#its almost like you hate her for other reasons that start with 'married' and ending in a word with the suffix '-erard'

[senditcolton]

hits different

do you think i have forgotten... about you?

series masterlist | playlist | word count: 9.3k a/n: here it is! the finale of the "we're a bad idea" series. it's crazy to think that this series started on a complete whim and turned into this. i had so much fun writing this for you all and screaming about it with you and... gosh, just, thank you for all your support! I hope you all love this conclusion as much as I do. warnings: feminine reader, teammate's sister, age gap. smut! heavy handsy make out, oral (f receiving), protected penetrative sex. Disclaimer: Reading/creating content for married players isn’t for everyone. Please don’t read if you don’t vibe with it, but don’t attack me or others!

It felt like something out of a goddamn movie.

The way your eyes locked onto each other the very moment you settled next to Shannon at the altar. How the scent of the flowers that Emily had chosen for your bouquet suddenly became overwhelming. The feeling of heat that rushed through you – a heat that had nothing to do with the warm July afternoon and everything to do with the blue eyes that had captured you under their gaze.

Not the mention the film reel flashback that replayed in your head of those months when you allowed him into your bed and into your heart. And how he broke you into a million pieces and sent you running to Los Angeles to escape his hold on you.

Almost two years and three-thousand miles between you and him. You thought that would be enough.

But, even after all of that, it seems that you still couldn’t forget Matt Martin.

And based on the beating echoing through your ribcage, it was obvious that your wretched heart failed to remember how much it hurt whenever he was around.

The string music dancing on the breeze lifts to a crescendo and you almost scoff at the irony; like the universe itself was trying to arrange a reunion worthy of an Oscar-winning romance. Then you heart stutters when you see Matt lift from his seat, his eyes still locked on your frame and you fear that a love confession was about to fall from his lips.

Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. Instead, he turns from you, directing his gaze down the aisle.

The embarrassment rushes through your body and you have to shake your head at your dramatics; at the way you made yourself the main character in a moment that was anything but yours.

This was Scotty and Emily’s moment – their wedding, for Christs sake. Your eyes divert to the end of the aisle, watching as your soon to be sister-in-law walk to your brother, her stunning white dress flowing behind her. You sneak a glance at Scotty, watching his eyes water as Emily takes those final steps towards him. This was the reason you were here. Not Matt Martin.

Somehow, you manage to make it through the entire ceremony without looking out to the audience and those ocean blue eyes. When you walk back up the aisle for the recessional, your arm linked in Sebastian’s, your gaze locks with Matt’s once again before he disappears from your sight.

It’s a moment of reprieve as you sneak back into the cabin where you and the rest of the bridesmaids had spent the night, a deep breath lifting your chest.

You should’ve known he would be here. He was your brother’s teammate, a fact that you were all too aware of when this tryst began. Still, you hoped you wouldn’t have to face him. Not because you hated him or because you had moved on. But because there was still a part of you that craved him, that couldn’t let him go.

There was an ache in you and it felt like only he could heal it.

How? The answer to that question was still uncertain. You didn’t know if you needed him to apologize, or give you closure, or tell you everything you’ve always wanted him say. But you weren’t ready for it, whatever it was.

And when you walk into the reception area where the guests waited, your heart proves how unprepared you were based its reaction when your eyes find Matt. And the gymnastic routine it does when you realize that he was seated at your table, only a few spaces away from you.

Dinner is excruciating. It feels like a choreographed routine as you stop your head from drifting too far to the right to look in Matt’s direction, pretending that you don’t feel the weight of his stare, laser-focused on the toasts and your brother’s first dance. And when the dance floor opens and the mingling begins, the reason you fly from your chair was to greet other guests, performing your duty as a bridesmaid.

Not because you were desperate to delay the inevitable conversation you knew you had to have with the one man you had been avoiding.

Blissfully, a familiar voice calls to you from across the space and your eyes lock onto Mat Barzal, frantically waving at you from one of the other tables. You smile, walking over to him as he rises from his chair and hugs you, your name falling from his lips with that bright cheerfulness that you heard so frequently over Facetime calls and nights out in LA when the Islanders came to California.

“How are you doing, Barzy?” you ask, pulling away from the hug.

“Pretty good,” he replies, his hand falling to the shoulder of the pretty brunette occupying the seat next to him. “Have I introduced you to Lyla yet?”

“Well, you’ve talked about her enough that I feel like I’ve met her before,” you laugh as you steal Mat’s seat from him, holding out your hand before formally introducing yourself. “Good to officially meet the girl that stole this idiot’s heart.”

“Nice to finally meet you too,” Lyla says, taking your hand in hers. “Although, I will be honest, when I first saw your name on Mat’s phone and how many Facetime calls the two of you shared, I was a little concerned. Thought you were a long-distance girlfriend or something.”

“Completely understandable,” you laugh, admiring her candor. “But there’s nothing to worry about. He’s a little too sweet for me.”

“I’m standing right here,” Mat huffs and you look up at him with a smirk.

“It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”

Your relationship with Mat Barzal was the one thing that had shifted in the years you were away but it definitely changed for the better. He had turned from a potential romantic partner to a true friend. That shift – one that was brought on after a night of too many French Blonde cocktails – lifted a weight off both of your shoulders and opened the door for an even deeper connection with star winger.

“I hear that I have you to thank for him asking me on a date,” Lyla says.

“I did nothing but push Mat to ask for the number of the pretty girl at the gym that he spent almost a half-an-hour raving about,” you laugh, loving the way both Lyla and Mat’s cheeks flushed. “You had him whipped before he even knew your name.”

“Oh, trust me, I figured that out eventually,” Lyla jokes and you can’t help but scoot in, ready to hear all the embarrassing stories that Lyla was willing to share. And share she did. It seems like hours of laughter and conversation, Mat even dragging a chair over and joining in – although most of his comments are attempts to defend himself. Eventually, Lyla gets up to run to the ladies room, departing with a kiss on Mat’s cheek and you can’t stop the smile that appears when Mat’s eyes stay glued to her as she walks away.

“I like her,” you say, calling his attention back to you. “She’s way too good for the likes of you.”

“Oh, I know,” he laughs, taking your jest in stride before sipping his beer. You see his hazel eyes bounce across the room, pausing momentarily before they return to you. “Have you talked to him yet?”

A sigh rushes through you as you shake your head.

“I still can’t believe I told you about him.”

“You told me like… eight months ago. Besides, you can only blame yourself.”

“Hey, I can also blame copious amounts of alcohol.”

“Yeah, alcohol that loosened your tongue and sent his name falling out of your mouth,” Mat quips, his eyebrow raising. “Along with your dinner.”

“Please don’t remind me,” you say, your mind jumping back to the night in question.

It was November, when the Islanders played Los Angeles. You and Mat met up at a local bar – just the two of you and it was that night that your relationship changed completely. Because in your inebriated state, Matt Martin’s name slurred from your lips while Barzy was attempting to shove you into an Uber.

Despite facing the wrath of his coaches, Mat helped you back to your apartment and kept you company that night, his reasoning being that he wanted to make sure you were alright and a California road trip allowing him the time to do so. It was over greasy eggs and bacon that he asked why you said Marty’s name. And you told him.

You even told him about the night of the charity gala, emphasizing that you never meant to use him like that. And that the reason why you never took him up on his offer to be more than friends was because you didn’t want to use him more, keep giving him false hope.

The truth stung him for a few days but after giving him the time and space he needed, the honesty and clarity brought the two of you closer. Now, he was the only person in your life that knew the whole story of why you left Long Island. And, like the good friend he was, he kept your secret all that time.

“You know you’re going to have to speak to him at some point,” Mat prods.

“I know,” you quip, playfully rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t mean I can’t avoid him for a few more minutes.”

“You’ve been avoiding him for almost two years. Don’t know if a few minutes is going to help.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“You can thank Lyla for that,” he smiles and you watch his whole expression soften at the mere sound of her name.

“She makes you happy.”

The sentence is more statement than question. You were there on the other end of the line when he talked about the first time he saw her. You gave him pep-talks and advice on how to ask her out. You helped him plan dates and dinners. It was obvious that this girl was something special to him.

“Happier than I’ve been in a while.”

“Then why are you still sitting here talking to me?” you say. “Dance at a wedding with your girlfriend.”

“Alright, I will,” Mat laughs, standing. He doesn’t depart immediately, choosing instead to lean over to you with a serious look in hie eye. “But you have to promise me you’ll talk to Marty.”

Another sigh escapes you as you let your head turn to look at the reception hall, your eyes glancing off the crowd of guests before landing on Matt, leaning against the wall, talking to Cal and his wife. As if he can feel your eyes on him, his gaze drifts to you and you watch a myriad of emotions dance on his face, each so subtle and fleeting that you couldn’t even begin to decipher what he was thinking.

“He’s been asking about you, you know,” Mat’s voice sounds, pulling your attention back to him.

“He has?”

“Yeah. Asking me, Scotty, Emily, anyone really. How you’re doing, what you’re doing.”

“What have you told him?”

“Just surface level stuff: your job, your complaints about the weather and LA traffic, things like that. It seems like he wants to talk to you,” Mat says. “So, you should talk to him. If nothing else, you might at least get some closure.”

You exhale, you mid swirling with the information that Matt Martin was still thinking about you, maybe in the same way you were thinking about him. Your head was a mess of doubts and hopes and fears and longing and desires. You just breathe through it all, pulling Mat into another hug which he reciprocates.

“You’re a really good friend, you know that right?” you ask, your voice muffled by his tuxedo.

“So I’ve been told by this really cool Los Angeles girl who overthinks everything.”

You laugh as you let your arms fall, Mat shooting you that crooked smile before he is walking away. You see him intercept Lyla as she re-enters the reception area, taking her arm in his and pulling her to the dancefloor, the smile on her face brightening as Mat leans in and kisses her cheek.

There was a part of you that twinged at the sight. You knew it was jealousy – not the traditional jealousy but a different form. You weren’t angry that Mat found joy with someone that wasn’t you, but envious that he found someone, period.

Especially since you were unable to move on from the man you shared a scandalous but exhilarating few months with. The man you promised yourself you would forget.

But then you hear his voice sound from behind you and feel that exquisite ache that you had never been able to soothe throb in the center of your chest.

“Hey.”

You turn to see him standing behind you, his suit looking almost too perfect for his body, his hair tousled and falling over his forehead. You watch as his blue eyes rove over your face and you wonder what he’s thinking and if all the same emotions are flooding his system the way they were yours.

“Hi,” you whisper, cursing your voice for coming out sounding so timid, cursing yourself for still allowing Matt Martin to make you feel small. But instead of that cool smirk that used to always appear at the sound of your frailty, his face remains impassive, his eyes flicking down to the now vacant seat next to you.

“Could I sit?” he asks and your head spins, not only because of the gentleness of the question but the fact that he even asked at all. The Matt Martin you used to know would’ve sat down immediately, invading your space boldly and brazenly for no other reason than to get a rise out of you.

You nod, watching him settle down into the cushioned seat and take a sip from his whiskey glass, his eyes still on you. It takes an immense amount of effort to break your gaze as you reach for your own wine and letting the smooth oaked flavor dance over your tongue.

“How have you been?” Matt breaks the silence again and you know you hear a hesitance in his voice, like he is unsure if he should even be addressing you.

“I’ve been alright,” you reply, your own voice thick with trepidation. “You?”

“It’s been decent.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, and his eyebrows quirk up in curiosity at your words. “For your injury. The playoffs,” you elaborate. Your gaze stays locked on him, trying to understand the micro-expressions that pass over his face.

“Thank you,” he replies and you just nod, taking another sip of your wine. “Didn’t know if you were even watching.”

“Wanted to support my brother.”

“Right,” he sighs. “Of course.”

You hated this. Hated the weight that hung over the two of you like a lead curtain, making anything beyond small talk too difficult to say. You weren’t sure how to surmount this obstacle, not sure if it was even possible to overcome. But someone had to be brave and attempt that first step.

With a deep breath and another sip of liquid courage, you turn you attention back to Matt.

“Was there… something you wanted to ask me?” you question, the words as stilted and unclear as the intention behind them.

Matt looks at you, his blue eyes wide as he absorbs your words. It is a moment of stillness before he is finishing off his whiskey and setting the glass on the table, lifting himself out of his chair. Your heart flips in fear that you said the wrong thing, that you ruined the moment before it could even take shape but that concern is silenced when Matt stands in front of you, holding out his hand, his palm upturned.

“Dance with me?”

Of all the questions that you thought Matt Martin would confront you with, this was one that you were not prepared for. A sentiment that is echoed by a bewildered ‘what?’ falling from your lips.

“Will you dance with me?” Matt reiterates, the request turning into a genuine question. Would you let him take you out onto the dance floor and into his arms again?

Your eyes rove from his face to his hand, still outstretched. The hesitance lingers in you reflected by the way you lift your own hand, your fingers curling back in a moment of uncertainty before you allow them to touch his. They glide against his calloused skin, wrapping around his palm, his own fingers winding around your hand.

Another glance up at him shows you the slightest smile playing at his lips. But it isn’t twinged with the familiar undercurrent of cruelty or power. Instead, it looks like relief.

He gently tugs you upright before leading you to the dancefloor, the refrain of a slow melody encompassing you moments before Matt’s arms do the same. He adjusts the grip on your hand while the other finds a respectful place on the small of your back. You let your own free hand lift and rest delicately on his bicep as the two of you begin to sway.

The silence between you remains even as the music rises and falls. You still avoid looking in Matt’s eyes, content to stare at the hardwood floor even though you can feel the weight of his gaze. In the back of your mind, you knew that if your eyes locked with his, you wouldn’t be able to keep your composure.  That possibility was to be avoided at all costs. You couldn’t let Matt Martin regain the control over you that he used to have.

“You look beautiful.”

Those three muttered words, the compassion behind them, makes your resolve crumble, your eyes darting up to meet with his.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice breathless – the exact opposite of the curtness you wanted your tone to convey. But perhaps it wasn’t your choice to soften your words. Maybe it was subconscious, based on the way that Matt held you, the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. It felt different.

He was different.

“I missed you,” he whispers; the first real confession of the night.

“Matt,” you sigh, the cynic jumping out to protect your heart – the one that he shattered.

“I know,” he says. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“How can you?” you challenge him, the small flame of anger that you held flickering in your chest.

“You’re right. I have no idea what you were about to say. But I can make a guess.”

His words extinguish that resentment as soon as it appears, your eyebrow raising in surprise – not only towards his words but in his concession to you, he deference of power, the pendulum swinging in your favor. Your silence allows him to continue.

“I know I haven’t given you any reason to trust me,” he begins. “For you to believe anything I say is the truth. But I guess… I’m just wondering if you would give me a chance. Let me prove it to you.”

“Prove what to me?”

“How much I missed you. How much I care about you.”

He pulls your closer to him and you allow it. You let him hold you tighter until your chests press together, the smell of his all too familiar cologne flooding your senses. You swear you forget how to breathe when you feel his hand trace up your arm before resting against your jawline. The gentle press of his fingers guides you to look up at him, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“Let me prove that I was an idiot for ever letting you go.”

You can feel the tears prick the corner of your eyes and you know Matt can see them, watching as they well up on your lower lashes. His words seemed so sweet, so genuine, and you so desperately wanted to believe them. But there was still that voice in the back of your mind screaming, ‘this is what he does; he’s an expert at speaking these saccharine words but you know they’re never fulfilling.’

But here, now, he was promising to prove it to you.

The words of acceptance are dancing up your throat, hanging on the tip of your tongue and at the edge of your lips. But before you can speak them into existence, the universe silences you once again.

“Alright everyone, please clear the dance floor and let the bride and groom have one private last dance. Make your way to the front entrance and get ready to send them off in style!”

The MC’s voice booms from the speaker, pulling your attention and your body away from the gentle hold of Matt. The uncertainty and distrust take advantage of the interruption to reassert itself in your mind.

‘This was a sign,’ it said. ‘The universe is protecting you from getting your heart broken again.’

But when you look back, your eyes connecting to Matt’s once more and you still see nothing but yearning on his face, you feel your own longing surge again.

“Meet me by the fountain when this is all over?” you ask.

“I’ll be there.”

This time, you really do believe him.

You meet with the rest of the bridesmaids and hand out the silver streamers. You are blessed with an immense amount of coordination and impeccable timing as the streamers pop right as Scotty and Emily make their way through the crowd and hop in the car, already packed with their suitcases and honeymoon plane tickets. It is another few moments of clean up and meeting with the wedding coordinator before you are able to run back to the cabin where you and the other bridesmaids stayed for the past two days. You grab your overnight duffle bag, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way through the country club and out to the garden near the front entrance.

