#he belongs in a dress imo

[i-actually-post-stuff]

Day late for Spones day and it's still just a WIP😔

#they are on a sci-fi romance novel cover 🙂 #hehe #yes I just googled a thousand vintage romance novel covers and referenced one #Spones #Spones Day 2023 #Spock #Spock TOS #leonard bones mccoy #leonard mccoy #Leonard McCoy TOS #McCoy x Spock #McCoy/Spock #art #doodles #doodle #WIP #he belongs in a dress imo #should have been in a skant the whole show

[bunnyreaper]

merrier the more

pairing - john price x f!reader x john mactavish

wc -  3.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw, double vaginal penetration, wife sharing, unprotected sex

notes - after a million years i've finally gotten this out of my brain and written out! underrated threesome imo, lets goooo!! proofread but definitely not enough ♥

Thursdays were date nights, almost every week without fail, unless John was on a mission. Even when paperwork keeps him tied to his desk into the dark of the night, you join him in his office with takeout and a good book, content to enjoy his company in silence. 

It was one of the keys to your marriage being as successful as it is, and both you and John agreed—quality time was a must. 

This Thursday was a break in routine—John's energy has been decidedly different since you stepped foot in his office. He's always a little on edge when you see him at work, his jaw and shoulders tight, but tonight there's a hint of determination in his eyes. 

Captain Price is present, rather than your husband, John. 

The second difference comes in the form of a knock on the door, usually, the two of you go undisturbed as your standing date is known among the 141, and none of the men dare interrupt and draw their captain's ire. On the rare occasion that a knock would come, words would be exchanged quickly before being dismissed. 

Tonight, John invites the guest inside.  

"Sit, Soap." John commands, his voice low and dripping with authority in a way that draws your attention. 

The younger man complies, seemingly not on edge—his usual cocky confidence is still in full swing, in defiance of your expectations of the situation. Whatever Johnny is here for, he's not to be reprimanded or to report something grim. 

Both men's eyes are firmly fixed on you, gazes roaming over the way you lounge in your pretty dress on John's shitty office couch, your legs exposed to both of them. 

"C'mere love," John speaks, rolling back his office chair and patting his thigh temptingly. "Need your help with something."

You rise uncertainty, leaving your book behind as you make your way over to your husband, your eyes darting between him and his subordinate. Neither man says a word, just continuing to watch you as you move closer to them. 

Your mind starts to race, thinking of just what John could possibly need your help with. Occasionally, he asks you to read one of his men's imperceptible handwriting or gets into a debate with you about whether his own reports make grammatical sense. 

Something tells you neither is the case this time. 

When you make your way around the desk, you fall into John's lap obediently, facing away from him and watching Johnny watch you. 

The look in his eyes is not something you're blind to, not now, not ever. John MacTavish has always wanted you. John Price has never let you forget it—he's teased you multiple times about his soldier's crush, and made you admit while being fucked mindless to being attracted to the younger man too. 

Your husband got off on knowing his power, knowing that you belong to him regardless of Johnny or any other man's wishes, and knowing that while your eyes can still appreciate other men, they'll never be enough compared to Price himself. 

You sit patiently and wait, deferring to John and his air of authority as you wait for him to speak whenever he is good and ready. The silence is thick, John's paw trailing across your thigh, up to your waist where he holds you still, his grip insistent. 

"Sergeant MacTavish here is about to become a Lieutenant." He begins again, graveled voice now right in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "If Soap is getting a promotion, I need to know he can get the job done." 

John snaps his fingers at the Sergeant, beckoning him around the desk as John spins you both to face where Johnny is now standing. His hands move back down your body to your thighs, parting your legs slightly by opening his own so that you sit spread. 

You know exactly where this is headed. Johnny's azure eyes burn into you as they spectate every single one of John's slow, luxurious movements—touches that slowly begin to undo you. The air in the room thickens, and your skin burns under John's fingers. 

Johnny's eyes flicker away, and you can tell the captain is holding his gaze. 

"Need to know I can depend on him, and that he can do what he needs." He purrs, his tone filled with intent. "That he'll take what he wants, yeah?"  

John pulls up the hem of your dress, exposing your now-soaked panties to his sergeant and delighting in the way you both shiver in response—you from being exposed, Johnny from finally getting to lay eyes on intimate parts he'd only dreamed of. 

You stay obediently frozen as John teases you further—the whiskers of his beard tickling at your neck as he smirks, his fingers stroking so softly up your inner thighs.

When you look back and catch Johnny looking you right in the eye, you swear you can feel yourself gush—he looks like he wants to devour you whole. 

"He's always wanted you, love. Isn't that right, sergeant?" 

"Yes, sir." Johnny agrees so eagerly, but the look he sends your way is anything but submissive. His grin is almost predatory, his anticipation and arousal clear after years of lusting after you from afar. 

Johnny finally comes closer, his hands settling on the arms of John's chair as his face stops inches away from your face—hot breath sweeping over your features. One hand moves to clutch at your jaw, demanding your attention as if it wasn't already entirely focused on him. "Tonight, you're mine." 

He growls the words before diving in for a searing kiss, his actions rough and hungry, bordering on violently enthusiastic. His stubble is so different from John's softer brush, nipping at your sensitive skin. 

"Only for tonight, MacTavish." Your husband growls from behind you, pulling your hips back into his hard cock as a reminder. He might be sharing you, but it's just this once. You'll always be his. 

As Johnny kisses you fervently, his hands begin to wander too, groping at your tits as John continues to hold you steady as he works his erection into your ass. While the sergeant occupies your mouth, John sucks kisses into your neck, humming at the feel of you falling apart under both men's touches. 

You gather just enough strength to surface for breath—panting and shaken under their joint attention. Neither of them shows signs of stopping. While your husband was offering you to another man, he wasn't going to sit back and watch either. 

"Both of you?" You gasp, words unsteady and breathless. Handling John under normal circumstances was hard enough, throwing Johnny into the mix might just break you. 

You shiver with need as the men share a laugh, and John's hand slips up to embrace the column of your neck. "Someone has to show him how to do it, love." 

The two men dive back into making you fall apart, a flurry of lips and hands tearing you apart at the seams and driving you mindless with each touch. 

"Fuuuck." Johnny practically whines, his hands falling to grope at your tits and pull them free out of the top of your dress. 

His hands are calloused and warm in a familiar way, but his movements are quick and rough and make you squirm under his touch. The two sets of hands on you are almost too much already, as well as John's erection rubbing against your core. 

A quick flicker of your gaze to the sergeant's jeans shows he's similarly affected, and the sight of his hard cock straining against the denim has you wanting. 

It's hard to think straight with every sensation you feel, every thought consumed by the two men ravaging you—yet your mind flickers back to the conversation you and John had months ago now, the one where he mentioned sharing you. 

You turn your head to the side, snuggling into your husband's cheek as you whisper to him. "I always thought it'd be—" 

He interrupts you with a greedy kiss, before freeing you to continue speaking. "—Simon, if you ever actually went through with this..." 

You sigh through your words, Johnny almost biting at you when he hears the other man's name fall from your lips.

The truth is, you had thought it'd be Simon that John invited into the bedroom first, as his trusted right hand and someone he knew would be discreet. Clearly, though, your husband had been paying more attention to your soft spot for the sergeant than you thought. 

How long had he been concocting this plan? Waiting for the opportunity to have you at Johnny's mercy too. 

Said man's voice pulls you out of your thoughts and back to the smirk on his face and the sparkle in his eyes. "Don't tell me yer disappointed, bonnie." 

You can tell from the way his voice drips with amusement that he knows you're anything but. The easy confidence has always been part of his charm, but as he toys with your breasts and stares down at you expectantly, knowing exactly what he's doing to you—that confidence feels like lightning down your spine.

"Far from it, Johnny." You whisper, finally taking an action of your own and pulling the man in for another kiss. It's sloppy and messy, more teeth and tongue than lips, but Johnny's mouth tastes so good, and his need is evident in every single brush of him against you. 

His hands climb to cup your jaw, holding you exactly as he wants you as his tongue explores your mouth and dances with yours—it's dirty the way he kisses, the way he groans into your mouth as you thread your fingers into his mohawk, the way he swallows your own moans as John bucks up from below you. 

Johnny pulls away, his chest heaving as he presses his forehead against yours and holds you in a tender moment. "Ye must have a thing for blue eyes, aye?" He smirks once more, and you wish you could protest, but the sparkling blues had been what captured your attention first about both men. 

One set belonging to the man that you married, one set belonging to the man you'll now get to fuck. 

The blue eyes before you flicker down, breaking the connection as his hands wander lower—down past your breasts, brushing past your husband's on their way to your thighs. He grasps greedily at your softness, kneading his touch into your skin as he parts your thighs, exposing your soaked panties to his burning gaze. 

"'m gonna touch that little kitty of yours now." He purrs, his curled finger brushing across your sensitive inner thighs in a way that makes your legs squirm—even more so when he traces up the hem of your panties.

"Didn't say you could, MacTavish." Your husband all but growls, his usual authority bursting through him.

Johnny ignores his captain entirely, his fingers pushing your panties aside to plunge deep into your weeping cunt—he curls them against your walls, a wolfish smirk directed at you, watching you flail as he continues to disregard John's words in favour of driving you crazy. 

"Don't remember asking, captain." He snarls in response, taking control. 

The sound of your cunt getting ravished by Johnny's fingers fills the room, drawing sweet whines out of you. One hand works to find the best angle to scrape against your spongy walls, his other coming to replace John's as he holds your neck and stares you down. 

You feel a shift, a moment where Johnny's attitude changes from cocky confidence to earned authority, him taking encouragement from the way you fall apart under his touch and writhe in the lap of your husband who isn't currently the cause of your pleasure. It has Johnny soaring, and you can tell he's falling into the new headspace with ease. 

"He's a quick study, John." You whisper. 

"Clothes off, yeah, lass?" Johnny tugs you to your feet, holding you steady in his arms for a moment before he eagerly strips you off your clothes.

Your dress comes off first, revealing your tits hanging out of the cups of your bra, and the way your panties settle on your hips, digging into your skin. Johnny's hands move to roam over each piece of your exposed body, kneading and admiring, his eyes ablaze like the hottest part of a flame. 

Then he works to rip off your underwear, leaving you bare before both men. "Fuckin' hell don't know how you tear yerself away from her." 

"Feels impossible some days." John purrs as he stands from his chair, paws falling to your waist once more.

Both men grope at you—Soap pulling you in for another kiss, John nibbling at your neck. Your legs almost give out from beneath you, and you know you'd be so unsteady were it not for being pinned between the two men's bodies.

It's overwhelming. John on his own is enough to bring you to your knees, but him and Johnny, with his blessing? Each touch, each kiss has you whining—high-pitched and almost brainless as your mind fizzles with pleasure. 

Johnny holds you close, pressing his solid body against yours—rough fabric and a hard cock against soft skin. He watches your expression as his fingers dip back into your soaked folds, as your husband's fingers roam over your ass and into your hole. The two men work in tandem to reduce you to a quivering mess, vicious fingers making you drip down their hands and your own thighs.

Johnny flicks your clit absentmindedly as his other hand moves to work on freeing himself from his jeans, pushing his boxers aside to reveal a long, slender, leaking cock. 

"Wow, bonnie girl. Yer that excited for me? Or dae ye just really like yer husband sharing ye?" He purrs as he strokes his length languidly, teasing you with the sight of his pre-cum leaking down the head, as well as the way he squeezes his member. 

You laugh breathlessly, unable to summon a real response until the men's fingers still inside you. "We'll see... how you fuck first, sergeant. Don't let me down." 

Both men share a chuckle, but Johnny is the first to act, with strong hands wrapping around your thighs and hoisting you into the air. 

Johnny gives you a devilish smirk as he hovers you inches away from his cock. "I never back down from a challenge, lass." 

He eases into you slowly, lowering you down and stretching you on his length, each delicious inch pushing its way inside in an almost torturous way. He’s not as thick as your husband, but he might just be longer, as he finally seats himself inside and the tip of his cock bullies your cervix. 

"Fuck, fuck." The sigh that releases from you is beyond shaky, betraying the deep effect Johnny’s cock has on you.  "So deep." 

"He feel good, love?" John asks, stepping up behind you, his voice close to your ear and his hands guiding you up and down the other man’s cock.

"Y-yeah." 

He clicks his tongue in approval, speaking again with honeyed words that make you keen. "Good girl, keep taking him for me." 

John mostly watches, his hands remaining on you, yet passive, as Johnny starts to move. The younger man thrusts with fervour, bouncing you onto his dick over and over and over again, not satisfied until he has you crying out for more and babbling. 

Johnny certainly knows how to move his hips, knows how to fuck—he eases off the second you show any discomfort, and is quick to learn the exact pace and motion that makes you moan the loudest. If you could think straight, you’d wonder if John had already given him strict instructions on exactly how to fuck you. Of course, he’d have planned this to a T.

Your nails scrape up Johnny’s muscled back, clinging to him desperately as he continues to shove his cock into your wet hole, as John’s hand snakes around your waist to toy with your clit. Both men are clearly intent on ruining you. Your insides twist, your head falling back into your husband's chest as you just feel.

Johnny’s hips abruptly stop, buried deep inside you in a way that blanks out all your thoughts. "Need your help, captain." He grumbles over your shoulder.

"What with?" 

"Think she needs her husband's cock inside her too. Stuff tha' pretty cunt completely full, yeah, bonnie?" Johnny raises a brow at his captain, waiting for the man to make a move. 

Each second drags as your husband considers the situation and you're left needy and waiting, Johnny's hips entirely still—John's hands on you inactive too. 

The idea of being stretched by both of them at the same time sends you wild, two gorgeous cocks stuffing your hole full. 

"Please, John." You start to babble, unable to control your own pleas. "Need you both, need you both, need—" 

John's cock slides between your ass, nudging forward until he knocks against where Johnny is buried inside you. The sensation on its own has both you and Johnny bucking.

"That kind of thinking'll take you far, sergeant," John whispers before his fingers crawl down your skin to where you and Johnny are connected, and he starts to guide the head of his cock into your hole. "Shhh, nice and slow, gotta stretch you out for both of us, love." 

“Gonna be a tight squeeze, bonnie.” Johnny mutters, his voice showing signs of further strain as his captain’s cock rubs against him.

The stretch is painful, John’s girthy cock bullying its way inside and forcing you to accommodate him alongside the sergeant—you know you won’t be sitting right anytime soon, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your hole burns with each inch your husband slides in, pleasure only beginning to come when his head brushes against your g-spot—after that, he slips right in, your cunt reshaping itself in acceptance and swallowing his cock.

"Fuck.” You pant, barely able to catch your breath, and no one has even moved yet. You can’t think straight, can’t breathe right, can’t even really contemplate the way your body is being overwhelmed by the two men. All you can do is whine and moan and cry out. "It's too much!" 

John holds your hips steady as he presses kisses to your shoulder, and Johnny runs a hand through your hair—both men cooing reassurances at you.

"Ye can take it, fer me and the captain. I know ya can." 

“You can do the work, sergeant, make her feel good, yeah?”

Johnny nods once before springing into action, his cock gliding out of your pussy before forcing its way back in, squelching against John’s length as it goes and drawing groans from both men.

It doesn’t take long Johnny's pace to escalate, as he shoves in repeatedly and thrusts both his own and John’s cock deeper inside you. You feel your brain slip into a haze of pleasure, all thoughts becoming incoherent as moan after moan makes its way from your throat. 

"There we go, love. Stuffed full of two cocks, how'd you like it?" Your husband asks before turning your head to face him, and then devouring your lips in a passionate, loving kiss.

"Love it, love it so much." You whisper against him. "Fuck me, John, Johnny, please."

The two men thrust together momentarily, forcing you to the limit of what you can take from both of them—smirks dance across their faces, both beyond pleased to have you pinned between them.

"Cannae wait until we're both filling ye with our cum."  Johnny purrs as he buries himself deep.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you, gorgeous girl?" 

#soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader x john mactavish #soap x reader #soap mactavish #price x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfiction #captain john price #john price #bunny writes #god i want them both SO bad

[l3viat8an]

I can easily see the brother's hearts melting if they see MC wearing their clothes and their clothes are too big on them. I'm 5'4" and I'll bet that if I stole one of Beel's hoodies, I'd have cute floppy sleeves because the sleeves are just that long

Awww that would!!! All of them would absolutely adore it!! But especially Beel, Mammon & Asmo the most!!!! imo

Like Beel’s clothes are just absolutely huge on you but the way you still wear them whenever you can, floppy sleeves and all!! It makes Beel’s heart race. You’re really just too cute-

Mammon loves when you where his clothes because it gives him another reason to be possessive (as if he needed one-) and getting to see you in something that belongs to him??? Fuck it’s hot!-

Asmo just loves dressing you up no matter what!! It’s honestly even better if you like stealing wearing his clothes!!! It’s the perfect combo of his two favorite things!! You and clothes XD

#anon! #obey me! #obey me x reader fluff #obey me #om! #obmswd #ro rambles #obey me beel x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me beel #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #om! x reader #om! fluff #obey me fluffy #om! mammon #om! beel #om! asmo #obmswd beel #obmswd mammon #obmswd asmo #obmswd x reader

[gornackeaterofworlds]

got any hcs for bay donnie 😇😇😊😊😊😊😊👁️👁️

Random-

-Even though Raph goes up top the most, Donnie is the one that wants to be human the most. Evidenced by his obsession with the mutagen, yes, but also his smaller behaviors. He wears more human pants and shoes than his brothers. He wears very generic glasses that everyone who's worn glasses has had before. He speaks the clearest imo. I think it's born from the fact that even though he's a turtle like his brothers, he's the tallest and least muscular of them. He doesn't feel like he belongs anywhere, a feeling that's made worse by their teasing.

-He has a really big fear of heights, and that's why he didn't dwell on the plane jump, he just powered through. That's also partially why he has Mikey on top of the truck instead of himself or a camera

-He is absolutely obsessed with racing games, especially those arcade ones where it's the whole seat and steering wheel. That's where he learned to drive, and why he goes so fast.

