i must be really ugly

Red Velvet deserves to have a showcase to sell tickets for. They deserve to have a show of their own where they can have fun, travel to other countries, eat good food and play in each other’s company. They deserve to have their own v live channel. They deserved to have had their fandom name much sooner, to have it announced in a way much more special way. They deserve to have a solid platform where they can interact with fans easily and frequently. They deserve this and MORE because they’ve been working so hard and they HAVE made so so so many achievements and it is CLEAR that the public loves them. But the truth is that their fucking company cannot even spare them a fraction of the support that they spoon feed to their other artists, to the fans of other artists. It is really frustrating to be a red velvet stan, a REVELUV, because we keep trying and trying for these girls and together with them we make achievements hoping that maybe this time around SM will finally be convinced to do something better for them…but it’s as if nothing is good enough for their own company to give them fair treatment and we keep trying and the cycle continues and I’m just so fucking tired already.


Summary: You’re just ‘one of the guys’ aka: “not considered an option by the guys”. And it hurts. Especially when it comes to your friend and crush Steve Rogers.

Or, Where a drunk Steve tries to break into your room at an ungodly time of night.

Author’s note: I know this has been long overdue😭,

also thank you so so so much for all the support and feedback you guys have been giving me on my imagines, it means a lot.❤❤❤As always feedback is much appreciated!

Warnings: insecurities, language, Steve being a hot ass mess

Steve rogers is a ladies man.

Well kind of a ladies man…The ladies came to him, he didn’t come to the ladies.

Two years ago you helped put the Avengers team back together and then joined it.

Three months after joining the team you realized you had a crush on Steve Rogers.

Nine months later you were in love with him.

A year ago Steve dated Sharon Carter for four months. And has been a ladies man  ever since.

“Damn he’s making a second round already?” Sam mutters under his breath. Bucky muffles a snort. You’re sitting at the kitchen countertop on a tall stool with Bucky and Sam on either side of you. The three of you are currently watching Candice “just call me Candy” Martin run her glossy pink nails up and down Steve’s arm. Steve’s blushing, but he doesn’t stop her. That’s the thing about Steve. He never makes the first move. The girls come on to him and he just blushes in that adorable Steve Rogers way of his and allows it to happen. Then he asks them out and of course they accept- he’s Captain America. You never knew women to be so forward until you had met Steve. They competed with each other for his attention and seemed to relish it.

First there was Candice Martin, the pretty pale and freckled redheaded agent.

Then Freja Hosk, the tall intimidatingly beautiful, Swedish ice blond medic.

Then Paisley Fisk, the gorgeous SHEILD scientist, blessed with flawless dark skin, deep dimples, plush full lips, and waist length braids.

After her there was Biyu Zhou the stunning Chinese agent, graced with an amazing body and a pretty face that always seemed to be flirting with you.

And these were the ones that Steve went on multiple dates with. There was no counting the amount of women he’d only gone out with one time. He’d seemed to have gone through the whole building.

Now it seemed to be back to Candice. You watch Candice give Steve’s arm a lingering squeeze before leaving the kitchen. Your heart twists and you look down at your cereal. You hate feeling this way. Especially for someone who would never feel the same way about you. You and Steve are close friends; you could even call him your best friend, after Sam. But to him you’re just one of the guys.

‘One of the guys’ ….you hate that expression. Because it’s always described you.

You’re not even lucky enough to be one of those cool ‘one of the guys’ girls, the ones that understand men and eventually have one of their guy friends falling for them. No. You’re just one of the guys because guys don’t even consider you a sexual option.

Steve calls you ‘buddy’ for pete’s sake.

Steve wanders over to the kitchen counter and pulls up a stool next to Bucky.

“Let me guess, hot date this Friday?” Sam asks.

“Yeah” Steve answers, stealing a blueberry from Bucky’s plate. Bucky halfheartedly swats Steve’s hand away.

“Man even I wasn’t getting this much action in my heyday,” Bucky chuckles. He reaches out and thumps Steve on the back. “Who woudda thought that Stevie turned out to be the biggest lady killer of ‘em all”

Steve shakes his head, and swipes Bucky’s coffee mug, draining it in one gulp. Amid Bucky’s protests Tony walks into the kitchen. His hair is sticking in all different directions and he has that crazy ‘I haven’t slept in 24 hours’ look in his eye. For about a week him and Banner have been hole-ing themselves in the lab with a few choice SHEILD scientists working on some secret ‘important project’.

“Rough night Tony?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Tony walks over to the other counter and pours himself a cup of coffee. “And not the good type of rough either.”

“But, even genius comes out of my roadblocks.” Tony sighs holding his mug in his hands and inhaling the coffee’s aroma .

“So you finally finished the project?” you ask.

