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scarlethexelove · 4 months

Note

Hi! Request you ask? Well, what do you think about Wanda x Natasha x Reader being in a relationship but after a while Nat and Wands are slightly ignoring R, which makes her question their relationship. Wanda and Nat are doing that because R was on a long mission and they fell into a routine without R.

I Don't Even Know You Anymore

The image is not mine.

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader, Bucky x Reader (Siblings)

Word Count: 3904

Warnings: Angsty for sure, break ups, allusion to depression, I guess suicidal tendencies, Gun shots, bloody injuries, I guess no happy ending just an open ending. I'm not sure what else.

Part 2 What About Now?

A/n: this one got out of hand. I did not expect to write almost 4k words. But I hope you enjoy. I normally don't leave it with a none happy ending but this one felt like it needed it. If anyone comes up with other warnings I should add please let me know. I hope you all enjoy.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

Your body aches as you wait for the quinjet door to open. Excited to be home after being gone for 3 months. Also being excited to see both of your girlfriends smiling faces. You weren’t able to talk to them because this mission was covert. It was just you and Clint for 6 months, but it was finally over.

The door opens and as you look around. You're disappointed when you see no one waiting. You expected your girlfriends to be waiting for you when you got back. You haven’t been able to talk to them because the mission was covert. Only weekly check-ins with Fury were done which would be relayed to the team. This was to keep you and Clint safe. So it was sad when you returned and the two people you wanted to see the most weren’t there waiting for you.

As your demeanor deflates, Clint places a hand on your shoulder. “Maybe they had a mission or maybe Fury didn’t tell them we would be home today. Don’t worry Y/n/n.” Clint smiled reassuring you. You don’t know how he knows what you are thinking because he has always been able to read you like an open book. “Yeah, yeah you're right I’m just overthinking it.” You give him a weak smile. Something deep down is still nagging you.

You both make your way into the compound. If your girlfriends aren’t around then you want to be able to go take a nice long hot shower and take a nap. You are exhausted and just need some small comforts. But as you make your way through the common area you are shocked and hurt to see your girlfriends sitting on the couch and the rest of the team surrounding them in chairs.

Your brother Bucky is sitting across from them. When he notices you he jumps up and comes over and about squeezes you to death. “Hey sis!” Bucky exclaims. “Hey Buck.” You pat at his back hoping he will let you down, which thankfully he does. So that is when you turn your attention to the redhead and brunette sitting in front of you.

“Hi Nat. Hi Wands. I’ve missed you both.” You give them a gentle smile. Up until this point they really hadn’t given you a second thought. You were feeling hurt but hopefully it is just a big misunderstanding. ‘Hey Y/n.” Natasha greets you. But the fact that she used your name and not a pet name stung a bit. Wanda only gave you a gentle smile but you didn’t feel that it was genuine.

“I-I’m going to go take a shower and take a nap if either of you would like to join me.” You say hoping that maybe the way they are treating you is just all in your head and they just are shocked to see you back. “We were just about to start a movie. So you go ahead and do that. You look pretty rough and in need of that.” Wanda finally says to you. “O-oh ok. Enjoy your movie.” You respond hurt hoping that no one notices the wavering of your voice.

You ignore the looks you are getting from the team. They all give you a look of pity and you hate it. So you quickly make your way out of the room. You miss the look of anger on your brother's face towards the two women. He can see your hurt as you make your exit. You don’t want to stick around where you are clearly not wanted.

Once you make your way into your shared bedroom and straight into the bathroom. You strip your grimy suit off and toss it into the hamper before turning on the water and stepping into the nice hot shower. You let the water rush over you, rinsing all the tension and hurt away. A few tears slipping down your face and into the drain.

After standing there for a few minutes you finally look around for your soap, shampoo, and conditioner but they are all missing. Maybe you ran out before you left and forgot to replace them. It has been 6 months and that sounds like something you would do. So you use Wanda’s shampoo and conditioner and Natasha’s body wash.

Once you feel adequately clean you step out of the shower drying off and walking into the bedroom. You see your favorite hoodie of Natasha’s and slip it on. Before climbing into bed and curling up. You see your bear that Wanda had gotten you one time when you were sick strewn almost off the bed. You grab it and wrap your arms around it. Within minutes you are passed out in the bed. Your heart is heavy and your mind confused.

When you groggily wake up you look at the time and it is already 9pm. You slept most of the day. Your stomach roars with hunger so you listen as you crawl out of bed. You grab a pair of sweatpants and throw those on before heading out towards the kitchen. In your sleepy state you hadn’t even noticed that you were carrying around the teddy bear in your arms. You chuckle to yourself before setting it down on the counter going to make yourself some food.

You whip up something to eat before sitting down at the counter. You slowly eat your food. The compound is quiet as you eat alone. Once you have finished eating you clean up your dishes and put them all away before making your way back towards your room to get more sleep.

As you get to the door you are shocked when you find it locked and you can’t get in. You try and knock but get no response, but that is when you hear it. Your enhanced hearing picks up on Wanda’s moans and Natasha’s grunts. They get louder with each passing second that you stand there shocked. You feel your heart shatter in your chest. You weren’t just overthinking that they were giving you the cold shoulder. They were just waiting for you to leave them alone to lock you out. To seemingly break up with you.

Tears start streaming down your face, a small sob escaping your lips. A door clicks open, you turn and see your brother looking at you. But all you can do is run. He tries to call after you but you run to your old room. The one that you had before you moved in with Natasha and Wanda. You slam the door shut and lock it before letting your back hit the door. You slowly sink to the floor sobbing and clutching the bear in your arms.

That is when you notice the room. It is filled with most of your things. You had been so exhausted when you got back that you hadn’t realized that your things were missing from your shared bedroom. Your sobs become uncontrollable as you curl up in a ball in front of the door. You can hear your brother banging on the door to let him in but you don’t move. You can’t move. You're frozen in place like all those years with Hydra. You were nothing again.

And that is where you stay locked in your room for most of the day sleeping the day away. Only coming out at night when everyone is asleep. Bucky occasionally stays up just so he can see how you are. You don’t say much but you let him be around and he is grateful for that. Sometimes you catch Steve in the early morning when he gets up for his run and you're heading to bed. He always gives you a sad smile. You can’t stand the look of pity in his eyes and you don’t want to see it from the rest of the team either.

What you don’t notice is that Natasha and Wanda have also been watching you in the morning. They realize that they took it too far but they don’t know how to fix it. They still love you deeply and hate themselves for how they treated you.

But Bucky sees them. You’re already in your room as he walks by the two women. He only scowls at them. He would love to do more but as much as wants to he knows that you would not forgive him. No matter what they did to you, you still care about them.

You're startled awake when you hear FRIDAY speaking. “Miss.Barnes you are requested for a mission immediately.” “Do I have to go?” You mumble taking your pillow and covering your head. “Yes Miss.Barnes Fury has assigned you to a rescue mission. The quinjet leaves in 15 minutes.” FRIDAY informs you. “FRIDAY who else is on the mission?” You question scared that you may have to see the two women. “Mr.Barnes and Mr.Rogers will be accompanying you.” You let out a sigh of relief hearing that it will be your brother and Steve who you see as another brother.

You get up and quickly take a shower. It has been a few days, you haven’t had the energy to bring yourself to do it. Once you are done you slip on your suit. Not completely surprised that it doesn’t exactly fit. You have lost weight due to rarely eating. Only eating enough to survive. So it hangs loose on you but you don’t have time to care.

You make your way out to the quinjet and join the two men standing there. You have been wearing baggy clothes so the two can see just how terrible you look. But they don’t dare say anything. They love you but they know never to push you into something you don’t want to talk about or do.

You settle into the seat as the quinjet takes off. “So does anyone want to fill me in on what is going on?” You question. “Hydra has taken a group of scientists and doctors hostage. We need to rescue them before they are forced to do something for hydra. This is a time sensitive and top priority mission.” Steve tells you before you guys go over the game plan of your roles during the mission.

Once you land you all have to split up. It is unknown where they are being held and the place is so large that in order to do it quickly and efficiently you have to split up. You pull your gun and head off to the right side of the building. Taking out Hydra agents left and right. Keeping up communication with your brother and Steve as you clear each section you were tasked to search.

As you make your way down the hall you appear into a room. You see about fifteen Hydra agents and also the hostages. You press on your com. “I found the hostages but also about fifteen Hydra agents.” You whisper. “Y/n wait for backup we will be there in a few minutes.” Steve informs you. “I’m going in.” You ignore Steve’s orders. “Y/n/n you need to wait for backup.” Bucky tried to keep you from doing something stupid. “I can take them.” You tell them. Both of them keep trying to convince you to wait for them. It started to frustrate you so you pulled out your coms and stepped on it.

You rush in and you’re able to take down ten of the Hydra agents, but then they are able to start overwhelming you. The remaining five were able to overtake you. One was able to get you down on your knees. One agent kneed you in the jaw almost causing you to bite off your tongue. You have blood in your mouth before you're completely knocked down. They don’t stop the beating there. They start kicking you. Several kicks to the head have you disoriented and barely conscious.

One rolls you on your back as you spit some blood out. You can barely see but you can make out the silhouette of a gun. Just before he is about to discharge his weapon you can hear the distinct whooshing sound of Steve’s shield. It barely misses the man as he gets a shot off but it is enough for him to miss his main target, your head. The bullet hits your shoulder making you cry out. Before Steve can get another throw off the man is able to get off three more shots. Two hitting you in the lower stomach and one in your upper stomach lower chest area.

All you can do is whimper in pain as you’re sure that the last one hit your lung. You can hear Steve taking out the remaining agents. As he does the door slams open and you hear Bucky yell out for you and that is the last thing that you remember. He sees you in a puddle of blood barely moving as he falls down next to you. He puts his hands over your wounds trying to stop the bleeding. One of the hostages comes over to you. “I’m a doctor, I can help.” So he and Bucky get to work on stabilizing you and being able to move you.

They are able to get you out of there with the hostages. Once everyone is on the quinjet and it has taken off the doctor does everything he can to keep you alive long enough to get you to the compound so that you get the help that is needed. On the journey back you flatlined three times but the doctor was able to get you back each time. Luckily they keep blood for each avengers blood type on the quinjets in case of emergencies.

Once the quinjet lands the doors are quickly opened and the team of doctors waiting move in and take you straight into surgery in hopes of saving your life. Bucky and Steve make their way into the waiting room where the other avengers are waiting. Everyone has a somber look on their face. The team was notified that someone was injured badly but they weren’t informed who. As they see the two men they know that it was you who was hurt.

Seconds later the door to the waiting room slams open. Wanda and Natasha come running through the door. They look around and spot Bucky and Steve and their hearts drop. They know it was you. You were the one who was hurt and could possibly not make it though. The team was told it was bad and that whoever was hurt may not make it through.

“W-what happened?” Wanda stuttered out tears in her eyes. Bucky quickly moves towards them and points at them. “This is your fault. Both of you. Get the fuck out of here before I make you.” Bucky yells at them. Natasha steps in front of Wanda and gets closer to Bucky. “We aren’t leaving.” She stands her ground. “If it wasn’t for you two she would be fine. You broke her. You broke my sister. You don’t deserve to be here.” Tears prick at Bucky’s eyes. After everything that you and him had been through you don’t deserve this. “She didn’t care about her safety. She ran in there without backup because she didn’t care to live anymore. She became reckless, no care if she lived or died. If my sister dies it will be all your fault and I could never forgive you. Now get the hell out of here before I make you!” Bucky continues to yell at the women. Natasha stands stoic but Wanda pulls her to leave. Not wanting to upset the room.

They exit the room together. Natasha is doing everything she can to keep herself together and not break down. The door swings open and Clint steps out after the two. Natasha turns to him and she sees the disappointed look in his eyes. “I-” Clink cuts her off, raising his hand. “Natasha you are my best friend but Bucky is right about some things. What you two did to her was wrong. If you wanted to end things you should have done it the right way but you two were cowards. You truly broke her and even I’m not sure I forgive you for that right now. I still love you but you need to get your shit together.” Clint says giving Natasha and Wanda a reality check on just how much they fucked up. “I still love her.” Natasha whispered tears shining in her eyes. “Well if you do then you need to work on that. God forbid she doesn’t die in there and she actually agrees to even see you let alone forgive you you have a lot of work to do. She didn’t deserve any of that and you don’t deserve her. She was too good for you. If she does by miracle make it through you fix it. Both of you.” Clint finishes before turning to head back into the waiting room. “She was too good for either of us, we didn't deserve her.” Wanda says as she cries holding back a sob. Clint stops with his hand on the door. “I hope you both have the chance to fix this.” Was the last thing he said before entering the room again.

Bucky never let Wanda and Natasha be around you. You have been in the hospital for a month now but you still haven’t woken up. Everyone was happy you were alive but still scared. They don’t know if there is going to be any long term effects if you wake up. The two women sneak in to see you late at night when the rest of the team is asleep. Sometimes Bucky is sleeping in your room so they stay outside. It breaks their hearts to see you like this. All the tubes sticking out of you and your unmoving form in the bed. They can really see how fragile you look laying in the bed. It is obvious to them that you had lost weight and not just from being in the hospital but because of them. They vow that they will spend the rest of their lives trying to make it better and to get you back.

Another month passes with no changes. The women have been able to spend the nights with you since Bucky was sent on a mission. He fought to stay but Fury gave him no choice. Tonight is like every other night. Both women are sitting and reading listening to the steady rhythm of your heart beat. It is comforting to them to hear that your heart is still beating that you are still here with them.

But this night is different from the others. They are startled to hear a groan coming from the bed. Both of them drop their books, not caring as they tumble to the floor. “Detka?” Wanda questions. Your throat burns and you feel groggy. It is hard to open your eyes or even open your mouth. You hear the words but your brain is sluggish and takes a minute to register. Once your brain catches up to the words you try and respond. “N-no-not y-your d-det-detka” Your voice is hoarse and you stutter your words. “Y/n/n don’t speak.” Natasha tells you. Your eyes finally blinking open to look at the women who are staring at you with joy and concern etched into their faces.

Natasha gets up and quickly fills a cup with water and puts a straw in it. “Drink this.” You want to refuse her but your burning throat tells you to do what you are told. She holds the straw to your lips and you hesitantly take it and sip the water. The water hurts your sore throat at first but soon soothes it. You quickly start to suck it down not realizing how thirsty you were until you had the water. “Slow down detka you will make yourself sick.” Natasha tells you. You slow down to a stop knowing that she is right.

“S-stop ca-calling me that.” The stutter is getting better and you still croak out your words but you sound slightly better than before. The women look at you sadly but nod in understanding. “W-why are y-you here?” You ask the women. They look between each other and back to you. “We love you Y/n.” Wanda tells you. “And we just want to help and take care of you. Y/n/n you have been in a coma for 2 months.” Natasha adds. You're shocked to hear how long you had been out for but you scoff at the rest. That hurts your throat but you ignore it.

Your body has mostly healed in the two months that you have been out. The only question was if you would ever wake up and would you still be you. No one could know but they can see that you are still there. You may have a stutter but you're alive and talking and that is all that matters at the moment.

“W-wh-why?” There are tears in your eyes when you look at the women. Begging for the explanation that you never got the one you thought you never wanted. Natasha sighs and looks down, not able to look you in the eye. She tries to take your hand but you flinch away. “We were hurt when you were gone so long. That is no excuse for what we did. We still love you. We fell into our own routine. We never meant for it to go this far. To hurt you this much. You don’t have to forgive us, but we will do everything in our power to prove to you that we are sorry. What we did to you was wrong.” Natasha sniffles and finally looks at you with tears in her eyes. “I never deserved your love.”

As much as you were hurt by them, her words broke your heart. “You are too good for us.” Wanda adds tears streaming down her face. “Y-you di-did. I-I-I” The stuttering is frustrating you. “L-love you.” You finish. “B-but I-I do-don’t know i-if I c-can for-forgive you.” You cry as you say the words. You love them with all your heart but they hurt you. They threw your relationship away because they were hurt. Hurt over something you can’t control. Over the job that you all share.

Both women cry but nod. “We understand.” Wanda tells you. She reaches out for your hand and this time you let her hold it. Natasha follows suit. You three are crying even if it is hard, this was needed. As you calm down you speak again. “I-I ne-need time. Pl-please g-go.” The women understand. Each kissing your cheeks before letting go of your hands. Natasha hits the call button before they both make their exit before the team of doctors rush to your side.

The doctors rush in and are surprised to see you awake and concerned to see you crying. The women watched from outside the door hiding from plain sight. They don’t know if they will ever have you back but they will try with all their power to get you back. They just hope they can show you how sorry they are.

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mountymase · 19 days

Text

i love you, it’s ruining my life

file one - mason mount

a/n: well, hi! i’d like to say that this isn’t my fave work but i’ve been mostly writing poetry lately and i needed to see if i still had my fanfic mojo. hope you like it nonetheless! 🤍

1.820 words

warnings: real angst, brief mention of anxiety, breakup, bit of fluff, harsh words.

It felt more like a ritual, one that you loved dearly - each morning, Lila, your pup woke you up with cheerful and endless face licks, her tail wiggling in the air, her frantic need to get under the covers with you and cuddle like you always did every morning. Your heart warmed with joy as you silently giggled, an arm tugging the two-year-old basset hound closer making her immediately calm down as a long sigh escaped from her.

There was something else about mornings like these: they brought a feeling of normality to the wild, nonetheless extraordinary routine you jumped into since your first book had been published — not your first piece of promising writing, but the one that turned into a giant success that started taking global proportions within six months, forcing you to travel around the globe on a tour to meet countless and extraordinary people.

And also to sign autographs for most of them.

They were boys and girls, mums, teenagers, middle-aged women, single women, and a bunch in long-lasting relationships. It didn’t matter, your writing reached every single one of them and, somehow, they now all had something in common: how much they loved your book.