The two aspects of your personality were still at war with each other as you entered the terrace. Part of you prayed that Matt would keep his word and be there, just like he said. The other part prepared itself for the possibility that this was all just a cruel joke, an elaborate attempt for him to keep his hooks in you.

But when you walk out and see Matt standing next to the stone fountain, his profile illuminated by the garden lights, your desire once again silences the doubt in your mind.

You wanted to trust him. Sure, you might get hurt. But you could also heal.

That hope was worth the risk.

Matt hears your heels clacking against the pavement and turns to face you, his lips curling in a gentle smile at your approach.

“You’re here,” you say, breathless, as if your brain still didn’t trust that this wasn’t all a dream.

“I told you I would be,” he replies, holding out his hand to you again, another offering for you to accept or reject. This time, your hand slides easily into his, your fingers intertwining.

There is a pause, as if neither of you expected to be in this situation. Now that you were, you were both unsure what to do next. The uncertainty sinks into you, your voice breaking the silence in an attempt to continue the moment.

“I was planning on getting a room at the hotel airport,” you explain. “If you want to join me.”

You swear you see a flash of surprise cross Matt’s face at your suggestion before softening, a look of gentle exasperation painted on his features.

“Is that how you think I’m going to make it up to you?” he asks. His tone isn’t frustrated or offended. Instead, it’s curious, like he truly wonders if that’s what you thought of him. Or if that’s what you needed from him.

The ache that rushes through your body, reminiscent of the desire you always felt towards him but multiplied tenfold, gives you your answer. The months you spent denying your hunger for him, the ways you explained away the pain of losing him as something akin to withdrawal, how you used those brief moments of happiness to justify your choice to leave, keeping you handcuffed to the idea that you would be better off without him… they all melted away.

You wanted him. You’ve always wanted him.

You step forward, pressing your body close as you look into those eyes that haunted your dreams.

“It’s how I want you to,” you whisper, the response to his question cutting through the night air.

There is no clear indication on who moved first but you find it doesn’t matter when you feel the press of Matt’s lips against yours. This kiss itself is delicate, as if he was careful not to cross any line, any boundary that you wanted to place. But you had no sense of restraint.

Your desire surged forward, free from the cage that you kept it locked in. You release your grip on his hand and your duffle bag, your free hands flying up to his hair, tangling in the silky locks as your body presses impossibly closer. Matt takes your desperation in stride, his own arms wrapping around you, holding you steady. Your tongue presses against the seam of his lips, silently begging for access which he gives. A whimper escapes your throat, the taste of him on your tongue only increasing your craving. You can feel Matt’s grip tighten in response to your sounds, his fingers crumpling the silk fabric of your dress as he swallows every desperate noise that he pulls from you.

Somehow, the kisses slow until your lips are falling away from each other. Matt keeps you near, your forehead pressed against his, the warmth of his breath fanning across your cheekbones.

“Let me take you home,” he murmurs and you don’t even think twice before your head is nodding in agreement.

The car ride back to his place feels both familiar and foreign. The air between you is still thick with need but those powerful emotions are lightened by the feeling of Matt’s fingers intertwining with yours over the center console, the way his eyes dart over to you, looking at you as if he couldn’t believe this was real. You were sure that your face conveyed the same thought.

He pulls into the driveway, the porchlight gleaming like a beacon in the darkness, calling you back to him. His grip around you is firm as he walks you to the front door, escorting you across the threshold and your eyes take in the sight of a house that you felt you knew like the back of your hand. The pillows on his couch were different as was some of the art lining the walls but besides that, it looked exactly how it did the last time you were there.

You hear Matt kick off his shoes behind you and you aren’t sure if it’s habit or muscle memory that pulls you forward, your own heels tapping against the hardwood as you wander deeper, your body guiding you to the staircase. Your hand wraps around the wooden railing as you begin your ascent to the second floor. Matt is close behind you, his own steps slow and measured as he lets you guide him up the stairs and to the first door on your right.

The master bedroom is more of the same, the smallest and subtlest of changes catching your attention as you walk into the room. You can hear the small click of the door latch finding home echo and you turn to see Matt leaning against the doorframe, his eyes observing you in the low lamplight.

Your smile is all the encouragement he needs to push himself away from the door, crossing the distance stretched between you in only a few steps. His hand lifts to cup your face, your eyes locking with his before he is capturing your lips in another kiss.

In the safety and security of his bedroom, it seems as if both of your desires were unleashed with a vengeance. His hands pull you closer and your own scramble on his body, wanting to feel every inch of him, wanting to recommit his shape to memory. You are pressed against him, pushing him deeper into the room, your feet moving across the carpeted floor. He lets you manipulate him, walking backward and holding you against him as if he wanted no space to separate the two of you ever again, be it three-thousand miles or three inches.

It isn’t long until his body is falling to sit on the edge of his mattress, his thighs spreading to pull you between them. His desire to have you close is reciprocated, your body moving on its own accord. Your hand mindlessly reaches down to grip the fabric of your dress, pulling the midi hem higher to allow you to climb into his lap without hinderance, your legs straddling his waist.

Matt’s hands grip you tighter, pulling you close, the movement of his lips against yours never ceasing. Your own hands return to tangle in his hair, the taste of him more intoxicating than all the bottles and glasses of alcohol that you drank trying to forget him.

If possible, your desire ratchets up another level and your hands fall from his hair, tugging off his suit jacket. You blindly reach for his tie, undoing the knot as Matt’s hands wander all over your body, grabbing your ass, pulling your hips down to meet his. A moan rumbles from your chest as you feel the hardness of him pressed against you, your lips falling from Matt’s. He doesn’t seem affected, his own lips moving to kiss your neck, his hands still tracing your curves.

You are blind with lust as Matt’s head dips across your collarbones and the top of your decolletage and you let your instincts guide you, your fingers finding the buttons of his dress shirt. Each clasp is unfastened deftly and as soon as the shirt falls open, your hands sneak underneath the fabric, pressing against Matt’s warm skin. You can feel the strength of his chest, the movement of his muscles, and the pounding of his heart underneath your palms as they glide up, pushing the material off his broad shoulders. Matt’s hands only depart from your body momentarily to rid the shirt from his frame completely before he is pulling your lips to his again.

Your hands drift back down to his abdomen and you can feel his muscles clench in response to your gentle touch. It’s another generous roll of your hips against his before your fingertips find the button and zipper of his slacks. You blindly undo them just enough that you can slip your hand beneath both the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Matt groans against your skin as your hand wraps around his length. Another rush of heat flows through your body at hearing the familiar pet-name fall from his lips. Your own lips twist in a smile as you give him a few languid strokes, relishing in the way his moans vibrate against your skin – the way he weakens for you.

The need to make him unravel more takes over as you begin to pull away from him, your body scooting back in order to dismount and fall to your knees in front of him. But before you could even drop a single foot onto the carpeted floor, Matt’s hands hold you firm, halting your motions.

“No,” he whispers, pulling you back to him. “Not tonight.”

You stare at him, your eagerness to have him in your mouth mixing with the confusion of why he was preventing you from doing just that. The immediate response he gives you is another kiss, his hand returning to rest against your jaw. When he does pull away, you hear his sultry timbre echo around the room.

“I should be the one on my knees worshipping you, not the other way around.” 

His declaration burns through you, igniting a need that had been left untapped for years.

You were used to submitting to Matt Martin. You thought that you loved it. But now, here he was ready to bow to you and your desires and your will. That thought alone made a fire pool in your lower stomach, your lips pressing against his again.

His hands tighten against your skin, securing his grip on you as he lifts himself from the bed with you in his arms. The sensation of the smooth sheets pressing against your back is almost instantaneous, Matt’s lips falling from yours to retrace their previous pathway along your jaw, down the column of your throat and across your collarbones. You are about to lift yourself upright to pull the material of your dress away from your frame but Matt’s arms keep you pinned against the mattress. Instead, his hand simply tugs the fabric up, painstakingly exposing more of your skin to the cool air until the silk is bunched around your waist.

You feel Matt’s smile against your skin as his lips continue their descent, kisses placed against your stomach before he presses a whisper of one right above the edge of your panties.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes darting up to look at you.

The only sound that your voice can manage is a whine but it’s enough for Matt, his elegant fingers hooking and twisting around your waistband. Your head falls back as you lift your hips to help him pull the soft cotton away. He tugs the material down your legs at a painstaking pace, lifting your feet to unhook the elastic from around your ankles.

You expect – no, you need him to return to the apex of your thighs. But you soon realize how much Matt meant it when he said he planned on worshipping you.

His hands guide your feet to rest on his muscular thighs as his finger unbuckle your shoe, sliding it off before repeating the action on the other side. He lifts your leg, your bare heel now resting on the back of his shoulder and you sigh when you feel his lips press against your calf. They linger as he makes his way back up your frame, a kiss pressed on your shin, your knee, your inner thigh.

It feels like reverence. It feels like devotion – to you, to the way you make him feel.

Your hand reaches down, tangling in his hair and gently tugging him closer to the place you needed him most. Matt lets you guide him and, after he brings both of your legs to rest on his shoulders, his arm wrapping around your waist, pinning your hips to the bed, he finally – finally – presses his mouth against your core.

A relieved sigh escapes your chest as Matt’s lips move, his tongue darting out to trace your folds. Your sighs turn to whimpers to moans as he continues his ministrations, remembering all the things that make your breathing hitch, your thighs shake. Remembering all the ways you come undone.

“Still so sweet,” he murmurs. “Still so desperate for me.”

He resumes his movements, winding you up in the most deliberate way. Your free hand twists into the sheets as he drags you closer to the edge, his tongue diving into your cunt before lifting to flick against your clit, the action causing your hips to jolt from beneath his strong arm. You swear that you are about to rip his sheets based on how tight you are holding them.

You’re too strung out to see Matt’s eyes lift, him noticing the death grip you have on the soft cotton covering the mattress. In your haze, you can feel the grip he has on your thigh loosen and depart but your mind doesn’t understand the reason until you feel his hand dancing across your fingers twisted in the sheets, silently coaxing you to release the fabric. You do and as soon as there is space, his fingers filling the gaps between yours, holding your hand tightly as his mouth continues to work its sinful magic against you.

Your orgasm hits you unexpectedly, your back arching off the bed as the tidal wave of pleasure crashes through your body, radiating from your stomach down to the tips of each limb. Your hand tightens around his so firmly that you believe you must be cutting off circulation. But Matt doesn’t seem to mind, squeezing your hand tighter in response. He moans against your core in response to the taste of your release flooding his tongue, the vibration sending another round of shudders down your spine.

The feeling of Matt’s mouth and hands leaving you ignites a new wave of desperation, one that is only partially satiated when he returns to hover over you, kissing you deeply. You moan into his mouth when you taste the tang of your own essence still coating his tongue.

“I can’t believe I forgot how good you were at that,” you exhale when your lips fall from his.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget how gorgeous you look when you cum,” he murmurs, his head dipping down to your neck, his quiet assertation making you smile.

You let him press his lips against your throat, content to lay beneath him for the moment. But when you feel his hips roll against yours, his own hunger for you and your body not yet satisfied, another ache of need hits you. You pull his head back up to your face, capturing his lips in another feverish kiss.

Matt’s body hovers mere centimeters above yours, his hips pressed against you. The position makes it easy for you to hook your leg around him. Using what strength you had, you somehow manage to flip the two of you around, Matt’s back crashing onto the bed, your body now suspended above him.

You break the kiss, lifting yourself upright with a grin on your face as your hands trace over the ridges of his chest. His own hands dance up your thighs, sneaking beneath the hem of your dress to caress the soft skin around your hipbones. In the span of a breath, your fingers bunch the silken material of your gown, gathering it in your hands before you pull the fabric over your head.

The gentle sharp inhale of Matt’s breath as your body becomes entirely exposed to him is music to your ears. There is no stopping his hands as they continue to drift up your body, gliding over the curves of your hips and waist, dancing across your ribcage before coming to cup your breasts. He caresses the sensitive skin, his thumbs reaching to brush against your nipples causing your head to fall back, a soft plea for him to continue falling from your mouth. He listens, his fingers roving across your body, as if there was not an inch of skin that he wanted to leave untouched.

“Such a gorgeous perfect body,” he mutters, making the pool of desire within you fill again.

You lift your hips up only so far as to reach behind you, tugging at the fabric of his slacks and boxer briefs; a silent request. His hands fall from your body to pull the material down his legs and you feel him kick off the only remaining barriers between your bodies. You lean forward as you kiss him again, your hips sinking back down. A simultaneous moan escapes both of you as you grind against him, your arousal coating the soft skin of his shaft.

There is want and then there is pure unadulterated need and the latter is what takes a hold of you now. Your lips fall from his as you stretch your body forward, your arm reaching for the nightstand drawer, the place he used to – and now you hope still does – keep his condoms. Your progress is halted briefly by Matt’s head lifting to wrap his lips around your nipples, the action making another gasp sound your throat. You persevere, albeit somewhat distracted because of Matt’s ministrations, pulling open the drawer, relieved to see the box in the same place, thankful that not everything had changed.

But as you reach for one of the square packets, your eyes land on a stack of envelopes pushed against the other side and you swear you see your name scrawled across the white paper. You don’t have any time to linger on them as you feel Matt’s teeth gently nip at your skin, pulling your attention back to him.

“Please, darling, hurry up,” he implores, dark blue eyes looking up to you. “Need to get inside you.”

Who were you to deny him?

Your fingers grasp the foil, your body returning to its upright position above him. You rip open the packet, pulling the rubber from the confines and preparing it before you reach behind you, taking Matt in your hand. He throws his head back, his hair haloing around his face as you give him a few languid strokes before sliding the condom on.

There is no waiting, no more hesitation as you lift your hips up. Your free hand presses against the center of his chest for balance as you guide him to your entrance. You aren’t sure if it’s him or yourself you’re teasing when you slide the tip of him against your folds once, twice before you align yourself to him.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as you sink down, the stretch of him entering you delectably foreign and yet comfortingly familiar. Matt has a similar reaction to the sensation of your walls wrapping around him, his hands flying up to your hips, his grip tightening around you so much so that you swear you’re going to have bruises in the shape of his fingerprints the next morning.

“Fuck, darling,” he growls as your hips meet his, him bottoming out inside of you. “Still feel like fucking heaven around me.”

Your only response is a whimper as your eyes flutter shut, both of your hands now resting on his chest, using him for leverage as you begin to move. Matt guides the motion of your hips, helping you bounce on top of him, letting you grind against him, more sharp gasps falling from your lips as your clit rubs against the taut skin of his lower stomach.

“That’s it sweetheart,” he praises, fingers brushing against your skin as you ride him. “Take what you want from me. It’s yours to have.”

You whine, grinding your hips even deeper onto him, one of your hands lifting to tease your nipples. You missed this, the feeling of Matt hitting spots so deep in you, spots that no one else had been able to find before and since.

“God, I missed this,” Matt groans, echoing your thoughts, his eyes devouring your body. “Missed you.”

His words force you to open your eyelids and when your eyes lock, you almost cum simply from the way he is staring at you: like you were the most beautiful piece of artwork, like you were sculpted from the purest marble, crafted from the finest paints. Like you deserved to be hung in the Louvre.

“Matt,” you whine, his name falling from your lips in a plea as your movements falter against him.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks, his own voice strained and earnest. “What do you need?”

“Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” he questions. But unlike the times before, he’s not asking in order to tease you, to be cruel, or to force you to beg him for a mere sliver of his attention. He is asking because he wants to hear you say it – wants to hear you confess that you’ve missed him and that you’ve been wanting him as much as he has been wanting you.

“Please,” you reply. “Please, I need it. I need you.”

Your words aren’t twinged with contempt, nor are they wretched from your mouth unwillingly. They fall from your lips because you mean them, because you want to beg for him – not the other way around.

A gasp is torn from your chest as Matt lifts himself up, his chest pressing against yours. His hands trace your spine, one burrowing into the hair at the nape of your neck, the other resting heavy on the small of your back. He pulls you to him, kissing you again and swallowing every noise that falls from your lips as he drags your hips into his.

You weren’t sure if it was because you were wound too tight or that you truly couldn’t comprehend what was happening because before you knew it, Matt had spun you around, flipping you once again so you were the one laying against the sheets. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips and before you can moan at the feeling of him thrusting into you, your sounds are muffled by his lips again.