“Nope.” Tony answers “But while I was trying to work on the project I got to thinking about Cap’s problem…well one of his many problems.” Tony chuckles to himself at his, and pulls something out of his pocket and tosses it at Steve. “And of course being the humanitarian I am, I solved it.”

“What’s this?” Steve turns what looks like a silver flask over in his hands.

“Next time you want to relax, try cracking this open with ice princess over here on a Saturday night. If it works properly you two finally won’t be the only sober ones on our poker nights.”

“Uh, thanks Tony,” Steve says hesitantly, tucking the flask away, but you know he’s happy. Steve’s confided in you many times that he wishes he just could let go, just not think about the fate of the world or what everyone wants him to be for once. He smiles at Tony and Tony flashes a smile back.

“No problem.” He downs the rest of his coffee and pops a piece of chewing gum. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m supposed to get brunch with Ms. Paisley Fisk,” Tony’s grin stretches from ear to ear.

“Never seen you so excited about brunch Tony,” You observe, taking a bite of your cereal.

“Brunch? I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about brunch. Now Paisley Fisk on the other hand…?” He gives a low whistle “I mean have you seen her?….And have you seen those knocke-”

You roll your eyes “Alright Tony, we get that you’re a dog. Move along” You interrupt him. Tony smirks and heads out the door.

“Did he just lick his lips?” You ask, but Sam’s too busy collecting the dirty dishes and Steve and Bucky are hunched together, probably discussing the flask, so you don’t get an answer. You sigh and head out, deciding to get some paperwork and training in so you don’t just lounge around all day. As you head down the hallway, a thought strikes you. Not once has Tony Stark, the famous playboy who would flirt with anything female with a pulse, flirted with you. Not one sly remark, cheesy pickup line or cheeky comment.

Damn I really must be ugly’ you think to yourself.  Heavy footsteps jogging behind you interrupt your thoughts.

“Hey,” Steve says catching up to you, giving you that dazzling smile of his.

“Hey” you respond, smiling back.

“We still on for movie night?” he asks

“Of course, I have three picked for you today,”

“Are the going to be as bad as the last ones?” Steve rolls his eyes.

You gasp in mock horror. “Steve Rogers. My movie choices aren’t bad.”

Steve pretends to think “Okay maybe one of them wasn’t bad.” You guys reach the training room. You push open the glass doors and enter.

“Was it the one that made you cry?”

Steve wraps his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you off the ground. He starts to muss up your hair. “Take that back! I just had something in my eye.”

“No! I’m telling the truth!” you screech, laughing. Steve starts to tickle you and you squirm. “Stop! Put me down!”

“Oh okay,” he says and makes as if to drop you, making you screech and cling to him. Your stomach hurts from laughing.

“Steve?” A high pitched voice cuts through your happy haze. It’s Candice “Could you spar with me a bit?” Steve puts you down, and you prepare to mask your expression, to smile and say you’ll catch him later, but when you look up he’s already walked away.

That Friday night starts out as usual. You hole yourself up in your room so you don’t have to see Steve getting ready to pick up Candice for their date. But today you don’t even have Sam to keep you from slipping into sadness because he’s out with his girl tonight too.

So you sit and stew .

Listen to sad music and cry.

Watch a sad movie that make your heart hurt.

Eat pizza and ice-cream and stew.

Look at pictures of Steve on your phone.

Zoom in on his biceps and cry.

And then you start thinking about how Candice is probably running her fingers through Steve’s hair, pulling him closer and kissing him. He’s probably wrapping his arms around her waist, and then you start thinking about how he’ll never touch you like that- he’ll never want to touch you like that. How nobody ever does- and then you decide it’s time to put yourself to bed.

 But you just lay in the dark staring up at the ceiling, thinking about all the beautiful women he’s dated and start comparing yourself.  You wish you could be pretty like them. Take their beauty and wear it like a mask- after all how else would  anyone ever notice you? You wish for once someone would see you, actually see the whole you and want you.

Just as your eyes are about to start watering your door shakes. It sounds like someone’s trying to break in. Reacting quickly, you grab your pistol from your dresser and approach the door. The door handle continues to jiggle.

Your mind boggles at who it could be, after all, what intruder would be this loud? And the compound is practically impenetrable, how would they have not set off any alarms? Still, your heart rate rises as you look through the peephole. When you spy a familiar head of blonde hair you huff and put away your pistol and open the door.

“Steve? Wha-“ Steve barrels past you, flicking on the lights and kicking off his shoes. He sways slightly, and turns towards you. You catch the strong scent of something then, like alcohol, but slightly off. He says your name, surprised.

“Wha-wha are ya doing in my room?” He says

“Steve this isn’t-“ you start, but Steve walks up to you and puts a finger to your lips.

“Shh- iss okay, ya can stay” he slurs slightly, and sits on your bed.

