#bristle scrub brushes

[straydogged]

feeling. so overwhelmed by something and like theres a scream building in my throat and I don't understand why I'm on the verge of tears

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

y’all I hate to say it but that stupid brush that’s been going around tiktok actually works

[allticklingallthetime]

well, I’m sorry but somebody~ wrote on your foot and we gotta get it clean. that means a little scrubbing. here, I can help you hold still if you need me to

[tarmac-rat]

Funny things that I think probably happen with cyberware more often than Pondsmith and CDPR would write in the text but I just think they're neat if only from a wordbuilding perspective:

Hair getting caught in your deep dive port when you try to plug the link in.

Your sleeves getting stuck in the seams of your arm cyberware when the mechanisms retract back in.

Mantis blades accidentally shredding your long sleeves when you flex them.

A ripperdoc not having your exact shade of skintone on your new limb, and telling you to wait to get it replaced while it's on backorder.

Blue Screen of Death on netrunner 'ware.

Needing to register the new fingerprints on your hand if you get it replaced with a cybernetic, and the complications of having two hands that might not match up printwise.

People 'tattooing' the chromed parts of their body via laser engraving.

Metal plating getting so hot during the summer that you accidentally burn yourself trying to scratch your nose.

Forgetting to deslot shards and accidentally carrying them around in your head for a week.

Needing to clean the gunk out of your mantis blades or projectile launcher at home, so you flex it open and scrub at it with a bunch of paper towels or a bristle brush for an hour.

Rust and tarnish cleaner being a staple in home cyberware maintenance.

Actually buying projectile launcher rounds.

Someone starting a Mythbusters/Jackass style TV show about cyberware ("Hey gang! Today we're asking 'Is it possible to punch through a 3-foot cinderblock wall using only seven-gen Gorilla Fists?'")

Just generally playing with your personal link. Strumming it. Spinning it. Thwacking people with it. Built in fidget toy.

[princessbrunette]

frat!gooner!rafe is weird and icky.

occasionally he’ll follow you into the bathroom at his place, crowding you from behind with his hands on your hips so you don’t shut the door in his face as he eases you into the room to do your business. you’re used to him, unbothered as ever as you innocently pull your panties down and pee in the toilet, the watchful boy stood before you with a wide stance in grey sweats and parted lips, staring at the little pudge of pubic meat that peeks from between your legs.

the sound of your tinkle fills the room as you swing your legs, looking up at him curiously. “cute… can hear how tight you are just from the sound…” he has no shame in the way he says it, looking down right at you as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. for something said in such a flirtatious way he sure was off putting at times. “you ever like… pee’d… pee’d on a dick while its fuckin’ you?” his voice is rasped, drawled, like he’s already horny at just the mere thought. you shake your head.

“only ever had sex with you, remember?” you blink dolly eyelashes up at him and he nods, fixing the backwards hat on his head.

“oh shit, yeah. aha…”

only later on he’s following you back into the bathroom to see what else you’ll get up to. it’s later in the evening, and you’ve headed to brush your teeth. when you’re minding your business, the tall fratboy looms over you and takes the toothbrush from your mouth, taking over for you.

he grasps your chin with his fingers, seemingly concentrated as he works the bristles over your teeth. it’s seemingly innocent at first and you even giggle, in which he responds with a distracted ‘hm’ with a smile. but rafe being rafe, he gets carried away fast— making sure to really scrub at your tongue until you’re grasping at his wrist with wide slightly panicked doe eyes and a furrowed brow, toothpaste frothing and drooling out your mouth at the corners as you gag on the plastic device.

“yeah… fuckin’ sexy even like that.” he mutters to himself, before he’s had enough of it and lets go, leaving you coughing and wiping your mouth, departing with a slap on your ass. “hurry up n’ come to bed already.”

he’s also the type to randomly start jerking off whilst the two of you are watching tv. it’s nothing special, you’re rewatching gossip girl and when rafe gets disinterested — he puts his hands down his basketball shorts, thumbing at his cock until it’s hard. he leans his head back, staring at the ceiling in a daze as he does so, and you only notice he’s doing it when he pulls it out, jerking it at its full stiffness.

“rafe!” you widen your eyes, startled. he licks his lips, completely unfazed by your reaction.

“what?” he has the audacity to sound mildly irritated by your surprise. “s’a very normal thing, alright?”

“you just caught me off guard.” you pout, head tilting in curiosity as you watch the way he works his fist over himself, unable to help yourself from mentally taking notes. he looks at you, chest rising and falling with slow deep breaths as he touches himself, and after a few seconds he speaks.

“well are you going to keep staring or do you wanna help me out here? this dick won’t suck itself, fucking unfortunately.”

you shuffle closer, huffing out your nose with a frown. “you know i’ll always help.” you argue at the insinuation and he presses his lips together in a smile, both arms now resting along the back of the couch as you lower yourself between his legs.

“thats why i like you sweetheart. me n’you are just the same, isn’t that right?”

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ 𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 + 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

characters: vox, val, alastor, lucifer warnings: implied smut in some; 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink (+ papi for val), toxic relationships, pet/master dynamic (for alastor), reader is a bit of a brat with vox, implied drugging the night before (val), praise + pet names, fem!reader, reader is carried in val’s words: 2.7k

₊˚⊹ 𝐯𝐨𝐱 ⊹˚₊

You love mornings with your Daddy—truly, you do; love waking up next to him, slow and soft as his fingertips outline your features; love eating breakfast with him, feet kicking back and forth on one of the barstools as he prepares something simple for the two of you, know that he had to pull teeth to get the mornings off of work so he could spend them with you, getting you ready for the day and seeing you off—but there is one part, right at the very end, that you absolutely despise. 

