#who knew i was still even capable of that?

[the-modern-typewriter]

So you recently did a a little snippet about a villain so terrifying that even the hero was afraid. Would you care to do another one of those are extend the previous one :) I'm kinda obsessed with it. Also your writing gives me life, I love you <3

"You know," the villain said. "Everyone always says that you're the only person in the universe who isn't scared of me."

"Clearly not everyone. I've never said that."

"Mm." The villain's head tilted, a small smile flickering across their lips. They braced their hands on the wall on either side of the hero's shoulders, studying the hero's face. "You hide it well."

"Thanks."

"I would never have guessed if you hadn't told me. It looks good on you, though. That slight glimmer of fear."

The hero scoffed. "You think fear looks good on everybody."

"True. Is that why you hid it?"

"Your ego doesn't need the encouragement."

The villain laughed softly.

The hero raised their hands, taking gentle hold of the villain's wrists before they could move them again. It trapped them both in place.

It would be stupid not to be frightened. They knew what the villain was capable of, what they were; pretending a tiger was a house-cat never did anyone any good.

"Will you feel special if I say I especially like it on you?" the villain asked.

"No."

The villain's smile grew. "Liar."

The hero's stomach fluttered, a pretty knife edge between uncomfortable and intoxicating. They jutted their chin up, holding the villain's scrutiny. "It doesn't change anything, you know."

"Oh, I know," the villain said. "Brave little thing."

"Don't mock me."

"My brave hero. How's that?"

"Still teasing. Rude."

"But not mocking." The villain dipped their head, in lieu of moving their hands, skating their lips along the hero's neck. "And not untrue."

The hero squeezed their eyes shut. "No." Not untrue. "Does it bother you?"

"That you're mine?"

The hero didn't have to look to hear the smile turned fanged, eager. They huffed.

"That I'm scared of you."

"It always bothered me that you weren't. You're terrifying."

The hero's eyes flew open. "Excuse me?"

"Only scary thing in the world, as far as I'm concerned."

The hero studied the villain's face, searching for mockery. They found none. Only terror sharp enough for all of its lines to blur.

The villain caught their lips in a claiming, distracting kiss.

"Tell me more," the villain murmured, a promise of silk sheets in every syllable. "Of how I terrify you."

"You know what else you are? Insufferable."

"Apocalyptic."

"Arrogant."

"Devastating."

"Still mine, so behave, lest I give you something to really be frightened of."

"Promises promises," the villain said. "But also not untrue."

It was the hero's turn to kiss them, and to allow their grip on the villain's wrists to loosen. The villain's hands were immediately trailing along their body, hungry, liable to consume all if they were ever given the opportunity.

Yeah, they were terrifying.

And the most terrifying thing of all was that the hero wouldn't have had them any other way.

It was them, after all.

[say-al0e]

Casual

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Steve Harrington has always been kind of an asshole and you've always been kind of in love with him. But a lifetime of friendship doesn't mean either of you are ready for something more than a casual fling because there's nothing scarier than vulnerability, even in Hawkins. [Set between seasons 2 and 3] Warnings: Car sex, requited unrequited love, unprotected PinV, mentions of cheating (parents, Carol; not Steve or Reader). Pairing: Steve Harrington x rich girl!Reader (briefly mentioned but important, off-screen Eddie Munson x rich girl!Reader) Word Count: 5.6k

Steve Harrington was kind of an asshole.

For as long as you’d known him, he’d been a bit of a dick. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, depending on who you asked, you’d known him your entire life. You grew up together, neighbors, with parents who, in their own way, were best friends - if either of your parents were capable of such a thing as friendship. And because of that, you saw a side of Steve that few others had ever witnessed.

There were moments where you saw the softness, the honeyed sweetness, that shimmered through the cracks in the facade he crafted for himself - beneath the hair and the smirk and the snarky quips. Moments where the real Steve, a tender-hearted, well-intentioned sweetheart who was always on the verge of getting it right but never quite managed to make it, lurked beneath the heavy crown he wore.

Just as there were moments when he saw beneath your own carefully crafted persona. He was the only only person who had ever seen the worry, the sadness, the deep-rooted yearning for something more that was buried beneath your walls of ice. He saw every impossibly strong, deeply felt emotion that lingered beneath your careful composure, your even stoicism. He saw the real you, not just the Ice Queen cloaked in department store dresses and expensive perfume.

Only, neither of you acknowledged those moments.

It was an unspoken pact, one you’ve honored since thirteen when you both realized that being popular meant more than being nice. You both pretended that you were still the same vapid rich kids you’d always been, unburdened by a world built to cater to you.

Even if that was no longer true. Even if it hadn’t been true in a very long time.

Either way, you didn’t mention his newfound soft spot for a strange, ragtag group of children and he didn’t mention the fact that he knew the hickey just beneath your jaw was from none other than Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson.

Just as you had nearly every weekend for the past six months, the pair of you sat in the backseat of his BMW after yet another party that neither of you particularly wanted to attend. It had long ago gotten old, pretending to enjoy the self-involved prattling of your former classmates - their bragging about taking on the family business or which colleges they’d be attending in the fall, snide remarks about Steve’s lack of direction while conveniently ignoring the fact that you were the only one with an Ivy acceptance - and you couldn’t help yourself as you huffed.

“Tommy and Carol are the worst. I swear, if I have to hear her bitch about his inability to make her come or him make another stupid fucking dick joke, I’m gonna scream.”

For as long as you could remember, you’d wanted to tell them both to fuck off, to disappear back into whatever hole they’d managed to claw their way out of, but Steve reveled in their following, once upon a time, anyway. Now, he looked almost resigned to their existence in your lives as he frowned.

“She told you that?”

“Won’t stop telling me that,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hand fell to your thigh, fingers idly tracing the bare skin just beneath the hem of your skirt. “I would tell her to break up with him but, honestly, they totally deserve each other. May they spend the rest of their lives making each other completely fucking miserable.”

It was only in these moments, hidden away in the thick of the trees near Lover’s Lake, that any glimpse of your real selves began to emerge. Your annoyed huffing, directed at the awful people you found yourself surrounded by, and Steve’s tender touch as he shifted closer and carefully brushed a lock of hair from your neck. Neither of you mentioned it, too lost in your own little world, but it never escaped either of your notice.

Still, Steve hummed dutifully. “Totally,” he agreed, “told him she cheated on him with Billy but he called me a liar.” He paused for a moment, shifted just a touch closer - his jean covered leg pressing into yours, body warm even in the cool air conditioning - before he changed the subject by asking, “New perfume?”

“Everyone knows about her and Billy. But, like, who hasn’t Billy fucked at this point.” Steve leaned in, nosed at the curve of your jaw, and you hummed. “Mom brought it back from that last conference they went to. Said I needed something more mature before I leave for school.” You left out the part of the conversation where she went on for nearly an hour about how much of a waste it was for you to even consider college in the first place when you were meant to marry someone of status - someone like Steve - and tilted your head to allow him more room.

“Smells good,” he complimented. “Like oranges or something.”

“Or something,” you mumbled agreeably, shifting against the seat to make yourself more comfortable as he began to press his mouth to the sensitive skin of your throat. “What’re you doin’, Stevie?”

“Giving you the attention you deserve,” he answered, never missing a beat and only pausing to nip at the pulse point. “Can’t have you unfucked in this skirt. That’d be criminal.”

As if he sought to make a point, Steve’s hand began to drift higher up your thigh, fingers traveling a well-worn path and ghosting over bruises left in his wake after last Saturday’s party at his own home. Again, he decidedly avoided the few extra spots that lined your thighs - the bite mark he would see when you parted your legs, in the shape of a certain metalhead’s teeth, and the hickey you’d been left with at the juncture of your thighs - as you laughed.

“Should call Hawkins’s finest,” you teased, grinning when Steve huffed a laugh.

“They’d send Callahan,” he mused as his fingers dug into the plush of your thigh and pulled you closer, encouraging you to climb onto his lap. “Would love to see him try to figure out what to do with you.”

“And you know what to do with me?”

Steve’s smirk was obvious, clear even as he nipped at your skin. “‘Course I do,” he assured you, settling back against the plush of the seat as you shifted in the small space and settled on his lap. “I know exactly what to do with you.”

“Prove it.”

The challenge hung in the air for a moment, thick even in the cool interior of his car, and gave you the briefest respite to study him. Soft brown eyes were blown black with lust, a darkness that you sometimes found yourself grateful for the chance to witness, and his hair had begun falling in his eyes. His cheeks were tinged pink and you knew that his lips would follow soon. 

Steve was beautiful, a work of art in the dim moonlight, and your heart beat just a touch too fast for something that was supposed to be casual as you waited for him to take the bait.

Before you could tease, attempt to bring some levity back into the moment that suddenly seemed too intense, Steve’s large hand found the back of your head. He pulled you in with a practiced ease, a touch that betrayed just how comfortable you were with one another, and pressed his mouth to yours.

Whereas Steve’s facade was all flash, easy confidence with nothing to prove, his kiss was almost desperate. There was the knowledge that he was good - he’d earned it, sought to learn exactly what you liked and adapted quickly - but beneath that, there was a desire to make the moment everything you could want. He kissed you with an urgency you could never quite understand, almost as if he wanted to savor the moment because he feared it may never happen again, but you knew that couldn’t be true.

As reticent as you both were to delve into your true selves - into your true feelings - you knew that this would happen time and again. It would happen until one of you inevitably broke the other’s heart, and maybe even after.

Still, Steve kissed your with more passion than you ever could’ve expected.

From your position on his lap, skirt bunched around your waist and hands falling into his hair, you could feel the growing bulge in his jeans. There was a slight rocking of his hips, something you might’ve dismissed as an attempt to get comfortable if you didn’t know him so well, and you still managed to find yourself surprised by just how much the little things turned him on.

“Girls like you,” he rasped, breaking the kiss before you could even think to, “just need to be fucked dumb. Be all pretty and cock drunk. Made into that pretty little trophy wife you swear you’d hate to be.”

The way he spoke was so casually condescending, a little mean in the way he’d discovered you liked, and you felt your cheeks heat as you squirmed on his lap. He knew - knew that your mother hated your ambition, swore you were purposely sabotaging her attempts to marry you off, including the few attempts she’d made with him - and smirked when you shot him a half-hearted glare.

“You can pout all you want, but that’s what you need, right?” His hands fell to your thighs, raking up the soft skin as your own tangled in his hair and tugged. “To be taken care of, to be fucked like you deserve.”

“Don’t think some hotshot husband would care enough to fuck me like that,” you countered, swallowing hard in an attempt to maintain your composure as his fingers trailed higher. “Would never come. He’d be too focused on fucking the secretary ‘cause she won’t be upset when he gets off and she doesn’t. But that’s why the trophy wives fuck the pool boys and tennis coaches, I guess.”

Steve hummed his understanding - had his own firsthand knowledge of both your father’s affairs, knew just what kind of men he was surrounded by now that he was old enough - before tipping his chin to glance up at you. “Guess you’ll have to look harder to find someone worth your time, then. ‘Cause this pussy’s too good to be wasted on some dickhead who won’t appreciate it.”

“Steve.” His name came out softer than you intended, a near breathless sort of whine that betrayed you - more than the growing patch of slick clearly visible against the light pink fabric of your panties - and he hummed.

“Don’t worry, babe. You know I’ll take care of you.” Though Steve could be an asshole when he wanted, he was nothing but a giver when he settled between your thighs. There were moments where you worried, secretly feared this might be the moment he decided to be selfish and leave you hanging, but more often than not, you were the one to tap out first. And any argument you could’ve formed died on your lips as he ordered, “Just shut up and sit pretty for me, yeah?”

Despite yourself - despite the part of your brain that wanted you to argue, to fight back and tell him to go fuck himself - you melted into his touch as his fingers ghosted over the fabric between your thighs. You heard him sigh, felt the warmth of his breath fanning over your mouth as he refused to put more space than necessary between you, as his gaze met yours.

“Next time, I’m fucking you in my bed,” he decided, gaze flicking back to where his fingers hooked into the soft material and dragged it to the side. “Can’t taste you the way I want in here.”

“Can’t keep saying shit like that,” you mumbled, nails biting into his skin as you gripped his shoulder to keep yourself upright. “Gonna make me think you actually like eating pussy.”

“I do,” he admitted, grinning when you rolled your eyes. “Like eating yours the best, though.”

With that, Steve’s fingers swiped through the slick gathered between your thighs. His thumb caught on the sensitive bundle of nerves and his mouth returned to yours, eagerly swallowing the soft noise of surprised pleasure you released.

Each swipe of his fingers was easy, almost lazy. There was a practiced ease there, a lover’s knowledge of your body - absent any of the almost nervous exploration of the first time - and you forced yourself not to think too hard about that fact as his tongue swiped at the seam of your lips.

The small space was cramped, not the easiest to maneuver, but it was familiar.