“Steve are you drunk?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

Steve giggles “Ya, To-nyyy’s stuff actually worked” he sing-songs Tony’s name. “I feel great” He says laying back.

You hold back a smile, and then a terrible thought crosses your mind. “Steve, where’s Bucky?”

“Oh don’t worry, old Buck’s in his room. Out lika light” Steve snorts “Lightweight.”

You shake your head, wondering what you’re going to do with him, when the sound of movement on the bed makes you look up. Steve’s already stripped off his shirt and is working on his pants. You want to say something- you should stay something, but you’re too distracted by the flexing of his abdominals as he peels off his jeans.

“Steve” You hiss, you don’t think you can say much else. Not when every muscle in his body is standing out in sharp relief.

Steve looks up and smiles widely at you, patting the place next to him. Steve really must be gone. Normally he would be three shades of red if you even mentioned seeing him shirtless. You hesitate for a moment before crawling next to him.  He wraps a well muscled arm around you and pulls you close. It feels so nice you don’t even mind the stink of alcohol on his breath

“So” you scramble for something to say. “How was your date?”


“Oh really?” you ask. You decide to try to fish details out of him. “Candice is very beautiful”

“Yeah not really my type.” Steve snorts.

“Oh?” your fingers decide to do their own thing and start tracing the ridges in his forearm. “What’s you type then?”

Steve’s silent for such a long time you start to think he’s fallen asleep. But then his fingers grasp your face, squishing your cheeks together. He looks down at you, and his big blue eyes look like languid pools of water.

“You. This beautiful face of yours.” He replies. Your heart pounds and you will it to stop. He’s drunk. In the morning he won’t even look at you let alone want you.

“Stop playing Steve,” You turn and start scooting away.

“I’m noooot” he whines, and hooks an arm around you, pulling you to his chest. You try to squirm away but he’s got you in an iron grip “You’re so beautiful Y/n” His large calloused hand caresses your face sloppily.

“Oh really?” you say, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “Why haven’t you said anything before?”

“’cause ya won’t let me.” You feel lips at press at the back of your neck, and you have to stop yourself from squeaking “Come’on y/n….just give me a chance… just one chance. I promise I won’t mess it up. I’ll tell ya that you’re beautiful every day…” He kisses your earlobe and sets your skin on fire “I’ll treat you right. I promiiisee. Why won’t you give me a chance?” his voice turns whiney again. He’s suddenly too close, too much and you squirm out of his embrace. He makes a hurt noise in the back of his throat and you hush him, turning off the lights.

“Let’s go to bed Steve.”

“Ooh I like the sound of that,”

“If you don’t shut up…” You snap, feeling your way to the bed. Once you’re under the covers Steve locks you in his embrace again, almost crushing you. You lay on his chest, his warmth enveloping you, your mind racing a mile a minute. Then Steve’s hand slides up your body and starts rubbing your back and you slip off into sleep.

When you wake up Steve’s gone. Your heart drops, but after laying in bed for a bit you decide to confront him. You pull on your favorite pair of high waisted jeans and an over-sized cropped sweater. You look at yourself in the mirror. ‘At least I can look good while getting rejected.’ You head into the kitchen and are greeted with the sight of a busted looking Bucky being served breakfast by Sam. You pause for a moment to scoop a muffin from the box on the counter and to admire the architecture of Bucky’s hair, half of which is standing straight up, the other half is at a 90 degree angle.

“So I take it Stark’s concoction worked?” Sam asks, arranging pancakes on a plate. Both of their backs are to you, Bucky sitting at the kitchen counter, Sam in front of the stove top.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, voice rough, “Who woudda thought Stark could make that good stuff?”

Sam chuckles “So you and Rogers have a good time last night?”

“Ya, well until Steve started getting whiney.” Bucky snorts.


“Buck, why doesn’t y/n like me? She’s so pretty Buck I can’t take it, why doesn’t she liiike me?” Bucky mocks Steve’s voice. “After that I decided to go bed. I get enough y/n talk when I’m sober.”

“Really?” Sam pries, and you smile, Sam knew about your little crush, and like a true friend was fishing for more information.

“Yeah, he’s such a wimp, I always tell him just to make a move-“ Bucky cuts him self off “Sam ya better not tell y/n about this…I swear”

Sam turns around, pancakes in hand “Don’t worry-“ He looks up and meets your gaze “I won’t have to” he laughs. Bucky looks up at Sam and then turns around. He groans.

“Y/n, how long have you been?- Actually nevamind, obviously  long enough. Just do me a favor and don’t tell Steve about this? He’s an absolute madman when it comes to you….” Bucky grumbles, pulling his hood over his head.

“a… madman?” You ask walking up to the counter.