Like everything with Vox, dental hygiene is a meticulous procedure, a rigorous routine with a set of immutable steps to be followed in the exact order Vox has laid them out in—carved into concrete, set in stone.

And, like everything else with Vox, no one knows how to perform them correctly except for him.

Still, it isn’t like you ever make it easy for him.

What else could he expect from his little troublemaker, really?

“Open up.” 

A thumb and a forefinger clamp down on the hinges of your jaw, palm wreathed around your chin, and squeeze, popping your mouth open with practiced efficiency.

“Daddy,” the word comes out as a stringy whine, slightly garbled, face crumpling in petulance. “Dun wanna.” 

Jerking a little in his grasp, you try to pull away from the advancing toothbrush slathered with translucent teal gel, and Vox clicks his tongue. 

“And I don’t care,” he says simply, fingers flexing in warning. “Good little girls need to brush their teeth—especially if they’ve eaten two bowls of sugary cereal for breakfast.” 

“But—”

Vox pulls back, face flattened into something serious. “Do you want cavities eating holes in your teeth?” 

“No—”

“Didn’t think so. Now hold still and let Daddy do this for you, yeah?” 

A groan vibrates on the back of your tongue, but your body goes pliant in his grasp, chin leaning into his pillowy palm.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs to himself, a small smug smile on his face.

Warmth blossoms in your chest, swells your lungs and stretches your ribs as you droop a little more beneath his praise and he chuckles, a fond little melody playing on his tongue, grip tightening infinitesimally. 

And he’s so precise with it all, maneuvers painstakingly perfect as he tilts your head one way, then the other, sure to scrub each tooth thoroughly, bristles scouring in little circular motions as he cleanses.

“Aaaah,” he hums, mimicking the action as he pries his mouth open wider, another praise falling from his lips as you instantly obey, allowing him to reach the molars at the very back of your mouth—brushing on top, on either side, behind, then on top again. 

“Tongue out.” 

Another whine sticks in your throat, brows pushing together and crinkling your forehead, open mouth downturned in a frown with a slight shake of your head, struggling against his hold.

“Come, now,” Vox chastises, but his voice is hard, fortified with a subtle threat. “You were doing so well for me—don’t start acting up, Daddy’s almost done.” 

His gaze holds yours steadily, a single eyebrow raising in question—are you really going to test me?—and you cave, again.

Reluctantly, your tongue unfurls from your mouth, face still scrunched in irritation as he scrapes the bristles across the muscle, working up a healthy lather, refusing to cease until that telltale disgruntled whine claws at your throat, evoking another one of those patronizing little chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying as he tips a glass to your lips, a palm cupped protectively beneath your chin. “Rinse.” 

And, Christ, he loves how fucking obedient you are, even as the urge to misbehave bubbles behind your ribs, lips set in a deep pout as you follow his instructions, swishing a mouthful of water between your cheeks, waiting perfect and patient for his next order. 

“Spit.”

Oh, so compliant, so disciplined you are as you instantly spew blue liquid down the drain, a fierce sense of pride, of ownership, igniting deep within his soul, blazing bright and hot and strong, reflected in the amplified glowing of his eyes.

Your features are still scrunched up in a cute little pout, glaring at him through your lashes, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” A thumb runs along your forehead, attempting to iron out the crease between your brows in a gentle caress.

“It was awful.” 

“Fucking brat.” 

And he just can’t help but laugh out the word, the sting the insult should bring instantly negated by the tender affection it’s smothered in, turned soft and melty on his tongue.

No, you never make such endeavours painless for him, but you do always make them interesting, and for that, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

₊˚⊹ 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐨 ⊹˚₊

It’s late in the afternoon when Val decides it’s time to get up, deep crimson light spilling through the narrow gaps in his thick curtains and painting thin, long strokes across the shag carpet.

He doesn’t bother formally waking you as two of his hands scoop you from the nest of silk and cradle you to his body, chuckling out a coo as you automatically snuggle into his chest, legs latching around his waist. 

The haze of sleep still hangs heavy in your skull, a soft protest grumbled into his skin as he carries you somewhere, lids staying firmly glued shut, body beginning to melt into his again as the bliss of unconsciousness entices you with promises of whimsical dreams and relief from your aching muscles. 

Cold marble stings your bare thighs suddenly, forcing a small jolt through your form, a soft hiss exhaled from between your teeth.

“I know, I know, it’s cold,” Val pacifies, his voice a pleasant fog curling around your cheeks as he leans around you, tinkering with something.  

“Papi,” you whimper, reaching blindly for him, lethargic head falling forward, forehead pressed tightly to his sternum.

“Mmm, I’m here,” he murmurs distractedly, two of his hands still wrapped firmly around your hips as the other set busy themselves with uncapping a tube of toothpaste.

“Wanna go back to bed,” you slur out in a whine, nose nuzzling into his chest, fruitlessly looking for a place to rest your head, dense drowsiness curling the edges of your mind.

“But it’s time to get up, princesa,” he chides gently, a finger tracing the curve of your cheek. “You’ve been asleep for fourteen hours.” 

“M’still tired.” 

A hum of contemplation vibrates at the back of his tongue as a hand twines around your jaw, examining your face this way, then that, before tilting your chin up.

“Maybe I gave you a little too much last night,” he muses to himself through a dark snicker. “It’s kinda cute that you’re still this fucked up, though. Can’t even open your eyes for me, can you?” 

And you try, really, you do, attempting to heft your leaden lids, features screwing up cutely with the immense effort, and Val coos again, as if your intoxication is so pathetically precious—poor little girl can barely handle her Daddy’s drugs! How sweet.