All of it was still overwhelming to you, though. Coming from a small town where nothing fascinating used to happen, you’d spend your days writing when you weren’t with your regular group of friends from school. Getting used to the big city once you moved to graduate in journalism was difficult — you missed those peaceful days, watching the sunrise when you went for a morning jog, birds singing, and how comforting silence could be every evening. But you were also grateful for all the opportunities given and how unexpectedly great things turned out to be for you.

Moving to London had never been in your foreseeable future, although visiting England was one of your greatest dreams from a very young age when you used to spend hours listening to The Beatles and Elton John with your dad.

When you got a call from one of Netflix UK executives, telling you they’d like to turn your book into a miniseries, you choked on a large croissant bite. It took you a couple of minutes to put yourself together as the executive patiently waited, a low giggle coming from the other side of the line once you took a deep breath and asked if they were calling the right number.

So, from the afternoons of Penny Lane and Benny and The Jets, you ended up officially living in an extravagant flat located in Mayfair, fully paid for by Netflix UK, and dropped the news of your book being turned into a miniseries, officially, on a morning TV show.

If you didn’t have such an impatient dog, who was now staring at you with her best “feed me, human” glare, you would’ve stayed in bed for the rest of the day. The thought of being live in one of the biggest morning TV shows in England, sharing the screen with another famous guest made you feel immensely intimidated, and vulnerable.

But, from the very beginning, he made you feel safe.

Mason.

He was the other guest that day, invited to share more on his success playing for Chelsea FC and the charity of which he was a patron of. During the break, he noticed how you rubbed your sweaty hands against your jeans and how all your blood seemed to be concentrated in your cheeks - half of it wasn’t just the nervousness, though, it was also because of how intense his gaze was.

Mason’s voice soothed your nerves like magic once he caught your attention during those two minutes, and you were wonderfully calm telling Holly Willoughby about the serie’s pre-production, cast choices, etc.

And as expected, once it was all over, Mason asked if you’d like to go out with him for coffee.

The two of you instantly clicked, like magnets completely drawn into each other, so it was easy and fun being around him. His inner circle wasn’t entirely the nicest, but as you grew closer and became extremely close friends, Mason introduced you to his family and you finally had a mother figure to welcome you with warm embraces since yours was miles away.

You were supposed to be just friends, but the beauty of how well you got along despite each other’s imperfections felt like a glitch in a system that led to something magical. In the end, together, you and Mason discovered that true love can arise from the most unexpected and delightful surprises.

That was 2.190 days ago or, more specifically, six years.

Now, you found yourself facing the diamond ring on your finger, glistening under the moonlight.

Mason broke up with you, for good this time, because you were ruining his life. His words.

You, of all people.

You, who loved him the most.

Him, who was simply your whole world, just as much as you were his.

Still watching the engagement ring on your finger, you tried to remember when your relationship started to crumble. Perhaps, it was right after he returned home from the World Cup, even if it had been just a few months that he proposed. Things started to get difficult for him at Chelsea and he was distant, such a stupid cliche. Classic miscommunication, so finding comfort at your own work was the only thing you could do and you isolated yourself at the cottage you bought in Scotland so you could write in peace - eventually, you fell down the same old cycle of isolating, writing compulsively, and just a few months later having to leave everything behind to promote the book.

A book full of personal poems, this time.

Tears rolled down your cheeks and you sniffed when you remembered how Mason spat the words at you.

“How fucking dare you to expose us like this?” He breathed heavily, anger in his eyes like you’ve never seen before. “You never make things easier for me. It’s always all about you,”

You frowned as his words still echoed in the back of your mind - everything you’ve done was always about him, from the moment you two met on that TV show. What was supposed to be a polite talk in the beginning, ended in a heated argument fueled by miscommunication and insecurities and more harsh words from him while you just listened. According to Mason, while he was always including you in his career choices, your commitment to your own career outweighed your commitment to your relationship.

“My career will never betray me,” it was automatic, you didn’t think before saying those words, and you only noticed the damage when Mason’s eyes glistened with tears.

“I would never do that to you, but if that’s what you believe…” Mason sniffed. You watched him shake his head and focus his gaze on the wall - anything not to look at you. “I love you, Y/n. But it’s ruining my life.”

A shy lick on your hand brought you back from painful memories and you were able to smile a bit as Lila watched you with those sleepy eyes.

“It’s just the two of us now,” you mumbled, touching her nose with the tip of your index finger.

Scotland has been your permanent home for the past two weeks since the breakup. You tried to reach him, tried to call him, and even texted his family, but no one replied. Even his friends were gone and it felt like Mason and the life you shared with him were nothing but a dream. The only thing that you still had was the engagement ring, that never left your finger.

Two weeks were also making you realise that, perhaps, Mason was right. You should’ve talked to him, should’ve put him first, and asked how he’d feel instead of making how you felt about everything so public. Even if there were no names, everyone knew that most of those poems were about Mason - the good ones, but mostly, the bad ones where you romanticised all of your struggles.

There was nothing but regret and sorrow for you.

Lila’s lazy and hoarse barking woke you up. At her own speed, she went back and forth from your bedroom to the front door, scratching her nails on it as she was desperate to see who was knocking on your door at three in the damn morning. If you weren’t so sleepy, you’d care more about the marks it was leaving on the wood.

Letting out a loud yawn, you slowly opened the door to find Mason on the other side, puffy eyes and messy hair, with both hands in his pockets.

“You shouldn’t open the door without knowing who it is. Not at this time of the night,” you frowned at his whispered words, not knowing exactly what to say. “Are you going to let me in? It’s cold,”

You quickly nodded, taking a step back so he could walk in and be greeted by Lila. His giggle as the basset hound lazily wiggled her tail made you smile softly - you missed the sound of his giggle. You missed everything about Mason.

“She misses you,” and so do I, you wanted to say. Mason just nodded. “Are you here to take the ring back?”

His sigh was the only sound that filled the room for a few seconds before he let go of Lila to finally look at you. He was a mess, just as much as you.

“No”, Mason replied. A knot formed on your stomach and you suddenly felt the urge to vomit - anxiety always did that to you. “I’m here to take you back.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, but you also felt a slight anger burn your chest and bring tears to your eyes. Crossing your arms against your chest, you watched Mason carefully as he seemed to wait for an answer - he looked absolutely defeated, but he let out a sigh of relief once his eyes caught the diamond ring still on your finger.

“I thought I was responsible for ruining your life.”

Mason nodded. “But you also put it back together, Y/n.”

His words completely disarmed you - arms fell to the sides of your body, but quickly wrapped around his waist. In Mason’s arms, you silently cried. “I should’ve talked to you, Mase. I’m so sorry,” Mason’s hands traveled up and down your back, comforting you, as his lips found your forehead, then your cheeks and your nose, in soft and gentle kisses.

“I overreacted,” you shook your head, but Mason cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “I did, but I hope you can forgive me.”

“If you can forgive me,”

“We’re both forgiven, then.”

A brief interruption, a slight malfunction

(...)

I thought we had no chance

And that's romance, let's dance.

#mason mount fanfic #mason mount x you #mason mount x reader

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juuuulez · 6 months

Note

Negan x Virgin wife reader smut??? Questionable age gap if ur comfortable no pressure though

info: absolutely FILTHY, age gap (reader is 18 when they have sex, negan is like mid 40s), alcohol consumption, negan calls himself daddy, oral (female receiving), loss of virginity, probably more but i can’t even think rn.

summary: Negan’s always taken care of you, only now, you want him in a different way.

omg this took soooo long to write and is also absolutely huge 😭😭 it’s also just pure filth but totally is everything i’ve ever wanted

You were 16 when you arrived at the Sanctuary.

Though, you never really did anything. Negan didn’t even know if you knew how to fire a gun, but he didn’t mind. Your little fingers probably were too soft, they’d shake upon just nearing one, afraid of blemishing your perfect nails.

Your father was a loyal soldier of his, always carried out orders to a T. Therefore, Negan believed that your debt was paid, and didn’t feel the need to make you pull your weight, like most others.

After meetings, when everybody was dismissed, those big wooden doors would open to you standing there, waiting for your father with a sweet smile on your face. He’d place his hand on your back, kiss you on the head, walk you out.

It made Negan think that maybe, just maybe, there was good left in the world. That good was you.

Sometimes a mission would go haywire. Radio connections lost, a truck missing, hijacked. When this happened, you’d always wind up at the door to Negan’s office, timid little knocks garnering his attention. You’d ask, visibly upset, if your father would be okay, if he had any news on when he’d be back.

And Negan would always assure you it was fine, that you’d best get to bed. Morning would come, your father would return, and your world would be complete again. Each time, you’d sniffle, flashing him that sweet little smile before bidding him goodnight.

You were 17 when your father died.

It was a seemingly random attack on an outpost, though Negan knew otherwise. 20-odd men were killed, including your father. When he’d shared the news, you weeped and cried for what felt like hours.

Despite the million tasks to be completed, justice to be avenged, Negan had set that aside to comfort you. Sit down with you, ease your worries, promise that he’d make things right. That whoever did this would pay, he would get your revenge. Even though the tears didn’t stop, and you practically didn’t move from your bed for days afterwards, you’d still managed the effort to give Negan a smile.

You were trying, so, so hard.

But things changed after that.

Well, you changed.

A year went by, and you got harder. Learnt to live on without the guidance of your father, though the struggle was still evident. You were lost, like a little lamb.

Some of the older girls took you under their wing, teaching you the necessities of life in this world. How to make a knife, how to escape rope binding, how to please a man. All the things your father had sheltered you from, made sure you wouldn’t need to worry about.

Though you appreciated their help, it wasn’t the same. Women were too… understanding. They were soft, gentle with you, but it came from a place where they saw a version of themselves in you. No, you wanted something masculine. That protective hand on your back, the feeling of a beard scratching your cheek when he left you sweet little kisses.

You were 18 when you found this again.

Albeit, in a different way.

The war was progressing, however slowly, and tensions were high. Infighting was getting more and more common, Rick was getting on Negan’s last nerve, and his wives were starting to tick him off.

It was another late night, chain-smoking and trying to brainstorm any sort of play against the Alexandria group. Just something to gain some leverage, as he could feel the power slipping from his fingers, whilst they were only getting more and more rebellious.

Just last week, they’d attacked the Sanctuary, where Negan realised that he needed to put an end to this.

There’s that slight knocking at his door, the quiet tap tap tap. He doesn’t need to see to know who it is, nor does he need to answer for you to enter.

You push past the doors, feet clothed in white cotton socks. The type with pink bows on them, on either side. It makes your footsteps silent, padding across the wooden floorboards until you’re standing in front of Negan’s desk.

“I couldn��t sleep.”

It’s become a rather common phrase, though Negan had thought that you were getting better. The attack must have set you off again, put you on edge, anxious. It makes sense, as you weren’t exactly accustomed to the gunfire and shouting.

“You try counting, doll?” Negan asks, watching you over the rim of his glass, letting the smooth whiskey slide down his throat. His eyes wandered downwards, taking in your silk nightdress, falling just to the top of your thighs.

Tantalisingly small, you needed a new one.

This past year, after your 18th birthday, you’d become dangerous. Confident. Each day your shorts seemed to get shorter, the straps on your tanks skinnier. You pushed the limit, that sickly sweet smile transforming into something alluring and tempting whenever you gazed at the younger soldiers.

It was like a ticking time bomb, and without your daddy to guide you, Negan knew you were moments from acting out.

“Mhm. Doesn’t work,” You shrug, eyes downcast upon the wooden desk, like you’re searching the dark grain for some sort of answer to all your problems, “Why count when I can come see you?”

This causes Negan to chuckle, that deep sound that rumbles from his chest, causing you to look back up at him. He sets the glass down, a soft clink as it collides with the table. “Because sometimes I’ll be busy. Ya gotta learn to handle yourself.”

Wrong choice of words.

Negan knew that, because there was this little flicker in your eyes, like a light that had switched on.

Of course you could handle yourself, that’s what you’ve been doing this past year.

You knew what you wanted, and were willing to hunt it down, like prey. All those hushed conversations with the older women, reading all those magazines, you knew what you were doing. Or, you thought you knew what you were doing.

Negan could see this, which is why indulging in these thoughts with you was a dangerous game. He was only a man, after all, and you just looked so good in that little silk dress, the spaghetti straps almost hanging off your soft shoulders. It was like a temptation from the devil himself, the ultimate forbidden fruit.

“C’mere, princess.” He calls out, internally cursing himself for being so fucking stupid, but nonetheless leaning back slightly in his chair.

He was going to hell.

But luckily, sinning was a two player game.

You accepted the invitation, slinking over to him, knuckles just brushing the wooden desk as you pass. Without instruction, you situate yourself between Negan’s slightly parted legs, your ass making contact as you sat on his thigh, rough denim creating friction against your soft skin.

His hands instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you in closer, where you allowed your head to fall against his chest. It was comforting, and Negan smelt like smoke and leather, something to unfamiliarly masculine but you loved it. You wanted to smell it forever, feel him forever.

“Why haven’t you asked me to be a wife?”

This causes Negan to furrow his brows, tilting his head to look down at you. In turn, you meet his gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. The position makes him feel powerful, like you’re tiny in his hands, something he could direct with ease. He quickly banished the thought away, not wanting to corrupt your innocence.

“Because you’re too young, doll.”

“But I know things,” You assert as soon as Negan has given his excuse, desperate to make him understand, “From.. from asking people, from reading magazines. I know what to do.”

Negan’s eyes flicker across your face, taking in the cute little pout on his lips. Reading? It suddenly dawns on him that you’re more inexperienced than you let on. All those flirty remarks, seductive stares directed at his soldiers, hadn’t proved fruitful.

You were a virgin.

Now, that shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did, but God. Negan’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, keeping you pressed firmly against him, to which you lifted your head from his chest. One hand raised higher, gently brushing the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The other shifted downwards, snaking his long fingers just under your soft asscheek, peaking from that silky nightgown that bunched above your thighs.

As much as Negan had resented the idea of tarnished your innocence… now it just seemed all the more alluring. Being your first, being the only one you’ll ever taste. Making you his.

“You ever drank whiskey, baby?” He finds himself asking, voice just as smooth and fiery as the alcohol in question.

Your head tilts, eyes owlish and curious as you shake your head no. Negan leans forward in the chair, keeping you close to his chest, and scoops up the previously abandoned glass.

Auburn liquid sloshes slightly with the movement, and Negan takes a moment to adjust you in his lap, manoeuvring your body with ease. He presses his thumb against your plush bottom lip, the slight pressure causing you to open your mouth around him, where he is able to replace the digit with the rim of the glass.

His hand shifts to your jaw, holding you with a firm grip and tilting your head backwards, tipping some of the whiskey into your awaiting mouth. It passes your tongue, gliding down your throat until he pulls the glass back, allowing you just a taste.

Your nose scrunches at the harsh burn, not accustomed to it, before letting your tongue dart out to lick your lips.

“It’s warm.” You mumble, voice still quiet and delicate despite the actions you were partaking in, “Like… in my chest.”

“Yeah? Feelin’ it here?” Negan asks, a smirk beginning to play at his lips in response to your pure innocence. His hand slides up your body, brushing along smooth silk, until it comes to rest just in the channel between your plump breasts. He applies a slight pressure, a firm hand that sits over your heart, where he can feel it increase in tempo.

At this, you smile, pink lips curving upwards while you lean in a little, head tilting up to look at him. Negan feels inclined to mimic the motion, allowing you closer until he can feel your soft breaths against his mouth, lips slightly parted in anticipation.

His eyes flicker down, weighting the severity of these temptations, before meeting your gaze again. “If you wanna do this, baby-girl, then there is no going back,” He advises, voice lowered to match the tension of the situation, “I am going to tear you apart.”

A mixture of anticipation and fear floods your stomach, butterflies tingling and reaching areas that you’d forbidden yourself from touching. Only the slightest motion is required until your lips are touching, pressing against his, causing you to shift closer on your lap.

Negan takes note of your pure eagerness, licking into his mouth with no hesitation, letting your tongues intertwine like you’re trying to taste every inch of his mouth. You’re drunk off the feeling, how he tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, and you can feel his stubble irritating the skin around your mouth but it feels so inexplicably good.

You’re ravenous, fulfilling that deep yearning that’s directed your every movement for the past year. But Negan wants to take it slow, pull you apart, help you understand everything that he’s capable of doing to your body.

So he wraps a hand in your soft hair, balling it around his fist and holding the back of your head in place. A desperate whine leaves you when he pulls his face away, a grin quickly spreading upon seeing your dissatisfied pout.

“Not so fast, baby.” He hums, before diving in once more, directing the pace of the kiss himself.

Whenever you get too eager, trying to take control, Negan will pull away again, letting you gasp and whine and beg him to kiss you again. It’s utterly pathetic, you’ve barely even started and it’s already apparent just how much control Negan has over you, a notion that makes him feel completely elated and also extremely aroused.

It feels like an eternity, with you seated in his lap, leisurely making out and learning exactly what makes you tick. Negan finally lets go of your hair, giving appreciative pets through the silky locks and then down your back, before two large hands are hooking underneath your ass and pulling you upwards.

The sudden movement causes you to gasp, arms quickly gripping onto Negan to steady yourself, but he’s strong enough to manhandle you onto the desk. That white nightgown bunches at your hips, and Negan pushes it upwards to your waist, letting out a low whistle at the sight of your little white lace panties.

“Look at you, princess.” He grumbles, pushing your thighs apart on the desk to get a proper look. There’s a wet stain right over your core, and Negan shamelessly presses his fingers against the thin fabric. The contact makes you squirm, bracing your hands behind you on the wooden desk.