Bucky snorts. “Yeah he practically beat Stark’s ass after he overhead him saying something slick ‘bout ya.”

You lock eyes with Sam. “Go get him tiger.” Sam smiles at you. You wipe your palms on your jeans and turn to head out.

“Word ta the wise, check the roof.” Bucky calls out after you.

You find Steve sitting on the roof, staring off into the distance. His hair is still messy but he’s wearing a clean white button down shirt, and tan pants with those suspenders you always secretly find adorable on him.

“Steve?” you call out hesitantly “Can we talk?”

Steve’s head whips around and his eyes widen. He then massages his temples with a groan. He must be suffering from quite the hangover.

“You don’t have to say it y/n, let’s just forget last night ever happened.” Your heart beats faster and you gather up the last of your courage before it completely slips away.

“Steve-what you said…did you mean it?”

Steve groans again, dropping his head into his hands.

Yes.” He says quietly.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me Steve?”

“Why should I have?” he gives a defeated chuckle. “Ya already rejected me,”

“What?” Your mouth drops in disbelief and you walk up and stand next to Steve, looking down at him “When? When did you even ask me out?”

Steve looks up at you “What do you mean? I tried after every upstate training session.”

Your eyes squint as you think back. A little over a year ago the team met upstate for a four days to train at this specialized facility and test out new weapons. You think back some more.

“You just asked me to ‘hang out’ after those sessions.” You say incredulously, “Not on a date”

“But that’s how people date nowadays.” Steve looks confused.

You laugh “No, not really. And anyways after those training sessions I was so  disgusting that the last thing I wanted to do was go get ice-cream and marinate in my own sweat  for a few hours”

“But all tha other girls took ‘hanging out’ ta mean a date” Steve looks even more confused.

“I guess nowadays ‘hanging out’ can imply a date, but most of the time it still just means hanging out. At least to me” you mutter the last part “Where’d you get this idea from anyway?”

Steve’s ears turn pink “Uh Bucky”

You eyes practically roll out of your head “Steve! You know he only thing Bucky knows about dating is from those stupid teen drama shows he’s obsessed with.”

Steve’s face turns bright red “I’ll have ya know Bucky was quite good with the ladies.”

You can’t help but to burst out laughing. After you calm down you sit down next to Steve. “You going to Bucky for advice on dating is like the blind leading the blind”

Steve chuckles, wiping a hand down his face. After a moment you pause.

“Steve, why’d you practically date the whole building instead of just telling me.”

“I dunno. I guess I just thought you’d already rejected me so I didn’t want to push the issue, and still wanted to be your friend. So I just thought I’d try to find someone else…” he turns his head and looks at you “But damn it Y/n it’s impossible to find someone who even comes close to ya…” His gaze takes your breath away so it takes a moment for you to respond.

“I guess that’s a good thing then…cause I feel the same way about you.”


“Yeah” you laugh and you feel like you’re flying because all the baggage, all the pain is starting to unload. “And if you hadn’t been so dumb and listened to Bucky you would have known a long time ago.”

Steve smiles widely and wraps an arm around you, the other hand caressing your face.

“So. You wanna go on a date with me?”

“Yeah” You pretend to consider it, and then lay your head on his shoulder “Sounds a lot better then just hanging out.”






hemansbobcut  asked:

I really want to draw Ravus smiling or laughing. Like completely losing it over something dumb the dogs did or something. Do you have any headcanons on how his features change while he's smiling? Any micro expressions or details like dimples or how much his eyes close?


  • Ravus Nox Fleuret’s probably got a subtle and hidden smile that very few people have seen. But when they do see it, the light in the heavens shine down upon him while angels weep.
  • Okay, perhaps not that dramatic, but he honestly does have a pleasant smile.
  • Tiny corners for his lips curl up first before he slowly flashes a brighter smile that showcases his pearly whites.
  • But he always tries to cover it, hand coming up with fingers curling over to conceal his growing smile.
  • Probably has dimples that are prominent when he grins in particular, but it’s not as apparent with small smirks and curls of his lips.
  • His cheekbones probably rise up too when he smiles, causing his eyes to squint the slightest bit that only makes his smile and expression glow even more.
  • And his tiny freckles over his face makes his smile all the more humble and pleasant.
  • He hates smiling though, and has to turn away when he does it, hanging his gaze because he doesn’t smile or laugh often, so he thinks it’s an annoyance to others and himself – kinda sad really.
  • But when he laughs, he tries his damnedest not to laugh loudly, having to cover his mouth with the back or side of his hand as he gives out a gross snicker.
  • He chuckles from the throat more, light and gentle like a tiny harmony.
  • And when he gets going on his laugh, he snorts. He hates it, but it was a habit he never quite grew out of, or found a way to master.
  • Whenever he’s done laughing, he clears his throat, presses his knuckles to his brow as if to relax his face, and presses his lips tight together to hide whatever trace of a smile or laugh he just did.
  • Nobody saw that, he hoped. But smiling and laughing was definitely something enjoyable, for it is rare when it happens. 