“Well, that’s okay,” he purrs, first pair of hands slipping further beneath his dress shirt—a makeshift nightgown, his favourite nightgown on you—and tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything; Papi will do it for you.” 

A sound of indignation sticks in your throat as you finally pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh light of the bathroom, bleary gaze fixed on the sparkly pink toothbrush in one of his hands, face rumpling into a pout. 

Your lips press into a tight, firm line, sealing your mouth against the rapidly advancing utensil as your eyes slip shut again, weighted with narcotic-laced exhaustion, head shaking in messy little motions.

“C’mon, be co-operative,” the points of his nails dig into your skin, hard enough to leave superficial indents—a warning. “Don’t upset Daddy this early in the day, baby.” 

Wrenching your eyes open again, your nose twitches with a sniffle, chin beginning to quiver.

“But—But—Do I have to?”

“Yes, you have to,” he says, but his voice trembles with the effort to stay calm, to stay pleasant. “Your mouth is very dirty from last night, and it needs to be cleaned.”

A thick torrent of tears rush to cloud your vision, sudden and stinging, a hiccup stuttering your chest. The hand curved around your jaw tightens, yanking your face toward his own, foreheads knocking together.

“Now, open, before I make you open.”

Your jaw falls slack, a slave to his orders, unable to disobey a direct demand from its owner, and Val purrs, something wicked unravelling on his face, smile stretched sharp and sleazy from edge to edge, the glow in his eyes flaring with your instant compliance.

“Good girl.”

₊˚⊹ 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 ⊹˚₊

Alastor, you’ve come to learn, has a plethora of odd regimes; stringently scheduled customs that are non-negotiable, that extend to you, including brushing your teeth. 

It’s become routine, now—habitual, as most things with Alastor are—and your days no longer feel right without it; weird, off, incomplete. 

Because it’s become something of a comfort; something so simple, yet so intimate, something calming and rewarding, something to look forward to—a moment shared between the two of you, twice a day, once at the beginning, and once at the end. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you try tell him, the first time he insists on doing it, trying desperately to look over your shoulder as he ushers you into his ensuite.

“Nonsense!” he waves a hand in dismissal. “It isn’t a problem at all. Now, sit.” 

“Alastor—”

“Sit.” 

With a tiny frown, you perch gingerly on the edge of the bathtub, fingers curling around the rim.

“I’m serious,” you murmur, teeth nibbling superficially at the skin of your lip, wary eyes watching as he flits with practiced ease around the bathroom, a twinge of confusion settling in your chest, something akin to shame sitting thick and bitter on the back of your tongue. “I can do it myself…” 

“I know you can,” he replies simply, focused on depositing a strip of white toothpaste on your toothbrush. 

“Then…” you blink up at him, watching him advance with wide eyes, shoulders shrinking as he blankets you in his shadow. “Why are you doing it for me?” 

Irritation twitches at the edges of his grin, Alastor exhaling a controlled sigh.

“Because,” he begins, keeping his voice light, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb. “A good Master takes proper care of his pet.” 

His grip strengthens, tilting your face up further, his form looming over your own as you sit, vulnerable and exposed, beneath his touch. Crimson eyes glow as they scour your face, his back bent at an uncomfortable angle as he practically curls around you, the scent of earth and cedar tinged with copper wafting across your face with his calm, even breaths. 

“Besides,” he continues, voice dropped an octave lower, his nose nearly nudging yours. “I couldn’t possibly trust you to do it adequately.” 

A cruel little chuckle plays on his tongue, as if the mere thought itself is preposterous, the sound stinging as it seeps into your cheeks, hot and full of spikes. 

“Now, open.” 

Instantly, your mouth falls agape, and Alastor’s smile stretches infinitesimally wider, a sharp glint flaring in his eyes.

“A good owner maintains their pet’s hygiene,” he explains as he works, gaze fixed intently on his actions, cleansing with a meticulous sort of vigilance. “Bathes them, grooms them, dresses them—performs all of the basic necessities a pet needs to appear presentable.”

His hand shifts slightly, angling your head to the side, and you follow easily, malleable in his grasp, his smile shimmering. 

“And I pride myself on taking very good care the things that belong to me.”

And, really, he does. Because Alastor doesn’t just brush your teeth with rigorous care, conscientiously certain to cleanse every dip and gap; he flosses them, too, with gentle hands and painstaking precision, then ensures you’ve rinsed with germ-killing, enamel-strengthening mouthwash for exactly forty-five seconds, counting uniformly and observing with large, unblinking eyes as you adhere to his every instruction, cheeks bulging with burning liquid, eyes squinting from the intensity, but never daring to blink, to glance away, to stop at all. 

“Look at you,” he purrs after you’ve spit down the drain, gazing back up at him with a sort of desperate devotion—demented, devious, damned to his hell—syrupy condescension dripping from his teeth. “So well behaved for me, aren’t you?”  

A palm cups your jaw, his thumb running across your cheek in rhythmic strokes, the tip of his claw caressing your skin with just enough pressure to leave behind shallow scratches. 

“What, hoping Master will give you a treat for being so obedient?” 

“No, Sir,” you whimper out, voice gone dreamy as you nuzzle into his hand. “You taking such good care of me is more than enough.” 

Something sinister oozes into his face, something that contorts his smile and corrodes his eyes, leaving behind nothing but raw hunger, like he’s about to devour you whole, pops of static fizzing thickly in his voice. 

“That’s my good girl.” 

₊˚⊹ 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 ⊹˚₊

Everything hurts, muscles stiff and aching and full of sand, your motions clumsy and cumbersome as you attempt to brush your teeth, joints creaking with every slight shift.

