#that said I do feel pretty safe in the knowledge that she is probably not going to come here lol

[blujayonthewing]

it's a testament to how much I love my friend and how strongly I feel about tumblr as an art-sharing platform that I recommended she come to tumblr to share her art even though her doing so would inevitably lead to her following me on main

[the-modern-typewriter]

The Blue Key

On her first night in her new home, after a lavish dessert of strawberry cheesecake and cream, her new husband handed her a clinking set of keys across the dining room table.

“You can go anywhere in the house,” her husband told her, “except the basement.”

He showed her the key to the basement. It was midnight blue.

“Why? Is the basement where you keep the bodies?” she asked, with half a smile.

He didn’t smile back. “Do you promise me?”

She studied him carefully, feeling the weight of the basement key in her hand.

There were many keys to the house - hefty ornate keys for their front and back doors, a pretty gold one for their bedroom, a dozen little silver and brass ones for any other lock in the house that she might come across. Windows and cabinets and the like.

The basement key was almost insubstantial against her palm. Negligible. The sort of key that was easily lost, that looked like it might belong to a doll house more than a proper estate.

She couldn’t read his expression.

“You can’t tell me what’s in there?”

“I will know if you open the door,” he said, “and everything that we are will end.”

She laughed again, uncertainly, because the words were surely absurd and certainly not like him. He could have simply told her it was dangerous and so best avoided, or not given her the key to the basement in the first place. She doubted she would have given it all that much thought among all the other rooms.

Yet, his words instead piqued curiosity.

Once again, he did not smile. He stared at her solemnly, with a hint of something haunted that she had only caught flickers of during their courtship.

The laughter died in her throat.

He had been like something from a fairy tale from the moment they met; Prince Charming to pluck her out of the ashes of her drab life, even if she knew he had been married before. Everyone knew. Just as none of them had expected him to pick her. She had no experience in the running of manor houses, and no especially outstanding beauty nor fortune of her own to make up for that fault. In short, she was nothing like his first wife.

But, she had made him laugh, and she had liked him. God, how she had liked him – and liked him still – with such blushing ferocity that it almost made her dizzy.

Her new home was enormous, and beautiful, and filled with the kind of impossible luxuries that she had never even dared to dream of having. It was filled with him. She was nothing, and nobody, and he had given her the keys to be something and somebody else. Someone better. What was one small forbidden key against all that?

She knew the preciousness of privacy. Sometimes a secret could be the only thing that was really yours.

“Okay.” She bit her lip, and started to unhook the key from the ring. “Would you like it back, then? Just to be sure.”

He recoiled as if she’d drawn a knife on him and shook his head.

“Keep it,” he rasped. “Keep it safe. Keep it locked. Let it be forgotten.”

But from that moment on, though, she never really forgot about the blue key for a moment.

***

The library was probably her favourite room in her new home. It was astonishing to be able to have an actual personal library, stocked from soft-carpet and gleaming hardwood floor to cavernous ceiling with walls upon walls of books of every kind. The orphanage had maybe three books, worn and ancient, each crumbling a little more with every reading.

There were lots of stories in her husband’s books about girls with keys, girls with curiosity, heroes with something they were not supposed to look at under the pain of death or something worse.

Psyche with Eros, who was told without explanation not to look upon her perfect and mysterious host, for there could be no love without trust.

Orpheus, forbidden to glance back at his love, lest he lose her for good.

Pandora, with her strange once unopened box of evils and hope, told it was hers.

Eve, with her curiosity, with her knowledge, lured into plucking that shining forbidden fruit.

Bluebeard too, of course, with his many murdered wives, all told not to seek out their bloody predecessors behind his secret door, because – why?

Because it was a game of female obedience? Because it gave a predator an excuse to do what he did best, when he knew from the first instance that his victims would have to know? He chose them, after all. And why did they look, those wives, against all warning?

Because the uncertainty was unbearable? Because it was their home too? Because they loved the man they married and wanted to know everything there was to know of him? Maybe they wanted to save him. It was never cruelty.

The two of them were happy, her husband and her, as blissful as newlyweds were want to be.

In the evenings they would cuddle before the roaring fires, night caressing the windows, and he would read aloud from his favourite passages or play music. In the days he would work, or leave on some business or other, and she would wander the labyrinthian corridors alone and explore the many treasures tucked away behind his many locked doors.

The library could have lasted her years, but she found a room with a ceiling made of magnifying glass by which to observe the stars, a swimming pool built into the rock beneath the entrance hall, a lush garden bursting with colour that she could tend to in the sunshine.

There were servants to take care of the day-to-day running of the building, and so he did not seem to desire any particular purpose of her except to be his wife. Except for her to live in his home, in their home, and enjoy his easy company and the gifts he gave her. She found ways to keep busy. To contribute.

Thus, it took her many months to walk down towards the basement, to first look upon the door that she was not allowed to open. Spring had turned to the first icy breaths of winter.

The door was painted the same midnight blue as the key, and immaculate in condition. The lock was tiny. A dark slither, a crack, in something otherwise quite lovely.

She pressed her hand against the door and the wood was warm compared to the cool, slightly stale, underground air that filled her chest.

She dropped a hand into her pocket, fingers closing unerringly around the blue key. She tried not to touch it, not to think about it, but she had come to know it instantly by shape and feel alone. It was simply so odd to have a key so small. She had half expected the door would be in miniature too.

How could he possibly know, if she opened it? In some tales it was magic. The key would betray her. He would know by seeing it. But her husband did not want to look upon the key, he had never even mentioned it once after their first dinner.

What then was in the basement? Something so terrible that she could no longer love him? Or perhaps it was empty. Perhaps it was structurally unsound. Perhaps it was simply a test on if she would allow him that one thing that was his and his only.

She leaned down, and pressed her eye to the keyhole with a hammering heart. She didn’t know what she expected to see inside, exactly – a skeleton, or some ghoul staring back at her, or some hidden vault even. There was only darkness. Nothing to see. She straightened again, unsure if the painful feeling in her lungs was breathless relief or airless disappointment.

She walked back up the stairs.

She turned over the pages of stories in the library, and turned the key over and over in her palm, and wondered which of those many tales she was in.

***

“I think,” she said one night, as they lay in bed. “That it bothers me more that you will not tell me, than anything that could possibly be in the basement.”

He stiffened on the mattress next to her.

“Is there something I could do,” she rolled onto her side to face him, “so that you would know you could trust me with the truth?”

His expression was half-hidden in the dim light, his body made unfamiliar by slashes of moonshine slicing through the curtains. His blue eyes were open, staring up, away from her.

“You promised me that you would not dwell on the door.”

“No.” She reached out, tracing her fingers gently along the curve of his jaw, coaxing him to meet her searching gaze. “I promised I wouldn’t open it. There’s a difference.”

He snorted, but tipped his head towards her hand, planting a kiss to her knuckles.

“Can you at least narrow down the possibilities?” She pressed into the silence, because kisses were sweet but they were not an answer. “Is it something I shouldn’t see? That you don’t want me to see? Something that – I don’t know – can’t be let out? Are you the secret guardian of a nightmare world?” She attempted another smile, but it wobbled shaky. “Just give me something, and I’ll leave it alone. I just want to know. I need to know. Whatever it is – whatever it could possibly be – you don’t have to carry it alone. We’re supposed to be a team. That’s what marriage is.”

“Is my word not enough for you?” He sounded tired. “Is everything I have given you not enough?”

She scrunched up her nose at him. “You’d be happily blind, if it were you?”

“Ignorance can be bliss.”

“If you wanted me ignorant, why tell me about the key in the first place? You know me.”

They’d met on account of her curiosity, of her straying to places that she wasn’t supposed to be. He’d been visiting the library of one of the great colleges, reserved for great men like him, and she’d snuck in aching for a glimpse of the world.

Her husband said nothing.

“When you first gave me the key…” She swallowed. “You looked scared.” Her fingers, which had often brushed his in the library stacks once upon a time, grazed his pulse. It was racing. “I would fight monsters for you. Even if you’re the monster.”

As the silence stretched, she thought he might say nothing again, until the silence had grown so large that they might never reach each other across the abyss of it.

“I love you,” he said. His voice cracked. He caught her hand, entwining their fingers together, and squeezed. “Goodnight.”

The seconds ticked by into minutes, into she didn’t know how long.

“Is it a curse?” she whispered, into the dark. “If you’re not allowed or able to tell me, squeeze my hand twice.”

“Oh my god.” His voice was muffled, then, as he pulled a pillow over his face and wrenched free of her. “It’s two in the morning, darling. Go to sleep.”

***

She watched the door diligently for about a month. She didn’t think her husband had some poor creature locked up in the basement, but if he did then one would assume that either he would have to visit, or have the servants visit, in order to provide his victim some form of sustenance.

Nobody visited the basement door except her. There could not be anything living on the other side.

At least, not unless there was some other second secret door and tunnel system, hidden somewhere on the grounds. She didn’t see anyone vanish to one of those either, though. Would she, if it wasn’t on the grounds? How large a conspiracy could a little blue key possibly hold?

Would it count as ‘opening the door’ if she made a hole in the wall next to the door? 

She remembered her husband, in the college library the first time they met, spying the collection of ghost stories she’d been straining to reach. He’d grabbed it off the top shelf for her, easily, a glimmer of amusement curling his lips.

“I never really got these stories,” he’d mused. “If it were me, I would simply not have gone into the haunted house in the first place. Or, one look at a ghost and – no, no thank you. Goodbye! Have a nice life.”

She’d gaped at him.

He’d shrugged at her, and handed her the book. “But I can see that you’re a braver soul than me,” he said. “Sneaking into a place like this uninvited.”

She’d accepted the volume, clutching it protectively to her chest.

“Well,” she’d managed. “People like you are already invited everywhere, aren’t they? So you don’t have to be brave.”

He’d startled into a laugh.

She’d wondered if he would expose her to security, wondered if she should have denied it, wondered how he’d seen through her so swiftly and –

“Don’t worry.” He’d already been turning away, with a last lingering glance at her. “I can keep a secret.”

She’d only learned later who he was, and that it had been a month since his wife had died.

How, exactly, had his first wife died? The papers had said ‘tragic accident’, but there had been no witnesses. He didn’t talk about it, or about her.

No. She was being ridiculous. Maybe she had only imagined the flicker of terror on her husband’s face, the way he had flinched from the key, the rough urgency in his voice. Whatever it was, whatever it could possibly be, was not worth sacrificing what they had. There were other rooms; a dozen of them!

She buried the damn key in the garden. Out of sight, out of mind. Better that than completely losing her mind over something that probably had a completely rational explanation. Love was a leap of faith. 

She woke up the next morning to find the blue key back on the key ring, still covered with a fine sprinkling of dirt.

***

Her least favourite stories in the library were the ones about fate.

Maybe some people found such notions encouraging, comforting even in their reassurance that all of the suffering in the world was for a reason and that people could have some incredible purpose laid out for them. She’d always found the idea to be like quicksand beneath her feet, sucking her down down down trapped.

For, if it was fate, there could be no real escape. No chance. No hope.

She kept returning to the story of Bluebeard, tracing variations and retelling with the blue teeth of her blue key.

Maybe, if she was Bluebeard’s final wife, she would open the door and ultimately inherit a grand fortune, and recover from the trauma of falling in love with someone who wasn’t what they said they were.

What if she was only the second wife though, or the metaphorical third? What if her fate was to be some dead thing written only to add background colour to someone else’s happy ending?

It was all well and good of her husband to claim he would never go into a haunted house, but such declarations only really worked if one knew they were in a horror story instead of something else.

“Do you think, maybe,” she asked her husband as winter turned back to spring, “that we could go away somewhere?”

They strolled through the gardens, his arm wrapped protectively around her frail shoulders. Ever since the key incident she had found it difficult to sleep, to eat, to not find herself worrying about the door like worrying a hangnail until she tore off bloodied scraps of her own skin.   

The house, which had once seemed so large to her, had turned into something suffocating. She had no friends in the area, and however far she went along the grounds in the lonely hours of her husband’s working, the door would always be there for her and the key would always be in her pocket. The questions, the creeping doubts, would buzz in her brain like flies swarming a corpse.

“Go away?” He seemed surprised. “Is there something else that you need?”

She had tried simply hiding the key, then stayed up all night staring at the key ring laying on her bedside to try and catch the culprit who’d dug it up from beneath the roses.  One of the servants must have brought the damn thing back, right? Perhaps, the housekeeper? She got the impression that the severe woman had never really approved of her, never liked her. She was not as impressive and perfect a candidate as his first wife had been.

She had seen nothing, but when she fell finally into an exhausted slumber, the key had been waiting for her.

“I just thought it might be nice for us both to get away for a while,” she said. “A holiday. You’ve been so busy with your work.”

She had tried burning the key. It did not burn.

“There is a lot to do,” he said. “This is a large estate. It takes – management, a lot of care.”

“Perhaps I could help you?”

“It is not your burden, darling.”

“But it’s yours? A burden?”

The key, whatever it was, had to be of some supernatural origin. Of that she was increasingly certain. Well, the ghosts were in the house, so to speak, and he wasn’t leaving! He wouldn’t look at her, his attention fastened on the first snowdrops shoving their heads from beneath the hard earth.

“Tell me,” she said. “Or come away with me, please.”

He glanced at her, then.

She reached into her pocket and held up the blue key.

He turned away, quickening his pace as if he couldn’t wait to get away from it too.

“Where,” he said the next morning, “would you like to go, love?”

At the sea side, she tossed the key into the water when he wasn’t looking. If it was the servants, if there was any chance that something in the house was messing with her, with them, then even its evil reach could surely not reach beyond the borders of the property?

It was better for a while, after that. They were both lighter on holiday, away from his family home, with all of its history and responsibility.

The house on their return, waiting for them as it always was and would be, felt new and full of possibility again. They kept laughing over their first dinner back and fell asleep still high on love and freedom and everything they were supposed to be.

The next morning, impossibly, the blue key was on the key ring again.

She started to cry.

“I’m sorry,” her husband said. The colour had leached, stricken, from his handsome face. He looked older. Exhausted, too. His eyes were dark. “I wish—” He fell silent. He reached out to her, and she recoiled. “I’m sorry.”

“You wish what?” It came out whip sharp.

He said nothing. 

She shook her head, the laugh on her breath not really a laugh at all. Of course, he would still not tell her.

“If you don’t tell me,” she said, “everything that we are will end. You understand that, don’t you?” She fumbled the key off the ring and hurled it onto the sheets between them. It sat there, so disgustingly innocuous looking, a glint of blue among the white. “This isn’t fair. This is – sick. Take it back.”

“I know.” He folded his arms, less great man, more frightened child hugging himself. He stared down the key like an old enemy. “I know.”

“Or,” she said. A plea edged into her tone. “We could leave. For good. Let this house, let that door, be forgotten. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, less ‘no’ and more ‘I can’t’ and more ‘I’m sorry’.

She squared her shoulders, even as his slumped. “Tell me, at least, if I should go. You love me, right? If there was something rotten in that basement, you would want to protect me from it, wouldn’t you?”

“You can go,” he said. “If that’s what you want. That’s always been your choice.”

She stared at him.

He looked haunted, hunted, and he had known all along that the key would always end up back on the ring, hadn’t he? That was why he hadn’t simply taken it off when he first gave them to her. She would have thought he didn’t trust her if he’d never given her the keys to her own home at all too, wouldn’t she?

She debated leaving him. She debated walking out the house and – what?  

He looked so broken.

She sighed, the defiant fury sluicing off her shoulders too. She rounded the bed and craned up on her toes to kiss the lost furrow of his forehead.

“Just ignore it,” he said, clutching her hands. “Just ignore the door, and we can be happy.”

“Darling,” she said. “You don’t seem happy here.”

She kissed his lips, like packing up a suitcase, and snatched the blue key back up off the sheets.

