#bearded woman positivity

[snarltoothed]

okay… weird tangent. but like, brute force manual labor aside women actually ffr literally do everything better than men? even stereotypically manly things if the woman in question is interested in doing and (especially in the case of what i’m about to discuss) able to do the “man thing”.

i was thinking about it and honestly, i have never seen a woman with a beard or moustache whose facial heard was objectively unattractive… if you disregard the fact that facial hair in general never fits into what society considers “objectively attractive” for women.

women with beards aren’t that common right. there are not all that many women with actual full beards (probably more than you’d think considering that a lot of women remove their facial hair… even when it’s unpigmented peach fuzz… but dermaplaning is another fucking discussion), that’s just how sexual dimorphism works, women generally have lighter and lesser facial hair.

however… whenever a woman DOES have the hair growth pattern for a beard (for whatever reason) and grows it out… she always keeps it nice, clean, well-groomed, even shaped well if she boasts a thick enough face rug for shaping to matter… and it is obvious WHY, dgmw, i know women are socialized to care more about being attractive and “presentable” — but frankly some men will have the fucking ugliest unkempt beards and i think female socialization is correct on the “take some pride in your appearance” front with this one.

i literally had to explain to my last ex that he might come off as more professional in interviews if he like… invested in a beard trimmer and shaped it every so often. because the man’s beard was rectangular. like, disturbingly rectangular. i’ll give him credit for keeping it in… a bubble braid (?) most of the time, that was kinda cool aesthetically… but when he took those hairties out and smoothed out the kinks… the man looked like he’d walked straight out of minecraft.

and the thing is… he didn’t even know what i meant. he was like “what do you mean shape it?” and i just had to fucking white guy blink at him and patiently explain that the mid-length beards you see on like, “attractive” actors don’t just… grow in shaped like that and that men with longer facial hair often still trim small parts of it to shape it in a way that better flatters their faces? and that if he wasn’t sure how to shape it himself he could absolutely just get it done at the barber’s…

and of course he had to ask if i personally thought it would make him more attractive like dude… obviously, but i was bringing it up gently! and as a serious tip on how to maybe come off as more hirable in interviews which could’ve been completely unrelated to my personal thoughts about it because i literally don’t look hirable in my day to day either. not that this entire paragraph is even related to the point i just forgot how annoying men can be. i’m actually not entirely sure how asperbergers even became a thing, because i swear on my mother i have never met a man who DOESN’T have trouble reading social nuances. (i’m aware that aspergers is no longer a thing and that instead we now acknowledge that all parts of autism exist on a spectrum and i’m also aware that the nazis came up with it but please let a woman make a joke)

back to the actual point tho… like dude? you are in your early thirties and have had a beard since your mid twenties bro you… you aren’t familiar with the idea of being able to trim your beard into a different shape? that’s like being unaware of the existence of hairstyles as an elemenary schooler??? and did he just… never look in the mirror at any point before i mentioned this and notice that his beard was literally rectangular, right angles and all? or did he and he was just like “whatever i guess that’s just how my beard looks nothing i can do about that”? baffling.

and women, no on expects women to have facial hair, in fact it is discouraged. women with beards don’t have as many beard-having peers to learn from. and yet… they keep those beards looking fabulous.

even just a little moustache looks better on a woman, but that’s not a fair comparison. men never look good with JUST a moustache. it either looks like they’re a teenager, really into like… steampunk, or a creep of some sort depending on their natural hair growth and style of moustache.

[gent-illmatic]

NATURALLY✨

[seventeendeer]

clock just struck midnight in my timezone, you know what that means !! starting my one-a-day queer delights challenge to celebrate pride month!!

a queer delight a day, day 1:

talked to a loved one today about their shitty father they cut contact with a while ago. when I’ve spoken to him in the past, he came off as a softspoken, kind of meek sort of guy who mostly just got a little pouty and whimpery if he didn’t get to have things his way, but never started trouble and quickly backed down from conflict.

while discussing my impression of him with said loved one, they informed me this was very much not how he normally was. he was actually a raging sexist obsessed with gender roles, who usually tried to uphold a macho don’t-fuck-with-me persona. “alpha male” type of guy.

turns out he was piss-terrified of my casual gender non-conformity, got confused(?) and nervous(???), and somehow ended up mentally promoting me to alpha tough-guy when we were in the same room. my silly little high-femme ass, apparently deeply intimidating, just because I had the gall to look weird and unattractive to men in public, take up space like it was a matter of course and blithely correct him whenever he said something stupid.

I had a pretty good impression of him back then and only ever treated him with kindness and respect, but apparently just the threat of getting on the bad side of someone with the guts to be alive and happy in the way that I was scared him into completely shelving the little power struggle he normally tried to initiate in social situations. he figured the best way to win social power was to suck up to ME.

I later found out he was secretly a total cunt, but I could have easily gone a whole lifetime never registering that he was having a whole little social hierarchy crisis over in the corner. what an incredible incentive to just keep doing what I’m doing

[t-dykery]

i love women with beards. born with the ability to grow one? awesome, whether you're trans or intersex or both! taking T to grow one? soooo fucking cool! i love you ladies ❤️

[miserycanary]

BREAK MY HEART INTO TWO ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost has been feeling pissed off lately, and happens to lash out on you

tags: slight angst, misunderstandings, very slight mention of violence

He knew he was not in the right headspace. With the newly added task of training new recruits, the dead-end mission, and overall exhaustion. Ghost could feel his patience nearing nothing and he could feel it in his bones that he wouldn’t be able to control himself from lashing out soon— even if it was you. 

That’s why he started to distance himself and avoid you like the plague. Only responding with grunts or one-word answers. It’s not the best action but he couldn’t think of anything else. Despite the frustration clouding his mind, he still vows to never hurt you. He promised you that; reassured you that he would never ever raise his voice at you, his hand stroking your back and kissing your temple, after you told him about your past one drunken night. 

The first time Simon came home and didn’t immediately wrap his arm around you, nosing the crook of your neck, you knew something was up. You didn’t push the matter though. Brushing it off as something trivial and proceeding to go your usual routine. You did notice things that you never brought up with him: heavy footsteps, the lack of teasing from him, and uncharacteristically never clinging onto you  

What finally pushed you to visit the base was when Si, your husband who would go through all levels of hell just to be close to you and never lets a night pass without you with him in bed, suddenly tells you he will be sleeping on the couch. It baffled you. This is the same man who wrapped all his limbs around to keep you from leaving after a big fight. The same man that acts like a big baby when you tell him you’re gonna be away on a work event. Suddenly, the idea of him getting bored of you and finding entertainment with another woman intrusively swirled in your mind. 

Were you too loud? Too chatty? Clingy? Maybe you didn’t satisfy him enough. Maybe he wanted a wife available to always cook for him after work. It scared you. You love him; love him enough to change just to keep him.

You needed to talk to him. Whether he likes it or not. 

“Price, please. Just call him for me?” The captain looks at you, hesitating. Even though he was aware of Ghost’s thinning temper and didn’t want to put his comrade’s wife in a position that could result in a fight, he also knew that you needed to solve this. He scratches his beard, nervously looking at you. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t know. The man.. he.. he hasn’t been the best these days? Maybe you should go home and wait for him—“. You cut him off, “he doesn’t want to talk to me! Please, just 5 minutes and I won’t even cause a scene. I promise!” With a sigh, he finally relents and tells you to stay there while he calls for your husband. You crack a smile, nodding and feeling a sense of relief wash over you. 

Moments after being alone, a new recruit (you assume considering you’ve never met this man nor did Simon ever mention him) approaches you with a low wolf whistle. His hands find your waist before you can even comprehend what’s happening, pulling you close to his chest. 

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” You freeze, and disgust starts to bubble up inside of you. You plant your hand on his chest in an attempt to pull away in fear that Simon would witness this and think differently. Before you could say to leave you alone, a voice booms out. A voice you know too well. 

“Y/N!” Simon takes three strides and he was near enough to pull the recruit away from you and land a punch. Scandalous gasps went around while the yells of other members went inaudible to you. You stood there in horror as Price stepped in, pushing Ghost away and yelling to stand down. This was not your Simon. Your Simon would never be this violent in front of you— he was too scared to frighten you and do something to push you away. These weren’t the same hands carried you as if a delicate flower he plucked as well. The hands that routinely offers to brush your hair every night and washes you every sex session while he kisses your shoulders, showering you with endless praise with a voice filled with adoration.

Ghost whips his head. His cold stare made you falter, taking a step back. Something you never thought you’d do when faced with him. You could see his mask move, undoubtedly hiding his disappointment and furrowed eyebrows. 

“What are you doing here?” He seethes, roughly gripping your arm tight enough to leave a bruise.

“I-I... I wanted to see you—“ Before you could even finish, Ghost groans with frustration. “I fucking told you to not come to the base. Were you even thinking? Use that pea-sized brain of yours once in a while! Just.. leave me alone and go home.”

Silence. The whole base quiets down with his words, a tense atmosphere building up. You freeze. From the corner of your eye, you notice Price’s contort with concern and hesitation if he should meddle. 

The pain you felt was indescribable. It was as if Ghost took your heart and crushed it with his bare hands. Your breathing got labored, your eyes flicked down, taking deep breaths to hold back tears. Before the realization has fully settled, you pull away from Ghost, mumbling something incoherent. In that moment, Ghost knew he fucked up. He hurt his darling flower. He hurt the only person he treasured. The person that stayed with him through thick and thin. The person he married, vowed in front of God to love forever and to never hurt. 

“No, baby— I didn’t mean to—“

You cut him off, telling him you were going back just like he wanted. You didn’t even call it your home. You always do. Saying it with pride to have something to call home with him. 

God, what has he done? 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: dare I say this man needs a break :} Second part is out. Little detail: I use ‘Simon’ during Y/N’s pov and Ghost for the rest, but used Ghost for her after he yelled at her. :3

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! Comment if you want to be tagged in the next posts.

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[warnersister]

“The silent treatment” Alfie Solomons x Reader

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

You can’t stay mad and quiet at him forever, at least not if he can help it.

You looked Alfie in the eyes before you shook your head and turned around, walking away from your husband. “Where are you going?” You stayed silent, walking up the stairs to get yourself ready for bed. He creased his brows and followed closely behind you. “You can’t just stop an argument by not talking.” You didn’t even acknowledge him, just undoing the back to your dress and allowing it to fall to the floor; unclipping your hair from your updo and letting it fall.