Though sometimes familiarity equated to boredom, routine, Steve’s touch was anything but. Every swipe of his fingers through your folds, every brush of his thumb over the aching bundle of nerves, was electrifying. He had you teetering on the verge of begging, eager for him in a way you’d never been for anyone else - almost anyone else - and you knew he could tell as he finally gave you something more.

Two thick fingers, skilled and steady, pressed into you. They stretched you - never quite enough to fully prepare you for the impressive length hidden beneath the denim you knew you were soaking through - in a way that had your breath catching in your throat and your heart hammering in your chest. Steve knew exactly where to press, fingers finding that one spot that made you see stars, and you could feel the twitch of his mouth as he refused to allow you to pull away from the kiss entirely.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, tone so smug it made you realize why so many were eager to brand him an asshole. “C’mon, babe, the sooner you let go, the sooner I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Despite your conflicting emotions - the desire to hit him, to call him an asshole and tell him to just get on with it; the desire to kiss him, to tell him that you only wanted this, him for the rest of your life - you settled for the middle ground and allowed yourself to sink into his touch.

Those murmurs of encouragement, almost reverent in a way that you hoped no one else had ever heard, had your mind blanking and your chest heaving as you focused solely on the press of his fingers. His pace was perfect, steady and even and never too much - always too much, always enough to make you wonder how you ever thought you could be fine with losing this someday - and you would’ve told him as much if you were capable of speaking without admitting that you were afraid you could love him for the rest of your life.

Instead, you settled for sinking your nails into his shoulder, for tugging at the soft strands of his hair, as he nipped at your skin. He sucked a mark just beneath the one you knew he’d seen, despite your attempt at concealing it, and that was enough to throw you over the edge.

Steve once admitted to loving the noises you made, promised they turned him on rather than weirded him out - something you only admitted when he asked why you were so quiet, refused to let you come until you explained yourself - and you knew you wouldn’t have been able to quiet yourself even if you’d tried as his fingers worked you through the first orgasm of the night.

Knowing him, Steve wouldn’t stop until he had you desperate - he liked to see your tears, watery eyes and mascara running as you finally let down the walls he’d only glimpsed behind - and that seemed to be the case as he resumed his pace the moment your breathing began to even.

“Steve,” you huffed, your best attempt at something resembling normal, though you could hear the whining edge to your tone. “Fuck me,” you demanded, or at least attempted to. “Fill me up. So big, always feel so full when you’re inside.”

It was a low blow, an attempt to appeal to his ego - exaggerated, though it was true; he was the biggest you’d ever had - and he rolled his eyes as he nipped at your bottom lip.

“So fucking impatient,” he huffed, though he gave in, just as he always did. “Such a spoiled brat.”

With a tap to your thigh, you shifted. You held yourself upright, knees digging into the soft cushions of the seat, long enough for him to unbutton his jeans and shift his hips. As you had every time you found yourself in this situation, which was more often than not lately, you watched with wide eyes and bated breath as he freed himself from the confines of too-tight denim.

For years, you wondered why so many girls flocked to Steve when they knew how things would end. You wondered why anyone gave him a chance, why anyone came back when he forgot to call or blew them off for someone else, but you understood now. The look of him, the weight and feel of his cock in your hand as you reached out and swiped at the pearl of precum beading at the tip, was almost answer enough. The effort he put in to make you feel as if you were the only person that mattered, as if your pleasure were more important than his, quelled the rest of your doubt.

When you lifted your hand to your mouth, lapped the bead from your thumb and hummed, Steve groaned.

“Fucking tease.” There was no bite, no venom, to the words, but you still bit back your grin as he reached for your hip with one hand and held the base of his cock with the other. He dragged you closer, settled you firmly on his lap and swiped the tip of his cock through your folds, as he tipped his chin in a silent request for you to return your mouth to his.

As you pressed your lips to his, he used the grip on your hip to drag your hips down. It was swift, faster than he’d ever gone and almost desperate in the way he pulled you in, but you reveled in the slight pinch as he stretched you open.

There was something so overwhelming about feeling Steve so close, about having him in the way you dreamt of when you first realized how you felt about him, but you did your best to swallow the sudden lump in your throat as your eyes fell shut and your lips parted.

The pace always varied with Steve. Some nights were hard and fast, usually when you were both wound up after a particularly rough night; others were soft and slow, when the emotion began to overwhelm you, when the desperate need to be close outweighed the potential damage a confession might bring. And others still were somewhere in between, teasing and playful; an alternation between soft and hard, slow and quick - a way for him to make you beg, to bring you out of your head and into the moment.

Tonight was no different.

Though you sat atop him, Steve did all the work. His hips snapped, cock pressing into you with every movement, as his hands dragged you down. He controlled the pace, controlled the moment, and you allowed yourself to be fully present.

There was no facade in these moments, no pretending to be anything other than you were, and you imagined that was why you both returned time and again. This was Steve - giving, eager, desperate to be good enough. And you were just as present, just as honest; soft, pliant, warm and overjoyed that he still wanted you despite the surface ice that froze most others out. 

Neither of you could pretend here, with nothing between you but a few pesky articles of clothing. Neither of you wanted to.

And you knew, as your mouth returned to his, that despite the rough snap of his hips and the bruising grip he held on your hip, that your kiss betrayed you. Each swipe of your tongue, each breathless gasp you allowed him to swallow, told him exactly what he needed to know.

When his hand fell between your thighs, thumb pressing to the aching bundle of nerves, your mind went blank and your thoughts revolved solely around the beautiful brunette beneath you.

The curve of his jaw, the warmth of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips; Steve, Steve, Steve, was all that existed in your mind. The drag of his cock, filling you so perfectly that it almost seemed as if he were a missing piece, designed especially for you, was all that existed. And just as he wanted, it left you pliant in his hands.

“There we go,” he groaned, voice softer than you imagined he intended, as a hand lifted to your cheek. “Look at that, givin’ you what you need, hm?” When you moaned your agreement, lips pursing in a silent request for him to kiss you, Steve smiled. “Look pretty like this. Soft and fucked out for me. I’m the only one that can make you feel like this, yeah?”

It was the first confirmation that he knew, that he cared more than you thought he might, about the other man in your life. And though you wanted to tease him, to poke and prod and be a bit of a bitch about it, you could only moan your agreement.

Eddie was good, was more than enough, but there was something about Steve.

“Prove it,” he demanded, voice only just beginning to show his exertion as his hips snapped a little harder. “Come for me, babe. Show me how good I make you feel.”

As was beginning to become a habit, you gave in to him without so much as an attempt otherwise. The press of his fingers to your aching clit, the rough snap of his hips, the warmth of his breath fanning over your sweat slick skin; all of it was too much, just enough, to send you barreling over the edge for a second time.

With a cry of his name, keening and louder than you intended, you came and Steve followed shortly after. You could feel the warmth of his spend, the twitch of his cock, as you settled for a long moment, and felt the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes.

Without so much as a second though, Steve lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks, careful not to press too hard, and swiped away the few that had fallen before he pressed a kiss to your cheek and shot you a teasing wink.

“Love it when you cry for me, babe,” he teased, though you wondered if he’d have the same reaction if he knew the tears were, at least in part, caused by the overwhelming flurry of emotion that had you questioning everything you knew. “Seeing the Ice Queen melt never gets old.”

“You’re such a dick, Stevie.” The huff was as playful as you could manage with your breath still coming in short pants and your stomach churning with emotion but he grinned just the same as he helped you off his lap.

“Think you mean, ‘you have such a great dick, Stevie’.” When you rolled your eyes, straightening out your clothes and attempting to smooth your hair, he laughed. “Oh, c’mon, not gonna say thank you for the incredible orgasms? Your parents raised you better than that, babe.”

“They raised me better than to fuck some rich asshole in the backseat of his car, but, here we are.” Steve followed your lead and began to straighten himself out, zipped his jeans and at least pretended not to stare as you settled your panties back into place, the fabric immediately darkening with his spend. “Speaking of, you should probably get me home, Romeo. It’s past curfew.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Steve simply tugged you back into his side, hand cradling your jaw as you both attempted to catch your breath.

The lie was obvious - your parents didn’t care very much how late you stayed out, even less when you were with Steve - and you knew that he knew who would be waiting for you to return home. However, you didn’t expect him to ask.

Steve’s touch was soft, though you could see the distaste in the set of his mouth as his fingers brushed the two marks beneath your jaw - one fresh and one fading. “What’re you doin’ with the freak, anyway?” He’d never asked, neither of you made it a habit to pry into the other’s personal life, but he seemed unable to help himself as he continued. “You know you could just buy weed, right? You don’t have to fuck him for it.”

“I don’t smoke,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes even as you leaned into his touch. “Dunno,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze as your hands worried with the hem of your skirt. “He’s exciting. Well, not really,” you amended because he wasn’t, “but he’s different. He’s just… Eddie. Doesn’t try to be something he’s not.” The slight was unintentional but you caught Steve’s slight wince, even as you barreled on. “And, I mean, it totally pisses off my dad every time he sees Eddie sneaking out because the guy’s a total fucking klutz and can’t leave without waking up half the neighborhood.” Steve scoffed, though you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it as he quickly covered the sound with a clearing of his throat before you added, as an afterthought, “And he listens to me. Not, like, pretends to.”

“I listen to you.”

While it wasn’t a lie - Steve listened, retained whatever you told him - neither of you were ever particularly honest with one another. Your conversations were never as serious as the ones you shared with Eddie, never as deep. For someone you considered your best friend, Steve barely knew anything about the real you. Though, that was as much your fault as it was his.

There was always a fear, deep and unfounded, that he might not like the real you. That if you were honest, that if you allowed him to see you for who you really were, that he might hate you. That he might leave. With Eddie, that didn’t matter very much. He was fun, a distraction, a taste of something forbidden and a glimpse into another life, but he was temporary. He could leave at any time, decide he didn’t like the real you and it might hurt for a moment but you would get over it quick. 

With Steve, it was your biggest fear.

Thinking that he might not like the real you, that he might suddenly change his mind and decide the real you wasn’t worth his time, was a fear that felt almost paralyzing. Steve’s opinion mattered, more than anyone else’s, so you held tight to the person you’d always been - the one he’d always at least tolerated - and never breathed so much as a word to the contrary.

Regardless, you humored him. “You do,” you agreed, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. “But you kinda have to. And you also moaned Nancy’s name the first time we fucked so, like, that sorta cancels out some of the good stuff.” Steve flustered, cheeks flashing neon pink as he recalled the moment - a drunken hookup soon after his breakup, the first of what would become a regular occurrence - but before he could defend himself, you asked, “How’s that going, by the way? You figure out how to get her back from the creep?”

Steve shook his head, then, and sighed as he admitted, “Don’t think I even want to, anymore. Think I was just… She was right, maybe. We were kind of bullshit.”

The resigned misery in his voice was obvious, still upset by the hurtful declaration of a girl you knew he’d loved - in his own way, anyway - and you sighed as you rested your head against the seat cushion. “All of this is bullshit,” you shrugged. “High school, Hawkins, Indiana; none of it means anything.”

“We don’t mean anything?” Despite his best attempt at nonchalance, Steve sounded almost heartbroken - devastated to hear yet another person who meant something to him declare that he meant nothing - and you sighed as you grabbed the hand that rested on your thigh.

“You know I hate sentimentality,” you mumbled, unable to look him in the eye, “but you’re the only thing worth anything in my whole life. You could never be bullshit. Annoying, totally, but not bullshit. Never bullshit.”

There was a brief pause, a moment in which you both felt the weight of you admission pressing on your chests - stealing what little air seemed to remain in the car, windows still fogged and radio still playing too softly to really hear - before Steve swallowed. “You know I…” He cut himself off, paused and seemed to think better of voicing the thought aloud, before he asked, “You know, right?”

‘I love you,’ went unspoken, as it always had. It lingered, just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to crack the ice and set it free. You knew, just as Steve did, that you were in something like love. Maybe not a love that would last forever, maybe not even a love that was ever meant to be, but it was there.

Warm, shiny and bright, and just waiting for you to stop pretending that things between you had ever been casual.

So, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you assured him, reaching for his hand to squeeze it gently. “I know. Me, too.”

Silence fell, then, thick and suffocating. It filled the interior of his car with a bitter chill and it struck you just how new that feeling was. It made you wonder what a future might be like, if you had one at all, and you found yourself mildly horrified at the idea that you could end up as either set of your parents. There was no world in which you could see a future without Steve at least somewhere in your life but there was no happiness in a world in which you both continued to pretend.

Either way, you were both stuck - caught up in a never-ending performance, an act for an audience that only existed in your minds.

What began as something effortless, something casual, had become so complicated that you no longer felt certain of much beyond the understanding that you loved Steve. How -  if you could love the real him, if you only loved the idea of him, if you loved the safety of him - was a question you had no answer to but before you could begin to even fathom it, the moment ended.

Steve pressed a final kiss to your mouth, bruising in a way that made your chest ache and your eyes sting with unshod tears, before he made his way to the driver’s seat.