Then she went down to the basement and opened the door.

[onlyseokmins]

needy • j.w.w.

Pairing: jeon wonwoo x afab!reader

Genres: smut (minors dni!), established relationship!au

Warnings: swearing, teasing, dirty talk, unrealistic amt of orgasms heh, male masturbation, mentions of car sex, fingering (fem. receiving), phone sex but not like you think, messy oral (fem. receiving), safe sex 🫡, wonu's a bit of a perv tbh and reader loves puts up w/ it, mentions of children but not like really lmao, mentions of (cock)roaches, wonu in glasses and needy = double kill imho, ft. some of the boys being intrusive tbh haha, POSSESSION, and a good amt of noisy sex hahah lmk if i missed anything!

WC: 4.9k

A/N: well it's finally my first wonu fic :3 after hoarding so many in the drafts bc I always feel like I can't write him too well, I had to take the plunge since it's a dear request from my lovely @wonuhour ❤️ I really hope you enjoy this 🤞🏼 no taglist as this is a request so I hope y'all read this but sending some love to my fav wonwoorideul @wonwussy bc she said I could tag her mwah. I think I held my head 5 times while editing this haha...

It's late when you step out into the night's cool air, a sigh of relief at finally being freed from the corporate building where you work. Pulling out your phone from the bag slung across your shoulder, your face lights up just like the screen when you focus on two distinct notifications on it.

1 missed call — hubby ♡

1 new voicemail — hubby ♡

"Hey, baby. You're probably dealing with those idiots right now but by the time you're listening to this, you should be on your way back home to me."

Wonwoo's deep voice is always so soothing, filling your body with inexplicably warm, fuzzy feelings that trail from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. The knowledge that he pays attention to even the minute details you think he might not care about in trivial, daily conversations or complaints makes your heart flutter with joy. 

Your husband has always had that effect on you. He's aware you aren't able to pick up and it's not like he expects you to do so. Wonwoo simply leaves a voice message, knowing it will provide you comfort on your walk to the car and subsequent drive home until you can seek real solace in his embrace.

And maybe — just maybe — he calls to simply hear your pretty voice that plays on the answering machine because he misses you during your long shift. The embarrassed giggle when you mess up and stumble across your words during the recording. Never bothering to go back to change or fix it because it makes the corners of Wonwoo's mouth perk up, breaking his usual stoic expression. At least according to what Mingyu's let slip.

Which is hilarious in and of itself because your husband is anything but poker face when in your presence. His friends tease, saying he's become a different man because of you — following you around and acting like a lovesick puppy rather than his normal, self-acclaimed dignified cat persona. But you deny it. He's always been the same person with you and maybe that's just because you're meant to be.

"Be safe on your way home. Remember to lock the doors when you're inside, although I know you will 'cause how many times have you accidentally locked me out when you've beat me back to the car first?" He lets out a strangely breathy laugh, one that you mimic in fondness at the past memory and simply of him, doing exactly as he says as you shut the driver seat's door. "Miss you so, so much today. Even more than usual, baby. 'specially that sweet pussy of yours."

Nothing — not even Mingyu's weird trait of being privy and somehow knowing or aware of way too much in your relationship — could have prepared you for those words. You're extremely grateful you're inside your car right now. Not fearing other people overhearing but because you would've collapsed right on the sidewalk in public. Victim to your husband's seductive desperation.

"Can't stop thinking 'bout it. How pretty it looks, how good you taste, how perfect you always feel wrapped around me."

Your head falls back against the headrest, the hand holding your phone drops onto your thigh, and your mouth and eyes widen together in awe. The wireless buds fit snugly inside your ears allow you to pick up on the underlying slick sounds as he speaks. Your mouth waters, a sweep of electrifying energy causing the hairs on your arms to raise.

Fuck. He's stroking that gorgeous thick cock of his. Because he yearns so much for you.

"'round my fingers, my dick, my tongue… so soft and wet and tight… mhm, oh god — what a messy little thing. And your lips too, wanna kiss you so bad. For hours, non-stop."

People like to make assumptions about your relationship. Things like how Wonwoo must be the calm and collected one, the domineering and composed person within your dynamics. It's annoying but you can't really blame them — it's human nature after all. While they aren't entirely wrong, it's not like they're right either.

On the occasions when your husband's lust for you outweighs his level-headedness, he loses all reason. Not above begging, whining, or babbling nonsense, his neediness becomes next level. You're so caught up in thinking about the exact man you're supposed to be listening to, you realize you've nearly missed most of the words he's spouting in his gravelly voice. You rewind the playback.

"… to stop thinkin' 'bout it or I'll want you even more. Wanna ruin you. Destroy you. Worship you. Ah… you're in your car, aren't you love? Please tell me you are, 'member when I slipped a finger inside last week on our way home from the mall? Then two. Then three. Had to make sure my pretty baby's pussy was stuffed nice and full. It's what you deserve, after all." 

His lazy drawl and filthy words make your thighs clench. He knows it too. "Bet you're squeezing those luscious legs of yours together… ah, what I wouldn't give to have them around me instead…" A laugh again, almost a wheeze, like the air's being sucked out of his lungs at the thought. Many thoughts. "Made such a mess that day… hngh, almost wrecked the car over how wrecked you were, baby."

You glance at the empty passenger seat out of the corner of your eye. Almost shamefully, like a curious nun side-eyes a sinner sitting in church. Wonwoo's skillful and long, bony fingers buried inside your cunt — to no surprise — had you a writhing mess, an insane orgasm ripped from your body. You were afraid the upholstery was ruined because of it, the car still smelling like sex and preventing you from offering your sulky neighbor Seungcheol a lift this week.

"Bastard," you mutter affectionately and roll your eyes at your next statement, pretending as if he can hear you. "Like you weren't just as wrecked that I had to suck you off as soon as we parked and then rushed inside since you didn't wanna cum in my mouth."

"Ahhhhh, shoot…!"

As if he can hear your words, a particularly loud moan followed by a string of curses falls out of your husband's mouth. You are just able to hear the sped up sounds of him rutting more urgently against his palm. The visual of his large hands looking much smaller when wrapped around his huge cock floods your mind, wondering if he's tightened his grasp to better resemble it to drilling deep inside of your warmth instead of his hand. Eyebrows creasing together, biting down on his bottom lip before his mouth opens again in another moan that fills your ears at the right time.

The familiar creak of his home office chair causes a devious smirk to grace your face. He hasn't realized in his lust-driven state that he'd given away how desperate he really was to be fucking into his fist between freelance projects. More than likely frustrated when something wasn't encoding right after hours of staring at the screen but it was most probable that Wonwoo was simply down bad. 

Achingly missing his partner when you weren't around to rub his shoulders, bring him some tea, lighten up the mood with a bad joke, or even try and help point out a possible error with a fresh set of eyes. Even nicer, sit on his lap all pretty to keep his cock all warm and coated in wetness or get on your knees beneath his desk and try to keep quiet while you take him down your throat.

You were always a bit on the noisy side. Even now, you can't help but let out a whimper at how uncomfortable your nipples feel poking against your bra. Dampening your panties, poor clit already puffy and throbbing unstimulated.

The Wonwoo in your imagination has his head thrown back, throat presented prettily that you wish you could actually mark up. In-tune with what he sounds like when he's about to come undone, you listen intently to your husband's stifled groans and harsh pants in anticipation. Holding your breath, hoping he's so lost in bliss that he won't leave you hanging.

Like a lifeline, a muttered "fuck, baby," as if he's really right there with you in the car as his deep moan fills your ears just like it does in-person. Imaginary Wonwoo drops his head back down and the hungry look in his dark brown eyes causes your hips to involuntarily twitch, thighs trembling. Shockingly, you don't orgasm from that alone but you sure as hell were on the brink of doing so.

For a finale, your husband stays on the line while he catches his breath and your dirty mind wanders once more. Hard not to when you hear the wet sounds of his hand still rubbing his cock. A whimper of "hm, just like that," and a hiss because he's sensitive makes your head spin, cunt clenching sadly around nothing. A sob practically leaves your chest at the absolute want to milk him dry just as he wishes at that moment.

"Miss you so much. Need to eat out my precious baby. Mhm, I just know that sopping cunt is begging for me to lick it up…"

The scratch of tissues being pulled out of their holder is enough of an attempt to tug you out of the foggy cloud of lust. You lick your lips.

"… so come and hurry home safely, love."

You do — so close to cumming untouched — but you stave off the feeling, speeding home somehow without crashing. For all your car has put up with, you're honestly surprised it hasn't given out on you in revenge. But that's neither here nor there at the moment, stumbling out of the vehicle once you arrive home and scrambling faster than a marathon-runner to get inside.

It would be a lie to say you weren't disappointed with how quiet and dark it is. Quietly setting your bag down, you stand with your back pressed against the front door. Almost expecting your husband to appear out of the shadows and pounce on you.

It's happened before. You can proudly declare with your whole chest that you've fucked on every surface of this lovely little house purchased in the third year of your marriage.

Instead, something brushes against your leg and you bend down to pick up your daughter. She hangs pliantly as you gently wiggle her and whisper, "Where's your daddy?"

The cat replies with a plaintive meow. You smile when she twitches her tail, stalking off towards the direction of the living room. Wonwoo likes to teasingly say she takes after you with a distinct cat-titude despite the fact that he naturally happens to be the more dedicated caretaker between the two of you. Mingyu was always needlessly curious which one of you another cat would take after — or worse, if you had actual children.

That wouldn't happen for quite a bit, trailing behind the true ruler of the household and watching as she climbs up onto her expensive cat-tree to sulk. Wonwoo must not have given her enough attention today. Demonstrated by the angry way she squints toward the open doorway of the study illuminated by the blue glow of your husband's computer.

"Daddy's in rare form today," you try and explain, rubbing in between her ears and she purrs in response. "Don't worry, Mommy will go and fix him so he ultra dotes on you like the little princess he thinks you are." 

You make a kissy face in her direction because she is a precious royalty. Then you're approaching the study where deep grunts and muttered curses can be heard among a furious clacking of keyboard keys.

"On your left — no, Mingyu… your other left!"

Crossing your arms, you pout. You'd be lying if gamer Wonwoo wasn't unfairly attractive — jawline clenched as he barks out orders into his headset, the computer screen graphics reflecting off his glasses. A stark contrast to the ratty hoodie and old man slippers he's wearing, angrily slapping his feet on the ground when Seokmin accidentally pressed the wrong button and self-destructs.

You're glad he's blowing off some steam and stress with the boys. Though you had once asked why he didn't bother watching porn on his expensive and impressive set-up. Flattered when he admitted that having you as the real deal beat anything he could ever try to search for.

Now you're not as sure, though. He seems rather content and preoccupied after working you all up with that damn voicemail of his. With a flounce, you turn to head to the shower as your husband rages over Chan mistakenly shooting at the wrong team. Meeting a feline gaze on the way to the bathroom that shares your same sentiment of disdain.

Sticky, ruined panties cause a glare and another pout to adorn your face once the water is turned on to heat up. One Wonwoo might find cute. If he could see it. You nearly jump out of your skin when there's a knock on the door, so soft it almost sounds like a bump.

A certain kitty often bangs against doors just to startle her owners but she's also good at opening them too. When it remains shut and you hear a low call of your name rather than spooky silence, a pleading meow, or it flying open, you let out a breath of relief. Trying not to appear too eager, you crack the door open just enough to narrow one eye at your husband.

"Hi, baby."

"Hey."

Long gone is his cozy hoodie, though his black sweatpants remain on. Displaying lean, upper body muscles to ogle and pert nipples that could poke you in the eyeball with how near he is. Pushing up his glasses, he raises his eyebrows when you don't make an effort to move.

"You don't normally knock."

"I wasn't sure if it was you or our little mischief maker in here." 

"Uh-huh, and who says I'm not mischievous as well?" You turn around but leave the door ajar and he takes that as an invitation to come in.

"No one's ever said you weren't," Wonwoo reassures but frowns, "no welcome home kiss?"

"You know, little miss mischief maker seemed pretty miffed, did daddy not pay enough attention to her today? That's unlike you."

"Mhm, was busier than I thought today. Had a lot on my mind… work and all that. Absolutely drowning in it."

"Is that so? She seems pretty upset so be sure you make it up to her." 

It's like a cat-and-mouse game, though who's who is really the question. Maybe you're both cats in a stand-off. You know Wonwoo would never not truly attend to your beloved pet. You fight back a smirk, able to feel his heated gaze trail down your back and focus on your ass that you jut out on purpose to check the water temperature. A rush of fresh arousal surges through your system.

"Yeah?" Your husband's hand shoots out past yours to turn the shower off, ignoring your protest. "I think I upset another kitten too." Spinning you around so his damp thumb can pull at your bottom lip as you flutter your eyelashes at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not a cat. And I'm most certainly not upset."

He pecks at your lips almost condescendingly. "Sure, baby. You shouldn't be, you know, with the nice present I left for your pleasure after work."

You let out an elated sigh as he holds your face still and peppers kisses all over, trailing down to focus on your neck so you can speak. "If that's your idea of a nice gift, I'd hate to see what a bad one is."

"You didn't like it?" Somehow Wonwoo's eyes manage to sparkle when he looks up at you with a whine, pausing his kisses down the valley between your breasts. His other hand sneakily reaches in between your legs and he smiles against your skin. "Or did you like it too much? Don't think I've ever gotten you a bad gift, baby."

Slender fingers play with your messy wetness, sliding back and forth languidly without rush. You struggle to clear your mind to ask with sarcasm, "Wh-what about that st-stupid cockroach plushie?"

"It was cute. Just like you."

"That's it, I'm getting a shower."

"I don't think so." Wonwoo's free hand flies to splay out on your back, preventing you from moving and pressing your body even closer to his.

You purse your lips, brown eyes locking in on them immediately. "You think I'm on the same level as cockroaches."

"Only like the super cute, not-real ones." 

"…We're filing for divorce right after I clean up."

"Mhm, but I'm not done with you yet so it'd be a waste of water. Besides, you hate showering together."

You can't help but grind down against his stationary palm, wishing he'd just slip a finger inside. "Because… no one's getting clean… if you're in there with me."

"Exactly," he's entranced by how much of your arousal continues to coat his hand. Cock twitching with the ache to be where his fingers are instead. "You know the drill, baby. Besides, I'm aware of how much you like it when I'm wearing my glasses."

"Wonwoo…"

He hushes your moan with a smirk and another kiss to your irresistible lips. "Yeah, lovely. It's okay, I'll give you what you want. And what I want too."

Surely, you would've bashed your head open on the tile floors had it not been for the support of the countertop you'd braced your palm on. Legs as shaky as a newborn fawn with how long you've been buzzing with desire. Especially when your husband backs away to withdraw his hand, ravenously slurping up your essence with a blissed out face. An appreciative, low grunt as he licked his fingers clean, dark gaze not straying away from your naked body before him.

"Shouldn't have done the laundry, silly baby. How else am I supposed to control myself without any sort of relief to get me through the day?"

Your jaw drops. "Pervert!"

"Know you like it." He ignores the light slap to his shoulder that bears no malice, finding zero resistance when he tugs you by the hand to drag you into the bedroom. "You love when I'm this desperate for you. Can't get anything done, can't think of anything else… all you, you, and you. And this greedy pussy."

Your back's resting on the mattress before you can blink. Wonwoo sits and parts your legs, taking in the delectable sight of your puffy cunt that spreads open to seep more arousal. Asking to be taken care of and filled.

"Just look at it, how could I not desire it every moment of the day?" A kiss is pressed against your left ankle. "When it's just as perfect as you?" Another to the side of your knee cap. "And so fuckin' addictive." He switches to the right to suck the skin on your thigh. "Absoluting begging to be filled up so prettily whenever I want." 