SFW-

-He's a fucking loser. I know this is the running joke in the movies and everything but I mean he is pathetic. If this boy was a human he'd be on the edge of becoming an incel. Like, the back of the class "devil's advocate" incel. Too many people make him cocky, and he can be, but if he likes you that man is fumbling at every step, every word, until you fan his ego enough to get past his insecurities.

-I don't think Don is an incel though, I think his unconventional upbringing has made him more caring. Despite having low empathy, I think if he can realize he likes you then he'll do things for you out of kindness. Acts of service, if you will.

-I think he's very emotionally dim-witted. As seen in the plane scene, he methodically goes over the plan and then jumps, not even seeing the apprehension from his brothers. You'll have to be direct and honest, he won't take offense to it.

Nsfw below the cut

NSFW-

-He's a fucking loser. If he likes you, this man is horny all the time over any little thing. Even when you're talking, he's entranced by the movement of your lips. He WILL be bad at sex at the beginning, especially because the most he's ever done is watch porn. He knows anatomy better than his brothers, yes, but don't think that correlates to romance or experience.

-A sucker for worship, from either party. He'll give it genuinely, because he's just so surprised you're his. That someone so perfect and human could love and want him and show him their naked body. But he also likes receiving it, he can turn into a cocky mf if you rile him up with praise.

-Does not care how you look or dress. Pizza-stained shirt, basketball shorts and greasy low ponytail? He wants to smash. Dolled up in purple just for a movie date? You won't remember the name of the movie, trust. He'd find all manner of body types, skin colors, hair textures, eye colors, etc very intriguing and beautiful, he wouldn't have a preference(none of them really would, seeing as they'd be lucky a human even looked at them with good intent). Part of it is you being everything he's always wanted. A partner, of course, but a human as well. He'd kill for that kind of opportunity and accepts his lot in life through having you.

-Once the first time awkwardness wears off Donnie gets good really fast. He's very observant when it comes to data, and he's seen that first sex as an experimental moment to help compartmentalize his feelings a bit and grow. He memorized every sound you made and what caused it, even if his memory is a little hazy at the end from all the pleasure.

-You will peg him, or fuck him if you have a dick. There's no debate here. And he will cry pleasure tears.

-Whines into the back of his hand. For all he's overcome, he's still insecure about his looks, especially his O face and his mouth. Partially insecure about the sounds he makes, and partially trying to muffle himself so his brothers don't hear.

-Also talks, but very incoherently. Like only the first half of his sentences and it's very rushed and breathy.

-Will try anything in the name of scientific experimentation(and bc he loves you). Any kink you have, however small, can be communicated honestly with him and he'll try his best. He actually really likes when you tell him these things, because it's just more assurance that you really want him.

#bayverse #bayverse donnie #bayverse headcanons #donatello headcanons #gornack ask tag

[littlefankingdom]

I watched the One Piece live action and here are some notes I took.

I'm a huge One Piece fan since I was like 10-ish? And so, I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about it. It had a lot of impact on my personality (Nico Robin is my role model). This live action adaptation matters to me and I'm going to rant. Spoilers ahead.

The director is a woman, and one of the two writers is a woman. Manga and anime are male dominated hobby (and the comic's world is sexist), so the live action of the most popular shōnen being run by women is so great, imo. Also, it's pretty successful, in contrary to other attempts, so it's a win for women.

Garp's actor is a very handsome man. Wtf, they made Garp hot. He also has a beautiful Welsh accent, which is great because it's an accent that gives a "tough guy" impression. At least, it does for me.

Luffy's actor is perfect. This Luffy is slightly different from the original one, but he's perfect in his own way. I will die and kill for him. Also, him being brown with a white grandpa is so good, it had a racial gap between the two of them, where there are already a generational one and a moral one. Like, the white grandpa in the army do not understand how his brown grandson do not like the gov, because he doesn't see it from where he is when the kid does.

Alvida's actress is so beautiful, she's so pretty. I suddenly support women's wrongs.

Damn, the violence is going up a notch (Roger executed on screen, Mr 7's body cut in half, MERRY IS FUCKING KILLED,...)

The actors for Koby and Helmeppo are queer (They/Them pals) Oda is, once again, showing his support to the trans community.

I do not like the colors. It's too dark for One Piece, imo. Look at how saturated the colored pages are, I would have preferred it to be more saturated. I know, this is because of the CGI (issues are less perceptible this way), I'm going to need to make some edits. But, they didn't have to do it to the costumes too. Like, Buggy, except from his hat, his outfit is not flashy like it should be. Would help with the colored hair if it was more colorful and flashy.

Young Luffy wear the same shirt as in the manga is a nice touch.

THERE'S A CAVENDISH'S WANTED POSTER IN SHELLS TOWN!

Dead bodies smell strongly, and Zoro is bringing half of one in a bar???

Episode 2 is pure art. I love it so much.

Buggy is attractive, wtf. I find him more pretty than Shanks.

Bogard is so cool looking. I'm gonna die if Hina is introduced one day (she's going to be so cool)

They changed the "If you’re gonna point your gun toward someone, you better use it" scene. The new one is cool, but the original is iconic.

THE MUSIC WHEN LUFFY REALIZES THAT SHANKS LOST HIS ARM! It's like the orchestra is interrupted, incredible, love it.

Nami and Zoro's siblings' energy is so strong.

Kaya and Nami interraction about the dress "it belonged to my mother" is so good, Nami gets uncomfortable because she also lost her mother and knows how it is to cherish her memory. But Kaya is nice and share it with her, which break her view of rich folks.

The decor's department must have had the time of their life for this show. It's a great job.

Zoro wanting to wear black and drink wine in the 3 episode, he's already embodying being Mihawk's adopted brat.

Kaya makes the oof roblox sounds when she slapped Usopp.

Usopp x Kaya let's gooooooooooo my boy deserves the best (Oda confirming a romance with one of his protagonists is huge)

Zoro IMMEDIATELY trying to look at something else the moment Kaya kisses Usopp.

Luffy sitting on Going Merry with "We Are" playing... Art.

Without a cook, they are eating pasta, with some fruit and drink (just like me, fr).

Garp is wrecking a brand new ship!

Episode 5 Title Card, my beloved.

Mihawk music, and voice, and character: beautiful.

"Oh, I do like your hat." Mihawk to Luffy upon meeting him, great.

Sanji needs to stop talking about food, I'm getting hungry but I'm broke and a terrible cook.

"Oregano is for savages!" 😂 ok kiddo.

Me watching Zoro nap for a whole episode because of 1 cut: "Bro, you’re going to go through so much worse, you better stop whining rn"

The "YES, YES WE DO" after Sanji says "heard you guys need a cook" is so good.

Sanji is, like, the only one after Nami to have the most experience sailing, they fucking need him.

Buggy coming back all the time is perfect. Love him.

Having Bell-Mere slaps Nami was not ok. Y'all are ruining a character I loved.

Sanji knows a man that can cook well is attractive.

Usopp and Luffy are 17 and drinking, and Koby is 16. Underage drinking baby 🍻

Garp is already having the crisis he has during Marine Fort Arc, it’s going to be difficult for him.

Buggy be swinging being carried by Sanji, who's fighting.

Luffy breaking Arlong's sword axe thingy is badass.

The fishmen are so ugly and weird looking

Buggy saying "I'm gonna get out of here" with 🖕🤡🖕(If we ever get young Ace, I expect so much vulgarity from his little shit mouth)

Usopp exploding star was badass.

Sanji's ass after Mouton Shot.

Zoro "Yeah, you're gonna fit in just fine" means you're as crazy as all of us

Sanji opening is arms for Nami and Nami ignoring him to hug her bros, lol.

Arlong Park destruction be crazy.

Sanji little laugh.

Luffy is a true bestie to Usopp.

It’s the confrontation from after Seven Arc

It's Logue town after right? Like, where Luffy's father is introduced? With the comparison to Roger? But they just compared them, are they going to do it again?

The wanted poster is the exact same, with usopp in the background.

Employee of the month lol.

Alvida and Buggy meeting, the bad bitches.

Mihawk and Shanks!!! (Shanks gave him the "ableist pos" look, lol)

Smoker introduced -> Logue Town

#one piece #opla #opla spoilers #my ramblings #it's not understandable and I don't care

[hobaworld7]

Could you maybe write a Shinee reaction about their love languages, like you did for bts? I thought that one was really cute! Thank you! I'm so glad you want to write for them, there's not nearly enough Shinee content on here imo💜

SHINee Reaction - Love Languages

Hello Shawol!! I am so excited to see other fans here. They really are the kings right? I hope you'll love it and don't hesitate to send other requests!

*As I said before, I won't be writing on JongHyun as respect for him*

____

Paring : Reaction x OT4

Genre : Romance - Love Language

Words count : X

Warning : Full of fluffiness! Some mentions of BDSM or kinky things.

Summary : This is how i think SHINee would show their loves to their partner!

A/N : Please show some love and interact with this post so I can continue writing on SHINee, I really enjoyed it!

Disclaimer : SHINee doesn't belong to me. It's just an imagine. I'm a shawol since 2012, I love them really much but this is just fiction!

____

ONEW

As a leader, I feel like Onew would be all into words of affirmation.

Every days, every opportunities, he would text or say how beautiful you are. How proud he is.

He would also dedicate a lot of his free time to be with you.

SUCH A GENTLEMAN.

Always holding your hands and taking cute selfies with you.

''How did I get so lucky? Meeting you was the best blessing in my life, my love."

My love, my baby, my, my, my everything.

I think he will be really sweet with you and in bed too.

Not much of an experimenter, more casual.

Look at you like you are a piece of art.

KEY

All five. He's so caring with all the members, exceptionally Taemin, but you? You are is top priority.

Acts of service, a lot of them. He loves to cook for you and taking care of you. Preparing a warm bath with candles and flowers after a big day.

He would always love to be near you. His head on your thigh while you watch a movie (quality time)

Buying expensive piece of clothes too. He love to dress you in the most fashionista way.

He would love to have you near him on his many project.

He will probably hire you as a personal assistant or something like that.

He's really good at commutating his feeling so there is almost no argument between you.

''YAH YEOBO YOU ARE SO PRETTY WOW!!"

Always so excited to see you.

He's so into kinky shit. Look at his Born to Shine live.

Of course he did it all for you before the performance.

MINHO

He's all into physical contact.

He loves touching you, kissing you and hugging you.

Always his hand on you if you are near him.

Flowers, wine, chocolate, coffee, etc.

Everything you love, you'll have.

He wants you to be happy and to be comfortable when you are at his place so he would do everything for you.

He will always talk openly of your relationship.

He wants everyone to knows that you are his and he is yours.

Sweet during the days. Savage during the nights.

TAEMIN

This is his face when he see you.

''Yah, jinjja, she's really the most beautiful person on earth. Right hyung?'

He would always be so happy whenever you get the chance to spend times together.

He would love to buy you gifts and having romantic diner.

Such a gentleman. Thanks to his Onew Hyung that thought him all.

He love to dance with you and practice when you are in his studio.

He would dance goofily everytime you are sad.

Always letting you choose the movie.

Experimenting. A lot. In bed. Or in public. *wink wink*

I feel like he would be into this bdsm kink and everything HAHA.

____

Hope you like it, i tried to do it the more neutral i could. Thnkyou my love for reading!

CLICK HERE FOR THE MASTERLIST.

#shinee imagine #shinee x reader #shinee reaction #shinee love language #lee jinki #onew #kim kibum #key shinee #minho #choi minho #lee taemin #taemin

[criminalmindsgonewrong]

bau as taylor songs

aaron hotchner: fearless, you’re not sorry, change, superstar, last kiss, superman, everything has changed, come back be here, style, getaway car, lover, false god, the last great american dynasty, cowboy like me

emily prentiss: cold as you, fifteen, haunted, sparks fly, speak now, red, i almost do, the lucky one, out of the woods, i wish you would, this love, i know places, dress, end game, look what you made me do, the archer, i think he knows, daylight, afterglow, the one, this is me trying, mad woman, peace, willow, right where you left me

derek morgan: tied together with a smile, white horse, mr perfectly fine, innocent, i knew you were trouble, girl at home, blank space, so it goes..., gorgeous, i forgot that you existed, hoax, tis the damn season, renegade

jennifer jareau: a place in this world, the way i loved you, you all over me, bye bye baby, mine, enchanted, that's when, state of grace, sad beautiful tragic, begin again, nothing new, how you get the girl, you are in love, delicate, dancing with our hands tied, the man, seven, ivy, gold rush

spencer reid: the outside, breathe, mean, eyes open, the last time, clean, bad blood, wonderland, new romantics, i did something bad, death by a thousand cuts, soon you'll get better, cruel summer, its nice to have a friend, cardigan, the lakes, tolerate it

penelope garcia: you belong with me, the best day, jump then fall, back to december, holy ground, forever winter, king of my heart, starlight, wildest dreams, call it what you want, cornelia street, london boy, mirrorball, champagne problems, marjorie

whole team: long live, this is why we can't have nice things, new years day, exile, my tears ricochet, august, epiphany, no body no crime, long story short, evermore, it's time to go, only the young

i highlighted any that i feel really strongly about for that character. so many of them ended up relating to the 'emily is dead' storyline (i almost do, the last time, sad beautiful tragic, everything has changed - it seems red is the album for that particular storyline, imo anyway) but others relate to character storylines (innocent for morgan, the best day and back to december for penny, clean for reid) idk it was fun and am excited to add midnights !! and i wanna know any u agree/disagree with also i couldn't assign atw

#no i didnt include rossi #love him but tay is not for him #nor did i include all of the songs #yes i wanted to assign them all to em #but i refrained x #im procrastinating writing #can u tell #i gave them all at least one from each album tho #im probs gonna do ships as songs too #bau #taylor swift #lyrics #bau as taylor swift #as #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia

[realcatalina]

Catherine of Aragon's family-Maria of Aragon's depictions

This time I am going to do something bit different. I'm not going to show you just individual depictions and their sources. But also give the comentary abou their accuracy(or likely accuracy).

It is about damn time we learnt a bit about what does consist of portuguese fashion, and what doesn't.

Because I suspect among Maria's depictions there is a black sheep(a misidentified portrait). So this post is kind of me trying to assess if my suspicion is right...

Maria tends to be imo the most overlooked of the siblings. She and her husband got along, she wasn't the only son, nor ever became the heir...

But I'd not trust the sources which say she wasn't good looking.(Perhaps not as good looking as some of her siblings)

Not many of her depictions survive, they just as records often fell victim to the earthquakes. But there are two depictions which likely originate from her lifetime, or at least close to her lifetime.

1)Stained-glass window in the High Chapel of the Church of Saint Mary of Victory (Batalha Monastery, Leiria, Portugal), attributed to Francisco Henriques, c. 1510-1513:

The little red dot in down left imo is out of place imo(window was smatched at some point), and imo belongs elsewhere.

Otherwise I have nothing to say against the dress itself, it looks very Iberian and the similiarities to some of the religious artwork of the day is pretty damn awesome:

Even colour-scheme is same. (Although obviously different neckline and chemise, but that could be down to personal choice or different season.)

The wide decorative trim made gold and pearls can also be found coassionally in Portuguese art, I found it plenty of time in later source

Genealogia dos Reis de Portugal(c.1530-1534)-which has outfits which are partially fiction partially true...

But i have bit of an issue with the headwear. It looks like french hood(at least from front)...kind of.

And I don't think it would be likely for Maria to wear French hood. Yes, it could have been introduced to Iberia by Margaret of Austria or Joanna...but would it linger after they either left or were locked up?

The artist was active in Portugal but native flemish(hence from part of Habsburg Netherlands), and I wonder if perhaps he got bit creative...

...But if you know a bit about french hoods...this is not historically accurate french hood of the time. It might look that way on first glance...but on 2nd? No. It more resembles french hoods after 1530s, than 1510s-where it definitely should have golden frill.

And I did my best to look through surviving portuguese art for depictions french hoods. And I found like 2 in total...which I only suspect might be french hood, because they are oddly depicted.

...And I am wondering if it could be separate headwear...something which resembles French hood at this angle.

So I am not ruling out french hood as impossible, but I am wondering if perhaps Portuguese had something similiar to french hood which was not very popular and got depicted just few times.

2)Maria's statue is from 1517-the year she died. It is located Mosteiro dos Jerónimos(Jeróminos Monastery) where the members of house Aviz are burried, including Maria herself (without effigy):

Idk if it is posthumous or not. But if posthumous, then the artist Nicolau Chanterene would likely be send to create it as commemoration of her life, and since employed by royalty, it's likely he'd have best sources about Queen...perhaps including access to her dresses etc.

The kneeling statue lost its hands(probably in earthquake), but it's still fine example of obviously iberian fashion:

The cofia de tranzado, the fabulous sleeves...with bit of them upturned. All colours were picked by me...and it's obvious why I made the chain in gold, but why the wide trim in gold?

-because in closeup it has this kind of pattern, and I can't imagine it being anything other but golden with such pattern.

I could be wrong interepreting the statue, but the statue itself screams historical accuracy.

This painting has similiar golden trim imo-Nursing Madonna by Defendente Ferrari, in Uffizi Gallery:

(Although here sat directly at edge.)

Directly from Portugal is Retábulo de Santa Catarina(Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga, Lisbon) from allegedly 1540s(imo that's not correct date), where figure of St. Catherine has dress which look very close to Maria's:

(I covered the cutt off neck. I don't want to breech any guidelines.)

But those dangling things and metalic headwear-those are the fantasy parts of the costume, and obviously it's much shorter than Maria's dress. But very similiar to fashion of the statue.

3)Portrait of Maria of Aragon, Belem Collection, created around 1720:

Despite being copy, this one is actually very close to the statue in many aspects. The jewelry placement, the height of waistline-it's same. The headwear is once again cofia de tranzado(perhaps bit more elaborate...)with different style of hat(which I can't place...could be alteration) and the rest of outfit is same as what we see in Spain in 1500s and 1510s.

So except hat on top it looks historically accurate. Although cofia de tranzado being this heavily embroidered is probably add-on.

Within same collection there is also portrait of King Manuel, done at same time:

He also has golden gown decorated at edges with pearls and tbh it's quite similiar to yet another portrait of Maria:

4) Maria de Aragão e Castela, Rainha de Portugal

You can find it on wikipedia, which says the source is book called Infantas de Espanha, Rainhas em Portugal. It's author seem as historian, not art historian. And I am not putting blame upon him, for this mess. Overall the amount of weird things is so big, that I shall dedicate separate post to it.