Fatigue blurs the edges of your eyes, your vision fading out of focus again, mind gone fuzzy as you try your best to concentrate on your movements—up, down, all around, repeat—features screwing up in a wince as you catch the harsh bristles on your gums, again. 

“You’re making a bit of a mess, sleepyhead,” Lucifer’s tender chuckle pulls you from your foggy stupor, a quiet hum vibrating in your throat as you look over at him in question, the gesture lethargic and delayed. 

“You’ve got some—Here,” he says softly, hands curling around your shoulders and turning you to face him, then tilting your chin up. “May I?”

Another affirmative sounds on the back of your tongue and Lucifer uses his thumb to carefully clean the foaming paste collecting at the corners of your mouth, then catching a slow dribble streaming down your chin with a deft knuckle. 

A frown mars his face, his forehead creasing beneath the strain, his other hand stroking your shoulder as worried eyes search your face, slow and careful.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” he asks. “You’re really struggling to brush your teeth.”

“Jus—really tired,” you mumble through the bubbles in your mouth, Lucifer skillfully catching another trickle of watery paste, concern tugging at the corners of his lips, frown deepening.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” 

Sleepy eyes blink up at him, slow and sluggish, your hazy mind taking a moment to process the question.

“Mhmm,” you finally nod, hand loosening the instant his fingers skim yours, allowing him to gently uncurl your grip from around the base of your toothbrush, his own effortlessly taking its place. 

“Alright, alright, Daddy will help you,” he’s pacifying in a murmur, but his gaze has turned melty, glow dimmed and pupils gaping, lids heavy with love. “Poor thing…Last night was a long night for you, huh?” 

“S’a lot,” you confirm in a messy mumble, lids drooping heavily with the weight of exhaustion.

“Yeah?” his thumb rubs loving little circles into your jaw as he works, gaze trained on his task. “Was Daddy a little too rough with you?” 

The question is uttered out tenderly, full of sympathy and care, his brow furrowing as his eyes flit back to yours, searching for veracity in your pupils.

“Maybe I should be a bit gentler next—”

“No!” you cough around the refusal, puffy lids snapping open suddenly, the unexpected vehemency causing Lucifer to flinch.

“No?” he laughs, and it’s warm with affection, his features, hard with worry, mollifying beneath fondness, amorous amusement twinkling daintily in his eyes. 

“No,” you whine out with a tiny pout, head shaking a little in his grasp. “Please.”

“Okay,” the pad of his thumb runs along your cheek, his stare trailing after it. “If nothing else, at least Daddy will always be there to take care of you the morning after.”

[apsciencebydan]

Bristle millipedes are already miniscule, and here's a baby. Just a little scrub brush. 🥹

Mahogany bark is home to some of the silliest little guys you can imagine. 🤎

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; they say ‘showering together saves water’ or.. something like that.. right? otherwise known as, the one where sheer stupidity leads stiles into the shower with his very naked girlfriend. neither one of them is complaining about the turn of events.

warnings; no use of y/n, established relationship, explicit sexual content (vaginal fingering, handjobs, mentions of oral)

word count; +3k

a/n; i fear i'm going to be perpetually unhappy with this so i'm just biting the bullet and posting it and i'm camping so here it is an hour early!! — please be nice. if you’re interested in the original version cut from my Selenophiles series, you can find that here.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! i would appreciate either one to the actual ends of the earth.

Wrapped up in a softly hummed rendition of a song that had been rattling around in your brain all day, you didn’t even hear the bathroom door open or click shut again, not alerted to Stiles’ presence until his voice suddenly sounded just to the other side of the shower curtain.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting. Your boyfriend remaining entirely unaware as you flinched wildly in surprise and nearly slipped in the shower on the other side of the thin sheet of plastic that separated you.

“You mind if I brush my teeth real quick?” He asked.

Your heart was still pounding away in your chest from the scare but you forced out a breathy laugh as you reached for the shampoo.

“No, of course not,” You told him easily, “Why would I mind?”

Fingertips scrubbed at your scalp, the sounds of him already beginning to brush his teeth meeting your ears over the rush of the shower as he finally responded.

“I dunno,” He said, words garbled by the toothbrush and foam in his mouth, “You’re all.. naked, so-”

“Well that’s very noble of you,” You smiled softly to yourself, “But you really didn’t have to ask.”

“Noted.” He said through a mouthful of foam before spitting into the sink.

As you began to rinse suds from your hair, you heard the telltale clacking of his toothbrush against the side of the sink as he flicked beads of water away from the bristles. You were awaiting Stiles’ quick words of goodbye when there was a loud knock at the bathroom door.

“Stiles! You in the shower?” His father’s voice sounded loudly from the hallway.

Your heart thumped quick in your chest with sudden misplaced adrenaline and you found yourself poking your head outside of the shower curtain only to be greeted by Stiles already looking in your direction with wide brown eyes.

“Uh, yeah!” He called back weakly, gaze darting around the small room as if he might suddenly find a perfect place to hide.

“Does he not know I’m here?” You whispered sharply, brows pinched together in confusion.

“No.” Stiles hissed back, “I’m kind of a little bit grounded-”

“What?” You interrupted, still whispering despite your incredulity. “You’re grounded?”

“It’s an unspoken kind of thing but definitely implied and- And I didn’t think he’d be home ‘til late!” Stiles defended in an equally hushed whisper.

“Alright, well.. You mind if I just come in and grab the Asprin real quick?” Sheriff Stilinski's voice asked loudly.