It's a mix between a scream and groan of frustration that leaves your throat when your husband lightly smooches right above your hip crease before licking the salt off your skin. He's so close to where you want him and he grins at your patient façade slowly slipping. His tongue pokes out, just grazing the left side of your pussy. 

"Wonwoo…!" 

He is rarely this talkative, either he truly missed you or this is a new form of torture.

A pointer finger taps your pubic bone and drags downward, lifting away before it hits your clit. "And all mine," he growls out before devouring your cunt like you want.

Your husband eats you out like a starved man. Ravenous in all the best ways. Your hips can't help but jerk in time with the movements of his tongue lapping at your inner walls and cleaning up the gracious amounts of slick you've created. Whines leaving your mouth at how good it feels, fingers anxiously threading through his curls and making them even messier. Your legs wrap around his neck as you somehow bring his head even closer to drown inside your scent, your taste, and your wet heat.

Wonwoo revels in it.

Normally, he would have more control. More strictness, more fortitude. But he's so far gone, appreciative growls that could rival the best-selling vibrator on the market shake you to your very core. The frames of his glasses dig into your thighs but you don't even feel them with the intense amount of pleasure from Wonwoo's thumb playing with your clit. His nose occasionally adds to the mind-dumbing feeling by nuzzling against it when he shakes his head with vigor.

You have no choice but to hurdle towards a fast orgasm like a dam breaking. Unintentionally locking his neck in a position that might've snapped it if his face wasn't pressed so close and into your spasming hole. Screaming his name as you tear at hair strands a bit too viciously. Wonwoo takes it all in stride, too obsessed with prolonging that delightful peak of yours to care.

Only when your legs loosen up does he back away, pride filling his chest as he takes in your shaking form. Pushing up foggy lenses, he licks his lips slowly. The damp spot shining on his chin and nose is enough of a damning visual — one that's real and touchable, not of your imagination this time — for a tiny tremor to run through your thighs again. 

Wonwoo's sore jaw drops. "Baby, did you… did you just cum again?" The cool air away from your cunt clears his vision so he can marvel at the soiled wet patch on your shared blankets. A mumbled curse leaves his mouth. 

You're a vision. Strewn across the bed, skin shining with sweat while your disheveled husband is the epitome of sex. He cracks his neck, stretching his jaw.

Thinking. 

Contemplating.

"Just from that? Hah, what am I going to do with you?" 

"Fuck me," you moan and bring your legs that feel like Jello up to your chest. Squeezing your breasts between your thighs, you pout at him and flutter your lashes. A perfect look for a vixen, pleading yet sultry. "Please."

"Shit… can't tell if you're being bad or good. Augh, the things you do to me."

"'m good, s'good for you. Want you s'bad." 

Blabbering, you watch through bleary eyes at the rapid speed he tears off his sweatpants and manage to spread your legs even farther with how numb they feel when he climbs over top of you. Lenses flash in the light at the same time as a foil wrapper before he rips it, hissing in sensitivity to slide the condom on. You're thrilled when the heavy tip of his cock slaps against your prepped pussy, ready for him to lose all rationale. You're sorely disappointed to find out your husband has a pending question for you.

"Then why didn't you greet me when you came home? Hm? Pretty baby sulking in the bathroom 'cause I was gaming with the boys?"

"Ahhh…" you shake your head urgently, nails lightly scratching his biceps, and hips lifting off the bed in a sly effort to slip his dick inside. "No…"

Wonwoo clicks his tongue, halting your movements. "No? I need complete answers, love."

You need him to lose control. Fighting back a sob, you try to shake off your fucked-out state and reply to him properly. "Wanted to shower 'nd then come in no panties, sit… on your lap." 

"Yeah? Pretty baby was gonna keep me nice and warm in that snug pussy? Like we always do?"

"Mhm," tears are streaming down your cheeks at this point, "maybe… maybe suck you off."

"Oh, wanted to choke on my cock so all those losers could hear those greedy gags of yours?"

All you can do is nod deliriously because his thick length is hot and hard. Laying outside your lower stomach exactly like it would if it was buried within you. 

Wonwoo snarls. "I think the fuck not. Absolutely not. Only I'm allowed to hear your pretty noises. Only me." He huffs, easing the tip inside finally, grunting at how you're already clamping around him like a vice. "You're made for me. All mine. No one else."

The last three syllables are punctuated by experimental, shallow thrusts to open you up for him. Your tongues tangle together as he continues to rock his hips forward, splitting you open until your pelvises kiss.

"That's it, baby. That's the sweet cunt I've been waiting for all day, dreaming of. There it is, shit! Whose pussy does this belong to?"

"Yours… hgnh, all yours… yours, yours yours…!"

"That's right, that's fuckin' right."

His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose but are pushed up by your own nose when you pull him by the neck to shut him up. Barely kissing anymore, it's an open-mouthed entanglement of debauchery. Neither of your moans get any quieter, especially when he rasps in your ear to make as much noise as possible because no one's around to listen.

Wonwoo's thrusts are sharp when he does pull out a little bit. But he doesn't want to leave your warmth for even one moment, mainly grinding as deep as he can into your fluttering hole and stimulating your clit. His hands tug at your nipples, alternating between squishing and squeezing at your tender breasts. Your legs splay compliantly out at the side, letting your husband use you to his content because that's what both of your goals tonight were.

You're shamelessly screaming when his tip touches that bundle of nerves and you're afraid you might actually black out when he continues to hit it with scary precision. 

"Gonna… be the death… of me."

Peering at you over his glasses, he smirks at your weak complaint. "Says the one… that's gonna snap off my dick… shit, lovey, stop tightening up so much!"

"Can't help it, feels so good."

"I know, baby," he pants out and kisses your cheek, "I know so just bare with me a bit more." Relief floods him momentarily when your gummy walls loosen their iron grip around his cock. "That's it."

Pulling out of your squelching pussy before you can clamp around him again with only the head wrapped around so prettily by your puffy lips, he has to pause to admire it. Then he slams inside so deep that you can't help but hit that intense climax while he's still stuffing the rest of his length back in.

He coos in his low voice, coaxing you through it with an almost cruel swivel of his hips. "You can give me one more, right? I know you can, you're so good for me."

You really don't know if you could but the minute you lock eyes with him, the feral need and want in them that takes your breath away is enough. It's tinier than all the ones prior but it pleases a fucked out Wonwoo. In seconds, he's spilling his seed into the condom, still nestled within your spasming walls.

"There it is, cream on my cock, love. Yeah, there we go… fuck, baby..." he pants, a telltale sign, "that's it... so perfect."

To say you're exhausted would be an understatement. You might've actually passed out because when you come to, your husband has already wiped you down and pulled the blankets over your naked body. You weren't cold at all before but now that the tidal wave of lust has ebbed away, a chill is settling in. Your cat has snuck into the bedroom too, curled up and purring at the end of the bed on top of the stuffed cockroach plushie.

"Wonwoo?"

"Right here, love." He's laying on top of the covers and wearing his sweats again. His glasses are on the nightstand, head propped up on one hand to stare affectionately at you. "Feel okay?"

"Yeah but I'm glad I'm off for the rest of the week. You fucked the life out of me."

A smug grin graces his face. "Yeah I know. Which is why I don't understand why you just didn't wait to do laundry tomorrow or something."

"Not this again. How old are you?"

"Old enough to know what will prevent me from blowing out your back all the time." He's ready to continue with a good defense but pauses at the smile you're trying to hide. "Wait… did you do that on purpose?" When you don't reply, he groans your name. "You did, didn't you?"

"We all have our little tricks," a finger traces down his exposed pecs, "although I didn't expect such a needy voicemail on my way home, it turned out just as planned."

He halts your wrist when you start journeying down his abs. "Not in front of the child, please."

"I'm too tired to do anything scandalous," you laugh and flip your aching body over to the other side. "Wake me up in a half hour so I can shower. Alone."

"I can't believe I was set up." Disbelief drips from his tone as he sets a timer on his phone but he reaches over you to turn off the light, pressing a kiss to your ear. "Well-played though. You have a lot of free time to make up for your misbehavior, don't you baby?"

"Mhm-hm."

Wonwoo can't see the second victorious smile hidden in the darkness. Really. You're just too smart, knowing your husband so well to get what you want. 

Mingyu would be proud. And grossed out.

onlyseokmins: February 2023 ©

[boolger]

So long as I'm your favorite toy ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. The title is from Jazmin Bean's song favorite toy.

☆fem!reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley ☆ explicit. MDNI ☆ 1,655 words

☆summary: There was something wrong with Simon. You knew that, had a bad feeling whenever you were together with him, felt like he could tear you apart with his teeth whenever you saw him. Yet, here you were, once again. Together with him, with that bad feeling in your stomach, your instincts telling you to run away, telling you that he could hurt you. He sometimes did. You tried ignoring the feeling, tried not to think too much about it, about how he screamed danger. About how he used you like a toy.

☆tags: dead dove do not eat, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, stalker!Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Alternative universe, serialkiller!Simon 'Ghost' Riley or well its hinted at, BAD bdsm etiquette, bdsm, humiliation, degredation, verbal humiliation and abuse, non-con elements, squirting, car sex, semipublic, rough.

☆☆MDNI☆ Dead dove do not eat☆MDNI☆☆

extra warnings / note: This is just straight up an abusive relationship. Reach out for help at the proper resources in your country if you’re in one of these and maybe don’t read this fic. Simon doesn’t r*pe but reader does acknowledge that he probably wouldn’t stop if she asked him to. Also this is not proper and safe BDSM. Bdsm shouldn’t be like this, even if it’s cnc or free use. If you use your safeword, that should be respected and acted on. It is hinted that Simon is a serial killer, but he doesn't actually kill anyone, only mentions it.

There was something wrong with Simon. You knew that, had a bad feeling whenever you were together with him, felt like he could tear you apart with his teeth whenever you saw him. Yet, here you were, once again. Together with him, with that bad feeling in your stomach, your instincts telling you to run away, telling you that he could hurt you. He sometimes did.

You tried ignoring the feeling, tried not to think too much about it, about how he screamed danger. About how he used you like a toy.

He said it was bdsm and to a certain point you agreed. But in proper bdsm both parties respected each other, even when there was degradation involved. No matter how rude one was to the other, in a healthy bdsm relationship there would still be respect, there would still be the knowledge, respect and acceptance that if one party said stop the other would do so immediately.

… you weren’t so sure that Simon would.

Sure, you had a CNC kink, but even when that was practiced, a safeword was in place - and technically you had a safeword, but you doubted Simon would actually stop.

It was a dangerous game. Toxic. Unhealthy. You should really stop, really get out of whatever it was that you had going with him.

Yet, here you were, together with him. Again. He had texted you and you had come running like a desperate, shaking puppy, craving attention, even if it was technically the wrong kind.

Like a toy, ready to be played with.

“Fuck,” he snarled in your ear, “you’re such a fucking whore, yet your pussy is so tight all the time.”

A whimper left you, your eyes fluttering shut as you shook, his cock ruthlessly trying to bully its way deeper into your poor shaking body.

Sometimes, sometimes , he was nice afterwards, after fucking you, after using you however he wanted. His fingers running along your abused skin, littering it with kisses, muttering about keeping you for himself. His own little whore, pretty girlfriend in his house, his wife waiting for him when he got home, homemade food ready for him.

You knew he didn’t mean it. Or at least, you hoped he didn’t. The two of you never talked about it afterwards, he never mentioned wanting something else than the whole fuckbuddies thing you got on. You didn’t even know where he lived, if he actually had a house, hell, you didn’t even know what he did for a living. For all you knew, he could be a monster or a CEO, a cashier behind the counter in a supermarket or a handyman. You had no idea. You tried not to care. It wasn’t like he asked about you either… though he sometimes just seemed to know a little too much. Or he at least hinted at know.

The way it squelched as he fucked you made you dizzy, you body already hurting from the position you were in. You were in his car in the backseat, trying to pretend that you weren’t afraid you were going to get caught, your knees over his shoulders, you body bent in half, thighs almost touching your chest. You were crying - you didn’t know when you started doing so, but you couldn’t stop. Besides, Simon didn’t mind it. He just fucked you harder, making the entire car rock to his thrusts, even leaning down to lick off your tears, calling you needy, pathetic, a whore.

You had already come twice. Maybe that was why you always came back, the orgasms were fantastic and plenty. Simon might be a mean bastard but he always made you come at least 3 times every time you saw him.

“Fuuuuuuck, princess,” he moaned, one hand on your neck, squeezing a bit while the other was on the car door, giving him something to hold onto, “you’re so fucking wet - gonna squirt, huh? Squirt all over my fucking car seats? Make it - fuck - make it dirty and all wet, huh?”

You sobbed, trying to shake you head. “No no no pleased down, Simon it’ll - fuck - ah ah ah—“

“Fucking whore,” he continued, “I’ll have to get ir cleaned then, won’t I? Tell the staff how it got so dirty?”

You sobbed, only moans and wails interrupting them. You didn’t want to squirt, he would never let you hear the end of it, you already knew.

“C’mon then, lass,” he moaned, his cock hitting you even harder; it hurt, hurt so badly yet so perfectly as you cried.

“No no no - Simon - Simon - stop, I’m gonna -“ you tried begging him but it was already too late.

Despite Simon’s strength, his cock was forced out by your body as you squirted, but he merely slapped his tick member against your cunt instead, hitting your clit. He forced your body to continue, his hand moved from your throat, instead holding onto your ankle, keeping you open for him, using the other hand to tap his cock against you. It was like it kept coming, making you scream and twist in the cuffs he had forced you into earlier.

It was soaking his entire lower body and the seats, the shame worse than you had expected; you had sprayed your juices all over his thighs and it was dripping from yours too, when your body finally finished. He was moaning, somehow making that degrading and you could barely hear the words that followed, too gone.

He was on you again, forcing you into the same position, your poor, wet and puffy cunt stretched again as he filled you once more, making you squeal. Your sight was blurry and his hand was on your jaw then, grip bruising, as he forced you to look at him. You barely understood the words he said, something about fucking you dumb - but you felt the spit that then hit you cheek, splatting all over your face, making you whimper.

He continued to fuck you, as if he was some fucking machine, growling like a dangerous animal in a rut, unable to stop breeding you.

“I would kill for this pussy,” he moaned, eyes dark as he met yours, fucking grinning, a sight that made your toes curl and stomach twist,  “do you want me to kill for you, huh??”

“Noo,” you whined, shaking your head, making him laugh.

“I fucking would, princess,” he growled, making you cry again. It was getting too much, everything felt overwhelming, your poor pussy almost in pain - but somehow he forced another orgasm from you. It made your entire body shake and finally, fucking finally he came with a loud, primal-like scream, filling you up with his cum.

You panted beneath him, knowing you looked like an absolute mess. Sweaty, drool running from the edge of your mouth, his spit on your face; your own juices running down your lower body and his cum would no doubt drip out the moment he pulled out.

He was softening inside you, yet he still leant down, your poor legs hurting and still bent, kissing you. He kissed like he fucked you. Dominating and controlling, forcefully yet so fucking wonderful. You moaned and gasped into his kiss, making him smile smugly. Simon pulled back, just a tad, your faces so close.

You felt a shiver run along your spine at his words, nausea appearing in your stomach.

“I meant it you know,” he whispered, all lovingly, “I would kill for you, princess.”

You let out a small sound.

“I don’t want you to,” you answered weakly, voice shaking a little. He looked cold just for a second as he replied.

“Then don’t give me a reason to.” 

Simon grinned all happily then, straightening up and pulling out, cum immediately oozing out, giving your ass a hard smack, just to watch you clench and twist for a second as you wailed.

“Get dressed,” he then said, opening the car door behind him, casually stepping out all naked, “I’ll drop you off.” 

He stepped to the front door then, putting on his boxers, his own clothes on the seat all neatly. Then he reached into the small cup holder in the front, picking up the key for your cuffs.