But long story short.

It's heavily altered, possibly photoshopped and never seem very Iberian to me. And after all research I did...I am even more convinced it's not Iberian fashion.

So either the fact somebody altered heck out of it has hid Maria's outfit so well, it no longer looks Iberian...Or it isn't Maria.

I know some of you like this portrait...but we have to be objective here...the misidentification happened in past a lot, and even today happen as well.

And the similiarities to Manuel's outfit in that portrait above could make people think the woman is his wife...Even if she isn't.)

We're going to take deep dive into the issue and then make conclusions. In meanwhile don't use it as inspiration for costume of Maria of Aragon. Seriously don't.

5)Fons Vitae by Colijn de Coter, 1518-posthumous depiction:

Is located in Museu da Misericórdia do Porto, Portugal. At lower part of painting is depicted King Manuel's family.

But I have to point out, that the artist never went to Iberia...So there are two opions here. Either the comission and creation occured with sketches of royal being sent to royals, or without.

If without, then these would not need to be accurate at all, and would be just generic figures...

Here the Portuguese princesses are depicted 100% in Netherlandish outfits from head to toe:

But is Maria too? Tbh idk. The headwear to me look lok more like belonging to 15th century and it's quite odd how she has two strands of hair styled beneat her ear, and then going above her forehead...plus traluscent part over it.

(Back of the dress also have similiar shape from back as that of St. Catherine.)

But then...there are big similiarities between the stain glass headwear and this(if we take the crown away):

And if it indeed is same headwear...then from behind it's obviously not french hood...it just resembles its later form...in certain angles.

I'd not trust this depiction...100%...but I'd not throw it away as entirely inaccurate either. I just think the artist made it bit too much elaborate, because to him it seemed as those 15th century headwears...which were very elaborate.

I'd use the stain glass as the guide here. But I can't really tell exactly how the traluscent aprt adn hair are supposed to sit...and how layers work...But maybe some of you would like to give it a try.

If any of you know what this headwear is and how it is supposed to look like, write it in the comments, I'd love to know.

By the way...this might be same headwear:

With different back.

So that is all from me today, it was bit different than what I normally do. But I thought it necessary. I hope you've enjoyed it and see you next time.

#historical portraits #maria of aragon #Catherine of Aragon's family #Queen of Portugal

[angelaiswriting]

Escape | Sergei (Daredevil)

[credits for the base video]

✏️ Pairing: Sergei x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: in the aftermath of the Hell's Kitchen bombings, you find yourself on the run to safety with Sergei and Vladimir.

✏️ A/N: I haven't written a word since last December. I also did not rewatch Daredevil, I just wanted to get out of my slump, so I hope the vague (lol why tf do I even worry) details about what happened to Vlad and the Russians aren't that far off. This is just some self-indulgent porn with plot while I try to decide whether this is my last fic on here or not. If this side of the fandom still exists... enjoy! 💌

✏️ Warnings: pre-established relationship, Vlad and Sergei being bffs, fluff (imo), kind of an angsty (?) ending for Vlad but he's alive and physically fine! 18+ ONLY (mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, feeling stalked/observed/tailed; oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob?, p in v sex, coming inside, brief cockwarming, mentions of people hearing you have sex and of voyeurism)

✏️ Word-count: 16,982

ESCAPE

It’s like an out-of-body experience, and you feel like you are the only fixed point in this whirlwind of details.

The smell of smoke and blood that sticks to your lover like some ugly sticker.

The rain drizzling outside.

Hushed Russian in and out of the bedroom, the utility-closet-turned-into-vault room, the living room.

The stench of your own fear.

He’s shoving random essentials into a duffel bag, Sergei. Underwear from your side of the drawer. Your toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom, while their glass holder shatters on the floor. Your laptop. Your gun―the one he taught you how to shoot but that you never really had to use before. Money from the safe. Your documents―the real and the counterfeit ones.

Yours yours yours.

It takes you forever to realize everything he’s shoving into that bag belongs to you. That’s when the panic kicks in, and suddenly you’re back inside your body, standing half-dressed in the middle of the living room, barely registering anything Sergei is saying.

The apartment stops spinning when he shakes you by the shoulders and grabs a hold of your face.

He’s bleeding from his left eyebrow, and you can see where he tried to clean himself without success. There’s a spot on his right cheek where the skin is simply no more.

“Listen to me!” He’s not really screaming, but it still feels like he is, and you flinch. The raw desperation in his voice, in the tremor of his hands almost makes you gag. “Milaya, please.”

“What the hell happened to you?” you manage to ask through the thick stupor paralyzing your mind.

Your heart is so loud in your chest, so unbelievably heavy, it’s so hard to hear what he’s saying; to give meaning to his words, his actions.

Why’s he kneeling on the floor, helping you put on your pants like you were a child?

Why’s he so dirty? Blood on his skin and clothes alike. You have the nagging feeling that it’s all his, this time―

“You need to leave.”

―that tonight’s not one of his usual ones. It doesn’t feel like he’s just come back from a fight one bit. For a moment you wonder if this had been caused by some misunderstanding between him and Vladimir, after―

“Take the car and go as far as you can.”

―after Anatoly died―got killed―his murder still feels so surreal, an open, gaping wound.

“You have to leave the country―”

Why is it you you you? Why’s he only talking about you?

What the fuck is going on?

It’s weird, to be stuck in a body much slower than your mind. Your grasp on reality becomes looser, until―

He’s not coming with you.

It’s like holding on to curtains, too frail to withstand the full body weight of a person.

“I’m not leaving you.”

The mere thought of doing so has you nauseous. Your stomach twists and turns, and you feel the exact moment you start breaking out in cold sweat.

This isn’t how an eventual escape plan was ever supposed to go. You were supposed to leave together, to remain together through thick and thin. Swim or drown, whatever that would be, but do it together.

“Take this.” He’s not listening to you. Instead, he shoves that duffel bag in your hands as he kneels down again, already grabbing you by the ankle to slide your right foot into your shoe.

The sight of him on his knees in front of you, dressing you, getting you ready to get out of here, chills you to the bone. There’s this freezing, sticky fear spreading everywhere inside you―bones, flesh, soul. Like you’re never going to see him ever again if you let him go now. Like it’s always going to be you―singular―if you walk out of the door without him by your side.

“Find a way out of the country.”

You think you’re not strong enough to fight off this nausea, this dread.

He’s still not listening. You barely are, too, in his defense.

“I’m not going into hiding without you!”

You’re immobile as he rushes around. He fetches weapons, ammo cartridges, the receiver unit you’ve been using to check their GPS beacons after Anatoly got killed.

“There’s no time for this!” The desperation in his voice thickens, but it’s the look in his eyes that freezes you for a moment longer. There’s a light in them you have never seen before. If you were already suspicious about the situation before, you are even more now. This man is a thousand light years from the Sergei you know.

He’s shoving you backward before you can fully recover from your stupor, but then you’re fighting back against his hands for the first time in your life.

“No!” And you’re so loud, and trembling so hard, that for a heartbeat he stumbles. There’s actual terror in his eyes when you sandwich his cheeks between your hands. “Don’t send me away,” you beg. There’s no time for any of this―you might know nothing about the situation you’re in right now, but you know the urgency behind Sergei’s words and actions must have a reason. “Come with me,” you continue, but he’s quick at cutting you off.

You read it in his eyes, in the way his expression hardens―he’s going to hurt you so that he can successfully drive you away unless you manage to stop him first.

“I don’t have time for your stubbornness!” He pushes past you and you feel yourself move the way you’d watch someone else do it. Your hand is wrapped around his elbow before he can make his way out of the door.

“Whatever this is, we can face it together,” you plead.

You made each other that promise when you made your relationship official. It’s supposed to be you and he together against the world, and not… whatever card he is trying to pull. And if it’s scary, then the better: you would protect him and he would protect you. If it’s some issue between him and the guy, then they already know that you’re a package deal.

“Everyone else is dead.” He turns around but he still doesn’t look at you. He looks past you, at that empty spot on the cupboard where you’ve always wanted to place a framed picture of the two of you together. “The garage is gone, they bombed us. Vova…” He swallows. It’s like it physically pains him, to voice these things out loud, and you’re sure it does. He’s spent such a long time with them… Hell, even your blood freezes in your veins―it thickens, it makes you sick. “I can’t have you die as well. Fuck, I can’t.”

That’s when his gaze meets yours, and that’s also when you get the final confirmation that he’s deadly serious. Not that you had doubts before―Sergei has never been a hurricane in your life, let alone in your apartment, always so eerily calm instead―it cements the fear in your body, and locks your muscles up.

“So what? You stay behind and die by yourself?” You scoff, doing your best to swallow your fear for his own sake. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He tries to retort―you see how his lips part, how the look in his eyes darkens. You’ve never seen him this pale, almost gray, and you were there, when he almost bled his way into the grave three years ago.

“There’s no bloody time for this!” He’s stern, running out of time more than you even know. More than you could even guess. There’s still blood trickling down his face―down his eyebrow, where it’s finally starting to coagulate, and down his cheek, where it definitely must hurt like hell.

“We have thirty seconds,” you insist, pulling him into your arms and locking your hold around him.

He hisses. You take that as a sign he must be injured somewhere underneath his clothes.

You think you can feel his heartbeat against your chest more than you do hear your own in your ears with how this is making you.

The gun in his shoulder holster is pressed up against the inside of your arm, freezing cold.

Twenty-five more seconds.

You wonder how much more it’s going to hurt when he finally slows down and his mind has the time to catch up with the situation, with what happened tonight. You can barely even wrap your head around what Sergei said earlier, about how everyone’s gone―

seventeen seconds

―and so close after Anatoly’s death. No one took it well, but especially Vladimir has been another kind of angry, a whole new breed of caged animal.

“Stay by my side,” you whisper against the dirty skin of his uninjured cheek. “I’ll stay by yours.”

“Milaya…” His voice trembles and then cracks, and you know he still has enough energy to fight you on this.

Those thirty seconds ran out five seconds ago.

“We can fight this together.” You hug him tighter for a second, two at most―you’re losing your ability to keep track of time.

A series of beeps comes from the tracking device in the back pocket of Sergei’s jeans, then. He freezes in your arms for another second, almost burned by the unexpected sound. You see it on his face when he pulls back―how he had already lost hope and how it’s back now, all of a sudden, punching him in the stomach and twisting.

Vladimir.

Who else would be so obnoxiously loud and annoying while pressing the emergency button on his GPS beacon?

You’d kiss every inch of his stupid face―if not for your own relief, then for that you see wash over your lover’s features. Something lights up in his eyes, and you can almost feel his new determination to survive when he meets your gaze.

You smile. “Grab your bag, I’ll get the keys.”

*

You don’t stop driving for the next three days, you and Sergei taking turns behind the wheel while Vladimir moans at every hole in the road from the backseat.

You’re no nurse, but you gave it your best when you stopped at dawn, after leaving New York behind, the first and last time you stopped for more than five minutes.

“I’m so sorry,” you grimace, looking into the rearview mirror when the car bumps yet again on the uneven road.

He swims in and out of consciousness, Vladimir, while Sergei tries to get some sleep in the passenger’s seat. You were supposed to switch one hour ago, but you didn’t have the heart to wake him up. You can drive a bit longer, you know you can.

“It’s alright, Kukolka.” Vladimir’s hushed Russian unsettles you more than his failed attempt at a reassuring smile.

“As soon as we’re out of the country, I’ll find someone to check you out,” but you’re not even sure he’s heard you.

It’s right there in the back of your throat―the bile, the nausea this situation causes you. Out of worry, that is―after seeing Anatoly’s corpse, the way he was killed, you’re not sure the sight of anything else could get you as sick as that did. But Vladimir has lost more blood and it makes you comfortable to calculate, and you’re not sure how much longer he can hold on before absolutely having to get actual medical help.

Sergei stirs in his seat then, and this time he’s the one groaning. You worry about him, too, of course. You’ve done your best to patch him up, to clean his wounds, but you worry there might be more inside his body, where you can’t physically see.

You hand him your bottle of water when he moves―purposefully, this time―and you realize he’s awake.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He’s looking at you, you see it from the corner of your eye, and then he turns in his seat to check on Vladimir.

You don’t answer him. “I’m stopping at the next gas station for food,” you announce instead. Sergei packed this car with meds months ago, but food was never a priority. You thought you’d have a long life in Hell’s Kitchen, after all. “We’ll be at the meeting point by tomorrow night.”

Next to you, he hums. You see his arm move from your peripheral vision before you feel the wrapped-up palm of his hand on the left side of your neck. The movement of his thumb as he caresses your skin soothes you, and suddenly you’re not as tense anymore. You didn’t even know how much you needed the reassurance of his physical touch until you finally had it.

“That’s not what I asked.” His lips are so close to your ear that the unexpected caress of his tired voice makes you shiver in your seat. Then, he’s pulling your sun visor down. “How long has it been since you should’ve woken me up?” he asks again.

He’s sitting back in his seat now, but his hand is still on the side of your neck. It almost makes you cry, how absolutely normal and domestic this feels, if you don’t focus on how wounded he is or on the man on the backseat, fighting to stay on this side of consciousness.

Then, it hits you. You and Sergei have never gone on a car trip before, despite it being on your wish list of things to do as a couple.

“Not that long,” you lie, but it takes you a second too long, and he reads you way better than he’s ever read his best friend in the back of the car. Still, he doesn’t outright call you out on it. Instead, he says, “Pull over.” The tone of his voice doesn’t leave room for discussions, but you’re nothing if not stubborn.

“You’ll take over after I stop.”

“Yes, and I’m saying you’re stopping the car now.”

You don’t reply this time, nor do you slow down. You simply turn your head for a moment, the road ahead of you empty for miles, and fix him with a glance.

“Stop bothering her, Yurchenko,” comes a voice from the back.

You quickly glance up at the rearview mirror and find Vladimir trying to sit up straight, still as pale as he was this morning, but not as much as he had been when you dragged him out of the tunnels of the New York City sewage system.

“God, you’re annoying.”

“Jesus Christ, not again,” Sergei mutters under his breath. You almost physically feel him roll his eyes, and for a moment, his fingertips press a little harder into the side of your neck. “Fuck, you’re annoying even with a foot in your grave.”

“Yeah? And you drive over all the bad parts of the road,” rebukes Vladimir. “Do you do that on purpose? At least she is nice, and she apologizes.”

That last addition earns you an unamused look from Sergei. You catch glimpses of it the few times in a row you quickly glance in his direction.

You shrug. “What? He’s in pain.”

“I am, too. Never heard you do the same to me.”

Vladimir opens his mouth before you can reply yourself. “That’s because you’re always asleep when you’re not driving.”

A chuckle escapes your lips. It all feels normal, for a moment. This is just your usual Friday night out, sitting in a booth, sandwiched between Sergei and Vladimir to act as a shield to their (almost) constant bickering. Anatoly would joke about you being the third wheel in their relationship, back when you and Sergei had first started dating, five years ago. They always bicker so childishly, but then they’d also go into the deepest pit of hell for each other.

You wonder if this is their way to cope with what happened, with what brought you to drive away towards an abandoned hangar to leave the country.

“Maybe you should drive then!”

Vladimir is already trying to sit up right between both of your seats when you slap Sergei’s thigh.

“Just so he can drive us into a ditch?” You scoff. “Over my dead body. Now be quiet, the both of you, until we get to that gas station or I’ll drop you both off here in buttfuck nowhere.”

They both know you wouldn’t actually follow through with your threat, but they still have enough decency to do as you say.

The next two hours are spent in peace, or as peaceful as that silence can feel. You’re not even sure your idea of turning on the radio was a good one, because it makes the otherwise lack of conversation incredibly surreal. You barely have the guts to glance to your right, even when Sergei places his left hand on your thigh. You dare not ask what he’s thinking about, or where his mind is compared to his body, not even when a quick glance in the rearview mirror confirms that Vladimir has fallen asleep once again.

You pull up in the eerily empty parking lot of a gas station less than two hours later, not long after dusk.

“I’ll take care of the food,” you say, fetching some of the cash Sergei hid in the armrest between the front seats. “You drag Vlad to the restroom.”

“Grab chips?” It’s so weirdly normal, again, the way he asks it, the way he looks at you when you turn toward him. If it weren’t for the band-aids and faint bruises on his face, you would even fall for this illusion of normalcy.

You nod with a smile on your face. And before you can push the door open, you feel him lean over to your side and then he’s kissing you. Every thought, every worry in your brain gets obliterated in less than a heartbeat. His hands on each side of your neck pull you closer into him―and to a time and place that don’t belong to the here-and-now.

He’s pulling away before you can even fully recover from the unexpected kiss. There’s a smirk on his face that is just so absolutely Sergei, in a way, that you chuckle.

“Be careful.” His words are a warning, but there’s a look in his eyes and a tone to his voice that have you under the impression that he’s pleading you.

Sergei rarely ever begs.

You nod, and then you lean forward to peck his lips. “You, too.”

“Feels a bit like I’m third-wheeling you two lovebirds.”

The car is back to being silent when both you and Sergei turn to look at your friend. That devil sure is hard to die, you gotta give him that.

“Let me know if you need help burying his corpse when I’m back,” you throw in while looking at your man before getting out of the car.

The night air is chilly, but the light of the full moon in a black sky full of twinkling stars doesn’t make it feel as scary as your first night in hiding felt.

Even the small convenience store is quiet when you step inside―unsurprisingly so. That does feel a little like you’re in a movie, with some robber just waiting to walk in, gun in hand. The weight of your own weapon against your ribcage is comforting enough, however, and after pulling your scarf a little higher over your mouth and nose, you pick up a shopping basket.

You get some sandwich bread and pickled vegetables, some beef jerky to shut Vladimir up with when he gets a little more sour and annoying, some food to last you for a couple of days more in case things don’t go according to plan, and, obviously, Sergei’s favorite chips.