Alfie felt offended: that was his job; you always let him take down your hair.

“Ziskeit, the silent treatment isn’t the way to go about this.” He told you, but you just wandered off to put your slip dress and slide into bed. Alfie was still stood in the doorway in disbelief, watching as you went on about your day as if you didn’t live with your husband of three years.

“Poppet-” click the lamp beside your bed turned off and Alfie’s jaw was on the floor, tutting at you. How dare you? He went about his own nightly routine, trying not to seem wounded by his lack of goodnight kisses and giggles as he’d tickle your neck with his beard. Eventually, he laid beside you and put an arm around your waist but it was shrugged off. “Look treacle I don’t care how fucked off you are with me, right. But I should be able to sleep comfortably with my wife.” He said, gruffly into your ear; moving again to replace his hand.

Again, you’d pushed it off. “Fucking unbelievable. Cant touch my own wife.” He’s grumbled, turning over and crossing his arms to try to force himself to sleep angrily when all he really wanted was your embrace on a cold night.

The next morning, he’d woken up to you doing your hair at the vanity he’d bought you for your last birthday. He’d walked over and pecked your cheek. “Morning ziskeit” he said and you said nothing, didn’t even look at him. He sighed exasperatedly. “Still doing that are we.”

He put his hands on the back of your chair and leant down to look at you in the mirror. “Real mature of you this, poppet.” He told you, taking the hair in the pony tail and wrapping it around his hand. “Knew I’d married a younger woman when we said our vows but didn’t realise I’d married a little girl.” He tugged the hair sharply. “Perhaps you need daddy to reeducate you, hmm?” You looked back at him in the mirror and shivered, and for a moment he’d thought he’d won. You just picked up the nice little expensive perfume bottle he’d bought you and sprayed it twice on your neck, getting him straight in the face. He just huffed and let you be. You couldn’t continue this forever.

He trudged down the stairs and went to make you both some breakfast, simultaneously tightening jars and putting cans higher than he knew you could reach, placing a plate in front of you when you’d arrived downstairs. But before you could even look at it, Alfie had wagged his finger at you. “Only girls who use their manners get fed.” He said and you narrowed your eyes. He took your chin in a hand and hummed at you as though speaking with a disobedient child. “Hmm? So? You going to ask politely, ziskeit?” You clenched your jaw and swatted the hand away once more, standing to go feed Cyril.

It went on similarly for the rest of the day, you trying to open things, to no avail - just for your husband to swoop in like some saviour and offer to do it “if you just say please” to which you’d throw the jar in the bin. Or when you’d stretch go grab something high up, even trying to climb on the counter, feeling hands on your waist “I’ll give you a hand, just have to ask, treacle.” And you’d jump down.

And it was like Groundhog Day as he found himself in the same position he was in yesterday. “Please loves, just need to hear your voice I’m sorry.” He’d pleaded, watching you undress ready for bed. “Right-” he’d grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, barely any garments covering your dignity. He gently dropped you on the bed and settled himself between your legs, ripping your undergarments off as he looked up at you “let’s see how long you can stay fucking quiet”

[eccentricallygothic]

Husband!Robb ‘The Wolf’ Stark | Wife!You.

Warning(s): D/s dynamics, husband Robb Stark, fear kink, power imbalance, doggy style, rough sex, spanking, biting, mirror sex, mention of edging, dacryphilia. Minors do not interact.

“Is it true?” You were tinkering with some medicinal herbs when the children approached you before they crowded around you. You looked up from what you were doing, and then silently raised an eyebrow in question. “That your husband can turn into a wolf at night?” Your breath ceased for a couple moments, heat coursed through your veins and your consciousness drifted into a series of recollections. 

So many times, so many moments, so many nights. 

Different positions, various spots all over the estate and a myopic vision that you owed to the tears that would stain your face. 

And through that barely functional vision images of your parted panting mouth, bent and flush knees, pulled back head -due to the way your hair wrapped around the pale fingers of your eternal ravisher-, neck and breasts painted in purple fang marks, nipples inflamed from how they had been treated, buttocks covered in handprints and arms compliantly folded on the small of your back. Your form pushing face first into the mattress with breath stifling force before being pulled back with a limb tearing strength in such a rapid unceasing cycle that it caused for the brutish violator bent atop you to appear inhuman as he used you in his monstrous way that you could see through the body size mirror placed on the wall in front of your bed. 

Realization seeped through your brain cells. 

Man.

Man-Wolf.

Wolf-Man.

Wolf. 

The dark mop of messed up curls that graced your dear husband and cruel defiler's head was amess as the loose damp strands flew about, his nose flared to help with his panting, chiseled features stern under the dark coarse hairs of his manly beard, beastly muscles tense as he effortlessly held your submissive figure bent to his pleasure with one hand, the other holding one of your compliant legs up in the air in an obtuse angle, his skin covered in a shadowy brown vell in such a way that your opening that his cock had stretched open nearly to the size of a woman's in labor clenched around the man-creature's monstrous girth. The deafening sound of skin colliding against skin was on the verge of marring your eardrums, his piercing dark blue eyes watching you through the mirror all the while.

They watched you even now from across the room where your dear husband and Lord sat telling the stories of his recent expedition to everyone willing.

There were always hundreds if not thousands of those.

Words didn't always require a necessary exchange between the two of you.

Your cheeks threatened to bubble up from the heat compressing itself underneath them. Your fingers had ceased from crushing the herbs between the mortar and pestle long ago. A hot drop of meek arousal sizzled past your covered opening -which blinked in response- and coursed down the insides of your thighs. Your breath hitched as you laboriously swallowed and licked your lips. 

“Mhm” was all you could let out in your shy state that he had influenced with a mere stare. You looked up at the children before you proceeded to nod your head politely so as to not stir the sanctity of your Lord's presence with too harsh a gesture. The children gasped and whimpered before scurrying off, too young and afraid to say it out loud but in their naive minds extremely terrified for your wellbeing. 

The longer you felt The Wolf staring at you the more you sensed yourself sharing the sentiments of the young ones. 

You bit your lip and dared not look up from your work. 

Because you were always tortured cruelly before your taking solely for the purpose of His Lordship's amusement if the eagerness in your eyes was too visible.

And it was always embarrassingly visible.

[saintbleeding]

[ID: A four page comic of Jon Sims, Sam Khalid, Celia Ripley, and Martin Blackwood, set loosely in the Magnus Protocol universe. Jon is a tall, thin, brown-skinned man, wearing business-casual clothes, an ace ring, gold earrings, and glasses, with noticeably unscarred skin and only minor greying in his chin length curly hair. Sam is shorter and fat, wearing a blue business shirt and glasses. He has brown skin and short, black, curly hair. Celia is a tall, fat woman wearing casual clothing and an evil-eye pendant, with straight hair in a bob with bleached ends and light brown skin. Martin is a short, fat, white man with wavy ginger hair, wearing a green three piece suit and glasses.

Page one: Jon sits at a cafe table, hands laced together, wearing business-casual clothes, an ace ring, gold earrings, and glasses, with noticeably unscarred skin. He says “Well, I'm sorry it hasn't been more instructive." We see Sam and Celia sitting side-by-side, with Sam's arm casually around Celia's shoulders. Celia replies "It's fine!" and Sam adds "Yeah. Georgie mentioned your experience was a long time ago." Jon stands up and continues "Mm. Good luck, regardless. With your--research." Sam says "Ah, thanks! We haven't exhausted [caps] every [end caps] avenue yet." Celia adds "Yeah! We've even got someone else coming to chat today. Oh, actually--" she pauses and stands up, lifting a hand in greeting, and says "Hi Martin!"

Page two: Jon looks quizzically offscreen as Celia turns back towards Sam. Sam's expression is shocked as he says "You arranged the interviews with the Chester guy *and* the Norris guy on the same day?" and Celia replies "I thought it might be fun." We cut to Martin, who is walking gloomily down the street with his hands in his pockets. He hears Celia's greeting, looks up, and begins to smile. A moment later, Jon and Martin stand facing one another, beaming with recognition.

Page three: Jon and Martin exchange sheepish "hi"s, and Sam--still perturbed--watches on and asks "Do they, like, know each other?" to which Celia replies "Not exactly :3c"

Page four: The Protocol-universe Jon and Martin stand more closely to one another, and in the sudden, heavy glitch effect surrounding them, their season-five Archives-universe counterparts are faintly visible, standing in the same positions. Archives-Martin has darker, greying hair and a beard, with more pallid skin, and Archives-Jon has patchy, white hair, a beard, and numerous scars across his body. Both of them wear filthy, practical clothing. End ID.]

ok listen i straight up started this comic after magp episode 8 aired!!! your heart occurrence and bicycle overdose mean NOTHING to me

[plussizefantasia]

Unsure Hearts

Read Part One Here: Fluttering Hearts

Warnings: Reader gets grabbed, alcohol, I think that's it tbh

an: heyyyy... sorry I was MIA, lots of stuff going on I'll post an update about it soon. In the meantime enjoy part two of the Kili x reader fic from Flufftober. I think this will be a five-part fic including an epilogue and the next two parts are already underway. I've also got some requests ready to be edited and posted soon. Thank you for bearing with me, much love <3

Kili Durin x Human!Soulmate!reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Thorin was getting worried, Kili had become somewhat of a ghost story over the past month. He had assumed that his nephew was simply doing his duty. Kili had volunteered to be the envoy between Dale and Erebor for the discussions of armament and training. However, that treaty was signed a week ago, and said envoy position was no longer needed. So why in all of Arda was Kili still going to Dale every day? The young prince left as soon as he was finished with his daily tasks and didn’t return to the mountain until well after the sun had set. Thorin was not worried for his nephew's safety, after all, Kili was an excellent warrior and could take care of himself, no, Thorin was worried for Kili’s heart. 

Fili had also noticed his brother’s absence but the blonde prince had always been a bit more perceptive than his surly uncle. Fili had noticed that Kili was missing, but he also noticed that every time he returned to the mountain it was with the most dopey grin that he had ever seen. A grin that he recognized, for it had also graced his face a few months ago when he met his beloved Alma. Fili would bet his beard on it, Kili was in love.