You awkwardly turned around and he moved again, opening the cuffs and your arms hurt from behind beneath you for so long. Your eyes flickered to him as you reached for your clothes. But Simon was quicker than you. Without even looking apologetic, he reached down to pick up your clothes at the car floor, rummaging through it for a second until he found your panties. 

You knew not to argue.

You got dressed quickly, knowing he wasn’t always patient.

You felt his cum seeping into the fabric of your skirt as you sat down at the passenger seat next to him a minute later, hoping it wouldn’t drip onto this seat too.

Simon turned on the car, fully dressed himself, the radio automatically starting to some low rock music. He drove from the forest casually, his hand resting on your thigh whenever he wasn’t changing gears.

“Are you busy this saturday?”

You were. But he never liked it when you were.

“Only in the evening,” you answered carefully.

“Good. I’ll pick you up then.”

That was that. A little while later he dropped you off after a bruising kiss.

You stumbled into your apartment a few minutes later, body sore and dirty, discarded like a used toy that he was done playing with. You knew there was something wrong about him. The words about killing for you made you feel bad as they replayed in your mind again, as you quickly stripped, stumbling towards the shower to clean.

You should stop seeing him. Start dating. Get a partner, a good one, a loving one. Yet… yet you were going to go Saturday when he texted you. Like a good toy should.

[pinazee]

First season wrap up:

Okay, to start, i should mention my general opinion on first seasons for shows, especially cable shows, is not to read too much of it as canon. The writers, producers, actors- everyone- are all trying to figure out what works and what doesn’t, so i give them latitude, particularly when it conflicts with later seasons. That being said, i do enjoy jumping through the hoops to make it all fit haha

So heres a few leftover notes i had as i revisited the eps to rank them:

I bet part of Lassie was craving the father figure in Henry, since we find out later his own father passed away when he was quite young. I wonder if thats part of the reason why he became a cop, as they are portrayed as the protectors and in the 80’s they were mainly men (i don’t really remember if he states his reason later, i suspect he did and im just not remembering). So when Henry didn’t meet up to the expectation he had in his mind, i bet it hurt a little more as it reminded him of what he lost :/

I think the other reason Shawn plays dumb so much, besides hiding his genius so ppl believe hes psychic, or for laughs, is because its how he gets people talking. Like in Shawn vs. the red phantom, he purposely guessed the wrong room number so the boys would correct him. My apologies if someones pointed this out before, i haven’t combed through the internet for everyone’s theories 😬 i only now noticed. I’m not the quickest at picking these things up lol

If i had to guess, Shawn didn’t want to be a cop for halloween, he probably wanted to be something star wars related to go with Gus’s Lando. So i wonder at what age Shawn stopped trying to please his dad. But also, why didn’t his mother ever stand up for him?? I’ll come back to her later -_-

I somehow missed it the first time, but shawn clearly asked Gus to come to the dinner and Gus even points out that it was a big deal for henry to reach out. Soo, yeah, shawn obviously didn’t wanna be alone with his dad, and even henry seemed nervous about it as hes pretty drunk.

Shawn has a right to be afraid of pointy things, his dad hid his easter eggs under glass when he was 6! Not to mention he later gets stabbed 3 times! (Also its just a legitimate fear???)

So far the list of Shawns knowledge (things i wouldn’t expect an average person to know) includes (beyond the obvious observational skills, deductive reasoning, reading people (poker), and all things police (marksmanship, police codes, etc.)):

Incredible spatial and physical reasoning skills (knowing how much money could fit in the duffle bag, knowing to rotate the water pitcher to catch the reflection from the tv)

Kurt Vonnegut (well, I didn’t know who he was at least)

How to spell aggiornamento (and probably all words because of his photographic memory)

Handwriting expert

Casually spoke and understood german

Has every road he’s driven mapped in his brain, and likely all of Santa Barbara

Familiar with paint (enough to know to mix latex enamel for no messy drips)

Animal tracks (i went back and forth on this but ultimately decided he must have known what to look for)

And heres a list of Gus’s niche interests:

Forensics

Spelling bee

Safe cracking

Historic rifles

Comic books

Astronomy (even though he was going to the planetarium for the girl)

Law

Local tennis

Online poker

Lastly, Ive decided instead of ranking them, im putting them in tiers. I feel like too many of them are hitting at the same level and I can’t differentiate:

Sweetest, Juiciest Golden Pineapple Tier

Scary Sherry, Biancas toast (ohmygod i just got the biancas toast 🤦🏽‍♀️)

Blue Psych Logo Tier

Weekend warriors

Forget me not

From the earth to starbucks

Poker? I hardly know her! (Sorry @pineapple-psychic!)

Pepto Bismo Pink Tier

Spelling bee

Pilot

She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me oops hes dead

Who ya gonna call?

Shawn vs the red phantom

Oops Canadian Flag Tier

Cloudy with a chance of murder

9 lives

Game set muuurder

Speak now or forever hold your piece

Woman seeking dead husband, smokers okay, no pets

[fleetingcalypso]

Hello! I just stumbled across your blog, and find the way you write and portray Henry in your stories absolutely captivating. I just finished reading the book for the first time ever today and managed to do so without seeing any spoilers beforehand, so safe to say that Henry's suicide blindsided me completely. In hindsight it made complete sense, but I'm still in denial about it and would love a story about him actually surviving his wounds. Henry gives me the vibe of hiding everything that was happening from anyone but those in the Greek class alongside him, which, in my opinion, would even extend to his partner as well. I think it would be really interesting if his partner comes to visit him in the hospital after he's just woken up (ignoring the logical fact that he'd probably be heavily brain damaged) and is just absolutely devastated because she/they thought he was genuinely taking his life because he was depressed. To me, even then I don't see Henry fessing up to what's actually been happening, and I think it'd be cool to see the way he would try and talk his way out of it. (Henry seems pretty closed off emotionally, but I'd love some genuine hurt/comfort, only if this idea intrigues you of course.) thank you! (:

≋ The dread of losing a loved one, the knowledge that someone's time could have come faster than expected, the paranoid of could have happened had help on arrived on time, the fear of the future holds. These feelings are not foreign to me. At any rate, everyone sails away from Ogygia one day or another, I am accustomed to it. For anyone else, I want to emphasize that themes of this narration are quite heavy, if need be please don't be afraid to reach out to me for help or simple communication. You're not alone and you are deeply loved. Going back to Henry, I am of the opinion he'd try to manipulate his way out of a truly meaningful conversation. He's quite the orator, after all.

≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 2190 words.

≋ TW: Attempted s*icide, angst, manipulation, reader feels an exorbitant amount of guilt, somewhat hurt/comfort.

≋ CW: As the themes are quite heavy and Henry is a pragmatic, stoic character, I feel like there could not be much comfort in a scenario like this. He'd be too busy trying to find another way to get out of the mess he's in, to take the time to comfort his loved one. I beg your forgiveness for not including most of the genuine comfort you were searching for, but if you were to enjoy this nonetheless, I'd be thrilled.

On my way to Henry’s hospital room, sprinting through the haunting sterile hallways I ran into Camilla Macaulay, a girl -the only one- in his class, she was just here to bring him some flowers she’d tell me before her body began trembling trying to hold back sobs and I was left to watch her scurry away, I could not get a word in to ask her anything at all, if he was awake, if he was alright, why he did it, why they all waited days before telling me he had tried to end his life. The intensity of the drum beating in my chest could barely compare against the headache I brought upon myself, drowning in my own salty tears. 

I nearly went into cardiac arrest when I spotted him, the only thing reassuring me that he still had a pulse was the rhythmic movement of his chest, rising with each breath he took accompanied by the beeping of a heart monitor I can’t bring myself to glimpse at. “I can feel you staring.” He said, his croaky voice already tugging at my heartstring. I can’t look away even if I wanted to: it’s a sight I never thought I’d see, as abominable as it is I fear that if I avert my gaze then the puzzle pieces might never fall into place and I might never know the motive of his extreme action. 

Does he hate me? I can’t help but wonder if during what could have been his last breaths he thought of me, if maybe he wished I was there to stop him and remind him of how loved he is. The image of him searching for my body next to his as he collapses lifeless makes me shudder. I come to the conclusion that I failed in everything when it comes to Henry. Not being able to read between the lines, I barely scratched the surface of him while I thought I was in deep waters. 

He was content in life, I think. Yes, in one moment where exhaustion took ahold of him and he was more asleep than awake, in the comforting hiding place under my blankets he confessed to me that he had a lot on his mind. I never could have imagined it would lead to this: two gunshots to the temple, according to what Richard -another one of his classmates- told me over the phone, the second being triggered by the gun’s recoil.

I wasn’t there, I thought at that moment, Henry had taken a gun to his head and I wasn’t there. Henry had tried to kill himself and I wasn’t there. He could have been lying in a pool of his hot blood, flowing out on the ground and expanding like a stain on a white shirt, and I wasn’t there to hold him in his possible final moments. He could have died and I would have found out thanks to a desolate phone call from a stuttering man I didn’t know that well, or maybe even from a serious police officer just doing his job. Nonetheless, Henry’s finger had pressed the trigger in front of a handful of people and I wasn’t anywhere near him.

Cement bricks become chained to my ankles, getting heavier and heavier with each hesitant step I take towards him. I would have flown to him if I could have, crashed at the side of his bed, thrown my arms around his neck in ecstatic joy for his survival, kissed him a thousand times for each second I spent unaware of his whereabouts or his feelings.

“How do you feel?” I foolishly ask, being rewarded with his eyes cracking open and settling on my figure which I know will look indistinct and blurry to him given the absence of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, “Dead,” he answers me. To think the fierce storm he held in his irises was something that could very well have been a sight no one in the world could have appreciated in full. 

The mattress shifted and dipped under my weight when I sat at the edge of his bed, the chair at his side remaining empty. I wanted to feel him, touch him, try to be as close as possible and a sad little chair putting even the smallest of distances between us was the last thing I desired. Reaching towards the night table I found his glasses with ease, the only other things sitting on the surface were a pack of unopened Lucky Strike cigarettes, his wallet and the fragrant bouquet of flowers his friend had brought. I cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief and then tried my best to not look at the seemingly infinite bandages wrapping his head as I set the glasses on his face.

He blinks once, twice, thrice before he finally sees me as I am, without a hazy cloud over my face.

“Well, you’re not,” I inform him, swallowing the ‘what-if’ stuck in the middle of my throat, “By a miracle, I heard a nurse say. A miracle saved you Henry, do you hear how lucky that sounds?”

“I hear you.” He exhales, a sinkhole forms in me when I catch that small tone of disappointment hidden layer after layer under his voice, “Lucky indeed.” It’s dreadful how he keeps his gaze low, set in my direction but never quite reaching my eyes. It’s even more embarrassing to admit I do not understand him, I haven’t been able to do so since the very beginning.

That is to say, me not understanding him, does not mean I do not love him. He’d been the best lover a human being could ever ask for, there were no fights, no arguments, no disagreements, just pure unapologetic passion. Only once did we not see eye to eye and even then it was soon enough resolved over a glass of whiskey and a couple cigarettes: when he travelled to Rome with his friend Bunny without so much as a “I’ll be back soon,”  leaving me worried to no end as to where he might be.

“Talk to me, Henry. What happened?” I knew what happened of course, he’d shot himself in the head, but what I craved wasn’t a rundown of events, a bullet point list of the movements he made to get two bullets in his cranium. No. I desperately needed some way to understand what led him to attempting to do such a drastic thing. Were there signs I missed? Was I not loving enough? What hurt him so much? Was he truly that miserable in life, and if so, how had he hid it so well?

“Don’t cry,” he said, lifting the one arm that did not have the tube connecting him to the IV drip, his finger made contact with the corner of my eye and only then did I realise the salty diamonds rolling down my cheeks. I did not want to cry in front of him, not if it would add onto his miseries. As if I was kneeling in a confessional I have to come clean, I did not think I had any more tears left in me after having cried myself to sleep the night prior. Guilty of not appreciating the beauty of Selene as she brightened the darkened world, guilty of living only for the hospital doors to open and seeing him again.

“I have to ask, you know I have to.” Now that I was aware of the tears, nothing could have stopped the stinging feeling that seemed to spread from my eyes to every inch of my being, “Why did you do it?” There was no sugarcoating it, he’s never been one to beat around the bush and he often would not appreciate me going around in circles trying to find the nicest way to say or ask something. 

His jaw clenched and I watched hopelessly as Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. His lips parted but no sound that made proper sense came out. In my head I had already formed some hypotheses, none of them struck me as much as what he said. “I had to.” He apathetically said and I vaguely registered the sharp pain in my palm as my nails digging into my skin to stop my body from doubling-over and breaking into a gut wrenching sob.

“I-” Never has my mind been blank like this moment, it made so much sense and none at the same time,“I- Just- Why? Give me a reason- a concrete reason, Henry.” I all but begged him, sniffling like a whimpering child. That was exactly how I felt, like a child: small, lost and with no way to do something that could actually make a difference. 

Through my glossy vision I observed as he stiffened in pain while he shifted in his bed trying to sit up, the bedsheets moving along with his every movement made me nauseous. They weren’t supposed to be hospital ones, he wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, this should have never happened. Alas, it has happened and he is not sitting in the armchair he claimed as his own in my apartment, reading a book and letting the cloud of smoke from his cigarette expand until my entire house looks like a misty field.

Ignored and useless was my attempt to stop him, to get him to lay down and not do anything straining, “Come here,” Instead he requested, hinting towards the spot he’d left on the bed, right next to him. Sheepishly I shuffled to his side, my back against the bed’s headboard, hoping and praying that no nurses would spot us and ask me to move away. His arm found its way around my shoulders, pulling me into a protective side hug and I shattered in small, countless, infinite pieces: a pathetic catharsis. Broken sobs, gasps and hiccups filled the room yet i could hear him over the sound of my desperation, “Don’t cry,” he’d say softly in my ear, “There’s no need to cry,” he’d insist kissing my temple, “Everything is going to be fine.” He’d promise me solemnly, with his enchanting way of making me feel like his words were gospel.

My heaving breaths did everything they could to send oxygen into my lungs, but air was not what I needed. Henry was my air, and the idea that I could have lost him for eternity plagued me, it made me look over my shoulder each moment expecting to see the grim reaper. The panic I felt gave me the strength to cling onto my lover as if he was my only lifeline, as if my love filled embrace could be the only thing able to bind him to the mortal realm. I know that could never be, sadly. Love, as much as it is a primordial force in the world, rivalling hate and rage, oftentimes can’t be the holy saviour we need.

“Why?” I found myself once again begging, I could not accept his previous answer, I pitifully needed something concrete, something I could fix. Before I could break into sobs again he leaned even closer, his lips moving against my hairline, his voice barely audible - like he was telling me a secret- only for me to hear, “I have been through some dark moments of my life, ones that I have never mentioned to you, not because I do not love you, the very opposite of it. I love you, my love for you is as incandescent as the sun, you know it, certainly. I did not want you to be concerned with those parts of me, hidden pieces that I rarely even let myself recognize as part of myself. Your pure hands should never be dirtied with the corruption that runs free inside of me. Cease your tears now, it is okay.” 

“So instead of letting me help you, you decided to just shoot yourself?!” It might have been harsh, but I felt at an impasse, raising my voice was my undignified way of getting ahold of control over life, “Are you listening to yourself? What about me? What would I have done without you? I’d do anything for you, isn’t it obvious?! I don’t care what you’re hiding, I don’t care how corrupt you think you are, I love you and I want to assist you through the darkest times of your life.”

He seemed to think about it, perhaps my words had made an impact on him or perhaps he was just tired of arguing with me. When he kissed me, slow and delicate, that was enough for me to postpone the debate I was already preparing in my head. I'd talk his ear off about letting me be a hand in easing his burdens when he would be well enough to be discharged and go home. “I want you to live forever,” Henry all but implored me and I just nodded. Whatever in the world could I say other than yes, but on one condition: he was to live alongside me.