At the counter, when you pay for the food and the gas to pull from the pump in front of which you parked, the farthest away from the mini-mart, the clerk tries to make small talk. He looks young, like he might still be in his first years of college if the books on the stool next to him are anything to go by, but there’s something in the way he looks at you that unsettles you. Even on a bad day (and today isn’t exactly a great day), you’re sure you would be able to take him down barehanded, but there’s something today… You feel it in the air, smell it like a bloodhound, and it makes you stand on edge, pulled as tight as a bowstring.

“Cold, isn’t it?” smiles the boy. The neon light above him catches on his lip piercing and it drags a shiver down your spine.

You do your best not to turn around in case this isn’t just inside your head. Instead, you smile back politely, replying with a single, emphasized, “Freezing.”

In the second he looks away to ring up the three jugs of water you put on the counter, you quickly glance to your left, where a display with sunglasses stands. You don’t see any movement on the mirror lenses of one of the pairs on display.

“Are you getting one of those as well?”

You wonder if it’s just something in your head, this feeling. Some play of your mind, after having spent so much time keeping an eye on the rearview mirror to make sure no one was tailing you. You wonder whether no one really has. Whether it’s normal. Whether whoever organized that attack really thinks every target has died, whether now you’re just being paranoid.

“No, thanks. Just looking.”

Why’s this dude so fucking slow at putting your stuff into the plastic bag? Why’s he staring at you the way he is?

“Crazy, huh?” he asks, smiling again. For the second time, he gives you goosebumps.

Hurry the fuck up, you beg in your mind.

“What is?”

“Those bombings in Hell’s Kitchen.” The dude nods toward the television, mounted on the wall to your right. There’s still a service covering the attack you’re running away from. “New York’s really going crazy, man. I wonder what happened.”

You nod. “Crazy indeed.”

Your fingers itch to touch your gun and make sure it’s still there―it is, you know it without looking, but it’s still an urge that you can’t really shake off.

You shift your weight onto your other leg.

“You not from ‘round here, are you?”

The beef jerky is finally in the bag. Only the chips have remained now.

You shake your head. “I’m from further south,” you lie. “Going north to visit family.”

You’d kiss his forehead when he finally puts those fucking chips inside the bag.

He nods and smiles like you’re saying the most interesting shit he’s ever heard in his lifetime. “Say, need a hand carrying this stuff to the car?” he asks when he’s finally giving you the rest of your money after you pay for both groceries and gas. “I can help you pump.”

The look in his eyes when he says that, when he smirks at his own choice of words, makes your stomach turn upside down.

You’re positive you can carry everything yourself―two jugs of water in one hand, the third and the bag of food in the other. You’ve had to carry far heavier things in your life than groceries for two days.

“Nah, I’m fine.” You hope he catches the drift by the tone of your voice―pleasant but still blistering nonetheless―but he’s already pulling up the reclinable part of the counter to step out.

“It’s fine, it’s a chill evening anyway. Got nothing else to do.”

You’re too scared to make a scene. What if you do and the people who wanted your people dead find you? You might have told Sergei you’d die with him, but not now. There are still quite a few years of your life you want to spend by his side.

The boy tries to get a hold of your shopping bag when some movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention. Your heartbeat skyrockets, and your brain threatens to go into survival mode. You’re mentally mapping possible ways out and obstacles on your path before you can even consciously realize you’re doing it.

The bell above the door jingles when the door opens, and you’re this close to dropping everything to grab your gun and take shelter behind one of the shelves.

“Babe?” Sergei’s voice crashes everything to a halt. He’s standing there like some fucking Prince Charming, face hidden behind a combo of black scarf and beanie―his best attempt at hiding just what a bad shape his face has been reduced to. “Got everything?”

It’s just when you reply, “Yes,” and start making your way toward him, all the while holding back that sigh of relief, that you realize what he’s just called you. He never calls you “baby” or any variation of it―neither in English nor in Russian―and you never do the same. Over time, it has become a code word of yours.

Better get the hell outta here.

He’s right behind you when you leave after saying the weirdest goodbye to the cashier boy. Sergei takes the jugs of water from your grasp and doesn’t question you when you speedwalk to the car.

“I have this really weird feeling about this place,” you say, shoving everything on the backseat next to a confused, but highly alert Vladimir.

“D’you think they’re looking for us?” Sergei asks as he starts pumping gas. You notice how he’s keeping an eye on the store you just left, and when you glance in that direction, you notice the boy has left the confines of the counter and is now standing outside, by the double doors, idly smoking a cigarette.

Why would anyone here even know you?

And why would anyone back in Hell’s Kitchen have pictures of Sergei and Vladimir for an eventual manhunt?

How would they even know someone survived the attack? Would they really look for the corpses?

The boy waves at you. You awkwardly wave back. It’s something straight out of a movie, almost like you’re surrounded beyond the borders of this light island of a gas station.

The hairs on the back of your neck are standing straight, and you hug yourself against the chill of the evening breeze―although you’re actually touching your gun, finally making sure it’s still where you put it.

You haven’t forgotten how Sergei hasn’t told you the reason why he called you ‘babe’ earlier. You haven’t forgotten about that. Just like you haven’t forgotten you also need to pee, but you’re sure you can hold it in a little longer. You’d honestly rather bite your own hand off than walk out to where the toilets are here, especially with how that boy is still staring at you.

Neither you nor Sergei say a word for the next half an hour, not even when Vladimir complains about “fucking stupid American bread” and your “poor choices for food” (when he’d really been surviving off of vodka, cigarettes, and fast-food take-outs before you entered the picture and he became an almost constant fixed addition at your kitchen table.)

“Saw anything weird in that shop?” Sergei’s jaw is clenched tight when you turn to look at him, and his hold on the steering wheel is white-knuckled. It’s enough to shut Vladimir up.

You wonder what he means by that.

“Not really, but I had the weirdest feeling. I kept on checking my back on some sunglasses on the counter.” You recall how much that unsettled you back there, but you don’t tell him that. “That dude almost insisted on taking me back to the car and ‘helping me pump’.”

He clenches his teeth that tad bit harder, and you almost worry he’s going to grind them to the gums.

“Serzh?” you call, lightly touching the stubble on his cheek, tracing the edge of the band-aid on his wound.

“There were four bikes on the back, a few feet from the toilets.” He glances in your direction first and then in the rearview mirror. As you turn to check the empty road behind you, shrouded in darkness, he continues, “I didn’t see anyone in that store with you and that dude, though.”

“Bikes were well taken care of, too,” adds Vladimir.

It makes your stomach sink, but at least now you know you weren’t just being paranoid.

“We heard some noises outside while we were pissing, like someone trying to be quiet.”

“Do you think they’re already after you?” you wonder out loud, and then more to yourself, “and this far away?”

“I doubt it.” Sergei shakes his head. His right hand leaves the steering wheel and grabs a hold of your left thigh, giving it what feels like his attempt at a reassuring squeeze. “But I think there were people there that were up to no good. I found someone’s golden necklace on the floor by the trash.”

Vladimir mutters something against ‘pieces of shit preying on women,’ but then he’s digging into the sandwich he’s managed to make with food he despises so much and he shuts up.

Sergei briefly glances at him through the rearview mirror before giving your thigh another gentle squeeze. “You still remember how to shoot that gun, da?”

“We went to the shooting range just two weeks ago!” you complain. “Of course, I do.”

“It’s different when you’re shooting real people.”

Vladimir interjects. “I’ve always told you to let her come along to our business stuff.”

Sergei curses behind gritted teeth, nerves ready to go off. “I’m not punching you just because you’re still my boss but if you were anyone else right now, I’d be taking you out of your misery.”

“Don’t fight, you two,” you sigh, turning back and pinching Vlad’s inner thigh until he winces in pain. “I’d fight to survive,” you then reassure Sergei. “Either with a gun, a knife, or my hands.”

You see him visibly relax. It’s almost like he’s finally breathing normally now. The knuckles of his left hand aren’t white anymore on the steering wheel, and the hand on your thigh is more like a comforting weight now than him trying to anchor himself.

“And you were there,” you add, after taking the two sandwiches Vladimir’s handing you. One for you, one for Sergei. “I always trust you to get to me on time.”

He looks at you for a moment longer, the road ahead of you straight and completely empty, before he takes a bite of his dinner.

There’s a lot more behind your words than you do say out loud. Like when he got back home to you, a few nights ago, ready to send you―and only you―to safety. Or like tonight, when he opened the door of that store and looked and felt just like a savior to you, Ariadne’s thread leading you to safety.

*

Thirty hours later, you’re in Cuba.

The flight from the meeting point to a remote location on the outskirts of Cuban civilization was relatively calm, even with the delay that caused the pilots to show up six hours later than agreed upon. The drive to the house of the man who’s helping you, however, ends up being a bit more tense. Between Vladimir’s constant moaning and grunting and Sergei fighting to stay awake, you were on high alert, all your nerves pulled almost to their limits.

The guy’s villa is nice, though. Surrounded by thick, tall walls. Entrances guarded by his men. The perimeter of the whole property is studded with security cameras―you have no doubt every square foot inside the house is constantly filmed as well. It’s what reassures you for the first time ever since Sergei woke you up at such an ungodly hour five days ago. It’s not even because of your own safety that you feel yourself finally breathe and your tense muscles loosen up―it’s for the reassurance Sergei is safe, here, finally. Vladimir as well, but truth be told, after all the complaining he’s done after getting rescued, you’d kick him in his shins yourself if you had the chance to.

“I knew I’d see you again,” Homer smiles, kissing the back of your hand as Sergei shoots daggers from his eyes―he’s still not over the fact that this sleazy man tried to court you while you were already taken.

Homer is not the guy’s real name, of course. Not even the Ranskahov brothers ever knew it, no one does. He would have told you if you had slept with him, and you’re still pissed at how annoyed Vlad had been when he found out you had, in fact, turned down the offer―you also haven’t forgotten how Sergei had almost raised hell in the face of both offenses.

Still, Homer was your best bet at a last-minute alliance―Vladimir and his men still did help him get out of the Stated unscathed, so there’s always been this favor card Homer had to pay back. The fact that you make him hard in his pants is just a precious added bonus that gives you brighter hope at the prospect of also leaving the American continent alive.

“Thank you for having our back.” Seeing Vladimir openly struggle to keep his balance as he moves forward to stand in front of his unexpected ally surprises you.

“You helped me when no one else did. It’s just fair I pay back your generosity,” comes the reply.

You let Sergei pull you back by one of your hips until you are standing side by side with him.

Homer chuckles at that and sends a wink in your direction. “I got the message three years ago,” he reassures Sergei. “The princess is taken. I won’t make a move unless she does first.”

“She won’t.”

There are not many instances you’ve witnessed where Sergei has been possessive of you, but this guy has always been an exception. You can only hope neither your man’s possessiveness nor Homer’s fascination with you will pose a threat to your survival.

Things seem to go well, however. The man of the house lends you his personal medical team to have a look at both Sergei and Vladimir while you get to enjoy a stroll in Homer’s greenhouse after being denied access to the rooms of the house dedicated to the clinic.

It unsettles you a bit and robs you of the chance to enjoy your own private botanical tour among colorful flowers of every kind. If anything, Homer keeps his hands and comments to himself―although you’re not so sure about where his gaze wanders when you’re not looking at him―and he limits himself to a retelling of what each flower is called and what their characteristics are.

Two of his armed men follow you close by, but whether it’s because you’re seen as a possible threat or that’s just another day in this house for them, you cannot tell. Still, you feel watched―every single one of your moves is being recorded, and you can’t quite tell how comfortable you are with that.

Honestly speaking, you feel quite safe here, but you wouldn’t step into the fire and guarantee the same for the two men you’ve come here with. Homer might still want you, after all, and now that Vladimir’s group has pretty much been exterminated, two Russians don’t pose that much of a threat anymore. The fact that they used to be far more powerful than Homer himself doesn’t even matter because they’re not that powerful now. They’re closer to defeat than they are to victory, and a smart person thirsty for power would definitely take advantage of that.

With that realization, the humid air of the greenhouse thickens. You feel it weigh down on your shoulders as Homer shows you some hibiscus plants, apparently his pride and joy.

“Ah, here are my favorites!” he exclaims. “What do you think? I import special fertilizer just for them.”

You smile, but inside your body, a million and one thoughts are eating away at your stomach, each worse than the last. “They’re quite the beauty,” you find yourself honestly agreeing.

This had better be your paranoia getting the best of you. Because while Homer would get nothing by killing what’s left of your friends, he would also get nothing by helping them. And in a world where letting them live could potentially get him something back in the future, you prefer to try and give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Still, they don’t quite compare to your beauty.” He places a flower behind your ear, one he cut with the shiny scissors he managed to fetch while you were lost in thought, and smiles at you.

“We’re finally in agreement.” It’s the second time in less than forty-eight hours that Sergei’s voice reaches you like a beacon of light.

Homer turns in his direction as well and you don’t miss that flash of disappointment speed across the look in his eyes.

Your anxieties find some peace. He’s still alive, there’s nothing to worry about―for the time being, at least. The band-aid on his right cheek has been changed, and the appearance of his face looks much cleaner now, including the cut on his eyebrow you stitched up after leaving New York City.

“However, she’s much more than just a pretty face,” he continues, sternly. If Vlad were here now, he would chew his head off, but you welcome his words.

Your fingers entwine with his when he finally reaches your side, and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You feel a bit too exposed without your gun, so it’s great to finally be reunited with the man you love.

“How’s Vlad?” you ask, looking up into his eyes and exploiting the excuse to finally lock Homer out of your mind for a minute.

“Getting treated and stitched up. He has a couple of broken bones, too. Maybe that’s why he was crankier than usual,” he smirks, his Russian ringing amused.

You slap his arm, and from the corner of your eye, you notice the way Homer is looking at the two of you. Trying to decipher what that might mean is something you’d rather not do, at least not in front of him, so you allow Sergei to be the first to speak up again.

“We’d really better get going now, if it’s okay with you,” he says, eyeing what he realizes to be a new nuisance in the life he shares with you. “Neither of us has had a chance to shower since last week.”

You don’t really reek yet, but now that you’re reminded of the fact, you do start to feel uncomfortable in your own clothes.

Homer doesn’t complain, nor does he try to hold you back. Instead, he smiles understandingly and makes chit-chat as he leads you to your rooms. Plural. Separate rooms, that’s what you’re given. Granted, they’re next to each other, but they’re two separate rooms nonetheless. It rubs Sergei the wrong way.

You’d also really not sleep alone in this mansion, especially when it belongs to a man who seems to still be set on pursuing you if not romantically, at least physically.

“No need for all these rooms, we wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.” You know Sergei’s more than good at lying. He’s an expert at what he does―no wonder why, after Anatoly, he’s always been Vladimir’s right hand. Still, it surprises you, how calm he is right now, his way with words when you’re sure the boxer in him is itching to come out and fight. “One for Vlad and one for the two of us―” he continues, raising your joined hands― “will be more than enough.”

Sergei almost starts talking shit about your host when you make your way inside the room, after fetching your bags. However, having known him and his antics for so long, you’re much quicker than he has the time to be, and you silence him with a kiss.

God.

Fuck.

Maybe this is it.

This is the moment you realize you can finally catch your breath for a while. Slow down, stop glancing into the rearview mirror.

It feels like you haven’t kissed in forever. Like you’ve been apart for so long, even despite the extremely long car drive you’ve been on. Without your endless worries and the fear of someone tailing you, it’s almost like you can finally get close again. Vladimir Ranskahov out of the picture―love him to pieces on a good day as you may―definitely helps.

Sergei kisses you back with the same intensity, like he’s parched and trying to drink you in, and when he pulls you in closer to him by your butt cheeks, you take the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck.

“I saw cameras everywhere in this house,” you whisper into the band-aid on his cheek when he moves his kisses from your lips to your neck. “Are you sure we can trust him?” Your voice remains low, barely above a whisper; you wonder whether the guest rooms have been bugged as well.

Sergei sighs into your skin, and his fingertips dig into your hips for a moment. “I don’t,” he says, hushed Russian into your cheek when he kisses it. “I want you a billion kilometers away from him.”

He picks up the hibiscus flower Homer placed behind your ear and, being careful not to pull on your hair, pulls it off of you.

“I’m going to fucking kill him if he dares to touch you again.” He doesn’t whisper―maybe fear isn’t tickling his stomach as it does yours―and you can only hope neither Homer nor his men know the Russian language beyond a da, privet, spasibo. Do svidaniya, too, if we want to be generous.

Still, you don’t think openly insulting the man in his own lair is a smart idea.

“Nothing happened,” you try to reassure him instead of voicing your concerns, cupping his good cheek as he crushes that flower in his fist. “You know he’s not the one I want.”

“I trust you, I just don’t trust him,” he insists. He closes his eyes with a sigh. “I think he’s made it clear enough that he just. doesn’t. care.” He enunciates the last three words slowly, emphatically, with petulance in his voice that’s usually so very characteristic of Vladimir when he complains. Lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas, you guess.

“We can simply ignore him,” you press on, bunching up the hem of his shirt in your fists. “We’ll leave as soon as Vlad’s fit to do it safely.”

A groan. “Fuck Vova.”

“I’d rather fuck you,” you bite back, tongue in cheek, a finger tracing the skin of his abdomen above the hem of his jeans. “After we take a shower,” you add when he gives you his best oh-I-will-fuck-you-alright face. “And then, you’ll tell me exactly what happened that night.”

You figure it’s a good compromise: you both get to have some fun, take your mind off of things, and then you’ll finally get your answers.

Why you had to leave.

Who attacked Vladimir and his men.

If everyone really is dead.

What the fuck is going on.

And what the fuck will happen now.

The shower is far bigger than any other you’ve ever seen in person, least of all used. You step in first while Sergei undresses, and you let the water cascade down your face.

A contented sigh leaves your lips.

You already know you will write down this shower in your book as the best so far.

The gentle stream of water is a much-needed, warm caress on your face and shoulders, even down your back, after it started aching one day into your desperate drive to safety. The tension in your muscles starts trickling down toward the drain, and the sensation of being absolutely filthy eases up a bit. You feel like you could even postpone lunch―all you’re in the mood for right now is this shower, some Sergei, a side dish of the answers you’ve been waiting for, and then a long nap as sweet as dessert.

Behind you, Sergei whistles appreciatively, no doubt enjoying the view of your naked body.