Matt eventually breaks away, one arm reaching back to grip your thigh, pulling one leg higher, the new angle causing every stroke of him to brush against that damnable spot that made you see stars. You cry out, your head collapsing against the bed, Matt’s name falling from your lips.

“Fuck, I missed this,” Matt mutters, keeping his steady pace as he watches your body respond to his movements. “Missed how beautiful you look underneath me. Missed this perfect fucking pussy. Fucking taking all of me like it’s made for me.”

His possessiveness makes you whimper, the high-pitched sound catching his ear.

“That right, baby?” he asks. “This cunt still mine, even after all this time?”

“Yes,” comes your reply, wrapped in a strangled moan. “I’m all yours. I’m still yours,” you gasp out, your hips desperately chasing his.

“And I’m all yours,” Matt replies, his head dropping down to kiss you again. “Let it out, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

He doesn’t speed up, content to keep his languid pace, steadily driving you towards that cliff. The noises that escape you are incoherent, a jumbled mess of curses and pleas as your walls flutter desperately around him. It feels like the most deliberate and exquisite torture, a pleasure that you would welcome time and time again if he would let you.

“Come on, darling,” you hear Matt’s voice whisper in your ear. “Remind me how good it feels when that beautiful cunt cums around me.”

It is the quiet demand that has you falling off the edge, your muscles stiffening as your orgasm hits you. You can hear a faint growl rumble from Matt, murmured praise being spoken into your skin like a prayer as he fucks you through it, your legs trembling as they fall from him.

Matt’s movements finally increase in speed as he chases own climax, each move of his hips making you whimper. You tug his head to you, kissing him fiercely and swallowing his groans as he stills and you bask in the sensation of his cock pulsing inside of you.

Your labored breaths mingle as you stay wrapped up together, sweat drenched foreheads pressed against each other as you both collect yourself. Matt’s hand, the one that that had been gripping your thigh, lifts to brush your hair away from your forehead as his eyes appraise you. You can’t stop the way your eyes close as he leans in, kissing you once again, his tongue dipping into your open mouth and you whine as you feel him slowly pull out of you.

He places a gentle chaste kiss against your lips before lifting himself off you, walking around the bed. Your eyes track his movements, watching as he stops at the nightstand, the top drawer still open. There is a flicker of some emotion that crosses his face before he pushes the drawer closed before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. You hear the water running before he returns, a warm damp washcloth in one hand and a t-shirt in the other.

Matt gently presses the washcloth against your skin, starting at your forehead and temples before descending until he reached the apex of your thighs, brushing away the lingering wetness of your release from your skin. He throws the towel into the hamper and holds out his hand, which you take. You let him lift your torso off the sheets as he hands you the t-shirt. He holds you steady while you slip the soft cotton over your head, the worn Maple Leaf emblem resting on your upper chest almost completely faded.

You collapse back against the sheets as Matt pulls on a pair of boxers before climbing next to you. His arms wrap around your body as he settles behind you, pulling your back close to his chest. Your own fingers lift to absentmindedly play with his as reality crashes back over you.

You aren’t sure what to say, if there even is anything to be said. You don’t want to ruin the golden halo of peace that surrounds the two of you but you knew you couldn’t just leave it like this. There were still too many questions unanswered, still too much uncertainty.

“What are you thinking about?” you hear Matt’s husky voice whisper from behind you. You sigh, wiggling in his grasp. He loosens his hold enough for you to spin and face him, his blue eyes soft as they take in the sight of you in his bed.

“A lot of things,” you answer, the response vague enough to let him decide whether to press on or to leave it at that. He decides to do the former.

“Like what?”

Your eyes lift to think, picturing the mess of thoughts in your head as you attempt to untangle each. The loose threads seem innumerable, too many to choose which was the most important to tug and which could be saved for a later moment. So, you just latch onto the first image that appears in your mind.

“Could I ask you a question?” you say, eyes connecting back to him.

“Of course.”

“When I was in your nightstand earlier,” you begin, carefully observing even the tiniest reactions that tug at Matt’s expression. “I saw a stack of envelopes and it looked like they had my name on them. What are they?”

There is a myriad of emotions that dance across Matt’s face, each more fleeting than the last before his features settle to what looks to you to be apathy or resignation. You feel your heart panic as his body turns away from, fearing that you spoke the wrong words – said the wrong thing. But it quiets when you watch him pull open the nightstand drawer, his hand reaching in. Your eyes follow his movements as he pulls out the stack of envelopes before spinning back to you.

“They’re for you,” he says, holding them out towards you. You take them from his hands, the bundle held tight by a rubber band. Your fingers flip through each of them, finding your name written on every single one. Your eyes dart from the paper back to him and you swear you see his cheeks tinge a lightish pink.

“My therapist suggested that I write you letters.”

“Your therapist?”

“Yeah. I started seeing him shortly after you left,” he explains, his hand reaching behind to awkwardly scratch at the nape of his neck. “Realized that there was a lot I needed to work on.”

“Why didn’t you send them?”

“I didn’t know your new address,” he tells you, the candor in his voice strengthening as he continues. “And I was too proud to ask. Besides, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to hear from me. Thought you might throw them away if I did send them.”

You don’t respond, neither confirming or denying his assumption because in that moment, you weren’t certain what you would’ve done if a letter from him had appeared in your mailbox.

“What’s in them?” you ask, choosing to revert to a safer statement.

“Things I wanted to say to you. Things I never said to you when you needed to hear them. Everything I wanted to tell you but never got the chance to.”

There is a silence as you take in his declaration, your curiosity piquing as your fingers trace the edges of the envelopes. There is a desire to read them but also a fear, unsure if the contents would contain blame or apologies or gaslighting or regret.

“You don’t have to read them now,” Matt speaks again, his voice drawing your attention back to him.  “You don’t have to read them at all if you don’t want to. They’re yours to do whatever you please.”  

Something inside you tells you that it’s dangerous; that it’s a bad idea to open them. To trace over the words and strong emotions that forced him to put pen to paper. To allow Matt Martin back into the heart that you’ve spent years repairing. But when you feel his hand trace down the side of your face, his fingers twirling a strand of your hair, you realize that that line had already been blurred beyond recognition.

You didn’t know what a bad idea was when Matt was around. You had already done so many things that you shouldn’t have with him. What was one more bad idea compared to the thousands you acted on before?

What was this bad idea in comparison to one that brought you to Matt Martin’s bed in the first place?

Your mind swirls with all the drastic changes you had experienced in such a short amount of time. How different the world felt right now versus a few hours ago. How different the man sitting next to you was from the man you left in a Long Island bar two years ago. You felt as if you lived twenty lifetimes since you woke up. The past, the present, and every possible future tangled together in your mind, an amalgamation of all that had happened and all that could happen.

But you didn’t want to think about that right now. All you wanted to do was sink into Matt Martin’s arms and hold him close.

So, that’s exactly what you did.

You gently turn away from Matt, reaching up to place the stack of envelopes on top of the neighboring nightstand. There was still uncertainty whether you would read them, but the action of keeping them meant that you would consider it. And when you face Matt again, it seems that – for him – that was enough. This time, it is you who reaches out to intertwine your hand with his, scooting closer to him. He follows your lead, his body sinking into the mattress until you are pressed together, side by side. Your head comes to rest on chest, your eyes closing, the sound of his strong heartbeat echoing in your ear.

Right before sleep overtakes you, you manage to whisper to him the truth that your heart sang out, the sentence that you realized you couldn’t deny even after months of trying to do just that.

“I missed you too.”

The last thing you register is a soft kiss pressed onto the crown of your head, and encompassed in Matt’s warm embrace, you let the feeling of peace wash over you.

… but it’s gonna be alright. I did my time…

a/n 2.0: I did decide to leave it a little open ended because i just liked the feeling of it better. but if you want to know how what i think happens after this, i will direct you to this mashup

tagging the babes who made writing this so rewarding: @texanstarslove @comphy-and-cozy @smileysvech @laurenairay @dissonannce @cowboybarzy @cellythefloshie @provokedgoalie @m00nlightdelights @tkachvkmatthew @cixrosie @alwaysclassyeagle @geospatialharmony

[localcouchgremlin]

'I have bad vibes about lola today she's probably being run by --'

who cares. who honestly cares. you aren't defeating racism or standing up for victims by beating a dead horse about a woman who hasn't been online for years, we already know Lindsey's a dickhead. but I promise you can dislike her without inventing other reasons to do so or say that everything surrounding her is eeeeeevil + if she's nicely interacting with fans and liking their work thru lola hey thats a neat thing at least. ill give her that for once

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki + doctor!wife saves his life

☆— fem reader, ANGST, fluff, swearing, descriptions of blood and medical procedures.

☆— a/n; i wrote this a while ago, and i apologize beforehand for any mistakes. i'm not a doctor.🙃

☆—context; reader and bakugou have an arranged marriage. reader is quirkless, but her parents aren't. a business made by his parents and hers made them end up married. bakugou and reader have hated each other since they met; however, lately they had improved their relationship a lot by this moment.

☆—context2; let's pretend for the sake of this fic that morphine and nitroglycerin don't work well together, and it's deadly when combined. you'll understand why in a bit. *wink wink*

"Miss Y/L/N, you are needed in the ER urgently. Please, direct yourself here. I repeat, Miss Y/L/N…"

You looked up from the wound you were checking on one of your patients in the ICU to the speakers of the hospital. The voice even sounded urgent, which was kind of unsettling and strange; however your movements didn't hurry. You realized the severity of the call when one of your colleagues entered the room and urged you to hurry and go while she would take your place in caring for the patient you were currently with.

And it felt like a bucket of cold water when you saw Uraraka standing at the door of that room, looking all beaten and tears streaming down her face.

Oh, no.

The only reason she would be here looking like that was because of a fight that ended badly with some villain, like any other hero would likely be there, at the hospital for. However, the fact that she was there, looking for you specifically…

It only meant one thing.

Bakugou.

The next thing you knew is that you're running. The voice of your boss in the very back of your mind nagging at you, "do not run in the hospital!"; but you couldn't care less. Especially not now. You could also hear Uraraka running behind you too with some difficulty; and you felt a bit bad about that. She was also hurt and you should have attended to her wounds, yet he was the only thing you had a mind to care for at the moment.

When you entered the ER, it was chaos. Pro heroes, injured all around the place; even Izuku was sitting on a gurney, a nurse stitching a new open wound in his right arm, face bloody and bruised, dirt all over him. Kaminari was laying on the one next to him, also bruised and passed out.

As your eyes traveled throughout the whole place, you realized every Pro Hero you knew was there, everyone who had belonged to Class A especially. But you couldn't find Bakugou.

All the air in the room felt scarce when you saw Kirishima move around and discuss something with a doctor in one of the private rooms.

Oh, fucking no…

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as you directed yourself there, the beatings of your heart deafening you almost completely, your attention solely in that room where you knew for sure Bakugou was in.

When Kirishima saw you entering the room, he immediately stood close to you, his face also bruised and bloody and dirty, eyes full of tears that fell through his cheeks. He grabbed you by your shoulders and begged you to do something. But your eyes didn't leave the man, your man, laying there, unconscious, blood that slided from his head towards his face; one of his eyes was bloody and swollen and his left shoulder was dislocated. You could hear the bone going back to its place when another specialist put it back.

But your attention was on the monitor, where it showed his vitals getting lower and lower. Another doctor was doing CPR on him, which meant his heart was giving up.

"Y/N, please…"

Kiri's voice sounded very far away, when you could still feel him right in front of you, his hands starting to shake your whole body.

"Please, Y/N, do something!"

The movement of a doctor that suddenly held a syringe close to Bakugou and Kirishima's yell brought you back to your senses.

"DO NOT FUCKING MOVE!" You exclaimed, realizing what all of that scenario was about.

They were about to put Bakugou in a medical coma; and Kirishima and you knew what that meant. Morphine. They were about to inject morphine on a body that mostly had nitroglycerin inside. They were about to kill Pro Hero Dynamight, a.k.a. Bakugou Katsuki, a.k.a. your husband.

Kirishima sighed deeply, relief kicking inside his body as he cried, while everyone froze looking at you surprised. You immediately moved next to Bakugou as you checked on his vitals, your doctor skills possessing your body as you tended to him fast and meticulously and scolded at the same time at the other doctors for not realizing sooner their mistake that almost took your husband's life.

"But, if we can't put morphine on him, how do we take care of him?" You want to swear from there to hell at that doctor. He was obviously new, but he was asking what probably everyone was wondering. And you couldn't blame him for that.

Your mind started to run at two hundred miles per hour, trying, begging for it to find a solution.

Nothing.

"Y/N…" Kirishima called, still crying.

Nothing.

Your eyes filled with tears, so you closed them.

"Y/N," he called you again.

Nothing.

The air that went inside your lungs started to burn, and the exhale hurt your chest heavily.

"Y/N!"

"Shut up!" You yelled back.

All the blood in your body rushed to your chest and head, a pounding pain annoying your process of thinking. You hated-...

You opened your eyes suddenly. 

The blood.

"Blood," you whispered. "He needs a blood transfusion, NOW!"

"Y/N, we don't have his blood type available…"

"What?!" It's both yours and Kirishima's yell, at the same time.

"Fuck," you finally cursed.

And then it enlightened you.

"Connect me," you said as you moved, putting tubes and cables around you and Katsuki. Another doctor asked what you are talking about, "I have the same blood type. Connect me to him, that way his blood renews constantly as you heal him. It will help him stay."

Your relationship with Bakugou was complicated; hell, complicated didn't even hold the entirety of what it was. Having had an arranged marriage, hating each other's guts since the very first day you met, really didn't help you two get along well.

But he kept his promise to protect you, to provide for you. To be there for you, always.

Every day, he woke up first and always left you breakfast ready for when you finally got up, sometimes lunch too; he would always send a text message during the day reminding you to eat, to take a break here and there–in his own way, of course, full of swears and contemptuously.

You never backed away though, you always answered something annoying back that surely started another fight, another discussion between you too.

However, it didn't matter the fight, or what was said in that fight, Bakugou would always stay.

He would always lay in bed next to you at night; if the fight heated up too much, he would go on a run to cool himself down, but he would always come back home.

He would always stay next to you.

Kirishima was asked to leave the room as everyone started moving around you and his best friend, he saw as a cable connected directly your blood with his. He didn't really know what that meant, but he knew something. No matter how much you two fought, or how different you two were…

You loved him.

And he knew Katsuki loved you.

Even when none of you had admitted it yet.

But everything was confirmed to him when he heard you whisper at Bakugou, "Stay, please stay."

.

Bakugou Katsuki felt as if a brick wall fell onto him. And that was a new experience. He had been thrown at walls and through walls, but never one fell over him.

And it fucking sucked.

The white hospital lights hurt his eyes when he tried to open them, and there came all the other feelings. His left shoulder burned and felt tight–it didn't take him much to understand that it probably had been dislocated and the tightness probably came from bands that held it so any kind of movement wouldn't interrupt the process of healing. His legs felt like gum, like even if he tried to move them, the heaviness wouldn't allow it; but they were there, he could feel them, so that was good. His chest though…

It felt so heavy, probably if he paid enough attention he would be able to see the beatings of his heart through the scarred skin. He wanted to grunt annoyed at everything.

He then realized that among all the cables and tubes that were connected to him, there was one that made him feel a bit tingly, because he could feel whatever was that they were injecting him.

He fought against his eyelids until he could open them, and he wasn't expecting what his eyes found–well, one of them, because the other one was so swollen he could barely open it.

You were resting on a big reclining chair next to his bed with a hospital duvet over your body as you slept, a frown in your eyebrows showing how stressed you actually were. He had seen that frown before, sometimes at night when you went to sleep, when you both were laying on your sides but in front of each other, in the bed you shared. He would never fucking admit it out loud, but he sometimes would massage lightly in between your eyebrows until the muscles finally relaxed while you slept. Your face was laying uncomfortably to a side that made Bakugou think that position would probably make your neck hurt once you woke up.

And then he saw it.

The duvet was covering all your body, in exception to one arm that was over it, showing a small tube that clearly connected your blood with his. That's where the tingly came from.

Oh, fuck.

"Oh, you're awake, man," Kirishima's voice distracted him for a moment. He turned his head towards his best friend, who looked as shitty as himself.

Kirishima smiled at him, a whole bunch of emotion written all over his face.

"Fuck," was Bakugou's first word, with a raspy voice that didn't sound like his own, "Was it that bad?"

