the other side of the car. He opened the back passenger door and encouraged Lucky to go to the back of the car. Then he helped Y/n to push the backrest of her seat so she could lie down.

She raised her feet up and he knelt on the ground next to her then helped pull her underwear down and that's when he saw it, the top of his baby's head. He felt dizzy as he saw it. He couldn't believe he was going to help his wife deliver their baby in the car in the middle of nowhere during a snowstorm no less!

"Seb! I'm pushing!" She exclaimed and he nodded.

"Okay.. you can do it, honey. Push!" He held her hand and encouraged her as she started to push, her eyes scrunched up in pain.

Slowly he could see the head of his baby came out even more, but when half of it came out, she stopped pushing.

"I can't.. " she complained as she tried to catch her breath.

"Okay, it's fine. Take a breather. Wait until the next round of contraction comes. Then you push again, okay? You can do it, sweetheart, I know you can." He said as he caressed the side of her face and she nodded.

"Good, that's it sweetheart, take a deep breath." He said as he stood up and kissed her forehead.

"Daddy.. is mommy okay?" Starlene chimed in and he smiled.

"Yes, your mommy is giving birth to your sibling, Starlene. Soon you'll have someone to play with." He smiled and Starlene just nodded.

"Seb! He's coming!" Y/n shouted.

"Okay, okay. Take a deep breath. That's it. Now push!" He said as he knelt again beside her and watched the head of his baby come out even more.

Several more pushes from her and their baby's head finally came out fully. He gently pulled the baby all out from her womb and the baby started crying. He immediately took off his jacket and covered him with it. Yes, their baby was indeed a baby boy.

He looked down and gently cleaned the baby's face and head with some tissues. He couldn't help but shed a tear as he continued to clean the baby. He couldn't believe they successfully delivered him out into the world amidst an unbelievable situation.

"Seb.. I want to see him." Y/n reached out her hand and he immediately put the baby in her arms.

"You did amazing, sweetheart. He's perfect." He smiled and he kissed her forehead again.

"He is. He looks just like you." She smiled as she carried the baby and gently rocked him.

"What should we name him?" She asked.

"I know the perfect name. James Adrian Stan. James after James Buchanan Barnes, the strongest man I know and Adrian after Adriana, the bravest girl I know." He smiled.

"James Adrian Stan. It's perfect." She smiled.

"Come and meet your new baby brother, Starlene." He said as he went to the backseat and took Starlene off from her car seat.

Starlene stood in the middle of the car and looked down.

"My brother." She said, extending her hand towards the baby.

"Yes, Starlene, this is Adrian. Adrian, this is Starlene." Sebastian said, smiling as he saw Starlene extended her index finger and Adrian caught it between his hands. He felt his heart warm as he witnessed their children's interaction and felt immense gratitude.

He opened his arms wide and embraced them all in his arms. Despite the extraordinary circumstances, he was elated and happy to welcome their baby boy into the world. He was sure there would be more happiness and adventures up ahead and as long as he had his perfect family with him, he was ready for whatever comes their way.

[ellaenchanting]

Hi! I'm not the original anon, but I have a follow up question if that's okay. Sometimes I struggle with my concerns about (what I now understand is called) hypnoamory and the fact that I think there's enough stigma around kink that romantic relationships stemming from kink are viewed as inauthentic or suspicious. How do you handle those two ideas if at all? They seem contradictory to me

Hi new anon! Thank you for the follow up question!

So- my point of view is that no emotion we experience is inauthentic. The reasoning behind an emotion may be flawed (ex. "I'm scared because the pope is spying on me"), it might be masking another emotion (feeling angry instead of sad), it might be temporary and fleeting, but what you feel is always "real". If you say you're angry, I can't run a blood test on you and determine you're not, you know? The only test we HAVE for emotions is that we feel them internally and subjectively. If you say you're in love, then who am I to say that isn't true?

We could say that hypnoamory is artificially created love because of the neurotransmitters and behavioral cues - but then ALL love tends to involve neurotransmitters and behavioral cues. Who we ARE is a big ole pile of neurotransmitters and behavioral cues (and gut bacteria) (and ancient, wonky survival systems). Even in situations where love feelings go away quickly after someone stops hypnoplay (@sweettist wrote a great reply to my initial post with a story like this), I personally* couldn't say those love feelings were fake, just that they were ephemeral.

If I'm viewing hypnoamory (or frenzy or infatuation or nre or any of these related ideas) cautiously, it's not because I think that what people are experiencing isn't "real". It's because I know people in those states are a little bit altered and may have a harder time setting good boundaries for themselves. It's kind of like seeing a friend move in with a romantic partner who they've known for a month. The move could work out great for them! But, I'm aware that often it won't- that my friend probably feels love but doesn't know yet about deeper compatability with their new partner/roommate. If I were giving my friend advice, I wouldn't say to break up with their partner because I'm concerned, but I might caution them to wait a few more months before moving in.