He brings himself closer by pushing the chair forward, whilst simultaneously gripping your thighs and pulling you towards him. Closing the gap, Negan presses his nose against your clothed cunt, letting his tongue dart out to further soil the sticky fabric. The lewd act causes you to gasp, nails scratching against the surface and legs shaking, clamping around his head.

“Tastes so fucking good, baby-girl. This pussy was just made for me.” Negan groans, inhaling your intoxicating scent mixed with the slightly salty taste on his tongue. It took everything in him not to completely brutalise your poor cunt, though he knew it would be sopping by the time he was finished.

Two large, rough hands skate up your thighs, fingers slipping into the dainty handles of your panties. Negan pulls the straps down, letting the fabric fall from your hips and down your legs. Instead of discarding the item onto the floor, or setting it aside, Negan slips them into a nearby drawer. You clock the action, and it makes your face flush bright red.

Negan takes a moment to admire the sight of your bare skin, his hands tracing loving circles into your thighs. “Fuck, can’t believe this is all for me.” He groans, before finally, finally, bringing his mouth close enough to make contact your with your heat.

He licks a long line from your dripping hole, to your clit. Tongue flattened, feeling every ridge of your pussy. The sensation is completely new, leaving you to gasp over him, palms splayed out against the wooden desk. It’s tempting to squeeze his head in your thighs, to completely crumble, but you keep them open and spread.

The effort must be visible, because Negan tilts his head to the side, pressing a tender kiss against your skin. “Bein’ such a good girl, aren’t you? Don’t worry, baby. Let go for me.”

Each word of encouragement is rumbled into the meat of your thighs, and eventually, back into your waiting cunt. It’s overwhelming, in the best way possible, and Negan takes the time to talk you through the pleasure, albeit muffled by how devotedly he’s eating you out.

You squirm against the desk, little pants and surprised cries leaving your mouth, struggling to adjust to the sensation of Negan’s lips suctioning over your clit, creating a steady motion that causes a whole other wave of pleasure to wash over your shoulders.

But then, he’s pressing a single, thick digit against your hole. There’s a slight resistance, but Negan takes his time, circling his finger around the silky cavern until it finally gives, sucking his finger inside. All of this, whilst he continues his assault on your pussy, licking into it shamelessly in a pattern he’s learnt will give you the most pleasure.

“Fuck, it’s.. I-I dunno if I can take it.” You mumble when Negan perseveres, pushing another finger into your warm cunt. It’s a tight fit, but he’s willing to make it work. Determined.

“Oh, baby. You will be taking a lot more than this.”

It fills you with a sense of fear, an anxious feeling growing in the pit of your stomach, like you’ve swallowed a rock. Until Negan pushes his fingers upwards a little, and you practically jump from the desk, a ragged moan leaving your throat. He continues to press against the fleshy spot, meanwhile suctioning his lips around your clit and sucking hard.

You gasp and cry, little tears filling your eyes as you drop backwards. One arm supports you on the desk, the other moving so that you can grip onto Negan’s short, dark hair. Your nails scratch as his scalp, but he doesn’t care, because it’s only a sign of how much pleasure he’s bringing you.

It sounds like you’re trying to say something through the distraught moans, but the words carry no meaning, practically unintelligible. It’s like your bones have turned to jelly, this new feeling arising in your stomach, something you haven’t felt before.

It feels like pressure, an intense pressure. It builds and builds, and you know that it’ll snap soon, but you can’t find your words in order to warn Negan. Yet, he already knows, of course he knows. By the end of this, he’ll understand your body better than you do. Maybe he already does.

Because when it snaps, your orgasm finally reaching its peak, Negan only quickens the pace of his fingers and tongue. His other hand is now on your lower stomach, leaving soft pets against the skin, gently trying to bring you down from everything.

Now, Negan would love nothing more than to keep going, to devour your sopping pussy until you’re crying tears of pain, begging him to relent. One day, he’ll have you like that. Not now, not while you’re still adjusting to everything that he’s possible of giving you.

The hand previously positioned in his hair falls down to his shoulder, where Negan finally brings his face up from your pussy, leaning in closer to you. His beard is shiny with your slick, fingers similarly coated in it, and there are red marks from where his stubble had irritated your sensitive thighs.

You look a mess.

Panting, teary eyed. Face all red and flushed, looking up at him. Your mouth opens to speak, but Negan is quick to cover it with his own, capturing you in a deep kiss.

It’s messy, passionate, though you’re really worn out. Yet, you show him your appreciation, licking feverishly into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. Then you’re leaning forward, pushing yourself back into a sitting position on the desk, arms wrapped around Negan’s shoulders.

When you break apart, he nudges your cheek with his nose, moving to press kisses against your skin. “How ‘bout I get you into bed, huh?”

You push away from him, shaking your head. There’s a look of confusion on your face, a small pour forming against your lips. “No, no, not yet. We can keep going.” You protest, looking up at him with the most precious, hurt little eyes.

Negan moves his hand up, capturing your face in his grasp, holding you still. His thumb rubs at your plump bottom lip, still wet with his spit, all bitten and red.

“You really want this?” He asks, “Because ‘s gonna hurt, baby. It’ll feel good, but it’ll hurt first.”

You only nod, separating yourself from his hold, to lie back against the wooden desk. It’s slightly uncomfortable, and cold against the naked skin of your thighs, but you prop your feet up against the wood in order to present yourself to him.

It’s lewd, a temptation, you’re trying to lure him in. And it works. Of course it does. Negan can’t deny you any longer, not with that sweet smile, beautiful little face. He wants nothing more than to know that you’re his, and only his.

“Beautiful girl.” He rumbles, splaying a hand over your stomach, running it up over the curve of your breasts. The silk nightgown is pushed upwards, until it’s pooled around your neck. Negan leans down, helping you to sit up a little, so that he can remove the nightgown completely.

Now, you lay bare on his desk, causing him to whistle at the sight. There’s already a damp spot near the edge, where your pussy had stained the wood, a mixture of slick and Negan’s spit. There was another pool forming, where your legs now lay spread at the end, awaiting the blessed moment you’d been dreaming about.

Negan is careful about it, sticks his fingers back into your sopping hole, making sure it’s maintained it’s previous elasticity. It practically sucks him in, and to prove your point, you squeeze your muscles around his fingers.

“Okay, baby. Don’t get impatient on me.” He coos, one hand remaining on your thigh, whilst the other works at removing his pants.

They drop to the floor with a heavy noise, to which he doesn’t bother to fully move them, letting the denim slump around his boots. You prop yourself up a little, looking down the length of your body to where Negan finally reveals his cock.

It’s thick, much thicker than his fingers. How is that even supposed to fit in there? It’s wide around the base and tip, long and curved upwards, towards his stomach. Subconsciously, your legs close a little, but Negan keeps his grip firm as he presses your thighs against the desk.

“You still wanna do this, baby?” He asks, despite his greater instinct to just claim what’s in front of him. Admittedly, it’s been a little difficult to hold off this long.

If you were anyone else, the act would be long done by now. But this was different. You were different. He still wanted to take care of you, like you were a helpless little girl, except you weren’t. This was your plan, after all. Like a lioness, you’d hunted him down, and there no way you were going home without your reward.

A smile spreads on your lips, looking up at him through your lashes, “Yes, please.”

It’s said in that same sweet tone, as if you’re not actually begging for his cock, but another bedtime story. Like you aren’t naked on his desk, pussy dripping down onto the wood, completely spread out like a lavish meal.

“Good girl.” He mumbles, pulling your legs so that they dangle over either of his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. At this angle, he can already feel your heat, so, so close to him.

One hand grips his cock, the other planted across your stomach, a large hand splayed over your skin for comfort. Negan looks down, guiding himself to finally press against your core. There’s a slight resistance, but in no time, he’s length is being sucked into your gooey walls.

There’s a pensive look on your face, which he notices, causing a smile to grow on his own. Your nose twitches slightly, chewing on your bottom lip, trying to adjust to the new feeling. It doesn’t necessarily feel bad, just strange.

But, Negan is only able to get the first few inches in, until there’s a hitch in the process. He leans down, letting you wrap your arms around him, and captures your mouth in a kiss. You give in instantly, preoccupied completely with licking into his mouth, therefore not fully aware of the firm thrust he gives to break through the barrier.

You hiss into his mouth, accidentally biting down onto his lip. Negan doesn’t seem to mind, as he begins pressing kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving a trail of bloody marks in his wake.

“Shh, you’re okay,” He soothes, keeping his hips still, not yet pressing any further until the pain has subsided, “Ain’t gonna hurt for much longer.”

The promise proves fruitful, as within a few moments, you’re wiggling a little in his grasp, giving the silent permission to continue. You look down the gap between you, watching as Negan’s cock slowly pushes further in, until your hips are finally flush.

“Breathe, babygirl.” He murmurs, still licking and sucking over your skin. The wet trail continues, until Negan pays attention to your plump breasts, his tongue collecting the beads of sweat that’s built from the exertion.

You claw at his neck, one hand making it’s way into his hair, scratching slightly at his scalp. Then he’s moving, gently pulling out, until just the tip remains. You breathe through the uncomfortable feeling as he pushes back in, a mixture of your slick and a little blood dripping down your ass, only to pool on the wooden desk.

It’s intense, having Negan stretch you open on his cock, the kind of sensation you’d never felt before. You keep watching between you, keen interest in your eye, which he finds adorable. Even as he speeds up a little, the twinge of pain subsiding into a constant flow of pleasure, you’re still fighting to keep your eyes on him.

He readjusts, bringing your legs back down, only to firmly pin your thighs to the desk. In this position, you’re completely spread for him, causing a blush of embarrassment to rise on your cheeks.

It doesn’t last long, as Negan has found the perfect angle to thrust up into you, causing you to raggedly moan and your eyes to squeeze shut. He continues to hammer the same spot, and it feels heavenly, like his cock is actually in your stomach.

You scratch at the wooden desk, gripping for dear life as Negan holds you still, both large hands planted across your thighs. He’s gripping and kneading them, and you hope they’ll be bruised the next day.

But finally being sheathed in your wet heat is it’s own struggle for Negan, as he’s trying to hold off cumming for as long as possible. He’d been rock-hard the entire time you were making out, but this? It was a victory better than war.

So he moves one hand off your thigh, bringing it to your swollen and abused clit. You gasp as he makes contact, tracing firm, tight circles over the muscle that make your eyes roll back, pathetic noises leaving your parted lips.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for daddy.” He praises, leaning down to leave dark marks on the junction of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder as Negan continues to fuck into you, hitting that fleshy spot that causes you to cry.

It’s obvious when your orgasm hits you, as your whole body shudders, moans tapered off into high-pitched whines of pleasure. Your gooey walls clench around Negan’s cock, making him groan into your flesh, putting more force behind his thrusts.

Luckily, it’s all he needs to finish, pumping his cum deep into your channel. The overstimulation causes your hips to twitch, legs jolting with the sudden sensation, but Negan tests your limits, shallowly pushing his seed deeper inside you.

Your nails scratch at his neck, eyes pricking with overworked tears, “It’s too much.” You squeak out, voice all raw from all those noises that had been forced from your throat.

“Okay, beautiful,” Negan whispers, pulling himself out of your sensitive cunt, hands gently soothing the bruised skin of your thighs, “But next time, you’ll take it until I say so.”

It’s vaguely threatening, and causes another wave of arousal to ebb through your stomach. However, your mind focuses on one thing, a bashful and pleased smile growing on your tired face.

“Next time?”

It catches Negan off guard slightly, realising what he’d said. That, and you just look so happy, like you’ve finally gotten what you wanted.

“Of course, darlin’. You belong to me.” He assures, savouring the fact that you were so eager to be with him, despite everything.

That night, the nightmares didn’t return. Of course, you didn’t go back to your bed, but instead Negan’s. He took care of you from then on out, it was safe to say you were his new favourite.

#negan smith x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #twd x you #negan smith #the walking dead #digital footprint who’s that

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notsarareallynot · 1 year

Text

Bucky x Reader Pregnant Part 2

< Part 1 / Part 2 >

Summary: You and Bucky finally find out the gender of your baby. The ups and downs of the Pregnancy and how the both of you deal with it. A lot of comforting, fluff and lots of SMUT.

Warnings: blood, crying, emotions, pregnancy

Word count: 2.2k

I’m sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes…

(I didn’t read this over again, so brave yourself for a few mistakes here and there)

“God you are killing me here peanut.” You mumble to yourself, trying to sit up in your bed, 7 Months pregnant with a round belly.

The warmth on you side comes from your husband, who’s still a sleep beside you.

Before you got pregnant, Bucky would always wake up before you, but now 7 month into the pregnancy, you would always wake up in the middle of the night, or really early. You either had to pee, where really hungry craving something sweet or your little baby girl would give you a hard time kicking.

Yes, Baby girl.

You and Bucky found out that you were having a little girl.

5 month ago

“I’m so exited” Bucky says to you, as you wait together in the waiting area of your gynecologist.

“Me too, I hope everything is alright” you say with a ring of anxiety to your voice.

Bucky takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth placing a kiss onto it.

“Everything is going to be just fine, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” You say still not totally convinced.

“Y/n Barnes?” A nurse calls.

You stand up and walk towards her, as she leads you to an examination room.

She lays you down and asks you to lift your shirt.

There wasn’t really a bump there yet, it looked like you were slightly bloated yes, but not pregnant.

“Just wait here, Dr. Reese is gonna be here any second.” The young nurse is tells you.

You give her a smile as she walks out, leaving you and Bucky all alone.

You take a shaky breath.

Bucky takes your hand again.

“I’m just so nervous James.” you say.

He strokes your hair kissing your temple.

“Shh, everything is going to be fine with our little girl.”

“Little Girl?” you ask him chuckling.

He grins at you. “Yes y/n. A little girl, my little girl.” he says confidently.

“I don’t care what gender the baby is, I just want it to be healthy, but I wouldn’t mind a little boy who will look, just as handsome as his father.” you say quietly.

“Why do you want a girl?”

He looks at you. “I would like a little princess, in a pink tutu, with those little pigtails…”

He would like that? Maybe you would like for it to be a girl too, Bucky would be an amazing Dad either way, but him as a girl Dad playing in an all pink room, throwing a tee party? Yes, you would like that.

The doctor steps in interrupting your talk.

“Hello how are we feeling Miss Barnes?”

“Fine, very nervous but fine.” you smile at Bucky squeezing his hand.

“Oh no reason to be nervous darling, let’s just have a look at your baby, so I can calm your nerves yes?”

“Yes please”

“Would you like to find out the gender today?” She asks the both of you.

“Yes. Please.” Bucky says immediately.

“Okay so this is going to be a bit cold”

She puts gel on your belly and you and Bucky stare to the screen.

“Okay…” Dr. Reese murmured studying the screen.

While she scans your belly she asks you a few basic questions.

“Is everything else going good? Do you have any nausea yet?”

Oh yes. The nausea had started two weeks ago. It was pretty bad, you were nauseous every morning, and the smell of certain things made you throw up.

“Yeah I’ve been feeling sick for the last two weeks.” you tell her.

Bucky also speaks up. “My wife has a hard time keeping food in and I’m worried about that, I think she even lost weight.”

You look at Bucky as he talks. He’s been very worried that’s true. He was always right beside you holding back your hair or bringing you water.

Dr. Reese nods. “I will prescribe you something for the nausea. And Mister Barnes don’t worry, it’s pretty common that some women lose a few pounds at the beginning of the pregnancy before gaining them back, after the nausea fades”

She looks back to the screen again.

“Well the baby looks healthy and it looks like you will have a girl, but it’s always hard to tell with girls. But I’m pretty sure.”

“Really?” you ask feeling a wash of relief at the mention of the baby’s health.

“A girl?” Bucky asks Dr.Reese again.

“Yes it looks like it. Congratulations.”she says smiling.

You feel Bucky squeezing your hand and look up at his teary eyes, wich are fixed onto the screen.

“C-could we maybe get a picture please?” Bucky asks your Doctor in a shaky voice.

“Yes, of course Mister Barnes.” she says with a big smile.

———————————————

Present time

You groan again rubbing your belly.

Bucky stretches beside you, turning toward you, placing lazy kisses onto your thighs and belly.

“Everything fine Doll face?” he whispers, his voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah she’s just keeping me awake again, go back to sleep it’s late” you mumble stroking your fingers through Bucks hair.

He sits up, placing both of his hands on your belly bringing his mouth down, placing gentle kisses onto it. “Baby girl we already talked about this. You can’t keep your mommy up all night, she needs to sleep. So do Daddy a favor and let your mommy rest a bit mhm?” he whispers against your belly.

Bucky talking to your baby warms your heart every time. But it also makes you super horney, but that’s something that came with that pregnancy, maybe Bucky is just too handsome.

Just a second later she kicks hard again, making Bucky chuckle.

“Well I tried my best” he says with a smile.

Bucky swings his legs out of bed standing up, dressed just in his black boxers. He’s walking to the bathroom. A few seconds later he comes back out.

You can’t help but stare at him, the way his boxers hang so low on his strong hips, the way his abs flex as he walks. God you are so lucky, this men is basically sex on legs.

You look down at yourself. You have an oversized shirt of Bucky on and some granny panties that you bought in the mom section a few weeks ago, because your thong’s were getting way to uncomfortable. You also gained a few pounds and your breast weren’t sitting like they were before you got pregnant. And even though you were more than happy to be pregnant and become a mom, you didn’t feel like yourself. Your body was changing.

Even though Bucky didn’t say something ever, and never would. You can’t help but feel bad. He looked his best while you, well you were looking like this.

“Buck…? Forget it…” you say quietly.

He walks up to your bed sitting down next to you immediately, now fully awake.

“What is it love? Do you crave something? I can go and get you something from the kitchen? Or do you want me to massage you mhm? Tell me what is it?”

You could cry he was so sweet and supportive throughout the whole pregnancy. Maybe this was all because of your hormones, but you started to tear up.