And then, just as he had every night since he got his license, Steve drove you home. He pulled up to the door to let you out and didn’t mention the van he saw parked down the street. He squeezed your hand before you could step out into the night, three times in rapid succession, and lit a cigarette the moment you stepped out of the car. 

King Steve wasn’t one to fall in love easily, neither was the Ice Queen. But Steve Harrington wore his heart on his sleeve and that heart beat for you. Despite the distractions, the desperate attempts at finding something so disconnected from the cushioned prison of his gilded cage, he knew that it had been you all along. And just as neither of you mentioned the real people beneath the personas, neither of you mentioned just how real the love you shared had grown.

Loving one another, allowing yourselves to be vulnerable - to reveal the deepest, darkest secrets - was terrifying. Both of you feared what the other might think of the truth that lay beneath the crown so you agreed, silently, that to pretend was better than to face rejection.

So, Steve drove the few streets that separated your neighborhood from his and let himself into the empty house that meant nothing when his true home was likely sliding open a window to allow the only person he’d ever seen as true competition inside. And he wondered when the love of his life became a casual fling, when you both resigned yourselves to pretending that neither of you deserved something real - something true, something happy. He wondered why he carried on with it, knowing that in a few short weeks you would be in Boston, knee-deep in a life you hated, while he was stuck in Hawkins, wishing he’d had the courage to be himself and that he’d asked for something more than casual.

There was no satisfactory answer, not if he really thought about it, so he decided not to. 

The rest of the summer would be spent in the same way the last six months had. Steve would pretend to enjoy the parties and the attention of girls who only wanted him for his reputation. You would continue pretending that nothing fazed you, not even him. And things between you would remain casual. 

And he supposed that was just the way it was meant to be.

_________________________________________________

Author's Note: Did you know there's a chance black beans will catch on fire in the microwave? 'Cause I didn't. Anyway. This was my first time writing 'King Steve' and I had so much fun. This was loosely inspired by Chappell Roan's Casual. And my love of both Steve and Eddie. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​

[mechadria]

im honestly still just as wary about the next season of the witcher even after the table read -

because it was never about liam's acting skills.

do i think henry cavill was a spectacular match for geralt?

yeah. but not only because of his looks or his acting: he GOT geralt and the witcher in general. he's a massive nerd who knows the franchise like he wrote it himself and was a big reason (not the sole, but a big one) that the show kept on track and was even somewhat faithful to the original material.

but i don't believe cavill did a regé jean-page and like. left to seek stardom or whatever. this was a passion project too for him, you could tell.

no, I'm wary of the future of witcher because of the higher ups involved.

so what DID the people who disagreed so hard with him he quit the project do? well, they needed a 7000 word letter from joey batey and the fanbase pleading just to allow jaskier to be queer like he (pretty much) canonically is. didn't need incentive from anyone to create fake gay motives for the worse villain of the story, though. didn't need incentive to completely ruin one of the most beloved characters of the franchise, or let his actor get harassed on socials after the swap without ever saying shit.

i do not trust that these people, who have proven callous, arrogant and ignorant about both the source material and the opinions of the fanbase (and have made some choices nearing bigotry) and who disagreed so heavily with the actor who knew the source material best are capable of producing a good season 4. liam or no liam. am i hoping he's a good geralt? yes, the series and other actors don't deserve to have their performance harmed by him. can it be as good as the seasons cavill was in? for the reasons cited above: fuck no.

[feyresdandelion]

Some people in this fandom don’t understand acotar mates.

Azriel’s reaction to Gwyn’s capture is not mate behavior, it doesn’t matter how much you want it to be.

I often see people saying that Azriel didn’t freak out because he had trained all the valkyries and knew that they were capable of surviving the blood rite. But that’s not how mates work in Prythian.

Cassian, who also trained and also knew they were capable, was freaking out over Nesta being taken. He had to keep reminding himself that he had trained her and that she was a warrior and it still didn’t calm his nerves. While trying to rescue Eris (a rescue Azriel really pushed to happen), he kept thinking of Nesta and could not keep his attention on Eris for more than a few hours.

Males can think and know that their mates are warriors, powerful and more than capable but that doesn’t erase their biological need to protect them and their worry when their mates are in danger.

When Feyre went back to the spring court, Rhysand was really worried, even when he knew that she was okay and that she knew how to defend herself.

When Nesta went into the blood rite, Cassian had to remind himself that she was well trained and a great warrior but it still didn’t calm his need to save her until he knew she was safe.

When Gwyn went into the blood rite, Azriel was more focused on spying on Briallyn and saving Eris. In fact, he was the one to remind Cassian that rescuing Eris was important and that by helping Emerie, Nesta and Gwyn they would be breaking laws and causing all of them to be persecuted.

And yes, he did show worry for them. But his worry is no way near the worry of a mate. I’m sure he feels fond and proud of every single valkyrie, because he knows where they come from and what their traumas are and has actively seen them come out of their shells and gain confidence in themselves.

But again, his worry is no way near mate behavior.

[taradactylus]

Been off from tumblr a bit but I just wanna share my general thoughts about TSAMS, especially today's episode...

‼️Quick warning for suicide and self harm mention‼️

I feel betrayed. I legit cried. Out of embarassment, betrayal, and pure but well-reserved anger.

I'm not going to be quiet about how to show handled Sun's problem. Not one fucking media type ever dares to normally bring up suicidal problems, the people who suffer from this, the amount of kids and adults who DIE from such thoughts. This isn't about the overly edgy teenagers who want to normalize cutting yourself is okey and cool. This is about the people who suffered for months and years with such conditions while the world made fun of them or ignored their calls for help. Ignored the signs.

USA doesn't have much of a public transport where the show is going on. But here we do. And a lot of trains are late every day. Late for hours because of "mechanical issues". 8 out of 10 times the mechanical issue is a local kid who jumped front of the train. A teenager fed up with life. An adult who lost their way. An ederly too impatient for death.

I have waited months. Months. To see how Sun deals with it. A character I fell in love with not in a romantic sense, a character who shared way too many of my own problems from hallucinations from abuse till betrayal. A character who was pushed and pulled their entire life around people who slapped you then said they love you. I wanted to see how he heals out from it.

The signs were there. Everywhere. Sun said it out loud once that he at least fantasized about death. EVEN OLD MOON KNEW ABOUT THIS! He literally told New Moon Sun would be capable of doing it.

So why... why through Miku, the character used as the "weird fandom girl" symbol do they bring up such a delicate topic? A topic that is not delicate because you have to tip toe around the people who live with self destructive thoughts day and night, but delicate because it matters to be properly heard out AND NO ONE LISTENS!

Not one fucking media listens. A lot of us out there rely on fandoms. Stories we can escape to because the world never listens. And call me a self-projector all you want dear creators or whoever writes the story, but you either just pulled the cheapest and most dumbest way to close off a story line with solving Sun's problems off-screen, or you just legit don't give a fuck about people who "self-projected".

Honestly, what if I did? What if in a sense, I saw myself in Sun? A Sunshine of a character ruined and changed by the things that happened to him. Am I not allowed to relate to him? Am I an annoying "fan-girl" for caring about how he heals because I myself have no idea how to do it either? Or am I like Miku for hoping someone calls out on his behaviour because that's something I've wanted my entire life and never got?

And here I am, still somehow hoping Sun is lying. That he is in denial. That there is more to what was shown... but honestly? How long should I wait and hope while the character I started to like is now becoming a bit too toxic?

And with all due respect, I'm taking this episode personally. The creators watch the fandom. Probably have their secret accounts to see what the people theorize. And if Sun is not lying, and suicide is an annoying topic and we are self-projecting too much onto Sun, with all due respect, dear creators... grow the fuck up and educate yourself.

I don't need the world to pity my ass for having self-harming habits, wishing to die and even attempted suicide before (I'm getting my ass to therapy in the meantime so do not worry about me), but all I want from content creators to fucking educate themselfes before bringing up such topics. TO CARE A BIT MAYBE?!

I have survived my worst times, but not everyone does (it's not about who is weaker or stronger, only utter guilt held me back, without that I'd be long gone), andI want for those who has no help feel like they're heard and seen. Cause literally that's all itt takes sometimes to maybe save someone's life.

So yeah. I'm utterly disappointed in this episode. Not because I want the world to know that I'm suicidal and everyone should tip toe around me and "omg pls give me attention" ect ect ect...

Im disappointed because I had hopes for TSAMS to maybe, maybe be an example and bring this topic up normally for a change. But well... here goes my hope for an educational approach of suicide and self harm in a popular show.

[aquagirl1978]

Reunion

A/N: My third entry for An Invitation to Crown hosted by @judejazza - this is Part Two to my earlier fic, Cigarettes After Sex. Pairing: Jude Jazza x f!Reader Prompt: body worship Word Count: 1748 Tags: NSFW; Minors - DNI; reader is female; reader is called 'princess'; oral sex (suitor receiving); come swallowing; piv; explicit language used.

“I’ll do it.”

Everyone turned and looked at you - well, everyone that is but Jude. And Ellis. They weren’t there in the castle when Victor called everyone for this meeting.

“Are you sure about that?” Victor asked, his eyes searching yours for even a hint of hesitation.

“I’m sure,” you replied. You needed something – anything – to get your mind off of Jude and this mission presented the perfect opportunity to do so.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Victor announced with a wide smile and a clap of his hands. “Will, Liam and Alfons will go with you to –”

“She’s not goin’ anywhere. Too dangerous.”

The sound of silence rang loudly through the room as all eyes focused on Jude standing in the doorway. You looked at Jude, whose eyes were focused elsewhere, wondering why he was there. Not daring to hope he was there because maybe, just maybe, he still cared for you.

“She asked to go,” Will stated, his head tilted as he stared back at Jude. 

“She’s not goin’,” he repeated slowly, glaring at Will. “I won’t let her see what you're capable of,” he added under his breath, his gaze shifting briefly to you. 

Your breath hitched as you locked eyes with Jude. You missed him, far more than you cared to admit. Even momentarily, you could see the storm clouding his amethyst eyes, a storm you wished so desperately to be swept up into.

“To fulfill her job as Fairytale Writer, she needs to see with her own eyes what we do.” Will turned his gaze to you, his smile both mischievous and alluring.

Stop looking at me like that; your smile has no effect on me.

“It’s your choice. You don’t have to listen to him,” Will continued, resting his chin in his hand, blood red nails gently tapping the table.

“You’re not Ellis, you can do what you want.” 

A flicker of frustration flashed across Jude’s face as his body visibly tensed. “Go to yer room.” He didn’t speak your name or look your way, but all in the room knew his words were for you.

“What you choose to do next is up to you,” William said.

Your eyes flicked between the two men; really, it was an easy choice for you to make.

*****

“What’s going on, Jude?” you asked, spinning in your spot to face him. Safe in your room and away from watchful eyes, you were finally able to give him a piece of your mind. “You broke it off. You left me. You ignored me for days on end.” You spit each word out, hurling the truth at him, hoping one would strike him and hurt him as much as he hurt you. “Why now do you care what I do?”

“It's dangerous,” was all he said.

“Yeah, you said that already.”

Jude looked away, his gaze unable to meet yours and huffed a small breath. “Didn't want ya to get hurt,” he said softly.

“Jude…”

Your heart ached as you spoke his name; you were right, he still cared. 

“”Don’t go gettin’ yer hopes up. I’m still a bad man.”

“You're not a bad man, Jude. You’re a good man, who happens to do some bad things.”

Jude just stared at you, curious to hear what words would next come from your mouth.

“And I accept that. I want to –”

“No more yappin’,” he said, cutting you off. Before you could get another word out, he stepped in front of you. With his face mere inches away from yours, you braced yourself, expecting a barrage of reasons why this wouldn’t work, while staring straight into his eyes. 

And then you saw a flicker; it was subtle, but it was there. A softening in his expression as he stared back at you.

You weren’t expecting him to bring his hands to your face and cup your cheeks gently; he surprised you when he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss. 

“Jude…” you said softly, pulling away from the kiss in a moment of shock.

“Shuddup,” he whispered, pulling you back in for another kiss. Wrapping his long arms around your shoulders, his fingers reached for the laces of your blouse, your body tingling from his touch. 

For the first time in days, you felt alive, his kiss breathing life back into you.  Jude was back. And you were in his arms where you belonged. 

He pressed his body against yours, his heat radiating as you felt a familiar firmness that stoked a fire in your belly. You pulled away from his kiss, his disappointment expressed in a strangled moan; overcome with desire, you flashed him a grin before you began to unbutton his shirt. 

Taking your time undoing his buttons, you let out a small laugh as you swatted his hands away from helping you. There was only one way to make up for lost time together and show him how much you loved him, and that was to drag this out as long as possible. 

Fingertips danced across his chest, tracing the lines of even the faintest scars, lingering when you noticed how his breath hitched and his body tensed the further you explored.