"You almost died," his best friend's voice cracked a bit, trying to hold back his emotion. "If it hadn't been for Y/N's quick thinking, you would have died. Doctors were about to put morphine on you…"

"Shit," Bakugou let his head fall back, realizing how badly everything could have gone.

"You had internal bleeding, a lung filled with liquid, and several broken bones, you were even bleeding from your head," Kirishima started as Bakugou kept swearing out loud, "When they said they needed to put morphine, I tried to warn them, but they kept dismissing me. Damn, I'm no doctor, but I know stuff!" The red head protested, which made Bakugou smile a bit. "I tried to gain some time as Uraraka ran for Y/N. When she came, obviously they did pay attention to her. She's… really good at this."

They both looked at you as you slept. Your eyebrows were still frowning, but Bakugou could listen to your deep breathing even in that distance. That eased him a bit.

Then his eyes went to the tube again and the anger started to fill his body.

"Why is she connected to me?" He asked, trying to make his raspy voice sound firm.

Kirishima sighed. "There was no other way. They needed to operate, and they didn't have your blood type available at the moment," Bakugou scoffed, hating everything and all you had to do for him. Kirishima laid closer to his face, ready to scold him for his stubbornness, "Your heart was slowing down, you fucking idiot."

That did surprise Bakugou; Kirishima never cursed at anyone. And when the blond found his friend's eyes, they were filled with tears.

"I-I'm fine…" Bakugou reassured him, clearly not knowing what else to do or say at his best friend's deep emotion.

Fuck, he had nearly fucking died.

"Yeah, and that's thanks to her," Kirishima pointed at you, "So be nice," he warned before backing away and taking a deep breath.

Bakugou looked back at you. This couldn't be real. You had to know, right?

"Does she know?"

"Know what?" Kirishima asked as he stretched his big and long arms over his head.

Bakugou looked back at him, "What this fucking means, Eijirou."

Kirishima frowned, now a bit worried, "I don't know, she didn't mention anything. Is it something bad?"

The blond closed his eyes, his right hand closing in a fist, jaw tight. When he was about to answer, a sweet and delicate voice coming out of a sleep state made him open his eyes and look directly in your direction.

"It simply means we are sharing blood," you said, stirring a bit in your chair, opening your eyes and finding deep red ones almost killing you with their gaze.

"Simply?" Bakugou mocked, shaking his head.

"That's what you said," Kiri looked suspicious at you, arms crossing over his chest.

"And I'm not lying or doing anything illegal," you defended yourself as two Pro Heroes looked at you with their Pro Hero scolding eyes.

"We know, but you're hiding information, I can see it clearly now," Kirishima protested, his voice still as gentle as always.

Your fingers started fidgeting with each other,  obviously nervous. For some reason, Kiri's gentle tone was more effective than Bakugou's murdering glare.

Your husband suddenly realized something and snorted, "You didn't tell anyone?"

"There's nothing to tell."

"Yes, there fucking is!"

"No, there isn't!"

"Y/N! For fucks sake-..."

"Shut up, Bakugou!"

"I won't fucking shut up! You are telling them now-..."

"There's nothing to tell, Katsuki!"

"OKAY, ENOUGH!" Eijirou's scream startled both of you. "You both clear this up and tell me right now what you are talking about."

"Eijirou, we are sharing blood!" Bakugou looked like he was about to tear the hair out of his head.

The red head looked at his friends for a moment, back and forth, trying to connect what that meant. And then it clicked.

You two were sharing blood. You were receiving Bakugou's blood as much as he was receiving yours. Which meant…

Your body was currently receiving high doses of pure nitroglycerin through the blood.

"Oh, shit, Y/N!" Kirishima was instantly by your side, "You have to take that off, now!"

"No!" You said pushing him away as he tried to move the tube.

"Fucking yes, you are!" Bakugou protested, trying to sit a bit straighter.

"No, don't move, Bakugou! And stop touching me, Eijirou!" Everyone stopped when you stood up and they looked at your small but firm form standing with authority, "I have been doing this for the past three days you were unconscious, and I'll do it until the doctor says it is enough." You said, tone firm and final as you looked at Bakugou.

"Y/N, you don't fucking have a Quirk," he spat, yet you could see a tiny bit of light in his eyes that begged you to stop doing it.

"And I don't fucking need one to know when enough is enough."

"That's why you have been taking breaks," Kirishima suddenly realized.

"Yes," you admitted, eyes still locked in a fight with Bakugou's. "I take breaks of thirty minutes in between two and three hours," your tone, Kirishima could only describe it as trying to reassure Bakugou that you were fine. But his friend was stubborn.

"It's not enough, and you fucking know it, Y/N!" He protested again.

"I can do this, I'm not weak, Katsuki!"

Kirishima took several steps back as he saw his friend's eye twitch when you called him by his name. It was a clear intimate discussion between a husband and a wife now. He really tried to avoid smiling, but he couldn't, so he simply left the room, leaving this complicated couple to resolve this on their own.

"You. Do. Not. Have. A. Quirk." He repeated, his hand grabbing your wrist, gently, despite the heated discussion you were having.

"And I don't need one for this!" If he was stubborn, you doubled it.

"Y/N! You are not feeling it now, but you will later! And I can't-..."

"You can't what, Bakugou?!"

"LOOK AT ME! I can barely move, and I won't be able to take care of you when the nitroglycerin kicks in!"

"I don't need you to take care of me! I am taking care of you! Besides, a bit of vomiting didn't kill anyone…"

"FUCK, Y/N! You know shit! You don't know how badly this fucking Quirk hurt when I was a kid!" He admitted in a yell, his only eye open now clearly begging you, as the thumb of the hand that was holding your wrist caressed the back of your hand. He always did that, even though his voice and words were rough, his touch was always gentle, careful.

"Katsuki," your hand went to his cheek, holding it with all the gentleness you had. He couldn't avoid the sigh, the relief he felt when your touch finally made any contact with him. He didn't know how desperate he actually was for you to touch him. You saw it, as clear as day, how scared he actually was, so you gently laid your forehead against his without putting any kind of pressure, "I can do this. Please, please, let me help you…" Your throat suddenly felt tight as your eyes filled with tears, "You almost died…"

Your whisper made his insides curl, as his gaze went down to your connected arms, which was the same he was holding your wrist.

You could feel the hold he had on your wrist tighten a little bit by your words, and you sniffed, trying to hold back your emotions.

And that simple action crumbled evey wall Katsuki could have put in between you two.

He was taking deep intakes of breath, your breath that was so close to his face and it felt like it was already healing him.

"You'll take breaks each hour."

"No, that's barely enough time to help it travel your whole body, and you know it."

Bakugou huffed, "Fine, two hours."

You pulled away and rolled your eyes, a traitorous tear rolling down on your cheek, "That's what I've been doing."

"Fucking brat…" He muttered, trying to hide a smirk, and you smiled in satisfaction.

"A simple thank you would be enough," you winked at him, which made him roll his eye.

You saw the little flutter of the other eye that was barely open at its movement, so you immediately went doctor mode and prepared everything to clean his eye, again.

Bakugou simply looked at you and let you work. And as he watched you, he couldn't avoid thinking how good all of you felt close to him, how stupid he was for all this time had you at arms length just because he thought you weren't strong enough, when in reality he was afraid of you getting involved in his world. For having treated you all this time like feather easy to break, when here you were, being the strongest person in the room while taking care of him and his wounds and also sharing blood with him to keep him alive like it was nothing.

He had underestimated you, and now he felt like a jerk.

A jerk that was completely in love with you.

"Thank you," he whispered back.

[star-rie]

a long rant/idea/rambling of how i want bbc merlin plot to go

Season 1

General: stays the same (light-hearted season) but merlin starts to question gaius and kilgharrah, empathizes with morgana. Elyan is introduced somewhere between episodes. Gwen father didn’t die. Mordred ISN’T introduced yet. Morgana is gaslighted by merlin + gaius (not forever i swear guys)

Finale: merlin vs nimueh (epic battle this time), merlin is almost close to loosing but gaius helps him, however nimueh survives

Season 2

General: introduction of mordred on the second ep (merlin hates him), ep 1 is abt balinor (mentor figure for merlin + should meet with hunnith), arthur finds out abt ygraine (and yes merlin lied abt it) + starts questioning uther, we got more arthur’s pov when merlin is at the ‘tavern’ (episodes where merlin is not there and focuses on arthur instead), morgana finds out abt her magic. Freya + gwen romance plotline happened. Percival + Gwaine introduction, merthur kiss but they never acknowledge it (yep they’re in denial)

Finale: kilgharrah lost hope of merlin so he turns to nimueh (in a hidden scene nimueh told arthur the truth abt his birth), nimueh + uther battle (but nimueh lost NOO), balinor DIES, merlin stops kilgharrah, glimpse of morgause (at the ep end). Morgana made a decision to kill uther

Season 3

General: aithusa is born (morgana + kilgharrah + merlin really likes her), morgana villain arc (she finds out that merlin is gatekeeping magic from her + merlin trying to kill mordred lmao), either morgwen romance or gwencelot (i can’t choose), gwen’s father died, this season = gwen’s arc

Finale: magic reveal, uther’s death, morgouse + morgana attacked the castle, morgana and morgouse fighting + breaking of to their own path (morgana realizes morgause is kind of twisted evil)

Season 4

General: arthur banning merlin from camelot (merlin runaway arc), arthur + gwen + the knights running the kingdom, morgana redemption arc, morgouse + aggravaine becomes main villain, political shit in camelot (like other kingdom who also despises sorcery/power manipulation, an in-depth look of other kingdoms), GAIUS DIES, hunnith + aithusa + kilgharrah scenes, mordred + merlin + morgana bonding, ygraine scenes, arthur trying to forget merlin but CANT, oh and aggravaine is also a villain here but he actually has personality and pure evil, arthur getting excalibur, arthur is really struggling to find himself here (to be like his father or follows his heart). Btw merlin is there and it shows every time magic related enemies attacks camelot/everytime arthur is about to die really but he’s literally in the shadows now and arthur pretends not to notice

Finale: morgause + aggravaine attacking the kingdom, arthur accepts + forgiving merlin + morgana back and assign them as court sorceress + court physician, hunnith scenes, arthur tolerating magic, adopting mordred (apology for killing his father lol), probably adopting aithusa

Season 5

General: arthur lifts the ban against magic, marrying merlin, cendred is a villain here (however he is introduced in s4), merlin GETTING A STAFF (also introduced in previous seasons but he’s worthy of it here, arthur made it btw and it’s a power up for melrin)

Finale: morgause + cendred finale attack, a few deaths (they won thoe cuz this is the good ending)

End:

Camelot brings a new era (symbolizing change)

Arthur: King

Merlin: Queen

Gwen: Court Advisor

Morgana: Court Sorceress

Aithusa: Court Dragon

Why i think merthur should be canon:

1) they’re gay

2) real reason: so i think its good for the plot too since magic is a euphemism for gay, relates to the theme of arthur bringing change to camelot but other than marrying a servant, he marries a MALE servant who has magic ☺️🫶😘🙏

Series ends with everyone at the roundtable, gathering for a meeting

Okay that’s it let me know what you want to change 🥰

[stewykablooey]

why are tomshiv and kenstewy parallels to each other? tomshiv is awful and so is tom

*insert ‘theyre all awful’ statement for legal reasons*

tomshiv/kenstewy parallels is really the parallel of tom and stewy being outsiders who fell in love with a roy sibling and got caught into the roy family sickness because of it. its also the parallel of them having to choose between that sibling and money, which is a priority to both of them.

but they’re also opposites; stewy befriended kendall and remains in his life Despite his being a roy while tom, even if he genuinely loved her, got with shiv in part Because she was a roy. stewy gets himself involved with the roys and involved with waystar because he wants to get kendall out, or because he wants to get in to be there with kendall, while tom gets himself involved with the family and with waystar because he wants to climb its ranks, and even if he wants good things for shiv, he sees her as a competitor or a challenge in that ladder-climbing.

they’re also comparable in their positions within waystar and their positions within the family. they both hold major positions in the company, stewy as major shareholder and tom as head of atn (and again, they both got there for opposing reasons. stewy became a major shareholder out of a favor to kendall which really turned out to be a hidden ploy to get kendall out via sandy’s takeover, while tom became head of atn because of shiv’s pulling strings for him) and because of those position they both have work relationships with logan, but while stewy uses his major position in the company to oppose logan (debate his ideas, urge for the company to go in a different direction, point out the companys flaws), which in its own way is in favor of kendall (pointing out the same flaws kendall had noticed, and it being stewy that suggested the austerlitz family therapy in the first place (how long do u think hes been waiting to do That)) tom uses it to suck up to logan and leverage for a larger role in waystar.

both of them are in the very rare position of being outsiders with an in into, and an intimate knowledge of, the family because of their ties to one of the siblings. tom is quite literally logan’s son-in-law, he becomes actually related to the roys when he marries shiv, and stewy has not just known but has been very close friends with kendall, and in turn the rest of the family,for 30 years. but at the end of the day tom is seen and treated like a stranger and stewy is treated with casual, sometimes even fond, familiarity because you just cant buy that kind of access. stewy was there, and tom came in too little too late. stewy can tell logan ‘everybody fucking hates you’ and suggest family therapy, yes because hes stewy and he doesnt give a fuck, but also because they’re, in their own way, close enough that thats allowed. stewy, in his own way, takes the place of son-in-law that tom should, of being someone who’s intimately close with the family, almost seen as family himself, because of his intimate relationship to one of the siblings. stewy was in the room with the familys closest relations to discuss the will while tom had to wait outside with everyone else, even tho he is literally shivs husband and head of atn.

other parallels include things like: tom thinking he can come in and be the pseudo child that logans always wanted, when really thats stewy (comes from money but started his own thing to become independently wealthy, killer instinct etc) + the contrast of logan thinking less of shiv because she married tom who he sees as fathoms beneath her vs logan thinking less of stewy for getting involved with kendall who he sees as a fuck up + logan seeing stewy as a threat because stewy wants kendall out vs. logan seeing tom as a parasite because tom used shiv to get in

[mari-lair]

Aye is me again!

I was just wondering if you had any theories on what Teru's dream involving Aoi may be. He says she's necessary for his dream and I wonder if its because she's a direct descendant of the kannagi line?

I hope his dream includes Akane too bc even if they won't end up together I just KNOW they'll be besties either way (am soft for Akane being the 1st person he shows his true self to outside his family)

Hello! :D I have no hope Aidairo will treat this sub plot with care, (or any plot that includes Aoi) so this will be more of a rambly analysis than a theory.

I am inclined to believe Teru’s dream doesn’t have anything to do with her Kannagi blood because of how he approaches Aoi compared to Nene.

Nene is also a Kannagi, but Teru never searches for Nene or gives her much thought, he even let her have a crush on what he sees as a dangerous supernatural since it is what she wants so who is he to reprimand a dying girl? Whenever they are together he flatters her but never asks about her life or tries to make her linger in his presence. 

He does show interest in Nene being a Kannagi but it does not feel like he sees her as a weapon or an important tool that he can use to achieve a ‘goal’. She is still a ‘silly girl’ or a ‘funny girl’ in his mind, someone he is kind to when they are face to face, but he doesn't go out of his way to do much for her.

Aoi is canonically very hard to get close to, so trying to 'be her friend just to use her later’ would be contrived and too stupid for a character built up to be smart, considering Nene (who had a crush on him throught a big part of the manga) would be a far better target to get his hands on Kanagi powers.

Teru actively goes out of his way to try to learn more about Aoi and make her stay with him, even if he has to resort to manipulation, he will do it to spend more time with her.

It also bears mention that Akane's tactless way to ‘woo’ Aoi is what he hates the most about Akane. Not Akane supernatural contract or, any of his behavior with Teru, but how he approaches Aoi:

Teru trusts Akane, but he gets disgusted with how he put her on a pedestal, how his obsession gets on creepy territory at times, yet, when Akane and Aoi work things up and are able to properly communicate, Teru gets grumpy and mopes about their almost kiss. A kiss that shouldn’t be significant if what he was interested in was her Kannagi status.

He listens to Akane go on and on about how ‘sweet and kind and pretty’ Aoi is without ever shutting him down, and despite loving to annoy the clock keeper, he never disagrees or implies that Aoi isn't as amazing as Akane claims, so he does have a very positive view of Aoi.

I can’t say for sure what his dream is, but it feels related to Aoi as a person, not her blood or ancestors. Is a desire of his own.