You on the other hand were getting more and more annoyed each time the brown-haired dwarf walked through the front door. He was charming sure, and polite. But he stared. At you. The whole time he was there. And he was there a lot. His attempts to engage you in conversation were far and few between, the few times he was able to grab your attention away from the bustling building he became tongue-tied the moment your eyes landed on his.

Kili didn’t understand why he couldn’t say more than a few words to you without choking on his words. Your eyes had to hold some kind of spell within them. They enchanted him and left him bewitched every time he caught their gaze. It left him frustrated, he had never had this much trouble with women before, why were you so different? Deep down he knew though, you weren’t just any woman. He was afraid though, afraid that naming what you were to him out loud would make it real. And when it is real, it can hurt you. 

There weren’t very many stories on One’s where the love didn’t end up requited, either because it just simply never happened. Dwarves were incredibly stubborn creatures after all, and it was entirely possible that they just wore down their other half until some sort of connection formed. It was also possible that those unfortunate few who weren’t able to woo their other half died of broken hearts. The former was unlikely as Kili kept having to remind himself, he couldn’t die of a broken heart. Right?

He was determined tonight though, to find out definitively if the sparks he felt for you were just interest in the handsome woman from Bree, or if you truly were the other half of his soul. To do that though he would need to say more than a few words to you. The problem with that was that you seemed exceptionally busy tonight.

Busy you were, Brant had told you last night that he was going to be leaving today to go to visit family for some type of emergency. 

“If the place is still standing when I get back, we’ll talk more about it becoming yours someday.” He had said. You were hoping that that ‘someday’ was sooner rather than later. Brant was getting up there in years. Just last week he had hurt himself trying to lift one of the barrels of ale that had been shipped in from the Iron Hills. You had been taking on more and more of his old tasks and to be completely honest, it felt like you did the job of an owner anyway, just without all the benefits.

You weren’t going to let the man down though, even if it did mean rushing back and forth all night trying to keep up with demand all by yourself.

“Another! Y/N,” was yelled in front the back of the room. Roland was a boisterous man who got along with everyone, he was only a year or two older than you and was currently on his eighth pint of the night. He had a large countenance and seemed to fill up whatever space he occupied, he was handsome but the more and more he drank the less his looks mattered. Usually, this is the point in the night where he starts bordering more on unruly rather than fun-loving. Nevertheless, he was a paying customer and as long as he could still walk on his own out the doors, you weren’t going to say no to his money.

You grabbed another pint glass and poured one for him, balancing it and several other drinks on a tray. You steeled yourself with a deep breath before running back out into the fray. 

Walking close to the stool he was sat on you leaned slightly over him and placed his pint down on the counter beside him. He was engrossed in the conversation between the large group of men, something about the best way to skin a buck, you weren’t really listening. As you grabbed his empty glass to take back to the kitchen to be washed, his large hand encircled your wrist none too gently.

“A pint is a wonderful thing, but it is even more delicious when served by a beautiful lady,” He whispered into your ear. You grit your teeth and roughly pull your hand back. 

“Now, Roland, what have we said about touching things that don’t belong to you? Huh? Touch the wrong thing and you might just lose your hand.” You spit back at him. Cutting your eyes up at the mounted swords that rest above the fireplace only a few steps from where the two of you are. “I’d hate to have to clean those swords, they are sharp.” You look back into his eyes, satisfied with the fear that you see within them. You stand back up and place your tray back upon your shoulder. 

“Anything else I can get you gents?” You question the other men scattered about the space. Silence reigned over the air for a few moments. 

“Alrighty then.” 

A pint here, a glass of wine there, and two hot meals delivered later, your tray was empty and everyone in the place seemed momentarily satisfied. 

 Letting out a breath you lean up against the counter.

“What did you say to him?” A somewhat familiar voice pipes up beside you. You turn your head towards the voice. It's the dwarf prince, and you are once again struck with just how handsome he is. You are also struck with the familiar feeling of annoyance, of course, he picked now to talk to you. Just when you had finally afforded yourself a break.

“Hmm?” You raise a singular eyebrow at him. “Who?”

“That large and very drunk man in the back, I couldn’t hear what you said but I could see the look on his face. It was similar to my brother’s when our mother would scold him for forgetting his manners.”

“That’s not too far off actually, Roland over there got a little too comfortable and touched something that didn’t belong to him, I had to remind him of the rules.”

“And what exactly did he touch that was so forbidden?” The prince smirks and laughs.

You smirk back and lift a glass to your lips before uttering one single word, “Me.”

All of the laughter drained from Kili’s face, “He touched you?” His voice had gotten much lower, his eyes darkened right before you.

 You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to stop you right there Your Highness, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years. I don’t need some man, no matter how handsome he is coming to defend my honor every time I’m even remotely slighted. The trail of bodies will get far too long.” You stare into his eyes as you speak, putting all the righteous fury you’ve got stored inside into each word. 

Seconds tick by before he opens his mouth to speak again.

“You think I’m handsome?”

“I think that we have bigger problems if that is the only thing you got from that.” You took another sip.

“No, no, no I got the point, you don’t need a big strong man to come to your rescue. Lucky for you, I am not big.”

The laugh that sprung from the back of your throat caught you off guard, you slap a hand over your mouth in an impossible effort to catch it and shove it back inside. He was funny, he had never been funny before.

Kili liked your laugh even though it was closer to a snort than an actual laugh, and he would be foolish to ignore the way his heart picked up at the thought that he was the one who made you laugh.

“You- I- I have never heard of a dwarf who makes fun of themselves, in my limited experience your lot are very prideful.”

“Not as prideful as some other races, I should think.”

“No, you’re not nearly as prideful as the pointy-eared bastards who hole themselves up in that accursed forest.” Your words held a healthy amount of rage as well as teasing.

“I sense that there is a story there somewhere.” Kili raised an eyebrow, mimicking your face from earlier. He was desperately trying not to think about the fact that this was the longest conversation the two of you had had up to date.

“One that I’m going to need a lot more liquid courage before divulging, I’m afraid.”

“We can make that happen.” Kili wiggled his eyebrows and pointed at the bottles of liquor behind the bar that separated the two of you.

At that very moment, a shout from the rowdy bunch of men in the back rang out, calling for another round.

“Duty calls your highness, but perhaps I will tell you that story… another time.” You winked at him and grabbed for your tray again, beginning to load it up once more. If that is how conversations with the dwarf prince went all the time, you wouldn’t mind having them more often.  

You walked away before Kili could come up with a response, but he was more certain than he ever had been that your heart called to his. Why else would the very sight of you walking away feel like his heart was leaving too?

Read Part 3 here: Troubled Hearts

tags: @bunnybabe-babydoll @kokochanel111 @shiinata-library @oneiratxxia10

[teaboot]

What are "transmasc" and "genderqueer"?

I just woke up so bear with me, but like

Western society has invented this idea of "man" and "woman", right? And we SAY it's actually real, and based on tangible things like sex characteristics- primary, like dicks n' hoo-has- and secondary, like tiddies an facial hair an cellulite.

Well, it turns out that those things ain't divided "correctly" into the man and woman categories all the time.

People with dicks sometimes get tiddies, people without dicks sometimes grow beards and chest hair, beauty standards like "woman thin and hairless and short with small nose and tiny feet" and "man tall and muscular with a beard and broad shoulders" aren't appearing in nature the way we say they should.

(These gendered standards also change over time, but that's a different post.)

What's more, some people have multiple primary characteristics, and it's not even super rare! (Again, worth a different post, and not one I'm really in a position to make.)

So, we say that we didn't just "invent" two exclusive boxes to sort a wide variety and spectrum of characteristics into by pure brute force, but evidence says otherwise. So do we change the rules of our society to fit that evidence?

No, we pick something else to support our beliefs.

Learning about genes and DNA and chromosomes came much later in the game, so most people's grasp of it is this: Men have XY chromosomes, women have XX chromosomes, and no matter what your body is shaped like, that determines which box you go in. Whatever you look like should be padded or amputated or shaved away until you fit in your box.

Except.... we now know that people who outwardly appear to be the perfect ideal poster children of "man" and "woman" are living full, natural, healthy and unbothered lives totally unaware that they have the "wrong" chromosomes. No visibly "mixed" characteristics at all. So there goes that idea out the window.

Unless we say that no, our invention which is fact still holds up- there's just a few mutants and freaks and dysfunctional anomalies that just sort of happen sometimes, like factory flaws that wouldn't exist if things were running as they should.

So what do we do with factory flaws? We "fix" them. Or pressure them to fix themselves. Or, if they can "pass" one way or another, shove them into that box and tell them to shut up about it. Don't fit into either? Then pick one, and make yourself fit.

But... then, if we can pick... if hairy women with flat chests and small hips can shave themselves down and throw on some padding and powder her face to be accepted.... why can't anyone else?

Or, if that same "woman" went, fuck it, cut his hair short and embraced all the "man" characteristics, went by different pronouns and stepped into the "man" box... wouldn't that be okay, too?

And, he'll, what if they changed nothing about themselves and decided to opt out? We've proven that these "universal facts" don't *actually* exist and exceptions are everywhere, so fuck it, right? "Man" and "woman" don't really mean anything tangible anyways, so why not do what makes you happy?

And since, again, evidence shows that "man" and "women" aren't perfect binary boxes with perfect binary traits- why bother living up to those traits at all? Why can't someone assigned to the "woman" box live in the "man" box with long hair and heels on? If I makes him happy, what's the harm?

We don't like this, though, because when you build two boxes that contain the whole world, and people start escaping, or slipping out to live in the one they like more, or switching, or building their own, people begin to wonder why they're living in boxes at all. If we even need boxes.

And the people who maintain the boxes tell us, it's because the boxes are safe, and the boxes are natural, and the boxes have been here exactly as they are since the beginning of time anyways, and NO, they aren't just terrified of life outside the shelter of the box, you're the weird one.

Meanwhile, if we really looked into it, I imagine we'd find more people who don't fit their box criteria, or don't even like their box, at least as often as we find people who do.

Transgender means "someone who isn't in their assigned box".

Genderqueer means, "someone who isn't in their assigned box", but in a the same broad way that "transgender" is- Maybe a him, maybe a her, maybe both, maybe a they, perhaps a xey, and sometimes some of us move around.

I say I'm genderqueer, 'cause that fits me, but "Transmasc" to me personally means, "I know I'm not a woman, and I'm closer to the "man" box, but I'm happier wandering outside the "man" box than I am stepping fully inside. (Dysphoria is part of that, but again, in my opinion it's not vital to the experience.)