“Hey, hey y/n, Doll hey what’s wrong? Tell me.” He asks slightly panicked that something wasn’t right with you or the baby, or that you were in pain.

“No, it’s so stupid” you sob silently now crying.

Bucky hugs you to him, caressing your cheek, wiping your tear away with his thumb.

“Look at me. No matter what you would tell me, I would never think of you as stupid. So now my beautiful, lovely wife tell me what bothers you.” he asks gently, while rubbing your back.

You scoff at him calling you beautiful, because that’s exactly the opposite of how you were feeling.

“Did I do something wrong…?” He ask’s quietly.

You chuckle sadly. “No, god no, you are perfect, that’s the problem. I look at you and god I get pregnant again just by doing so. And lately when I look at me… I- I just feel… not good.” you hiccup.

His eyes soften at your confession.

“Is that what this is about y/n?”

You shrug leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Y/n, Love you are perfect.” he starts, but you scoff again interrupting him.

“Hey I’m serious. You look so fucking hot pregnant” he says.

“Yeah right, I bet those stretch marks and those granny panties really turn you on.” You say sadly as a tear rolls down your cheek.

He gently moves in front of you and takes your face gently in his hands. “You mean those beautiful marks that show how fucking strong you are caring my baby?” He asks you, pulling your shirt up stroking the stretch marks on your thighs placing kisses onto them. “Or those beautiful hips which carry our baby?” He asks stroking your chubby sides.

“What else mhm? Your beautiful full breasts which are going to feed our baby girl?”

You can’t help the tears that are falling as he talks.

“Baby, let me tell you, I get hard every time I just look at you” he chuckles quietly trying to lift your mood.

You can’t help but smile.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yes. Doll I don’t care what kind of underwear you wear, or how much you weigh or all that other shit you worry about in that little head of yours. You carry our child, making me a Dad and happier then I’ve ever been, you got that? And I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t the hottest chick I ever laid my eyes on, because you are. In fact let me show you just how much I appreciate your body.”

SMUT AHEAD!!!! (If you don’t like it skip it I guess?)

He pushes you gently down onto your back.

“Can we take that of love?” He asks tugging on your, well his shirt, you where wearing.

You nod your head.

He lifts your shirt over your head. You lay now just in your underwear in front of him.

Bucky places kisses on your round belly making his way up your full breasts.

He takes a nipple into his mouth sucking gently on it, while his other hand makes his way down between your bodies to find your damped underwear.

He looks up at you.

“Can we take those off too?”

“Mhmm…” you moan while Bucky slides your underwear down your thighs.

His fingers found your clit and you moan.

“Let me taste you, my beautiful wife”

He dives down eating you out. His tongue finds your clit and you feel a finger gently pressing against your opening.

Bucky pushes his finger inside and starts fucking you with his finger while sucking on your clit.

You moan and your hands find his hair tugging on it.

You feel the tight knot building up in your stomach.

“Buck, Buck I’m gonna I’m…” you cry out his name while your orgasm rolls trough you.

Bucky comes back up kissing you, his lips glistening with your juices.

“You wanna now how fucking hard you make me, pretty girl mhm?” Buck asks you, taking your hand pushing it inside of his boxers.

“That Doll, that’s how fucking hard you make me” he whispers in your ear.

“I-I want you James…” you moan.

Bucky lines himself up at your entrance, he slowly and really gently pushes into you.

So slow it feels like torture.

“James please” you moan dragging your nails up his back.

“Doll even though I think it’s the hottest thing that you bag me to fuck that needy pussy of yours, but I don’t want to hurt you or our baby girl.” He says while slowly fucking his length in and out of you.

“I- I can’t…” you moan feeling another orgasm coming up.

You look at Bucky he has his eyes fixed on you, slowly thrusting in and out of you.

“James I wanna- I wanna ride you.” You say breathless.

Bucky stills inside of you.

“Doll I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

You know what Bucky thinks, since he found out that your pregnant he would be even more gentle during sex, scared of hurting you or the baby.

“It’s okay, I talked to my doctor. I promise.” You look up at him.

He nods unsure and turns you around so you’d be on top.

You took that as a chance to take all of him, lowering yourself completely down on his length.

Bucky groans out griping your hips, helping you ride him.

You realized fast that this position felt unbelievable good for you, but was much harder with all that extra weight you’d put on.

“Wanna switch back around love ?” Bucky asks seeing you struggle.

“Yes please.” You half moan.

Bucky turns you again pounding you gently into the mattress.

“Doll fuck you grip me so fucking tight… I’m gonna come” he moans hiding his face in your neck.

“Me too” you moan kissing him.

A few lazy thrust later you come squeezing Bucky, he groans and stills, coming inside of you.

“And that’s, how fucking hot my beautiful, pregnant wife is.” Bucky whispers in your ear.

“I love you” he whispers kissing your neck.

“I love you” you say looking up at him.

**********

I know it was pretty short but the 3 part is almost done. 😁

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beardedmrbean · 4 months

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A controversial Seattle teacher allegedly told students that identifying as “straight” is offensive. He even scolded some of his male students for being a “product of the patriarchy that teaches young boys not to care.” It resulted in a parent filing a complaint with Chief Sealth High School. In defending the teacher, Seattle Public Schools (SPS) offered what appears to be a verifiably false statement to the media.

Tenth-grade Ethnic Studies World History teacher and self-identified communist Ian Golash asked students to complete a “Social Identity Wheel” worksheet, according to the parent, who asked for anonymity. It asks students to explain their various identities, including racial, ethnic, gender, socio-economic status, physical, emotional, or developmental disabilities, and sexual orientation. The worksheet is intended to tell students that their identities determine whether they receive unearned privilege or oppression.

The parent’s 15-year-old son labeled himself “straight.” Golash took issue with that word “because it implies that to not be straight is to be ‘crooked’ which could have a negative connotation.”

‘Straight’ is offensive to Ian Golash

The student’s mother shared an email thread with The Jason Rantz Show on KTTH. In it, she complains about the comment to Golash and the school’s principal, Ray Garcia-Morales.

“When filling out a Social Identity Wheel, he (her son) was told that if he identifies as straight that he needed to pick a term that was less offensive. It is completely inappropriate to dictate what terms a student can and cannot use to identify themselves with,” the mom wrote in the September 24, 2023 email.

Golash said he did not target her son with his comment. He did, however, admit to saying something similar to the entire classroom.

In the email response to the mother, Golash allegedly told the parent that he “stated explicitly that I was not going to tell them how they should identify except to explain the difference between race, ethnicity and nationality.” But he did cast aspersions on identifying as “straight.”

“Because I think language has power and that it shapes the culture that we live in, I did say to the class, in response to a student, that I do not use the term ‘straight’ because it implies that to not be straight is to be ‘crooked’ which could have a negative connotation,” Golash wrote. “But, again stated that I am not interested in telling them how they should identify and that the wheel they are completing is for their own reflection, not for me to assess.”

A very contrived position

Golash taking offense to the term “straight” in this way may be the only such example in the country. It’s a common and accepted term.

Chief Sealth High School has a Gay-Straight Alliance Club. Even GLAAD (formerly the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation) uses “straight” as an alternative descriptor for heterosexuals. The term “straight-ally” is still used by LGBT groups.

The contrived issue came up in a 2015 Washington Post column about etiquette. The readers (not Golash) asked if the term “straight” is offensive. Steven Petrow (the author of “Steven Petrow’s Complete Gay & Lesbian Manners”) responded by saying he’s never been asked that before. He concluded it was neither offensive nor a slur.

“I’ve never heard of a gay person saying they were offended by the use of straight. Do some straight folks find it problematic? I think you are saying that you are and, if so, I’d like to know why,” he wrote.

‘Product of the patriarchy that teaches young boys not to care’

The parent also claimed in the email that Golash shamed her son during a conversation about Florida banning left-wing classes with critical race theory indoctrination. Her son had missed the day the class watched a video about the topic, and told Golash he didn’t know why the state legislature forwarded the ban, according to the mom.

“I’m told that rather than converse about the topic and provide him with information and an actual answer, he was told that he was a ‘product of the patriarchy that teaches young boys not to care,'” the mom wrote in the email. “You missed an opportunity here to teach your student about current events and instead shamed him for being a male. To assume that he’s being raised in a patriarchal household is a very mistaken one.”

Again, Golash disputes some specifics but admits to bringing up the issue.

“My response about patriarchy was not directed at one student, it was connected to discussions of systems of power that we had been having in the previous few days and the behavior of several boys in the class,” he wrote, according to the email. He did not dispute saying the quote the mother provided.

The Jason Rantz Show on KTTH asked Golash if the emails properly depict what he sent to the parent and if he wanted to offer additional context. He did not respond.

It’s part of a political agenda

Golash focuses a portion of his curriculum on issues around gender identity. The same parent previously complained that Golash failed her son on a quiz for correctly saying men cannot get pregnant and that women do not have penises. The mom eventually pulled her son from his class.

“Mr. Golash has introduced many controversial topics into the classroom and instead of inviting open, constructive and truthful conversations, he provides biased resources that only aid in pushing his own ideological agendas,” the mom told The Jason Rantz Show on KTTH. “In this particular instance, he tried to persuade the language the students used in an attempt to censor them. Mr. Golash instructs his students what to think and not how to think. This in no way provides identity-safe classrooms that allow students to feel visible and valued.”

She says her son started to “self-censor … due to Mr. Golash’s intolerant teaching tactics.” Only after this incident, she said Golash accused her son of being disruptive and disengaged. She called it “retaliatory in nature.”

In the email thread, Golash did accuse her son and other classmates of unruly behavior. He said his frustration with their alleged behavior, “resulted in words I said that day that I might not phrase in the same way today.”

Seattle Public Schools is mostly silent

According to a screenshot of an email shared with The Jason Rantz Show on KTTH, the district is investigating the two separate complaints against Ian Golash.

First, the school is reviewing the quiz that the student failed for taking objectively true positions: Men can’t get pregnant and women do not have penises. Second, according to an email, Chief Sealth principal Garcia-Morales told parents there was an investigation into a separate incident where antisemitic curriculum was taught to students.

Seattle Public Schools (SPS) won’t say much about Golash, including how far the investigation has progressed. They also would not comment for this story, neither confirming nor denying Golash’s purported communication with the parent. Even if they did comment, they’ve previously misled the media with a statement.

More from Jason Rantz: Democrats reject child marriage, but accept their gender reassignment

Misleading the media and public

When The Jason Rantz Show on KTTH exclusively reported the “men can get pregnant” quiz, the story ignited a firestorm of criticism and ridicule towards Golash and the district. SPS appeared to give out the same statement to multiple outlets, but added an extra detail to Fox News.

In the original report, the mother complained that Golash and another teacher engaged in name-calling. One teacher allegedly called her son “f****d and racist,” and Golash allegedly made the comment about being a “product of the patriarchy that teaches young boys not to care about anything.” SPS denied the claims when asked by Fox News.

“Claims that the student was called names have not been reported to SPS. We have confirmed with the school’s principal that this is the first reference to any name-calling,” a spokesperson told Fox News.

The statement appears to be false.

In a February 2, 2023 email, the mother’s husband emailed a teacher and principal Garcia Morales. In it, he complained of conduct against his son. He wrote that his son told him the teacher explained to the classroom, “If you’re white, that’s f****d up and racist.” The principal was also on the email over Golash’s comments about the patriarchy.

SPS would not say why they told Fox News that my report was the first reference to any name-calling.

#nunyas news #this guy's exaggerating some it looks like #but teacher is still a douche

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theladyofdeath · 8 months

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Lady Death's Lover {V}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: This chapter is slightly NSFW. No one under the age of 18 should be reading this story. Thank you to everyone who reads, comments, likes, and/or reblogs! I'm glad you're enjoying the story and hope you continue to do so! x

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Dear Emerie,

I hope you’re enjoying your time away. Just know that we miss you here in the city, but I hope your travels are everything you want them to be. I cannot wait for you to return and tell Gwyn and I all about your thrilling endeavors. She is convinced that you have found someone in which your soul cannot live without, but I have assured her that it is nothing more than a foreign fling.

I cannot wait to see who is right!

To answer your very thoughtful questions, I am doing just fine. You know how Tomas is, but he is busy with his business and I find peace in the distance that brings between us. I have found myself wondering one thing — what is it like to attend a ball as an unmarried lady? We used to have little get-togethers in my village, of course, but nothing as grand as the balls in Velaris. I used to love to dance and each time I attend one of these gatherings I cannot help but daydream of dancing once again. Of course, it is not common for a married lady to dance, and Tomas would never. It is a lovely thought though, isn’t it? I know you are content with your life as a spinster (which I admire), but even you love a good turn about the dancefloor.

Perhaps one day I will be privileged enough to just get a tease of what it is like.

Write back soon. Be safe. We miss you!

With Love,

Nesta

I hate luncheons. Especially women-only luncheons. The only perk is that I don’t have to attend them with Tomas, but that is by far the only perk. All of these women think they’re better than me and each other. Every one of them has something shoved so far up their asses that I’m surprised they can still walk.

They’re all talking about their husbands, how amazing they are, how perfect their lives are, but I can’t seem to contribute to the conversation. I may be forced to be here by my husband but I’m not about to praise his name.

As I sip my lemonade, I let my mind drift back to where it’s been, repeatedly, constantly, for the past week. Ever since he left my home, ever since I ran into him outside just after midnight, the image of him has been branded into my mind. It doesn’t matter if I’m awake or asleep, I can see his face, his smile, the intense look in his eyes as he looks at me. I can hear him saying my name, voice low and rough, like no man has ever said it before.

I’ve dreamt of him, fell asleep every night to these fantasies that I can’t control.

They started off seemingly innocent, the two of us dancing, touching tentatively, doing nothing more than following the same steps that everyone knows, getting lost in the music as we stare into one another’s eyes. That innocence didn’t last long; it quickly escalated.

Last night had me writhing in my bed, needing friction, needing release, needing something far greater than what my fingers could offer. I worked myself roughly, imagining my fingers were his, imagining his cock was hard and inside me, pounding into me again and again, recklessly.

I was no virgin when I married Tomas, and although he would claim otherwise, my husband in full denial, that means I know what I like. Laying with Tomas is a chore, one that I have never enjoyed, one that never lasts long or gives me any sort of satisfaction. I know what I like in bed, what I like from a man, and I have no doubt that a man like Lord Cassian can give me just that.

Not that it would ever happen.

Of course. I am a lady, the wife of a renowned lord, and a woman of high society would never act so immorally.

I can dream, though. I can let those unholy thoughts fill my mind, imagine a man like Lord Cassian exploring every inch of my bare body while I fall into a state of utter ecstasy.

“Lady Nesta?”

My eyes snap up and meet the Lady Cresseida’s from across from me. Her smile is sly and I’m tempted to match it with one of my own, but I don’t.

“Are you well? You look a little flush,” she continues, mockingly.

“I am feeling a little under the weather,” I confess. A complete lie, but if they’re asking, I may as well take advantage of it. “Perhaps I’ll take my leave.”

They all nod in farewell, but I know that none of them care. I, however, am overjoyed at the excuse to leave. I make haste, wasting no time as I rise to my feet and stride out of the home in which the luncheon is being held.

The second I’m in my carriage, I call for my driver to take me home.

The long way.

But, it’s always the long way. I stopped asking a long time ago. Now, they just take me home the long way when I’m by myself. They just think I enjoy the scenery, find peace in a ride by myself in the quiet. Or, perhaps they know the truth, that I loathe my husband and hate being in his presence, in his home, our home, and they just keep quiet about it.

I wonder what the help talks about when they’re alone, when they’re in their own quarters, far away from us. I wonder if they truly hate me, if they hate Tomas. I wonder what they think of our marriage, if they know it’s as awful as it truly is.

I’ll never know. I’ll never ask. Either way, I’m grateful that they drive me the long way home.

As soon as the wheels begin wobbling down the cobblestone, I lean back against the bench and close my eyes. The velvet lined seats are soft enough to relax on, and the moment I’m comfortable, I let my mind wander.

Back to him.

His hands.

His cock.

I know I’m pitiful, know that these fantasies mean absolutely nothing and the reality of my life, my marriage, is still in shambles. But they’re a small reprieve, because if I cannot control my reality, at least I can control my thoughts to a certain extent.

Those thoughts drift to Lord Cassian.

We don’t know each other and we surely never will. Perhaps that’s what makes him the perfect candidate for these fantasies, for these wandering thoughts. He’s a stranger, one that I’ve gotten a feel for, certainly, but still a stranger.

I wonder what he looks like nude. I’ve tried to imagine it many times, have pictured what I thought, but I imagine it doesn’t compare to the reality of his body. He’s muscular, of that I have no doubt, and the part that matters most is long, thick, and wielded like a weapon.

I don’t even realize that I’m inching up my skirts until my hand has made its way into my undergarment and the tip of my finger grazes my throbbing clit. I circle it slowly, biting my lip to keep myself silent. I’ve touched myself more in the last week than I have in the last decade but I have no shame.

It’s hard to feel shame when your senses are alive and thriving.

Sex is not bad. It is not a sin to feel desire, although my husband would claim otherwise. In fact, he claims that women should find no pleasure whatsoever when it comes to sex, which seems to be the reason why the focus is never on me when he visits my room. No, he does what he likes until he gets off, having no idea how to truly please a woman.

Lord Cassian — the man I have made up in my mind this last week?

He knows how to please a woman.

He knows how to leave her gasping, screaming, how to make the eyes roll back in her head. He knows how to make her back arch, how to make her toes curl, how to make her cry out for the gods, the Mother, the Cauldron. He knows how to make that little feeling, wild and unruly, go mad in the pit of a woman’s stomach until she can no longer contain herself, until her heart is bursting out of her chest and she’s seeing stars.