Minamotos are very connected to supernaturals, and they are pushed to put their duties first, but being disconnected from other, and able to have a level head in dangerous situations doesn’t make them any less human or emotional: They value their family, their friends, their desires, occasionally putting them above their job for selfish reasons.

Now let’s talk about a theory Maagi shared with me, that the more i thought about it, the more plausible it seemed: If Teru was in love with Aoi, it wouldn't be the first time a Minamoto fell in love, or at the very least, was very attracted, to an Akane.

The manga makes a point to heavily imply that Kanagis usually live with loved ones at the start of their lives, and that even in the old ages where Sumire’s story takes place, it's seen as cruel to abandon a child so young.

They mention her family wanted to ‘get away from her resentment’ but considering how oblivious and happy she had been to “marry God”, eager to declare a demon her husband, it is far more likely they wanted to get rid of Sumire for reasons out of her control, like her bloodline.

From Sumire pale eyes, which have hints of the Akane purple we know, but is mostly blue, to her expertise in using spiritual tools (from her knife, to bracelets, to even a protective barrier)  it’s just far too much of a coincidence.

Even her personality seems like a mix between Teru and Aoi.

And I can see the argument that her exorcism tools are things that every Kannagi can use, since Aoi can use them too, but it is still strange that Sumire has so many tools associated with the Minamoto clan, when every other sacrifice has none. Not even a bracelet.

The bracelet is not part of a Kannagi’s uniform. Or a precaution of No.6 that comes with his duties. It’s a Minamoto’s gift. Which makes Sumire feel more personal than ‘just another sacrifice girl’, like her protection matters for someone.

This leads me to how Teru gave Aoi a bracelet the second she got mixed with supernaturals, and let her keep it,

He never offered this kind of protection to anyone else, not even Nene, the girl that lives in danger.

So even if the fandom will cry at the idea, there is a lot to indicate Teru is genuinely interested in Aoi. The seeds are there, Aidairo was just clunky when hinting his interest (I’m still baffled an interaction as important as the convenience store one is in a spin off.)

And I am sure his dream includes Akane! Akane is his best friend, even when he wants to spend time with Aoi, he isn’t opposed at all to Akane tagging along.

He values Akane in a completely different way than he values Aoi, but is so clear he has tons of fun with the two Aois!

(There is a reason I would be chill if his crush was either Aoi or Akane, he acts in such a way that no matter who he has a crush on, it is still obvious he really values them both)

[olsenmyolsen]

Because Of You: Someone New

master list

dark master list

Part Three of my Because Of You Series: Part One, Part Two

No Powers AU (BlackHill)

Summary: Yelena tries and fails to help her sister get over you.

Word Count: 3.7K

Content: Natasha being sad for a bit, Feelings, Fluff

Natasha Romanoff knew exactly when it happened.

She saw it in your face and your eyes. And then she saw the look on Wanda Maximoff. Your longtime friend and college roommate. She saw the sadness she was hiding.

That's the moment she figured out that you were in love with someone else.

Of course, the timing had to be the day that Natasha and you were set to get married, but she loved you too much. So she let you go. She told you to leave and to go after Wanda. You loved her but not enough to stay.

That was a year, three months, and twelve days ago. Not that she was counting. Plus, she hasn't seen or heard from you since then, so it's not like she should still be thinking of you.

But Natasha was. She had food days and weeks where you didn't exist to her. She was living her best life. But then she had bad days. Days where you crept into Natasha's mind.

She hated herself for it.

So now she was laid up in bed after calling out of work after stumbling across a friend of a friend's Instagram post. One thing led to another, and she ended up crying at half-past 10:30 in the morning. Unable to hear the knocking on her apartment door.

The person Natasha forgot was coming into town took it upon themselves to let themselves in.

"Sestra?" The voice called out with a bag thrown across her arm and a leash attached to a dog named Fanny in the other hand. The voice coming from the blonde figure known as Natasha's sister looked down at her dog with a sad smile before unclipping the dog from its leash and shooing it onto Natasha's leather couch.

Yelena Belova knew Natasha hated that dog on her couch, but that was a losing battle every time Fanny was over.

"Sestra?" Yelena tried again and louder, but she got nothing in return but the muffled sound of the TV playing Great British Bake Off coming from the bedroom. So that's where Yelena started walking to. She made her footsteps louder than expected, and yet Natasha didn't hear it. Too focused on the thoughts in her mind and doing her best to keep her tired eyes on whatever Paul Hollywood was saying, she couldn't be bothered to listen to Yelena and her stomping feet.

"Natasha..." Yelena quietly said as she pushed open the redhead's bedroom door. Once she poked her head inside, she saw a sight she had become familiar with since you left. Yelena internally sighed before stepping into the room. "Hi," Yelena spoke once Natasha's eyes looked away from the TV.

"What are you doing here?" Natasha asked with her throat a little rough. Natasha truly had forgotten that she invited Yelena and her dog to stay weeks ago.

"Is everything alright?" Natasha asked as she slowly got up to greet her sister, who accepted a hug like nothing was wrong. "Everything is good," Yelena said with a smile, choosing not to comment on Natasha's appearance at the moment as they both sat on the bed.

Yelena quickly scanned the room and saw how much cleaning needed to be done.

"So what's- oh!" Natasha finally caught up as she look at her sister. "I totally forgot that was this weekend!" Natasha put her head in her hands and felt awful for forgetting. "It's alright," Yelena said as she wrapped an arm around her sister. "I mean, it's not every day I come to New York for business."

"But still-" Natasha went to argue, but the blonde stopped her. "What's wrong?" Yelena asked, catching Natasha off guard. Natasha opened and closed her mouth. She was going to lie, but she didn't see the point. Yelena knew the real reason, regardless, so she pulled Natasha close and hugged her before getting up and walking to the bedroom door. "Have you eaten?"

"No." She answered honestly, earning a nod from Yelena. "Okay." Yelena turned back to face her older sister. "It's almost 11, so you go shower, and I'll make food. And then we can walk around and go to a New York City coffee shop."

Natasha used to argue and say she didn't need to be babied or that she could make her own food, but there was no reason anymore. She was tired, and someone she loved was helping out without being asked. So Natasha nodded and started to walk out of her bedroom door and to the bathroom as Yelena went to the kitchen.

As she entered the bathroom from her peripheral, she saw Fanny in the corner of the couch licking her paw. Natasha sighed. "Lena, please get Fanny off the couch."

"Not until you shower. Now go, I'm making lunch!" Yelena yelled back over the noise of pots and pans from the kitchen. Natasha glared at the unaware dog before giving up. She took a step into the bathroom and then backed out. "It's not Mac and Cheese, is it?"

Yelena stopped and slowly turned around with two boxes of Kraft Mac and Cheese in her hands. "Nooo." She yelled back to the hall, where Natasha was followed by silence. And then. Natasha sighed as she entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Yelena cheered at her small victory and went to work on the yellow-orangeish lunch.

But as the water boiled and she stood flinging the packet of powder against her wrist, she couldn't help but get upset at the sight of Natasha earlier. Her firm, caring, and one-of-a-kind sister was still destroyed. After all this time. Yelena set the packet down and walked towards Fanny. Giving her a kiss on the head and a scratch behind the ears. "What do you say, Fanny? Should we take Auntie Natasha out? Cheer her up a bit? Get her that coffee YOU love so much!" Fanny tilted her head, completely captivated by the baby voice Yelena was using.

Yelena just smiled and nodded at Fanny before giving her another kiss. "What's that, Fanny?" Yelena turned her head to the side and cupped her left ear. "What do you mean Natasha needs to date?!" Yelena faked surprise and cupped her ear once again. "I know how long it's been! But you can't just rush things!" Yelena wiggled her finger at her dog before putting her hands up. "Alright! Alright! I'll talk to her! Sheesh!" Yelena rolled her eyes at her dog before walking back to the kitchen to finish up lunch. "Crazy dog," Yelena muttered to no one but herself.

Kinda like the conversation she just had.

But to Yelena, Fanny did have a point. Yelena wasn't going to push or rush Natasha into it, but aside from the topic coming up once beforehand. Dating stopped existing for her sister. Hell, even the idea of sleeping with someone seemed like a non-starter. But maybe... just maybe... if Yelena gave her a little nudge, it wouldn't be so bad. Still, though, Yelena didn't know where to start. So maybe just getting food in her sister and walking to the coffee shop a few blocks away would be enough.

Remember good days and bad days. Yelena just wanted today to turn around to be a good one.

_

"Oh, come on, that's not fair!" Yelena whined as she clipped the leash back onto Fanny's collar. Natasha rolled her eyes as she put on her brown jacket. "You made Mac and Cheese, so I get to pick the coffee shop."

Yelena groaned as Natasha picked up her apartment key and opened the door. The dog quickly following along with its owner. "It's more than fair." Natasha shook her head at her little sis as she locked up behind them. "No, it's not," Yelena whined again. "Why is that?" Natasha lifted an eyebrow as they walked towards the elevator. "Because Fanny wanted to pick the place."

"Is that right?" Natasha hit the down button as she looked from the dog to a nodding Yelena. "You're real mature, you know that," Natasha asked, half joking but only earning a scoff from the blonde. "More mature than you." Natasha wasn't sure what she meant, but they sounded like fighting words; however, thankfully, before Fanny had to witness a sibling struggle, the elevator doors opened with a person already inside.

Jennifer Walters. A woman who lived three floors above Natasha. Jennifer and Natasha had barely spoken in the time since Natasha moved into the building, but that doesn't mean Jennifer didn't have her share of awkward glances and smiles whenever she rode the same elevator with Natasha. It's not her fault she liked redheads, and Natasha was effortlessly beautiful.

"Heel," Yelena said to Fanny as the three of them got onto the elevator. Natasha gave Jennifer a courtesy smile as she double-checked to see if the L button for the lobby was pushed.

"Hi, Natasha." Jennifer now stood in the corner and sent a warm smile to the woman to her left, making the two sisters look at her. "Hello, Jennifer." Natasha was polite and returned the smile, looking away just in time to miss the blush on Jennifers' cheeks. However, Yelena saw and decided this would be one of those nudge moments.

"Hi, I'm Yelena, Natasha's sister!" Yelena took a step towards Jennifer with her hand extended. Causing Fanny to get up from her sitting position and walk towards Jennifer. "And this is my dog, Fanny," Yelena said with a smile, ignoring the glare from Natasha. Her sister was reasonably certain she knew what Yelena was doing.

Jennifer responded politely and with a smile, even giving Fanny a pat on the head. "Oh wow, Fanny likes you!" Yelena said with faux excitement. "She's never this way with anyone else." Another lie.

But how would sweet Jennifer know?

Jennifer looked at Natasha and then Yelena with big, innocent eyes. "Really!?" Yelena nodded and gave Fanny some pets as well, all while Natasha couldn't believe how long this elevator ride was.

"Natasha, look!" Yelena said, like the little sister she was. "Aren't they the cutest!" They including Jennifer. Natasha bore a hole at her sister's head. "Very." Was all Natasha said to try and end this, but this only made Jennifer smile and think, "Oh my God, Natasha thinks I'm cute!"

And Yelena's plan was working. So, as the elevator hit the lobby floor and just before the doors opened, Yelena blurted out: "You know! If you ever want to hang out with Fanny, I'd be more than happy to let you take her on a walk or anything.." Natasha was already outside the elevator and a few steps away when she heard Yelena say that, forcing her to turn around and look at her smiling sister.

Jennifer goes to say no, but Yelena shakes her head as they step out of the lift. "No, it'll be fine. Besides, I know you wouldn't do anything to poor Fanny."

A vague threat never hurt.

Yelena gives her dog another set of pets before running her hands over her jeans... "Oh shoot!" Yelena looks at Natasha. "Sestra, I forgot my phone. Can you give Jennifer yours so I (aka you) have her number? For Fanny!" Yelena adds. Natasha removes her phone from her pocket and gives Jennifer another polite smile. Not bothering to ask Jennifer if she had her phone with her. She probably does, but doing it this way gets her away from her sister, not so slyly trying to play matchmaker.

"Here you go!" Jennifer says a little too excitedly as her fingertips touch Natasha's hand. "Thanks. I'll be sure to have Yelena text you." Natasha says before looking at her sister. "Ready?" Yelena looks to her dog. "Say bye, Fanny." Fanny tilts her head before barking at Jennifer.

Jennifer giggles, and for a second, it sounds like you.

Natasha whips her head to Jennifer, waving bye to Yelena before walking past Natasha, giving her an even warmer goodbye and a blushing smile. Natasha blinks as she could've sworn Jennifer had your eye color instead. But she doesn't, and before Natasha knows it, Jennifer is leaving through the lobby doors.

"You're welcome!" Yelena says as she runs up next to her sister. But instead of cheerful thanks or even a roll of the eyes, Yelena feels a pain at the base of her skull. "Ow!" Yelena yells as she flies up to rub the ache. "Don't do that again!" Natasha points her finger at her sister before walking out the lobby doors.

"Tasha!" Yelena, with Fanny in tow fast, walks up to her sister's side. "What are you talking about!?" Yelena chooses to play dumb—Hurt and dumb. Natasha looks at her sister before groaning. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Natasha says as they come to a stop at a crosswalk. "No, I don't!" Yelena lies and turns on the innocent younger sister's voice.

The light on the crosswalk changes to the walking figure.

"Stop it, Yelena! I don't need you wingmaning or wingwomaning me!" Yelena goes to say something but gets interrupted. "Besides! That's unfair to Jennifer! She's a nice person, and I'm not going to use her because you think I need to get laid or whatever!" Natasha shakes her head with annoyance.

Yelena makes a face of disgust. 

"Ewwwwww! I never said that!" Yelena feels like she could puke. "I just wanted you to have someone to talk to or see!" Natasha stops and turns to her sister in the middle of the sidewalk. "So you admit you were trying to get me to have Jennifers' number!!" Yelena sighs. "Fine sestra! Yes! Okay!" Yelena grabs Natasha's arm and pulls her and Fanny close to a building. "I wanted you to get her number!" Yelena pouts and rolls her eyes. "There you happy now! I just wanted you not to be alone..." Yelena huffs.

Natasha's smile of correctly calling out her sister falls when she sees the sad look Yelena is wearing. "Yelena..." Her sister looks away. "Lena." Natasha moves and pushes her sister's arm, making her stumble and look at the redhead. "I appreciate the thought." Yelena nods and looks at Fanny. "But don't do that again. Please." Yelena looks back up.

"Natasha.. every time I visit, it's like this morning or worse." Natasha looks her head down. "I just want to see you happy." Natasha sadly nods because it's not like she wants to be depressed. It's just not easy when YOU are still in Natasha's thoughts. Her memories. The good and the bad. "I know," Natasha says when she looks at her sister. "But please. Let me..." She sniffles. "Let me do that part on my own."

Yelena begrudgingly nods. "Okay." The two start walking again. "But at least don't forget that you have Jennifer's number." Yelena smiles. "Fine," Natasha says as they finally reach their destination. "This place doesn't allow dogs inside, so find us a table at the social square around the corner," Natasha says as she pulls on the door handle.

Yelena makes a face. "Ugh! No fair! You chose a place knowing Fanny couldn't come inside! That's rude, Natasha!" Natasha just smiles with a shit-eating grin. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Yelena groans loudly. Even earning a few looks from some people walking by. "Fine. I'll go find a table." Fanny tilts her head at Natasha before she follows her owner around. "Text me your order!"

Yelena flips her off.

Natasha turns back while laughing and enters the coffee shop.

Thankfully, today isn't busy like most days. Natasha doesn't only go home or to work. It's still packed, but not in an overbearing way. The line moves relatively quick, and as Natasha is the next person in line to order, her phone buzzes.

"Get me one of those frozen drinks. Whip cream."

Natasha looks up from her phone and at the menu before she revived another message.

"Don't forget a water cup for Fanny."

Natasha responds with a thumbs up. "Hello!" The cashier calls Natasha's attention and smiles when the stunning redhead walks up. The nerves overtake the cashier's body as they ring up Yelena's annoying order and Natasha's Hot Cinnamon Oat Latte.

Before she knows it, Natasha is waiting at the pickup area with other patrons. Natasha stands by with her arms folded and a curious look on her face as she scans the shop. It's lively and fun—a good atmosphere.

A place you would've loved.

Natasha furrows her brows and gets you off her mind. She hates how you can enter her mind within a second.

"Cinnamon Oat Latte!"