It makes you chuckle. How normal this feels now doesn’t weigh down on you the way that same feeling did back in the car.

You grin as you turn around, hands rubbing up your face to flick away the water raining down on you. Your cheeky comeback withers on your tongue and turns into a gasp when your eyes land on him. It’s not because he’s already hardening between his legs, but rather because he is absolutely covered in bruises.

He never mentioned being that hurt before. You’ve seen him numerous times after his fights, and his body has never looked like that―so hurt, so bruised with a pain that must run much deeper than skin level. You have heard him groan here and there―at this point probably when he couldn’t stand it anymore―but never would you have thought him to be this hurt.

“Oh, my god, Serzh…”

You can barely understand how he’s moving without flinching.

“I’m alright,” he reassures you softly when he reaches you. He grabs you by your hands and places them on his chest. His heartbeat is right beneath your fingertips and his bruises. Your right thumb caresses up and down his skin as you take in the sight before you.

You try not to let your lip quiver.

His strength and abilities are no secret to you but seeing him hurt is always a pang in your guts. Today the sensation cuts deeper, it twists and turns, stings even.

“I’m alright,” he repeats, taking your face in his hands and kissing you.

It serves as a good distraction, if anything. When you close your eyes, the mental photocopy of his marred body slowly fades away, until all you feel is his body flush against your front.

He takes one extra step forward with you in his arms and then he turns the shower off.

Your heads tilt when the kiss deepens and now you can feel how your heart picks up its rhythm for a different reason than you being worried for him. His hands move from your neck, down your shoulders and sides. When they reach your waist, your heart skips a beat, and your breath catches in your throat.

“I’ll heal so quick, milaya…” he whispers into the crook of your neck before kissing you there. “Promise you I’m fine now.”

A graze of his teeth, a swipe of his tongue, and you can feel yourself throb in a place that’s not your chest.

Still, “You should’ve told me,” you complain meekly.

You’re so pliant in his hands, practically boneless. Your knees don’t give out on you just because he has you so close against him.

He feels rock hard against your abdomen, almost a reminder of how deep he’s going to be inside you in not that long. It makes your head spin. He makes your head spin.

Your hands come up to his hair, then. They’re wet against his body untouched by water. Every part of him is.

“You’re the remedy to all my ailments,” he professes into your skin.

You chuckle. Maybe it’s because of his words, or the way he teasingly gives your ass a squeeze. Maybe it’s both.

“Let me shower you first,” he continues before you can tell him to stop with the jokes. “Then, when we’re done, we’ll show that douche how fucking taken you are. I bet that peeper has cameras in bathrooms as well.”

He pecks your lips and then pulls on your lower lip with his teeth. He doesn’t make a move, though. He waits for your green light. You know he’d limit himself to a simple shower if you said no, no matter how hard he could be.

You’re way past the embarrassment, however. After Anatoly caught the two of you fucking in the garage when you thought everyone had left, you stopped caring.

So, you grin. “Let’s show him,” you giggle.

Sergei is incredibly gentle as he showers you, lathers you in the scent of this new soap you’re being lent. His words, however, are anything but. “Bet he wishes you’d smell like him,” he whispers into your ear from behind.

You chuckle at his jealousy, even when his hands get to massaging your breasts and his erection nestles itself between your butt cheeks. “What’s gotten into you?” you giggle. He knows he’s your ride-or-die, after all.

“I’d say you, but it’s been so long since we've done that.” The pout in his voice is as clear as day.

He seems to have an idea, then, and he spins the two of you around.

“Look at you,” he grins. His soapy hands trail down your sides and then back up. His teeth nip at the crook of your neck the moment his hands give your boobs another squeeze. A bit rougher, this time.

But you’re not looking at your own reflection in the mirror. You’re looking at him, most of his bruises now hidden by your body standing in front of his.

He notices that, picks up on your line of thought the second your gazes meet in the mirror. He says something about you thinking way too much, about how it’s so new, the fact that you’re not running your mouth as much as usual instead. When he turns you back around, he distracts you by shampooing your hair.

“I don’t know how you managed to act as if you weren’t hurt.” You hope the reason is not a dumb I didn’t want you to worry.

“It looks worse than it really is, I promise.” He smiles at you as he massages your scalp and it’s like just any other day, when you’d choose to shower together because your jobs kept you apart long enough during the day.

You decide to bypass the sight of his stitched brow and bandaged cheek. You focus on the light freckles on his face instead, on the way they must have shaved his stubble before, during, or after his visit with Homer’s doctor.

“Let me shower you as well,” you smile softly when he’s done rinsing the suds out of your hair. Then, you turn the shower off. He laughs when you add a whispered stinky under your breath.

There’s half a plan quickly forming in your mind, and it has nothing to do with running away from this house and not even with your (maybe paranoid) worries.

You gently scrub his chest with a soapy loofah, careful to be as light as you can when going over all the sore spots on his body. His hands are firmly planted on your hips, squeezing lightly every now and then, like a cat. He’s also looking at you and you mirror his smile with a mischievous smirk of your own.

His cock is still hard between your bodies.

You don’t give him time to suspect anything. One second your left hand is holding onto his bicep, the next it’s wrapped around the base of his erection.

He hisses in surprise, a sound that lasts a fraction of a second, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes your toes curl against the tiled floor.

“Milaya…” he warns, voice dripping the same desire that’s making him heavy between his legs.

Some would say you’re playing a dangerous game, poking the bear while it’s chilling. But you want him to prove it to you―that he’s fine, that he’s not really hurt. (Frankly, you also want him to fuck this nightmare of an adventure out of your system. It doesn’t matter whether Homer hears. Hell, it doesn’t even matter whether he watches!)

“What?” You bat your eyelashes at him, badly hiding your mischief behind a broken innocence mask.

You move your hand up, tease the underside of his glans with your thumb, then move your hand back down.

He moans under his breath, never once breaking eye contact. It makes you throb between your legs. You don’t even know if it’s the water still on your skin, or if you’re actually dripping.

“’tis what you wanted, no?”

The loofah is somewhere on the floor by now. Your left hand lazily, without rhythm, strokes him while your right hand moves up his chest. Then, it’s resting behind his neck.

“Know what?” you whisper millimeters from his parted lips. His breathing has become labored. “’think I’ll make you come like this first.”

You’re beaming. His breathing is shivering slightly. Is he trying to stay quiet?

“Fuck, you’re a minx,” he breathes, his hands pulling you in closer by your hips, until your hand barely has room to move.

He kisses the grin off of your lips. There’s a certain insistence behind the action, and he pulls on your lower lip, then adds his tongue to the mix.

You moan first, and then he follows suit when your hand reaches the head of his cock and twists.

His fingertips dig into the plush of your ass, forcing you closer. The kiss distracts you, so his slap on one of your butt cheeks catches you by surprise, makes you whimper right into his mouth.

The movement of your left hand on his cock quickens in response while the fingers of your right hand slip into his hair, at the base of his neck.

You tug on the strands.

He groans.

In your hold, his cock twitches.

His impatience becomes your own then, and you’re barely aware of the way your thighs are pressing together―trying to relieve or chase a sensation, you don’t know, you’re a little too busy to give it actual thought.

In the middle of the two of you kissing, of your hand pumping him, he finds himself with his back against the wall. The cold tiles against his skin make him hiss―or maybe it’s his bruises. Again, maybe a bit of both.

He ruts into your hand.

When your thumb teases at his head, the sound he lets out is a bit of a moan, a bit of a groan, a bit of a broken chuckle. He calls your name against your lips and when you look up at him, you notice he has his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

You try not to whimper, but your breathing still does falter. Your heart in your chest is a deafening machine, and your mind, the weakest will to ever exist.

You’re on your knees before you can take the conscious decision to, thighs tightly squeezed shut together. There are still remains of body wash drying on your chest from when you hugged him instead of rinsing him.

It takes Sergei your tongue licking up the length of his erection to realize the change in your position. Eyelids heady, lips parted, the look he fixes you with is enough to make you beam with pride, like you’re the sexiest being to ever walk the Earth.

You give him a grin, and then you’re taking him all the way to the back of your mouth. His hands are in your hair the second the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. Suddenly, there are Ukrainian curses slipping out of his lips, here and there, a sign that he’s losing control in favor of the pleasure you’re bringing him.

It doesn’t take him long to come. It never really does―he’s always had a thing for your mouth, whether you use it for words or to suck the living soul out of him.

He always swears he’s in love with you, and this time isn’t an exception. He’s groaning it right now, voice quivering. His hands are keeping you in place, your nose touching his pelvis, ropes of cum shooting down your throat. Under these conditions, your only response to his declaration can obviously be a moan. It heightens the sensations for him, his cock still in your mouth, and he’s quick to pull out.

When you look up, his chest is flushed, the tips of his ears red, and he’s out of breath.

The smirk you send his way makes him chuckle breathlessly, your head still in his grasp.

“Fuck, I missed that mouth.”

One of his thumbs moves towards the corner of your lips, where some of his cum has slipped out.

“You barely even gag anymore.”

The muscles in his thighs contract when he watches you suck the pad of his thumb clean.

“Keep that up and I’ll get hard again,” he warns, cradling your face like you’re worth more than this whole damned mansion. You are―he doesn’t really, explicitly tell you so, but it’s clear in the way he acts, like he worships the very ground you walk on.

“Isn’t that the point?” you smile, standing up. Your lips automatically meet his, and his hands automatically find their place on your hips. “I want you so bad, Serzh…” you whisper against him, one hand blindingly going for the shower head.

It’s hard to rinse the dried body wash off of his body when he’s so insistently kissing your neck, so close to him you could almost feel his heartbeat against your own. Giggling ensues when you force him back and you wipe his front clean with one hand while doing your best not to spray water on his injured face.

The look on his face as he watches your every move is worth a thousand words, if not more. It makes blood rush to your face, and your gaze moves to his chest, his eyes too expressive for your own sanity. Like he wants to devour you, drink you in, and it’s not even because of the competition he wants to ward off.

“My turn now,” he suddenly says, grabbing that damned shower head from your hand and hanging it back in its place. Then, you’re the one against the wall and he’s the one on his knees.

Fuck, do you love this sight!

“’been thinking about this sweet pussy for so long…” He makes a sound in the back of his throat, like he can’t believe he’s finally being served dessert―despite it definitely being his favorite.

You let him maneuver you until your left leg is on his shoulder, your hands in his hair, but when he inches closer, you pull at his strands―

―not quick enough: he’s already licking a stripe up your pussy, until he places a kiss on your clit. Your mind clouds over, and it’s like having cotton in your mouth. “Not with that cheek,” you manage to complain through the haze brought on by him going to town on your core. You don’t want to somehow, accidentally, mess up his freshly bandaged wound.

“’s fine, I don’t need it to eat you out, do I?” He kisses your inner thigh, the one resting on his shoulder, and when you look down, he’s already looking up at you.

There’s a gleam in his eyes, like he’s promising you heaven on Earth. Like by the time he’s done with you, you won’t even be able to tell what day it is.

And who are you to say no? Oral with Sergei is a glorious experience, unlike any other you’ve lived through, maybe only surpassed by the actual sex―with him, of course.

It starts off toe-curling, with the tip of his tongue teasing your clit and one of his fingers pushing into the heat of your pussy.

You barely hear what he groans―so fucking wet already―your mind is simply too hazy. It’s spinning right after, when he starts suckling, and that one finger turns into two.

You hear yourself then, underneath his moans and your own. The sound of your slick, of how wet you are as the movements of his hand change rhythm and angle. When he starts hitting that spot, ravaging you like a man starved, you fear your knee giving out.

“God,” you moan out, pulling on his hair subconsciously―and maybe a bit too hard. Whether you believe in God, or in many, or none altogether, he eats you out in such a way that he does feel like one. Like he could make you see stars or even the entire universe without really making you leave the room or lift a finger.

The pitch of your moans heightens when he adds a third finger, stretching you to make you take him, and you feel yourself clenching impossibly tight around his digits.

Oh, fuck, how much did you miss this! You didn’t really think about this part of your relationship while on the run, but now you never want to leave this bathroom.

When you gather the strength to peek at the mirror, you’re met with the sight of your hair, wet and messy against the tiled wall. Your left calf is hiding part of a nasty bruise on his back. Even in his current state, however, he doesn’t show signs of hurt or discomfort.

Then he does something. Either with his mouth or his fingers―you’re honestly too lost in the pleasure he’s giving you to even rationally realize what’s rubbing you the right way. All you know is that your breathing deepens, your moans turn into whines, and your eyes cross behind closed eyelids.

“God, like that, don’t stop,” you beg, only half coherent, as one of your hands moves up to grab a hold of your boob. It’s like you’re looking for support, even despite knowing he’d never let you fall, never let you get hurt.

Your brain doesn’t even fully register what he’s saying to you above the deafening galloping of your heartbeat.

You just need to come so badly… Maybe you even tell him so, and maybe he adds a little more vigor behind his actions. His fingers curl just right inside you, and he doesn’t get up for air one second. Mouth suctioned to your clit, he gives you all he’s capable of.

Maybe he even looks up at the way you’re playing with your breasts. Maybe he even makes a comment―you definitely feel the vibrations of it against your core the same way you feel those of his moans. All you know is that you’re coming, pulled under the surface of coherence by the wave of this sudden orgasm. It blinds you, even when your eyelids are already closed, and you swear your heart skips quite a few beats.

Maybe you even do see god this time (maybe in the shape of your lover), as you give in to the pleasure, surrender to its onslaught, and spill your orgasm on Sergei’s face―if you weren’t soaring so far high up the heavens, you’d definitely force him to pull back and not mess up his injuries. But you don’t even think you’re part of this world anymore.

It takes you quite a while to come back to your senses. Slowly, the fixture lights in the ceiling come back into focus and your blood stops roaring in your ears. Your breathing is still quick, and you barely register the way your legs are quivering―

fuck, you want to do it again

―both feet on the ground.

It takes you a moment more to realize Sergei is standing right in front of you, his hands on your hips, one of his legs between yours to help you keep your balance.

His dick feels impossibly hard again, pressed against your thigh by your close proximity.

“You were so fucking loud,” he beams, looking prouder than he’s ever looked. You match him on that intensity, but in your case, it’s just because of how fucked out you are. “Squirted and all.” He’s so smug about him―you want to kiss him until he’s as breathless as you are. “I bet everyone in this house heard you.”

You don’t even have the energy to let yourself be embarrassed by that possibility. Sergei always has this effect on you: he obliterates everything else, until he’s the only focus of your attention.

“Serzh…” It comes out as an airy whine, your call of his name. You’ve barely touched the ground that you already want to float up again.

He hums, and then, “What?” right against your lips. He peppers them in kisses as light as feathers until he’s pulling breathless chuckles out of you.

“Please.”

You’re throbbing again, tingling all over.

On your thigh, you feel how his cock is already leaking.

“Please what?”

He’s on your neck, adding to his own work of art of hickeys. His hands are cupping your breasts, testing their weight, then teasing your hardened nipples.

Your hands shoot up to his biceps when he twists one of your nipples between deft fingers, a drawn-out moan diving from your lips.

You swear you could drown in him.

“Please, fuck me.” You look into his eyes as you say it. His pupils are blown and the lower part of his face is still glistening in your juices.

You taste yourself on his tongue when you kiss him. You should be looking for Vladimir, joining Homer for lunch, but you can’t even move yourself from this spot in the shower.

Before you can start pleading with him again, you’re taking matters into your own hands―his cock in your left hand, to be precise―and you’re turning around to face the wall. The cold tiles against your sensitive nipples pull a whine from the very center of your being.

From behind you, Sergei chuckles into your neck, entertaining the way you swipe the head of his cock along your dripping entrance but refraining from even slipping just the tip in.

“You want it from the back?” he murmurs, kissing your skin where he’s just stopped teasing you with his tongue.

So, what if you’re already delirious?

“Yesss.” The sound of that s stretches for a second too long, until the air is caught in your throat when he grants you with the tiniest thrust, enough to taunt your heat with his head.

“How bad?” he asks, one hand at the base of your throat and the fingers of the other inching down your front, your abdom― oh, fuck.

The moan that escapes you when he circles your clit once is so loud, it rings in your own ears.

All you can muster up after that is a questioning hum, his burning-hot presence behind you―against you―is enough to make your toes curl.

“How bad do you want it?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he touches your clit again at the same time his cock breaches your entrance to give you just the bare minimum.

“So bad.” Your voice is reduced to a whisper. As you anticipate what’s to come, your lungs struggle to take in enough air. “I’ll go crazy if you don’t take me right now,” you manage to breathe out when a hand on your hip stops your attempts at fucking yourself back onto his dick.

You hear the vibrations of his chuckle in your back and then, when you least expect it, he’s abruptly thrusting up into your pussy. It catches you off guard, and you’re so worked up you almost fear you’re going to come on the spot.

You don’t.

Instead, you find yourself wrapped up in his arms, his hips unmoving. You can’t distinguish whether it’s his cock pulsing inside your pussy or whether it’s all just you.

“I almost fucked you in that car with Vova in the back,” he confesses, voice strained and breath labored. “I needed to feel you so bad to know everything was fine.”

Are you even still breathing?

Are you choking on his dick or is it still in your pussy?

Your hips writhe, walls clenching down around him.

“You still with me?”

You manage to nod against his shoulder, barely aware of all the small moans that are slipping past your lips.

He smiles into your temple, and then he’s taking a step back. Two. Three. You feel each movement deep in your core, where he’s still safely lodged, and you’re on your tiptoes, doing your best to keep up with him.

When he turns the both of you around and makes you lean forward, you realize he’s brought you to stand between the twin sinks on the counter, right in front of the wall-long mirror. You catch his eye in your reflection, his body curled over yours so that he can press kisses to the crook of your neck. His cock pushes the tiniest bit deeper this way and it makes you moan, eyelids so heavied down by pleasure that it’s hard to keep them open.

“Wouldn’t want to crack either of our skulls in the shower,” he explains, finally―finally―pulling his hips back just to then thrust the air out of you the next second.

“Fuck.” How are you still even capable of forming words?

Your shoulders sink down for a moment as your weight rests on your forearms. Sergei’s hands on your hips luckily hold you up.