With a few quick tugs, you pulled the hem of his shirt free from his waistband to get to the last few buttons. Your grin grew wicked as you sank to your knees to finish your job. 

His gaze still upon you, he took your hand in his, and gently, so very gently, placed your hand on the bulge between his legs. Slowly, you traced the outline in his pants, enjoying the sweet, pleasurable sounds he made. 

Your gaze lingered on the prominent bulge in his pants. Sighing softly, you brought your hands to his waistband and unbuckled his belt. As your fingers wandered by his waistband, you tilted your chin up and looked into his eyes, waiting for his nod before continuing your exploration. His eyes were half-lidded, darkened with desire, as he gazed back at you seductively. 

“Princess…”

To hear him finally call you that, his special name for you, was enough to send warm tingles all throughout your body. Wrapping your fingers around his shaft, your eyes shifted to the cock in your hand.

Words could never describe how much you loved his cock. How much you loved holding his cock in your hand. How much you loved sliding his cock inside your mouth. 

Unable to tear your eyes away from your hand on his cock, you began to stroke his shaft, so softly at first it was almost torture. Your thumb teased his tip – it was soft as velvet, a drop of pre-cum appeared; you could not wait to slide your tongue over it and lick that drop. You stroked your lover, enjoying the weight of his balls cupped in your hand. 

He brought his hand to your face, tangling his fingers in your hair. You glanced up at him adoringly, one last time before he guided your head towards his hips. With a smile on your lips, you teased his tip once more, another drop appearing; your tongue darted out, licking it, enjoying its sweetness on your lips. Pumping his cock a few more times, you opened your mouth wide while sliding his length inside. 

Dragging your lips up and down his hard shaft, he groaned as he pulled your head closer to his body. Flicking your eyes up to meet his, you loved seeing his face filled with such pleasure. Popping his cock out of your mouth, you wrapped your fingers around him as you placed a trail of kisses along his shaft. You then placed gentle kisses on his balls, taking each one into your mouth. 

Wrapping your hair in his hands, he guided your mouth back to his throbbing cock. Sliding it into your mouth, you sucked on him until his length hit the back of your throat. He held your head there firmly as he began to thrust into your mouth roughly. Heat flooded your body as your mouth was filled with his cock. 

“Ah, fuck…”

Once he began to tremble, you kept your eyes on his, never wavering, as he shot his load down your throat. Lapping up all his juices, you licked his cock clean as he moaned blissfully, his hand finally letting go of your hair. 

He offered his hand to you, helping you stand. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, eager to see where the night led you.

With the moon shining bright through the windows in your room, Jude guided you towards the bed, shedding the last of your layers on the way there. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you gently fell onto the plush covers. Jude climbed onto the bed, his body straddling yours, a hunger in his eyes that you missed so much. 

His mouth fastened to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a trail of biting kisses, his long fingers traveling up your thigh searching for your sweet spot. You let out a lewd sound when he slid a finger inside you, his thumb teasing your clit. 

His touch filled you with so much pleasure that when he finally slid his cock inside you, you felt like you might come instantaneously. 

Later you could take your time with him, but right now, you just wanted to feel every inch of him inside you as you squeezed his length on each thrust. Dragging your nails down his back, you left light scratches, marking him, claiming him as yours. Enraptured, he claimed you, his mouth sucking sweet marks across your chest.

When your pleasure peaked, it exploded. A warmth filled your body like you never felt before as Jude joined you in a state of rapturous bliss. He collapsed on you, your bodies still joined, your euphoria ephemeral.

He lifted his head and stared at you; the room was silent, so silent you could hear your heart pounding in your chest. He brought his hand to your face, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips.

Jude finally smiled at you, a smile so warm it made you melt.

“I really can’t get rid of ya, now can I?”

“Nope.”

“Even though I’m a bad man who does bad things?”

“Whatever,” you said with a huff of laughter.

He couldn't hide his smile as he pressed a kiss on your lips before resting his head on your chest.

Tagging: @redheadkittys @themiscarnival @coral-relevium @cyberk1ee @kookie-my-little-sunshine

@pathogenic @ellisgivesmelife013 @ikemen-writer @nightghoul381 @judejazza

@xbalayage @xenokiryu @alydra @drachonia @ranhanabi777

@silver-dahlia @lunaaka @ikesenwritings @starlitmanor-network @sh0jun

[hazbinhotelie]

Would you ever consider doing Alastor with a Mobster Reader?

(I have no idea how this would work and I don’t feel like doing proper research as to how the Mob works so here’s my best try)

“Don’t move,” I said, pressing the barrel of the gun to the radio demons head.

“Oh, this gives me Deja vu,” he said lightly. He chuckled and tried to look at me but I held him firmly in place.

“I said not to move,” I growled, keeping him pinned. “Or I’ll have to shoot.”

“Have to? You say that as if you don’t want to kill me,” he noted. He tried to catch a glimpse of me through his peripheral vision but couldn’t. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I’d rather not stain my clothes with blood,” I replied, nonchalant. “This is my favorite outfit.”

“Ah, but surely there must be another reason,” he said with a grin. In an instant he was gone, as if he’d disappeared into the shadows. I narrowed my eyes, then jumped when I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Over here, darling.”

“That was rude,” I said, lowering my gun. We both knew I never even stood a chance against him. I was wondering why he was still here.

“Like I said, Deja vu. I didn’t appreciate the memories that brought back,” he said, radio static crackling louder. His neck seemed to bend into an unnatural position, the alleyway we were in growing much darker and more eerie. I shuddered. “Now, tell me, who in their right mind would send an average sinner demon like yourself after an overlord like me?”

I froze, hesitated for a moment, then told him. I had nothing to lose. I wasn’t the most loyal of people, and I didn’t feel like being killed by the cannibal standing before me. If I ever returned to my boss, I’d get a death that didn’t involve being eaten or ripped to shreds.

“Ah,” he said with a nod. All the malice in the atmosphere lifted, and he returned to normal. “I’ve heard of that group. I’ll be sure to stop by and give them a proper warning for messing with the radio demon.” He paused for a moment, thoughtful as he looked at me. I still had my gun in hand, but I was making no attempt to harm him. “You’re a new member, aren’t you? You must be awfully skilled for them to send fresh meat like you my way.”

“I..” I fumbled, not knowing what to say. Was he going to kill me? Why hadn’t he killed me the moment I put the gun to his head? What did he want, why had he kept me alive? “I am new, yes.”

“Mm,” he said. “Then you haven’t sold your soul to them, have you?”

“No,” I replied truthfully. I put my gun away, not seeing a point to holding it anymore. “I haven’t.”

“Good. I have a proposal to make,” he said with a grin. He walked up to me and linked our arms, walking me down the street with him as if we were friends.

“A… proposal?” I asked, giving him a look. My other hand hovered over the holster for my gun. I had no shot of killing him, but if I was in danger I’d like to at least put up a fight. There were also other demons and sinners, too. They could attack at any moment, and I wasn’t sure the radio demon would keep me from harms way.

“I think we should make a deal,” he said cheerfully. “You give me your soul and I won’t kill you.”

“That’s not a particularly good deal,” I noted, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not the only one capable of hurting me. A random demon could kill me, an imp could kill me. Hell, a dedicated duck could kill me. You aren’t that special.”

“You make a good point,” he said. He laughed to himself, though I didn’t know why. “Hm, you are a level headed one, aren’t you? I do think you’d make a good addition to my collection.”

“Your collection?”

“Yes,” he said. He snapped his fingers and spindly creatures emerged from the shadows, trailing after us. They looked sewn up and jagged, unlike any demon I’d seen before. “These are my shadow creatures. This is what happens when I receive a soul but have no use of it anymore. It’s also what happens when I’m in a bad mood and some poor sinner happens to upset me.” He eyed me, a predatory grin on his face. “A poor sinner who was only doing their job as apart of the Mob, a poor sinner like you.”

“Ah,” I said, understanding. “That’s just another threat, though. If you were really in such a bad mood, you’d have done it the moment I attacked you. You’ve kept me alive, you’re walking with me now. You’re either enjoying yourself, getting some sort of entertainment from seeing me nervous, or you’ve got something in mind that you’d like to use me for. That’s why you want to make a deal, isn’t it?”

“You’re observant,” he stated. Dodging the question. He dismissed the unsettling shadow creatures and we continued our walk. “Still have your hand by your gun, too. You’re smart enough to avoid conflict when you can and try to appease me, but you’re never going down without a fight. Interesting. Interesting indeed…” he muttered to himself as we walked, sinners jumping out of our way. I wasn’t comfortable around him, but he was intriguing. “What if I changed the rules of the deal? Made it a bit more fair and beneficial to you?”

“I think that’d be good,” I said, keeping a poker face. “What exactly would I gain?”

“I’ll protect you from any serious harm, especially by imps, everyday sinners, and the like. You’ll have a nice place to stay, and I’ll ensure your boss and associates don’t come after you. You’ll be free from the mobs grasp, and completely safe from them,” he said, still thinking.

“And food? Clothing? Possessions?” I asked, tilting my head inquisitively.

“I will ensure you have the means to eat a proper meal, get some rest, and the like. I know other Overlords dictate what the souls they own wear, and what they keep, but I don’t particularly care for that. You may wear whatever you want and own whatever possessions you’d like,” he replied, a hint of disdain creeping in his voice at the mention of other overlords. “I won’t keep you from living your life, I simply have a few rules alongside your requirements for working for me.”

“Okay,” I said with a nod. That made sense, it seemed reasonable. I hadn’t expected him to be so…. fair. It was almost generous, coming from an overlord. “What would be expected of me?”

“First and above all else, you can’t betray me,” he said, snapping his attention to me directly. Now I had his undivided attention and he was giving me a stern look. “You may not go against me or harm me in anyway. You are not allowed to take part in any plan that could negatively impact on me.”

“Okay, you want me to be loyal, then,” I said. I thought for a moment, then smiled. “That won’t be hard at all. You’re quite nice, you know. Not what I expected from the radio demon, but it’s a pleasant surprise.”

“I’ve been threatening you for half the time I’ve known you,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. “In any case, your actual job is to help me with my endeavors at the Hazbin Hotel. If I ask you to do something for me or anyone there, so long as it has to do with the hotel or protecting its inhabitants, you must comply. Understood?”

“Yep,” I said with a quick nod. “That’s the one for rehabilitating sinners, right?”

“Yes, I take it you’ve actually heard of it? What, are you interested in the concept?” He asked, giving me a look. He seemed surprised at the very notion.

“Eh. Not currently. I think it’s cool, but that’s not why I was asking,” I said with a shrug. I looked away from him for a moment, nervous again. “It’s just some of my possessions could be considered contraband in a place like that.”

“Oh,” he said, quieter. He thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’m not quite sure what you mean specifically, but as long as you’re not putting the hotel in any danger, it will be allowed. Weapons, especially. A bigger part of your job will be protecting the hotel and its inhabitants. We have a few people who like to venture into town often, and you will be expected to accompany them.”

“As a sort of bodyguard.”

“Yes, precisely,” he replied. “Now, I do think that is everything we have to discuss. Do we have a deal?”

I thought it over for a moment, going over each thing we’d discussed. Then, I shook his hand. “Yes,” I said.

“Good. It was a pleasure doing business with you, my dear.”

[wingsdippedingold]

At the end of the day that entire ACOTAR pregnancy plot point was bullshit. It was a breaking dawn rebrand and somehow worse.

It could’ve been written very differently and properly come across as concern for both mother and child AND coincide with the power to choose in a way that would be beneficial to the story. Instead Sarah decided to throw in a nonsensical plot point (because if Rhysand is as smart as she says he is, he would’ve considered the risks of having unprotected sex in a different form that literally has a wings beforehand, argue with the wall) to push some sort of agenda on the nature of women’s rights politics. She isn’t some intersectional feminist queen, she’s a privileged white women who used and continues to use her books to spread her own ideologies.

Obviously every book has their author’s own biases ingrained in them, but it’s the fact that she tried to write what Rhysand did as a morally correct option. It doesn’t matter that Feyre was like “Oh thanks Nesta for telling me,” he didn’t face any consequences for keeping critical medical information from Feyre. In fact he never faces and substantial consequences.

Feyre is a grown women (while I don’t think she should be a high lady or a mother at this point in her character yet) the narrative tries to convince the reader that she is, and yet acts as if she’ll drop dead the second she hears about the complications. Which is it? Is she an empowered, intelligent woman capable of leading a nation and marrying a man further in age from her than she is from her child, or is she an irrational innocent girl who can’t handle her own medical information? Feyre isn’t a sheltered dove, she has been through a lot, it’s absolutely nonsensical to pretend like there’s any reason for her not to be aware of the risks.

It’s not “oh Rhysand was going to tell her eventually” how eventual? It’s pretty clear there wasn’t a solution he could’ve made, so what, will he tell her while she’s in the middle of labor? He should’ve told her the second he knew, and so should have Madja, the medical professional.