[chaifootsteps]

I think you may have deleted the post, but I wanted to talk about that insta story Amir posted with the lesbian flag fan and the “#king of the lesbians” comment.

I want to start by saying I don’t know Amirs gender identity or sexuality. Everything I could find stated that Amir’s pronouns are he/him, but there are he/him lesbians, and there are also trans lesbians who aren’t out yet, and still pass publicly as male. I don’t know if Amir identifies this way, and don’t really want to say anything super critical that would pressure him into coming out if this is the case.

I know a lot of helluva criticals are also a bit critical of his online presence, but he does seem to have acted as a pretty good ally, and talked about how **requiring** pronoun disclosure for work can accidentally have the side-effect of forcing people to out or mis-gender themselves, which is a good point.

Despite knowing all of this, as a nonbinary lesbian, seeing that post did make me anxious. I think it’s mainly because, even if Amir IS a lesbian (and I know some people may even laugh at that thought, or act like that could never happen, but the truth is we DO NOT KNOW Amir, and do not know anything about his inner life or identity that he has not explicitly shared) but even if he is a lesbian, seeing *anyone* proclaim themselves “King of the Lesbians” just sets off alarm bells in my head.

I think its most likely because since I don’t know if he’s part of the community or an ally, it feels very much like someone claiming to speak for us or be representative of lesbians.

And I’m VERY sensitive of celebrities or people with influence claiming to speak for us or have clout with us—especially since JKR started using lesbians as a shield against all criticism of her transphobia.

I know I’m probably overthinking all of this—over something I’m pretty sure was posted as a joke (and I don’t even know if the “king of the lesbians” caption was made by Amir himself, or a social media manager).

But. Idk. Regardless something about that post just gave me a real big ick. My initial reaction when I saw that post was “no, you’re fucking not. If anyone is king of the lesbians it’s Tracy Chapman, not you.”

It’s something minor, and I know I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, but I can’t help but get frustrated by it. I want to say, “okay, what the hell have you done for us then?” You don’t just announce that you’re a gay or lesbian icon. It’s something that is earned and given to you by the community. Even if you are a part of the community I still think it’s something that has to be earned.

I know I’m just rambling now, but I wanted to let you know that yeah, that post was not okay with me either. I think I would have even liked the post if it had said something that was more supportive of lesbians like “let’s go lesbians!” Or “shout out to the lesbian fans!” Or something.

Anyway. Thanks for letting me vent. I know this is probably ridiculous to vent about but I wanted to get these feelings out, and didn’t feel safe talking about it on my own blog.

Nah, it's an entirely valid frustration. There are ways to show solidarity and that wasn't it, and also high five for recognizing Tracy Chapman as the queen of the lesbians she is.

(For the record, I deleted that post because apparently it's not yet common knowledge just how incredibly fucking creepy Amir is. Someday.)

[cressidagrey]

Something good and right and real - Chapter 11

Summary:

Azriel had spent centuries believing that he of all people didn't deserve a mate. And if anything, the last three years had just galvinised that particular belief. And then he meets her.

The first time Oriana met Azriel, she thought that he reminded her of a skittish cat. Shy and a little bit broken. Good for him that she absolutely excelled in fixing the things around her.

Warnings:

Definitely NSFW

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

Oriana hadn’t thought that it was going to feel like this . 

She hadn’t. 

(But then, she had never been mated before, so what did she have to draw a comparison? Her wedding night at 19, when she had been filled with more trepidation than anything else?)

She only knew that her whole life narrowed to Azriel, onto that moment in the middle of their living room. 

And then they met in a clash of lips and tongue, his knife clattering to the floor and she just hoped that the blueberries weren’t going to stain anything important because…

That was the last thought she had. 

The last thought as Azriel lifted her in his arms and somehow managed to get them into their bedroom without running into any walls. 

Oriana wasn’t a big help, she knew that . 

Oriana’s hands uselessly clawed at his shirt as he kissed her, his tongue pressing against the roof of her mind, arousal punching through her so harshly and suddenly that her knees grew weak. 

She managed to pull her head back enough to gasp for breath before she fainted from lack of air. “You know I bought lingerie just for you,” she managed to blurt out. 

Pretty lingerie, too. In cobalt blue. 

She had thought that he would like that. 

And really, who was she to refuse him anything? 

“Later,” Azriel growled and that sound was enough to make her shiver. And then he had his mouth on her again and she didn’t really think anymore. 

Finally, he pulled back, a broad, scarred hand cupping her cheek, leaning his forehead against his. “How do you want me?” he asked her, his voice hoarse. 

“I don’t care,” she breathed. “I don’t care. I just want to have you.” In whatever way she could get away with. Whatever he wanted. 

His hands went to the back of her dress and she turned in his arms, letting him open the laces that kept it closed. She kicked off her shoes at the same time, as he bunched up the dress and pulled it over her head. 

A pained noise escaped him, as he reached out to her back. She froze as she felt his fingers touch her right lower back, the exit wound of when the sword had pinned her to the floor. 

It had entered her front lower belly at an angle, slicing through her near diagonally. Thankfully not severing her spinal cord, but gone straight through her womb and intestines. 

If it hadn't been for Enya...

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, touching the scar, nearly painfully soft. 

Her heart constricted at it. The way he touched her with so much care, always terrified that he did something that was going to make her run from him…

She wondered if he was ever going to believe in her love for him. If he was ever going to trust in her the way she trusted in him. 

She didn’t know when, but someday, his scarred hands had started to give Oriana more safety than anything else in her life. She had started to trust in him, in his unassuming presence, the steadfast calm of him. 

So when she leant back against him, she did that with the full trust that he would take her weight. 

“You won’t,” Oriana promised. He wouldn’t hurt her. She didn’t think he had that in him. And still, she wanted him to feel safe with her, safe in the knowledge that if he did something, something that was too much for her to take, that she would tell him. 

“Give me a safe word,” she said softly. “I say it and everything stops.”

“Lake,” his response was immediate. 

“What’s yours?” Oriana asked and she felt him hesitate. She wasn’t sure if it was just the idea of having a safeword for himself or if it was something else. 

“Cell.”

Of course, Oriana would get a safeword with a myriad of beautiful memories connected to it. Of course, Azriel would pick one for himself that was everything but that. 

She didn’t comment on it. 

She couldn’t, not right now. 

So instead, she turned in his arms, embracing him. 

“You aren’t going to hurt me,” she promised. He pressed a kiss against her forehead, a hand gently smoothing down her hair. 

“I don’t want to ruin you, either,” he admitted, something dark in his voice.

She couldn’t help but snort. 

“Sweetling, I am a lot of things, but a virgin is not one of those,” she pointed out drily. Granted there had only ever been Wynstan but they had still been married for a good few decades. “I am your mate. I am pretty sure that means I am yours to ruin.”

Somehow these words were what he had needed to hear. He kissed her again and she shuddered as she felt his shadows brush against her skin. 

“Not today,” he bit out, aloud. Normally she felt him dismiss the shadows worldlessly. Just a thought and off they went. But today, he said it aloud, glaring at the swirling darkness. 

To her surprise though, they went without a discussion. 

He ran a hand questioningly over her undergarments and she smiled, stepping back to strip out of them. 

She made quick work out of it, crawling into their bed in their house, throwing back the blankets and relaxing, right there, watching him. Waiting. 

He drank her in, every inch of her body, his eyes nearly as pitch black as her hair. 

He nearly stumbled into bed in his hurry to join her, throwing off the shirt and pants he wore and then he was there, next to her. Azriel cupped her cheek again, warm kisses raining on her face. His thumb gently traced her brow. 

“Don’t hide your eyes,” he requested, his voice soft. 

It took her by surprise. She hadn’t expected that. She just stared at him but pulled back the glamour she kept on them, letting them flare to life. 

Nobody had ever asked that of her. 

“I want you. All of you,” Azriel said softly. “Your eyes are you. Every time they are just pitch black I feel like something is missing.”

She smiled at that, leaning into his touch, turning her head to press a kiss to the inside of his hands to one of the worst scars. 

"Anything else?" she asked softly. 

"Your hair."

She pulled out the two pins that kept it up during the day, letting the dark curls fall around her waist, shaking her head so they settled. 

“Tell me I can touch you,” he whispered.

“Everywhere you want,” she whispered right back, twining her arms around his neck. 

That was all he needed. One hand slid down over her neck, his mouth finding hers again as fingertips softly trailed over her clavicle and her arm to her fingertips…up again, down her torso, in between the valley of her breast…and then over her ribs, up again, until callouses and mottled skin rasped against a sensitive peak and she gasped. 

He swallowed her sound, pulling back slightly to repeat the touch, circling her breast, even as they tightened to a near-painful point, her arousal racketing up. 

She wanted to reach out to touch him, to be the one to make him come but all she could was moan at his ministrations until he caught her nipple between his fingertips and she whimpered. 

“Will you give me two?” he asked her, nearly conversationally and she stared at him. He may acted like nothing bothered him but she could still smell his desire. 

It was filling the room, intermixing for both of them. 

His cedar mist and her jasmine fire. She wasn’t even sure what the result would be. Nor did she care. 

“Two?” she repeated hollowly. 

Just…now? How…

“Yes,” Azriel said evenly. “Will you give me two peaks? Drench my fingers?” 

“I…Then we’ll be here in three days,” she exclaimed. “It was hit or miss when I used to…” She didn’t get to answer the rest of the way. Probably better. 

He caught her mouth in another bruising kiss. 

It had been hit or miss the last time she had sex. Granted, Wynstan and her marriage had been a fucking mess at this point and so their sex had been…questionable if anything. And it had never been a desire-filled clash of wills anyway. 

It had just been…something they had done because people expected that of them. Sometimes she had gotten something out of it. Especially when she had taken matters into her own hands. 

It was better when it was just herself, but then she had the problem of shutting up her brain that ran a million miles an hour and…there had only really been a few occasions since when she had even wanted to even touch herself. 

Azriel growled against her mouth, the sound somehow resulting in a rush of wetness between her thighs. 

He pulled back, only to go back to attacking her neck with kisses, lips and teeth against her sensitive skin.

“It…takes a long time. I have been the one in charge of my own orgasms since I was 18,” she managed to get out, her voice wrecked. He pulled back, staring at her. She couldn’t help but catch her lip between her teeth and then he caught it with his thumb. 

“That’s unacceptable,” Azriel told her, his voice low. “You are going to come and you are going to say my name while you do it.”

She swallowed. 

There was not one fucking way where she was going to be in charge, was there? 

She couldn’t find it in herself to care, nor could she stop the squeak that escaped her as his hand reached the apex of her thigh and dipped one thick finger between her lower lips. 

“You are drenched ,”  he bit out these words before he caught her mouth in another bruising kiss…and then, really it was just a question of hanging on to him. 

While Azriel made it his mission to take her apart. 

Every noise she made was catalogued by him. Every twitch of her body that felt so overstimulated by him and being surrounded by him…all of it made a roadmap for him, made it possible for him to push her higher and higher. 

One single finger pressed inside her, a faint burning stretch that made her gasp, his thumb finding the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs and she shook, fingernails biting against Azriel‘s shoulder. 

He wasn’t going to do this, was he?

He was. 

The rhythm he set was just at the edge of too much. 

A thick finger that stretched her, a thumb circling that nub…her back arched on her own account. 

He took that as an invitation, catching one breast in his mouth, a warm, wet tongue rasping around a hard nipple. 

And then somehow it was just the faint bite of his teeth against her breast, thumb still circling her knot as she shook apart, clenching against his hand, surrounded by him, owned by him.

She tumbled headfirst into her first peak, his name a gasp leaving her mouth. “Azriel!” 

“Cauldron, you are beautiful,” he breathed, letting go of her breast. 

“Azriel,” she whispered, her breathing coming in rapid gasps. 

“That’s one,” he said evenly. 

One?

…By the cauldron.

“There is no way you can…” she tried to protest. That was how far she came. 

He moved faster than she thought he even could. One moment she had been on her side, his hand still buried between her legs… the next she was on her back and he loomed over her. 

“What did you just say, love?” he said softly, hazel eyes near black with his desire. She swallowed. “No way I can make you come again for me?” Azriel offered, his voice gentle. She managed a nod. 

“We’ll see about that,” he told her, a grin widening over his features. He pressed a kiss against her unresisting lips and she curled a hand against his ribcage…and then he left her mouth and worked himself down her body, dropping kisses wherever he went, feather-light and gentle. Somehow a harsh contrast to how intense he was being, to how he had thought that she…

Well. He parted her legs and she slid them open for him to settle between them, swallowing once again as her brain finally caught up with what was happening. 

She opened her mouth to protest, but then he licked her from her hole to that bundle of nerves and there was nothing left anymore, just a whimper leaving her mouth. 

She had thought that his fingers were clever. Shee had thought that he had been…quick to make her come, quick to let her find her peak like that. That he had somehow figured out a way to read her moans and give her exactly what she needed…and not…

Her hands gripped the bedsheets in a white-knuckled grip as her body started to shake, the arousal in her belly tightening to a fever pitch, her breathing coming in pants. 

He buried his finger into her once again, his tongue concentrating on the apex of her thighs, stretching her open.

“I…I…so good. So good.” She was reduced to babbling, her eyes closed, fireworks already exploding behind them as he prodded and pushed her towards her release, his finger slowly sinking inside her and then withdrawing again. 

More.

“Can you take another one?” Azriel asked, lifting his head from between her legs and she managed a whimper, maybe an affirmative. 

She wasn’t even sure. 

She just knew that his mouth went back to making her lose her cauldron-forsaken brain and then she was stretched seemingly impossibly wide with another thick, ridged finger slipped inside her. 

“There we go,” he whispered against her, his breath cool against her drenched and overheated flesh.

There we go.

Her body shuddered, her legs tightening against his arms that kept her stretched open, pinned to the bed, unable to escape. 

She had thought two fingers were all she could take. Azriel had broad hands and…

And then he somehow pressed a third finger inside her. 

He actually did it. 

What she had thought was nothing but male mating posturing…yeah, he had every fucking reason to be as arrogant as he liked about it, because she shattered. 

There was no other word for it. No other word that could possibly describe the feeling as she seemingly reached a cliff's edge and hurled down over it, a high-pitched noise leaving her throat as she shook through it. 

He pulled his fingers from her, absolutely drenched in her slick, and by the time she once again felt able to open her eyes, he had already pressed kisses to her quivering form, over her stomach and breast. 

“I think I proved my point,” Azriel whispered against her pulse point and she managed a weak laugh, loosening the death grip she had on the sheets to lay her hands on his shoulder. 

“You did, Sweetling,” she promised him, lightly pulling at his hair, until he slipped upstairs to kiss her properly, and she moaned at the taste of herself in his mouth. 

She let her hands wander, down his shoulders to his side, then between them, reaching to take him in hand to return the favour….he shuddered at her hand wrapped around him, a hiss escaping him. 

She swallowed. 

Suddenly his insistence on making her come at least twice made perfect sense because he was massive . 

Titania had been right to talk about proportionality. 

Still, there was absolutely no hesitance in her anywhere. Nothing, but the need within her firing up again, or maybe it had never even left her, as she swirled her thumb over the head of his cock, catching that bead of moisture...it made him hiss once again . 

“I want you,” she whispered and he growled against her neck. 

“If it’s too much…” he warned her. It wouldn’t be. She was sure about that. 

Oriana was also sure that she had never been more ready for the taking than she was at that particular moment. 

So letting go of him and wrapping her legs around his waist was clearly the reasonable thing to do.

Very reasonable. 

He made a noise low in his throat, moving impossibly closer to her and she could finally feel him throb against her, hard and massive and big.

“It won’t be too much,” she promised him, as he leant his forehead against her.

It wasn’t. 

It was heat and pressure and her body giving way and the sight of Azriel above her, wings stretching out and her reaching out for him. 