You call his name, pleadingly. The head of his cock is bullying this spot inside you that makes your eyes almost cross, fuck, you really need to come.

Maybe he’s even in your chest. Honestly who knows at this point. You feel him everywhere.

“You’re always so tight,” he pants, fucking into you so hard your breath hitches in your throat. You find it impossible to believe he’s just got out of the worst physical and mental scare of your lives. “So… wet― shit―”

His hips stutter when his right hand finds its rightful place between your legs, on your cunt. You clench around him so hard when he starts playing with your clit again that he swears he can see stars even with his eyes open.

“Fuck, you’re the death of me,” he groans, meeting your blurring gaze in the mirror that’s starting to fog up. He gives one of your boobs a squeeze with his free hand before he starts playing with your sensitive nipple― “And what a sweet death that’d be.”

―to be fair, every part of you is. Sensitive, that is, and overstimulated. All your nerve endings are alight, fired up by the way he’s fucking into you, like it’s a sport he’s fucking elite at.

It empties your mind completely as your body is full of him. Your mind is, too, and your chant of his name rises in volume.

Fuck, you’re so close. His movements on your overstimulated clit almost make you sob.

If this is how you die, you’ll honestly welcome it with a full heart. There’s no part of you that doesn’t feel full to the brim anyway right now, for that matter.

You tell him in between moans, how close you are, how good he’s fucking you. Even if you’re covered in sweat, you’ve probably never felt so good as you do now. Is it because you’re surrounded by the illusion of safety in this house? Fuck, you don’t know.

“I’m so close, too,” echoes Sergei’s voice.

With the last of his strength, he pulls you up. His right hand is still stubbornly playing with your poor clit; his left arm keeps you upright, your back against his chest, and his hand under your chin keeps your head facing forward.

The sight in the mirror almost does you in. There are drops of sweat rolling down the side of his face. His skin is flushed in exertion, but it’s the hunger in his eyes that makes you moan out loud, loudly. Then your breasts, bouncing with each thrust into your heat. Then the smallest glimpse of his cock, rock hard, a pearly ring of your juices at the base.

“Shit, where do you want me?” he groans―“Inside?”―in a broken voice.

“Please,” you sob back. “Yes.”

You’re holding onto his left arm for dear life, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer. It hits you with the force of a freight train when Sergei simultaneously gives your throat a gentle squeeze while his right fingers flick your clit one last time. Everything goes white behind your closed eyelids, and you can’t hear anything above the ringing in your ears.

Your walls spasming around his dick trigger his own release and you both fall forward, almost boneless. You do hear his moans right next to your ear and he’s also not holding them back. His whole weight is on you, his left arm trapped between your chest and the countertop, while his hips still haphazardly rut into yours as your pussy milks him to the last drop.

He doesn’t pull out for the longest time, nor does he straighten himself up. You don’t complain, though―even with this whole man on top of you, it’s like you’ve never breathed better. To your chagrin, the time eventually comes for him to move, however. You lift your head a bit to watch his reflection in the mirror and you chuckle when you feel him tap his cock a few times against your entrance, after he pulls out.

“You’re already leaking.”

“Oh, no!” Your voice drips with sarcasm, and suddenly you’re being lifted up and turned around.

“Still running that mouth of yours?” There’s a touch of amused disbelief in his voice when he asks that, and you giggle against his lips before you kiss him.

“Maybe you should put something in it to fill it up,” you tease.

He does put something into you to fill you up, then. Just, it’s not in your mouth. The three middle fingers of his right hand breach your entrance―they make you gasp―effectively stopping his cum from dripping down your legs even more and to the floor.

“That can be arranged,” he smirks, satisfied by your reaction.

He walks you back into the room like that, three fingers up your cunt and his tongue in your mouth, his lips against yours.

“That porn performance―” comes a voice as soon as you make it out of the bathroom― “for free? Damn, you’re nasty!”

If looks could kill, Sergei’s would have Vladimir dead and buried already.

“What are you doing here?” You don’t know why, but Sergei’s Russian makes you flutter around his fingers. Your reaction earns you a glance from him, and then he moves his fingers in a beckoning motion a couple of times.

There’s no holding back the moan that rips up your throat, it doesn’t even matter that Vladimir has a first-row ticket for the view of your ass, the drops of sticky white semen that dripped down your inner thigh no more than two minutes ago; hell, even that of his best buddy’s fingers nestled deep in your heat!

Your hands give Sergei’s biceps a squeeze, and then out of your lips comes the gentle call for, “Serzh.”

“Came to fetch you for lunch, stayed for the show.” You don’t need to turn around to be able to envision Vladimir’s shit-eating grin. “Hurry up getting dressed, we’re already late.”

*

You get seated right opposite Homer at the dining table. Try as you might, however, you can’t refrain from squirming in your seat. His gaze is fixed on you, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess he’s also been an indirect witness to your escapade in the bathroom of his guest room. Not that you owe him an explanation about anything, but still…

Whether it pissed him off or he found it amusing, though, he doesn’t bring it up. He says absolutely nothing on the topic, and luckily so. You’re not sure you’d be able to keep in the fact that you’re dripping someone’s cum in your by-now ruined panties anymore otherwise.

If anything, your meal goes on smoothly, which means that the discomfort is only yours to bear. Maybe you’ll pull on Vladimir’s ears for not calling you as soon as he walked into your bedroom. Maybe the ground will open up like a hungry mouth and swallow you before you can be done with your tomato salad.

You don’t even follow the conversation the men are having until Vlad says something odd. Your hospitality feels like being home, in Russia―which, for as long as you can remember, has always been code for guys, shit’s about to hit the fan.

You can semi-freely talk about it only a few hours later, when you’re granted permission to take a walk into town, posing as semi-normal tourists.

Vladimir keeps his comments about you and Sergei going at it like rabbits for himself. Instead, he picks an ice cream place in the noisiest part of town and drops down a plastic chair with a lemon-strawberry cup in his hand.

It’s good to see him do so much better already after a check-up and IVs, but it’s a bit unsettling that he’s also picked up on the weird air at Homer’s estate.

“We gotta leave as soon as possible,” he says in Russian, unhurried, even if you can almost see the cogs turn in his head. “I got in touch with the cousin of one of the guys,” he doesn’t say which, however. Does he feel stalked?

You look around, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, mentally registering all the faces you manage to lay your gaze on as you eat your own ice cream. Sergei catches your eye and when you tiredly smile at him, he gives your knee a squeeze.

He hasn’t managed to tell you anything about that night, yet.

“He’ll make us disappear in Costa Rica,” he continues, leaning closer across the table and lowering his voice. “We’ll continue from there.”

“You sure we can trust him?” That question is out of your mouth before you can rein it in. After all, Homer was supposed to be a trusted man as well―not that he’s explicitly done anything against any of you (if his flirting doesn’t count), but there’s still something unexplainably off when he’s around.

Someone at the edge of the plaza catches your eye then. It’s a man you have never seen, but he’s staring right at you. During this trip your paranoia has been proved well-justified so far, so you don’t dismiss it this time: you lean across the table with the flirtiest smile you can muster for a man who’s not the one you love and you steal some of Vladimir’s ice cream with your own plastic spoon. At the same time, so close to his face you could even count the freckles on the bridge of his nose if you wanted, you quickly glance to the side without moving your head an inch.

Far from being stupid, Vladimir picks up the message immediately and pretends to be flirting back. “You’d better give me a repeat of your show tomorrow,” he says in the end, wincing a bit when he sits back against his chair. “Maybe we can have a three-way on the beach after dark.”

Luckily, Sergei plays along.

In your mind, ‘tomorrow’ echoes a thousand times. How did he manage to organize another escape so quickly when he had had a whole foot in his grave this morning?

You hope this time, your escape will end well.

Quickly enough, the topic of conversation changes and it’s just two friends talking normally with each other.

You? You keep pretending you’re watching everything around you through the eyes of a tourist. Instead, you see how the guy you spotted earlier is still there, looking in your direction from above the newspaper in his hands. A young couple has been on a video call since you sat down, and their phone seems to be tilted more in your direction and it is theirs. A bunch of kids, who had been playing football on the other side of the fountain when you got your ice creams, have moved closer; they’re not clamoring as much anymore, either.

You hope it’s just your paranoia. But you do spot a guy with an in-ear device at the entrance to the square, on the far left.

And if it’s not paranoia, is it Homer? Is it the people from Hell’s Kitchen?

That night the house is dead silent and in spite of it, you still struggle to fall asleep. Your brain mulls over a billion things at once. Homer. Your escape trip from New York. The people you left behind under the rubbish. The guy that’s apparently taking you to Costa Rica. Homer’s gaze everywhere on your body, making you squirm in discomfort at being ogled so openly, so disrespectfully.

Sergei’s lightly snoring next to you when you turn around. For a moment, you contemplate waking him up―maybe he can help you fall asleep―but you eventually decide not to. Running away has been exhausting for you; with his injuries and what he must have been through, he must have been hit even harder. He should probably get as much sleep as he can now that things are relatively quiet.

You turn around as slowly as possible, trying to slip out from under Sergei’s arm without waking him up.

When you get out of bed, you pick up your burner phone as you go. There are no new messages, no missed calls. It doesn’t surprise you.

[1:07 AM] you: you awake?

It takes him a few minutes to answer, but you’re glad he’s there, battling with insomnia on the other side of the hallway just as you. When it’s messages in a row.

[1:11 AM] V: yeah

[1:11 AM] V: why?

[1:11 AM] V: something happened?

You smile: you’re not the only paranoid bitch apparently.

[1:12 AM] you: everythings fine. cant sleep.

[1:12 AM] V: He’d bite my head off if the dicking down came from me. Sorry doll.

You glance at Sergei from where you’re sitting on the floor, but your snort doesn’t seem to have disturbed his sleep.

Vladimir, that sly motherfucker. He knows Sergei would tear his dick off even just for the fact that he’s thought of his woman. This morning was just an accident, so to speak, but there’s not a ‘second chance’ in your lover’s vocabulary, at least not in this field.

[1:15 AM] V: What? You considering it? ;)

Your uneven breathing is the only sign you’re doing your best to keep the laughter from spilling out of your lips.

[1:16 AM] you: you wish bby :*

“Milaya?” When you look up, Sergei’s rubbing his eyes, blearily looking at you after switching the bedside table lamp on. “What’re you doing there?”

The gruff in his voice shouldn’t rub you the way it does. You’re reminded of the first stage of your relationship, when you worked off hours and often came back home in the middle of the night. He’d demand you wake him up, and then he’d fuck you to sleep, his rough voice whispering obscenities in your ear or into the skin of your neck, your chest―even your inner thighs, if you still had the energy to let him eat you out before you clocked out for the night.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply. It’s no surprise that your knees buckle when you stand up and make your way to bed, your mind so deep in the gutter.

He eyes the phone in your hands. “Everything okay?”

You hum and slide into his open arms. The way his head nuzzled your chest makes you chuckle and your fingers comb through his short hair.

“Yeah. Vova can’t sleep either.”

When you look down at him, he’s pouting. “You were texting my best friend? You could’ve talked to me…” He might be dangerous when it comes to other people, but it’s mainly playful banter when it comes to Vladimir, you’re sure. Had you wanted him, you would have already made him yours. The dude hasn’t posed a danger for years now.

“I wanted to let you rest,” you reply, but Sergei’s hands are already starting to wander, and they distract you for a heartbeat or two. “After Hell’s Kitchen… You just haven’t been sleeping well.”

He scoffs in amusement, but the way he kisses your lips right after tells you he’s so very grateful―lucky, as he always says―to have you.

“That’s just because I didn’t have a chance to fuck you,” he smirks, his words crude. They hang heavy in the space between your lips, and heavy is the hand on your hipbone now that he’s hovering over you. “Can I do it?”

You can’t deny him, not when he looks at you like that―like you’re the goddess he worships―and not when hunger is already starting to simmer in your womb. So, you entertain him.

“Do what?”

“Do you.”

You laugh, breathless.

“C’mon, just let me get my dick wet. It’ll help you fall asleep so fast.”

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, still smiling. You bend your legs at the knees to trap him between them. It’s a blessing, the fact that you went to bed just wearing a t-shirt because you can feel the warmth of his erection against you through your panties. “You really can’t be romantic even just for a minute!”

He nuzzles the crook of your neck, kisses where your marked skin still feels tender and loved. He comes down on his elbows, and all of you is pressed against all of him. It’s the most comforting weight there is.

“Let me make love to you,” he corrects himself, rutting against you once. “Let me make you feel safe.”

A kiss to your lips, then his tongue comes out to lick at you once before you give him access. It goes on and on, the kiss; it lengthens until you have to pull away for air.

“Let me be on top.” You don’t even need to beg: he turns onto his back and pulls you with himself until you’re straddling his lower abdomen.

“No prep?” he wonders, surprised laced through his voice.

You shake your head. “’m wet enough already with the way you run your stupid mouth.”

He grins.

You make quick work of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to whip his cock out. The tip is already reddened and leaking pre-cum. You smirk, look at him, then look back. You wonder how he always manages to work himself up so quickly, but then you realize he has the same effect on you―you’re dripping when you pull your panties to the side―so you don’t ask.

The way he lets himself go into a single, long groan as you slowly slide down on his cock gives you a full-body shudder. Your hands bunch his t-shirt in your fingers and your eyes almost cross. When you finally sit down on him, his erection buried inside you to the hilt, the air slips past your lips in a quivering breath.

“Fuck, feels so good,” you whisper, leaning forward until you’re lying fully on him. “You feel so good.” The stretch is delicious, and you feel how your walls flutter to make room for the size of him.

“Always such a snug fit.” His hands grab your hips, and he thrusts into you once, then once more. Two orgasms each this morning clearly weren’t enough, but tonight you stop him.

“Don’t more, let me feel you like this.”

He doesn’t complain, not even when you both already know cockwarming isn’t his forte.

“Tell me about Hell’s Kitchen. The fuck happened?”

“Now?!” he gasps, making you look at him. “While my dick’s in your pussy?”

“As good a time as any. I’ll fall asleep after. I figured it’d be easier for you than being in my mouth.”

A sigh.

It’s silent for a while, and then the dam opens. He tells you as much as he knows. Which, admittedly, isn’t much. Or he’s trying not to burden you too much.

You wish he’d lean on you, share his pain so that you can be each other’s crutch.

He tells you about the masked mudak, the one that’s been messing with them and their business for months. Fisk and his schemes. Then the bombing at the garage―his fingers dig harder into your flesh when he talks about that―the explosion, the smell, the blood when he had tried to pull Grisha out of the ruins. He was coughing up so much blood already, the poor kid, and Sergei had to look the other way when he gave in to his plea to be shot and taken out of his misery. He had been a breathing corpse, mutilated by the fallen ruins―bricks and poles and sin.

Sergei doesn’t tell you that, though. He doesn’t paint a picture.

It’s already a miracle he manages to get to the end of his recall with a still-hard cock. His arms hold you close, and you feel the way his chest constricts.

You try not to grumble. Just a couple of weeks ago Grisha had come to you asking for advice―there was this girl, prettier than the sun and moon combined, and he wanted to do all the right things to ask her out. You wonder if he did. If he followed your advice. Or had he still been waiting for his chance when his world went off?

You don’t speak for a moment, simply listening to the changing rhythm of his heart. Then, you apologize for pressing him into giving you an explanation, and you kiss him until he forgets all those bad things for the time being.

That night you make love to him, try to ease the nightmares and the bad memories plaguing his mind. When tears start trickling down the sides of his face, his eyes closed, you hold onto him a little tighter, a little closer, and you fall asleep still connected with each other.

If you could shield him from what happened, shift its weight onto your shoulder, you would.

*

The day after, you stay out late for dinner. Vladimir came up with some bullshit excuse about him wanting to celebrate life with you and Sergei, and Homer let him go.

Did the guy also send someone else after you? You have no clue, and frankly, you don’t even look around to try and spot his goons. You’ve mainly been picking at your food with your fork all day. Sergei managed to sleep like a baby―of which you’re proud―but your mind has been stuck on the memory of Grisha in your living room, pacing back and forth while he spilled his heart out. How he hadn’t wanted to go to the guys because he just knew they’d tease him to no end. How he didn’t know what to do―his parents had been the worst example to follow in just about any field of life, and he didn’t know what to do. Sergei’s woman is the nicest person on Earth, someone had told him, so he had come to your apartment when he knew Sergei was out with the guys.

You think about how he had just been nineteen; he would have turned twenty on Christmas day; you had already planned to invite him over for a few days so that he wouldn’t have had to be alone―your heart squeezes in on itself, and you sigh.

“It’s all gonna be over soon, Doll,” Vladimir smiles, patting your hand on the table with his bandaged one.

You look at him. The dark circles under his eyes. The bruises on his face. His split lip. You know there’s much more underneath his clothes that you can’t see right now―but that you have seen too many times whenever you stopped to clean his wounds in the car. He looks like he’s aged ten years in the last almost ten days, and like he’s lost ten more. A shell of his old self―no brother, no freedom, no business―a bird-dog trying his best to reach a place where no one knows his name, or his face.

Sergei also looks like the vocabulary definition of exhaustion. One day of relative freedom―yesterday―was enough to deplete his reserve of energy. Now all he wants to do is escape. And forget.

You smile. For their sake, you tell yourself. Be their crutch like they’ve been yours.

“Is it going well?” you ask, turning your hand around so that you can hold the one Vladimir still has on yours.

He hasn’t told neither you nor Sergei his plan, and neither of you has asked. You figured the less people knew about it, the more chances you’d have to make it.

He nods. He’s the only one whose stomach isn’t knotted up. Is it because he was mostly passed out during your first escape? You guess that could be the answer.

There aren’t many patrons left when a group of men walks in. It’s hard not to spot them; they stick out like black birds among the colors of the restaurant.

Are they Homer’s?

They spot you. You see the way the look in their eyes changes when their (apparent) leader’s gaze locks with yours. You’re the only one facing them, Sergei and Vladimir sitting at the other side of the table.

They walk closer. They’re seven tables away.

Six.

Three.

Your hand wraps tightly around your knife.

Two.

The man in the front smiles. It reaches his eyes. You think he’s going to flirt with you, cause a scene, create chaos.