He knows how to make a woman find release and he doesn’t stop until she’s found it.

I grip the plush velvet seat cushion as I squeeze my legs together, trapping my hand within. We hit a bump in the road and I jolt, but it only adds to the madness that I’m currently drowning myself in.

My other hand joins my first and I pump two fingers deep inside of me, working in tandem with the one still making joyous circles over that sensitive bundle of nerves. A long string of words falls from my mouth in a devout whisper, words that would bring shame to my husband and his name, words that no lady should voice but I cannot help it.

His face is in my mind, his smile unfurling behind my closed lids. His body is bare and his hands are roaming my body, every stripped inch of me. I call out his name and he urges me on, thriving on my indecent vocalization.

Within the confines of my coach, I throw a hand over my mouth to muffle what I cannot control while I find my release with those loyal, fervent fingers of mine. I keep moving until my body grows limp, that intensity that makes me feel alive fading into nothingness yet again. I smooth out my skirts and lean back against the bench, fighting to catch my breath.

I wonder if my driver suspects anything but find that I don’t care. No one would ever dare tell Tomas, would not dare anger the Lord Mandray.

No one would be that idiotic. It would be a death sentence, the messenger every bit at fault as I.

I can’t help myself. I laugh.

I break into such a fit of laughter that I fear I’m going insane, but oh, it feels so good to laugh!

I laugh until tears are rolling down my cheeks and my sides begin to hurt, and it’s only when I collect myself that I realize it was the first time I had laughed in a long, long while. It feels good to laugh, as mad as I may seem. There is something utterly triumphant about feeling pure, demented joy.

Staring out the window, I watch Velaris pass by as we make our way back to House Mandray. By the time we arrive, all of my wonderful, demented joy has faded.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Cassian

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

We’re sitting around Azriel’s dining room table, feasting on roasted chicken, when my brothers decide to insert themselves into my personal business, yet again.

“I’ve been to two balls this season.” I sigh, stabbing a carrot. “I don’t need to attend another.”

Azriel and Rhys look at one another, concern written plainly on their faces, but I pretend I don’t see it.

“Besides,” I continue, “none of the ladies have caught my eye this season. It is a waste of time.”

“But you love to dance,” Azriel says, the same time Rhys says, “but you love to drink.”

It’s true. I adore both of those things, but I know where the next ball is being held, and even I am not courageous enough to step foot into the Mandray’s house again.

Nothing untoward happened with Nesta and I in the garden, but it was inappropriate, nonetheless. I was a little tipsy after my closed door meeting with Tomas, but I still had my wits about me. I know that I should not have been alone with Nesta, but I couldn’t stop myself.

From the moment I saw her under the starlight, I was gone.

“I thought your meeting with Tomas went well,” Rhys pushes, buttering his roll. The same roll that he’d already been buttering for over a minute.

“It did,” I say, and leave it at that.

They, however, will not leave it at that.

“Then this has to do with the wife,” Azriel says, mouth full of potatoes.

It’s only the three of us.

Manners be damned.

Across from him, Rhys’ eyes light up and swivel back in my direction. “Ah, the wife. Lady Mandray. Did you come on to her again?”

I drop my knife and fork with a clatter and rub my temples. “No, I did not flirt with Nesta.”

“Nesta?” They both repeat in unison, and I instantly realize my mistake.

“Lady Mandray,” I correct myself using her formal title, “and I simply do not see what she has to do with my absence.”

“You have always been a terrible liar,” Rhys quips, clearing his plate. “But, if you wish to live in a state of deception, so be it.”

“I’m not—” I take a deep breath before I can let my frustration take control. I’ve always been prone to anger, as much as I loathe the fact. “I’m not lying. I simply do not wish to attend a party when I can be home, working.”

Drinking in solitude is more like it, but that’s beside the point.

“Work is all well and good but you must allow yourself to have fun every now and again,” Azriel says, his tone as skeptical as Rhysand’s. “Besides, haven’t we established that it’s about time you marry?”

“If it’s time I marry, it’s time we all marry,” I grumble.

Azriel suddenly looks horrified while Rhys chokes on his wine. I know that neither of them are ready to be a husband, although we are all quickly approaching our third decade of life. Rhys sometimes pretends that he is, but when it comes down to it, I cannot even imagine him with any of the women of the ton.

No young lady could handle Rhysand.

Azriel is different. I cannot tell if he’ll ever marry. It’s not that he has never been in a relationship or that he is incapable of love. He loves stronger than perhaps anyone I have ever known. I’ve always felt that is the very reason why he keeps himself so guarded. The only people he’s ever truly let get to know him are me, Rhys, Mor, and Amren. There was a time when he pined after Mor, but that was so long ago.

“I am perfectly content as I am,” I go on, trying to convince them or myself I am not certain. I pick up my silverware yet again and make another attempt at finishing my supper. My carrots have gone cold. I hate cold carrots.

“Back to the ball,” Rhys says, sitting back in his chair and stretching out his legs. “You’re going.”

“I am not going.”

“If you’re not going, then we do not go. If we do not go, we will be sad.”

“Your sadness is none of my concern.”

“Now you’re just being mean.” Rhys pours himself another glass of wine while Azriel’s eyes swivel between us. “If this is about Lady—”

“Lady Mandray is none of my concern.” Perhaps I should have waited for his sentence to end before mine began, but I have never been good at holding my tongue.

“If she is none of your concern, then you will join us,” he says, smoothly, and he knows he’s already won before I even begin to resign. “We will drink their champagne and dance across their perfectly polished floors until sunrise while we are still young enough to do so.”

Azriel finally finishes his third plate of food and sits back with a groan as I sigh. “You’re intolerable.”

“He takes that as a compliment, you know,” Azriel murmurs, and I’m afraid he’s correct. There’s always been a darkness to Rhysand. Not an evilness, never evil, but a certain…edge. A certain slyness, a manipulation of sorts. In another life, I’m convinced he ruled his own kingdom.

Kingdoms.

“I will join you,” I say, at last, and Rhys grins as he dwells in his victory.

I, however, feel nothing but unease. The thought of seeing Lady Nesta again so soon both excites and revolts me. I haven’t been able to get her face out of my mind, haven’t been able to shake that feeling that I had when I spoke to her.

Even though I was lost and she surely thinks me a fool.

No matter. She can think me a fool as long as she’s thinking of me.

The Mother knows I’ve been thinking about her.

#nessian #period au #regency au #19th century au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #fanfic #fanfiction #au #sjm

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jupipedia · 1 year

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“ do you even know my name, screw boy? ” - c. springer. the desired meets the unattainable. college au. ( probably going to be a two or three part fic. )

connie springer was, without a doubt, one of the most noncommittal, yet desired men on campus.

sure, he wasn’t as tall or built as the star quarterback eren jaeger nor was he as smart and empathetic as class president jean kirstein, but something about his impulsiveness and no existent regard for the consequence that usually followed his rash actions attracted most of the women and a few men on campus.

y/n couldn’t see the appeal in the man as she watched him almost set armin’s sleeve on fire during their chemistry lab, shaking her head and facing the professor while armin pulled his arm away and hushedly scolded connie who didn’t look the least bit apologetic as he laughed.

“since we got through the lab quicker than i expected, i’ll dismiss you all early,” the professor said, packing up her own belongings.

“are you coming out with us later? there’s this new band called denim playing at a bar downtown and a few of us want to check them out. they’re opening for femme doll, so even if you don’t like them, you’ll still be able to check out the band that i’ve been talking about,” mikasa asked, packing her things and standing up from her seat next to y/n.

“i’ll let you know how i’m feeling after practice. coach is going to be up my ass because i missed it on tuesday to go with you guys to that one pub because you wanted to spy on your boy toy,” y/n replied, copying mikasa actions.

“i wasn’t spying on him. i just heard that he would be there and wanted to know why,” mikasa defended herself, following after y/n who was walking to the end of their row.

“mhm, whatever you want to believe. we both know that you were—,” y/n said, cutting herself off once she bumped into someone, having not paid attention to where she was going as she talked over her shoulder. she found that the victim of her lack of attention was none other than connie who smirked once the two of them made eye contact. “sorry, i wasn’t paying attention.”

“no worries. it’s a pleasure to bump into you, beautiful. we should do it more often,” connie flirted with the typical smug smirk.

“yeah, never do that again,” y/n said, immediately shutting him down as she brushed by him with a pat on the chest. mikasa soon followed after her as connie continued to stare after the girl.

y/n was seeing his appeal even less after hearing the most common and boring pick up line come out of his mouth. it was their first real interaction and she was already unimpressed. and to think that he had almost every other girl swooning.

“i’m free until practice, did you want to grab lunch or do you have another class?” y/n asked mikasa who was still looking behind her. y/n snapped her fingers in front of her face in order to gain her attention. “wanna get lunch or do you have class?”

“no class, but i have my shift at the bookstore. what was that?” mikasa asked, pointing her finger behind her to the door where connie and armin were conveniently coming out of.

“his terrible attempt at flirting. you would think with all the hype around him, he’d at least have better material,” y/n said, not stopping in her words as the two walked past her.

“talk to me more often and i’ll show you better material. i can’t use my best cards at the beginning of the game, sweetheart. you’re smart, so i thought that you’d understand that,” connie spoke as he paused in his step.

“good thing i’m not interested in playing. c’mon, i’ll walk you to your shift,” y/n said, grabbing mikasa’s arm and walking away from him.

“y’know, y/n, now that i’m looking at you, i can’t say that i’m surprised that he’s taken an interest in you. i mean, you are his type,” mikasa said as she was being dragged in the direction of the bookstore.

“of course i’m his type. what man doesn’t love a girl with long legs wearing one of the shortest skirts that he’s ever seen,” y/n dropped mikasa’s arm and walked alongside her.

“and you aren’t the slightest bit interested in him? you have to admit that he’s at least handsome,” mikasa continued, earning a groan from y/n.

“if you think he’s so attractive, why don’t you go for it? do me the favor honestly.”

“no can do. i already know the man of my dreams and his name isn’t connie. let me know how your next interaction goes and i’ll see you later!” mikasa said, running towards the bookstore in order to be on time for her shift.

“there won’t be one!” y/n yelled after her before turning to walk in the direction of one of the many dining halls on their campus.

and while y/n hoped that what she was saying was true, she found herself staring up at connie from his place on the stage later that evening. she ended up being able to meet up with mikasa as her coach surprisingly took it easy on her. she made it to the bar and had a few shots before being pulled to the front of the stage by historia as the band finished setting up. she was wearing yet another skimpy skirt as she stood in the center of her friend group, watching connie pluck at the strings of his bass guitar. she hadn’t taken him for the musician type, especially one who played indie rock at a bar on a friday night.

and he looked damn good while doing it.

he looked so good that y/n couldn’t bring herself to look away, even when he locked eyes with her and grinned. she came back to her senses once her friends crowded her and began to coo, causing her to roll her eyes and shake them off. she gave connie one last look before heading over to the bar to get another drink.

“girl, he’s after you,” mikasa said, walking up to y/n’s position at the bar after the set ended.

“yeah, i know. he made that clear this morning,” y/n said, taking the last few sips of her drink before sitting the glass down and pushing off of the bar. just as she stood up straight, she found herself chest to chest with connie and groaned before moving around him.

“so you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me on stage, but now you can’t stand the sight of me? you wound me,” connie said, following close behind the girl as she made her way through the crowd.

“i’m sure you’re used to pretty girls coming down from that musician high and realizing that they want nothing to do with you.” y/n retorted, not sparing him a glance as she talked through someone’s conversation.

“not girls as pretty as you. let me take you out sometime.”

“did you miss the part where i said i wanted nothing to do with you?”

“you don’t even know me. how would you know that you want nothing to do with me if you refuse to get to know me, gorgeous?” connie asked, stopping y/n in her tracks by stepping in front of her.

“do you even know my name, screw boy? last time i checked, it wasn’t gorgeous or beautiful,” y/n tilted her head and crossed her arms as she awaited the boy’s answer.

“i was describing you, y/n. of course i know your name.”

“right, that was a dumb question. of course you’d know the name of whichever poor, unsuspecting girl you decide to try and make your arm candy for the week. now, unless you plan to join me, i’m going outside for a smoke. thanks for the talk. next time, bring the guitar so i’ll at least have something pretty to stare at,” y/n said, successfully walking away from connie who stood in his spot, watching her walk.

“so there’s gonna be a next time?” connie asked with a boyish smile on his face.

y/n let out an amused scoff as she shrugged without turning around. “maybe.”

“so is this hard-to-get thing an act or are you genuinely not going to give him the time of day? because if it’s the latter, i may have to get on my knees and beg you to think again,” annie said, sitting across from y/n as the girl ate her lunch.

“’m not sure. his persistence is kinda cute and almost makes up for the cliche bullshit that comes out of his mouth, but he hasn’t shown any real interest in me besides for the way that i look,” y/n shrugged, taking another bite of her food.

“but he’s so pretty. and you’re super pretty. you’d look pretty good together, even if it only lasts a week,” sasha butted in.

“yeah, and if all i wanted was to be the pretty girl by a pretty boy’s side, i would’ve taken eren up on his offer in our sophomore year.”

when eren had first become known due to his position on the varsity football team, he began his reign as campus playboy. somewhere along the line, he approached y/n and her group of friends, flirting with her and asking her to give him a chance. she would’ve taken him up on it if it weren’t for his history with women because he was a good friend, just a terrible boyfriend.

“so you’re saying that you think eren is prettier than connie?” mikasa asked, looking behind y/n for a brief second before looking back at the girl.

“because if you are, i would have to agree,” annie butted in.

“if i had to really think about it, i’d probably say that connie is closer to my type,” y/n admitted, not looking up from her meal.

“yet, you still don’t want to go on one date with me? perfect chance to get to know me,” connie announced his presence as he approached the table.

“what’s in it for me besides the worst night of my life?” y/n stood up from the table with her trash in hand. “i’m done. i have to go to my internship in a few hours and have work to do before then. i’ll see you guys later.”

y/n spared connie a glance as she brushed by him and paused after taking a few steps.

that was a bit harsh. she didn’t really owe him any kind of grace. she was right to be unimpressed with his advances as she knew a bit about his romantic history if it was even fair to call it that. however, connie was right when he said that she really had no reason to dislike him. granted, he isn’t known to be the best with women, but most of what y/n “knew” about him was through rumors so it was a bit of bitch move to act like he did something to her personally.

y/n threw her head back with a sigh before turning back to the table.

“i’m done with my internship at 6. i’ll be out of the liberal arts building by 6:05. if you’re gonna take me out, might as well be for dinner. if you’re gonna be late, just don’t show up, constance. i mean it,” y/n announced before turning back around to walk to her internship.

“i’ll be there!” connie called after her, his smile visible in his tone.

“pick somewhere good.”

turns out connie’s idea of somewhere good aligned with y/n’s as he chose an italian place not too far from campus. y/n had been looking to go there with her friends once their schedules had finally aligned at a time before 8pm, but that was a rare occurrence.

she now found herself sitting across from connie with a plate of fettuccine al pomodoro sitting in front of her as connie received what she believed to be lasagna.

“so, who told you that i like italian?” y/n asked, taking a sip of the ice water that she asked for.

“mikasa might’ve tipped me off. mentioned something about a new italian place on main street. thought i’d try my luck,” connie admitted with a shrug.

“yeah, surprisingly, she’s rooting for you,” y/n paused. “so, what does getting to know the great constance springer entail?”

“well, for one, you’d learn to know that i hate being called constance. i sound like someone’s old ass grandma,” he joked, earning a short laugh for y/n.

“and what, connie sounds less elderly to you?” she joked back.

“‘s the best i could do with constance,” connie took a bite out of his piece of bread before continuing. “i picked you up from your internship, you said? what’s it for?”

“i’m a researcher. it's a good experience for when i get into whatever political science career after i graduate,” y/n explained briefly.

“what are you researching, right now? i know armin is also doing some kind of research, but i think it involves genetics or something to do with anatomy.”

“are you asking because you’re genuinely interested or because you don’t want to sit in a long, awkward silence?” y/n asked.

“a little bit of both.”

“that’s fair,” y/n said before launching into a long explanation about her internship. this turned into a conversation about her plans for the future that somehow spiraled into him talking about his family back home. their meals were soon forgotten as they spent more of the dinner talking than actually eating their food.

despite y/n explaining that she still had time to catch a bus to her apartment, connie insisted on driving her back to her place to ensure that she would get home safe. and y/n wouldn’t mind admitting that she had a good time talking to him and getting to know him beyond the rumors. he was extremely boyish and had a certain charm to him that she was starting to see the appeal of.

“thanks for walking me to my door,” y/n said as she reached the top of the steps.

“no problem, beautiful. wouldn’t miss a chance to be in your presence even if it’s just for a few more minutes,” connie offered a cheeky smile as he watched y/n roll her eyes with an amused smile on her face.

“we talked about how you need to work on your corny pick up lines. they’re awful,” y/n said, turning to unlock her door.

“are they working?” he asked.

“absolutely not.” yes, they are.

“I will leave you to the rest of your night then. i’ll see you tomorrow?” connie asked, slowly backing away from the door.

“yeah, i’ll be in chem if that’s what you’re asking,” y/n responded, leaning on the door frame.

“you’re not gonna give me your number?”

“are you asking for it?” y/n rebutted.

“no, but if you’re feeling a bit charitable, you’d be willing to give it to someone as less fortunate as me,” connie said, holding his phone out for the girl to take, which she did.

“text me some time,” y/n said, stepping into her apartment after handing him back his phone.

“does this mean you like me?” he called after her.

“you’re not bad, springer. good night,” she responded without looking back and closed the door before he could respond.

she thought that she was in the clear until she saw mikasa sitting at one of the bar stools, having been waiting for her.

“‘you’re not bad, springer’? what happened to not being interested?” mikasa teased as y/n walked by her.