The person working the espresso bar calls out the drink. Natasha turns around, grabbing one of the drink carries from the stack behind her before going to pick up her latte.

Except. Just as she is about to reach it, someone else picks it up—another woman.

Natasha follows the hand of the woman up her stylized coat and to her soft but stern face. She's beautiful in the eyes of Natasha Romanoff. Her jaw and neckline is sharp and perfect. Nose is cute. Her eyes speak to Natasha. And she's willing to listen. On top of that, she has an air of confidence around her. Making her more attractive.

However, the woman doesn't see Natasha. She turns to her right as Natasha stands on her left. Natasha is losing time to speak up, but what would she say?

Hi, you're beautiful! Let's be girlfriends! Or. Hey, you wouldn't believe the morning I had!

What?? Natasha thinks. No! She's taking my drink!

"Excuse me!" Natasha softly speaks up and follows the woman. "Excuse me! Hi." She tries again, making the woman with the curls turn around. "Yes?" She says, causing Natasha to bite her lip. The voice is more profound than Natasha was expecting.

Natasha quickly composes herself and her thoughts. "Sorry, but I think you have my drink." Immediately, the woman looks apologetic and takes the drink out of her hands to put into Natasha's. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry! I thought they called out a Cinnamon Oat Latte."

That makes Natasha look at the cup now in her hand. Maria is written on the side.

Natasha opens her mouth to correct the situation but gets interrupted by another: "Cinnamon Oat Latte!" The woman whom Natasha now knows is named Maria, looks at the pick-up area and smiles. "That must be mine!"

This time, Maria looks at the name on the cup as she picks up the drink, only to see someone else's name. She looks from her cup to Natasha, and instead of getting upset or annoyed, she smiles. Her smile only grows wider as she walks back to the redhead. "Natasha?"

She nods and laughs nervously.

"Maria?" Natasha says, holding her cup out to switch back. But Maria shakes her head and takes a sip from the cup marked Natasha. "You keep that one. I'll keep this one. It'll be fun." Natasha smiles and takes a sip from what is now her cup, and... somehow, it tastes better than any other time she's gotten this drink.

"A water cup!"

Natasha looks past Maria, and the other woman notices. "Is that yours?" Natasha nods and moves to get it, but instead, Maria takes the carrier from Natasha's hand, picks up her drink, and the following frozen drink that gets placed with the redhead's name on it. "Three drinks, huh? Addicted to caffeine, or are you like an intern or something?" Maria smiles and chuckles at her own joke.

Natasha laughs, too. "Umm, no. The latte's mine. The other two are for my sister and her dog." Natasha rolls her eyes when she says dog. That piques Marias' interest. "Not a dog person?" Maria asks as they move away from the pickup area after a glaring look from another customer.

"I don't know. I wanted a cat a while ago. They seem easier." It's true. Natasha did want a cat even when she was with you. But for some reason, it was never the right time. "Don't get me wrong, I love Fanny, but I'm glad she's not my dog." Maria smiles. "Fanny? That's the dog's name?"

Natasha laughs. "Fanny Longbottom." That earns a deep laugh from Maria, making Natasha smile and look over the features of her face again. Her eyes landing on the pink lips. "That's amazing," Maria says. Natasha agrees and looks out the window of the shop. "Look." She points out to Yelena and Fanny as they stare judgementally at a family with a crying baby.

"Wow, she's cute!" Maria says, and immediately Natasha thinks Maria is talking about Yelena. "She's kind of annoying a lot of the time. Plus, we're adopted, so that's why-"

"I was talking about Fanny." Natasha looks at Maria, embarrassed. But Maria doesn't say anything; instead, she looks over Natasha's face and smiles.

Maria loves the green of her eyes.

"Natasha?" She nods. "This might be too forward, but could I get your number?" Natasha nods again and clears her throat. "Sure." She sets the drinks down and pulls out her phone, giving it to Maria with a fluttering heart.

"There." Maria hands the phone back. "Just text me whenever, and I'll plan something for the two of us," Maria says so casually and with determination that Natasha doesn't even realize that dating is never this easy. "I'd love that," Natasha responds, seemingly ending the conversation, but neither person moves. They're enjoying the presence of the other too much.

"Animal shelter," Maria says. "What?" Natasha responds while laughing. "That's where we'll go before dinner. You can see and play with all the cats they have available. It'll be fun." Natasha nods, picking up her drink carrier again. "That sounds great."

"Text me later. Bye, Natasha." Maria says with a smile after she glances out the window, seeing how bored Yelena looked. "Bye, Maria," Natasha says and keeps her eyes on Maria's backside until she leaves through the shop doors.

Natasha let's out a breath she didn't know she was holding onto. Suddenly, the warmth nervousness throughout her body can be felt, and she does her best to keep herself grounded and smiles when she thinks about Maria and her eyes.

_

"What took you so long!" Yelena complains after dealing with the crying baby family beside her until they left. She grabs the water cup from the carrier to put in front of Fanny.

"It was busy," Natasha answers with a hidden look.

"Ugh, whatever." Yelena picks up the latte to move the tray. "Natasha! You took someone else drink!" Yelena places the latte down and looks at her sister with disappointment. "Now someone's going to get your gross drink and hate it."

Natasha just shrugs. "I'm sure she'll love it."

dividers by @/benkeibear

[mike-haters-dni]

GIMMIE THE FUTURE MIKE HCS I BEG

oh boy here we go time to dig through my adopted oc's lore

The first thing you notice about post-coming-of-age Mike is that he holds his face a lot more softly. The teenage angst has burned away and revealed the tender, affectionate (and sometimes vaguely sad) core it was protecting. Make no mistake, the judgy bitch will still come out if the situation calls for it, but he no longer approaches every social interaction assuming the other person is going to hate him. Turns out he can actually be pretty charismatic when he doesn't feel the need to be a dick in preemptive self-defense.

The low self-esteem never completely goes away but it does diminish to the point where he can occasionally believe people actually like him and maybe he deserves to be happy. He even gets to the place where he can accept most compliments, except if you specifically imply he is either kind or attractive, which he will reflexively scoff at. The two things he can never truly believe about himself 😔. El finds this endlessly frustrating ofc.

During high school, Mike is the first one to get a car (birthday present from his rich parents) so it becomes his job to carpool everyone to school, as well as drive El anywhere she wants to go at any time. idk anything about cars but its black and pretty nice (Karen is absolutely treating her kids after they almost died in a monster war) and Mike lowkey mostly agrees to favors because he likes driving it around so much.

Actually no one else but Lucas gets a car bc why go through the hassle when you can just barge into Wheeler residence at any time and guilt Mike into driving you. He does have a driving toll however, and that is maintaining full control of the stereo, which he uses to blast hair metal.

(El fucking hates hair metal but she's too nice to admit that to Mike, who eventually figures that out on his own after seeing her visibly tense up whenever he plays it. She never fully admits to hating it but she also doesn't really deny it when he says that she obviously does. This also applies to 90's Mike getting into grunge)

The only reason El graduates high school is because Mike absolutely insists that she can and acts as her personal (unrelenting) tutor for the last half of 12th grade (love her but she's really not good at school), despite her best efforts to persuade him to just let her give up because "Did you know that you can legally drop out of school at 18?" ("Yes, but having a GED is really important if you want any opportunities in life." "…See I don't even know what that is." ":/") Luckily, Mike is a talented and very passionate Explainer of Things and took all the classes she's in last year (he's in AP classes now obv) so it all works out, though after she passes her last final she makes him swear to never ask her another math problem again.

After high school he tries to go to college for writing but ends up mysteriously losing the ability to focus on anything or be creative, which causes him to not do any assignments so he starts avoiding going to class out of shame. He rationalizes this as him being tired of school and not needing to go to school for a creative endeavor anyway haha (true), and he ends up dropping out. (Unfortunately, this is just the start of the college/post-college plot line, which is the gang all getting hit full force with the ptsd induced by the Everything upon entering adulthood but uh we don't have to get into that here hehe)

After (attempting) college, Mike and El (who get married at 18 ofc) move to Chicago and Mike gets a boring job as an editor or something just as an attempt to get a career going, but soon quits that as well bc if you're keeping up with the lore you'll remember that El is getting paid restitution by the government so neither of them actually have to work and he really doesn't like working a boring job just to attempt getting a career going. He then spends the next few years working ("working" sometimes) on personal projects, the main one being a sci-fi novel and, eventually, dming at a local game shop, where he becomes a bit of a local geek celebrity for his excellent dming skills and being a generally cool guy. His original campaigns and one-shots are particularly popular, and people keep suggesting that he start distributing them or maybe even sending something to TSR? Hmmm... not something Mike ever thought about doing but he does have the easiest time and most fun coming up with dnd stuff...no way that could be a real career path could it...hmm.....

Seriously tho Mike is like a master dm. You can ask him any obscure question about anything in the game and he can answer instantly with perfect accuracy. And like any passionate gamer he has many Opinions about the editions and a whole set of house rules he runs his games by.

I wasn't originally going to have him and El have kids but then I imagined Mike telling interactive bedtime stories to his 5-year-old daughter and idk man I think that has to exist. Its not until they're like early 30's tho. Also her name is Ava.

[theprettynosferatu]

4 - Revelation

Nati’s plans regarding her dear mamá had been rather gentle. They involved using the serum in her sleep, letting Master’s carefully prepared VR experience twist her and corrupt her without her even being aware of the changes, so that she would peacefully and blissfully slide into her new, much improved self. Well, fuck that.  

The return to Mariana’s home had been eye-opening to Nati. She hadn’t realized exactly how much anger, how much resentment was still in there, a remnant of something her old self hadn’t dared to recognize fully, or really come to terms with. The fact was simple: mamá had been a selfish, sanctimonious, shame-filled bitch… and she had raised her daughter as such. In her desperate, pathetic need to keep up appearances or hell, even to save her own immortal soul, she had stolen years from Mariana. Nati was almost vibrating with rage. Fucking years being a demure, boring cunt instead of having fun and pleasure and freedom! Years of long dresses with no cleavage, of Bible readings and prayers at dinner, of looking down on other girls who were only being their true selves as somehow beneath her, dirty, soiled. Mamá hadn’t just made Mariana boring: she had, in Nati’s eyes, made her a hateful person and trapped her inside that tar pit of hate. Master had saved her by bringing Nati out into the light. But did her mother deserve salvation? No. Not at all. But Master had chosen her, and Nati knew that Master was always right.

Didn’t mean she had to make things nice, though.

Nati walked downstairs, syringe in hand, the VR goggles left behind. No virtual world for mommy. She would get a harsh dose of reality. She deserved no grace, no mercy. Master was the Lord and Nati was His sword of righteous justice. Images of purgatory flashed through her mind. Sure, there would be salvation at the end, but her mother’s soul would have to be purified before it was worthy of His attention. She would make the old hag worthy. 

A telenovela blared from the T.V. Mamá barely had a second to register her daughter’s rather inappropriate attire before a sudden sting on her neck left her paralyzed. Confusion led to sudden, deep alarm. For some reason she thought of a fly stuck on a web; perhaps because the look on her daughter’s face was… predatory. Who was this person? She looked like her daughter, wore her daughter’s skin… but beneath it all was something else. Something cruel. Something fiery. And as a small voice, an almost forgotten voice inside her insisted on bringing up… oddly alluring. The person in front of her zeroed in on that small glimmer of desire and smiled.

Nati could feel it growing. Yes, this was it. This was what she was meant to do. This was fate and purpose, and she would give it her all, every inch of her. She stretched seductively, a cat toying with her prey.

“Our heavenly Father…” she mocked. “What do we have before us? What do we see, oh Lord, when we look at this woman on the sofa? Why, a sinner, of course. But what kind of sinner, I wonder? How deeply run the depths of her failures?”

Nati ran a hand through her mother’s face. It was a beautiful face, now that she looked at it without having to endure the endless sermonizing that usually came out of it. Nati undid a button from her top, almost rubbing her tits on her poor mother. As expected, the serum was starting to do its real work, and the older woman couldn’t help herself from staring at her own daughter’s ample cleavage. Nati took a theatrical step back.

“Well, let us see how dark this soul truly is. You pretend to be a pious, respectable woman… but here I am. Born out of wedlock. A living embodiment of your sin! And so like a coward you ran. You ran from the real you. Because we both know what you truly were. A little fucking teen slut. A nympho that sucked cock and let married men take her tight cunt bareback… hence my existence. And let me ask you something… don’t you miss it? Come on, don’t look so hurt. I mean, it must have felt amazing to be so… desired, so eager to please, the center of attention in every room… You must have loved every second of it, every single one night hookup, every blowjob in an alley, every party you got passed around in like a bottle of tequila… Fuck, it sounds like you knew how to live back then…”

Nati swayed her hips hypnotically as she started pulling down her pants. “Didn’t it feel so good, mami? To be taken, used and abused, a living town cumrag? Didn’t it feel so, so right?”

She could see her mother squirming as her neurons fired in strange, chaotic ways. Yes, the drug was doing its real thing now. Mami was getting blushed, and Nati could almost smell the bitch’s cunt getting more and more soaked by the second. Time to poke the righteous bore a bit.

“Answer me, mamita… didn’t it feel great? Taking load after load? Going down on your knees?”

“N-no… it was… sinful”

“Yes. Sinful. So, so sinful… and it felt good. Sin feels good, doesn’t it mami? To know you are being wicked, using the body that God gave you to spit in His fucking face and be a complete fucking whore, to go an all fours like a good little slut and let man after man empty their balls inside your needy cunt, not even seeing their faces, not caring who is using you just because it feels so amazing… oh, doesn’t your pussy just love that idea?”

A moan escaped the older woman’s lips. Her eyes were getting glassy, her thoughts muddled and confused, her entire body so, so sensitive… part of her was holding on to something, to some idea or image of who she was, who she should be… but it was getting faint, as if covered up by a pink haze… And her daughter knew it. She wouldn’t let mamita get too pink, too pliable. She wanted her to be painfully aware of her own downfall. She sat on her mami’s lap.

“You want to sin, don’t you? Your entire body longs for it, because you’ve denied it for so long… and make no mistake, you were made to sin. You have big slutty tits and cocksucking lips because God is cruel. He made you to sin and told you you weren’t allowed to follow the instincts He himself gave you! Does that sound like someone worthy of devotion? Of praise? Fuck no! But let me tell you a secret about your dear little daughter…”

Nati started moving slowly, grinding against her mother, caressing her in a lapdance most professionals would deem perhaps too intimate, but masterful.

“Your daughter is a fucking sinful slut… a complete cunt who lives to please cock and make pussies wet… a body meant for pleasure, nothing more… And she’s not ashamed! Not. One. Bit. Because I’ve found someone else to worship. Someone who knows the value of a good fucktoy… someone who actually answers to prayers and provides for His followers… and never, ever shames us for being the whores we were meant to be. Someone for whom sin is worship. And you want to sin, don’t you, mamá? Oh, you need it so badly… look at you, almost shaking… you want to sin with your own daughter, no less! What a completely debauched cunt you are, mami… but He’d love that about you… if you renounce your false God and worship a real Master. Wouldn’t that feel so, so good?”

The older woman was shaking. Her mind reeled against the words the being disguised as her daughter spew out… even as a small part of her, a shameful part of her, knew them to be at least partially true. She had been a slut… and it had felt good. But the worst part was her body. Her pussy felt desperate, needy, she needed to feel the warm, soft skin so close to her… it didn’t matter if it was her daughter… she just needed to… No, she fought against the impulses. Just thinking about how she would feel, how she would taste might be enough to… to…

Nati could feel it. Hell, she could almost taste it. She wondered if mamà knew she was drooling a bit. The stage was set. All that was needed was a little final push. Nati tore off her clothes, letting her stiff nipples dangle like pendulums just a hair away from her mother’s eyes.

“Look at me. I am real. Master is real. Your body is real, and it’s screaming at you to accept your true nature. How long will you deny yourself in the name of some imaginary God that has done nothing for you but guilt you and make you feel like shit for your impulses? I am offering a new sacrament. A new Covenant, signed in lust and obedience and cum. Also you have to do is… abandon all the lies”

A moment of silence stretched into infinity before two words pierced through a lifetime of gray, sad denial.

“Fuck God”, said the mother before diving towards her daughter’s tits.