Stiles’ eyes seemed to widen even further with a small squeak of distress, “Um-”

You threw the shower curtain open just enough to to fist your hand in the front of his shirt, yanking him forward until he stumbled and was forced to climb over the lip of the bathtub. The shower curtain was tugged back closed just as the doorknob turned and Stiles’ father cautiously peeked into the room through a cloud of steam.

Stiles was now the one standing directly under the spray of warm water, his pajamas quickly soaking through and plastering themselves to his body.

He was unable to help the way his eyes immediately dropped to the wet skin of your naked chest, but somehow, your instincts seemed to know exactly what was coming next because your hand found its way up to cover his mouth just before a soft groan could slip past his lips, the sound of it smothered by your palm.

“Sorry, my head’s killin’ me.” The Sheriff apologized as the medicine cabinet clicked open.

You uncovered Stiles’ mouth slowly and with caution, narrowing your eyes and tipping your head in a silent urge for him to formulate some sort of response. Brown eyes flicked between yours, his tongue poking out to wet his lips enticingly before he responded to his father.

“Nah, it’s cool, dad. Uh.. No biggie.”

Stiles’ eyes found their way to your naked chest yet again, bouncing back up to your face for a fraction of a second only for his gaze to fall back down to your breasts as if drawn there by an unstoppable force. His mind was decidedly blank, suddenly equipped with only enough brainpower to attempt to memorize the exact shade of your pert nipples in the soft light of the bathroom. A few beads of water from your hair curled their way around your collarbone, pooling in the small dip in your clavicle before welling over and cascading down to the swell of your breast.

You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as the shower continued to spray against his fully-clothed back.

“Right. Well. G’night.” Sheriff Stilinski called out as the medicine cabinet slammed shut again.

The boy’s eyes snapped up to yours at the sharp sound, a pink flush creeping up his neck from either the warm steam of the shower, the sight of your naked body, or most likely some combination of the two.

“N-night, daddio-” Stiles replied in an admittedly high voice, shaking his head at his you in warning as he watched you pinch your lips between your teeth to hold back a laugh.

The bathroom door finally closed with a loud click and you let your head drop forward onto your boyfriend’s shoulder as you released a quiet giggle.

“Oh my god.” You breathed out.

“Sorry,” Stiles apologized, “For, uh, invading your shower.”

You lifted your head, “I quite literally pulled you in against your will.”

Stiles nodded, “Yeah. I, uh, I guess you did.”

You snorted softly in amusement and watched his eyes flick over your face in a slow trail. His gaze eventually found something of interest behind you and he seemed to hone in on it with a determined focus.

“What are you looking at?” You questioned quietly, craning your neck to examine the shower products on the shelf at your back before returning your gaze to the boy in front of you.

“I, uh.. Well. Literally, y’know.. Anything but your extremely naked body.” He choked out weakly.

A smile pulled at your lips and you inched forward to drag your hands lightly over the soaked-through cotton of his shirt, “There something wrong with my naked body, Stilinski?”

You’d said the words with a teasing lilt to your voice, but Stiles’ eyes seemed to snap back to your own sharply, “No! No, absolutely nothing-” He denied immediately.

“Okay, well, you are allowed to look, y’know,” You told him softly, like you were revealing a secret, “It isn’t like it’s anything you haven’t already seen-”

“Well, yeah but, you- You’re trying to shower and.. If I’m being totally honest, if I look now I’m gonna get painfully hard painfully fast ‘cause I’m already barely holding on here-”

At his words, you shuffled back just a fraction so you could peek down in between you, your eyes catching on the wet, tented fabric of his pajama bottoms. Your hands twitched with the desperate need to touch and you hesitated for only a second before taking ahold of the soaked material of his shirt beneath your fingers.

“Maybe you should shower, too,” You interrupted, licking your lips as you gazed back up at your boyfriend, “I mean, your dad already thinks you are, and you’re already all wet, so y’know.. We should probably get you naked-”

The moment the word left your mouth, you tightened your fingers around wet fabric and stammered quietly, ridiculously nervous considering that you were already naked. And wet.

“-And clean. Naked, to clean your- To wash your body, obviously. I mean, it only makes sense, right?” You suggested eagerly.

The fabric of his shirt inched up his torso, your deft hands revealing his hips and the thick trail of hair at his belly button, but that was where you stopped, waiting for him to give some sort of approval before lifting it any further.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s smart.” He agreed quickly, nodding for you to continue.

You stripped him of the wet article, dropping it at the opposite end of the tub with a quiet smack. When your eyes returned to his, Stiles barely held your gaze before he was cupping your face and dragging your mouth to his. He turned you back into the shower wall and you sighed in contentment as the spray of warm water finally cascaded over the side of your body once again, pleasant goosebumps erupting over your skin.

Stiles’ kisses were an enigma and they very nearly managed to catch you by surprise every time — the way he devoured your mouth with so much hunger yet was still somehow able to hold you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His lips dragged over yours sickly sweet, thumb stroking over your cheek, fingertips digging into your scalp beneath wet hair.

You only managed to hold out for a few desperate brushes of his mouth before you were parting your lips beneath his in silent invitation. When his tongue teased against yours, you caught the taste of mint left behind from his toothpaste and you couldn’t hold back the groan that poured from your mouth into his. You suddenly found yourself craving the taste of it, prodding your own tongue between his lips on the next kiss to chase the lingering flavor in his mouth.

The wet drag of his pajama pants against your naked thighs beneath the stream of water was an immediate reminder that he was still wearing the wet article of clothing and you flicked at them idly, fingertips dipping beneath the drawstring waist. His stomach tensed beneath your hands and he pulled back from the kiss just enough to drop his forehead to yours, eyes raking over your face slowly as he attempted to catch his breath.