“fine. i’m a little interested. he’s charming,” y/n admitted, walking into her room and dropping her belongings onto her desk chair. she was tying up her hair for her shower when she got a notification.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

pick you up in the morning?

super fucking charming.

#— (jupipedia.)#connie x black reader #connie springer #connie springer x reader #connie springer x black reader #playboy connie springer #aot fanfiction #connie springer fanfiction #anime x black!reader #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan x black reader #aot x black reader #aot x reader #attack on titan #aot #connie attack on titan #connie aot #*ੈ✩‧₊˚❕*∘∘˙˚༄💨 ( a jupiter production. )

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alexsoenomel · 1 year

Text

That Summer Dress (Dean Winchester x Reader smut)

Summary: You have to wear a dress for a case and Dean really likes it *wink*

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: psychotic ghost and sexy times (BJ’s and big O’s)

Word count: 3104

Note: I wrote this in 2019. Enjoy! Like/Reblog or both if you like it! :)

“Do you really have to use me as bait?“ I asked while my will to live was slowly leaving my body and soul.

“Hey the ghost likes to kill girls and since both of us have dicks...” Dean said but I cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Case in a nutshell: Not so long ago a serial killer named Ted Bundy existed and he liked to kill women, saying hardcore pornography made him do it (Dean to that: “Yeah right.”). Well, turns out the world is even more fucked up than I thought; he had a fan. A fan so dedicated to keep his notorious legacy alive, he made sure not to cross over when he dies; and he died 10 years ago. He liked to kill pretty girls in fucked up ways, the similarities between his MO and Ted’s were uncanny. His main preference, were girls who wore pretty dresses. After he would kill them, he would keep the dresses, sick bastard. Some say he would put on the dress of his first victim, his wife, every time he would kill. We burnt the body but he was still in his house. So, naturally we decided to go there and see what’s keeping him here, in Tacoma, Washington.

It was 6pm and time for us to get to work. This shitty motel room was slowly driving me mad; I was ready to kick something.

“Are you guys ready?” I asked putting on my backpack.

“(Y/N) are you forgetting something?” Dean then asked me.

“What?”

“You said it yourself he likes girls in dresses.” Sam said.

Oh shit.

“You really want me to wear a dress? REALLY?”

Dean jokingly told me I would have to wear a dress and also added how hot I would look before we came here; turns out he wasn’t joking. Dean and I were kind of more than just friends. We weren’t together either. Ever since I’ve first met him one night in a bar back home (Lebanon, Kansas) we were drawn to each other. He, of course typical Dean, tried to flirt with me and get in my pants but I wasn’t in the mood. I lost my friend to a vampire that day and I was grieving, with whiskey. He started with small talk which I hate more than anything, but because I was attracted to him I gave him a pass and soon after we found common ground. We were in the same business, liked the same music and overall been through a lot of similar crap. Plus he was SO lucky in the gene department; those green eyes and full pink lips were enough to make me want him under/on top of me. That night we talked for what it seemed like forever, about hunting, life, everything...that night I saw his true colors and he saw mine, which was strange for both of us, considering the fact we don’t open up easily and to just anybody. We didn’t fuck that night though. Oh no, after that I haven’t seen him in 3 long months. He was busy trying to find his angel friend Castiel and nephilim named Jack; and I was busy hunting werewolves in Los Angeles. We would text each other every once in a while but that was it, before, he one day called me asking if I want to join him and his little brother. Of course I said yes. That was and still is one of the greatest discussions I have ever made. Ever since my friend died I’ve been hunting alone and the loneliness was killing me. I still miss her terribly. It was nice having company like Sam and Dean. Sam soon became that friend everyone wishes to have; the one who takes care of you and is always there if you have a problem and Dean, well Dean was your friend’s hot brother you desperately wanted to bang. And I did...one drunken night when we were left alone. Sam was the one who needed to clear his head so he went for a long walk and Dean and I were left to do research for our next case. We were a little hard on that bottle of whiskey Dean had bought that day so we did anything but that. When Sam got back he found us both collapsed in Dean’s bed naked (thank god we were covered with a sheet). The next day was pretty awkward for him. Poor Sammy...

I don’t even remember what we did; I just know he gave me the most amazing orgasm I’ve ever had. It was mind-blowing. We haven’t really gotten a chance to talk about it since we have been working 24/7, so this brings us to now... I get jealous every time a girl even looks at Dean in a way I don’t like, and Dean is the same. One time when a guy bought me a drink, Dean just drank it instead of me. So we were friends but there was something more to it...

Back to reality...

“If you want us to get rid of that son of a bitch yeah.” Dean said with an obvious smug on his face.

“But I don’t have one.” I said giving him a bitch face. “I don’t wear dresses.”

“We will go and buy one then.” Sam said.

“Great.” A sarcastic comment was a necessity for me.

Because I was going to wear a dress I decided to put my hair in a pony tail and do my makeup. Well, mascara was the only thing I carried, so put mascara on. We went to a nearest shop where I found the most beautiful summer dress. A little above the knees, white with flowers all over it, covering all the right places, it suited me perfectly. Dean approved as well. When he saw me leaving the shop his jaw hit the floor. He was waiting with Sam outside drinking coffee and almost choked on it. My ego was rising faster than the bulge in his pants.

“What do you think?” I asked them.

“It suits you.” Sam said.

“Nice.” Dean added swallowing nervously. “Okay let’s get to work.”

While Dean was driving I could feel him eyeballing me in the rear-view mirror as much as he could. That man was slowly going mad and I loved it. I hoped this dress lands me a naked Dean Winchester after this case.

When we finally arrived to his house I got chills down my spine. I felt his presence and I was still in the car. When we went inside on the other hand, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, he was there waiting for me. Maybe that’s how he killed all those girls over the years, he was calling for me to go to his bedroom.

“He’s in the bedroom.” I whispered.

“How do you know?” Sam asked tightening the grip around his shotgun. Both, him and Dean had shotguns with rock salt shot rounds while I was stuck with an iron crowbar.

“He’s telling me to come there. Sick bastard.”

“What a ladies’ man.” Dean added.

Because I was the bait in this whole operation I was the first to enter the room. It was one of those typical bedrooms that you see in horror movies; all wooden, unreasonably tidy and clean with...so many dolls in dresses watching your every move. It was a room of nightmares. Just being in there made the Winchesters and me uncomfortable.

“Now, this guy had a lot of issues.” I heard Dean say, and he was right.

In that moment I felt someone or something grab my throat which resulted in me dropping the crowbar. He was here. He was old probably in his sixties, gray hair, and psychotic written all over his face and in old dirty clothes. He was tightening the grip around my neck as I felt oxygen leave my brain. “Pretty dress.”- Was the last thing I heard followed by a gunshot before passing out.

****

“Hey (Y/N) are you okay?”

“(Y/N) wake up!”

Dean said a little bit louder as I opened my eyes completely oblivious of what went down.

“Where’s the ghost?”

“We took care of it.” Sam said.

“For real? Is he going to come back?”

“No, turns out the bastard was attached to the dress of the first girl he killed, his wife.” Dean stated.

“Figures. But where did you find the dress?”

“Sam found it in a glass box in his living room.”

“Oh...wow...Okay, you’re never using me as bait ever again.” Still a little disoriented I gathered all the strength I had in that moment to get up. Dean helped me of course, being a gentleman, not taking his eyes off me.

“Gotcha!” He said.

*****

When we finally got back to the motel Sam decided he was going to go grocery shopping for the trip back home and later go to a bar. I thought Dean was going to go as well so I can shower and hit the sack (the trip back home was going to last 24 hours and I wasn’t not much of a sleeper while being on the road because I could never get comfortable) but he decided to stay with me. Maybe now we can finally talk about that night and establish what we are.

When Sam left I couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous. I have wanted to talk about this with Dean for so long, constantly thinking about what I will say and how I will approach the subject and now that moment was here and I was scared shitless. I didn’t do that kind of shit, at all. I would usually just sleep with a guy and leave. I don’t have time for relationships nor commitment and Dean was the only one pushing those barely touched buttons (last real relationship I had was back in high school and it didn’t end well; the asshole cheated).

“I thought you are going with Sam to get drunk?” I asked nervously wanting to start a conversation.

“Nah, I can do that here...” He said smirking. “With you.”

Oh...

“Are you trying to tell me something, Dean?” I asked trying to act confident. God, he was driving me crazy.

“You know what exactly I’m trying to tell you babe.” He said after he took a sip from the beer bottle he opened seconds before. I on the other hand was standing inches away from him leaning against the wall because I was too afraid my knees would give up and I would hit the floor. His voice, his face....his everything....UGH. He was making me feel like I’m 15 and hormonal again. He then proceeded to get even closer to me, eyeballing every inch of me in that dress; practically stripping me naked with his eyes. He put the bottle on the table and went towards me, he was so close I could see every line, freckle and bump on his face. Plus those green eyes...not possible to describe the beauty of them. His right hand was above me while the other found a way to my thigh slowly but surely dragging his fingertip across my skin, slowly lifting my dress. He pinned me down against the wall while I was trying not to completely lose it and tear his clothes off.

“That dress looks perfect on you.” He said.

“You’re not subtle with your eyeballing at all, you know?” As I said that his hand went a little higher slowly brushing his fingers across my already wet panties making me gasp a little and spread my legs. He knew how to open “the gates of heaven” as he called them. Cheeky...

“I couldn’t help it; I was barely controlling myself back there.” He stated as he pressed his forehead against mine. “My dick was so hard when I saw you, it hurt like a bitch.” And then boom, his fingers went in my panties immediately finding my clit and slowly rubbing me with his thump. Holy shit...I forgot just how much I missed his touch. I let out a moan while my eyes never left his. The air was filled with lust and nothing but lust. I couldn’t wait for him to devour me whole.

“Glad you enjoyed the view.” I managed to say. I decided today was my day to play though. I wanted to be in charge so badly so I took his hand out of my panties, kissed his cheek, barely touching the skin, and went to my bed. He followed me like a puppy. I took off my dress reveling my white bra and white panties (and no there were not matching but who cares).

“Is it just me or did you get even hotter?” He asked eyes wide open. He was like a child after Christmas morning. I smiled as my confidence was sky high and pushed him onto the bed. Positioning myself on his lap I pulled on his shirt telling him to lift himself up so I could kiss him. As soon as he did I crashed my lips onto his, and my tongue entered in his mouth, exploring, biting and teasing the shit out of him. My hands were in his hair pulling slightly as his hands went onto my hips desperately trying to tell me to move. I started off with little trusts as my lips attacked his neck. Pretty sure I left many love bites.

“God, I want you.” He said pulling my pony tail to look at me. “You’re driving me crazy woman!”

“Just doing my job, sir.” I said playfully.

Suddenly I found myself in Dean’s arms in the air before he dropped me onto the bed. Wasting no time he took off his clothes, boxers included and boy oh boy how my lungs stopped working. I was in a trance looking at this perfect man who was about to sin with me.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah?” I asked while my eyes were on his hard dick scanning every vain and practically drooling.

“Why are you still dressed?”

“Oh...”

Taking off my underwear he took my face and kissed me as he his body was on top of mine. It looked like he thought he was gonna be in charge...oh honey. My hand went and grabbed his dick as I broke the kiss to look at him. He looked at me with confusion all over his face as I said: “My turn.”

He melted instantly. I knew he liked it when someone bosses him around in bed and gives him “sexy rules”-not so long ago we got drunk (like we usually do on a Sunday night) and talked about sex. Before I completely blacked out I remembered him saying something about him being a sub while his brother was laughing his butt off. Poor guy was too drunk to see his brother sitting sober as a bird in the library reading a book.

“Oh...” He managed to say as I pushed him back onto the bed. I kissed every inch of him; lips, neck, collarbones, biting here and there; stomach, going lower and lower. He was breathing heavily, before I reached his dick and licked the tip first; then he lost his mind. He grabbed my pony tail as I took him all in my mouth, moving slowly up and down. Because I didn’t have gag reflex I could take him whole with ease. Every time I reached the tip I would vacuum slightly making him moan. Those moans were the hottest thing I have ever heard.

“God, that feels so good.” He said trying to stay sane but failing.

I did that a few times before going back up and kissing him again. He was in shock, it looks like he didn’t expect for me to stop. “I don’t want you to cum just yet.” I said.

“Ugh.”

“I love when you’re frustrated.” I giggled.

“I hope it amuses you because it’s killing me.”

I decided to stop playing around and positioned myself on top of his tip as I sat down with ease. His facial expression changed immediately as I slowly started to move, riding him.

“ Fuck.” He cussed.

Deep breaths and moans filled the room, his hands were on my hips and mine were on my boobs cupping them; preventing them from jumping up and down (It hurts like a bitch after). He begged me to speed up soon after moaning my name over and over again. I could see he wasn’t going to last much longer which exited me because I was close too. Considering the fact I prefer when a man is on top of me this was AMAZING. He was hitting all the right places and I was in heaven.

“Dean I’m close!” I yelled.

“I’m too...oh god.”

Jumping up and down on him I could feel my orgasm approaching. I felt like million bucks as he came first after hitting my g-spot so hard I lost my shit and came after him. I was shaking and couldn’t feel my legs as I collapsed next to him.

“Holy shit.” I said panting.

“What was...” He was still trying to catch his breath.

“Mind-blowing?”

“Best sex I ever had.” He added.

“I think I came so hard my body is dead. I can’t feel my legs at all...nor arms.” I said smiling like an idiot.

“I was that good, huh?” Dean asked with a big ass grin on his face.

“Yes.”

It finally hit me that we still haven’t had the talk. I really wanted to know where I was with him.

“Hey, um...what are we?” I finally spilled out.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we are friends but we also fuck like animals and get jealous if someone flits with our fuck buddy but-“ I was cut off by his lips on mine. This kiss was different though. It was like he was trying to show me just how much he cared about me; it was much more loving and not driven by lust.

“You’re not just my fuck buddy.” He said breaking the kiss. “I really like you. I haven’t felt like this in a very long time, and I’m scared with the life we live what’s gonna happen but I’m willing to try if you’re too.”

“You know my answer.” I just said and kissed him.

Too bad we didn’t have time for round two because Sam came back early for some reason and found us both naked in my bed. Poor moose was traumatized for the next 2 weeks.

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 11 months

Text

I Have No Mother, Only A Brother

Warnings & Information: A sequel piece to my Nice To Meet You, Brother “drabble”. Expanding more on dear little Canvas’s story when I originally didn’t plan to when I first got inspired. Inspired by a quote I saw on Pinterest from something Karen Traviss wrote regarding how Clones cried out to their brothers for help on the battlefield since they don’t have mothers? Can I find that post now, six plus hours later? No, of course not.

Good amount of angsty feels and some allusions to canon-typical violence/death with Clone OC backstories + how they died. Allusions to bad health conditions as a result of Sep. blockade. No big name-drops for what Jedi or Captains/Commander Canvas and his fallen brothers serve under just like in NTMY,B. Canvas doesn’t like the Kaminoans, he’s rather scared of them. My usual use of italics. No Mand’o-speaking Clones here. Swearing.

[Additional warnings to be added as necessary if you feel I’ve missed something while posting this around/after 1 AM.]

"Isn't it a little sad?" the nat-born child who's been asking so many questions starts up again after five minutes, the allotted break time as asked. The little one's parents sigh wearily. Here we go. There's beckoning hands, straining arms.

"Is what sad, little mite?" The trooper only resituated their hold on the child with a twisted ankle they'd been carrying for several klics now. They still had a long way to go before they reached the Republic camp where these starving people on a far-flung planet had been subjected to horrid war crimes by the Separatists. No; let me hold them a little longer, it's fine. They weigh far less than a supply crate, this is easy for me.

"Well… is it true that you don't have a mommy like people say?" This little one was born just before or near the very start of the Clone Wars, supposedly, and part of a humanoid species, so they're different from human nat-born children and develop differently… but the level of intellect and insight is still surprising.

"It is," the trooper starts, mentally shaking away the thought that he'd have to dumb this down for the toddler who was meeting Clones in the flesh for the first time now. "We don't have any mothers, except for Kamino. That's where we come from." Don't think of the long-necks. Don't think of the long-necks. Don't think of the long-necks; think of your brothers!

"So isn't it sad?" they ask again, cuddling sweetly against the stiff and impossibly firm surface of plastoid that encircles the trooper's body with a great pout on their face. That can't be comfortable for the kid. The trooper wishes he could take off the helmet so the little one can see the sympathetic smile, touched by the concern and sadness a nat-born child has for a man without a mother. But he's offered to carry this child until they get to the camp and the hospital tent where a medic-brother can splint the bad foot. There's not a great way to carry his own helmet should he remove it; other hands are busy with helping men, women and children too emaciated and weak to make this trek unsupported, or are leading the livestock with firm hands, or like the little mite's mother, carrying even littler children. An infant.

There are so many infants. The Generals have cut their cloaks into long strips so the brothers who have volunteered themselves to carry a suffering family's baby have something to buffer and soften the swaddling arms in plastoid armor. The three brothers who carry the five orphans of the village are quiet. They move so gingerly and are so tender to allow these little ones to sleep as long as they can; the best sleep these little ones have had since losing their mothers.

"I guess many would see it that way. But it's hard to be sad about it when I have so many brothers to keep me company." The little one looks up at the trooper in awe and excitement. Brothers. They had something in common! The baby swaddled to the woman's chest with a meager blanket is a little boy, apparently. Born just before the Separatist's blockade and occupation.

"How many brothers? Hundreds?" That'd been the popular guess when he and his brothers showed up with several Generals to offer aid and support to one of these many villages clustered near one another in this sector of the planet.

"More than that."

"A thousand?"

"Haha. More than that, little one."

"Ah… a million? O-or the one that's bigger than that! That many brothers?"