“You must be Sergei’s woman,” he says when he and his men sit at the table behind you.

It takes you a moment for your brain to realize he’s spoken Russian. You’ve never been more relieved to hear a language before in your life.

Was Vlad waiting for your escorts? Is that why he insisted on staying that long?

You breathe out in relief and when you look at your companions, they’re both grinning. Sergei gives you a nod of his head, his foot teasing yours under the table in reassurance.

“We met some dogs,” says the man behind you. You don’t dare turn around. “We sorted them out, but their owner might come looking.”

Things move quickly after that. Your heart hammers in your chest with the same strength as the night Sergei woke you up in the middle of the night, but this time it’s not out of fear. There’s excitement scorching through your veins, and adrenaline is probably already kicking in.

You’re out of the restaurant, your hand securely wrapped in Sergei’s. Vladimir is in front of you; the men his friend sent are all around. It’s like being a celebrity, even when you’re not.

It goes to your head.

Your heart beats so hard it hurts. It seems to pulse in your eardrums, and there’s a restlessness everywhere in your body―your fingers, your arms, your legs. It’s like your body wants to run, desperately, and yet it’s stuck at a much slower rhythm.

You meet Sergei’s gaze. He gives your hand a squeeze, mouths an I love you, and you think you want to marry him. Right here, right now. You want to take his face in your hands and kiss the living daylights out of him.

Your head hurts.

It’s sort of exhilarating, in a way you didn’t predict.

You’re on a boat. Then a much bigger one.

The men’s leader and two others are in the helicopter with you, Vladimir, and Sergei. You have no idea how you even got on it.

Your head hurts.

*

They move you a lot in Costa Rica. You never spend more than one night in the same place. As it turns out, his friends are trusty, this time. You’re introduced to Andrei’s cousin, the one Vladimir has mentioned, and you have to witness the way his soul cracks behind the look in his eyes when he’s told the news.

Danger still feels really close, but just like your escape from Cuba, it’s fucking exhilarating. A whirlwind you can barely keep up with.

You have some of the best sex of your life―it’s the only thing that helps burn out that extra energy making you restless. You think Vladimir is never going to let you and Sergei live it down. You promise him he can sit and watch if he wants, and maybe one night he does, in the armchair by the window of your temporary room, and you enjoy the way he looks at you while Sergei fucks you from behind.

When you reach Romania, the home of some more friends of Vladimir’s (you wonder how he even manages to have so many when he can be such an annoying ass), you’re all positively exhausted. It’s been three weeks since leaving Hell’s Kitchen behind, but it feels like much longer than that. Three years, or maybe three lifetimes.

You don’t have many memories from Cuba; you didn’t have the time to form any, after all. Homer and his flowers, the shower, that ice cream in the sunny plaza. Costa Rica is a whole other story; when you think about it, there’s still phantom soreness between your legs and Vladimir’s taste still tingles your tongue, that one time Sergei miraculously agreed to let you suck him off.

Life in Romania, by the Moldovan border, is nice and quiet, and there’s not much to do in the countryside you’re sent to for your own protection. You enjoy the walks―at dawn, at sunset, in the midday sun.

Skinny dipping with Sergei after dinner quickly becomes your favorite activity. He’s so real and solid in this life that now feels like such an illusion. You let him love you, and he lets you love him, too. There’s not a place around the house where you haven’t touched each other, kissed, hugged.

You start to pick up the language and around the four-month mark in the country, you feel like it’s finally starting to click. You find a part-time job, Serzh does, too. It keeps you busy―away from the frenzy of New York City, and away from the dreadful stillness of a life so out of your routine all of a sudden.

Sergei puts a ring around your finger one night, as you’re lying in bed, the smell of sex still lingering in the air even despite the open window. He says marriage is just a formality, but he definitely can go down that route if you want. He’s still going to spend the rest of his life by your side regardless.

You think you could give him anything he wants. Could and would, no ifs and no buts.

Vladimir turns restless, however. He seems to slowly sink, like a stone not dense and not heavy enough to immediately reach the bed of the river. He feels stuck, and you see the way he can’t seem to be able to go on. The exhilaration of your escape has left his system―much more slowly than the adrenaline did, but you see he’s running on reserve now.

You think you’re losing a piece of him each day that passes.

You’re stuck in the indecision of what to do. If you bring up old memories, the scars on his body start bleeding again. If you shut them down, the black hole in his chest grows and eats away at him right before your eyes.

Revenge starts being brought up. It’s always late at night, when he’s had a bit too much to drink. He brings up Anatoly as you and Sergei watch on, unable to do anything. He brings up his brother and the way he was murdered. Brings up Fisk, Gao, Nobu, the masked mudak. He burns with the intensity of a sun, and the bitter cold of outer space.

You fear losing him to his demons. Sergei doesn’t know how to bridle him anymore.

One night, he starts crying. He’s had a glass too many―a bottle too many―and you find yourself sitting in the garden, the warm July breeze contributing to the scorching heat of his skin. He’s feverish―he has been for a couple of days now.

Sergei’s smoking a few meters away, eyes trained on the night sky as he stands barefoot on the grass, wearing nothing but an old pair of knee-length pants. You see the way his jaw clenches in the moonlight, and you know he’s close to tears as well.

It scares you shitless.

Vladimir allows you to hold him in your arms, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, wetting you with his tears and his saliva, where he cries broken sobs into the skin of your shoulder.

Maybe it’s always been just a matter of time before what happened in Hell’s Kitchen caught up with him.

Maybe it’s also just a matter of time before this wave of destruction slows down to a halt. You hope maybe next summer, he won’t be drinking this much. By the summer after that, he’ll be able to hang mirrors in the house without shattering them. By the three-year mark, he’ll be sprouting in the spring and thriving in the summer.

Sergei turns around and finds you already staring at him. On his lips stretches the small, sad smile that mirrors your own. You think you see gratitude in his eyes before he goes inside to fetch a blanket. He wraps Vladimir up like a child and drags him inside.

That night you both lie on the floor of Vladimir’s room, as still as statues, listening closely to the way he breathes while he sleeps.

“Is he gonna be alright?” Sergei whispers, dread in his eyes as he looks at you for an answer, like you’re a deity that can see the future.

You trace the lines of his face, his lips. You kiss him lightly, even despite the smell of smoke that’s left behind from earlier. “Eventually,” you promise―a lie, but also a hope.

You don’t tell Sergei, but you think Vladimir is still on the run. You can only hope he will slow down, stop, look around, see he’s safe, still alive, and that his demons haven’t followed him into his physical reality.

Bye, thank you for reading my fic. 💌

#sergei daredevil #sergei daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #reader insert #angelaiswriting

[youremyheaven]

hi, victim of jupiterian man here again. my jupiter is in the 7th, so idk... i wouldn't say he's super romantic or venusian which is what i think 7th would be?

its so funny you mention the bisexuality allegations because i literally thought he was gay and was flabbergasted when he asked me out! he also dresses very uniquely. not in a bad way, think nyc fashion school student. he also did wear a skirt once!

would you say jupiterian men can be unfaithful? i do NOT play about fidelity so it's got me a little worried to have a jupiter dk 🧍‍♀️ i can see how an unhinged jupiter guy could get caught in the moment and end up being unfaithful. i think that's freaky! jupiter seems so unpredictable like omg if they go out to a club do i have to worry about them joining a circus and getting alchohol poisoning?!

7h can also be connected to being sociable as it's the house of partnerships. 7h is the 7h from 1h of identity so here we have the opposite of individuality which is union and belonging to others. 7h can make someone struggle with boundaries bc you gain your sense of self through others??? probably easily influenced as well because the fine line separating you versus others be bluryyy

Jupiter men are vvv flamboyant imo and kinda androgynous in energy if not appearance. Like they're really in touch with their feminine side.

I can't make blanket statements like that about planets 😭esp bc most men are 🤮🤢🤮so regardless of naks he might cheat

Jupiter is HELLA unpredictable,, they're soo chaotic ,, people don't see past their cool and calm exterior sometimes, once you get to know them they're crazyyy

[cometcrystal]

fav lyrics in each taylor swift song

I have autism and got a whim so here you go.

Self titled

Tim mcgraw - September saw a month of tears / And thankin' God that you weren't here / To see me like that

Picture to burn - So go and tell your friends that I'm obsessive and crazy / That's fine, I'll tell mine you're gay

Teardrops on my guitar - She'd better hold him tight, give him all her love / Look in those beautiful eyes and know she's lucky

A place in this world - I don't know what I want, so don't ask me

Cold as you - You never did give a damn thing, honey, but I cried, cried for you / And I know you wouldn't have told nobody if I died, died for you

The outside - You could've helped if you had wanted to

Tied together with a smile - Cause you're giving it away like it's extra change / Hoping it will end up in his pocket / But he leaves you out like a penny in the rain

Stay beautiful - Cory's eyes are like a jungle / He smiles, it's like the radio

Shouldve said no - It's strange to think the songs we used to sing / The smiles, the flowers, everything is gone

Marys song - I was seven and you were nine / I looked at you like the stars that shined

Our song - I was riding shotgun with my hair undone in the front seat of his car / He's got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel, the other on my heart (literally one of the most iconic taytay lyrics of all time imo)

Im only me when im with you - Don't wanna fly if you're still on the ground

Invisible - She can't see the way your eyes light up when you smile

A perfectly good heart - Why would you wanna make the very first scar?

Lucky you - Her mama named her Lucky on a starlit night

Fearless - And I don't know why but with you I'd dance in a storm in my best dress

Fearless

Fifteen - In your life you'll do things greater than dating the boy on the football team

Love story - So, I sneak out to the garden to see you / We keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew

Hey stephen - I could give you fifty reasons why I should be the one you choose / All those other girls - well, they're beautiful / But would they write a song for you?

White horse - My mistake, I didn't know to be in love you had to fight to have the upper hand

You belong with me - And you've got a smile that could light up this whole town / I haven't seen it in a while since she brought you down

Breathe - You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand

Tell me why - You could write a book on how to ruin someone's perfect day

You're not sorry - And you've got your share of secrets / And I'm tired of being last to know

The way i loved you - And my heart's not breaking / 'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all

Forever and always - I hold onto the night you looked me in the eye and told me you loved me / Were you just kidding?

The best day - I don't know who I'm going to talk to now at school / But I know I'm laughing on the car ride home with you

Change - They might be bigger / But we're faster and never scared

Jump then fall - We're on the phone and without a warning / I realize your laugh is the best sound I have ever heard

Untouchable - In the middle of the night when I'm in this dream / It's like a million little stars spelling out your name

Come in with the rain - Talk to the wind, talk to the sky / Talk to the man with the reasons why

Superstar - And I knew from the first note played / I'd be breaking all my rules to see you

The other side of the door - I said, "Leave," but all I really want is you / To stand outside my window throwing pebbles / Screaming, "I'm in love with you"

Today was a fairytale - Today was a fairytale / I wore a dress / You wore a dark grey t-shirt / You told me I was pretty when I looked like a mess

You all over me - The best and worst day of June / Was the one that I met you / With your hands in your pockets / And your "Don't you wish you had me?" grin

Mr. Perfectly fine - And I never got past what you put me through / But it's wonderful to see that it never fazed you

We were happy - Oh, I hate those voices telling me I'm not in love anymore

That's when - gonna keep it real with u chief i dont have a favorite from this one bc i listened to it 1nce ever and the azlyrics arent standing out to me.

Don't you - Don't you say you've missed me if you don't want me again

Bye bye baby - Guess I never doubted it / Then the here and the now floods in

Speak now

Mine - You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter

Sparks fly - Give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around

Back to december - It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you

Speak now - The organ starts to play a song that sounds like a death march

Dear john - Wonderin' which version of you I might get on the phone tonight / Well, I stopped pickin' up, and this song is to let you know why

Mean - And I can see you years from now in a bar / Talking over a football game / With that same big loud opinion / But nobody's listening

The story of us - This is looking like a contest of who can act like they care less / But I liked it better when you were on my side

Never grow up - Memorize what it sounded like when your dad gets home

Enchanted - Please don't be in love with someone else / Please don't have somebody waiting on you

Better than revenge - joshua rtvs voice this song sucks start over

Innocent - 32 is still growing up

Haunted - Something keeps me holding on to nothing

Last kiss - How you'd kiss me when I was in the middle of saying something / There's not a day I don't miss those rude interruptions

Long live - If you have children some day / When they point to the pictures / Please tell them my name

Ours - People throw rocks at things that shine

If this was a movie - Locked up in your arms and our friends are laughing / 'Cause nothing like this ever happened to them

Superman - I always forget to tell you I love you, I loved you from the very first day

Electric touch - And maybe I call you mine / And you won't need space / Or string me along while you decide

When emma falls in love - Like if Cleopatra grew up in a small town

I can see you - i dont care

Castles crumbling - Ones I loved tried to help, so I ran them off

Foolish one - Don't know what to call this situation / But I know I can't call you mine

Timeless - In the fifteen hundreds off in a foreign land / And I was forced to marry another man / You still would've been mine

Red

State of grace - So you were never a saint / And I've loved in shades of wrong / We learn to live with the pain / Mosaic broken hearts

Red - Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met

Treacherous - Put your lips close to mine / As long as they don't touch

I knew you were trouble - Pretends he doesn't know that he's the reason why / You're drowning, you're drowning, you're drowning

All too well - You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would have been fine / And that made me want to die / The idea you had of me, who was she? / A never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you

22 - It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipsters / And make fun of our exes

I almost do - I bet it never ever occurred to you that I can't say "Hello" to you / And risk another goodbye

We are never ever getting back together - I'm really gonna miss you picking fights / And me falling for it screaming that I'm right

Stay stay stay - It's been occurring to me I'd like to hang out with you for my whole life

The last time - You wear your best apology / But I was there to watch you leave

Holy ground - Tonight I'm gonna dance for all that we've been through / But I don't wanna dance if I'm not dancing with you

Sad beautiful tragic - And time is taking its sweet time erasing you

The lucky one - And your lover in the foyer doesn't even know you / And your secrets end up splashed on the news front page

Everything had changed - Cause all I know is we said, "Hello" / And your eyes look like coming home

Starlight - Can't remember what song it was playing when we walked in / The night we snuck into a yacht club party / Pretending to be a duchess and a prince

Begin again - I almost brought him up / But you start to talk about the movies that your family watches every single Christmas

The moment i knew - What do you say when tears are streaming down your face in front of everyone you know?

Come back be here - Taxi cabs and busy streets / That never bring you back to me

Girl at home - You're the kind of man who makes me sad / While she waits up

Ronan - You were my best four years

Better man - Push my love away like it was some kind of loaded gun

Nothing new - Shoot you down and then they sigh / And say, "She looks like she's been through it"

Babe - I hate that because of you, I can't love you, babe

Message in a bottle - I'm reaching for you, terrified

I bet you think about me - I was raised on a farm, no, it wasn't a mansion / Just livin' room dancin' and kitchen table bills (this is my fav lyric from this song because its so categorically fucking FALSE)

Forever winter - If I was standing there in your apartment / I'd take that bomb in your head and disarm it

Run - There's a heart on your sleeve / I'll take it when I leave / And hold it for you

The very first night - Not trying to fall in love / But we did like children running

1989

Welcome to new york - Kaleidoscope of loud heartbeats under coats

Blank space - I get drunk on jealousy

Style - You got that long hair, slicked back, white t-shirt / And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt

Out of the woods - The rest of the world was black and white / But we were in screaming color

All you had to do was stay - People like you always want back the love they gave away / And people like me wanna believe you when you say you've changed

Shake it off - Can't stop, won't stop grooving / It's like I got this music in my mind / Saying, "It's gonna be alright"

I wish you would - You always knew how to push my buttons / You give me everything and nothing

Bad blood - Band-aids don't fix bullet holes

Wildest dreams - You'll see me in hindsight / Tangled up with you all night / Burnin' it down

How you get the girl - Shaking from the rain, rain /She'll open up the door and say, "Are you insane?"

This love - And I could go on and on, on and on and I will

I know places - Loose lips sink ships all the damn time / Not this time

Clean - The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud / But no one heard a thing

Wonderland - Didn't you flash your green eyes at me? / Didn't you calm my fears with a Cheshire cat smile?

You are in love - And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

New romantics - The rumors are terrible and cruel / But, honey, most of them are true

Reputation

Ready for it - Every love I've known in comparison is a failure

End game - And I bury hatchets, but I keep maps of where I put 'em

I did something bad - I never trust a playboy, but they love me / So I fly 'em all around the world / And I let them think they saved me

Dont blame me - My name is whatever you decide

Delicate - Do the girls back home touch you like I do?

Look what you made me do - You asked me for a place to sleep / Locked me out and threw a feast

So it goes - You did a number on me / But, honestly, baby, who's counting

Gorgeous - You should take it as a compliment / That I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk

Getaway car - I'm in a getaway car / I left you in a motel bar / Put the money in a bag and I stole the keys / That was the last time you ever saw me

King of my heart - Is this the end of all the endings? / My broken bones are mending

Dancing with our hands tied - I'm a mess, but I'm the mess that you wanted

Dress - My hands are shaking from holding back from you

This is why we cant have nice things - And here's to my baby / He ain't reading what they call me lately

Call it what you want - He built a fire just to keep me warm

New years day - I want your midnights / But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

Lover

I forgot that you existed - I forgot that you existed / And I thought that it would kill me, but it didn't

Cruel summer - I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

Lover - Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand? / With every guitar string scar on my hand / I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

The man - What's it like to brag about raking in dollars / And getting bitches and models?

The archer - 'Cause all of my enemies started out friends / Help me hold on to you

I think he knows - Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh

Miss americana and the heartbreak prince - And I don't want you to (Go) / I don't really wanna (Fight) / 'Cause nobody's gonna (Win)

Paper rings - I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

Cornelia street - And baby, I get mystified by how this city screams your name

Death by a thousand cuts - ENTIRE SONG !!!!!!!

London boy - You Can Find Me In The Pub We Are Watching Rugby

Soon you'll get better - And I hate to make this all about me / But who am I supposed to talk to?