SJM literally made the characters know what lactic acid was, but not a c-section. It was entirely intentional to frame the arc in this light. We don’t know for a fact that SJM is pro-life but it’s pretty obvious. The only reason people seem to agree with it is because it worked out in the end. If it didn’t I actually don’t know what they’d do, because SJM has never written Rhysand or Feyre to commit a crime that wasn’t justified in some way.

ALSO WHY THE FUCK WOULDNT THEY IUST HAVE HER SHIFT BACK TO ILLYRIAN FORM TO GIVE BIRTH??? she shifted fine in early pregnancy, which is more dangerous, but she can’t do it again? We know shifting doesn’t affect the baby in any substantial way since he was still born Illyrian (even though it absolutely should idc if it’s magic she’s changing her anatomy and guess what’s attached to that anatomy)

This was a reblog initially but I’m reposting it here because it’s long and I feel bad making people scroll

[honeygrahambitch]

How do you think Hannibal viewed Bedelia compared to Will?

Prepare for a long post.

Well up until meeting Will, Bedelia was the closest thing to "friendship" and "being seen" he has ever experienced. He trusts her to some extent, he allows himself to be vulnerable in front of her (sheds tears, insists that she is his friend).

Bedelia returns that to some extent but is still reserved. She indeed sees him, she accepts him but she doesn't understand him. Not the way Will does. She just knows he is very broken, very peculiar and lonely. He created some sort of codependency with her as well(just like Will pointed out later, Hannibal does that with everyone he is interested in). He is aware she will never fully see him. There will always be a vail between them but he has never had anyone better than her right?

At the same time he is playing with her as well and when he feels like he can't trust her anymore, he doesn't hesitate to try to kill her (but she leaves before he has the chance).

He did the same thing in Mizumono but decided not to kill Will, but just to punish Will for his betrayal.

I think he was very comfortable with her because they knew each other for a longer time. So it's the sort of comfort you feel around old distant ish friends. They don't judge you anymore. She admits she likes him, she is not afraid to tell him to touch grass. They drink wine together. She has an intimate knowledge of him.

His relationship with her is more similar to the one between him and Franklyn than the one between him and Will. She is reserved, she has her boundaries. Something attracts her to him and I think she knows she is safer on his side than against him. I think transference plays an important role in their relationship. Hence, their voyage in Europe.

Will on the other hand, is uncharted territory. The ideal person. He can assume his point of view. He is broken in the same way as him yet differently. So much potential. While Bedelia was not so much into the "murder" thing, Will was. Hannibal sees him as well as Will is capable to see him. And to understand him. So we are talking about symmetry and reciprocity. Which he doesn't have in his relationship with Bedelia.

And I think it's important to wonder why Hannibal felt the need to leave to Europe with Bedelia and not on his own. Wouldn't it had been safer? Cause he was aware she was not 100% loyal. Yes, yes it would have been safer but I genuinely think he was so hurt after Mizumono that he kind of needed someone to ground himself to. I think that for the first time, Hannibal Lecter was afraid of being alone with himself.

An old friend is helpful. A place to seek refugee. Even better that she is afraid of him, then she doesn't have much of a choice and he can still have some sort of control. They have some sort of chemistry. They give friends with benefits vibes honestly. But the main point is that he needs someone to talk to. Someone who he respects and someone whom he knows that has the skill of having intelectual conversations with him. She can handle his thoughts.

I hope this kind of answers your ask!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

So, i don't know how you would react at this BUT, i just read all of your posts and i think you're really amazing while answering ask's, so i just thought it might be good to share with you a ( kind of? ) headcanon that i have about Silver.

Like, i don't know if it actually makes sense. And pardon me if there's any grammar erros, i'm quite bad at english.

BUT i just feel that he is pretty "incapable" of truly expressing himself, unless it's when his knight mode are on, but even in this mode, has some difficulties. ( and by incapable i mean he has some pretty relevant difficulties with expressing himself in a sentimental way ).

I just have this sort of feeling that his creation with two non-human ( and one half-human ) beings as he was human have a large impact on him mentally, specially because Malleus and Lilia are not the most open ones in terms of sentimentality and Sebek is just bad at this as them and also have some issues with expressing himslef and being sociable.

Like, despite all the efforts Lilia put to make sure Silver grew up to be a good person, he couldn't really be that good on the social and emotional part and Malleus weren't the perfect teacher of it either, not even Sebek. So Silver just grew up subconsciously trying to follow their behaviors and manners, while the culture from Biar Valley also moulded his way.

( and I also see Lilia as someone who hides his true feelings behind this mask of energetic and teasingly playful guy. )

The sleep curse might had put some extra inner barrier in Silver's mind, as or he is completely afraid to trying be sociable or he just are indiferent to this because he don't actually think he is capable of something like that due to the curse making him sleep anytime plus all the baggage of being raised in a country were his specie in not viewied with good eyes and being raised by people he eventually knew that would live a lot many years than him, that compared to them, he's really just a common human with a short lifespan. I doubt this hasn't fucked up his mind.

I don't remember if it's actually mentioned something detailed about his relationship with his club partners but, i do think he can be respectful and chit chat for a few minutes, but just having a long, deep and intimate conversation with someone might be too overwhelming to him, since he practically lived his entire life having constant interactions only with his family. He's just caught in this cycle where his adopted dad hide his true feelings, Malleus pretty much do this too and Sebek probably doesn't even think about how he really feels, so he just follow them and lock himself in his own bubble.

So, i really don't know if this make any kind of sense. But i would enjoy if you share your opinion on this silly headcanon i have.

Hello and thank you for sharing your thoughts ^^

I originally wanted to keep this short, but I kept having more and more thoughts and continuously added to the post until it became an absolute behemoth 😅 I still feel like I could have said even more, but I’ll leave it at this for now.

Please look below the cut to read my response!! (Note: the focus will be mainly on Silver and Lilia’s relationship, as those two are usually the ones described as father and son + we know the most about those two as Silver grew up.)

Mmm… Firstly, I don’t know if “being incapable of truly expressing himself” is something that’s exclusive to Silver; this is a pretty consistent trait among the prideful students of NRC. They demonstrate this in different ways (Rook is secretive, the twins claim they would throw Azul away if he becomes boring, Jamil represses his desire to be free while serving Kalim, Cater does not outright tell Trey he wants to be besties but implies he wishes Trey were as close with him as he is with Riddle, etc.). Very few are willing to allow themselves to be vulnerable with one another, and this feeds into a lack of “deep and intimate conversations” amongst all of them, not just between Silver and his peers.

That being said, I do not believe that Silver generally has issues expressing himself. In fact, I would actually argue for the opposite: that Silver is one of the more open students (at least when it comes to his feelings). He has talked about his deep love and respect for his father on multiple occasions. He has many animal companions whom he communicates with. He has given various speeches about how he wishes for a world in which living beings of all races and live happily together. (This last example was vital in Fairy Gala: If; it was Silver’s heartfelt words that moved the pixies to return what they had originally taken from NRC.) He has said on more than one occasion that be is thankful for his father and owes him a debt, that he must somehow “repay” Lilia. He becomes concerned about not being alert and that others may think of him as rude for falling asleep mid-conversation and seeks to correct this. He also worries about his classmates thinking of him as scary and emotionless (and, again, tries to solve this problem). He sees the best in others, he lets them know it (for example, assuming that Jamil is worried about Kalim in Endless Halloween Night), and he gives earnest advice. He has no trouble asking for help either (something which the other NRC boys have trouble doing). He has a lot of tenderness that’s hard to find at NRC. Silver is simply earnest and speaks his mind, even if it can come off as blunt or perhaps a naive way of responding to the world. He has a very simple way of thinking and forming opinions (Vil asks him what’s the most beautiful? “You,” Silver says. Azul asks him what he thought of the food? “Good,” Silver says.)—and his lack of facial expression certainly doesn't help in conveying his emotions, no matter how earnest they may be.

The one major time Silver actively demonstrates repressing his emotions is in book 7, when he stows away his true sadness for the sake of seeing his father off with a smile. He breaks down when he’s away from the party and with Malleus, venting his frustrations about himself and how he cannot even fulfill his father’s final wish. Silver apologizes to Malleus for his “unsightly behavior”, referring to his tears, indicative of a negative emotion, as something to be ashamed of. This, in of itself, is not odd. There’s always a handful of subjects a person may feel uncomfortable talking about even with their friends and family. Maybe it’s finances, personal flaws, or failures. For Silver, it’s in relation to his life span and “owing” Lilia. That’s nothing unusual; most people are not willing to divulge everything to their loved ones; there’s typically something negative or shameful held back. (For example, Deuce wouldn’t be so eager to tell his mom about the violent outbursts he had at school since he’s trying to reform himself. I doubt the OB boys would be eager to tell their own families about their overblots, etc.)

What I deem to be Silver's greatest strength is his empathy, and I think that comes across in how he communicates. When he's talking with others, Silver is entirely emotionally capable, willing to hear them out, and even lend his support. Where he falters is when it specifically comes to matters of his place within his family (which is not present most of the time; most of the time, Silver is in that default empathetic state). This is a point of insecurity for Silver, and it is a large part of his character arc in book 7.

One can say Silver repressing his emotions related to this occurrence is a learned response due to a combination of things. For one, he doesn't want to disappoint his father by ruining his celebration with tears. (Silver cares a lot about others, usually prioritizing them over himself, whether it's putting their needs over his own or literally throwing himself in harm's way to defend them.) For another, Silver, as a human, may have developed insecurities or a complex from having grown up in Briar Valley, a place known to have a very low human population AND a history of war with humans (meaning it's possible that humans are discriminated against). I don't know if the "culture" of Briar Valley had an impact on Silver's communication, since we ourselves are not fully aware of what this "culture" is or how people normally express themselves. Just because fae can be standoffish to outsiders doesn't mean fae are standoffish to other fae when Silver happens to be in the immediate vicinity. We don't really know if Silver has previously expressed worries about the difference in his life span versus those of fae either, but I'd imagine this is something he had to learn for himself and come to terms with, much like the discovery of his adoption. I wouldn’t go so far as to say this "fucked him up" since it wasn't touched on or implied prior to book 7. Because of this, I don't get the impression that it's deeply concerning to Silver until the point it became relevant for his father and paying back the "debt" Silver feels he owes. (Then again, I acknowledge that perhaps these thoughts were not shared due to Silver's... unique style of communication.) I’m not going to speculate about the sleeping curse since we don’t fully understand how it works and I don’t want to make assumptions while I’m still uninformed.

While it’s true that Silver had limited interactions with people outside of Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek in his childhood, I wouldn’t attribute all of Silver’s characteristics to “he learned how to repress his emotions from them”. There were many other factors that contributed to the kind of person Silver would eventually become. His level-headedness comes in part from having to “grow up” fast since Lilia lacks the homemaking skills to look after him. Silver had to learn to cook (have you tasted Lilia’s food?) and clean (have you seen Lilia’s room?) in his place, as well as look after their cottage home whenever Lilia left on trips. He’s the calm that balances out his father. I’m not going to comment on Malleus since I’m not sure how frequently he visited Silver (which would impact the degree to which he affects him). Sebek, however, is also someone that Silver spent a lot of time with because 1) his grandpa already knows Lilia and 2) there are very few kids Silver’s age in Briar Valley. The circumstances just worked out that way. This also exposes Silver to Sebek and his family, as they looked after him on occasions when Lilia could not. Sebek’s two older siblings and parents, then, are also people Silver could look to as models. Otherwise, he seems to have mostly lived in their forest cabin and interacting with few living beings aside from the animals. He states that he rarely went to the capital (which we learn is because Lilia is banned from there) and that he didn’t even go to a middle school (implying Lilia home schooled him before NRC), so… yeah, he’s mainly isolated in the woods. This grants Silver a lot of time to slow down, to be introspective, and to consider both his own feelings and those of others. His awkwardness, then, may come from his social circle being small and not having an opportunity to interact with people beyond it. This creates a lack of awareness for how he may come off to others, as he’s so used to how acclimated Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek are to his usual demeanor. Silver doesn’t realize that his stoic expressions can read as unfriendly to others.

I think there are flaws in saying that Lilia is the type of person to hide his true emotions behind a smile: it’s true from the understanding of the PLAYER because we’ve learned in book 7 that Lilia kept secrets from Diasomnia. Silver’s origins, about the war, why he’s in a hurry to leave early, how Malleus hatched, etc. We as the players understand that Lilia tries to hide his own pain and suffering from those he loves. But… the issue is that Silver doesn’t know this (so how could he “copy” Lilia’s penchant for covering up his true emotions if he never picked up on the initial deception?). Silver fully trusts his father and does not really suspect Lilia of hiding anything from him (excluding maybe the occasional prank). Additionally, I would not conflate keeping secrets and hiding own’s emotions with discouraging sentimentality in Silver. Lilia has hard conversations with his son (like in book 7 right before he handed over the ring from Silver’s deceased parents), and that shows some degree of emotional intelligence and vulnerability. Isn’t he modeling a healthy way of dealing with feelings here? Isn’t Lilia right here, right now, telling Silver how proud he is of him? Lilia is able to be vulnerable too in these moments, regardless of what other secrets he may keep.