And I'm not one for destroying those two boxes entirely- they bring joy to a lot of people.

Just, you know. Maybe making more, different boxes. And maybe little camps out between them. And not treating people who roam the wilderness instead like rabid animals. Is the thing.

Long answer

[eringobragh420]

Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader Summary: Damian’s girlfriend loves teasing him, and sometimes she loves the punishment for teasing him, but this punishment? Warnings: NSFW, obviously, lol. Spanish translations are at the end of the story. I do not speak Spanish, so if anything is incorrect, please let me know and I'll fix it! Thigh riding, spanking, sex, cum. 18+ Taglist: @eddiesrockstargirlfriend If you'd like to be added, please let me know! Requested By: @rripleyfan. Hope you enjoy!

“Papi, please,” she whines, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sure you can,” Damian replies, though it seems he’s paying more attention to his phone than his writhing girlfriend. In fact, both her hands are planted on his pectoral muscles, and she’d give up her first born if he’d just take the damn thing off, but both his arms are bent in front of her, the phone between his hands blocking at least some of her from his view. “I think this one might be my favorite.” He turns the phone so she can see the picture he’s referring to.

It’s the one she sent him a few days ago. She’s wearing one of his shirts in the photo, one he’d cut the sleeves and most of the sides out of. The shirt is bunched in the middle of her chest, her breasts poking out through the huge sleeve holes. She’s on her knees in front of a full length mirror, phone in her hand and in front of her face.

“So sexy,” Damian comments, turning the screen back toward himself. 

“Papi,” she breathes, reminding him of the her that’s here now and the precarious situation she’s in. A position she’ll never admit she got herself into, maybe on purpose. “Please? I swear I’ll never do it again if you just let me cum.”

“Oh, we both know that’s not true,” her boyfriend replies. He sets the phone down on the table beside them. “Don’t we?” She chooses not to answer, instead continuing to roll her hips in the most torturous rhythm, bare, drenched pussy benefiting from the friction, but it’s not near enough. “Don’t we?” Damian firmly repeats his question.

“Yes,” she rasps, hands fisting his shirt. Her eyes roll back and her head lolls, tiny bolts of electricity originating from between her legs launch themselves throughout her body and she shudders.

“Because you like it, don’t you? Faster.” She almost misses the command, and wishes she had, but she picks up the pace regardless. “You like when I open those pictures when I’m around other people … isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“Open your eyes. Look at me.”

Obeying, her eyes fall on the man under her. Damian Priest. His hair is pulled back, beard immaculate, dressed in a simple black t-shirt, black jeans. She’s made his shirt tighter by clenching it in her hands, consequently outlining every muscle in his broad chest. She gasps, jaw dropping, because sometimes he does that to her just by being beautiful. Christ, she’s not gonna last. 

“Now look at you,” he growls, nodding toward the mirror on the wall.

She turns her head, unprepared for what she sees. Damian, in all his hugeness and black wardrobe is a stark contrast to the much smaller, completely nude, woman set atop his right thigh, rutting against his jeans like a horny teenager. His dominance, and the difference in sizes, and Damian’s sexy … everything … is more than enough to shove her right over the edge. She doesn’t mean to fall, but she falls just the same, eyes closing, trembling as the orgasm washes over her. She breathes an obscenity, maybe even her boyfriend’s name, she’s not sure. Afraid to open her eyes, her hips come to a slow stop, pussy still contracting, and her hands release Damian’s shirt. She waits for him to speak, but hears nothing. Waits for him to touch her, but there’s no movement. Not knowing and knowing the expression he’s wearing are equally terrifying, but the not knowing is killing her, and so her lids slowly rise.

Damian is glaring, he’s fucking glaring, like she’s Dominik Mysterio or something, and she knows he’s trying to be imposing, but the man is never not sexy. So while (more) punishment is certainly in order, there’s a small part of her that’s looking forward to it. However, under the weight of Damian’s angry eyes, she begins to curl in on herself, one thigh rising at an attempt to close her legs.

“Over my knees now,” Damian grumbles.

Slowly she stands, still hyper aware of her nakedness, especially when her boyfriend’s dark eyes follow her every move. She hesitates only a moment, but it’s enough for Damian to tilt his head, daring her to resist further. The wet spot she’s left on his black jeans is impressive, as is the small pool of her cum, some of which sticks to her still sodden pussy. Damian licks his lips, shaking his head, and he sits up in the chair, curling his fingers. Though reluctant, she moves with purpose as she crawls across Damian’s thighs this time. She feels the wet spot on her skin as she lies down, careful not to crush her breasts between his leg and her chest.

Damian’s rough palm glides over her soft, bouncy ass cheeks, and she holds her breath as she waits for the blows to come. “Count ‘em out,” he orders before the first slap echoes throughout the room. Her body jerks and she has to readjust her position to keep from crashing to the floor.

“One,” she says. Smack. “Two.”

The spanks become increasingly more painful as she counts higher and higher. She's squirming now, much the same as when he wouldn't let her cum, hands clawing at his jeans.

“En español,” Damian interrupts. She takes a few moments to answer because suddenly she's forgotten what number she's on. By the time she opens her mouth to reply, Damian says, “Let's start again. En español.”

She gets the numbers right this time, without hesitation, but her ass is still raw and she's on the verge of tears when she finally reaches diez. Damian’s arms are around her suddenly and he's standing and she's in the air. He deposits her on the bed, positioning her onto her hands and knees, and she hears the familiar sound of a belt being unbuckled. Completely at his mercy, she feels him slowly enter her from behind, hands gripping her sore ass cheeks to remind her that this isn't about her pleasure. Although she would argue that fact the minute he slips inside her pussy.

“Fuck,” Damian sighs, easily settling into a rhythm that has the bed knocking against the wall. She fists the blankets and presses her knees into the mattress to keep from shifting forward. Damian’s belt buckle digs into her skin because he hasn't bothered to disrobe. “Count ‘em again.”

“No!” she hollers, finishing with a squeak when the man behind her slaps an already sensitive ass cheek. She collapses, chest and face bouncing on the mattress.

“Qué?” Damian replies. He wraps her hair around his fist and pulls her back up onto her hands. She whines, biting her lip, bucking her hips with each of his thrusts, dripping cunt clenching around his cock. 

“I said, in English or Spanish?” she corrects breathlessly.

“Eso es lo que pensé,” Damian mumbles. “En español.” He emphasizes with a spank.

“Uno,” she starts at the beginning, learning her lesson from last time.

Damian doesn’t make it to ten before he explodes inside of her. She waits patiently for him to finish planting his seed, satisfied smirk on her lips. He eventually pulls out, and she collapses onto the cloud-like comforter. Damian crawls next to her on his side, and she turns her head to face him.

“My ass hurts,” she whines, giggling.

Damian grins. He traces the tips of his fingers along the warm, pink skin, her muscles twitching from the sensitivity, and Damian nods fondly as her ass jiggles. She loves how it tickles her nerves, calming the angry ones from the spanking. “Well, your ass asked for it,” he says.

“But you liked the pictures!”

“Of course I did. I don’t like when I can’t just come home and teach you a lesson. I had to do a show, take a flight, deal with a layover, another flight, and a drive home. My dick could have fallen off!”

She rolls her eyes. “How do you say dramatic in Spanish?”

Damian growls, jaw muscles clenching. He grabs the back of her neck and their lips collide, and they both know she’ll do it again. It’s only a matter of time.

** Papi - Daddy ** En español - In Spanish ** Diez - ten ** Qué - What ** Eso es lo que pensé - That’s what I thought ** Uno - One

[retrosabers]

𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓.

logan howlett x fem!reader

word count: 2.4k

a/n: i’m still in the process of familiarizing myself with logan, so pardon any in-discrepancies/things that may feel out of character. & to anyone who left a request in in my inbox, know that i am actively working on it :)

18+ BELOW THE CUT. MINORS DNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

logan is a caring and considerate lover. he knows that sometimes he can really wear you out, so he’s always sure to get whatever you need when all is said and done. whether that be a warm wash cloth, a glass of water, or even a snack. he always checks in with his girl to make sure she’s doing okay. at first when things are fairly casual, he might not be as thoughtful. but the more and more he realizes how deep his feelings are for you, the more invested in aftercare he is.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of their’s and also their partner’s)

it’s hard for him to pick one thing he loves more than the rest of you. that man is genuinely infatuated with every single part of your body and he makes sure you know it. if he had to pick though, he would say your mouth for a multitude of reasons. he loves seeing you smile. lowkey gets a little turned on whenever you bite back at him or anyone else with your words (secretly enjoys when you’re bossy). feels like he gets sent to heaven every time you wrap your lips around his cock. there’s so much you can do with your mouth, and he loves all of it.

on himself? that’s a bit of a challenge. logan doesn’t really fuss over his physical appearance, but he does notice how often you stare at his biceps. it makes him extra cocky when he intentionally flexes them and makes you blush. aside from being visually appealing, those big strong arms are your safe space, and logan realizes that very quickly. couple those things together and logan’s got a newfound appreciation for those muscles.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically)

if he can, he’s definitely cumming inside you. call it a breeding kink or a branch of his possessive nature, but logan gets off on knowing he’s the only one who can fill you up. he goes especially crazy when he sees his cum dripping out of you, quick to shove it back in with his fingers so you take every last drop. if it’s a particularly nasty evening, he enjoys cumming down your throat, making you show him his load in your mouth before you swallow.

bonus: he loves when his face is coated with your release after he’s been eating you out. logan can’t get enough of when your scent lingers on his beard; it makes him go a little wild.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

wants you to take control one night. he would never fully sub out, but the thought of you being the one calling the shots makes him unbelievably hard. part of what attracted him to you was your feisty side, and logan always revels in how he’s the only one capable of fucking it out of you, reducing you to nothing but a boneless, moaning mess. so, he wants to try the opposite; to see your spunk translate in the bedroom.

logan also likes getting his hair pulled. a tug of his cowlicks will absolutely expedite his orgasm and he’s not the tiniest bit embarrassed by it. if anything, he enjoys knowing that you have something you can use to get him off faster.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

this man has been around for 200 years and he looks like that. trust that he’s been around and knows exactly how to please a woman. logan’s done damn near everything; it’s just a matter of him trying to figure out what gets you going.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

logan truly doesn’t have a favorite position. he’s happy to take you any way he can get. it all depends on how the night plays out. if he’s feeling a little more sensual & intimate, he loves good old missionary & being able to see your face when you reach your peak. if he’s had a bit of a shit day and maybe you were fighting, he’s roughly taking you from behind, reveling in the way your ass ripples when his hips slap against it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous, etc.)

not really. logan’s not opposed to cracking a joke if there’s a little mishap, but he normally take whatever time he gets alone with you very seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

we’ve seen the chest hair and the glorious happy trail. the man is indeed hairy, and he makes a decent effort to keep himself well groomed below the belt. (aka the carpets definitely match the drapes)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

no matter the kind of sex you’re having, logan views it for what it is; a deeply personal experience that only the two of you get to have. he loves keeping eye contact, pulling you as flush to his body as possible so he can feel your heart beat against his own. there’s even been an occasion or two where he’ll intertwine a hand above your head, whispering how much he loves you as you both approach your climax.