Since some folks cannot seem to shake the asinine assumption that queerness & blackness are mutually exclusive, lemme shout it out for ya.


Why must I always write at some godforsaken hour?

Set in the Naga!Dean ‘verse. Not proofed because AYYYYYYYY

“Uuugggh,” Castiel groaned in frustration.

It was the time of year that Angels molt, and this being his first in Naga territory, it was absolutely miserable. All over the back of his wings and his scapulars was a persistent, incessant itch. And that would be bad enough, if it wasn’t also accompanied by a prickling pain, like thousands of tiny needles were jabbing into him. 

It was a fucking pain.

Dean had immediately taken note of his change in behavior and suggested a molting spa, assuming that it would help someone with feathers as much as it helped someone with scales. But ever since the almost-drowning incident, when the absolute soaking of his wings and the heavy humidity had caused his wings to take days to dry out, Castiel wasn’t eager to dip his wings in water again anytime soon.

Sam suggested buying a backscratcher, so of course Dean bought him five, of varying lengths and tooth size. That Naga was such a sweetheart sometimes, bless him.

And while the backscratchers did help, it didn’t solve the matter. Because Angels weren’t supposed to go through their molt alone - it was supposed to be a bonding activity, when the angels would sit in a circle and help massage the wings and clean them out. An Angel couldn’t comfortably make it through a molt alone - they can’t reach so many parts of their own wings.

So it was agony.

So that’s why Castiel was here, lying in bed in the middle of the fifth or sixth sleepless night, using the backscratcher to scrape his wings raw.

He was at the end of his rope. He’d hoped to have found a solution by now, that some Angel somewhere would have come up with a way to endure a molt alone, but no. Of course not. 

A few days ago, Castiel would have been quiet about it, kept thinking, kept pondering ways to deal with this, done something to help him sleep, but after nearly a week without sleep, Castiel had ran out of fucks to give.

So, here, in the middle of the night, half-dressed, Castiel stomped out of his quarters to knock on Dean’s next door.

There was a thump inside followed by a half-asleep, “Is something wrong? Are we under attack?”

“No, it’s me,” Castiel said, suddenly realizing exactly what he was doing. 

Oh no. This is so improper. Is there some way to pass this off as sleepwalking or…?

“Cas?” The voice called out, immediately followed by the door opening to reveal Dean, having just fastened his belt, and even now running his hands through his hair in an attempt to fix its fluffy disarray.

Oh no, my hair.

Castiel immediately began doing the same, realizing how unprofessional he looked, how much of a mess he was, and -

“Castiel, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Dean asked, worry clear in his voice.

Should I tell him? Or should I say I was just having a bad dream, or hallucinating, or something?

Fuck it.

“I can’t sleep, my molt is driving me crazy. Will you help me?” He blurted out before he could finish talking himself out of it.

“Of course, Cas. Whatever you need. My quarters or…?”


“Alright, give me a second to get dressed and I’ll be right there.”

“…Thank you, Dean.”

“Sure thing, Cas,” Dean said with a tired smirk as he shut the door to finish dressing. 

At that, Castiel returned to his quarters, the embarrassment of what he’d just asked dropping on him like a fifty ton weight. 

This was so stupid, you woke him up? You couldn’t even wait until daylight? And looking like some half-dead zombie, half-naked and hair an embarrassing mess? What the hell must he think of me?!


Fuck, Cas was hot like that. 

“No,” Dean breathed to himself, forcing himself to calm down. “No, no, don’t you start that,” he scolded himself as he donned his sleeves and finished fixing his hair.

I hope Castiel didn’t fix his.

“Noooo, don’t go there.”

The moment he was done, Dean left his quarters to knock on Castiel’s door. Now, being mates, there was a door between both their quarters that they could use to feely traverse and visit each other, but they never used it, always keeping it locked. For propriety’s sake. After all, their relationship wasn’t like that.

“Come in, I didn’t lock it.”

When Dean entered, he found Castiel slouched over the dining table, looking absolutely miserable, poor thing. Dean immediately slithered behind him, asking, “I have to be behind you, right?”


“So…” Dean said, looking down at the slightly scruffy looking wings in front of him. “What do I do?”

Castiel briefly explained to him everything he needed to look out for, how to search through the feathers, how to spot pinfeathers, and basically if Castiel asked him to do something to just do it.

“Alright,” Dean said, looking down at the big wings in front of him. Gingerly, he reached out and very gently started poking through some of the feathers near the base. He didn’t want to hurt his wings, they looked so fragile.



“I’m not gonna break.”