As far as how I personally balance feeling and caution:

If I'm playing with an inexperienced bottom, for example, I may be very slow and deliberate about negotiation (because I'm extra mindful not to cross boundaries). My own boundaries might be stronger- for example, I may not want to do intense play with them for a while. If they tell me I'm the best hypnotist in the world, I'll thank them but also take that compliment with a grain of salt. If they seem extra devoted, I might talk to them about it and possibly slow things down. I won't make long term plans for us yet based on how they're feeling right now because I'm aware that those feelings might change. (Or they may not! But in time we'll know better and be able to plan better).

If I realize hypnoamory or nre is happening to me (and it does!), I'll double check my own boundaries and try to think critically about my own impulses. I may consciously slow play or communication down for a bit so I feel like I'm making good choices. I might check in with others about my partner's reputation because I know I can't see their blind spots right now as well as I might want to.

That being said, I have long-lasting love for some people in my life that seems to have started with hypnoamory. I'm really glad I didn't give up on those relationships just because of strong feelings! I also have relationships that started this way and just petered out- or ones that were always one sided crushes. That's how love goes- especially when that love is early and intense. And all of that is fine! Those are things that happen in all sorts of relationships, kinky or not.

So, all of that being said- I don't see the contradiction, anon. This isn't an either/or, it's a both/and. Hypnoamory can be great and it can cause issues. Relationships stemming from kink can be healthy and they can be dangerous. Frenzy can exhaust you and it can give you a lot of cool new experiences. Infatuation can burn out quick and it can lead to lasting, healthy love. It's all in the nuances.

*@sweettist might have a different point of view on that, though! I think it comes down to how people would define "real" or "inauthentic" here.

[lilywily143]

Would anyone like a fun analysis on Uzi's dad, Khan, in episode 3? Time to rant because it made me way too happy.

Well, it's under the cut

Khan was awesome this episode. Sure him taking her "rambling" evidence and grounding Uzi for interacting with the Murder Drones was annoying and angering from her perspective.

But it's not like he took it because he wanted her mad. Obviously.

Murder Drones have hurt his wife and friends and own kind for years beforehand. At the end of the second episode - when he reunites with Uzi - he sees N [A Murder Drone] run off in a frenzy.

The dots he connects right then might as well been; Uzi is sad, the murder bot was in the same area and runs away quickly, the same murder drone also hurt his family, Uzi must have been hurt by him, it might be better to make her stay away from the Murder Drones' business.

Why else would he also try to get her to connect with her classmates after hearing the one specific moment where some classmates specifically insulted her?

And then also chaperone the prom while she connects with others [hopefully] so he sees her make 'safer' friends.

Then the actual prom... He is on edge when Uzi isn't around. Which also contradicts Lizzy saying a scene before that 'No one will notice her [his daughter] missing..', which was nice to see contradicted one scene later.

Yes he tries to escape when seeing V. But she was the most crazy murderer and wasn't even a Uzi friend in the first place like N. Of course he'd try to leave. But the door is locked by Doll, which makes him linger. And also get to see Uzi come back with N.

He doesn't speak the rest of the episode, but that also means he never scolds or even looks mad at his little girl clearly going against his new rule. Then the doors unlock when Doll gets busy to kill V.

The thing is though, we see Khan actually try to stay back in the prom room, even though he is the closest to the unlocked door and has everyone nearly shove him out with them.

He stays near the doorway in a feared-freeze, not running away for the entire time of Uzi's speech defending the murder drones. He's blurry, but you see him in the open doorway. Staying still, not looking behind himself, focusing on Uzi. It isn't like he is looking down at the threat in the room [The red helmet wearing girl]

He smiled when Uzi finished her speech and seemed clearly happy with what she said positively about the Disassembly Drones [maybe even internally reflecting on his rule to keep her away from them earlier in the same episode?]

And he even tried to get to Uzi the moment she was attacked (and shoved out of danger by N, her Murder Drone friend)

But Doll locked him out and made him not help in the fight [or at least tend to Uzi] by force..

It was just nice to see him be so awesome after that pilot betrayal he did to Uzi. But I will never forget the line in the second episode as well..

"It sounds like she's bored in YOUR class, and the other kids SUCK. Call her damaged again, and I will install a DOOR on YOUR FACE!"

Yes, it sounds stupid as a defense. But his life is around doors. Doors he built to protect his own kind and family are clearly significant. And if Uzi heard her dad say that for her, I bet she'd know how important that would actually mean from him.

It really shows that after her self-banishment and what the teacher said about her bad times in class made him want to be more involved with his last family member [allegedly last] and make things better.

[idolatrybarbie]

glass

for my fifty follower celebration! @trulybetty asked: marcus pike and prompt no. fifteen— “is there anything we can do?” “we won’t be doing anything." a prompt from an older fic. thank you sm, hope you enjoy!!

rating & word count: mature | 1170 words

Really, you shouldn’t be doing this.

But his hands are all over you, down the curve of your hip as fingers streak across your skin, shaky and cold. It’s a welcome chill, soothing against the undying heat of your body. His presence always causes this reaction; he sends you into a frenzy, burning up at the mere thought of his touch before he really gets to it.