False god - I know heaven's a thing / I go there when you touch me, honey / Hell is when I fight with you

You need to calm down - And I'm just like, "Damn It's 7 AM"

Afterglow - I lived like an island, punished you with silence

Me - HEY KIDS SPELLING IS FUN

Its nice to have a friend - Something gave you the nerve to touch my hand

Daylight - I once believed love would be burning red / But it's golden like daylight

Folklore

The 1 - In my defense, I have none / For never leaving well enough alone

Cardigan - You drew stars around my scars / But now I'm bleeding

The last great american dynasty - They say she was seen on occasion / Pacing the rocks staring out at the midnight sea / And in a feud with her neighbor / She stole his dog and dyed it key lime green

Exile - I can see you starin', honey / Like he's just your understudy / Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

My tears ricochet - And if I'm dead to you why are you at the wake?

Mirrorball - I've never been a natural / All I do is try, try, try

Seven - And I think you should come live with me and we can be pirates / Then you won't have to cry

August - So much for summer love, and saying "Us" / 'Cause you weren't mine to lose

This is me trying - And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad / I have a lot of regrets about that

Illicit affairs - Don't call me "kid", don't call me "baby" / Look at this idiotic fool that you made me / You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else

Invisible string - Cold was the steel of my axe to grind for the boys who broke my heart / Now I send their babies presents

Mad woman - i dont care

Epiphany - Something med school did not cover / Someone's daughter, someone's mother / Holds your hand through plastic now

Betty - Betty, right now is the last time I can dream about what happens when you see my face again

Peace - All these people think love's for show / But I would die for you in secret

Hoax - Don't want no other shade of blue but you / No other sadness in the world would do

The lakes - Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry / I'm setting off, but not without my muse

Evermore

Willow - I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night / Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife

Champagne problems - Sometimes you just don't know the answer / 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you

Gold rush - I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch

Tis the damn season - If I wanted to know who you were hanging with while I was gone, I would've asked you

Tolerate it - I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life

No body no crime - She says, "That ain't my Merlot on his mouth / That ain't my jewelry on our joint account"

Happiness - No one teaches you what to do / When a good man hurts you / And you know you hurt him, too

Dorothea - And if you're ever tired of being known for who you know / You know that you'll always know me

Coney island - If I can't relate to you anymore / Then who am I related to?

Ivy - I'd live and die for moments that we stole / On begged and borrowed time / So tell me to run / Or dare to sit and watch what we'll become / And drink my husband's wine

Cowboy like me - And the skeletons in both our closets / Plotted hard to fuck this up

Long story short - Pushed from the precipice / Clung to the nearest lips / Long story short, it was the wrong guy

Marjorie - Should've kept every grocery store receipt / 'Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me

Closure - Don't treat me like some situation that needs to be handled

Evermore - I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone / Trying to find the one where I went wrong

Right where you left me - Glass shattered on the white cloth / Everybody moved on

Its time to go - He's got my past frozen behind glass / But I've got me

Midnights

Lavender haze - I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

Maroon - Laughing with my feet in your lap / Like you were my closest friend

Anti hero - I'm a monster on the hill / Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city / Pierced through the heart, but never killed

Snow on the beach - But your eyes are flying saucers from another planet

Youre on your own kid - I picked the petals, he loves me not / Something different bloomed / Writing in my room

Midnight rain - And he never thinks of me / Except when I'm on TV

Question - gonna keep it real i straight up dont get this song

Vigilante shit - Picture me thick as thieves with your ex-wife

Bejeweled - I made you my world / Have you heard? / I can reclaim the land / And I miss you / But I miss sparkling

Labyrinth - I'll be getting over you my whole life

Karma - Karma is a cat / Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me / Flexing like a goddamn acrobat / Me and karma vibe like that

Sweet nothing - All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

Mastermind - No one wanted to play with me as a little kid / So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since / To make them love me and make it seem effortless

Hits different - I pictured you with other girls in love / Then threw up on the street

The great war - Soldier down on that icy ground / Looked up at me with honor and truth / Broken and blue / So I called off the troops / That was the night I nearly lost you

Bigger than the whole sky - Did some bird flap its wings over in Asia? / Did some force take you because I didn't pray?

Paris - I wanna brainwash you into loving me forever

High infidelity - Do you really want to know where I was April 29th? / Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

Glitch - Maybe I'll see you out some weekend / Depending on what kind of mood and situation-ship I'm in / And what's in my system

Would've could've should've - THE ENTIRE THING !!!!!!!!!

Dear reader - No one sees when you lose when you're playing solitaire

Youre losing me - And I wouldn't marry me either / A pathological people pleaser / Who only wanted you to see her

Thats all the songs i can think of. My hands are shaking

#ts #taylor swift

[ladyhindsight]

TW: transphobia

this is that epilogue cob edit

original:

edited:

that is not a term i'm familiarized with. the word itself was translated as the latin american trans identity 'travesti' but it doesn't mean the same thing. so i can't speak on the wrongness of it, but i did notice that it was also used in draco dormiens chapter 4

i wouldn't judge people for terms they used +15 years ago, this is more a matter of recollection of stuff that isn't aknowledged than a matter of pointing fingers imo

Combining these two messages together since they're about the same thing, regarding this post. Here is Clare's post about TID covers that R linked where Clare wrote that:

"There is no real secret hidden meaning about who is on what cover, except that the marketing department didn't want a boy on Clockwork Princess. They may perhaps have been worried that everyone would think Will's dark secret was that he was a transvestite and was always stealing Jessamine's clothes."

Apparently the term belonged to Clare's vocabulary 10+ years ago, and I think that changing it in the newer City of Bones edition was a sensible choice. If Clare/Clare's editor did not know the offensiveness of the word, they probably would've otherwise left it unchanged. To add to stuff like killer and who molests cats, yyyikes.

I think the term 'transvestite' in nowadays is mostly considered antiquated and offensive, also because it was frequently used before (and in the recent years still is?) as a derogatory term and also rather interchangeably with anything regarding gender expression. For instance, people got terms such as transgender and transvestite mixed up or thought they held the same meaning, which they do not.

There are outdated and old fashioned definitions of the word which all add to the negative connotations because of the defamatory use. By definition it means cross-dressing but in my understanding 'cross-dressing' is the preferred term. There's also history with clinical use in psychology and psychiatry that I am not really familiar with.

As to the changes made into newer editions in general, I think is suspicious and sneaky not to acknowledge them. One of the major ones was the City of Bones one where Jace tells Clary that:

"it's only been recently that women have been Shadowhunters along with men. I mean, there have always been women in the Clave—mastering the runes, creating weaponry, teaching the Killing Arts—but only a few were warriors, ones with exceptional abilities. They had to fight to be trained. Maryse was a part of the first generation of Clave women who were trained as a matter of course—and I think she never taught Isabelle how to cook because she was afraid that if she did, Isabelle would be relegated to the kitchen permanently."

Which later on would not make sense as female characters in TID and TLH could not exist as they do today if this was the angle Clare kept in her series. Which was nonsensical to begin with because why would you incapacitate your already small fighting force by not letting half of your people fight?

These are fun to spot, though.

#Anti CC #Anti Cassandra Clare #Edition mods #Reply

[sgiddings]

used to love info dumping my jossam headcanons back in the day so i'd thought i'd give y'all a new and improved run down of all the new jossam (and some old + reworked) headcanons i've accumulated over the years (a lot were inspired by my love @evildeadgf & those specific hcs pretty much belong to her but we're a TEAM here so!!) let me share the visions with my fellow jossamers again

sam LOVES to thrift. genuinely anything second-hand she loves, and she loves dragging josh along with her to flee markets or a random hole in the wall quirky and kitschy thrift store they'll find wherever they may be travelling. josh never forgets to take photos of all the weird antiques he finds, like the 19th century porcelain dolls with cracks in their faces and the moment sam sees them she will SHRIEK. get it away from her!

josh finds little post-it notes everywhere around their apartment due to sam. she writes up reminders for josh, like what times he needs to take his meds, or that there's leftovers in the fridge for breakfast (when he gets up though, it's lunch time)

when at work, sam never misses the opportunity to take photos of the furry companions that come in since she works with animals. and josh totally gets the message sam is trying to send every time he gets a new photo of a cute dog, cat or rabbit - sam clearly wants a pet for the two in the future, but josh can hardly take care of himself most times let alone a whole animal, which sam understands, but she won't let up so easily!!! she's gonna send cute cats!!!! and he's totally gonna warm up to it some day

they're both very musically inclined, sam can sing and josh can play the guitar, though not many of his friends actually know it about him - he pretty much only jams out with sam whenever he's up to it. even if he's much more a film guy, he's down to listen to sam lull him with her pretty voice any time of the day

speaking of film - they both love it, though in different ways. sam's not too much of a horror person like josh, and she hates the supernatural genre - literally scares the soul out of her body, she can't handle it alone, but with josh there she's calm enough, and comes to love some of his favourite horrors, and of course josh comes to love all the oldies she grew up with that she shows him even if he'd already seen some of them before in passing. whenever josh talks to her about the particulars of how they took a certain angle or shot sam is totally enthralled, she loves to hear him speak about the things he's passionate about

with sam being half italian and vegan simultaneously, she cooks up a lot of family favourite meals with vegan substitutes and always has josh taste test. they never fail to be delicious. sam is THE best cook, josh washington's seal of approval

they 100% geek out on musical theatre together and have totally dressed up to the nines to see phantom of the opera on broadway at least once or twice

they've both been in love with one another for pretty much half of their lives. when they were preteens their first kisses were each other, sam 11 and josh 12 - it was a quick little nervous and flustered peck but nonetheless, the memory never left both of their minds even as they grew older, and josh was barely a lady's man in his teens to early adulthood, too many people found him unapproachable or 'weird' despite his partying nature (which is a whole can of worms in itself imo! escapism at its finest!) he never had a solid or proper relationship with anyone until he finally got with sam. now sam, she tried to date here and there, but it was weird for her, after years and years of crushing on her best friend's brother, she told herself to get over it, face reality (in which she thought he clearly didn't reciprocate her feelings) and find someone who made her happy and who'd she make happy in return, and that of course, was a bust. josh was her only love, and sam was josh's

josh has a polaroid scrapbook of their adventures together, and sam is absolutely in love with it, when he first showed it to her it literally broke her, she couldn't suppress her tears and nor could she hold herself back from throwing herself into his arms

i really could go on and on and on but ahh!!! i love them so much!! they are my babies!!!!

#jossam #josh x sam #sam giddings #josh washington #until dawn #bathing bird #juliatxt #otp: i was the only one who understood him

[lostcybertronian]

Damien likely would have worn a plain business suit. In the 1920s it became more popular to skip the waistcoat, especially during summer months. If someone wore a waistcoat (still the norm), it would've had a fairly low cut

Likely a full three piece suit. You could use a waistcoat that doesn't belong to the sst, but that would have been more casual not fit for a politician imo.

The trousers only gained pleats in the mid 20s!

Suspenders were popular in europe and the UK. Which furthers my confusion about William's implied britishness? I don't hear the british in Warfstaches accent (but that might be due to the fact that i largely engage with british media/people and have a british accent myself. I hear all the ways that it's Not British). But the enunciation is definitely Not American. Additionally, his vocabulary isn't very british. So idk.

Back to Damien.

Most popular fabric was sheep's wool. If you could afford it, the jacket was lined in silk (and the sleeves in cotton for sturdiness).

I imagine he would wear something like the guy in the top row furthest on the right. This is from 1927 so imagine the suit without the single pleats and change the hat.. it's more something that Mark would wear imo.

AND THIS IS WHITE TIE.

With the roaring twenties it became much less popular more popular with the older generation. Some people still wearing a top hat with it.

White tie was largely abandoned after ww1. With only very selective uses.

Quote deom 1922: ""A gentleman must always be in full dress, tail coat, white waistcoat, white tie and white gloves" when at the opera"

Which makes Damien showing up in white tie seem even more bizarre.

I love this a lot. Give Damien That Cute Little Hat #2024.

I think Damien is implied to be around Mark's age in WKM (30ish), which means he's coming out of the tail end of the Victorian era- they all are. He was possibly influenced by his parents, who would undoubtedly dress like that. But for his age and social position, he'd probably catch up with the times. I quite like Victorian fashion, particularly male Victorian fashion.

What are your thoughts on Celine's outfit?

#headcanon time #asks #meo618 #mayor damien #this information is making my ENTIRE day

[scarlet--wiccan]

I feel like get asked a lot about maximoff and co costumes which is fine but I’m curious if there are any marvel characters you really wish would get a new costume? Kanon’s the big one imo but I kind of with Jess drew could have something else as well.

Any looks you really like but don’t mention much either?

Eli made his official return as Patriot in this week's Marvel's Voices: Legends. A core part of Eli's character has always been his complicated relationship with the Captain America legacy and, really, America as a nation. I don't expect him to drop the America motif, but if he's really back, then I want him to that that identity and make it fully his own with a new look. And, honestly, I just think that most characters who've been around since they were kids need to get new costumes when they become adults.

Outside, I would love to give a lot of other magic characters new looks. A lot of them do wear outdated costumes-- I don't appreciate Stephen's throwback look in Doctor Strange, and seeing Michael's old suit in Alpha Flight was super jarring-- and I've always wished that magical heroes would dress more like fantasy characters. Cultivating more of a spellcaster aesthetic, with less spandex and more separates, would be nice.

It's no secret that I don't love Agatha's new design-- setting aside the M C U inspiration, which is a whole issue unto itself, it doesn't include any of her signature elements, like her brooch or shawl, and I find that the stylistic choices just don't suit the concept of an ageless witch. The actual silhouette and structure are cool, I just don't like the details. I feel similarly about Wanda's new costume, and if it up to me, I would revamp both of their outfits to be more cohesive. If they're supposed to be rivals or counterparts, which is the vibe I get, then I want to look like they could feasibly belong to the same coven.

[scalamore]

Debutante - Rupert

Aaaa i love this arc because of how messy it is in terms of Rupelali trying to figure out their feelings toward each other. They may care deeply for each other, but how they go about it, and their expectations of the others is just so different. Starting off with Rupert, he was looking forward to, and expecting to spend most of the event with Lari. After all, he sponsored her debut, poured tons of money into making sure she had the best debut possible, and wanting be with her and dance with her throughout the event. That way, it would be obvious to everyone that she belonged to him and was off limits to anyone else - no one would dare covet the crown prince’s partner. The issue is… he didn’t expect how popular and pretty Lari would be, and how she didn’t even consider dancing with him at all. Normally, Lari would live in the palace with him, and be around him most of the time - so he had assumed she would continue to be beside him during this event, since they were always together. But the issue is, it’s not just them anymore. There’s others around now, and he’s flustered at how much attention she’s getting. He’s always thought she was cute and pretty, but he’s never actually told her - and to see her being happy being around others and getting showered with compliments makes him super jealous. He finds her SUPER PRETTY, and she looks extremely pretty in this dress… and is jealous when other men agree and stare at her and want to talk and dance with her as well. He was jealous that Lari was enjoying all this attention, and not giving him a second glance. He knew that she didn’t particularly like him or have feelings for him, but why was she so shocked when he wanted to dance with her??? Isn’t it obvious they should dance together??? She belongs to him??? Why was she so upset when he wanted to limit her interactions with other men?? That’s what Rupert is forced to realize during this event: he was taking for granted Lari’s presence around him. He’s so used to her around him, as if so naturally, that it comes as a shock when he sees her interacting and socializing with others. He doesn't realize how much it took for Lari to CHOOSE to stay with him this whole time - he knew how much she hated and feared him, but for the past few years he didn't sense it as much, so he thought it was ok... He sees how lovely Lari is, and without a doubt other men agree. Since Lari doesn’t like him, she’ll inevitably meet a nice young nobleman, fall in love with him, and request to leave the palace to marry him. So Rupert had the intent to block all of that to keep her beside him. But Lari calls him out on it - she doesn’t like how he’s restricting her like that. She may belong to him, but at least for today - her debut- she wants to enjoy the event and dance with others. She already knew her path to marriage was blocked, but why is he INTENTIONALLY completely blocking it off? That’s cruel of him to do that, and it greatly upset her.

Rupert is shocked and hurt to see her so upset, to the point of tears, and backs off to reflect on the situation (the points mentioned above).

IMO, Rupert wasn’t being malicious on purpose, or wanting to ruin the event for her - he truly wanted her to have a good time (with him). That’s Rupert’s flaw/weakness that Countess Lemille picked up on: He didn’t realize his love for her, and he had a completely unrequited love. It’s obvious that he loves her, but he’s acting possessive from the way he acts so jealous and thinks of every young nobleman as competition and a threat, he finds her pretty that he doesn’t want other people to see her either, he doesn’t want her to interact too much with other young men, lest she fall in love with them. His issue is he’s so insecure, he starts blaming Lari for it - why did she choose such a revealing dress design, isn’t she cold, why doesn’t she want to dance with him, why did she lie about being afraid that no one will talk or dance with her etc, which makes the mood between them even worse. Keep in mind, he doesn’t properly even tell her how pretty she is.

Lari is completely turned off by his jealousy and possessiveness, and the two separate for a bit to cool off. It didn’t take long before Lari went to look for Rupert again to talk it over though.

During this brief time, despite being so possessive/jealous, he does have Lari’s best interest in mind. He figures if he’s around, he’ll make her uncomfortable so it’s better for him to be away from her sight so she can enjoy the event. He still wants to see her at least, so he sits on the balcony watching over her, even if he can’t be the one next to her at this moment. He’s happy when he sees her being happy, but is annoyed when he sees her dance partners happy and ends up using small alchemy to trip them or make them fall out of pettiness. Because Rupert doesn’t realize he loves her, he can’t completely verbalize WHY he’s so upset at her. If he had clearly told her that “He likes her, wants to dance with her and be her partner for the night, spend the entire evening with her enjoying the festivities TOGETHER and hates other men looking at her because she’s too pretty”, then we wouldn’t have this mess. But all he does is act rude, upset, and remind her that she belongs to him, which is not what Lari wants to hear. She’s a person, not an object after all. The best thing he could offer her at this time though, is the reassurance is that he will protect her and House Belois from any harm - which is the one wish lari wanted from him from chapter 32….

#your majesty please spare me this time #rupelali #manhwa #rofan #otome isekai