Another discrepancy is that both Lilia and Sebek (the ones whom Silver probably spent the most time with as a child, since Malleus had to stay in the castle and be trained and tutored) tend to “hide” their real feelings with very emotional methods (ie covering up one feeling with another feeling)—yet Silver himself didn’t learn to use do the same thing. If we include Malleus in the count, he’s the more consistently “emotionally repressed” character but still has his outbursts of rage and upset. Silver does not “copy” this either. He and Malleus are both calm, yes, but they come from different backgrounds which could breed this calm personality, not necessarily from one mimicking the other. (Silver was mostly in his cottage, Malleus is as in his castle.) This is, again, why I say that it would be faulty to attribute how Silver acts in large part or entirely to Lilia, Sebek, and Malleus. He has been impacted by far more than them and does not pull all of his knowledge on how to socialize from his dorm mates.

The last point I’d like to bring up is that wearing your emotions on your sleeve isn’t necessarily a good thing all the time, nor is it the only way one can express themselves. You can show your love through acts (Silver often thinks about what he can do to best support his father) or gifts too (Silver mentions Lilia puts a lot of thought into picking gifts for everyone). From this angle, we can see that Lilia (Silver’s primary caregiver and guardian) has demonstrated and taught healthy ways of expressing one’s feelings too, and how Silver is capable of reciprocating in his own ways.

Now, am I saying that Lilia and the others were perfect in modeling emotions to Silver? Obviously, no. Misunderstandings happened—but what’s important is learning and growing from them. For example, Lilia failed to understand that Silver might be hurt to learn that he was adopted and thus Lilia acted in a callous way by laughing. But given how their relationship in present day is not strained, we can surmise that Lilia and Silver made up and that Lilia has become more attuned to his son’s sensitivities (as Lilia states that he can easily read Silver’s emotions). Lilia says as much in Malleus’s Dorm Uniform vignettes, telling Malleus that humans have different sensitivities than fae do. A lot of the values Silver had—such as the importance of unity among the races—must have also been instilled in him through Lilia and extensive talks. Again though, Lilia’s not perfect and sometimes he acts in ways which still earn Silver’s ire (Endless Halloween Night is a big one). Malleus himself also makes multiple mistakes when interacting with humans (overstepping with his powers, not paying attention to times, scaring them with his presence, not making an effort himself to reach out). Sebek regularly insults them despite being half human himself. (That’s a whole other can of worms; I’d recommend this analysis for my thoughts on Sebek and his whole deal.) But what I really love about the Diasomnia found family unit is that they balance out each other's flaws really well. Silver's empathy is a great asset to the group, as he's often the one settling disputes between Sebek and his peers or apologizing for Lilia's mischief. He's simultaneously the "heart" of the group and, to some extent, also the "brains" when the others need to be reeled in.

Ultimately, I don’t agree with the suggestion that Silver is “afraid of trying to be sociable”, is “indifferent to socializing”, or that “he doesn’t think he is capable of socializing”. I don’t think Silver would find long, deep, intimate conversations “overwhelming” either (unless, of course, it relates to his own particular insecurities. Recall that he has given those speeches about his hopes for all races to be united; that requires a degree of vulnerability on his part and Silver laid it out smoothly. Lilia has also had tough conversations with him too!). Silver is not a socially anxious person; I think it would be more accurate to say that he comes off in the eyes of his peers as someone who is hard to approach because of how stone-faced he is. Silver himself does not fear or shy away from socializing. He just speaks in a plain way to get his point across and because that’s how he communicates—it’s not the result of him wanting to close the conversation ASAP so he can get away. His sleepiness is another factor to consider (Silver worries others think of it as impolite), but it never outright discourages him from speaking to people to avoiding social interactions altogether to minimize the drowsiness impacting his life. He tries to find ways to stay more alert instead (trying to fix the root of the problem rather than a symptom of it)

I think an excellent encapsulation of Silver’s entire character is his Dorm Uniform vignettes; in them, Silver’s classmates express that they think he is unapproachable and that he has no emotions. Silver overhears these comments and becomes concerned that his peers do not like him, so he asks his friend, Kalim, and Jamil for help learning how to smile. We then learn through a series of comedic events that it is physically hard for Silver to smile or to make a different facial expression which matches his feelings more. What finally gets Silver to smile naturally is when he gets so lost in an activity that he isn’t even aware his expression has changed. Lilia and Malleus, who are watching him, remark on Silver’s uncanny empathy. Then Lilia says, “[Silver] conceals some powerful emotions beneath that poker face of his.” To this, Malleus corrects him: “I wouldn't say he actively conceals [his emotions], per se. I suspect he simply doesn't betray much emotion.” Lilia agrees: “I suppose that's fair. Not that I find him difficult to read, of course!” It’s then that Silver’s classmates realize they were wrong about him and they begin to act more friendly.

To summarize: Malleus outright says it in Silver’s Dorm Uniform vignettes; it’s not that Silver does not have emotions or finds it difficult to communicate in a sentimental way, it’s that peers tend to misread him because of his face and his frank way of speaking. He thinks a lot of the people around him and makes numerous attempts to adjust his behavior so that they are more comfortable being around him. He asks for help and offers help in return. His one weakness is not being able to fully come to terms with the fact that Lilia loves and accepts him as he is, that Silver IS enough for the family he now finds himself in. He may have learned things from Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek, but those three should NOT be held entirely accountable for Silver being the way he is. Several other factors played a role in shaping him to be the cool, level-headed knight we know and love. Silver is… Silver, and sometimes Silver is hard to read or struggles with self-acceptance! That’s just who he is, and that’s part of his appeal.

[cienie-isengardu]

Lo and Li and their (not) looking after Azula and Zuko in "The Beach"

I have talked a lot about Zuko and Azula lately because “The Beach” episode gives a lot of context for their relationship, but it would be a crime to omit the most funny detail (implication) coming from this episode: the presence of Lo and Li.

Those two older women were introduced into the series as Azula’s teachers (that definitely fueled her unhealthy sense of perfectionism) and some sort of advisors before the princess recruited Ty Lee and Mai on the hunt for Zuko, Iroh and later, the Avatar. The story alone gives little about Lo and Li, but considering their relationship and influences on the princess, we can assume they had, if not outright trust, then at least Ozai’s approval to keep an eye on his “precious”, prodigy daughter. As they were the only adults connected to Fire Lord and at whose house the Royal Siblings and their friends stayed in "The Beach" episode, I thought of them as not really nannies, but more like chaperones.

Zuko and Azula faced Avatar and survived, Mai and Ty Lee proved to be capable of beating down full grown men one on one (or more precisely, one vs many). So fine, ok, Ozai may trust his kids to be able to defend themselves - if the thought about their safety even occurred to him at all. But Zuko and Azula are, and I can’t stress it enough, teenagers sent on vacation and teenagers may do stupid stuff for fun just to taste the little freedom granted them. So it makes sense to me that Lo and Li should supervise the Royal Siblings, because vacation or not, they are still prince and princess, the precious heirs to the throne. And like, Zuko is with his girlfriend (official fiancee?) and you can never be sure what teenagers in love and with buzzing hormones will do, right? Same with Azula, who as we learn through the episode, will happily grab the occasion to flirt with a  handsome, popular boy and the innocent kiss turned out quickly into her passionate rant: “Together, you and I will be the strongest couple in the entire world! We will dominate the Earth!”. 

Azula’s mind really jumped from casual fun (no harm done if Ozai won’t learn about it) to the conclusion that boy she knew for what? a few hours at best will be her boyfriend and part of the future (military?) plans and understandable Chen freaked out and ran away. The taste of freedom affected even Azula, our so emotionally composed, clever girl, because again, a teenager, adolescent curiosity, lack of supervision and buzzing hormones are a dangerous mix. 

(I suspect Zuko getting Mai pregnant would be less scandalous than if Azula - the princess - ended with a bastard child at the age of 14/15. If Ozai would even allow the kid to be born.)

And what Lo and Li were doing the whole episode? Either giving some cryptic speech about how Ember Island is a magical place or encourage kids.

“Time to hit the beach!“ they said

while never bothering going with kids there

(or did Lo and Li have fun on their own ignoring the bunch of their temporary wards?).

And when Azula, Zuko and Ty Lee talked about Chen and why Azula didn’t betray their Royal Family status (and presumably of going to the night party)? Again, the two old women did nothing besides giving some more cryptic advice and saying “to the party!”.

Like, they were totally okay that Fire Royal Siblings (in range of age from 14 to 16) planned to stay at house of unknown boy(s) for the whole night. Again, Zuko is 16, at best almost 17, but Azula is 14 (at best 15) and I don’t think this is an appropriate age to let a girl - especially the princess you are responsible for - go to a party with presumably much older boys. 

(Unless this is why Azula demanded Zuko, her older brother, to be invited alongside her? Not like he checked out if she is alright before he was kicked out for the fight with Mai over some guy but I guess, with a sister like Azula it is easy to assume she doesn’t need babysitting, because Azula could and would kick Chen or anyone else’s ass if they pissed her off). 

My point is, Lo and Li could give the girls and Zuko some serious talk or at least ask to be careful or anything the supposed chaperons should say (or like,  outright demand from Zuko to keep an eye on his younger sister and the noble girls as the oldest and you know, the guy). Because Azula is first and foremost a princess, the same as Zuko is the prince and like, the Royal Family does not need any teenage drama and scandal (and from the previous episode we know Azula and Zuko are now the public figures at the capital).

I’m not sure if perceiving Lo and Li as some sort chaperons to the “banished for a weekend” Royal Siblings was author’s intention or not, but there is something incredible funny how those old women introduced as strict teachers criticizing Azula for not perfect hairstyle while she is working on her lighting technique - a skill absolutely amazing to have at the age of 14 - won’t even bother to keep an eye on the same girl and just let the whole bunch of emotionally stunted and traumatized teenagers freely roam on the “magical” beach and go to night party to total strangers. It is pretty hilarious if not a bit sad. Because wow, Ozai did not give much fuck about any of his kids one way or another. 

Aaand this is what I get when rewatching ATLA as an adult lol.

I know this is animations for kids/teenagers, but what if Chen didn’t freak out? Would Azula be curious enough to experience something more than just a kiss? And well, we assume Chen and Ruon-Jian are in age close to Zuko & Azula (as if they were adults they would be enrolled into army, I think?) But there is still a room for them being older than Zuko who himself is two years older than Azula. Also, them inviting Ty Lee & Mai specifically for how they look without bothering to ask for their name and the way a group of boys cornered Ty Lee to the point she needed to chi-blocking all of them kinda gives me the feeling the party was an occasion for them to pick up girl for night or something along the way. Dunno if I read the scene/intention right but it gives that vibe I guess…?

[tra1nchi]

have you considered brador from bloodborne... a mysterious assassin wearing a beasthide with a sadistic side...,, i bet he fucks feral and hard (⁠●⁠♡⁠∀⁠♡⁠) he even lives in a jail cell full of chains and beds for kinky fun (⁠〃ﾟ⁠3ﾟ⁠〃⁠) what could he possibly do to us.,??

bttm!male reader please and thank you (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

what he did to my boy Simon will never be forgiven 😔 MINORS DNI!! Bttm male reader,,rough sex,,chained up,,Bj,,

The only thing on your mind was revenge,,you were a hunter of the beasts at heart and never liked killing your fellow man,,maybe the blood was corrupting your mind,,you knew who killed him,,

Finally managing to break your way into his jail cell,,Bradors smile was one of amusement as he tilted his head at the sight of you flushed with anger,,the jagged horns of the scalp he wire on his head showed who he really was,,

"You found me quite fast dear hunter" He stood up and as you took a step back,,he grabbed your cloak and shoved you down against one of the many broken and rotting beds,,you stared into the eyes of the man who killed your friend before his arm lifted and your vision grew dark,,

When you awoke again your arms were chained,,your cleaver and gun were no where in sight but your dick felt warm and wet,,being naked and strewn up in the air was not a good look for you!!

You felt bradors mouth leave your cock,,he still had the beasts scalp in his head but his clock was removed,, "there you are, I hope you had a nice nap." He coos!! His hands moving down your quivering thighs,,your arms trembling from holding up your weight!!

"I've seen you talk with...him and I couldn't help myself, sweetheart." He spits out,,his hands gripping onto your thighs,,his hands moving over the prick marks created by the blood vials,,

Even as you tried to fight him off,,his fingers moved up towards your hole,,roughly making their way inside without preparation!! "Such a pliant little thing, are you sure you're a hunter?" He muses,,looking up at your hanging form with a cruel grin!! >□<

Eventually letting you down from your restraints but only shoving you against one of the many beds,,shoving himself inside without warning as he leans down close your ear,,the fluff of the cleric beast rubbing against your skin,,"Maybe we should stay in this cell together, what do you say love?"