J = Jack off (masturbarion headcanon)

logan doesn’t normally masturbate if you’re within reach. he’d much rather bury himself balls deep in your pussy than rub one out with his hand. but, if he’s on a mission, or vice versa and he’s missing you, he makes do.

bonus: before you two started seeing each other and he was in the crushing stage, he used to jack off like crazy, fantasizing about all the things he wanted to do to you. he almost felt like a creep with how much he was doing it. but he didn’t know what else to do, far too afraid to actually act on his feelings until one day he decided his hand wasn’t cutting it anymore. he wanted the real thing. and it turns out, you were in the exact same position.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

two words. size kink. seeing how much bigger he is than you unlocks this side of him that he can’t explain. any display of size difference makes his brain short circuit, whether it be your hand sizes, height, etc. the comparison between his cock and your weeping cunt make his pupils blow wide with lust; his gaze locked on the area where he pistons in and out of you, in awe of just how well you take all of him.

i also sense a praise kink buried under all that muscle. you whine in his ear about how good he’s making you feel and suddenly his thrusts get messy and he’s blowing his load. there’s this part of him that needs to know that he’s taking care of you right. logan’s spent nearly all of his existence never feeling like he could be good enough for anyone, so hearing that he’s succeeding at the only thing he truly cares about, is enough to send him over the edge.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

though the bedroom is always his first choice for obvious reasons, logan is game to do it pretty much anywhere. he could care less about getting caught, leading you to having sex in some rather interesting places. one time you guys fucked on the jet after a rough mission and logan’s strong grip nearly broke one of the seats. after that, you realized it was better to keep your sex-related destruction to broken headboards and tattered sheets.

bonus: he really wants to fuck you on his motorcycle. he’s not sure of the logistics, but he’s been dying to make it happen.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

somehow logan finds a way to be aroused by anything that you do. and i mean anything. there’s a select few things in particular that drive him crazy though. as i mentioned before, he thinks it’s sexy when you tell someone off, especially if it’s scott. he gets worked up watching you train, putting all your energy into smacking that punching bag when you could be getting a much better workout upstairs in his room. there’s a pair of jeans that hug your ass so snugly, that you know have a profound effect on your boyfriend. logan can’t help but follow you around the mansion like a puppy when you wear them, just so he can get a moment alone and bend you over the nearest surface.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he absolutely refuses to harm you. he has no problem with getting rough; gripping you tight, pinning your hands above your head, even a light nibble against your skin. but logan 100% will not choke you, slap you, or degrade you. the only way the claws are coming out is if you’ve had many long conversations about it. otherwise, they’re staying in as long as he can help it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

equally enjoys giving and receiving. logan’s a sucker for a good end of day blowjob as a stress reliever. he’ll never, ever object when he sees you sink to your knees, “just because you want to”. likewise, he can’t think of any better way to spend his time than with his head between your legs. this man is a pussy eating king, and can give you two, sometimes even three orgasms just from his tongue. when he asks if you can sit on his face, you look at him like he’s got two heads.

“logan, i’ll suffocate you.”

“then i can’t think of a better way to die darlin’. now get up here.”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

it all depends. he touches both ends of the spectrum; it’s just all based around the day’s events and how he’s feeling. logan is a very passionate lover, so he puts all his energy into you, whether it’s slow, languid thrusts or a fast and bruising piston of his hips with your legs thrown over his shoulders.

Q = Quickie (opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

hot take: i don’t think logan is very fond of quickies. he much prefers being able to take his time and not feel rushed. now that’s not to say you don’t indulge in quickies every now and then; sometimes the desire burns too strong and you need to have each other right then and there, even if you only have ten minutes. but logan is a firm believer in foreplay, and 99% of the time quickies don’t leave any room for it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks, etc.)

logan is game to try anything that doesn’t involve putting you in danger or causing you legitimate harm. he’s always down to try out a new position or indulge in one of your kinks. anything that can be done to spice up your (already spicy) sex life, he’s totally willing. though, there isn’t much that he hasn’t done already, having been around the bend for a long time. he knows what works and what doesn’t, and sometimes he’ll be the one to suggest something you haven’t done before.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

this man can go. all. night. long. with his mutation, it takes a lot to tucker him out. there’s been nights where you’ve gotten up to round four, and logan probably could’ve kept going if you weren’t so burnt out. he knows you can’t push the envelope like he can, so he often takes the hints from your body to stop, even if your mouth is saying otherwise. (conscious king)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

not the biggest fan of toys. i can definitely see him using one on you for some overstimulation maybe, but he believes he can do a way better job of pleasing you then some battery operated thing.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

tease is this man’s middle name. logan loves seeing you get hot under the collar, and he knows exactly how to do it. whispering complete and utter filth in your ear in a crowded room, paired with a few rather taunting touches (a hand that lingers too close to your ass or a thumb rubbing at your bottom lip). sauntering around the training room and your living quarters shirtless like a slut. just doing things he knows get you going, simply because he can. especially when it leads to the same thing every time; you naked in his bed.

he cannot handle when the roles are reversed. just like he knows how to push your buttons, you know exactly where to push his. and if there’s one thing logan doesn’t have, it’s self control. so when you start teasing? just know you’re playing a dangerous game you’re likely not going to win.

V = Volume (how loud are they, etc.)

definitely a loud groaner, but doesn’t really make a ton of noise outside of grunting and groaning. logan never shies away from being vocal when it comes to dirty talk though. he’s just too fucking good at it, knowing exactly what to say to make you preen.

“atta girl, look at you. taking me so well.”

“come on baby, put that pretty mouth on me.”

“you like that huh? that’s my good fucking girl.”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

logan would never share; threesomes are off the table. but he’s is nothing if not cocky, and having someone else watch while he fucks your brains out, just seems…enticing. that’s kind of why he’s so shameless about where he fucks you, because there’s a secret part of him that wants to get caught so he can show off just how good he treats his girl.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under the clothes)

i think we can all collectively agree that man is BIG. the biggest you’ve ever had, and probably the biggest you ever will have. no one can compare to his impressive length, and he knows it.

(i refuse to elaborate because i gotta be honest chat, i cannot go into detail about a man’s penis i just can’t)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

that man is ready to go 24/7; his sex drive is high. significantly higher than the average person that’s for sure. logan says it’s because you’re “insatiable” but you both know it’s just another side effect of his mutation (one that he accepts with open arms.)

Z = Zzzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

considering logan’s sleep issues, i don’t see him conking out quickly after you’ve done the deed. i do however, see him being much more relaxed and at peace. his nightmares are unpredictable, but logan always finds that after spending the night with you, they’re not as intense. he can eventually drift off into slumber with a little less anxiety, and his whole world in his arms.

thanks for reading!

p.s. sfw version coming soon <3

[vibingandsimping]

More random intimate positions/scenarios! Pt.2

Morally grey/villain characters this time!

Forewarnings: Dark content… including things like ownership, stalking, gore + obsession. Some pure fluff though :)

(I apologize for this being considerably longer compared to the others. I have been playing some more plus researching the lore. I feel more confident in my understanding of the characters and my writing.)

Gortash had his fingers wrapped around your chin as he beckoned you to look at him. You’re sat in his lap with your hands rested atop his shoulders. His expression is content with how closely pressed you are to his body. He could savor your warmth and read you so intimately. His brown eyes meet yours with a certain warmth laced in all the unwavering dominance. His lips quirk into a smirk as he watches your poorly built facade begin to crumble. His spare hand runs along the small of your back slowly… beckoningly. He'd be the hero of Baldurs Gate soon. He'd have all the power he dreamt of as a boy. Don't you wish to share that with him? His chest purrs when you keen into his touch. Good. He knew you could be a pretty thing for him. Such a formidable foe and he’d have you right by his side.

Minthara had her arms wrapped around your frame protectively. No matter how large or small you were in comparison. She was determined to hold you and plant some sort of reassurance into you. The way she regarded you was not that of any other. No, you were special to her and the woman realized it may not be so clear. She may be a cruel and a standard "drow", but beyond that there was an affection for you within her heart. She plants a kiss against the back of your shoulder-blades and it draws a shudder. Her muscles tighten around you as she presses her face into your shoulder, hot breath washing the junction of your neck and the flesh of your shoulder. You resist a second shudder. Unbeknownst to you, she’d follow you even if it was fruitless. Nothing was shaking her now that she was wrapped around you.

Orin's blade travels down your chest. It was gentle yet sharp... she wasn't particularly aiming to harm you but the thin streak of blood was enticing. The wound was so shallow it barely bubbled- just enough to alert her she broke the skin. Everything about the way she gazed at you was unhinged. You knew if she had pupils they'd be dilated. She draws her face downwards and laps at the tender flesh while you draw a shaky inhale. The whispers of praise and wishes for more barely reached your ears beyond the thrum of your heart. The slimy feel of her tongue worming it’s way up to your collarbones hitch your breath and you watch carefully. Each movement breeds more anticipation- she was soaking in your torment. She was wicked, truly, she devoted herself to you. You’d never understand her… but did you have to?

Ketheric’s hand laced with yours as you walked to his side. He was laid on his throne with open thighs as he acknowledged your presence. The man was aged and once a father. Well, technically still but Isobel regarded him with disowning. He long burned that bridge from his desperation and despair. You entered his life and turned things around. Everyone in Moonrise had never seen him so soft since he lost his daughter and wife. You took a seat on one of his thighs as he drew your hand to his face. His lips planted a gentle kiss on the back of your hand and then along your wrist. His beard tickled and caused you laugh, struggling against his hold as he stubbornly refused to let you go. When he finally did his lips were quirked upwards and there was a twinkling in his eye. He never thought he’d take a lover again… so he was glad when you broke down his walls. He’d once curse you for being persistent but now he’d praise you for it.