5 - The Greatest Show on the Net

Emily was a bit surprised about how much like herself she felt. Unlike her dear sister, the process had not been one of substitution, but one of subtraction. The audios and the edging and the conditioning had not rewritten parts of her personality: Master, after a lengthy talk, had decided she was a fucking pervert as is, an assesment that only made Emily cum with joy. No, if anything she was more herself than ever before. Gone were the doubts. Gone was the hesitation. Gone her little moral quandaries. By removing, she had become more- quite a paradox, and unlike her bimbo sister, Emily still understood what a paradox was. She was unleashed, unfettered, and she discovered, a little bit mean. For instance, she didn’t need to make Holly wear a bluetooth-controlled vibe to the DMV, but damnit if making the slut squirm while she waited in line hadn’t been a blast. Addition by subtraction had been so liberating, and so Emily subtracted a couple of letters from her name in Master’s honor. Emi sounded cuter, anyway.

The DMV trip had been a hassle, but a necessary one. Master had put her in charge of the girl’s porn careers, taking advantage of her impeccable instincts. Two more would arrive soon, and she would have to figure paths for them, but first and foremost she had to put her sister in the stratosphere of online filth, and that required an updated ID, since she looked nothing like her old self. An ID was crucial to the plan.

Emi went online on her own account and started laying the groundwork, teasing her viewers and promising something great, something revolutionary that would make them all lose their fucking minds. A new project that would start with the greatest stream ever shown, and would only get better from there. She also had to work a lot behind the scenes: for the plan to work, she needed the platforms to turn a blind eye to certain… terms of service violations. That meant bribing some people, persuading some people, and driving an hour to fuck the brains off one particular female executive. A memorable encounter Emi made sure to film, just in case leverage was needed down the line.

And now the day had come. Holly was excited like a puppy, and so happy with the outfit Emi had picked for her. There needed to be a certain aesthetic to the whole affair: coherent but contrasting. Light and dark. Sun and moon. Lace and leather. One pink and white, one black and red. One like a princess, the other like a demoness. 

The audience was everything they could have hoped for. Numbers like never before, each representing a pair of eyes fixed on them, eagerly waiting for them, needing them, adoring them. They shared a little good luck kiss before the camera went on.

“Hello everybody! I’m Emi!”

“And I’m Holly!”

“You know us… or at least one of us! And you’ve seen us do… a lot of things. You probably think you know everything there is to know about us. Our every kink, our every desire, how every inch of our horny bodies looks like… and you are almost right! Almost, but not quite. We’ve been promising something very special for today in our streams, and you might think us being here together is that special thing… but there’s more!”

“A lot more!”, Holly giggled.

“You know me by many names but it’s time to tell you a little big secret. My name is Emily”

“And my name is Miranda!”

Emi took the new ID from the DMV, and her own, usual ID. She smiled and raised them for the camera, making sure their last names were clearly visible.

“And we are sisters!”

“Yaaaay!”

“Let me be clear. This isn’t fake. This isn’t roleplay. This isn’t some step-sister cop-out. We are real, flesh and blood sisters. We were raised in the same house, we have the same parents. And they did such a good job that we are now absolutely perverted, pleasure-addicted, amoral fucking cunts that will do anything to make you guys and girls cum your little brains off! And we do mean… anything”

They both knew how to play to the camera, and even as a part of their minds was on how they looked, they were completely swept up by the moment. Their tongues met each other with a desperate need, as if this was what they should have been doing all along, a long overdue realization of their true roles in life. The kissed and licked and smiled, turning now and then to the camera with a wink… and to see the donations roll in. They were making Master a lot of money, and that thought alone was enough to send them into a frenzy. Luckily, Emi had the presence of mind to remember their assigned parts, and she was supposed to be calling the shots. She adjusted the angle as she laid back and slid off her leather pants.

“Worship your little sister’s cunt, you mindless toy”, Emi commanded. Holly snapped to attention, her conditioning taking over. A direct order from her sister was almost like a direct order from Master: indisputable, absolute, as strong as any biological need. There was no distance between order and obedience. Obedience was pleasure, and so her world was reduced to the pussy in front of her face, her need to please it, her desire to be useful.

Emi had to muster all her willpower to not dissolve into a puddle of meaningless moaning. Master had a plan for them, part of a larger, broader project. Emi didn’t know the entirety of it, but she felt special and honored just to be allowed to take part in it. Master knew best and it was time the world saw it. She was aware that there was some drug involved, that another girl had tested it… but her own role was a different one, one that would come into play down the line. For now, she had to blow this platform the fuck up.

“Fuck yeah… look at us… two fucking desperate sisters eager to obey… and… fuck… this is only the beginning… Sis… show them your tits while I tell them…”

The bimbo bounced in an instant, and soon she was groping herself, moaning, giving her sister a chance to recover. She needed to get this right, no matter how much she wanted to suck on the dumb slut she called a sis’ tits. She rubbed herself slowly as she looked into the camera.

“This place… it will be the fucking haven for all perverts… for all good girls… for all that seek to find their real selves… beyond morality… beyond good and evil… beyond shame or guilt… we’ll give it all… we’ll teach you… and you’ll see more good girls here… doing things… saying things… you’ve never even imagined… so keep that money coming in and welcome… to the Slut House”  

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu and get the full library, discord access and more!

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

It's short, but it's here. I'm still working on the last chapter of "Those Stark boys", but I've decided I could post something to encourage myself ;)

***

Chapter 3

Was it strange that Sansa’s first desire upon hearing her husband’s voice was to bash his head in?

As soon as he opened that ridiculous smirk and said ‘Hello, wife’, she wished she could just hit him with a blunt object. Multiple times.

“Husband.” She’d replied dryly, but her tone seemed to have no effect on him. He continued to grin like a simpleton. “I have some food for you.” She looked him up and down. “And a bath. You might want to start there.”

He chuckled, like she’d said something charming. “Whatever my wife wishes.” He decided. “So bath first.”

Sansa gave him a look full of suspicion. “I have clean clothes for you as well.”

“Clean clothes.” He sighed. “I have barely arrived and you are spoiling me already.”

Oh great. Her husband had gone mad during the war.

***

Sansa gave Arthur a wide berth after he went to have his bath. She sent other people to help him, then sent him food, then pretended she had more things to do before finally going up to their chambers.

She found him sitting on the bed, clean, with his hair cut and beard in better conditions.

Sansa hadn’t really thought about it before, but her husband was somewhat handsome, if one liked the type.

“Oh, there you are.” He grinned at her. “Thank you for the clothes and the food.”

She just nodded at him.

His grin lost a bit of its strength, but he didn’t give up. “It has been a while, Sansa.”

She held in a scoff. “You could say that.” She looked around. “Should I undress now?”

That managed to shock him, and she almost grinned at his stupid face. “I beg… What?”

“Should I undress?” She repeated. “Do you want to bed me tonight?”

***

Well, that was romantic.

Then again, he probably deserved that.

“No.” He said carefully. “I am quite tired.” Should he say ‘thank you for offering’?

The relief in her face was a punch to the gut. Honestly, she couldn’t have made it any clearer that the idea of sleeping with him was unappealing to her.

He had to give it to her… That was probably his fault.

He’d made a mess of their wedding night, and he felt shame just remembering about it. He could only imagine what she felt when she thought about it.

Arthur really needed to do something about that. He didn’t want his wife to dread every time he touched her.

“We do not know each other well, Sansa.” He told her simply. “I wish we could fix that. Especially because you are stuck with me, so…” He gave her what he hoped was a charming smile.

She narrowed her eyes, as if she wasn’t sure she could trust him all that much. “Of course.”

“I rode the whole day to get here, and I am tired. So why don’t we sleep early today, and tomorrow we start this again?” He suggested. “You can tell me how is Londinium, and we can figure out how things will be going forward.” He cleared his throat. “What do you think?”

Bedivere would be so proud if he could see him being diplomatic.

“That sounds agreeable.” Sansa finally nodded.

“Excellent.” He said, happy to end this conversation.

Oh Gods… This was going to be hard.

**

Arthur might not be the brightest man out there, but he always thought he was reasonably smart.

He was starting to reconsider that notion,

Had his wife always been that pretty?

When he woke up that morning, Sansa was still asleep next to him. It was the first time he’d taken a moment to properly look at her.

And wasn’t that a travesty?

He’d been married to this woman for three years, and never before he’d noticed what he had that morning. The curve of her lips, the lines of her face, the lovileness of her skin.

He did know she was somewhat pretty, but it’d never occurred ot him how pretty until that morning.

And she hated him.

Which brought him to the person he was looking for that morning.

“Arthur!” Kay hugged him, smiling beautifully. “I heard you arrived yesterday. I am so happy to see you.”

“Yes, me too and all…” He ignored her snort. “I really need help.”

She smirked. “Let me guess. The wife is not happy.”

“She isn’t. How fucked am I?”

“Oh darling… Very fucked indeed.”

Great. Just what he needed.

[golbrocklovely]

i think its hilarious people are calling m cb’s girlfriend when that horny mfer is still liking half naked insta models pics as of a day or two ago. if he had a gf he wouldn’t (i hope) disrespected her like that. whereas i think sg and k are probably together or at least in the early stages bc they definitely seem cutesy together whereas all pics of cb and m (including nye) have ‘we’re just having fun’ vibes. also the way m is dressing and still posting on insta, she’s definitely not giving off ‘i have a bf’ vibes.

people just stiring drama (not u, ofc. ur the only snc blog i keep up with bc you have reasonable answers to this stuff) in the tag calling both girls the ‘girlfriends’ lol

plus as a personal observation as someone who’s only known who snc are since october, cb doesnt strike me as someone who will settle down before 30 (if he ever wants to). hes 27 now right? maybe in the coming years he might start wanting something solid but he strikes me as someone who isnt looking for that rn. idk im 29 this year and im sort of in the same boat. like only the last 6 months have i been thinking ok its probably time to find someone…

i mean, i would assume he'd not do that either, but i think it also depends on what m feels like. she might not care. also there are a lot of girls colby is just friends with, and he'll like their scantily clad pics so idk about it being an issue.

and as for what she wears, again, i don't think that matters. colby doesn't seem like the type to want his girl to fully cover up or whatever. and also, just bc you're in a relationship doesn't mean you have to dress conservatively. you still have the same body underneath, whether or not you show it off. and if she feels confident, who gives a fuck what colby thinks lol

but as i've stated before, idk how serious m and colby could be. they've only known each other since sam's bday. so they've only been together for a month and some change so… eh. if they want to be together forever, so be it. that's awesome. if not, it is what it is.

as for sam and k/la girl, yeah idk about them either. they've seemingly been together since septemberish. so, it could be serious and lead to something more committed. or it could just be a silly fling that lasts for a bit of time and then ends. but i hope they enjoy whatever time they do spend together.

colby has had almost exclusively flings since 2016 after he broke up with his only girlfriend (or he claims to be his only girlfriend). he has a lot that he needs to work on internally before he starts committing to anyone. he himself has said that basically. so i don't see him settling down anytime soon, but who knows. and same thing with sam. he just got out of a long relationship, so my first thought would not be to jump into another one. but he also has said he's a monogamous person and likes being in relationships. so… it's a bit up in the air for both of them. but i don't see them settling down any time soon.

and as for me, there's always been just a lot going on in my life so i've never really taken time to focus on my love life. or the couple times i have, it's been unrequited and heartache. however, i'm very happy i didn't date when i was younger bc i genuinely hated myself for a long time. and i just know i would have tolerated a lot more bc i didn't care about me and just didn't want to be alone. like i was borderline abused by dudes i wasn't even seeing back then. now, i love myself (for the most part lol) and have no issues being alone. and i also know what i want. and if a man, or woman, ever tried anything with me, i'll just leave lmao

i would like to get married in the future, but it definitely isn't gonna be this year or most likely the next sksk

[horizon-verizon]

I just saw a post that argued that Rhaenys was passive for not starting a rebellion to remain heir (she never was) and that it was disgusting that she would agree to marry her granddaughters.(not her decision) with dirty bastards (🙄) instead of her (drumroll) asking Alicent for help (lol) so Baela and Rhaena would have their birthright. I know that you have already argued most of this in other posts but what made me laugh and come to tell you about it was the ending because: They should also marry one of them to a green PRINCE (Let's be honest it's Aemond because it's always Aemond) because the girls deserved a good match.

A I could almost accept this kind of opinion if they had enough self-awareness to realize that they don't care about Baela and Rhaena, right?. They're just looking to get their favorite boy a castle and Rhaenyra's allies... The same thing they are criticizing her for! Just like they say Rhaenys should have taken the throne by force but they get upset because Rhaenyra didn't turn around and let them usurp her without making a fuss.

*EDITED POST* 10/25/23

Rant coming up.

So one moment they are saying Rhaenyra should have backed off and just let Aegon take her seat because:

"he's already crowned"

"the law is the law"/"girls can't rule, it's custom"

sometimes even "it's for the good of the realm and its 'peace'" (referring to HotD's choice to emphasize the nobles/royals' concern for the smallfolk when no one really cared all that much in the canon)...

Then they now say that Rhaenys should have rebelled and caused violence for smallfolk as well as other lords, she should have fought for her "rights" on the principle of them being her right by being the last heir's only and eldest child, and she should have rejected Viserys' ascension after he's been voted in by a majority by Jaehaerys' moves? The hypocrisy is astounding, honestly.

Not only that, Rhaenys' own son Laenor--a boy--was passed over on account of Laenor coming from the female "line", or being connected to the royal family through a woman, his mother. The lords at the GC of 101 specifically marked this as a reason against her. We really cannot make 1-1 comparisons between Rhaenyra and Rhaenys' loss of power or broken access to the throne as if they had the same specific opportunities & blocks; Rhaenys was more like an heir presumptive to Rhaenyra's actually being an heir apparent. (Viserys named Rhaenyra his heir officially while Rhaenys was a person who had a claim by being the eldest of the last heir apparent and was Jaehaerys I's eldest living grandchild. An heir presumptive is: "one whose right may be defeated by the birth of a nearer heir".) What they shared is that their access to those things was seen as deserving less than that of a man and there were those who actively blocked their ability to become an uncontested ruler in their own right.

Again, that classist/bastardphobia coming out from them and them wanting every character in ASoIaF to follow suit. Not every character is going to be as hung up or pretentious about bastards the old conservative "family values" way, and why? It's both politically inconvenient at times AND it's a whole lot of energy for something that really had no real effect on Rhaenyra or the boys (at least largely) except for the greens taking advantage when they, like other lords who continued to fight for Rhaenyra even after her death, could have chosen to step aside but didn't because they wanted to take that power. Which removes any real moral high ground on their part--their motivation for hating these boys is not pure. I need these people to be able to separate social conditioning & ideology from real strategy, please, just for a few seconds! (POST #2 with a summarization of the previous multi-link link). Being born out of wedlock doesn't make you an icky-sticky monster with the capability of infecting people with "degradation" or "lowering" one's innate "quality" as a human being--there's no moral nor political reason to think that Baela is marrying "wrong" or "down". I must also quickly mention the rumors around Orys Baratheon and confirmed bastards like Jon Snow (GoT/ASoIaF's male darling, as these people tend to conveniently forget), Brynden Rivers/Bloodraven, and Benedict Rivers-turned-Justman who ruled over the Riverlands and established one of the most peaceful dynasties in Riverland history, and a real life bastard who came to be the first Norman king of "England" and is the inspiration for people like Benedict Rivers and Aegon I. These people are strong, capable, trustworthy, and most of the list are loyal to those they followed--qualities that Westerosi Faith says are not natural in bastards...the Faith and society claims the opposite. Already and since day one, GRRM has been telling us not to so flagrantly deny bastards' humanity or to subscribe to them Westerosi stigmas, and here goes people doing exactly that as if they themselves were Westerosi. Which really just shows how they have been salivating for a chance to show their true selves and prejudices, they just needed claimed ignorance or a text they think everyone is paying more attention to where bastards' presence was a stickier point in the specific story.

And why the hell would Alicent--show or book--go out of her way (fav phrase tonight) to help out Rhaenys without any strings?

This is the same woman who in the show imprisons Rhaenys to "slow down" Rhaenyra and is basically trying to force Rhaenys on her side as if that would realistically hold any appeal in lieu of what the show tells us are Rhaenys' interests, which is to stay as far away from this war or supporting either side as much as possible.

Show!Rhaenys told Rhaenyra, her own kin, no....why should she help out Alicent, who is least going to help her out? Alicent's kids are not engaged to Rhaenyra's. Alicent's kids are actually competitors or Alicent wants to become the next royals over Baela, who could have been Queen Consort like Alicent if the green kept to herself.