“What, um. What do you- I mean, do you, um..” His eyes pinched shut in frustration as his own inability to convey himself.

Your hand slid over his water-slick hip, arm circling around his waist until you could run your fingertips gently along his spine beneath the water, forcing a contented sigh from his kiss-swollen mouth at the contact.

You licked your lips in thought, “I could either jerk you off in here, or we could wait and I can blow you in your bedroom,” You offered quietly, “I’d blow you in here but I’m honestly not entirely sure how it would work with all the water in my face and-”

Stiles nearly whimpered, “You cannot say that shit and seriously expect me to not blow my load, like, immediately.”

Your mouth twisted up into a grin, “Sorry.”

You weren’t.

He dragged you just a bit closer beneath the spray, bare chests sliding against one another. A shaky exhale left his lips and cascaded across your damp cheek, his nose skating softly against clean skin as he craned down to push his face into your neck.

“No you’re not.” He shot back without hesitation.

You sighed softly, head tipping back of its own accord in an open invitation for his lips to find your skin. The soaked through material of his pajama bottoms did nothing to hide the warm, hard length of him pressing against your hip. You slipped your hand just a bit farther beneath the damp cotton until your fist found its home around him, beginning to move in firm jerks as a choked groan sounded in his throat.

“No, I’m not.” You agreed easily.

“Jesus Christ.”

“So?” You asked quietly, words spilling out toward the ceiling as your head rested against the shower wall.

“Huh?” Stiles articulated weakly, the sound swallowed up by the way his mouth was pressed into the skin beneath your jaw. A large hand slipped down the length of your spine, long fingers finding their way to your ass, merely resting there for a moment before a flick of your wrist seemed to spur him on, hand tightening over the soft flesh as he dragged you up against him just a bit harder.

Your ankle hooked around his knee easily, pulling yourself up a bit higher, warm, wet cotton still separating you as you continued to work his length beneath the material.

“Handjob in shower or blowjob in room.” You repeated the options stiffly, thoughts scattered from the feel of his fingertips digging into your backside.

“Shit.” He murmured against your neck, his hips jerking forward to meet your hand, making the movement of your wrist more difficult when it was pinned between your bodies. “I- Um.. I.. Shit-”

“It’s kinda looking like its gonna be handjob if you don’t decide otherwise pretty quick here-”

“But I-” A sharp sound was pulled from him when your hand slipped over the head of his cock, a delicious but quiet uh squeaking out onto the wet skin of your throat. “God, I really want your mouth but-” A quiet groan interrupts him but he carries on after only a brief pause, “If you stop I might die.”

He says the words so seriously that you can’t help the small laugh that pops out.

“Oh, so you want both? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, fuck.. Please-”

“Seems a little-” Its your hushed words that are cut off this time, a small gasp of surprise falling from your lips when the hand on your ass creeps lower, hiking your leg up higher as two of his fingers find your wet entrance. “Little, um. A little greedy, don't you- Ah! Don’t you think?” Your teasing statement was tainted halfway through as he dipped his fingers inside, long and thick and pushing in to the third knuckle almost immediately.

He begins thrusting in time with the jerks of your hand, synchronized gasps and groans falling from your mouths for a minute before he thinks to respond.

“If you think I’m not gonna give as good as I get then-”

His words cut off with an unabashed moan against wet skin and you nosed at his jaw until he tipped his head up to meet your lips, your scolding shh silenced within the kiss.

“-Then you don’t think very highly of me, huh?” He continued as if he’d never paused at all, his words murmured between slick lips as his mouth slid against yours again and again. “It’d, uh- It’d be a fair trade-”

“Yeah?”

The whispered question was stolen from your mouth when he licked inside, hot and dirty as his nose pushed into your cheek.

“Yeah.”

His own utterance of the word was swallowed up by your gasp when his fingers crooked just so the next time he pushed them in deep. Your grip on him fell slack for only a moment before you recovered with newfound determination, matching his efforts as he sped up the rhythm of his hand.

Your thigh hitched up on his waist that much higher, all but consumed by the desperate hunger you felt to be closer. He returned the sentiment, pulling you in and crowding you back and devouring each of your sounds until it seemed as if he were everywhere all at once.

You traded kisses between stuttered breaths and heady gasps, bodies rolling into one another’s hands as you both chased after the tight pleasure coiling in your guts and building up, higher, stronger, closer–

Stiles came first, a soft whine against your tongue when your fist circled at the head of his cock, twisting and pulling his release from him in thick spurts beneath the wet cotton of his pajama bottoms. You worked him through it, taking control of the kiss as he went slack with his orgasm and finally pushing his pants to the floor of the bathtub with a wet thwack once his hips stopped twitching into your hand.

He fell back into the kiss urgently and you relinquished control without a fight, weak to do little more than throw an arm around his shoulders for support as he redoubled his efforts to make you come.

Thighs trembling, toes curling, your muscles tensed as you were worked closer and closer to your peak. His fingers hit a spot deep inside of you with every thrust and each time sparks danced up your spine with the impact, sharp noises of pleasure were dragged from your lips.

“Sti-” You whined softly, wet mouth falling against his cheek as you tried to alert him to your swiftly approaching release, “’m so close. Shit, I- ’m so close-”

“Shit,” He returned in an urgent whisper, “Shit, okay-”

He eased his hips back from your own, his free hand falling to the apex of your thighs. His lips covered yours again as he began swirling his fingertips around the swollen bud there and your whole body jolted at the sensation. Your mouth fell open with a soft cry as you came, the glide of his fingers both smoother and more sharp as he worked you through it.