“If you’re hurting me I’ll tell you.”

“Um,” Dean said, biting his lips as he carded through the feathers a little more forcefully in his search for-


“Fine!” Dean said, wincing in self-doubt as he dug his fingers into the wings.

They were so soft, a little oily, but still so soft and really a pleasure to touch. “Is… is this a pinfeather?” Dean asked, poking a suspicious quill.

Castiel nodded emphatically at the feeling of one of his itches so close to being scratched.

Dean immediately started rubbing the offending shaft, making it release a soft dust.

And making Castiel release a soft moan.

For a moment, Dean froze. 

Holy fuck that was hot.


Before he could dwell on it any longer, he kept sifting through the feathers, finding another pinfeather to massage.

And this time, Castiel made a soft whimper. He’d been suffering for so long that the relief just felt so good, he couldn’t help it.

Is he… going to keep making those noises? Dean asked himself, half hopefully, half dreadfully.

Turns out, he was. For a while they were softer, but at the very least there was a soft sigh at each released pinfeather. Not so much for the loose feathers, but the pinfeathers were enough. Especially when Dean got to the feathers on the underside of his wings. He seemed to be a lot more sensitive there.

And, god, the noises suddenly got fucking obscene.

This time, while it was mostly the relief at his sensitive wings being cared for and massaged, if Castiel was 100% honest with himself - and he wasn’t - it was partially because, well… he liked it when Dean touched him there. It made his mind wander, imagining his spouse’s hands drifting from his wings to brush across his skin, up and down his sides, fingers along his belly, palms sliding up his thighs…


Meanwhile, Dean was fighting the feeling of his pelvic scales softening, and what was within not-softening. It was getting difficult, as it seems the feathers under here almost seemed to smell like the Angel was aroused, which couldn’t be true because Dean knew Castiel wasn’t interested in anything like that, especially with such a different creature. 

God, he must find me abhorrently ugly, now that I think about it.

He really wished he hadn’t thought about it. 

So the Naga bit his lip and just kept on trucking, trying his best to redirect bloodflow from his lower torso.

“I think that’s all of them,” Castiel said, sounded rather blissed out, letting out a hum of contentment. 

“Oh, good,” Dean said pulling his hands away awkwardly, leaning down to collect the fallen feathers to make jewelry with, trying to hide his bright blush at the whole affair. 

He half wish it hadn’t ended.

The other half wished it had ended very differently. Mostly the lower half.

“Is that all you need, Cas?” he asked, still worried about the little featherbutt.

“No, no, you’ve done enough, you need your rest.”

“So there is more to do.”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Cas, really.”

“No, I’ll just ask an attendant to look into it in the morning.”

Another person… touching Castiel’s wings? He didn’t know why, but for some reason, that made Dean feel so jealous


“No!” he said, unaware of how forceful his voice had sounded. It even made Castiel lift up his head from the table. “Uh, I mean, no. I’ll do it, might as well get it done. I’m your spouse, it’s my job to take care of you.”

Castiel squinted at him. “You sure? You don’t have to.”

“I’m sure.”

Castiel shrugged. “Alright. There are oil glands at the base of my wings, kinda rub them a bit to get your fingers oily and just, like… scrub them in the wings. But lightly, smoothing them down in the process? Nevermind, I’m explaining it badly, and it’ll get your hands oily, so you’d better not-”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. Really,” Dean said, immediately running his fingers along the base to find the little glands. They were very soft, and they made so much oil when he rubbed them.

And Cas made so many whimpers.

Goddamn it. 

As quickly and as thoroughly as he could, he “polished” the wings up, almost unable to bear how turned on he was, it was all he could do to keep himself soft. He hoped the rumor that Angels could barely smell was true, because Dean was sure he smelled like a Naga going through puberty.

“There,” he said, but Castiel didn’t respond.

Poor thing had been so tired that the gentle massage had put him to sleep.

Ohh. He’s so precious asleep.

As silently as he could, Dean lifted the Angel and placed him in his bed before picking up the last of the feathers, unable to ignore the fact that he was now covered in Castiel’s wing oil. And that his wing oil smelled fucking amazing.

Dean quickly slithered out of the room and back to his own, sighing in relief. 

And, now that he was covered in such delightful-smelling oils, having just got done touching and pleasing his precious little ma- spouse… he couldn’t bear it any longer.

He quickly settled into his soft nest and began quickly pleasuring himself. Oh, the oil made his hands so slick, felt so good.

Due to scent of the oil and the fact that his fantasies now had a fucking soundtrack, the Naga didn’t last very long at all, coming harder than he ever had before, doing his best to hold back his sounds so that nobody could hear him.

Especially not the person on the other side of the ever-locked door.