Raphael tugs on the invisible leash that was wrapped around your neck. You jerk forward on the bed as you kneeled with palms balancing you on the lush fabric. His wings were on grand display as his typically slicked hair tussled ever so slightly. Expression dark and expectant as you slowly crawled toward him. His brows furrowed as he tutted impatiently, a leg swinging out to hook around your thigh and jerk it underneath you. You collapsed as he drew you towards him with little patience. You now sprawled across his lower abdomen and crotch as his chest rumbles in amusement. Your skin burned with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. The hold he had on you, literally and figuratively, elicited a deep part of your brain. One that wished so carnally to be claimed… to be owned. Raphael would see to that, he promised, with one hand stroking your hair. You were such a sweet thing… and if you weren’t so persistent he’d lock you up for himself.

Kar’niss thought of you as a blessing. Truly, a drider like him didn’t deserve such an angel. He was supposed to be punished for all eternity for his shortcomings. He failed once and will never see to being a normal drow again. That’s why it didn’t make sense for him to be rewarded- but who is he to look at a gift with ungratefulness? He always holds you so tenderly… his body shockingly cold. He’s restless today, you note, as his eight legs skitter and his hands curl at you. There’s a flittering look in his face. A hunger he tried to conceal. When you question, he answers truthfully, drider need to feed on blood to survive. Every four days or he’d succumb to weakness and eventually die an empty husk. You offer yourself and he checks you for any hesitancy before diving in. He pierces the flesh with his sharp nails before indulging in the crimson that flowed. Between suckles and licks, he praises you for your generosity. Endless ‘thank you’s’ flow as much as your blood. He’s sure he’d never fallen deeper in love… or was it infatuation?

Haarlep knew their affection for you was essentially forbidden. Raphael handed you as a toy to them. Nothing more and nothing less- they should regard you only for his entertainment. They somehow found themselves wanting to indulge in your mind rather than your flesh after some time. It was your softness that first stunned them and foiled their pure-desire. Raphael never touched themself with such… they could barely find the word. Gentleness? Regard? They’d lay with you after your shared bliss and inch their nails down the side of your hip as you detailed your life. With a hand propping their head; they seemed enchanted. Mesmerized by how simple yet complex of a creature you were to them. Haarlep was a succubus and spent their life serving that purpose. They almost felt jealous of the freedom you held in life. They couldn’t help but find themselves fantasizing a life where you two lived in better circumstances. It was all a fantasy, though, they knew it with a bittersweetness.

Durge had always watched you from afar. Stalking, following and admiring. You caught their gaze amongst the crowd as they deliberately chose their next victim. You would’ve been easy. You didn’t hold yourself with a particular air in the ranks of Baldur’s Gate. Another citizen lost to the crazed killings of a maniac. It wasn’t until you’d noticed you had a secret admirer did your hackles raise. You could feel a pair of eyes on you at the most inopportune times. Then, came the letters at your doorstep detailing how they defied their nature. You could’ve been another hung corpse but instead they wished to wrap their mind around your heart and their lips amongst your neck. A shiver ran through you… a mix of disgust and a strange intrigue? Surely it was the way the letters were so detailed and deranged. You would’ve ignored it all until the stalking emboldened. You saw their figure in the window at night and through the alleyways. It was only a matter of time before they struck and claimed you as theirs. You’d simply have to keep an eye over your shoulder and hold a dagger close. If you could even strike them, that was.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Jay Halstead NSFW Alphabet 

This is a small apology for my hyper-fixation on my Rewind, Remix, & Replay (Burgstead story). I know it’s not a common pairing or a reader insert but it has been so much fun to write. I’m totally hooked on the couple. If you have any interest you can check it out HERE. 

 Anyway, enjoy some sexy Jay Halstead content! (I forgot how long these take to write) 

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) 

Jay is all about aftercare. He will only leave the bed to clean himself and you up, or grab you something if you need it. Jay’s favorite way to give you aftercare is through physical touch. He wants to hold you, kiss your skin, tangle his finger in your hair. He wants the intimacy of having pillow talk or the playfulness of wrestling around or tickling you until you are begging him to stop.  

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) 

Jay’s favorite body part of himself is his hands. They are rough and calloused from hard work and his time carrying around a gun in the desert. They can hold a sniper rifle and make perfect aim as well as run through your hair when you lay together in bed, or pull an orgasm out of you as you ride his fingers. 

Jay’s favorite part of you if asked would be everything. He loves your body and always claims he can’t pick just one part of you to be his favorite. But you have noticed his fixation on your ass. He is always slapping it as he walks by, grabbing it during sex, or sliding his hand into your back pocket. He had even bit your ass a few times when he had the opportunity. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) 

Jay loves to come inside of you, it makes him feel connected to you. He will stay inside of your tight warm core until he goes soft. When he finally pulls out he likes to watch his come drip out of you and down your thighs mixing with the wetness of your arousal. He will clean the sticky mess but takes gratification in knowing that his DNA will linger on you long after he has wiped it away.    

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) 

One of Jay’s favorite things is to be woken up by you giving him head. There is just something about starting his day with his cock in your mouth. He doesn’t even care if it's just a warm-up and you guys end up finishing with sex.  

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) 

Jay has plenty of sexual experience. While Jay prefers committed long-term relationships, he had his Casanova days in his early twenties and after bad breakups. He has learned and perfected how to please a woman. But Jay knows that no woman's body is the same and he makes it his mission to learn how to please you.          

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) 

Jay’s favorite position is with you on top. He likes watching you bounce on his cock. Your breast in his face with easy access to his mouth. His hands can grab your hips or ass to urge you on.  He can kiss you and rub slow circles on your clit. He can let you take charge letting the pleasure roll over him or he can rock up into you to meet your thrusts.   

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) 

Jay can be goofy during sex. He likes the banter your relationship has and it often leaks into the bedroom. Sassy comments or jokes can have you both laughing into each other's kisses. Once or twice you had got each other laughing so hard that you had to take a break mid sex to catch your breath.  

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) 

Jay keeps himself trimmed for the sake of hygiene when he is single. When he is busy it drops low on his list of worries well below food and sleep. When he is in a relationship, he is more on top of it making sure it stays in his normal routine. He is more aware of the length of his facial stubble too. He doesn’t want to leave you with a constant healing beard burn. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) 

Jay wants intimacy in his relationships. It’s not romantic in the normal aspect of flowers and fancy dates. It’s getting to know you, the banter you share, the drag of his stubble against your skin as he kisses every inch of your body. It’s being tangled together naked afterwards sharing soft kisses. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) 

Jay was in the military for years so he knows how to jack off quick and efficiently. Jay doesn’t masturbate a lot. He does it more for stress relief than anything else. He usually does it while in the shower for quicker cleanup. If he is in a relationship, he will get himself off if you are not in the mood, but he has to go without for a while before he even considers it.    

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) 

Jay likes to have sex in public places. The threat of getting caught makes the experience more thrilling. He also has a praise kink. He wants to know how good he is making you feel. He loves to see you flush with his praises and tell you what a good girl you are.  

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) 

Jay's favorite place to have sex with you is on the bed. There is plenty of room to do an array of positions with the comfort of a soft mattress and sheets. Jay is also a sucker for having sex with you pressed against walls. Whether it's your hands holding yourself up as he pounded into you from behind or your legs wrapped around his waist nails digging into his shoulders. Jay is also a fan of having sex in semi-public spots- he enjoys the thrill of almost getting caught. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) 

Jay is pretty easy to get in the mood. Flirty banter, heated looks, and caressing touches will pull his mind to dirtier things. Jay is a visual man so seeing you in lingerie or his clothes is a big turn-on. The two of you pulled an all-nighter when you were draped across his bed in nothing but one of his flannels unbuttoned, red lipstick, and his dog tags hanging between your breasts.   

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) 

Jay will not do anything that could cause you physical harm. He is okay with spanking, restraining, and even some light choking- leaving little bruises and love bites but never wants to cross the line where something could actually hurt you. Jay is very monogamous. That along with his possessiveness and jealousy makes the idea of another person joining you guys in bed an immediate no.   

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) 

Jay has a talent with his tongue and it’s not just for his sassy smartass remarks. His oral skills are otherworldly. He can get you off in a matter of minutes with just his mouth if he isn’t in a teasing mood. He is a fan of using his fingers too. If his mouth or fingers can make you feel pleasure on their own, how much will you receive with both? Jay doesn’t like to stop when he starts either. Your legs are shaking and have come twice already and are edging on overstimulation. You’ll just have to wait until he is finished. 

Jay loves receiving as much as he enjoys giving. He will thread his finger through your hair pulling it back into a ponytail. He likes to tug the strands but mostly it makes it easier to see your eyes. It does something to him to see you on your knees, your face flushed, cheeks hollowed, sucking on his cock eyes locked with his. Jay likes to thrust into your mouth and loves it when you swallow but he will never force you to do either and will give you a warning before comes.   

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

Jay knows there is a time and place for both. He leans towards the more rougher side pace. The friction of your bodies together, the bouncing of your breast, his hips snapping against yours. There are days that he wants slow intimate lovemaking. He will lay you down and worship every inch of your body, caressing all your dips and curves. He will rock into purposefully letting you feel every inch of his cock rubbing inside of you.  

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) 

Jay loves quickies. Life is busy and there isn’t always a lot of time for long drawn-out sex. If an opportunity arises for a quick fuck he almost always says yes. He had on more than one occasion locked the two of you in a bar bathroom, hushing you as he fucked you from behind. He likes the thrill of not having a lot of time and having a chance of being caught.  

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) 

Jay is a risk taker, the man has spent years in the army and likes a good adrenaline rush. He is down to try any position you can find or come up with. Jay likes to have sex in public, he likes the risk of being caught. It’s a challenge for him- can he get you off or fuck you while keeping you quiet enough to not get caught? Can he turn you on enough for you not to care if you do?  