As you came down you were panting, hot breaths mingling between your mouths. The steam of the shower felt almost cloying, both of you a little lightheaded from the heat and the exertion. You cracked your eyes open and found his gaze already on you, eyes hooded and heavy, the tip of his nose bumping your own.

“Holy shit.”

It came out as nothing more than a whisper against his lips, your chest heaving in time with his as you both fought to catch your breath. You loosened the tight grip your arm had taken up around his shoulders and neck, mouth slack as you tried to pull in enough oxygen to clear your head.

“That was-”

“Yeah.” He whispered in agreement, forehead falling against yours.

The tip of your thumb pressed into a dark freckle on his chest as your hand made its way down from his shoulder in a slow drag over slick skin. You swallowed around your dry mouth as your leg finally fell free from its place around him and provided instant relief to your muscles.

“You sure you can handle two more orgasms?” You questioned breathlessly, not entirely sure which response you wanted to hear as you swayed against him in the overpowering steam of the shower.

In lieu of an immediate response, his gaze fell downward and your own followed on instinct, catching sight of the long thickness of his cock, already fattening back up against his thigh with arousal.

Tongue feeling suddenly heavy, you were filled with the urge to fulfill your teasing promise, to work him toward his peak all over again with your mouth.

You voice was a breathless whisper when it finally sounded.

“Oh.”

[velvette-creations]

To be alive at all is to have scars

House of the Dragon: Rhaenyra + fem!reader (platonic) 

Rating: Teen 

WC: 1.3 k 

Prompt: Cathartic Venting for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: Heavy on the angst, mention of death, reader is a Strong, but no physical description is giving, hurt/comfort

Summary: You help your Queen process her emotions after Lucerys’s death

The afternoon's blistering heat had faded into the balmy night, with the moon shining bright behind the swirling mists of fog. You dipped the sponge into the warm water before lifting Rhaenyra’s arm and gently scrubbing her skin. Moments earlier, she reeked of dragon, the pungent scent of smoldering embers, and scorched meat undercut with a faint hint of sulfur. As she marinated in the piping hot water bubbling with jasmine oil, the putrid smell began to disappear slowly. You took care to clean under her nails, scrubbing away the dirt and grime until they sparkled like shimmering glass. While the water could wash away the muck, it did nothing to soothe her melancholy. Nothing could replace the children she had lost.

For over a sennight, she took to the skies, hoping to find remnants of Luke’s remains. Many worried in her absence, with Prince Daemon itching for vengeance. You did not fault him; it was his nature to take charge and make their enemies pay. You worried for your Queen as she journeyed with only her dragon for company. However, Syrax was a formidable companion.

Apart from Elinda, you were the closest handmaid to the Targaryen Queen. Your long-deceased father, Lyonel Strong, had requested you be placed in her service when you were both on the cusp of womanhood. You long held the secret of her trysts with your older brother, Harwin, for you understood Laenor had extended his blessing in the regard. While it was not an ideal situation, you were pleasantly surprised how the three made such an odd relationship work despite the consequences it bore. Rhaenyra loved those three boys with all of her heart. You supposed part of her heart was ripped away when she heard of Luke’s death.

“May I attend to your hair now, Your Grace?” you asked, raising to your feet.

“Please,” she murmured; her once amethyst eyes that sparkled with life were now dulled. Illustrious gems that had lost their luster, a stark contrast to the vibrant, lively woman she used to be. A broken princess turned into a broken queen. Mayhaps the Targaryens paid a heavy price to sit upon the Iron Throne.

You knelt behind her head, fingers carefully undoing her intricate braid and loosening the strands of matted hair. Then, lifting the ivory brush, you began to untangle her mane, taking care with each stroke of the bristles. Your fingers expertly worked the oil through her hair before lifting a jug filled to the brim with water. She tilted her head back, allowing you to rinse her hair clean. As you continued your work, a glimmer of her former self emerged. But you knew, deep down, that while she may look like herself again, the scars of her loss would never truly fade. Ripped edges that would always remain jagged.

You heard the whisperings of her discovering Arrax’s severed wing and clothing worn by the young Prince Lucerys on his cursed journey to Storm’s End. It was a genuinely wretched thing to have no body to burn. The Gods were cruel, you thought. Rhaenyra continued to simmer in the water until it turned as cold as the weather in the North. You took great care in helping her from the stone tub and drying off her damp skin before draping a crimson robe around her.

Her shoulders slumped as she stared at her reflection in the looking glass. Defeat hung heavy on her sullen face. Gaunt eyes begging for relief, a respite from the tragedy that marred her life. Your heart ached for her, so you gently rested your hand on her shoulder to provide her a modicum of comfort. An ounce of kindness would go a long way. Mayhaps, more should be extended to her and to Aegon; that is where peace might be found. Her hands snaked around yours, holding tightly as if afraid to slip away.

“Do you find me to be a terrible person?” she whispered, her voice cracking and quivering.

Your eyes widened.  “Of course not, Your Grace!”

“Please, speak truthfully and address me as Rhaenyra,” she requested. Her eyes pleaded with yours. She needed a friend.

You let go of her before kneeling in front of her and drawing both her hands into your own. Your thumb stroked gently over the scar left by Alicent Hightower years ago. Undoubtedly, the scars on Rhaenyra’s heart outnumber the ones on her body. “I have never once thought such, Rhaenyra.”

Her lower lip quivered as her strong facade cracked and crumbled to dust. “I had only wished to fulfill my inheritance and serve the realm. I never wished for this. I should have never sent Luke alone.” Tears dribbled down her flushed cheeks. Plump, watery, opaque pearls splattered onto the stone beneath her chair.