Alicent is the one who, prodded by Otto, used Rhaenya's husband Vaemond for her own plans to dethrone Luke and Rhaenyra (long-run) and the plan encourages Vaemond's ambitions to his death (yes it's Vaemond's fault that he died, but this maneuvering with people way to close to Rhaenys and her grandkids cannot feel hunky dory to someone in Rhaenys' position! The greens went after a Velaryon, not Rhaenyra).

People seem to also forget that Alicent was trying to get Vaemond to replace Corlys, which also pushes Baela and Rhaena away from what that person you're telling me about is their "right"....which it isn't. Like I mentioned before, Rhaenys nor Corlys in the book and by ASoIaF Westerosi culture/society does not have parental rights over Baela and Rhaena bc they are Targaryens, Daemon is their living father, and in both the show and books Corlys...not Rhaenys...is the real head of that house and never wanted a girl as his heir. Before anyone can name an outsider as their heir, they need to go through their living father/parents. Also, fosterage does not work in the show as the showrunner/writers did for Baela being the ward for the Velaryons for all these reasons. Just no. If these people want to enjoy the show and its weird fan-ficcy bad AUness, fine, but the dynamics do not make sense for the kind of world they are all in. (It's not even that AU fanfic adaptations are inherently bad and useless, I love the show adaptation of Interview with a Vampire...I just want to make it clear that HotD does not align with real Westeros and some things people claim about the show that exist in the book thematically or emotionally cannot be said to be true of the original story).

It was Alicent who tried to get Lucerys' eye cut out after he and his brother were trying to help out their aggrieved cousin/Rhaenys' granddaughter Rhaena..and both her and Baela were nearly beaten by the son Alicent couldn't teach properly. and yes, rhaenys, even in the show, does care for Luke's well-being. In the book, there is a little indication that she doesn't even seem to be willing to NOT see him as her own grandchild.

If Rhaenys, in the show, is as "grandchild-first" as she's supposed to be, how could she ever trust the word of Alicent/greens by their actions? Unless she's forced to, and still, why would she freely approach Alicent and think Alicent would "fight" for Driftmark for her grandkids?! Therefore, Rhaenys, from the books who truly followed Rhaenyra/supported Rhaenyra, has no reason to trust a word of a green over any on Rhaenyra's side. Any marriage to her sons would be more functionally holding Rhaenys, Baela, and Rhaena hostage!

*I didn't realize until it was too late that you already mentioned how hypocritical Rhaenys being a rebel was...*

[handeaux]

Cincinnati Photographers Dealt With The Bizarre, The Salacious And The Macabre

With almost everybody these days carrying a camera-equipped cell phone and posting fresh images to social media hourly, it is difficult to remember a time when photographs were rare, expensive and inconvenient. Cincinnati’s photography studios caught our citizenry at their best and their worst and sometimes at their weirdest.

In the 1880s, for example, it was common to print a photographic portrait on a person’s skin. Young women often had pictures of their beaux fixed on an upper arm or lower leg. One Cincinnati photographer told a reporter for the Times-Star [30 July 1884] about a young woman who was infatuated with a traveling salesman:

“We can photograph on flesh very nicely now and I made a good print. I fixed it thoroughly and she went away happy. A month later she came back with blushes and wanted it taken off. Her lover had turned out to be a married man, and of course she hated him for his cruel deception. However, she wears it yet, as I told her to let it wear off.”

Photographs could serve to bring couples together, the photographer said, describing a rather unusual request he had received from a young woman.

“A woman, handsome and determined, had a picture made holding a pistol to her head, as if about to suicide. This she sent to her lover, who was probably getting tired of her. Underneath the picture she wrote: ‘If you don’t, I will.’ He understood. It had its effect, for in two weeks I made a group picture of them both, and she was attired as a bride.”

Women, it seems, made the most outlandish requests of photographers. One Cincinnati portraitist told the Post [7 September 1883] that women regularly requested photos of one foot, or one hand, set against a backdrop of black velvet. Women particularly proud of their hair arranged for photos from behind to show their mane in all its glory. Other women had photos from the rear for an entirely different reason:

“Some girls, who have caught on to an unknown correspondent, through an advertisement, get the backs of their heads or a coquettish corner of their faces pictured to send them.”

Some photographers produced images that went way beyond the coquettish. A studio owner told the Cincinnati Penny Paper [16 October 1882] about a colleague of his who was just starting out in the business and had yet to engage a suitable number of clients. One day, a young man stopped by to inquire whether the photographer had any photos of nude women for sale. The photographer did not, but asked the young man to return in a couple of days.

“Soon as his customer left he called his wife and told her he wanted to take her nude and sell it. She hesitated at first, but finally consented to sit. She had an exquisite figure, and the young man, who had never met the lady, was so well pleased with the photographs that he bought a dozen. He showed them to his friends, who purchased more, and finally the photographer’s income from selling his wife’s nude photographs became the most lucrative part of his business.”

The Penny Paper reporter asked his source whether the wife knew how widely distributed her nude image had become.

“Oh yes, but she does not care a copper. She laughingly said one day, ‘It is dollars and cents to me, and as long as the public like my form, I will sell them copies of it.”

The unidentified photographer probably sold his wife’s images from under the counter, because Cincinnati wasn’t ready for nude photographs. In 1890, George Morrison and Frank Jennings, photographers based in the West End, were hauled into court on charges of making obscene pictures of young women from the area – otherwise known as the Red Light District. According to the Cincinnati Post [18 October 1890] the judge ruled that testimony in the case was “too filthy to be heard” and fined the pair heavily.

It's a bit ironic, because another photographer told the Post [7 September 1883] that “bad” women generally requested “respectable” pictures:

“To tell the truth, their pictures are more modest than many of the society belles of upper tendom.”

The women of that “upper tendom,” the high-society classes, posed provocatively, leaning seductively forward with bare arms and a plunging neckline.

“Why, here is one young girl who had my wife photograph her in her chimise. Her father got hold of the pictures at home, and burned them, then forbade me making any more prints.”

Perhaps the most bizarre photographs taken in Cincinnati involved dead people. A woman showed up one day at a photographer’s studio pushing an infant in a baby carriage. The infant had died hours earlier and the mother wanted a photograph to remember the child. The photographer admitted that photographing corpses was “not nice work.”

“We sometimes make post-mortem pictures, but don’t hanker for it. We have made a picture of a corpse, and by retouching both the negative and the print made it life-like – eyes open, and color in the cheeks. But photographing a corpse is almost as bad as shaving one.”

One might think photographing dead people would give the photographer a bit of advantage because corpses wouldn’t move during the long exposures required back then. It turns out that photographers, at least in Cincinnati, were slow to adopt newer and faster photographic processes. A photographer in 1884 complained that his subjects couldn’t sit still for the thirty seconds it took to capture their image. He wondered how their parents endured the four or five minutes of immobility required for a good Daguerreotype portrait, while admitting that he was aware the latest plates allowed exposures of one-thousandth of a second. The American Israelite [21 January 1881] was having none of it:

“They can instantly photograph express trains going at sixty miles an hour, so that it looks, smoke and all, as if it were taken at a stand-still. And yet they can’t or won’t photograph a man sitting in a chair, without screwing his head round in a vice like a moveable doll and keeping him looking at a smudge on the wall, till his lip drops, and his eyes water, and the pleasant little speech he meant to think about, just to hold the expression, goes maundering through his head like the ghost of a homeless echo. Every ‘photographer’s studio’ must be at least twenty years behind time. Why is it?”

[mackmp3]

TELL ME ABOUT ABIGAIL

OKAY OKAY :DD

abigail is a young adult novel written by hungarian author magda szabò in 1970 - as far as i know it's like a cult classic childhood foundation text in hungary but i dont know anyone from hungary so cant really confirm that

its about a young girl, gina, who's father is a military general in the second world war - he is sending her off to an incredibly strict boarding school all the way across the country. hungary was on the losing side of world war two. she of course, doesn't know this as it hasnt happened yet, and is mad about being sent away from her father. she's really quite pretentious and has a general attitude of superiority which leads to her being almost immediately ostracised by Everyone in her year. and i mean Everyone, all the other girls hate her. the title, Abigail, is the name of a statue in the grounds of the school, which all the girls think is some sort of magical being who helps them out in surprisingly tangible ways (gina of course thinks this is rubbish).

with the war looming over everyone, and surrounded by young girls who's lives are entirely the world of the Very insular school, and the elaborate fantasies in their minds of meeting a handsome boy and getting married, gina learns........ to be a nicer person is not a very good description of it?? like she Does learn how to respect other's feelings and relationships and people work, and is a lot more likeable at the end, but also how dangerous the world was for her.... like the character development is just sooooo so so so good ough. like the war was a nebulous concept for all the girls as the school in their very filtered view of it, whereas You The Audience know that her father is the general of an army working with nazis. she doesn't. usually i dont like wwii books because i dont want to read about war or nazis but they arent central to the story, just looming specters over it. haunting the narrative one might say. i don't mean to be offputting in this bit btw!!! just feel like i should mention

it does for sure have a somber tone, and it is a bit depressing, but that's not really the point? of the book?? like she is quite sad, but is a contemplative and atmospheric way, and it isnt brushed aside as 'teenage sullenness' but also isn't dragged out for no reason, its very very well written. i don't remember the exact content for warnings or anything, but even though it does have a dark tone, nothing horrific happens - sad, not horror in any way.

but yeah i really really liked gina, even though she is Awful nearer the start of the book, there's a sort of spark in her, and i loved her rebellion and then later her contemplative moments and oagsiasiahiun i think i might go reread this rn..........

[trickstarbrave]

what do you mean by ""reylo dynamic""??

okay. first thing to understand is when i say "reylo dynamic" in a ship or pairing or style of writing romance it isnt unique to reylo. a lot of popular fandoms have some variation of "the reylo dynamic" its just reylo has popularized and kind of mass marketed what used to be a niche fandom ship dynamic so its what i call it as shorthand

The Reylo Dynamic™ usually has specific traits (note: it does not need to have all of these, just a significant amount). canon characterization does not matter either, all it comes down to is the fandom portrayal of the ship by and large (think dramoine and kacchako). the only hardline one is this:

>spunky female character (usually protag of the story) who is at least a little combative with the male lead, and a male lead who is otherwise grumpy/brooding/mysterious

for the common traits:

>female lead is usually brown haired, shorter, with emphasis on being petite and small. idk why even reylo stories they do this even tho daisy ridley isnt that short???

>male lead is usually dark haired and typically described as "unconventionally attractive" exactly

>female lead usually has to prove herself or feels like she has to prove herself. like. as a big thing. it can be one big moment or her constantly feeling like shes being condescended to for some perceived weakness (like: being a woman, being small, not knowing how to control magic powers, whatever). important thing to note is she will often not get over this until like the very end of the story if ever

>usually bc this dynamic can be hard to accommodate for and write around (bc the two romantic leads DONT WANT TO BE AROUND EACH OTHER) there is usually some kind of plot contrivance keeping them together. fated lovers, soul mates, class project, you name it. i feel this is usually a cop out bc i spend most of the plots feeling like they should just fuck and get it over with

>there is almost always miscommunication. and the annoying kind. every time i have tried to suffer thru a story with The Reylo Dynamic™ in novel format i find myself annoyed. bc i dont believe most of the time this is a real, normal, very human break down of communication. i constantly feel like one of them is being an unreasonable or frankly stupid brat in the situation purely for the sake of plot convenience. do you know how dumb it is to see a woman who has lost her job, her only friend, her boyfriend, and her mom get told by some hot guy "hey due to circumstances outside of ur control that i dont blame u for we have to get married also im rich and will take care of ur every need and im not asking for romance i just need magic powers back of mine that u technically have and if u dont marry me they'll also go out of control and kill you" and the woman. is mad and pissy abt it and deliberately makes problems for him. bitch u were at rock bottom and this guy is offering u free rent and food and answers to all the questions you had since chapter 1. and ur mad abt it. theres no moral objections she has to him she's just annoyed bc????????????? i guess she is being asked to do something????????? bc she doesnt wanna look weak?????????? bc shes cranky??????????????? i dont know. id cut her some slack to start with but she just keeps deliberately antagonizing him until they fuck. i gave up reading it was a slog

>lots of bickering and jabs at the other. depending on the rating of the story this will only be resolved with hatefucking. even then it usually wont fully be resolved. while i am a fan of hatefucking there is smth abt how much of a slog it is to watch it in the reylo dynamic bc of the next point:

>usually the author never commits to them having a real, genuine, non-imagined reason to being combative with each other or hating each other, NOR having a real, genuine, non-imagined reason to be together and make it work and be happy. they live in this limbo between dislike. a constant "will they wont they" but instead of the will they or wont they in question being hooking up its instead if they will break up or not. it's like watching a very incompatible couple refuse to work things out by talking and sorting through their own issues AND refusing to just break up and see other ppl more compatible. id rather there be genuine dislike or even hatred they have to sort thru and actually make progress in. dont half ass making a guy horrible. give me a reason why the mc hates him. or if it is imagined by the mc, show the mc processing it properly and working thru it and having proper character growth. but they dont bc the bickering is part of the appeal and making one or both of them genuinely bad ppl breaks the fantasy. or smth.

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

You could just provide the correct warnings for your Targ Ocs and put at the top that you are not cool with Targcest and the like and that just including it for continuity. just a suggestion because i would love to hear about your Targ ocs

Honestly… good idea.

I’ll post them in response to this ask too then because why not

Warnings: Targcest, twincest -none of which I agree with but if you’re gonna targ, targ hard- and special little snowflake syndrome

I actually wasn’t gonna post about them any more unless I figured out how to draw dragons so I could draw theirs. But… I’m gonna anyways.

(Info on them below the cut + chibi faces for them)

They were made in like 20 minutes on the discord server like I have put no thought into this at all. It’s just for fun. Hate them? Sure, go ahead. But I don’t care

These are Elaena and Aenar Targaryen (literally just chose canon targ names lmao), they’re twins and they’re targaryens and you know how that’s going down already.

They’re Alicent and Viserys’ kids, idk where in the order they’d fall but they’re assholes no matter how old they are.

Both of them have like… issues. Severely.

They grew up kind of hating eachother. Of the eggs given to them as babies, both of them came from a diseased clutch. One never hatched, and the other one was deformed with bicephaly, and assumed to die soon. They both argued over who’s ‘fault’ it was, and when the surviving dragon showed to be healthy despite its deformity, they both argued over who got to bond with it.

Of course, because it had bicephaly (two fucking heads) it meant that it could bond with both of them. Because both heads kind of function as separate entities, despite sharing a body. This made riding dangerous, especially for Aenar, as Elaena bonded with the dominant head and he bonded with the more submissive head.

Despite this, Aenar rode their dragon the most, and ended up getting injured his first time trying because the other head threw him off. It left him with a scar, but he got back on anyway just to just of stick it to Elaena that he was better at riding than her on a dragon that loved her more. He was still bleeding though and like mildly concussed, so he almost fell off again. Elaena helped him off and cleaned him up because she didn’t want blood getting on her dragon, and he’s an asshole so he wiped a bunch of the blood on her.

This, due to fucked up and gross reasons, lead to a lengthy love affair between the pair, sometimes including other people if they felt like it, and generally just them being gross.

Elaena’s the perfect pretty little political pawn. She’s basically used by her family to get them more power and she complies because that’s what she was raised to do. She mostly wears green, and a lot of jewellery, and the green is because Aenar’s eyes are green and they’re weird and twincesty together. She was a germaphobe as a kid (hence Nar wiping blood on her in vengeance, and her dislike of blood being on her dragon) but she grew out of it with time. She still likes to be neat and clean, and portray herself as the ideal of a Targaryen woman even if she’s not quite that. A lot of comparisons would be made between her and Nyra, simply because she’s what the greens use as an example of how Nyra ‘should’ behave. She has a lot of piercings bc I said so.

Aenar refuses to marry, and rebels a lot more openly than his sister in that regard. He’s a dragon rider or he is nothing. He keeps his hair as long as he can grow it, often styling it similarly to Elaena’s, and wears a lot of dark purples (again to match her eyes). He can be incredibly violent, though does not portray this openly, and enjoys himself his ruffles on his clothes. He encourages Elaena’s more fucked up habits and even started a few of them, and no matter who she marries he makes sure he’s the most important person in her life - he is her twin, after all. The only reason he’s neutral in the dance is because he’s too busy being a little freak to realise that politics is happening around him.

I will leave the more fucked up stuff for like… later… because an intro post is not the place to get into Elaena’s bad habits and Aenar’s weird little perversions. But these are the basics.