You guys have got caught once in a bar parking lot. Luckily the person in question didn’t know you were having sex and just thought you were making out heavily. You were still fully clothed except for your panties. The skirt of your dress was spread over his lap covering the fact that he was buried deep inside of you. Both of you were so turned on that you continued with minimal thought after the person had made it to their car. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) 

Jay has a high stamina. He is more willing to give up sleep to pull an all-night sexathon. If you are up for another round, most likely so is he. He just needs fifteen to thirty minutes for his refractory period. He is more than willing to keep you warm up with oral, fingerfucking, or just making out with caressing touches. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) 

Jay isn’t a huge fan of toys. He won’t be offended if you ask to use them with him or add them to your sex play. He will use them and use them well but he would rather get you off himself. He is more into restraints and blindfolding his partners.  

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) 

While Jay is a massive flirter and likes to tease you outside of the bedroom, he isn’t a big teaser sexually. He is a complete pleasure junky- your pleasure. He wants to make you feel good and is more likely to overstimulate you with orgasms than to edge you with teasing. He does it occasionally when he feels like you are being a brat and needs to be taught a lesson.     

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) 

Jay isn’t necessarily loud but he is a groaner when he has sex. He likes to dirty talk in bed and loves to make you moan as loud as he can. You can get him to be pretty loud too with the right encouragement. Mostly it is a string of curses that turn into moans as you clench around him.  

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) 

Right after Jay returned from deployment he was touch starved. He didn’t feel like himself enough to build new relationships or even maintain old ones. He spent his first few months bouncing from one girl's bed to the next using a fake name. During that period the sex felt mechanical and didn’t do much for him but it did give him the physical contact that he was craving. He would completely wear his partner out so he could lay there and hold them after they fell asleep. Unfortunately, it never really helped barely taking the itch away. He often left their beds feeling more empty and isolated than before.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 

Jay has an athletic build, and his body all smooth lean muscles. He has strong arms and broad shoulders. He had a washboard stomach with six-pack abs and a cut V of his hips. Jay is above average in the length of his cock easily hitting six and a half inches when he is hard. His dick is on the slender side but still thick enough that it takes your body time to adjust to him when he first slides in.    

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) 

Jay has a high sex drive. He would prefer to have sex three to four times a week if you are willing. He is insatiable when he comes back from long UC operations. He can’t keep his hands off you or his lips to himself. When he is working bad cases or is having PTSD flashbacks his sex drive tends to drop drastically or cause dry spells.     

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

Jay wants to make sure you are taken care of after you have sex so he stays up until he is sure you have gotten the aftercare you need. He enjoys basking in his relaxed state, clear mind, and tired body, after his orgasm for as long as he can. You usually fall asleep first unless it has been a multiple-round night and you are curled up with him. Jay is a light sleeper from his time in the army and will wake up if you get up or move around too much in your sleep.  

[flowerandblood]

The Man in the Black Mask

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, assassination attempt, mention of the murder of multiple people, descriptions of murders ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his 'ghosts', a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard

Lady Walford Moodboard

Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Lips | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Her father, the King, only realised how many enemies he had after a man dared to attack her while she was strolling around the fair during one of her walks. He wanted to get closer to her and slipped a dagger out from behind his cloak − if it hadn't been for the woman selling fish and her shouting, she wouldn't have noticed him or the steel gleaming in his hand.

She did what any other person in her position would have done, which is to say, she screamed in terror, stepping back, bumping into a wooden makeshift table full of vegetables, which toppled over with her − the assassin gave up at the last moment, terrified by the sudden outbreak of panic, and disappeared among the crowd.

Some elderly man helped her up, the knights of her father's guard rode up on horseback, alarmed by these frightened noises. One of them, Ser Lucas, her father's friend from his youth and the great rebellion furrowed his brow as he saw her face.

"Princess?"

She wasn't sure if her father was more furious with her or with the man who had tried to attack her. He commented on her irresponsibility and disobedience, her recklessness, and expressed outrage that her guards had not even noticed how she had escaped them.

"I just wanted to see the fair, my King." She said in a trembling voice without looking at him; she stood before him with her hair loose, wearing a beautiful navy blue gown with sleeves that reached to the ground − her shoulders were bare, on her hips a delicate golden belt made up of tiny eyes in which sapphires were framed.

"That's enough." He said agitated and impatient, raising his hand in a gesture of frustration, his dark hair and beard adding to his seriousness, his brow furrowed in anger. "Until you learn prudence, one of my ghosts will not leave your side."

She looked at him, horrified, and then turned her gaze to the man standing beside him, a few steps behind his throne, his figure hidden completely in shadow. He was dressed all in black, a hood over his head and a black mask on which a single tear was outlined under his right eye.

It was said that it was molded so that the people they were killing would have the feeling that they had compassion for them, that they were just a tool used by someone else.

People called them ghosts because they weren't seen on a daily basis – or at least that's what it was believed. They were forbidden to take off their mask or speak to anyone but her father, and were his principal emissaries that found his enemies, invigilated them and killed them.

Since the days of the rebellion and the overthrow of the earlier king, her father was perpetually in fear of an attempt on his or his children's lives, so he found, she supposed, people desperate or fond of killing, those who owed him everything and had no reason to betray them.

She passed and saw them extremely rarely, only during sumptuous feasts in the company of guests or gatherings of magnates from all over the country.

They stood then by her father's side, as always in the shadows, though invisible, constantly reminding her of their presence with their very posture, menacing and stony, the people around them afraid to look at them.

She didn't know how many of them there were in total; they were almost identical and differed only in height, besides that they wore the same clothes, masks, hoods and black leather gloves, probably to avoid staining their skin with blood.

The thought that someone like that was to accompany and guard her sent shivers down her spine − she had feared that her father would now know of her every move, that she would never leave the fortress again.

She lowered her gaze, saying no more, listening to his orders to find the man who had attacked her, whom she had described in detail to the other ghosts.

She left, feeling that if she stayed there another moment she would vomit.

It seemed to her that these black hooded figures were sucking the life out of everyone around them, that they were a walking harbinger of death and misery.

That night she heard his voice for the first time.

Her guards were outraged when he dismissed them.

"You are not a King, by what right do you command us?" Asked one of them, a cold, deep, mocking voice answered them.

"Shall I inform the King that not only are you incapable of guarding his daughter, but you refuse to obey his orders?"

She heard someone's growl and an unclear voice full of impatience, the clack of steel and armour proving that they had walked away − she was left alone with the cold murderer outside her door.

She pressed her lips together, felt her eyes burning due to the gathering tears at the realization that she had never felt more alone and abandoned than she did now.

She wriggled in bed, as she did every day, unable to fall asleep. It was raining loudly outside and she looked towards the window, seeing nothing but darkness. She felt small and even though she was lying under several thick furs, she was cold.

She rose slowly, putting a soft cashmere shawl over her shoulders, lighting a candle that illuminated her chamber with a pleasant, warm glow.

There is a man behind that mask, she thought.

He was not a ghost.

If she made any kind of bond with him, she would stop being afraid of him.

She walked to her door and stood in front of it for a long moment, feeling her heart pounding hard and fast. She swallowed hard and opened it with a loud creak of old wood.

Her candle instantly illuminated his figure − he was standing exactly opposite her door, leaning against the wall with his hands clasped in front of him. She wondered if he was asleep in that position, but after a moment she noticed something behind the translucent black material in the area cut out for his eyes, a blue iris staring at her.

She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he would move, but he stood like a statue − it seemed to her as if he were made of stone.

Was he supposed to stand like that all the time?

Her father had told her that he would gift her his one ghost.

Would they be exchanging? After all, he had to sleep at some point.

"What's your name?" She asked uncertainly, softly, wanting to sound as open and honest as possible.

Silence.

A long one.

"How am I supposed to address you if I don't know what your name is?" She asked again, looking at him pleadingly, asking him to let her at least get a little closer to him, to be able to give him humanity.

Silence.

She pressed her lips together and thought something else would make him speak.

"Should I complain to the king about you not answering my questions?" She asked lowly, wrinkling her eyebrows, wondering where she had got the courage to speak to this man in this way. A shudder went through her when she heard him let out a breath, as if he had given up, resigned.

"Call me any name you see fit." He said in a low, deep, indifferent tone, as if the fact that he had to speak to her frustrated him incredibly and he didn't understand what she wanted from him.

She felt a tightening in her throat at the thought that there was no more human thing than being given a name − it was the first thing given to a child at birth, and he renounced it.

"Shall I name you?" She asked shaking her head, not understanding what he was implying − he turned his face to the side, despite the mask she could feel the growing impatience beating from him.

"Yes. My Princess." He added after a moment, his words razor-sharp, cool, angry, mocking. She had the impression that he treated her interest as something completely unnecessary − apparently it suited him to remain in the shadows and he had no intention of coming out of it.

She looked at him with pain mixed with disappointment and thought he reminded her of one of the horrific mythological beasts her mother had once read to her about before bed, a great mighty dragon that sowed death and destruction.

"Vhagar."

She heard the word she had spoken echoed, followed only by the sound of rain, and felt that there was something final in what she had done.

"I will always treat you with respect and I will never make you do anything to humiliate you or offend your good name." She choked out with difficulty, wanting him to understand that they were condemned to each other and that this in itself was a misfortune, however, it would be even more so if they both pretended that he didn't exist, that he was just her shadow that followed her everywhere.

He did not respond.

She closed herself back into her chamber only walking towards her bed feeling that her legs were trembling. She lay down on her bed covering herself with thick furs, frozen and terrified, closing her eyes, praying to the gods to show her mercy.

That they would not lock her away in this cold, stone fortress forever until her father claimed to have found a suitable candidate for her to marry.

As she did every day, she also prayed for someone else.

Someone who had lived in this chamber before her.

The next day she got up awake, a terrible headache accompanying her from the moment she opened her eyes. She sat down at the table, covering herself with her shawl − overnight the wood in her fireplace had burned out.

She lifted her gaze as she heard the door to her chamber open, her servants entering with golden trays on which they served her breakfast.

She saw Vhagar follow them inside, his hands entwined behind his back − it seemed to her that his footsteps made no sound, that he could sneak up on someone silently.

"You're supposed to taste everything first." He said to one of them dryly and emotionlessly − the girl looked at him apprehensively, clearly already knowing stories of men of his ilk and what they did.

"My Lord?" She choked out, clearly not understanding what he was asking her.

"Anything the Princess wants to eat or drink − you are to taste it first. This is how it will be from now on with everything you bring her. Do you understand?" He asked coolly and insistently, and she nodded, lowering her gaze, pale.