Marcus picked you up at Dulles International an hour ago, driving from D.C. to Virginia. He wanted to be the first one to see you, he’d said. His voice, soft and sugary over the phone, almost made you melt inside the Vienna airport. Now you feel yourself actually melting, straddling Marcus in the front seat of his SUV.

He’d met you just outside your gate, a sloppy sign made from poster board and bright green puffy paint with your name on it in his hands. It was the first thing you noticed once you stepped into the controlled air of the giant building. You can’t run in these shoes, but you quickly walked over to him, forgetting all about your luggage for a moment as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Peppering his face in kisses, Marcus couldn’t hide the grin on his face.

Now, staring up at you, he has that same look. He’s all smiles whenever he’s around you. No one has ever looked at you that way, seen you as Marcus does; like you’ve hung the moon and then some—dotted the sky with sparkling stars and kept the world turning, just for him.

You lean down to capture his lips in another kiss. Marcus presses himself up to meet you halfway, pulling you closer by the torso. Pressed chest to chest, you can feel his heart racing underneath his shirt. Nothing has even happened yet, the two of you parked in the dark lot of a Shake Shack, and his body is racing a mile a minute.

“I missed you so much,” he pants into your mouth.

“Bet I missed you more.” You slide your hands down his chest, under the hem of his shirt to feel his skin. He’s so cold, it’s almost unsettling. If you didn’t know better, you would think he’s dead.

Marcus kisses behind your ear, nipping at your ear lobe. “Not possible,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” you ask. Another kiss, his tongue gently pressing past your lips. You moan into his mouth, barely a hum, moving your hips over his on instinct. “You got the monopoly on longing here, Pike?”

“Definitely,” he nods, tone halfway between sarcastic and serious.

You can see it, how much he missed you. You’ve been gone for three months, working in tandem with Interpol to track an Irish jewel thief all across Europe. The mere concept is laughable—sometimes you can’t believe this is your job and not the plot to another Pink Panther movie—but the look of sincerity in his eyes grounds you in all of it. No matter how silly things seem, or how stressful life gets when you’re in the thick of it, this beautiful man will be here for you when it’s over. Right now and always.

You can’t form words that would be adequate to communicate how you feel, how much of it you feel for him. Instead, you reach down and pull at the seat’s control handle, the backrest falling so that Marcus lays flat underneath you. After a brief moment of shock, he’s smiling at you again, a playful glint in his eye.

Leaning over him, you cup his face with both of your hands, feeling the coarse hair that’s grown over his cheeks. His face is warmer the longer you touch him, along with the rest of his body. You trail your hand back under his shirt, lifting it as you raise your arm to feel the span of skin across his stomach, his chest, his collarbones. You want all of him.

You’re hunched against Marcus, leaving gentle kisses along the line of his jaw when a crash startles you off of him. You slip from his lap, the middle of your back hitting the center console with a sharp jolt to your spine. Marcus scrambles up in his seat, head whipping around frantically. His eyes land on you, brows pulled taut against his forehead.

“Are you alright?”

Marcus pulls you close to him, practically scooping you up and into his arms as he roves his hands down your sides, over the fabric of your jacket. There’s no heat here, all business as he tries to assess any bodily harm.

“Marcus, I’m fine,” you say. “Are you?”

He nods silently, still unconvinced as he runs broad palms across your legs. You stop his hands with your own, entwining them together. You both look over at the driver’s side window. The glass is shattered, sprinkled across the dashboard, the car seat, and Marcus’ lap. The car is full of stray pieces, some of it littering the ground as you step outside.

The other front seat window is in a similar state: window destroyed with glass splayed across the concrete on the other side and the empty passenger seat. Rounding the car, you kneel in the parking lot, shards crunching under your knee. A single bullet sits amongst the aftermath.

“Did someone shoot at your car?” you ask. Marcus is already behind you, standing over your shoulder as you pick up the bullet carefully. Holding it out to him, he looks it over.

“I think so,” he confirms, face morphing into a pursed scowl.

You look over at the vehicle. There’s nothing left to save of the windows, and you have no idea how you’re going to clean up all this glass.

Marcus already has his phone out—not his cell, but the heavy, government-issued Blackberry he keeps in his back pocket—dialing a number.

“Is there anything we can do?”

“We won’t be doing anything,” he says. There is the slightest hint of dimissiveness in the way he says it. You cross your arms over your chest, staring him down. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Come on,” you complain.

“You just got home,” he says. “Some asshole sees fed plates and decides to blow my windows away, and I don’t want you to deal with this.”

You hold your stance and your glare. 

“Please. Let me handle this,” Marcus says.

He loves you, you remind yourself. This isn’t babying, as much as it feels like it. Marcus is trying to keep you safe, take this off your plate. Adrenaline is blasting through you right now, but soon enough jetlag will settle into your bones, and you’d rather not be filling out incident reports and playing phone tag with the bureau when that happens.

“Okay,” you say.

Marcus pulls you into his arms. His heart is still pounding away behind his ribs, fear cradling the organ instead of love. The thought makes you frown.

“Let’s go home.”