I hope you heard me screaming in delight all the way from Switzerland, because this was amazing! Ah, poor Dean and Cas! So much pining!! With wing grooming!! Aaaaahhhh!! ♥

*hums stronger than you*

For some reason people still tend to like my old drawing of sin so I really needed to draw it again

anonymous asked:

Just wanted to rant real quick about the hate I've seen Harry get these last few days and genuinely makes me upset as a diehard Harry stan since 2012. I've seen hate ranging from his supposed 'queer baiting' to how he is not putting enough effort on tour and that he says things on stage just to get reaction from his screaming fans. People need to shut the fuck up and let him be. Just let him sing with his beautiful, raspy pipes and wearing whatever fucking suit he wants.

I don’t know but yall really must be following some uglies cuz i never see any shit on my dash! Anyways harry is my beautiful angel beam


For my darling @goldentruth813 whom I adore.

The wind had picked up by the time Harry had let the snitch fly. The sun was bright, the clouds ever present but clear enough to make a good day of it.
“Scared Potter?” Draco had cried out for good measure before kicking off from the ground, speeding off after it. He’d caught Harry off guard, who after looking puzzled for a moment swung a leg around his own broom before zooming on after him.
For a moment it was so easy, so normal, like slipping back through time back when everything was just easy rivalry; before history changed them.
He’d never caught the snitch against Potter and he wasn’t letting this opportunity pass him by, he’d win this and then he’d win the next one, and at the end of the day he’d come out on top for once.
He gripped his broom handle tighter and made a tighter turn to shake Potter off his trail, feigning a sighting. Looping back, Potter was trailing behind him completely unaware of the glint of gold hovering above his head. Draco rushed him, nearly knocking him off his broom. Nearly.
Draco gave chase, feeling the blood rush through his body as the wind swept through his hair, it was exhilarating, exactly what he’d needed.
They were spiralling through the air now, twirling about like leaves lost in the wind, or at least they should have been, Potter was lagging behind a little. It wasn’t like him at all.
He threw himself headlong between trees, caring little for what became of him in the end, hand outstretched, ready to claim his win, when it occurred to him that Potter wasn’t. He wasn’t trying at all. He was letting him win, how absolutely Potterish of him!
Draco pulled up to a stop, nearly causing his counterpart to crash into him.
“What’s up?” Harry had the nerve to act all innocent.
“Swallowed a bug.” Draco grit through his teeth, struggling not to let his anger get away with him.
“Ugh. Right,”
They went back at it, and it took Draco a while to find the snitch once more, yet when they got closer the same thing happened all over again, Potter refused to give his all.
By the third time it happened he couldn’t handle it anymore, “If you aren’t up for this, we can stop you know!”
“What scared Malfoy?” Potter had smirked, gliding upright with only one foot on his foot holder.
“Fuck.” Draco whispered after him.
The weather didn’t hold, the wind got rougher, the sky got darker, it might rain if they pushed their luck and still neither of them won the snitch. Draco was tired, too tired for even his anger to spurn him on anymore so he landed in defeat.
“Where are you going?”
“Home! I suggest you to do the same, unless you want to catch a cold in this weather!” Draco snapped back.
“Neither of us have caught the snitch yet, stay. Please,” Potter smiled, that award winning smile that girls over at the Prophet practically wet themselves over.
Draco steeled himself, “Neither of us will win if you insist on playing like that.”
“I know you Potter, I know when you’re letting me win and really you aren’t even hiding it anymore.” He sneered, his face twisting like that ugly feeling surging in his guts. “I must be really pathetic for you to be playing nice like that.”
“I’m not!”
“Don’t lie!”
“I’m not!”
“Don’t you dare do this to me!” He roared, anguish burning holes through his entire being. This would probably sum up the whole of their relationship; Draco being miserable and Potter taking outrageous actions to counteract that patheticness.
“Fine. I won’t hold back. One on one, true seekers game.”
“So you admit it! You admit you were holding back!” He cried childishly.
“Merlin Draco!” Harry ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “Look can we just play and drop it?”
Draco ignored him, “This is just like you. Can’t believe that I’d win on my own, you have to give me the win. I’ll never be on equal footing with you. I’ll always be me, and you’ll always be you. You can never let me work my way up to a win, you just assume I couldn’t win against you!”
“Where is this coming from? Draco?”
“This is like that thing with the French Embassador last month, have to put your Potter brand all over it. Everything’s all okay if you have your paws on it! If you get your say!” Draco carried on to the point where Harry seemed visibly livid. “Fine! Fly off on me you fucking arse!”
Potter flew off into the sky and for a moment he worried at the pit of his stomach that Harry would leave him here, leave him.
Potter stomped back down onto the ground, threw his broom on the ground and strode over to Draco so hotly he wondered if he should be afraid of him for a moment. “You’re a fucking dick you know that right?”
He grabbed Draco’s wrist and twisted his palm open, pushing the snitch into it.
“If you think-” Draco began, but was stopped when the snitch fell apart in his hands.
Harry pulled at the pieces as it fell open and threw a shimmering piece at him before striding off back to pick his broom. Probably to leave, Draco thought.
Draco looked down at the broken piece dumbly, realizing it wasn’t part of the snitch at all but a ring. A ring? A ring!
Potter looked worried, hovering by the nearby trees with a forlorn look plastered to his forehead.
“Harry?” He whispered, crouching down the pick the ring up holding it gingerly in hand.
“It was spelled to your touch.” Harry murmured into his Quidditch robes. “You were supposed to catch it and I was supposed to ask you…”
He found himself speechless.
“Look, I’m sorry if I’m too much. I don’t meant to be, I just. We’ve been living together for two years now Draco together longer than that, I can’t help it if you’re apart of my life. If that means accidentally putting my ‘Potter brand’ all over it then-” Draco shut him up by wrapping his arms around him and kissing him soundly. “Draco, I-” He kissed him again for good measure, kissing him hard and long enough for Harry submit, leaving his words behind. They kissed until breathless, coming up for air under the trees, noses brushing in a soft caress, raindrops catching at their eyelashes as downpour threatened overhead.
“The French Ambassador wanted to get into your pants.” Harry blurted.
“What?” Draco replied dazedly, gripping tighter onto Harry to steady himself.
“I caught him leering at you from across the ballroom for a solid fifteen minutes before he approached you. I’m sure he was talking to you about reforms or whatever but as soon as he started making excuses to touch you I just had to butt in. I couldn’t handle it, I’m sorry. I was jealous. It was wrong of me.” Harry confessed.
“What? But? How did I miss that?”
“I don’t know, at first I thought you were trying to make me jealous on purpose but you didn’t seem to care when he swore at me and left.”
“He did what?!” Draco pulled away in shock.
“When you turned to talk to the Undersecretary he swore at me in french and told me to fuck off, but you were already too absorbed in whatever else to care so I thought nothing else of it.”
“Is that all you have to say?” Harry pulled him in again, his breath ghosting across Draco’s lips.
“Maybe if you asked me.” Draco smiled, his gaze fixed upon Potter’s pink wet mouth. “I could tell you yes. Yes Potter yes.”
Harry hummed into the kiss that followed next, exuberantly turned on by the way Draco growls ‘Potter’ in that one practised tone, gripping him harder. He kissed Draco hard enough, desperate enough that he needed more, lifting his lover up and into his arms aching with urgency.
“I suggest you take me home Scarhead, before I force myself upon you amongst the trees here.” Draco whispered hoarsely, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Promises, promises.”