His manic chuckles echoed through his open cell as it soon dawned on you that you were stuck with him for the rest of the nightmare,,atleast you had someone capable of protecting?

[half-bakedboy]

Taylor Kelly rant:

She redeemed herself fully in season 4. She redeemed herself in each and every episode she was in.

She came back only for Buck to treat her like some trophy girlfriend and manipulated her into a date that wasn't a date all because his ego was hit. Still, she reached out to him to help her with a miracle (that made her cry on LIVE TV) because she knew that if anyone was capable of one, it was Buck. Together, they made sure no vaccines had to be destroyed and saved the day. Together.

Next, Buck went to her for the sole purpose of using her passion for work to convince her to help catch the person who hit Sue and kidnapped Tracy. She did everything she could do (even being detained by the police) to help Buck (and the victims) with what he asked. When all was said and done, she showed up at Buck's house to celebrate and when he thought they were celebrating her career, she said, no. We're celebrating justice for Sue and Tracy. Justice.

Those two instances alone have provided more growth than Tommy has been able to show (to no fault of his) and the fandom is out here making excuses for his shitty, sexist, racist, homophobic behavior.

But yet, the fandom still hated Taylor throughout all of it and bullied Megan so badly, Oliver still talks about it.

And before I get asks again, I know what Taylor did with Jonah was not great, but she was vilified WAY before that. You're sexist and misogynistic and like to fetishize gay men, I said what I said.

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Rebound

Part two to Underground

Pairing: Fighter!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You lose your last tether to the normal world and Bucky has to make a decision. You’re officially part of the Underground. Does he help you, or not?

Warnings: 18+. Angst, violence, fluff and smut.

Words: 5OOO

The demanding throbbing in your feet nearly feels delightful as you drag yourself home to your cramped apartment. As the sun rises and the city turns pink and orange, your building starts to come alive. Though you can barely manage to keep your eyes open.

You can tell the Underground is starting to toughen you up. You make longer days, are a bit paler in your face, making your features sharper, and the bravado you muster as you survive every night is surely something that has started to cling to your face and posture permanently. The people that start their days at sunrise, the ones that weren’t blipped from society and still have a life to return to, they walk around you in a big circle now.

It only makes you feel smug. The society slowly casting you out – starting to fear you.

However, your confidence has a short lifespan when you walk up to the front door of your apartment. The fresh paper with red capital letters stamped on it shouldn’t come as a surprise. You have tried to hold this moment off for as long as possible, going even as far as to take small side jobs in the fighting dome to make some extra money.

You suppose it was only a matter of time before you’d have the words ‘EVICTION NOTICE’ stamped across your door.

And your adrenaline spikes again, realising the time has come that you are officially homeless. You have been well and truly cast out by society, something both you and Natasha had been trying to fight and hold off for as long as possible. This is why the spy had introduced you to the Underground, to make some sort of living. And Nat had never judged you for staying in denial a little longer, even though you knew you would have to get used to the Underground fast, because it was only a matter of time before it would be your new home.

So no sleep for now.

You rip open the door and start packing, leaving all the old furniture that was already there and ending up with one big, stuffed duffel bag and a smaller bag. And then you stand in your place that is no longer your place and truly has never really felt like your place. You look around and feel angry …and hurt. After all, you have been chewed up and spit out, like so many before you.

You stuff that feeling far, far away and vacate the building right as de evening rolls back in. Evening already – since you have tried to put off this moment for as long as possible, have extended packing for hours. Since you don’t have a clue where Natasha lives, if she even resides in the country right now, you are forced to step to the one person you do not want to go to…

As you enter the dome, the place eerily quiet since the nightlife is a long way from commencing, you mildly greet the bartenders and crewmembers readying for the night. You scrunch your face at the stench, wondering if the place ever really gets cleaned. In the darker corners you see things that you decide are none of your business and you drag yourself through centre of the Underground, the capitol of dodgy business.

Making your way to the locker room, you breathe a sigh of relief when you find it empty. Finding a locker in the far back, you stuff it full with your last belongings and pray that none of it gets stolen. Maybe you can find a place in this building to sleep in. You have definitely seen other people crash here for the night, though you debate how safe you’d be. You hardly think you’d close an eye in a place like this.

Then, all the hairs on your body stand up straight.

You slowly turn to find Bucky staring at you, one brow quirked and that being the only sign of his curiosity. “Why are you already here?”

You swallow, “Just trying to get some extra work in.”

Neither of you have talked about what happened nearly a month ago. How you rode his leg with his fingers inside of you until you had one of the most intense orgasms of your life. And how that had been enough for him to come nearly untouched. Well, you say untouched, but you had felt just how heavy he was on your tongue and that’s where you wanted him coming next. Badly.

And you can’t exactly say the tension between you has shifted much. Something that made you realise just how high tensions between you already were. But you dropped it, so had he.

“You have to be careful with those side businesses,” he tells you as he turns to his own locker, one that does have a lock. “People will take advantage of a woman like you.”

“I can take care of myself just fine, thank you,” you snap at him and move to find your bag of supplies for the fight. You try to calm your breathing as you find the bag, kneel down and rummage through it, checking if you need to restock any of your supplies, if only to give yourself something to do for the upcoming hours.

But your spine stiffens again and it’s a little darker around you. So you turn and immediately stand up with you see Bucky looming over you. His eyes rove over your face, peering straight through to your soul, where it quivers before him.

“If you could take care of yourself,” he drawls, “you wouldn’t be homeless right now.”

You startle, “What? How do you know?”

He smiles, but it feels more vindictive than smug. “Because word travels fast, sweetheart, and a pretty girl like you on the loose is gold in the Underground.” He pauses and then his smirk turns smug, “Especially when she’s desperate.”

“I’m not desperate!” You squawk in outrage and he takes a step closer, close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face.

He clenches his jaw, eyes hardening. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

“That is none of your concern.”

Bucky lets out a humourless laugh, tilting his head up and running his tongue over his teeth in annoyance before he lowers his gaze back to yours. “You see, it seems like I’ve signed a stupid fuckin’ contract where that is my concern. So please tell me you have a plan and I don’t have to intervene.”

“Intervene?” you sneer and roll your eyes. “Please, it’s not like you can offer me anything out of this place. You’re not here by choice.”

He quirks his brow, seemingly intrigued by that assumption. “Is that what you think? What if I was here by choice, huh? What if I chose this life?”

You fall silent at that, and decide to keep it like that. An argument with him won’t be worth it. Besides, what are you going to tell him? You have nothing and no one. You are officially at your wit’s end and for you, that is saying a lot. The silence stretches… and stretches…

“Give me something to do,” you tell him quietly –deflated– when he doesn’t break the silence either. You don’t see Bucky’s face soften when he watches the defeat in your face before you stare down at the ground.

Bucky’s skin prickles like there is electricity in the air. Because he’s angry. He’s pissed and furious and so fucking angry. That the world can spit out a woman like you, like it has let down so many good people after the Blip.

And the anger doesn’t seize. It only gets worse, like magma bubbling under his skin and boiling his bones. That night, he beats up opponent after opponent in what seems like a record time. People get killed in these fights all the time, they fight to the death all the time. After all, there are too many people and you know what you signed up for when you enter this place. Yet, it’s a line Bucky has never crossed, never will cross. Not anymore.

It’s difficult, to stay of this side of that line tonight. He wants to kill. He feels the soldier crawling under his skin, flipping knives in anticipation, begging Bucky to unleash him. And he thinks he has hardly been this angry before. Bucky yanks on that leash and fights, each punch and kick doing nothing to quench his thirst for justice.

Win after win, Bucky ruins everyone who dares to take it up against him. But he doesn’t hear the crowd – the screams for more blood and sensation, the cheers that he is the most dangerous man in the Underground. He only hears the rushing of his blood in his ears as he thinks about the woman the world has abandoned – as he thinks about you.

…

“Grab your bags. You’re coming with me.”

You gape at your two bags sitting on the leather bench and peer back at all of the lockers, each of them seeming like they have been ripped open with brute force, some of them dented in a manner that looks like a metal hand gripped its edges. You briefly glance at his metal hand and then up to his face.

Unflinching. His command and his face.

So you grab your bags and follow after him silently. Through countless of alleys and wild crowds that seem to think the night of violence has only just begun, even though the sky is turning lilac with dawn. You sometimes hobble to catch up with the soldier, your arms quaking under the weight of your duffel bag. But you keep marching onward, the last dregs of your energy fuelled by what is to come.

The stairs of the industrial building are almost too much, but you try not to stumble since Bucky is walking behind you and that would severely hurt your pride. The fatigue is making every step feel like torture, like you’re climbing a sandy hill and you have to move carefully to keep from slipping into the dark depths. When you do stumble slightly, the weight of your duffel tipping you backwards, you feel the faintest nudge of a warm hand at your lower back, just enough to tip you back and let you continue your trek up the stairs.

Bucky overtakes you at last and opens a door with around twenty locks attached to it, all of them unlocked. He walks in like it’s habitual and you trudge after him, your energy spiking enough to take in the sight. Bucky walks over to the floor to ceiling windows and rolls down the beige canvas curtains. Just as the sun peaks over the horizon of the city and orange light pours into what you can only assume is Bucky’s home.

It's big. Simple and imposing, but cosy nonetheless. There are plants, a fact that has you fighting to keep from smiling. And brown leather furniture, a beautiful and clean kitchen… You turn your gaze back to the man of the house, who is now standing beside a massive bed with cream sheets and fluffy pillows. Your eyes become bleary at the sight, sleep fighting its way to the surface and threatening to drag you to the floor.

Bucky panics slightly at the look on your face and strides over, grasping your bag from your trembling arms. He has to hold back from cursing at the thought that you must not have slept for over forty-eight hours and how dreadful the past day must have been for you.

He guides you to his bed and lets you collapse into the sheets as he pulls off your boots. Bucky knows you would have put up more of a fight if you weren’t so exhausted, but he won’t use it against you. Just like you didn’t use his weakness against him when you were massaging him.

That massage.

He cannot cast the thought from his brain. Never mind what followed the massage. The woman that was on his knees for him, that came around his fingers and was moaning for him so beautifully – she seems like such a far cry from the woman before him. How you can be so careful and feisty, yet such a dream when it comes to his most sinful fantasies. What you did to him in that locker room that day has been playing in his head on repeat. And he wants to slap himself for wanting to crawl beneath the sheets now, drag those clothes off your body, spread your thighs and bury his face between them–

He quickly stands from the bed and clears his throat, casting you one more look before he’s off to the kitchen area and refill his energy in other ways.

…

When you wake up, it’s dark again. It takes you a while to orient yourself, your body fighting off the heavy blanket of sleep you have been swaddled in. The bed below you is more comfortable than anything you have ever felt and the smell–

Pushing up to a seat, your body becomes alert of your surroundings just in time to hear the rattle of about twenty locks opening. In walks Bucky, slumping as he moves his bruised body across his own floors. He notices you, doesn’t pay you any mind, and then plants himself to sit at the edge of the bed you are laying in. He bends down with a quiet grunt, unlacing his boots and peeling them from his feet.

He seems exhausted. And judging by the darkness, he has called in an early night. You push off the sheets and crawl towards him. Bucky tenses almost imperceptibly, but you gently put your palms on his wide shoulders. You swear you see him shudder, before his back bends over more in relaxation.

“I lost tonight,” he tells you as you slowly circle your warm palms over his back.

He lost. That’s unlikely. Something must have happened for him to lose. He must have been distracted. Or someone new has joined the Underground. Something’s maybe different. Shit, you were supposed to take care of him yesterday. He’d fought harder than you’d ever seen him fight. He must have been broken this morning– But, no. He has fought fights without your care for God knows how long. It couldn’t have made a difference now.

“What happened?” you ask, doubtful he’ll open up to you.

His head snaps backwards and you flinch at the look in his eyes. “What do you mean ‘what happened’? You happened. Can’t fucking focus with you being all dramatic with your personal bullshit.”

You draw back. “Excuse me?! I don’t recall making my problems yours!”

“Well, they are now, aren’t they?” he snipes back and runs his hands through his hair in frustration.

And you think maybe it’s not you he’s frustrated with.

“What do you want from me?” you ask quietly. Timidly.

You barely hear him, his voice muffled by his hands as he speaks, “I want you on all fours.”

But you did hear him. Some part of you heard him, that’s for sure. The heat that left your body after your endless sleep is returning to you in a different form, pebbling your skin with anticipation. You swallow hard and barely manage to get out, “What?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and slowly turns to you.

“Lie on your stomach.” The order is soft, but so, so clear and not gentle by any means. You search his eyes frantically, but only find his immovable self. Your traitorous body lights on fire at what she finds. So you do as you’re told.

And you wait.

Two large, warm hands travel up your clothed legs. Kneading your calves, your thighs, until they knead your ass. You cannot help but push your hips back to seek the pressure. You feel his looming presence crawl over you and you hold your breath. Soft lips press to your shoulder that got exposed after your shirt slipped slightly.