"Is this necessary, Vhagar?" She asked looking at him with a furrowed brow − he turned his face towards her but answered nothing. He looked back at her servant after a moment.

"Begin."

"I've lost my appetite. Take this away. You can eat it all, let it not go to waste." She said raising her hand, allowing them to leave turning her head to the side, looking blankly at her wardrobe standing on the other side of the chamber.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that he hadn't moved from his spot, that he was looking at her, his aura giving her shivers.

She knew he was about to say something.

"My Princess…" He started and she turned her face towards him. "…are you going to eat your meal, or do I have to shove it down your throat?"

She looked at him with huge eyes, feeling her heart pounding fast.

She thought with horror that he was mad.

"That is all, Vhagar. You may leave." She said in an unobjectionable voice, clasping her hands in her lap, trying to hide how much they were trembling.

He stared at her, his black tear-streaked mask seeming even more frightening and mocking to her, cold and lifeless.

"Mmm." He hummed, though it sounded more like a purr, bowed barely visibly and left her chamber.

She let out a loud breath, burying her face in her hands, feeling a desperate burbling in her stomach from hunger, thinking that she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him dominate her life, ordering her servants around, locking her in a cage.

She asked her servants to help her dress − she put on this time a light-coloured gown with a fine gold belt around her hips made up of tiny chains, some of her hair pinned back in a bun, some falling down her bare back, her sleeves reaching all the way to the ground.

She walked out of her chamber without looking at him, without telling him where she was going, hearing that he immediately moved to follow her.

Her shadow.

She saw the ladies of the court looking at her, terrified of who was accompanying her, as if she were being followed by death itself − people turned their faces away and froze in silence, not knowing what to do, how to react to this unwanted sight.

She headed for the main castle library hearing him enter behind her − he stopped at the door when it slammed behind them, standing in front of it with his hands folded behind his back.

She was starving and decided to distract her mind with some reading. She picked up a few books on the history of her kingdom, sitting down at one of the large oak tables right by the window to get more light. She opened one of the books in front of her, looking for the chapter that interested her.

"You may sit down, Vhagar." She said dispassionately, not wanting him to think she expected him to stand there like some stone pillar, but he didn't move from his place.

An hour passed before he spoke to her, snapping her out of her reverie.

"You need to eat." He communicated a little more softly than before − she felt him looking at her, but she did not lift her gaze to him, uninterested.

"My servants will not taste my food. You yourself watch the cooks and what they put on my platters." She replied with reserve, answered by a long silence.

"Very well."

She looked up at him, sighing quietly, his face turned towards her − she knew what was the reason for his impatience, what he was afraid of.

What would the King think if it turned out that under his watch she had begun to refuse food and starve herself? How would that reflect on him as her protector?

She rose from her seat, putting her books slowly back on the shelf, returning to her chamber without changing another word with him.

As she sat down to supper with her father, her younger brother, and his closest associates, the King immediately asked her what she thought of her new sworn protector, who stood behind her chair right next to the wall, as usual, hidden completely in the shadows.

She swallowed loudly a piece of the roast she had just had in her mouth, noticing with a kind of discomfort that her father spoke of him as if he had given her a thing, not a man.

"Thank you, Father, I do indeed feel safer in his presence." She lied, clutching the wine cup in her hand and taking a loud sip from it, wanting to end the subject quickly.

The King nodded, looking impatiently to his confidant secretary, a companion to all the major battles won during the rebellion.

"Has Prince Aemond's body been found at last? It's been eight years, for goodness sake." He said sternly, impatient; as far as she understood, only his body of the entire Targaryen family had not been found after the great massacre that had taken place in the fortress where they were now feasting.

Lord Ronan grunted loudly, shifting in his seat, blinking rapidly as if thinking of what to answer.

"We are getting closer, my King. We're searching the city's underground, likely to find his corpse soon. The cut of the sword fell right on his face, he couldn't have survived that." He said with a certainty that was filled with the need to sound as convincing as possible, which did not escape her or her father attention.

She lowered her gaze, setting down her cup with a loud clang of steel on the wooden tabletop, looking down at her plate, losing her appetite completely.

The entire royal family slaughtered in their beds after her father at the head of the army stormed into the fortress, elected by the people to rule after the inept reign of King Viserys.

"With apologies, I will retire to my chamber. My King. My Prince. My Lords." She said bowing in turn and moved ahead, not waiting for her father's permission − she heard rustling behind her, she knew her ghost had not left her side.

They walked in silence through the dark corridors of the fortress illuminated only by the warm light of torches − she knew the way to her chamber by heart. Her mind, however, was elsewhere, wondering what would happen if Prince Aemond lived.

If he came in with his army and slit their throats as her father had done to his family.

She stood in front of the door to her chamber, glancing up at his tall black figure towering over her like a cold shadow.

"Thank you for your devotion, Vhagar. Rest now." She said turning her head and opened the door, but stood in half step, surprised to hear his voice behind her.

"How does it feel to sleep where she slept?" He asked with a kind of excitement, as if the thought of it gave him satisfaction.

She felt her heart start pounding like mad, a cold sweat on her back at the thought of Princess Helaena bleeding to death in the bed she was now sleeping in.

She looked up at him − in the light of the torch she could see through the black fabric his blue irises, his pupil looking at her in such a way that she had the impression that he was a predator who was looking at his prey, whose entrails he was about to tear apart.

She was silent for a long moment.

"Horrible." She said dispassionately lowering her gaze.

"I imagine her lying in my place and all I can think about is that the same thing will happen to me one day." She muttered, feeling his heavy gaze on her − there was some kind of tension between them, though she didn't know why. "I pray every day for her forgiveness."

"Ghosts do not forgive." He said coldly, as if stating some foreboding, indisputable fact − she looked at him with a pained expression, furrowing her brow.

"What else can I do?" She asked in a trembling voice, but got no answer, his black mask with a tear running down his cheek looked at her indifferently.

"Sleep well, Princess."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[ynscrazylife]

THE BAT IN THE SHADOWS 🦇🕸️ — CHAPTER THREE

Summary: Bruce Wayne is the happiest he’s ever been in a while. He has a beautiful wife, amazing children, and is stopping crime left and right as Batman. All that shatters when you, his wife, mysteriously disappears.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x Wife!Reader, Batfamily x Batman!Reader, Avengers x Reader (Platonic)

Series Masterlist

It takes quite a lot to confuse Batman. Yet here he stood, reduced to speechlessness, as he stared at the odd group in front of him. The woman called herself Black Widow, said she was looking for his wife. Bruce thought he would’ve remembered if you mentioned anyone like this before.

“Then you’ve come to the right place. I’m also looking for her. How do you know Y/N?” Bruce asked, crossing his arms. They didn’t seem to be . . . Evil, but he had no clue who the hell they were or what you had to do with it and that was very annoying.

Black Widow glanced at her friends and another one of them, a man in bulky, flashy red armor, stepped up. “We used to be on a team together. Years ago. Until a mission went wrong and . . . She disappeared. I guess she landed here,” he said.

This did not help at all. In fact, it only made Bruce more confused. He was positive that you never mentioned working on a team before. “How long ago is ‘years ago’?” He asked next.

“About five now,” Black Widow answered.

Bruce felt like he was being slapped in the face. He had met you five years ago, when you were a rookie officer. You and he dated for two years, then married, and you were so skilled that you made detective within four years. Could this really be true?

“How can I trust you?” Bruce asked.

The group all looked at each other, seemingly coming to this conclusion that this masked man had a connection to you. Then, the archer pulled a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, passing it to Bruce. He stared down at it, shocked to find that it was a photo. It was all these people, at some party, and . . . You. You were definitely younger, but it was clearly you, smiling and holding a drink.

Willing his hands not to shake, Bruce looked up at them. “I have a lot of questions,” he said bluntly.

“So do we,” the armored man said. “What do you mean that you’re also looking for her? Isn’t she here?”

Bruce took a deep breath, thankful that the mask covered his face, otherwise they’d see the tears pooling in his eyes. “She was abducted a few days ago,” he replied, forcing his voice to be steady.

“That explains the weird signal I detected,” another man said. He had a beard, a cape and looked like some sort of wizard.

Yeah, Bruce had a shit ton of questions.

//

It took some time for parties, the Avengers and Bruce, to get to really talking. They both had to give up information they’d rather not to learn more about the person they all cared about. The Avengers explained that you used to be on their team, until you went missing on a mission like they mentioned earlier. They said they scoured the world for you, until consulting with the wizard guy over here (who called himself Doctor Strange, Bruce didn’t comment on the weird name).

Doctor Strange said that he detected a signal not long after you had disappeared and, with his magic, found out what it meant: you were off-world. In a whole other universe. They’d been scouring the multiverse (which Bruce almost needed to sit down for a second after hearing), until finding a similar signal a few days ago which led them here.

So that meant . . . Both signals gave your last known location, told them that you had been taken. The first one was from the universe that the Avengers were from and the second was from this one, the one where Bruce made a life with you.

He was still utterly perplexed and didn’t completely trust them, but that picture . . . The timeline . . . It was tugging at something inside him. Bruce admitted that he had known you for these past five years, though he didn’t outright admit that you two were married. He was going to hold that fact close for as long as possible.

Finally, the Avengers led Bruce back to the point of origin, where they arrived in the forest. The masked man turned it all upside down, sadly not finding anything that could help.

But . . . He did have something they could help with.

“I don’t really want to do this,” he admitted, turning back around to face them. “But this is my only choice. My only clue to find Y/N. If I find that you’re messing with me . . .”

“We’re not,” a man, about Bruce’s height, looking like the American flag, said sternly.

Bruce sighed, forcing his shoulders to drop. “I have some footage to show you,” he said, really hoping that he wasn’t going for regret this.

//

As soon as the Avengers saw the footage of the store from earlier, Black Widow went pale.

“No, no, no . . . This . . . They’re inactive. This is impossible,” she said, gritting her teeth. Hawkeye placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as all eyes turned to her.

“What?” Bruce asked, his tone sharp and unforgiving.

“Play it again,” she snapped, leaning in close to the computer.

Bruce glared, but complied, restarting the video.

She took in a sharp breath, crossing her arms. “These people . . . Their uniforms, their behavior. It has the Red Room written all over them,” she said, as it dawned on the Avengers how serious this was.

“The Red Room? What the hell is that?” Bruce asked, his patience wearing thin.