anonymous asked:

You are an ugly man. You will never pass. Your are ruining your life for a sexual fetish. You gender identity isn't valid

Hello angry, transphobic, Anonymous person! Let me set a few things straight with you, okay?

I am a beautiful, confident, growing woman actually! The fact that you seem to possess time in your day to come and tell me how ugly I am, must really say something regarding how you really feel about me! Passing is something people have socially become accustomed to; Last time I checked, passing is slightly contradictory since it’s essentially pressuring me to fit a certain image, or else my identity is invalid, by reinstating that I’m not 100% who I identify as. I don’t need to “try” to be who I am, I am who I am.

I don’t try to pass; I find things that make me happy. Whether it be clothes, makeup, books, people, any of that. Those are the things that make up the individual I am. If I happen to “pass”, I’m not sorry, my intentions are simply to live a happy and truthful life

Ruining my life for a sexual fetish though? I didn’t decide to transition and be honest with myself to fulfill my sexual desires or someone else’s. I transitioned in courage because the life I was living at the time was not truthful to who I am now. I’ve found the strength inside me to be happy, and truthful with who I am!

Lastly, my gender identity is completely valid, and I don’t need some anonymous cyber-warrior to try and deny who I am. This is me, my life, and I’m a woman with or without your acceptance!

Good day!

At one point E, knowing I was in a state of nastiness, said to me at the lousy Italian restaurant we went to: ‘Come on Richard, hold my hand.’ Me: ‘I do not wish to touch your hands. They are large and ugly and red and masculine.’

After that, my mind was like a malignant cancer — I was incurable. I either remained stupidly silent or managed an insult a second.

What the hell’s the matter with me? I love milady more than my life.

I’m very contrite this morning but one of these days it’s going to be too late cock, too late. E has just said that I really must get her that 69-carat ring to make her ugly big hands look smaller and less ugly!

Nobody turns insults to her advantage more swiftly or more cleverly than Lady Elizabeth. That insult last night is going to cost me. Betcha!

October 2, 1969, Richard Burton’s diary