It was her body stretching to take him and a burning sensation, of the fire welling up inside her as she forced herself to take a deep breath even when it seemed impossible.

She met his eyes, curling a hand against the nape of his neck, kissing him.

And then finally, he hit the end of her, coming to rest against her. 

He didn’t move. 

“It’s alright. I can take it, sweetling,” she cooed.

She could. For him, she would take everything.

The first snap of his hips made her see stars. The second made the bond in her chest bloom brightly, the golden bond coming into stark focus.

It was right there, thrumming with their love and pleasure, with every passing second growing stronger and more solid.

She couldn’t describe it any differently. 

Oriana had thought when the bond snapped for the first time that it had already been a solid string tying her to Azriel. She had thought it was strong.

It was nothing against what it turned into at that moment.

It had been nothing but the thinnest of threads, nothing but a wisp of connection, a quiet echo of feelings.

Now…now it was a rope. Strong and supple and flexible. A rope that tied her to Azriel, that connected their feelings. 

Everything he felt poured over her. All his adoration, his pleasure and his love. A maelstrom that took her and she could do nothing to fight against it. 

Not that she wanted to. She never would want to. 

This was Azriel. The male she loved. 

Her mate. 

Her everything. 

And as her nails bit into his shoulders, she fell apart. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The moment the mating bond had first snapped in Azriel’s mind, would always count as one of the most shocking moments in his long, immortal life. 

But the moment they finally accepted the mating bond and it solidified in place…that would always be one of the most beautiful things he had ever felt. 

It solidified and Oriana’s mind collided with his, bursting open with feelings. She drenched him. Drenched him in her love, the feeling so strongly that it made his very heart shudder. 

She loved him. 

He had doubted many things in 540 years of life. 

But he would never be able to doubt the depth of her love for him. 

Not when he dwelled in it, when she poured it over him, pushing it into the bond, warming and nurturing him. 

Her love. The very essence of her, of bright and brilliant Oriana, who loved him. 

For some cauldron-forsaken reason, she loved him like that . 

It all culminated in that. 

He splintered apart at the seams, there was no other explanation for it. 

He splintered apart, as mind-numbing pleasure took over his body, and all he could concentrate on was Oriana. Oriana underneath him, Oriana’s love, Oriana, surrounding him, her warm body so welcoming to him, wrapped around him to the best of their ability. 

He came back to himself slowly, still shuddering with the strength of the bond between them, but he wasn’t the only one. 

She clutched him to him, holding him so tightly, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. 

He pushed up on shaky arms, not wanting to hurt her with his weight.

“No, don’t go, Sweetling,” she protested, her voice hoarse, eyes blinking open, protest seemingly pouring over their bond. 

“Shhh, I don’t want to hurt you,” he shushed her softly, managing somehow to pull out of her and collapse next to her…pulling her as tightly against his side as she could. 

“I thought this would be different,” he finally whispered, breathing in the scent of her and him, intermixing into something beautiful. The smell of blood hit his nostrils.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, desperation bleeding into his eyes, immediately taking in her still form and Oriana’s eyes blinked open

“What?” she asked him. 

“I smell blood,” he explained, eyes still tracking over her body. He couldn’t see blood, but that didn’t mean anything. 

What had he done? Where had he hurt her? He knew that he had been rough with her but he hadn't...

But then Oriana was reaching out for him, her hand touching his side, where she had clung onto him and came away wet. 

“It’s yours,” she said, eyes widening. “I…My fingernails.”

Oh.

Relief poured out of him all over her as she blinked at him. But then he could feel Oriana’s regret, tinged with sadness and apology, pushing against him.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered, sitting up, carefully reaching out to see the already-closing wounds. 

“I didn’t even feel it,” he admitted. “Don’t be sorry." He didn't want her to be sad. Not because of this. Not when he had enjoyed every fucking moment of it. 

She fixed him with a glare. “I made you bleed.”

“I have bled for a lot less than our pleasure,” he shot back. 

“Azriel,” she said quietly, seemingly searching for words. Finally, she sighed. “At least let me clean it up,” she bargained, reaching over to her bedside table that she had bought in some kind of antique shop a few weeks ago. He had gotten one as well, though they definitely weren’t matching.  

“Did you stock your bedside table with potions?” he asked her, as she pulled out one.

“Yes, because I am paranoid and if I accidentally burned you I wanted to be prepared,” Oriana admitted. “I had my sister send them to me.” 

“Did you think that was going to happen?” he asked her curiously, shifting slightly as she poured said potion onto a rag and pressed it to his side. 

“No,” Oriana said quietly. “But I wanted to be prepared if something did happen. I was counting on the mating bond stopping my magic from hurting you, if I am being honest.”

“You weren’t scared that I was going to hurt you?” he asked her and she just looked at him. 

“No, Azriel. I didn’t think that for one moment,” she said softly. “If my emotions are high, my magic tends to lash out. All I have come to know about you, makes me think that if your emotions go high…you would rather shut down. Unless your temper gets the better of you.”

She was right. She was so fucking right. 

Sometimes it scared him about how much Orianaa seemed to get him. 

His exact opposite in so many ways, a complimentary half in others…his equal in all. 

“At least you didn’t put us both on fire,” he finally said drily, figuring that that was the safest thing to say. Her hand came away from where she had wiped the blood from his skin. 

“That’s not funny,” she said, though he could feel her amusement bleed over the bond. 

“It’s a bit funny. You need to admit that,” he gave back, reaching back out to touch her as she put away the rag and the whatever tonic she had put on his skin. 

He rolled his shoulder, not even feeling a twinge at his skin moving. 

She curled back up with him, though he could still feel her apology thrumming through the bond. 

He batted it away with a wave of his adoration for her and she huffed, stretching out in their bed, unapologetically naked. 

Cauldron, she was gorgeous like that, all lush curves, not a single angle anywhere in side. Long limbs, well muscles by her work, near black skin that seemed to swallow all sunlight stretching over her body, and there in her face, these eyes that he adored so much. 

“I thought it would be…worse,” he admitted as he turned so that he could bed his head on her stomach, stretching his wings over both of them. 

“You thought you would feel less than yourself? Less in control?” Oriana guessed, burying a hand in his hair, scratching her nails over his scalp delicately and he moaned softly at the sensation. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “I thought it would be more…feral.”

“I think we were plenty feral,” Oriana admitted drily. “I got my claws in you after all.” 

He couldn’t help but snort. “I thought sex was all we were going to think about. Unable to have an actual conversation,” he said thoughtfully.

“Or maybe, once we sated the first…wave of…desire, it’s banked until it comes back,” Oriana suggested. 

He could see that. At least then it would make sense why it took other faes weeks to finally be fit for companionship again.

He traced his fingers over her stomach thoughtfully, tripping over the puckered scar tissue and she shivered underneath him in response. 

“Do you feel that?” he asked her curiously. “I don’t always have feelings in my hands.” Sometimes it prickled like needles under his gnarled skin…sometimes they were overly sensitive. And sometimes they were numb.

“I do,” Oriana said softly. “If the weather changes especially.”

It was the same for him. 

“It went straight through you,” he said softly, still tracing the long line. Whoever had healed it for her, had done a phenomenal job at at least trying to make the slice less jagged than it had been. Still, it was long and brutal. “I could have lost you before I ever met you,” he whispered against her skin as he pressed a kiss against her skin, against the scar that could have claimed her life. 

It could have killed her, easily. And if it had…he would have never met her. Never got what he now got from her. Never gotten this, this mating bond, this moment right there in their bed, where the bond between them thrummed with love and sweetness and could imagine a future for the two of them. 

He hadn’t expected as she lifted one of his hands to her mouth, raining a myriad of kisses over his scarred skin. “I could have lost you too,” Oriana said softly. “But I haven’t. We haven’t.”

He shuddered as the bond flared back to life between them, as the banked desire flared back to life. 

“I think I was right,” Oriana breathed, her eyes glowing with fire. 

She was right. She always was right.

He nary brought out a noise as he crawled back up her body, as she stretched out underneath him, seemingly revelling in the presence of him on top of her. 

He wanted to remember every single second of this, even when he knew that it would all be lost in another wave of desire. 

He wanted her and she wanted him, the scent of her want thick in the air as he kissed her again, her body easily opening up underneath him, a soft gasp from her as he slid back into her like he had never left in the first place. 

He promised himself to go slow this time, to savour every moment, as the bond between them flexed and her desire was reflected onto him, flickering like warm, painless flames all over him. 

She was careful this time, no nails biting in his skin, flat hands rubbing over his sides and then hands carefully reaching out to touch the delicate skin of his wings. 

He shuddered above her, wings spreading out for her touch on her own accord as Oriana looked at him, the flames in her eyes flickering.  

Illyirans were taught from a very young age to be careful with their wings. And especially Azriel who hadn’t even learnt to fly until he had been far older than any other Illyrian…he had always been…careful with them. 

They were seen as an Illyiran’s pride, their greatest joy, their biggest strength… their biggest weakness they had. 

Not even Cassian and Rhys reached out to touch his wings because they knew how weird he could be about them. 

But Oriana…she reached out and she touched and he loved every fucking moment of it. 

He arched into her touch, revelled into it, as her arms stretched out so that she could grip the talon at their tip, his wings shuddering against her grasp, strong hands that were being so carefully with him, that touched him with so much care and love and when they left marks, then it were marks of love. 

All she left behind her were marks of love. 

She shuddered against him and he kissed her, tasting her, drinking her in, everything that she was offering to him for the taking. 

She has said that she was his to ruin. 

And he was sure he was doing a brilliant job at it, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Couldn’t help but chase after even more pleasure, of losing himself in the warm embrace of her body and mind and loving every minute of it. 

Azriel didn’t know what he had done in his life to somehow deserve Oriana. 

He didn’t know, nor did he care. Not right now. 

Not when he could lose himself in her, when she held him close to her, embracing him, her love cocooning him and keeping the world at bay. 

His sanctuary.

[supercorpkid]

Ace Reporter - part 4

Supergirl, Kara Danvers x Reader, Lena Luthor x Reader

Word Count: 2375.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Something brings you back from your trance. Probably the loud alarm saying that if you don't get out of this place in five minutes you're going to die. Five minutes is really not enough time to find the way out, so you run out of the bedroom and make your way to the other side to try and find the exit there.

You are met with a dead end, and on your way back you bump into Lena. She holds your arms to steady you. "Y/N! I'm glad I found you. Kara and I split up while looking for the exit."

"Dead end." You point to the hallway behind you.

Lena agrees with her head. Cleans the blood off your cheek before nodding to you, "I'm happy you're safe." She almost hugs you, but decides there are more pressing matters at the moment. "Let's find Kara and get out of here." 

Lena holds your hand, guiding you to the direction you just left. That's when Kara appears in clear panic and points to another place, not wanting you to find her secret in that creepy room, unbeknownst of your current knowledge.

You do feel kind of safer knowing Supergirl is around. She said it herself, she won't let you get hurt for a story. She certainly won't let you explode just not to compromise her secret identity. Right? Right.

On your way out the three of you find the room with all Lex's hardcopies of clear wrongdoings. You grab everything you can see and get out of there less than a minute before the whole place explodes.

You make it back to National City, digging through papers, unraveling conspiracy theories and mazes of wickedness. Kara Danvers is snoring on the chair in front of yours, tired from keeping secrets and burning bridges. And Lena is also examining the documents in silence. When you can't read another word, you turn to her,

"Tough day, huh."

"Running into the atrocities my brother is responsible for, is not exactly a walk in the park for me."

Great fucking quote. Not on record, though.

"Sorry we didn't find him. Though I have to admit, I'd be a bit scared if we did." 

"I don't blame you. I would have too." Lena smiles absently and a little bit too sincere. You can tell she immediately wishes to take it back. You're a journalist, after all.

"Well, you've dealt with all those Eve clones pretty well. I'm glad you and -" You stop yourself, looking at Kara. She is not sweet doofus Kara Danvers anymore. It's pretty much real to you that she literally is the strongest person on Earth and she could have ended all those clones in probably one blow.

Lena agrees with a nod, following your eyes. "She actually fights pretty decently, I didn't know that about Kara." 

You furrow your brows, confused. "You didn't?"

"Honestly, no. I wonder where she was hiding all those moves."

"Yeah. And I wonder why." You whisper to yourself, staring at Kara. Is she really asleep? No way to know, she is such a good liar. She might actually be the greatest actor of all time. How else would she have kept this secret from her best friend for so long?

 "Anyway, heard you need a quote from me to get back to Metropolis."

You take a deep breath, mostly annoyed with your editor for making you work so hard for a damn quote, but also kind of offended that all of your investigative skills and team work will be reduced to one scandalous quote from Lena Luthor. You literally uncovered a web of lies and terrible plans, but hey, that's not what he asked you for, so it probably won't even be used.

"I suppose it's what I came here for."

You grab your notebook next to you, waiting for her quote.

"Ready?" She asks and you nod your head, pen on the paper ready to write down whatever she says. "I think you're so much better than what the Daily Planet gives you credit for, and I believe CatCo is always in need of a fine reporter like you."

You stop writing, raising your head at her, confused. "What?"

"And I should know what CatCo needs, since I'm the owner."

"What?" How did you not know that, when it's precisely your job to know everything about the woman you came here to interview.

"And if offering you a job is not enough of a reason for you to consider staying in National City, I'd like to add that I, too, would like to have you closer." Lena's voice drops an octave and an eyebrow is raised. My God, she is sexy.

"With the risk of sounding like a broken record, what?"

Lena laughs, honest and carefree. Wrinkles under her eyes and it has to be one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen. "I'll let you consider it. If you decide not to stay, I'll give you the quote."

"Oh, ok." Your cheeks burn red. "Thanks, Lena."

When you finally make it to National City, Lena offers both of you a ride, but you and Kara decide to share an uber to your side of the town.

"We've uncovered some pretty sensible information on this trip to Kaznia." Kara says as soon as Lena gets inside her car. "And I know you must be dying to do an exposé-"

Does she know? Does Kara know what you saw in that weird bedroom? That you finally have put two and two together and noticed the obvious? Is she scared you're going to tell the world? 

"But we have to be careful on how we're going to play this. If we blow the whistle on Lex, he could just go back to hiding and-"

"What?"

"Oh sorry, sometimes I talk too fast. I meant Lex and whoever is helping him inside the government. Obviously he had help to break aliens out of the DEO facility and-"

She doesn't know. Haven't got the faintest idea. Kara Danvers is here blabbing about Lex Luthor while you have this huge information about her. And about Clark.

"Oh my God Danvers, shut up." It's out of your mouth before you can stop it. Her eyes widen and you point to the car that just arrived. "I don't wanna talk about Lex, ok? I got hurt because of him, because of this damn crusade the Daily Planet put me through." You signal for the driver then slide inside the car. Kara follows you promptly. And with no amenities the driver just goes.

"Look, I know it was tough out there. But you did so well. You-you found this!" Kara is holding the documents so tight, like they would just fly out of her hands if she didn't. 

"Yeah, and I also almost died for those stupid sheets of paper. I'm not Nancy Drew, ok?"

"You are!” You look at her in disbelief. “At least, you were out there!"

"Stop, ok? This means nothing to me! I'm not you, Danvers! I'm not ok with putting my life at risk for a fucking assignment. I really am not getting paid enough and I only have this one life."

"What are you talking about?" Kara asks and you raise your eyebrow at her as an answer, not wanting to share more. "What? You think I'm a cat with nine lives?"

You can't help a laugh that leaves your mouth. A very ironic one. Sour and hostile. It makes her wince at the sound.

"Damn, you really are the biggest dweeb I've ever seen."