"That'd be "billion". A billion is bigger than a million."

"You have a billion brothers?!"

"Probably. Even I don't know. There's not enough time to meet all of them when we're helping people like you, ya little mite." Some he'd never get to because they were already gone. Some were already lost to this war well before he stepped off Kamino. Some shortly after.

Cocky nerf-herder though he was, brave Gunnar… he'd been the first. Selfless. He wasn't immediately fond of the Force-wielders. The Jedi. Not like the other Shinies. “We're their canon fodder, they don't care about us. Throw enough brothers at the problem until it goes away and then don't so much as mourn us!” It changed when their General was cradling the body of a badly-injured brother while they were waiting for the team medic to find their position. Their first General held the dying trooper and promised the medic-brother was on their way, “just hold on, son. Yes, he's coming. H-he's going to take care of you. You were very brave out there trying to keep your brothers safe.” When the battlefield medic trooper had finally reached their position and could take over for the General in taking care of this brother, he'd succumbed to his injuries only seconds later. Their General got up and left, stoic and unspeaking, and Gunnar had enough and wanted to give the General a damn tongue-lashing. But when Gunnar found the General, back pressed into the dark trunk of those towering trees and weeping silently, he suddenly realized he had their first General all wrong.

"I think I had 'em all wrong… guess some of those Jedi really do give a banthashit about us. Found the General mourning that brother who died as soon as the medic got here. They're imperfect, brother. These… peacekeepers aren't sure how to be warriors. Not all of 'em. They're tryin'."

Cryfar had been the second to perish. Oh sweet, well-meaning Cryfar. To their batch, it was an in-joke that it was a miracle this son of Kamino had made it as far as he had. Either one too many blows to the head during a session of hand-sparring in one of the training centers, or something went awry with his jar, but the kid could not get his left-and-right or his phrasings sorted out when he got overexcited. Which was often. "Hahaha! Just wait til I send those Seppies runnin'! This war'll be a cryfar from-" The entire batch groaned, Gunnar the loudest before taking a breath to explain why the other, older brothers were laughing at the excitable Shiny with a glowering look over his shoulder. The seasoned troops stopped, recognizing the look. "It's "a far cry from", brother. It's okay. They don't mean to be mean to ya, I'm sure… You just get excitable. Not your fault. Remember to be careful, right?"

"R-right! I'll be careful!"

"Watch out for the pits, too."

"Sure thing!"

Faro had been third. Pushed the other two brothers out of the way of danger time and time again. They'd lost Gunnar, and they'd lost Cryfar. Faro was not going to lose these brothers too. He was gruff and stoic much in the same way like Gunnar without the impulsive streak, but about just as much patience as Gunnar had. ("You were going to kriffing lecture the General? No of course this Jedi cares about the Clones if you just paid attention to them for five min- That's the stupidest- If you would stop being so gun-ho about certain things for five minutes the COs would finally let you in the gunner's mount like you've been asking and- What's that look for!?") Every time he'd saved their skins he'd simply sigh sharply at them before asking if these two bucket-heads really expected him to save them every time. So that last time… he looked at those yet-unnamed brothers and fondly murmured he'd do it each and every time in a heartbeat, staring up into the great and endless starfield above him with the remnants of a BX-series droid commando scattered around him. "It's just gonna be the two of you now, brothers. I-I don't think I can watch out for you anymore. Clanker bastard got me real good with that fluke shot… but I'd do it all again in… a d-damn… heartbeat."

Fluke took the name from Faro's dying words as a way to remember him. Maybe he shouldn't have. The word became a curse, an omen. It seemed to seal his fate. He shouldn't have survived that droid commando encounter, it was just a lucky chance that Faro accidentally strayed a little too far from his post and found his brothers getting attacked when he did. He was thrown from a speeder-bike after getting shot and narrowly avoided plunging into a deep chasm. Two sets of ration packs fell out of the supply crate and were exposed to direct sunlight for several hours before anyone noticed and put those back in with the others. He and another brother both felt a little sick after dinner and each said he'd be turning in early to try to sleep it off. "Guess it's just not agreeing with me, or something. I'm sure it's nothing… I'll see you in the morning, yeah? Love ya, brother."

"Love ya too, Fluke. Goodnight. ….. G'morning Fluke, you feelin' any better? Want me to get the medic to… Fluke, c'mon brother, this isn't funny; talk to me. You really feeling that bad? Y-you're cold! Wh-why are you so… FLUKE!!"

"Do you get along with all of your brothers?" The Clone unit escorting this village's survivors were getting closer to the refugee camp, so it was time to squeeze in some last questions and they'd been quiet for a while now. Canvas just chuckled. He'd been carrying this little one for a while now, watching as they turned one of his most precious possessions in their hands over and over again. The whittled nest of endangered birds from his first campaign. They'd taken great care not to drop it. Carver would've appreciated hearing that such a crude replication still held up to approval; he'd gotten so much better and thought all his old stuff was junk (save for the General's Mudhorn and this nest-set owned by Canvas).

"Some better than others, but I get along with most of them, yes. All siblings have their squabbles; even us Clones. Maybe one day you'll drive your parents crazy by arguing with your little brother once he's big enough." The toddler grinned brightly up at the dusty helmet peering down at him and once again smoothed their hand over Fluke's scuff. Then Faro's. Cryfar's after that. Lastly, Gunnar's. Canvas's brothers all within easy reach, surrounding the scuff mark across the chest plate this little nat-born child was leaning against. Surrounded by the memory of his brothers, those who never judged him for not yet having a Name and respected his wishes not to Be Named yet.

"Nuh-uh. I love my little brother! I never wanna argue with him when he's big enough." The little one's parents just smiled quietly in the lengthening shadows as the sun sunk behind the hills. They knew it wouldn't end up staying that way, but the sentiment was too sweet to correct. One day the screaming matches would come, and the accusations that they weren't sharing toys would rattle their eardrums, and a million other things. A welcome future to look forward to because the Republic answered their desperate plea for help and promised the inhabitants necessary aid.

"He'll tell you how lucky he feels one day that you love him so much." Canvas replied sagely, eyes staring ahead into that middle-ground where the light of the camp crept over the last ridge. That red splatter he was looking for was flying high over the center of the camp. Good. They'd gotten the medical tent set up.

"One last question for the nice trooper before your father carries you to the medical tent, little one. Better make it count before he has to return to his commanding officers." the child's mother warned in a sweet voice. Oh he hated the way the little one frowned, Maker help him. His hold firmed up one last time.

"I can carry the little one to the tent. It's no trouble."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes ma'am. It's no trouble." Canvas nodded affirmingly.

"Thank you… ah, I don't believe we ever asked you your name, I am sorry."

"Canvas. My brothers named me." he says with pride. How one came to Be Named by a brother happened in a variety of ways. Sometimes it was mockery. Sometimes it came from a joke. Even done completely unintentionally. But often it was done with love as they helped one another find an identity. More than a string of two letters and four numbers, brother.

No mothers to name us, only brothers.

"Your brothers named you?" the talkative toddler inquires, brightening up as Canvas continues to carry them through the camp. There was time for more questions after all.

"They sure did."

"And do you like your name?"

"I love my name." That name was a gift from his brothers. All of them. Its poetic origin meant too much to do anything but love it.

"Which brother gave you your name? Was it one of them?" The little freckled fingers touched each scuff mark reverentially. (Maker, to think his own fingers were ever that little for a short time.)

"One of my commanding officers." They pass by a commanding officer with these words, entirely a funny little coincidence. But it's not Canvas's, this officer bears a different color.

"Umm… Who has the funniest name? A-are there any?"

"I have a brother named Scruffy." It's safe to make fun of Scruffy's name. Scruffy makes fun of his own name all the time because he knows the circumstances behind Being Named (accidentally) were silly.

"Whoops, hair's gotten an inch past the standard cut… Think I'm starting to look a little-"

"Ahem."

"A-a little, uh, unkempt! I was gonna say unkempt!"

"Sure-sure…"

Just three tents away from medical.

"Who made you the bird nest again?" Canvas takes the whittled treasure back, tucking it away in his utility belt alongside the wooden worry stone.

"My brother Carver." he reminds the toddler. Two more tents. Something's cooking nearby. It smells good. Really good. The families making their way to the camp will have their first good meal in a long time tonight. There's neatly stacked crates in front of the medical tent. That has to be Cairn's doing, but Canvas doesn't see any sign of the brother in the flesh.

"So if he made you the bird nest, are birds your favorite animal?"

"One of 'em, yeah." Canvas chuckles, nodding down at the child and then back up at the brother with the shattered cross painted on his plastoid. "Kid's in need of a splint, think you can help the little one out, brother?"

"Sure can, Canvas. Set up on the second cot for me, and grab yourselves a hydro pack each. You marched a long way in if you came from the southwest. No one's getting dehydrated on my watch."

"Thank you, brother." Canvas nodded gratefully as he nabbed two foil pouches of filtered, treated water from a crate. He opened one and gave it to the child after gingerly lowering them to the second cot as indicated, and finally shucked the dusty helmet, hearing that familiar hiss as the vacuum broke. Much better. Was getting stuffy in there. "Hope you're ready for a talker."

"Always." the medic laughs. It's promising. "I like the talkers now and then. You sit down and rest your feet."

"But I should really go report in to the Cap-"

"Medic's orders, brother." Oh very well. Canvas just concedes; it'll be easier than trying to sweet-talk a brother who takes the mantra of "brother looks out for brother" so deeply to heart that he makes it a specified pathway beyond just his creation as a soldier. (Don't think of the long-necks… think of your brothers.) You're a fool to make these brothers upset with you. He takes a seat on an upturned crate put out for visitors to the med-tent, balancing his bucket on his knees as he cracks open his hydro pack and takes a deep swallow of water. He regrets it, but he'll be scolded for spitting it out.

Ugh. These are not the chemicals he's used to in Kamino's filtration and emergency desalinification systems. What planet treated this water? Coruscant? It's so bitter and heavy on his tongue… There's no touch of sweetness in the water like that of a bolster of emergency supplies from Naboo that had been sent by Senator Amidala. It's sour and tangy in such an unpleasant way.

But that's not worth fussing about when he gets to listen to the little one start peppering the medic-brother with questions now as he prepared to set the bad foot in a splint so it will heal correctly and quickly with proper support.

"Do Clones have a favorite brother?" Woof, what a loaded question to ask a medic.

"Hah, get a load'a this kid, asking the tricky questions. Some do! Some brothers grow very close together, practically joined at the hip and I have to let the other brother stay so I can take care of the sick or injured one. Then there's Clones, like me, who love all their brothers equally. No favorites. Too many brothers to love and take care of for me personally to have favorites. But I know of a few who are someone's favorite brother."

The medic-brother looked at Canvas over his shoulder briefly to first make sure he hadn't slunk off before he was properly rested AMA, but even in that quick look, Canvas knew there was another meaning in those warm, smiling eyes. Seasoned troopers tended to hear if a fresh-faced brother needed some extra support and became a favorite; whether that was for life, or until the Shiny found their feet under themselves.

Canvas knew that applied to him in each sense; he was so grateful for it now. Grateful for those brothers who took care of him because they had a rather… unique mother. (Forget the long-necks.)

If Kamino was their mother, and all her sons were brothers, then they should take good care of one another.

We have no traditional mothers. Just a billion brothers.

[FIRST INSTALLMENT] [NEXT INSTALLMENT]

#frostfics #I Have No Mother Only A Brother #star wars #clone oc: Canvas #clone oc: Gunnar/Faro/Cryfar/Fluke #clone oc: Scruffy #clone oc: Cairn #clone oc: Carver #tcw headcanons #tcw drabble #swtcw #sw tcw #tcw

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absolutebl · 2 years

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about tankhun and the "nu" title in kinnporsche. don't the keerati household use "nu" with kuea, too? but in cutie pie it's translated as young master.

what if "nu" actually means "young master"? and "khun nu" is another variation of it?

The Nu Diminutive in Thai

Nu หนู means mouse.

But like calling your friend or lover "baby" it doesn't actual MEAN mouse when used in direct address.

If you see what I mean?

It means small and cute and in most contexts... young, sweet, innocent.

My Thai bestie hates this one (as the self reference I pronoun in particular) although it is in common parlance among some women. I think it has (or had) chibi connotations and she has baggage around fat shaming. Or it’s possible it’s more demeaning/cutsie when applied to (or used by) women. Like donning a “baby voice” would seem in English.

Daisy CHOOSES to use Nu in SCOY. Opting for it even as a pronoun. (The translators chose “little one” for when Touch uses it on Daisy, which I thought was adorable.)

Nu Kuea (and Nu Diao) is kind of a non-standard honorific usage in Cutie Pie. I'm not sure if Kuea opted for it, or if he got it in childhood like most Thai chu len and it stuck (at least within his family unit, including Lian). I’ve been paying attention and Kuea doesn’t often use nu as his personal pronoun in response, mostly opting for pom. Which suggests it’s more of a family nickname that he’s been granted rather than a later in life choice, like with Daisy.

You see, how the name is being used by the person it’s given to makes a difference. Do they adopt it and take ownership as a pronoun themselves, do they take it as a title or special name used by only by someone else (or a specific group) - a pet name, or do they ignore that it’s being applied to them?

The debate over the Khun Nu in KP as to do not with the word itself, but how that word is changed when putting the Khun honorific in front of Nu.

Khun is a formal codified society wide honorific (and pronoun). It can be translated as mr/mrs/ms but it’s not quite right. So I was being facetious when I said Mr Mouse, but that would be a (kind of) direct translation.

The fact that it’s his bodyguards (technically his subordinates) who Tankhun treats like (abused) friends calling him Khun Nu is the source of the confusion.

Does the juxtaposition of formality (khun) + diminutive (nu) materially change the meaning away from the diminutive? Is it still affectionate or is there disrespect packaged in it? Is Khun Nu a bit more like Khun Chai (which is an affectionate slight. "Young master" is a possible way to translate Khun Chai. See Ae and Pete in LBC). Or is it something else? And how does all this have to do with Tankhun’s evident mental instability and fragility as the oldest brother of such a powerful family?

And does it matter that it is THIS character? A fictional character.

How would Khun Nu work IRL? Who is it normally used on? And by whom? Parent to child? I used to call my nibling “Miss Thang,” but now their older I never would do that. I suspect Khun Nu has an age implication attached to it.

I can tell you, Kinn and Kim sure as shit wouldn't put up with Khun Nu from their bodyguards.

So like, for me, growing up when I did, and with English there is a complete difference between being called babe and baby, even though they have the same entomology. I find babe dismissive and abrupt, I'm okay with baby but also NOT a baby-ish person so none of my lovers have ever actually called me that. While many have tried for babe, and been shut down.

I’m not saying it’s the same, I’m just using that to illustrate how a modifier or modification can totally change the meaning of a word, even though it doens’t really seem all that different to an outsider listening in. Honorifics and particles in Thai are modifiers, they function to change the meaning/tone//implication of the word/name (or whole sentence) that they are attached to.

(source)

#kinnporsche #thai bl #thai linguistics #cutie pie #Secret Crush On You #thai pronouns #thai particles #thai honorifics #cutie pie the series #scoy #touchdaisy #liankuea

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moonnightdew · 6 months

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THOUGHTS ON WHATS GOING ON IN THE WORLD

Harassing people in their Instagram & Tik Tok comments is not gonna force them speak about Palestinian. A lot of y’all under family or birthday pictures calling people “selfish” for simply living their life. It’s so demonic & a perfect example of energy vampirism 🧿

I can’t even begin to explain how wrong this is on some many levels. Yet there’s so many people doing this. You can’t use an event that you weren’t there for, that isn’t even happening to YOU— to attack someone else. You’re draining someone else’s energy for an ego boost. It’s energy vampirism. You can’t be mad, because someone is living their life normally, celebrating a birthday/ holiday or something good happens to them during a time of tragedy ( happening somewhere else). I don’t know WHY I have to keep repeating & explaining this, because it’s common sense. So it’s proof that there’s dark energies at play here.

This is what they did with Kobe Bryant’s death & the 2020 Black Lives Matter Protests. Many people were attacked & called “selfish” for not protesting, destroying buildings & cars, for living their lives & for simply not being sad or depressed.

I really wanna do a whole breakdown of how energy vampires are using what’s happening in Palestine to attack innocent people & drain their energy. I swear it’s like a ritual. Lower energies are feeding right now

Like you want me to apologize for not being sad or depressed right now? You don’t get invalidate & dismiss the lives of others, because there’s a war going on in some other country. You don’t get to compare tragedies or trauma! Do I need to remind everyone of what black people have BEEN through & are still going through? Thousands of indigenous women are being murder or going missing everyday.

What will you gain from attacking people? Time waits for no one. The world will not stop because of ONE tragedy when there’s thousands of tragedies everyday. You people are not using common sense & it’s clear you simply want your ego stroked.

I have nothing to say about world events anymore. I’m all talked out. I’m tired of trying to make my voice heard, but being attacked & shut down by haters. I’m not fighting. I’m not protesting & I will not stop my life for anyone or anything. Simple. I refuse to be any form of sad, stressed or crying right now. I will not apologize for celebrating my goals, my perseverance & my birthday after everything I’ve been through. I will not apologize for living the life I deserve. If you want to be mad at someone be mad at “God” or the government. So many of you are directing your anger, pain or just simply urge to be chaotic at innocent people. I’m not selfish for LIVING MY LIFE. I will NOT feel getting for LIVING NORMALLY.

It’s like you guys want people to commit suicide… why would we have survivors guilt for simply being alive another day as usual???? This is reality.