His hands slip around your hips and under them. The feeling of your jeans popping open, makes your core throb with need. He pulls your jeans down, but not off. No, just far enough down for access and to keep you in place, barely enough give even allow you to squirm.

Then, you feel his weight press into your body and you could have never imagined feeling his weight would be enough to make you want to moan. That’s when you register the feeling of his hard bulge against your ass and you push up against him again. Bucky answers with a muffled growl against your shoulder, followed by a gentle bite as a warning.

“Careful,” he drawls, one hand holding him up slightly as his other spreads over your side and slips under your shirt to feel your bare skin. You shudder at the feeling and bite your lip, your fingers curling into the pillow below your head.

How is this even possible? How can you deteriorate so quickly when he has barely touched you? His breaths turn heavy against your neck and you twist your head to hear him better, your mouth so close to his now. You wonder why it is that his breathing is coming out more laboured, but the only thing you can come up with is that it’s plain old restraint that is stiffening his body, his lungs.

One of your hands reaches back and up, and you scrape the pads of your fingers over his stubble. Bucky’s grip on the sheets tightens and his hips roll down into you in response. His mouth attaches itself to your neck and he hums as he grazes his teeth over your skin, his tongue soothing the pain instantly.

“Bucky,” you whisper and he rolls his hips again. The hand under your shirt slides to your front and grabs your breast, kneading the flesh in his hand. Desperate, clingy. He groans.

Something is shifting between the two of you and you feel a rawness coming to the surface. You remind yourself Bucky is requesting this for a reason, but he might be lost in it. In you. Then, you hear him mumble against your skin. Something you’re not sure he wants you to hear, but you give a soft coo to urge him to repeat himself.

“Please,” he moans softly. “Please.”

His hand slides down and wastes no time before slipping into your underwear, his entire hand cupping your cunt as he rolls his fingers through your folds. You gasp and let out a moan, writhing your hips when you cannot choose between moving up or down.

He’s rutting into you like a starved man, his fingers indulging in their exploration like he’ll find salvation between your legs. You open your mouth to ask him what he wants, but he rolls his fingers over your clit and you let out a whimper instead, making Bucky nuzzle his nose right below your ear.

“You’re all warm,” he mumbles and kisses your neck, your jaw – so close to your lips. His fingers are torture, so devious yet so innocent. As if he’s completely content playing with you like this for hours. Your belly flutters and tightens and warms at the sensations he coaxes to the surface.

It’s selfish, what he’s doing. This is all him, trying to console himself.

“Don’t,” you breathe desperately and roll your hips into his hand. “Don’t tease, Bucky.”

“ ‘M not. Just feeling you,” he whispers and you open your mouth to fight him on it, but then his warm mouth covers yours and the moan that spills from your throat is sinful. His tongue immediately invades you and you melt as he consumes you everywhere that he can. One finger slips through your wetness and into you and Bucky inhales the response you give him, groaning in response.

He grinds down, so do you, completely out of sync and with mouths moving desperately over each other. You cling to your pillow with one hand and bury your other in Bucky’s hair, pulling when he adds another finger and his weight keeps you from moving into him more. You whine against him, sensations at war within you when he keeps playing with you like a selfish cat.

“I’m so fucking wet,” you whimper and Bucky grunts in agreement, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Just stop playing–”

Bucky laughs then – laughs – a manly chuckle as he nudges his nose against yours. You want to cry for mercy and your toes curl when his fingers do, making you clench around him tightly. Your orgasm is being dangled in front of you like a carrot and you wonder if he just wants you to feel the way he feels. Frustrated, angry. Like he has no control whatsoever.

But what he does next goes so fast, it makes your head spin. Your body goes cold when his fingers leave you and when his body rises from yours, leaving you behind. But your hips get lifted and the pillow below your head gets snatched and shoved beneath your hips. You try to move, if only to accommodate his inexplicable actions, but your jeans are keeping you from moving.

You feel him crawl over you again and this time, you do moan at the pressure, bending your back to press up against him. He grinds down in response and you feel the pressure of the pillow against your womb, shooting tingles through your limbs when you realise what he’s done.

One of Bucky’s hands slides over yours and pins it to the mattress, your fingers automatically curling around the security of his. And it’s nice, the feeling of him engulfing you. It feels safe and warm and insanely intense. You turn your head, hoping to find him near. Your heart swells when he presses a kiss to your cheekbone.

“I want to fuck you,” he murmurs against you skin and you nod frantically, making him chuckle again. “I’m not against begging for it at this point.”

And apparently, you’re not entirely gone, since your lips curl into a smirk and your voice drops to a low purr when you tell him, “Please beg for me.”

How ironic, to beg someone to beg for you. Though, your brief confidence doesn’t falter. If anything, it is about to skyrocket.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, his soft lips moving against the sensitive skin. “Let me inside you. Let me make you feel good.” He sounds so genuine, so depraved and full of longing. You have to swallow down the carnal desire that crawls up your throat. You nearly choke when you feel the tip of his bare cock nudge against your folds. “Open up for me. Let me slip right in and I’ll fuck you into the mattress, okay? My mattress.”

You nearly whine, all ready to completely cave for him. And then he finishes it with a whisper in your ear, “Please, sweetheart. Let me have you.”

Yeah. Yes. Oh, yes. You mouth the words, but no sound comes out. You might be slipping outside of your body. The way Bucky sounds – his voice so deep, yet needy. You can only nod your head and squeeze his hand, rubbing yourself up against the tip of him.

“Hm, good girl.”

He slides home with one easy thrust, pressing you down into the mattress and skating his cock over each of your swollen walls. You cannot form a sound, or a thought, or catch a fucking breath. Especially not when he rotates his hips slightly and presses down even further.

You nearly choke, quiet for a long second, before you heave in all the oxygen that you can manage, “Oh my god!”

He pulls out slightly and rolls back in, keeping you full and stuffed and only nudging your spot with the tip of him. Over, and over, and over–

“That’s the spot, huh?” he pants against your ear and ruts into you further. “Right… there.” You gasp on a whine and he presses a kiss to your temple. The pillow adds a delicious pressure and you wish to put your hand there, just to feel him move in and out of you.

It’s so perfect, so sating, so much and deep and– You didn’t know it could be like this. Didn’t know it was possible to suddenly realise how screwed you are for the future. How nothing and no one will ever be able to compare to this. To him.

Your orgasm crawls closer and it feels like nothing you have felt before. Your clit is throbbing and aching and your walls are hugging Bucky like he’s never allowed to leave. Your hips tighten and your shoulders scrunch as your orgasm clamps down on you like a snake ready to strike.

“Bucky, I’m–”

He tightens his grip on your hand and latches onto your hip. “Yeah, I know. Me, too.”

You hear the strain in his voice, the hint of disappointment and you scramble to get your brain back in order. “Come in me, Bucky. Come inside me,” you rush out through quick breaths. You can’t elaborate. You just need him to fill you.

He leans back over and slows his thrusts, his breath fanning over your flushed skin. “Yeah? You want me to make a mess of you? You want proof that I fucked you deep enough?”

You let out a grumpy whine and he laughs beautifully as he drops his forehead to the back of your head. He picks up his thrusts, slow and deep and steady. His swollen cock slides over every cushion inside of you and you shudder at how sensitive your are so close to your orgasm. But it comes quicker than you anticipated. You wanted him to go faster, but with this tempo, you feel the orgasm that is coming closer might drown you.

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him to speed up, but the wave has already reached the shore and your ears hollow out.

The tremors seem to start from within as you swell with pleasure, seizing around Bucky and threatening to curl up. You think you might be grasping for something to hold onto as Bucky remains consistent through your orgasm, fucking into you with a steady rhythm and meeting you with every contraction of your high.

It is so completely overwhelming that you barely feel it when he comes, if it isn’t for the litany of beautiful moans and whimpers from him against your neck. He bites your skin to ground himself through his own orgasm and then melts over your body, pulling your hand to his lips.

Bucky quiets his own breaths to make sure he hears yours and is happy to learn how sated and satisfied you sound with your soft pants. He crawls off of you and gently tugs you over on your back, smiling as he watches you bend to his will.

Peeling off your jeans, he keeps his eyes on you, mesmerised with the sight and the feeling of having you in his bed. A feeling he had yesterday, too. Not just lust…

Your eyes peel open and you peer down at him while he strokes his sweaty palms up and down your calves and thighs. “Is this part of my ruse as a physical therapist and personal nurse now?”

Bucky quirks a brow at your wit and you feel something unfamiliar at the relaxation on him. How he seems more expressive and gentle and less guarded.

“No, this is private.”

Bucky’s eyes rove over your body and you flush with warmth, both from his words and from his assessing stare. You feel him drip from between your legs and swallow, fighting the urge to close your thighs. But Bucky, ever the trained assassin, immediately notices and lets a smirk crawl over his face.

He leans down and presses his lips to your left knee, eyes narrowing in on your cunt. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack when you told me to come inside of you.” You freeze at his words and keep a close eye on him. “I fucking knew the sight would be good, but–”

He lets out a starved groan.

You sound wary, “Bucky.”

He spreads your knees and crawls down to kneel at the foot of the bed, tugging you towards the edge. Surely, he wouldn’t–

You throw your head back when Bucky dives head first between your legs, running a flat tongue through your folds. You’re not sure if it’s the taste or simply the idea of him licking you clean of himself, but Bucky growls and hauls you closer, nudging his nose against your clit like he’ll never find anything better than what’s between your thighs.

You cannot help but bury your fingers in his hair, the wild throbbing between your legs pushing your mixed essences out and onto his tongue where Bucky drinks it up appreciatively. His fingers dig into your flesh and it takes a while for Bucky’s ministrations to have any other purpose than to taste you. But when he sucks your clit into his mouth, you tug on his hair with warning, making him chuckle.

“You don’t fight fair,” you choke out and he grins up at you.

“Oh, sweetheart, if you knew what the prize was, you wouldn’t fight fair either,” he murmurs and moans in delight as he continues his feasting. “Now how about you give me that prize and come on my tongue, huh?”

No, Bucky didn’t lose tonight.

[inkskinned]

one of the things about having an unstable parent is that it can so easily ruin your future. you want to get out, but getting out takes having agency. it takes the resume and the grades and the stellar community service history.

but you have to choose your battles. you know if you sign up for an after-school activity, it'll be okay for a while, so long as the activity is parent-approved and god-fearing. over time, like all things, it will become an argument (i can't keep carting your ass to these things) or a weapon (talk to me like that again, see if you get to go to practice). sometimes, if you love the thing, it's worth it. but you also know better than to love something: that's how they get you. if you ever actually want something, it will always be the center of their attention. they will never stop threatening you with it. telling you of course i'm a good parent, i came to all of those stupid events.

you learn to balance yourself perfectly. you can either have a social life or you can have hobbies. both of these things will be under constant scrutiny. you spend too much time with her, you should be at home with family is equally paired with you're acting like this because you're addicted to what's on that goddamn screen. you cannot ever actually win, so everything falls within a barter system that you calculate before entering: do you want to learn how to drive? if so, you'll need to give up asking for a new laptop, even though yours died. maybe you can work on a computer at the library. of course, that would mean you'd be allowed to go to the library, which would mean something else has to bleed. nothing ever actually comes free.

and that bitter, horrible irony: you could be literally following their orders and it still isn't pretty. they tell you to get a job; they hate that your job keeps you late and gives you access to actual money. they tell you to do better in school; they say no child of mine needs a tutor. they want you to stop being so morose, don't you know there are people who are really suffering - but they revile the idea you might actually need therapy.

you didn't survive that fall the way other people would. you've seen other people scramble and get their way out, however they could. maybe you were made too-soft: the answer didn't come to you easily. it wasn't quick. it was brutal and nasty. some people even asked you why didn't you just work hard and escape during school? and you felt your head spinning. why didn't you? (they control your financial aid. they control your loan status. they love having that kind of thing). maybe in another life you got diagnosed sooner and got the meds you needed to actually focus and got attention from the right teachers who helped you clear hurdles to get up out of here - but for now? here?

the effort of trying. the effort of not-dying. that kind of effort was absolutely agonizing.

[uncanny-tranny]

The most infuriating form of sanism is this idea that mentally ill people/people with mental disorders are just too stupid or too unenlightened to know how to be a proper, well-adjusted person

So many therapists have ignored signs of my unwellness simply because they assumed I was just... being stupid, and I just needed educating about why I'm acting disordered (apparently, mental disorders stop disordering you once you are condescendingly told why you're just disordered and dumb, who knew (sarcasm)).

Like, I could tell them that I knew my behaviour wasn't "rational," wasn't "reasonable" to do or believe and I'd still be treated like I was so dumb I needed hand-holding and scolding about why I'm acting disordered.

I truly wish that people would be able to take the idea of guidance and stop twisting it into "I am superior and enlightened and the people I am trying to help are stupid and wrong and beneath me!"