She huffs, moving uncomfortably on the seat next to you. You ignore her, staring out the window. You don't even like National City that much, but you're honestly so glad to be here right now.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but we're writing this together, aren't we? We have to decide on what can we expose and-"

"UGH." It's the only sound out of your mouth. You're so tired. You flew to Kaznia; the plane you were in almost crashed; you had to fight evil clones and you got beat up by one (which is rather embarrassing); you found out your work-colleague and your almost-nemesis' secret identities; and you also found out what the hell Lex is up to. You're exhausted. Right now, the only thing you want is to go back home, but stupid Kara Danvers won't shut up. "I wish Eve had punched your face instead of mine."

"WHAT?" Kara yells so loud, even the driver jumps in his seat. "Sorry, sorry." She apologizes to him, then turns back at you. "That's such a mean thing to say!"

"Why? It's not like you can feel anything." You roll your eyes, hand going to the cut on the side of your cheek that still burns.

"Of course I can feel things." 

She's barely finished with her sentence and you're adding, "Oh my God, you let me get punched for nothing."

"I'm so confused right now."

"I KNOW, OK?" It's your time to yell, making the driver almost lose control of the car, and you have to hold yourself on Kara not to knock your head on the window. When the car finally stabilizes again, you continue. "I know you helped land the plane. I know you could've taken down all Eves by yourself. And I know about you and- and Clark." You stare deep into her eyes. "I know who you are."

Kara swallows deep, so loud you could hear it perfectly, and you're sure the driver could too. "Stop the car."

"Ma'am, we're in the middle of nowhere."

"Stop. The. Car." She repeats strongly, commanding. Must be her Supergirl voice. And the driver is not going to argue twice, so he does. He stops the car in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Kara pulls you by the hand and there's no fighting. Not when the strongest woman on the planet wants you out of the car, anyway.

So you stand there, with nothing but trees around while your ride home leaves you behind. You cross your arms and stare at her. God, you wish you were home. You wish you were never sent to this assignment. You wish you were never entangled in this mess with Kara Danvers. You wish you could just hate her from a distance instead from up close.

"How did you figure it out?"

"Well, you fighting all those clones with your bare hands was a pretty big tell. But what confirmed my suspicions was that weird altar they had for you there."

"You saw that too?"

"Yeah, it was pretty bizarre. I mean, who would have so many pictures of doofus Kara Danvers?"

"HEY! I'm not-" She huffs, unable to defend herself. "Whatever."

Kara walks from side to side, hands on the side of her head, clearly freaking out because you know her secret and she can't trust you. How could she? You're a random reporter who just came from Metropolis to find a story. And you did, you found the biggest one you could ever look for, and now you know the secret identity of two of the most powerful superheroes on the planet. 

She finally breathes out all the weight off her shoulders, and comes closer, really close. So close she touches the cut on your cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I let you get hurt." And you've known this woman for two weeks, but you know she means it. Can read it in her watery eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't realize how scared you were. I'm sorry I couldn't be Supergirl there."

"Because Lena doesn't know." 

"Well, you weren't supposed to know either." She shrugs. Hands on your chin, eyes staring right at your soul. You dare to look at her lips, so close, so so close. Right there.

"Hey," You look back at her eyes and notice how scared she is. You know her secret, her biggest secret. You know a part of her not everyone knows. Not even her best friend! So you hold her free hand. "I promise your secret is safe with me. I know you have no reason to believe me. I mean, I didn't even like you until two days ago, so I understand the distrust. But this is a big thing. Bigger than whatever is between me and Kara Danvers. I would never put people's life at risk."

"Thank you." Kara gives your hand a little squeeze. "But what do you mean you didn't like me? I thought, I thought we were…"

"What? Friends?" A little smirk.

"Flirting." She admits and you gulp, taking your hand away from hers. She understands the signal so she lets go of your face too, but doesn't stop talking.  "I thought it was all flirting banter."

It was. She is right. But you just can't admit this to her, or anyone.

So you let a sharp and deceitful laugh out. "Oh please. Even on a good day, we're barely amicable."

Kara furrows her brows, looking like a lost puppy and when she opens her mouth to argue, you cut her off, not ready for this conversation at all. 

"So, do we get another uber or is Supergirl flying me to my hotel room? I really need to lay down after all this."

"Yeah. Yeah." She won't raise her head or look you in the eyes, but still picks you up in bridal style. "Hold tight."

Kara starts flying and you can't help but to hold her with everything you have. You can't believe you just gave Kara Danvers the power to drop you from a very tall height. You venture a peek down and holy fucking shit you are way too high. If she drops you, you're dead for sure.

You hide your face in Kara's neck. Breathe her in, and oh God she smells so good even after almost exploding in Kaznia. Ugh. Your stomach is all in knots and you wish you could just rationalize this strangled feeling, but right now Kara Danvers/ Supergirl/ Whoever is carefully taking you home, might be the person you loathe the most. Or love. You can't decide.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

eddie + wanting please please please

hehehehehe shouldn't known you'd ask for this one <3 MUAH!

well as you know this is the beast i dedicated myself to for the big bang event. it's set during 5b when eddie is in therapy and focuses mostly on him coming to terms with and coping with his traumas and guilt, particularly in reference to his military service and shannon and chris. then of course there is the buck of it all which he can't ignore anymore now that he is getting all knowledgeable about himself :)

here's a snip:

Buck lets out a little sigh, shifting ever so slightly but careful not to dislodge Eddie’s toes from where they are buried under his thigh, his small movements resulting in his knee digging into Eddie’s hard enough to light up a spark of pain that Eddie relishes. It’s steadying, grounding, keeps him here and safe and not alone.

“Sounds nice,” Buck says quietly, almost wistfully.

“It was,” Eddie agrees. “I took her there on our first date.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It was–” Eddie laughs at the thought of his teenage self, all flustered and nervous and trying to be smooth enough to impress Shannon, who was never someone easy to impress. “It was a bit of a disaster at first. I was so nervous and could barely get out a full sentence and would hardly look at her because she was so pretty it made everything worse.”

Buck laughs. “Yeah, I’m well aware you have no game, Eddie.”

“Shut up,” Eddie groans, momentarily abandoning the safe warmth of Buck’s thigh so he can kick Buck’s ankle with his foot then immediately shoving his foot back where it came from. “I’ve got plenty of game.”

Buck grumbles in half-hearted protest through a smile and drags his socked heel against Eddie’s calf.

“We went there a lot that first year we were dating,” Eddie continues, because it feels good to say and because he wants Buck to know this, to know him, with an intensity that is fierce and knee buckling. “Had to sneak out a lot in order to do so. And we uh–well, we would–”

“Have sex,” Buck says for him, wiggling his eyebrows like a maniac.

Heat flares on Eddie’s face, potent and probably so very red. “Yeah,” he mumbles shyly. “Pretty sure that’s where Christopher was conceived.”

“Eddie,” Buck gasps, reaching over the tiny but large expanse between them so he can thump Eddie on the shoulder with his knuckles, looking like this is the best news he has ever received. “You dog!”

Eddie chokes. “Oh, fuck you. Shut up. Forget I said anything.”

“No no no no. This is fantastic. I love this for teenage you, I really do. How salacious. Honestly never would have pegged you as an exhibitionist.”

“Okay, one, there was never anyone around or really the threat of anyone seeing so I don’t think that counts. Two, I’m sure it has nothing on your sexcapades, firehose.”

Buck blushes and ducks his head, a very pretty smile eating away at his cheek.

Eddie kind of wants to touch it, feel the shape of it beneath his finger, see if maybe he could keep it with him. His heart is racing again, beating at the flesh and bone of his chest with a ferocity that is a little concerning, and Eddie has no idea what to do with it.

ask me about my wips

[intriq]

I love being silly in ur asks!!!!

How do you think the Batfam would react to you being unexpectedly good at one of their "niche" (that isn't the right word I'm sorry) skills? Like gun skills(Jay) or flexibility (Dick)- 🌻

(You also don't have to do this pookie Intri I just love asking questions)

cackling, giggling even. im going to do this. ive been stewing over this since you sent it to me.

Tim - photography

He's probably a little surprised, no doubt. He's got a knack for photography, he's pretty good at it. I wouldn't be surprised if he has some sort of side job where people commission him for photos. He finds it to be a pleasant surprise when you give him a photo you took yourself as a little gift. It doesn't really matter if it's a picture of him or not, he'll still probably find a safe place to keep it so he can always look at it. He makes it a regular thing to trade photos with you after too.

Barbara - computers

Barbara doesn't exactly learn that your good at computers in person or directly. She hears it from the others after one night she wasn't available to provide information as Oracle and you instead did your thing just as smoothly, like it wasn't even an issue to navigate the Batcomputer in her place. She'll probably invite you to hangout with her after, trading tricks that'll no doubt sharpen not only her knowledge, but yours too.

Dick - flexibility

Hands down, Dick is shocked. He doesn't even know until one day you just so happen to showcase it while taking some thug down while on patrol with him, and he's obsessed there after. He probably constantly tries to see if there's anything he can do you can't, and he's probably always wrong in the end. Bonus points if there's something you can do that he can't, so he will pester you to teach him. Your definitely his new favorite person to patrol with after.

Jason - gun skills

He doesn't really let it show but he would be surprised. Amazed may be a bit of an overstatement, but it really depends on the type of person you are. If you don't look the type-- in his eyes-- to wield a gun, then yeah he's an amazed kind of surprised. Otherwise he's kind of neutral about it. He'd probably be interested in seeing if you can show him up in some gun tricks, though.

Bruce - strategy

He doesn't even notice it at first. He's far too busy planning something out when you offer your input that is incredibly thought out, and he runs with it. He adds it to his plan and it moves swimmingly, far better than expected. It doesn't click with him that you're a good strategist until after the mission he was planning for was all said and done.

Duke & Steph - puzzles & riddles [steph specifically]

Steph probably doesn't have much of a reaction. She's probably entirely neutral about it, a little uncaring. She'd still talk with you about it, though. Duke, though, is probably the total opposite. All hyped up and energized about it, happy that he's got something to talk with you about. Not to mention it's probably a topic you and him would enjoy discussing. He's just a hyperactive happy kid, I feel.

Cass - stealth

I feel like Cass would be surprised your good at stealth in its own aspect. No matter how she learns it, it'll probably lead to her staring at you and wondering "how the fuck did you do that" over and over.

[vodika-vibes]

Blanket Thief

So I decided to do something different today, and I found a prompt for this particular writing practice. And, thank you@starrrgazingbunny for giving me a list of clones to write for.

Pairing: Alpha-17 x Reader

Word Count: 1035

Songs: None

Warnings: None

Prompt: "I wondered why I was freezing, turns out you stole the whole blanket."

The War was supposed to be over. ‘Supposed’ being the keyword in that sentence. It wasn’t, of course. You are clever enough to know that the death of Palpatine isn’t going to really change anything.

And you are smart enough to recognize that this war was probably going to happen even if Palpatine hadn’t been pulling the strings in the background. 

You roll over in your bed, pulling your fleece blanket up tighter around your neck. You had come to Kamino several years ago, at the bequest of your uncle.

“Come on, kid.” He had said at the time, “It’ll be good experience for your career. And you’ll be well paid.” 

So you came to Kamino. Following those sweet, sweet credits that you were promised.

And now here you are, several years later, still on Kamino, still getting paid a lot of money…though now you remain because Master Shaak Ti made the request that you stay to help with the de-chipping and the gene therapy for the cadets…well, and the adult clones.

Of course, you’re pretty sure she made the request that you remain because you’re one of a handful of people that Alpha-17 actually trusts with the Cadets. The other people being your fellow natborn medics.

You bury yourself deeper into your blankets as your mind drifts to Alpha-17. One of the oldest clones, a trainer for the cadets, and the most stubborn and bullheaded man you’ve ever had the pleasure, or displeasure, of meeting.

He towers over everyone, and is the most dangerous person on Kamino.

He drives you completely insane, challenging your expertise on a daily basis, butting heads with you over the way you taught the medic bound cadets. And you challenge him back, having full blown fights in the hallways over how the cadets are, or had been, treated.

Jango used to tell you that there’s no point in fighting with Alpha-17, that he was just a human looking droid. He stopped saying that the first time you verbally eviscerated him for having the gall to compare Alpha-17 to a droid.

The night was the first night, of many, that Alpha-17 made himself at home in your room. And your bed.

You had earned his respect with your desire to protect the cadets. And you had earned his affection with your desire to protect him.

At this point in time, Alpha-17 is living with you. Much to the amusement of the cadets in your care. And the vod’e who couldn’t help but make suggestive comments to you when Alpha-17 isn’t within earshot. They think it’s hilarious that Alpha can’t help but leave marks where everyone will see them.

But it’s late, and so is he. Stuck doing paperwork for the tubies who will have normal childhoods, unlike the rest of their vod’e.

You grumble under your breath, and eye the empty space next to you. It’s fine, you suppose. You can sleep without him, it is just so much colder when he’s not in bed with you.

Frustrated, you roll over to his side of the bed and bury your face in his pillow, and try to fall asleep.

It must have worked, because the next thing you know, you’re being moved back to the cold side of the bed, your side of the bed, and the blanket is getting adjusted around you. “Mm…Alpha?”

“Go back to sleep, cyar’ika.” His voice is low, more of a rumble that you feel than words you can hear. You feel the bed dip and you instinctively bury yourself against his side. You feel him shift, and his arm drapes securely around your waist, and you release a happy sigh as you press your face against his chest.

You swiftly drift back to sleep, secure with the knowledge that you’re safe because Alpha is with you.

The next time you wake up, it’s because Alpha is prodding you awake, “Cyar’ika, wake up.”

You whine and bury your face into your pillow, “Go ‘way. ‘s early.”

You hear him laugh quietly, “Absolutely not. Wake up, cyare.”

You huff and turn your head to squint at the chrono next to the bed, “Why? It’s…5 am? Alpha…” You whine.

“Don’t you ‘Alpha’ me,” He smooths his hand across your head, “I woke up freezing,”

You turn and squint at him, finally noticing that he’s not covered in a blanket, “Well, maybe you wouldn’t be cold if you were using a blanket.” You snark.

He raises a single brow, and he reaches over to lightly tug the blanket you’ve cocooned yourself in, “I wondered why I was freezing, and then I realized that you stole the whole blanket.”

You look down at your cocoon, and then blink up at him, “...sorry.”

He shook his head, and a laugh fell from his lips, “Don’t worry about it, cyar’ika. It’s time for me to get up anyway.” Surprisingly nimble fingers untuck the blanket from under you, and then effortlessly untangle you from your cocoon, and he smirks as he smoothly ripped the blanket off of you.

You weakly gripped the hem of the blanket as you release a noise of unhappiness, but he is strong enough to just tug it out of your grip and throw it at the end of the bed. “Alpha! It’s cold!”

“Hm. I can fix that,” Alpha says with a slow smirk.

You squeak as he rolls over you, effortlessly pinning your hands over your head with one hand, and his other hand dips under your loose tank top, tracing random shapes against the bare skin over your ribs. “I thought you said you needed to get ready for the day?” You ask, a small grin playing on your lips.

He glances at the chrono, and then leans down and bumps his forehead against yours, his eyes locked on your lips, “I have 90 minutes. I bet I can warm you up in that time.”

You squeak, and giggle, as he crashes his lips against yours, silently demanding that you submit to him.

Coincidentally, you’re both late for work that morning. And, when you finally show your face, you have several new marks on your neck that your uniform isn’t quite high enough to cover.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Let's say you have complete creative control.

How would you write a Marinette (non-Akuma/Amok) corruption arc?

If I had complete creative control, I wouldn't do a corruption arc for Marinette, I'd do one for Gabriel. But I'm assuming you want me to pretend I would do one for Marinette, so I will because why not? How I'd do it would depend heavily on when the writing team gave up and shoved the story into my hands. For the purposes of this hypothetical, I'm going to have to lean into the bad writing, so read on at your own risk.