Whenever there’s a VIRAL world event / tragedy suddenly everyone attacks you for posting on Instagram, celebrating your birthday/ holiday, eating dinner with your family or buying your kids a toy. They say “so selfish! There’s dead kids who don’t get to play!” “Not everyone has a family to eat with. So tone deaf” “why are you posting & people are dying?” “Are you going to say something about the deaths?” “You’re really celebrating your birthday, instead of protesting to help? Sick.” “Not everyone had

WHAT’S WRONG WITH EVERYONE??? You’re digusting to sit & shame someone (for something you were doing not too long ago), but now you want to put on a fake performance for social media. It’s so weird & disturbing to bring up the misfortunes of others, when someone is just living their life. Why should we feel guilty for eating, drinking, sleeping & breathing. Are you ok in the head?

Energy harvesting is REAL. Do not allow what’s outside of you to lower your energy. Wish people well. Send love, light & prayers & move on. Choose your battles. You should not be fighting a battle that’s not yours. Your journey is your own. Your life is your own.

You’ll notice us sensitive people being very quiet & going ghost at this time, because there’s so many spiritual & physical attacks right now. You don’t have to speak or involve yourself in anything you don’t feel comfortable with. Don’t allow peer pressure to overpower your intuition.

I feel something coming & it is not good… protect yourself. 🧿 🖤

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gillianthecat · 1 year

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I’m so fascinated by the things I’ve picked up on/my interpretations of Happy Ending Romance in coming to it totally ignorant, as compared to those who knew the synopsis and trailer. For example, there was never any question in my mind of this being a love triangle where Jeong Wu is choosing between two equally viable options. Whereas I think the synopsis give the impression that it is a triangle. (I still haven’t seen the trailer so I don’t know what that does.)

As soon as I saw that opening kiss from three years previous, my immediate interpretation was that this would be the story of one relationship ending and another beginning. Jeong Hyeon already had his romance story with Jeong Wu; we the audience just didn’t get to see it, except the very end when it culminated in that opening kiss outside his door. That’s why, for me, polyamory doesn’t make sense as an ending, because the whole point of story is that Jeong Wu is finished with the part of his life that belongs with Jeong Hyeon, that he needs to move on to flourish and be happy. Which is fascinating to me that they’re attempting this; to tell a love story that is also intertwined with a break up story, where the character being left behind gets equal narrative weight. I’ve seen plenty of BL where the romance starts after one character is heartbroken and dumped. And even some (Love Mechanics) where cheating and leaving someone is part of the plot. But to have a character go through both at once? I almost want to say that would bring it slightly out of the realm of romance into some other genre (or would at least if the breakup is given as much weight as I think it should have). Honestly, the genre that comes to mind is women’s fiction/chick flicks, where the main character’s (Jeong Wu in this case) growth and self-actualization is the driving thrust of the story, and the romance is only a part of it. (Unfortunately, Jeong Wu still doesn’t feel to me like substantial enough of a character to carry this narrative. But it’s still what the story overall feels like it’s trying do.) (I suppose that is also a common plot of many "genre-less" stories about straight men, where the romance with a woman is a side plot in his personal growth, but that’s a whole conversation about genre, gender and misogyny that I’m not prepared to get into now.)

I could be totally wrong about this! Perhaps it is more open ended than I’m expecting. But it felt so obvious to me that I was literally surprised to see people talking about it as a love triangle, or that there was any chance that Jeong Wu would end up staying with Jeong Hyeon.

(Arrgh. Tumblr just ate my paragraph but I will try to rewrite it.) All of this is making me think that part of my problem with feeling like the show isn’t coherent into a story the way I want it to, is that it is trying to be two different genres at once. And while Romance and "Women’s Fiction" self actualization stories may seem very similar, and do have a lot of overlap, I think they are fundamentally at odds, because the role of the romance in each is very different. And so while something can be both romance and sci-fi, or romance and mystery because those genres can exist comfortably alongside the Romance, Romance and "Women’s Fiction" are fighting for control of the same territory, the same plot beats. I’m not totally sure that any of this applies to Happy Ending Romance; I may have just gone off chasing rabbits. But it does feel, to me at least, like neither Jeong Wu’s self actualization or his romance are coming into focus, and in their absence all the other characters around him are taking up more space. But somehow it also doesn’t feel like a natural fit as an ensemble story, as compelling as all the other characters and their journeys are. It really does feel to me like it’s missing a center, a main character. And the story doesn’t even need to be told through his eyes to make him the main character (see for example The Great Gatsby among many others), so it’s not that that’s the problem. It’s just… I don’t know, maybe it’s just me. I’d love to hear what others think, because I can’t tell if I’m making sense anymore. Or if Jeong Wu makes more sense as a character to the rest of you, and maybe it’s just that I’m not connecting with the actor or something.

Anyways, this was supposed to be a two sentence paragraph and now look what happened. This show is the perfect storm of a fascinating concept combined with a not quite successful execution to get me to spill pages of ink over it.

I’m also highly entertained by the fact that I immediately decided that Leo as Jeong Hyeon was the one to watch, and had far and away the most charisma out of the cast. And lo and behold, turns out he’s this famous K-pop idol everyone was excited to see. So, to anyone wondering if it’s just expectations/reputation making him seem so good, no, it’s not, he really is that magnetic.

#happy ending romance #happy ending outside the fence #happy ending romance the series #her ep 6 #i’m using the viki transliterations for names #i don’t necessarily like them better but since i started with them i now feel committed #gillianthecat reacts to bl

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aeoki · 6 months

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Sandstorm - Desert Survival: Chapter 1

Location: Desert Characters: Hinata & Kaoru

TL Note:

In Japan, speaking to your elders using “formal/polite language” (敬語 / keigo) is a form of respect for those older than you (even if it’s by a year). It’s also used when speaking to people you’re not familiar with, so most people would switch to “casual language” (タメ語 / tamego) with their close friends/family, otherwise it may seem as though you’re treating the person you’re talking to like they’re a stranger.

For those who don’t know, this is Tetora’s common phrase and Hinata says this entire line in Tetora’s speaking style.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< Ten or so minutes later. >

Kaoru: Sorry! It was just a joke! I won’t do anything scary so come over here ♪

Hinata: Really? Can I really believe you? If you’re lying, then I’m gonna mix lies and truth and tell Anzu-san about your history with women.

Kaoru: Don’t do that, seriously! She’s too pure so she might actually believe what you tell her!

Hinata: On the flip side, you’d easily believe the words of someone younger than you, huh…

Hehehe, I’ve got the advantage now that I know your weakness is Anzu-san.

So obviously, you should watch what you say and do – don’t pull anything funny, okay? You need to obey my command.

Kaoru: Okay… I’m your dog, Hinata-kun…

Anyway, enough jokes for now. Can I talk about something serious?

Hinata: I’ve been serious this whole time, though? Come on, run over there and get me a drink! I’m thirsty because it’s so hot here!

Kaoru: Me too. What’s up with this place? It’s a real desert but did we have one in Japan before?

Hinata: Isn’t it the famous Tottori Sand Dunes? It’s in the Chuugoku region, right? And we’re in Tottori.

Kaoru: Hmm… don’t you think it’s way too hot, though? It’s winter right now. We’re not in a faraway country where winter doesn’t exist, right?

Well, the problem is why we’ve been thrown out to an uninhabited area like this, though.

Hinata: And the other problem is whether or not we can get home properly~... I miss Yuuta-kun…

Kaoru: There, there. I’m here with you, so just bear with me, okay?

Hinata: Noo~... I miss Yuuta-kun’s squishy cheeks~ You’ve surprisingly got a lot of muscle and you’re boney, so it doesn’t feel nice hugging you~...

Kaoru: Well, most girls prefer this kind of figure, okay? Really, I mean it!

If being nice to touch is one of the reasons behind being popular, then no one would need to go on a diet.

Anyway, I think this is part of the event, so even in the worst-case scenario, we should still be able to go home.

Hinata: Whaddya mean?

Wait, I’ve been forgetting to speak to you formally[⁎], but is that okay with you?

Kaoru: It’s fine~ I kinda note to myself that you speak more casually than Yuuta-kun, so it’s easier for me to tell who’s who that way.

Hinata: I had a feeling that was the case, so I’m gonna take the risk and assume you just think of me as someone rude and continue talking casually to you.

Yuuta-kun isn’t here right now, so there’s no need to know how to tell us apart.

Old habits die hard… Sorry.

Kaoru: You don’t have to apologise~ I don’t know anyone younger than me who doesn’t talk casually to the people they’re close with, so if you talk to me all formally, it feels like we’re not close and that makes me kinda sad.

Anyway, I said I came across the other idols before, right?

Hinata: Oh, yeah. And you mentioned they explained some stuff to you?

Kaoru: Yeah. According to them, this is a big event in the “SS” Qualifying Round. It’s an event in this Chuugoku region to see who will advance to the next round.

Hinata: Hmm. The qualifying round wasn’t a thing where the idols just work for a month and the unit with the most “SSL$” is the winner?

Kaoru: That was supposed to be the case, but it seems this Chuugoku region has some different rules.

So it’s like preparing for the real qualifying round – like a qualifying round for the qualifying round?

Hinata: I don’t get it, teacher!

Kaoru: Yeah. I’m also speaking based on assumptions, so I’m sorry if things aren’t making sense.

I mentioned earlier that a lot of powerhouse units are gathered in this Chuugoku region, right?

Hinata: Osu[⁎]. For us “2wink”, everyone else is basically above us – it’s a real hell.

Kaoru: I don’t think “2wink” is weak in any way right now, though…

Well, anyway, it seems the Chuugoku region is way too small for all those strong and famous powerhouse units to do whatever they want here.

Frankly, it looks like there aren’t enough stages or broadcast time slots for everyone – The “SSL$” has been on the rise since those things cost “SSL$”.

Hinata: Yeah, it costs money to rent that stuff, huh. That’s how the “L$” system works at ES, so that’s common sense to us, though. Kaoru: Right. That’s probably why there’s a need for them to screen units. You can see the management’s intentions.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂ Next Chapter →

#sandstorm

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claryfrayed · 2 years

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lately, i’ve had such a love/hate relationship with nancy wheeler and it’s taken me a hot minute to figure out why that is.

originally, i absolutely adored her in season one. she was the embodiment of the “final girl syndrome.” but she was also sweet and kind and even a little bit naive. she wanted to be popular and go to parties, even if her best friend felt uncomfortable. but she also cared about her grades and when it came down to it, she never backed down from doing the right thing. even if that meant telling the cops about the beer they’d drank the night barb went missing.

in the first season, she had her own complete character arc. sure, she had love interests, but her main focus was on getting barb back and finding will. however, in season two is when i started to have a hard time with her character. i’ve seen a lot of people say that she became cold and jaded, though i don’t really think that’s the case. nancy’s main character arc in season two is learning to accept herself and dealing with grief. honestly, what i wasn’t a fan of, was how the narrative treated her like something to be won over. because this season is when her story starts to blend in with jonathan’s. and don’t get me wrong, i actually really like how they did jancy at first. but that issue doesn’t really start until season three. though for the remainder of this season, nancy is treated as somewhat of a “bad guy.” and the reason for that is because the writers want us to see steve in a good light. they want him to change and have good development and he did, his arc is one of my favorites i’ve ever seen play out. but this causes the narrative and essentially the way we view nancy to change, as it begins to favor the males around her.

this is extremely obvious in season three. where nancy is insensitive to jonathan about their class differences and at times, borderline ungrateful for what she has. it’s a mix between the writers trying to have her come off across as headstrong and accidentally making her seem like an unfeeling, privileged, “girlboss” so to say. and therein lies almost all the problems, the duffers have said themselves that they had intended to end the show after season one. and because of this, they had to add onto finished storylines. and the characters became less genuine because of this. making them seem two dimensional or even flat. during season three is when they all begin to have unshakable roles assigned to them. and nancy’s becomes the problem solver and the stubborn, always right, feminist, “girlboss.” and the thing that a lot of people have a hard time with, is realizing that women can be strong and badass and also still be wrong and fragile. it’s a common trend in a lot of media these days, though it’s gotten better.

and thinking back on how she was in season one compared to season four, i’ve figured out why i didn’t seem to care about her as much as i did max and robin. and that’s because the story allows them to breathe. it allows them to be messy and uncertain and to fuck up. it allows them to be something other than what the audience perceives them as. whereas, the duffers can’t seem to throw anything else at nancy other than relationship problems or her trauma and guilt over barb. instead of letting her have funny one liners and interact with her family. the best part about having her away from jonathan this season was her friendship with robin. but without that, honestly, her part in season four had gotten boring. and that is the root of my problem with her. it has nothing to do with her actual character traits and everything to do with the inconsistent writing.

this might be somewhat controversial. but i’ve read a lot of things about people hating nancy lately and it’s making me kind of sad.

#nancy wheeler #stranger things #jonathan byers #steve harrington #barbara holland #robin buckley #max mayfield #mike wheeler #karen wheeler #holly wheeler #i love her don’t get me wrong #i just miss season one nancy #this is a mess of a post #my first and only hot take #lmao #probably will delete this

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marley-manson · 1 year

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@charlesemersonwinchesteriii replied to this post:

I never really understood why people kept calling that scene a big hawkbeej moment, so I'm relieved I'm not alone in that haha. Also you make an excellent argument that Hawkeye doesn't actually "get worse" as the show progresses, which I'd never thought about before! I know people talk about his coping mechanisms becoming less effective in later seasons and I always just passively agreed with that cause I'm not super focused on him and also I've never watched any of the episodes in order (woops!) but now you're making me really think about it..... hmmm..... I can totally see this as another instance of fandom seeing a character arc where there isn't actually one, just like with Charles. Just for myself, the only concrete change I could point to noticing is the obvious and intentional "learns to Respect Women" thing. But I don't know if that's just me not being smart enough to see things lol

lol yeah to me it’s like, yep BJ’s def acting like a guy who’s known Hawkeye for a couple weeks and is totally out of his depth, which is fine and understandable but not really shippy to me. But also tbf I’d prefer that even if I was a huge hawkbeej shipper because I’m not much of an ‘instant magical connections and understanding’ person when it comes to romance tropes anyway.

But I mainly c/ped your comment so I could respond at greater length to the rest of it, so! I definitely don’t think you’re missing anything (and ik we’ve talked about it before but yeah I also very much agre with you about Charles).

tbf I think Alan Alda is the one who said that Hawkeye’s coping mechanisms get less effective, but it’s not the first time I’ve disagreed with his takes on the show lol. And I don’t have a fully solidified take on Hawkeye’s “character arc” tbf. But yeah my impression is that it’s not that Hawkeye changes, it’s that the tone of the show changes. Hawkeye does get more dramatic episodes and he does get more sad monologues as the show goes on, but he never stops balancing them out with humour and hope, he had plenty of sad monologues in the early seasons too, and he never falls apart to the extent that he did in Dr Pierce Mr Hyde or The Late Captain Pierce. Some of the later episodes reference the war getting to him and making him act out in petty ways, eg Dear Uncle Abdul, but like, so did Bananas Crackers and Nuts, the 7th episode of the show. Plus arguably his worst experience throughout the show, give or take GFA, was season 1′s Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, with Abyssinia Henry not far behind either.

He’s always been portrayed as someone who feels deeply and is greatly affected by the war and who’s barely coping - the funnier tone of the early seasons made it slightly less obvious, but it’s still pretty apparent. The dramatic tone of the later seasons gives the writers more leeway to show how affected he is, but again like, he’s never worse than he was in some of the earlier eps until the finale. And I tend to think that the prevailing idea that Hawkeye gets steadily worse emotional stability and mental health-wise throughout the show sells the early seasons short. If I mentally sort of compensate for the tone shift in my head, I don’t see Hawkeye changing - I just see the stress being framed with more black humour in the first half of the show and with more earnest drama in the second half.

I mean logically it makes sense that the more time you spend in a war zone the worse you’ll feel lol, and with the tone shift it’s easy to see why it’s such a common take. But yeah, I just don’t see it myself, at least beyond a potentially deliberate sense of exhaustion in season 11 when they knew they were wrapping up.

And actually I also think the respecting women angle is like, not really the case, imo? I think it’s something the writers were sort of trying for so it’s definitely telegraphed as a thing in several episodes, and it’s kind of become common knowledge that Hawkeye gets more respectful towards women so I def don’t think you’re wrong to pick up on it. I just think the writers failed to sell it at all lol. Like he presumably learned a lesson in Inga eg, but it’s forgotten afterwards as the show goes right back to using his now pathetic attempts at womanizing as a source of humour. He’s definitely less crass to Margaret when they become friends but he never completely stops objectifying her. He has a sad monologue about not wanting to date a 20 year old because he’s too jaded in Show Biz, but he turned down even just casual sex with a 20 year old in season 3 because she was too young for him, so that’s not actually a change, as much as the writers tried to make it seem like one.

And Who Knew (nonsensically) recontextualizes his womanizing as a fear of committment and emotional vulnerability (in the satirical seasons it was a distraction from the war) and suggests Hawkeye getting over that, but Who Knew is ooc, and again he goes right back to pathetic womanizing in other season 11 episodes, like Blood and Guts. He even hits on an orderly in the psych hospital in GFA lol, and the Hawk/Margaret kiss is a (frankly cute imo) throwback to early sexual harassment-y episodes like There’s Nothing Like a Nurse where he kissed her goodbye, or Abyssinia Henry where he told Henry to kiss her goodbye lol. So like, if the writers were aiming to show Hawkeye changing his attitude towards women, I don’t think they did a very good job, basically.

But yk I do think it’s fair to take the later seasons in the probable spirit intended and view Hawkeye getting less misogynist as an arc. I just don’t personally. But also I don’t think Hawkeye was ever misogynist in the way Inga implied, and I think the later show often misrepresented the womanizing a little to condemn it (eg Show Biz and Who Knew again) so yk. I just prefer a happy medium there lol

#mash #marley on mash #hawkeye mash #responding in a new post because the connection to the original post is pretty tenuous and it's long enough that i want it to be #its own thing

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