Current state: as of the end of season five, Marinette seemingly knows that Adrien is a sentimonster. Marinette also has anxiety issues and there's a new butterfly villain on the loose whose knowledge regarding Adrien and connection to Gabriel are unknown. We also have Felix's previous less-than-heroic actions and Nathalie's status as Gabriel's former right hand lady. With all these less-than-awesome people out there, fully aware of Adrien's vulnerability, we have a pretty fantastic setup for an arc where Marinette gets ever more paranoid and controlling in the name of keeping Adrien safe from this new villain. Basically have her spiral into Gabriel 2.0 where her love for Adrien is used to justify terrible things. Not a setup I'd want to watch, but it does fit the show's treatment of The Power of Love so, you know, do with that what you will.

Season three up to near the end of season five: Something to do with Lila making Marinette lose all faith in her friends because, if you're going to write them as terrible friends, you may as well own it. Have Marinette feel like she's sacrificing everything for people who treat her like a villain or a child in spite of all she does, so she decides why bother to be the good guy? Why make all these sacrifices when it never works out for her? I'd probably have her stop showing up to fights like Chat Noir did in Kuro Neko, only if Ladybug did that it would be a much bigger deal. You could even have her full out quit and give Chat Noir her miraculous and the miracle box as a bit of a "fine, you do it and see if you can do it better" thing. Basically anything that lets her go fully selfish due to pressure and poor treatment since it's really not fair that Adrien's the only one who's allowed to miss battles and give up his miraculous when he doesn't feel appreciated.

A variation on this could be quitting because of something like her friends are putting too much pressure on her re:Adrien combined with the show's love of never letting her make the right call when it really matters, so she snaps from all this pressure on every side.

Pre season three: I don't think there's really a great lead up to a corruption in the earlier seasons. Things were pretty great back then. Idk, maybe have her snap from frustration with Chat Noir never taking things seriously, so she starts mimicking him, leading to people getting hurt? (Reminder, I think this is a writing issue when it comes to Chat Noir, but it's there and I said we were going to lean into canon's bad writing for this so here we are.)

And there you go! My takes on evil!Marinette. As I said at the start, I'm not interested in writing any of these. While I do think canon has the setup for them, they rely too heavily on things canon should never have done. Things that don't fit my image of Marinette's core character.

I'm also not big on corruption arcs for heroes. For me, they fall under the same category as the broken partnership/team trope: interesting concept, but one that's rarely executed in a satisfying way. They also tend to be too depressing and/or tragic for my tastes.

My two major hobbies are writing/reading fiction and studying world history/cultures. World history isn't all doom and gloom, but there's a lot of harsh, tragic, and sad things to be found in the past. As such, I've never really enjoyed fictional stories with a hopeless feeling to them. I turn to fictional worlds to escape reality. To go to places full of satisfying endings that are, at worst, bittersweet. If I'm reading a tragedy, I want something that's all or mostly historical fact. Not a matter of judgment, just one of personal preference.

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

First Ninja can easily defeat Chase during Heylin Eclipse. If he finds out about this phenomenon, will he take advantage of the opportunity?

Well, perhaps not easily, but his chances of winning certainly rocket from 15-25% to like, 75-85%!

The thing is, we do not know many details about Heylin Eclipse, the only sure thing is that Chase seems to be unable to use magic freely (but he still can participate in showdowns and use Wu, which imo require some?? sort of minimal magical capacity) and transform into his dragon/lizard form. It also seems that the same magic usually assists Chase in being/reacting faster, since he is easily caught by Wuya (but she is also weakened?? so). Does it just takes away that buff he acquired since becoming Heylin or is the Eclipse actively nerfing him (making him sluggish)?

However, just as Chase himself said, despite lack/suppression of Heylin magic, he is not helpless - he has strategy and experience on his side and not to mention probably 100 tricks up his sleeve AND its one of the rare instances his motto of 'using Wu as a crutch' is nowhere to be seen, because he literally had Serpent's Tail hidden in his gauntlet! (talk about aces in sleeves huh!)

(I kind of wish there was a bit more of that smart and experienced Chase in the episode, instead of what happened.)

So that's mostly the reason why I think First won't get a win too easily. But of course the main question is would he even use that opportunity? TBH I don't think he will go out of his way to do it.

(kinda radnom babbling on under cut, u can ignore it, the point of anwer was said xD)

In my mind, after First VS Chase event, First is too busy doing his stuff to actively worry about Chase. I mean, this guy still has a Sorcerer locked under his town attracting/causing chaos and monsters, and a Ninjanomicon to write and to prepare the future generations to keep Sorcerer locked and Norrisville safe, and probably other dozen things he has to worry about (and unlike Chase, First got only this mortal life and time to deal with it all, lol).

And while, sure, while Chase is a menace and a threat to any capable warrior, Chase also has been around for so long: he has clearly established his place in Hierarchy of Dark forces loooooong before Ninja came around. And yet while participating in wars and causing trouble, he is yet to be the supreme overlord of the world or whatever, so?? Chase kinda leads an existence of eternal evil final boss, doing his evil things and what not. Mostly he is too busy collecting cool warriors, like pokemons or trader cards or whatever.

I feel like in some sense First would understand the whole 'letting evil exist for the sake of the world balance' thing. Because like the XS last episodes established - Chase's existence is a sort of necessary evil that keeps balance from being upset too much on either side. Selfish and Cruel enough to be evil, but also Reasonable and Honorable enough to be sorta neutral good...-ish? I guess the right alignment would Lawful Evil? Though it doesnt really fit completely right, but it somewhere in that ballpark.

(On a side note, IMO about the Sorcerer - he is pretty much clear is not necessarily just Evil, he is more of Chaotic Evil. And Chaos is sort of also neutral, in a sense?? I mean Sorcerer was running around turning people into monsters, causing havoc across continents to gain power to... I dunno, be unstoppable? Cause more chaos and pain? Destroy everything?? Perhaps his goal was to make the World be like Chaos Realm/Land of Shadows? Who knows??? His motivation is as mysterious as his defeat in the finale, lol. But his deal feels more like those World-ending Spiders That Eat from XS, because it seems to me, he basically just gained more power for sake of more Chaos, not like... rule the world or something.)

Also while Chase is bugging First, he is kinda... not actively doing world-ending evil stuff to First's knowledge?

It's like... bothering First is distracting him from doing other evil stuff (he still probably has some schemes going on, but like in the background, not related to First), so First is like 'I could waste energy and effort to put an end to his reign of terror...but i guess i can let him bother me if it stops him from actively doing evil, just for a bit ' (but Chase is certainly doing evil, just nowhere First can see lol).

But, let's suppose First does figure out about Heylin Eclipse. For it to be of any use to First, it has to happen soon and in his lifetime, when he is still physically capable to take on Chase. He also got to plan out how he would defeat Chase (kill or capture him, how to do it and etc.). AND he also got to plan it around his duties to Norrisville. So like, if by incredible stroke of luck, all of it aligns? First might attempt it and most likely win!

But i feel if, it would take much longer (like say 30+ years) for Eclipse to arrive, First would not prioritize capturing Chase over his duties in Norrisville. This dude already wasted most of his life to defeat the Sorcerer (and like a bajillion creatures and monsters to do it), AND he is gonna waste his afterlife to keep him locked up too, just let the poor man rest! xD

(There is now an image in my head of First looking at Chase and going 'Not My Problem' and just peacing out of there.)

So, yeah, while I'm sure First can defeat Chase during Heylin Eclipse, Im not so sure he would actively dedicate himself to doing it.

On ANOTHER, much more shippy note (that u can ignore if its not ur thing), there is something very delicious in the idea that First, knowing such a blatant weakness of Chase's, and just doesn't do anything about it. Perhaps it's because, in some way, First prefers to fight Chase in full power, a much honorable battle no matter if it ends in defeat or victory. Or because it feels like such underhanded tactic of striking when his opponent is at their weakest. Maybe it feels this way because, they are enemies in name only because of their moral alignments, not because either of them actually hate each other (that much lol).

Ooooo just imagine, First and Chase confrontation during Eclipse, Chase fully expecting First to take the opportunity (because its what he will do), but First does the unexpected, and instead of ending the fight, he steps back and that stops Chase on his tracks. And somehow they end up waiting out the Eclipse together, First keeping an eye out for his weakened enemy, while Chase, despite all his previous flirting and needling, is geniuenly baffled by First's behaviour. He really did expect First to take the chance, after all the annoyance and bothering, and just generally First being exasparated with him. But here they are, with Chase at his weakest and First watching his back.... Trully strange.

*eyebrow wiggle*

but thats just silly shippy thoughts haha. I do feel like First will 100% use that opportunity to whoop Chase's ass just to vent all the frustrations about the trouble and annoyances Chase caused.

anyway ye sorry for rambling ;D

[taylorswiftstylequestions]

Hi, I'm hoping this is a safe space for these thoughts because I feel if the #criticiallykind TSSers won't listen, nobody will. Pretty much, this isn't groundbreaking by any means, but I've begun to feel really… skeptical of how much I can love Taylor. Don't get me wrong, I have been a Swiftie for years. I own merch, CDs, know all the songs, everything. Taylor's music has helped me through so much and her songwriting remains unmatched in my mind. But I'm just beginning to question how much I can be a "fan" of her as a person. I'm questioning things like can why she charges astronomical prices for merch when she is literally a billionaire who could pay for herself and everyone she cares about to retire. I am questioning things like how she can watch her fans send literal death wishes to her exes and ex-friends and not try to intervene. I am questioning things like how she made a really big deal (rightfully so) about speaking her mind re: politics, but then has kept quiet on a whole host of recent political issues that her voice (and pocketbook) would make a large impact towards. I am not coming from a place of "she's a celebrity she has a responsibility to do things about these issues" but more from a place of "these are traits I would not appreciate in anyone I know personally, so why don't I think of Taylor in this critical lens?" I'm curious to know if you or anyone else has thoughts on this at all. As always, thanks Sarah for hosting a safe space for all of us.

Hi friend! I'm going to do my best to match your sincerity in this. I do want to believe and feel your internal struggle here on this topic and I don't want to diminish how it really can feel like a battle of minds and emotions. How do you come to terms with someone you care for disappointing you? How do you then layer that disappointment onto the sort of silly knowledge that that disappointment is aimed at someone not actively present in our immediate social circles as a real 'friend' (but who very often fills that emotionally comforting role that a friend often occupies with their art presence in your life - and that is worth noting + valuing!).

I think at its core, my advice to you is to question: Do you actually feel you need to love Taylor in order to love her music?

Do you need to measure Taylor's perceived actions and traits to the same extent and manner that you do of someone who you know personally? Do your feelings about those perceived demerits impact your ability to positively interact with her art?

I want to note that there aren't wrong answers to these questions. The only person who needs to answer them is yourself - and only you know the truth of what those answers might mean. I propose them to you as a starting point as you reassess your relationship with her and her music and what it all means to you. Again - no wrong answers and no judgement. They're questions that require introspection and honesty from yourself. You answer to you and you deserve your own, unvarnished truth.

With all of that, in my response I mostly wanted to center your confusion and the tough emotional uncertainty you might be facing. I didn't want to address through your concerns like a bulleted list of counter-arguments. Ultimately, this is about your relationship with those issues that matter to you and where you land on them. That said, if you feel like you might benefit or be interested from my talking through my stance on those things to perhaps offer alternative opinions that might explore a different side that might disagree with you I can also do so as a follow up. Just let me know!

I truly wish you the best friend. I know it probably has felt overwhelming and confusing to be dealing with this mentally. And then perhaps even scary to admit it and seek advice!

[dribs-and-drabbles]

This is a little something (she says and then writes nearly a thousand words) about Kawi and intimacy and his behaviour towards Pisaeng's affections in Be My Favourite ep 9. I've been thinking about it all week but wasn't sure if I wanted to use my precious free-time to make a post. However, on the cusp of the new ep, I realise I do want to get these thoughts out.

I realised from reading other people's perspectives of the ep that my initial assessment of how Kawi was behaving was perhaps clouded by the 'old lenses' that I was subconsciously watching the show through. For context, I wasn't sure that I liked that Kawi kept pushing Pisaeng away and I even mentioned the dreaded Blushing Maiden trope. After some thought, I realise that my initial judgement was very much influenced by a couple of things carried over from ye olden bl times (which may not have been done away with completely but seem to be on their way out in present times).

First, from having seen so many bl/qls with the blushing maiden trope, subconsciously I guess I still expect to see it because it had been so prevalent. And second, despite the re-wiring my brain has undergone when it comes to Krist, I think I still fell back on the earlier presumptions that Krist was either averse to skinship (particularly with men) and/or wasn't a good enough actor to convey physical intimacy (this, of course, mostly stems from his portrayal of Arthit in SOTUS, which for all we know was how he was specifically directed to act - and which many have interpreted as demi- or asexual, which absolutely has a place at the table).

My conclusions to these realisations is that I need to learn to trust these newer bl/qls that they really aren't going to rehash the old questionable tropes of yesteryear.

I remember some discourse before the last three eps of My School President - when we were worried about the ending - about how Bad Buddy taught us that we can feel safe watching it - "safe in the knowledge that tropes were being subverted, that the usual angsty triggers actually got resolved pretty quickly, that the ep 11 curse wasn't actually a curse at all". And we needed to take that knowledge to help assuage our fears about the ending of MSP. And I think I'm in a similar situation here with Be My Favourite and Kawi in particular.

Staying with Bad Buddy for a bit longer (because, really, when can I ever not talk about it in relation to something else?), I remember feeling a similar disappointment with how Pran was being portrayed in ep 9. I felt he too bordered on the blushing maiden with how he shied away from Pat's advances in his room before Korn came in, before the rugby game, and even when washing up after the hotpot date. I don't see that now because, of course, we know Pran isn't a blushing maiden at all - I mean he's not known as Feral Musky Scented HOE Pran for nothing.

Yes, it took time for Pran to get used to Pat's affections but that was probably because he had pined over this man for so long it was all a bit overwhelming at first. Pran probably needed to ease into letting down his walls, to be vulnerable around Pat, and to believe it was all real. And in the end, when he had gotten used to it all, Pran holds back because he likes to make Pat work for it...because Pat also likes to work for it, because they get off on role-playing - as I've said before, it's like foreplay to them.

I'm not saying this is the same for Kawi but it's a similar situation. I knew this about Pran, and that I was wrong in my interpretation of him, and yet I didn't think to approach Kawi and Pisaeng with the same lens. The lens that so many of you have helpfully pointed out - Kawi is a 30-year-old virgin. This is all so new to him, not only to be intimate with someone but also with a man whom he hadn't even contemplated being with. He's spent 12 years only thinking of Pear (emphasis on 'only thinking' as well as 'only thinking').

@burntsuncomet said it well in their tags: "touch gets very very difficult if you don't interact with people much, so intimacy of normal affectionate touches are tough. Kawi would have to start slow and let Piseang just smack a kiss, maybe hold hands, hug a bit, it's a lot of work before intimacy from touch will be like second nature in Kawi's case." @rocketturtle4 also added that Kawi's "general uncertainty could be very well tied in with his loneliness and, especially, his fear of losing Piseang if he does the wrong thing".

@waitmyturtles offered a slightly different perspective, that almost "everything in this show is totally intentional, and...that [Kawi's] discomfort is totally meant to reflect those accusations from Krist’s past about his clear discomfort in acting out intimacy (especially juxtaposed with how much better he’s done with the intimacy in this show)".

So, all of this is to say that I need to start trusting this new wave of bl/qls - a message I obviously forgot from My School President and which has been proven by several other series this year.

And I need to trust Be My Favourite especially, because, as @williamrikers said, "they've swerved and avoided every other trope so far I believe that they're working towards something here". And I agree. Every episode has been fantastic and I haven't disliked a single thing about the show so far.

On top of that, I need to trust my newfound belief in Krist's acting, because he has pulled out some absolutely brilliant performances in this show so far - so why should I think ep 9 is any different?