“You could not know this would happen.”

She squeezed your hands as the tears poured freely down her face. “I do not want this burden if this is the cost.” Her voice was heavy and thick as she admitted her truth. A truth she dared not speak aloud, but it felt healing to let them fall from her lips. “I would trade my crown for the lives of my children.” A soft wail spilled from her the moment she admitted those sentiments.

Motherhood had petrified her; it had driven her mother into an early, bloody grave, and yet the moment she held Jacerys in her arms, you had watched her slowly embrace it. Jace healed a deep wound inside her, and no soul in the realm could doubt her love for all her children. She would throw herself in the cruel barbs and sharp words hurled in thoughts of their heritage, letting each one slice her deep to protect them from hearing such squander. However, she would not be able to protect them forever but would do everything in her power to continue.

Her hand slipped to her belly as thick, hot tears continued to pour down her ruddy cheeks. A son and a daughter torn from her womb, now left to the mercy of the Gods. Her gasps for air made your belly twist uncomfortably, but you said naught, simply allowed her to weep freely and without judgment. She was only human, after all. Even Targaryens, with their dragons and otherworldly appearances, were still flesh and blood. You lifted her hands, pressing soft kisses to her fingers, free from the rings she usually wore. Admitting such beliefs out loud took courage and strength, and you felt grateful that she trusted you with such feelings.

“I believe you will make a fine queen, Rhaenyra. The realm is long overdue for one. I hold hope that a peaceful resolve might be reached, as foolish as that may sound.”

A small smile turned across her lips. “I do not think you sound foolish.”

“Then I am not foolish, and you are not a terrible person. You were named King Viserys’s heir; fealty was sworn to you,” you reminded her. Her shoulders straightened as the tears began to dry on her face.

“Thank you for allowing me to unburden. You have been by my side for many years. There are times I look upon you, and I see Harwin, I see my boys. You are my family.”

Your heart fluttered.

“I feel the same, Rhaenyra. When the Stranger claimed my father and brother, I made a promise that I would do what I could to protect you and the boys. I would do the same for little Aegon and Viserys. We may not share a drop of blood, yet I feel as if we are bonded in such a way,” you whispered.

Her hand gently cupped your face, thumb stroking across your cheek. “Allow me to hug you, my dearest.”

You melted in her arms, holding her as tightly as she embraced you. Even the strongest of persons were not immune to the tragedies of life. But what does not break one simply makes one stronger. She would rise like a dragon from the embers, ready to burst into fire and claim her birthright. More scars would be wrought, and more tears would be shed. Yet she would be the finest queen Westeros had ever seen.

[humanpurposes]

Can I Be Yours? - Nightblooms II

Aemond returns to the pleasure house after the battle of Rook's Rest // Main Masterlist

Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, angst, sex work, unresolved childhood trauma, implied underage and non-con (not explicitly depicted), mentions of war, violence and death, ambiguous ending

Words: 3k

Each day she arrives at the market shortly after sunrise. She has the coin to pay for the usual cheap cuts of meat, for fats and vegetables to make into something edible, but there is nothing to buy; most of the vendors have sold the last of their wares. Summer is at an end, there are less crops coming from the Reach and the sea is still cut off with no end in sight to the blockade. 

King’s Landing has never been a place where she feels at ease but as the season shifts and the war goes on, families are starving and people are getting desperate, fighting over what they can get their hands on. They’ve all been reduced to dogs, clawing at each other over scraps while carts of livestock and fresh produce trundle through the streets towards the Red Keep, guarded by men in Hightower green.

She manages to buy some crabs and vegetables she’ll have to cut the mould from. They have a store of grain in the kitchens to make flatbread, though they have to use less and less each day, anticipating when they’ll be able to find more.

She eats less of her share so the younger girls won’t have to go hungry. Besides, she hasn’t had much of an appetite for days.

She had spent hours trying to rinse herself clean of the King and his companions after they’d had their way with her– after Aemond had left her to their mercy. That night she scrubbed at her skin with salt, then a cloth, then a bristled brush. That feeling was still there, like sweat sticking to her skin, like her body was not her own. She heard their voices and their cold laughter with the rush of water past her ears. She scrubbed harder and harder until she tinted the water pink with her blood.

One morning, one of the girls returns to the pleasure house, unsuccessful in finding a cure for her babe’s fever, but startled by something else.

The Hightower army has returned from a battle, dragging the head of a dragon on a cart through the city.

“It’s monstrous,” the girl says, trying to measure the scale of the head with her arms. “It had black blood, and gods, the smell, like charred meat!”

Sylvi hovers over her shoulder. “Slain by your favourite, I wonder?”

Favourite? Clearly she was not so favoured by Prince Aemond.

Men are led by their desires. That’s why, even as the city is starving, they find the money to come here and seek their pleasure. They are fickle, easily satiated and have no loyalties but to themselves, to their own preservation.

Sylvi huffs when she does not react to her teasing. “Seven above, do try to look less miserable, girl.”

She’s been trying for days, but she can’t force a pleasant demeanour when she feels so hollow.

The returning soldiers come to the Street of Silk that night, newly paid and come to bask in their victory. Her gown is a deep shade of blue and Sylvi has given her some of her jewellery, sapphire earrings and a heavy gold necklace that feels like a collar, to cover the bruises on her neck left by the King.

She catches the eye of a soldier in the main chamber. He takes her by the waist and drags her onto his thigh.

He moves clumsily, trying to drag her core against his leg or the bulge in his breeches, she cannot tell and she does not care. 

Look less miserable, it’s only a motion of the body.

Look less miserable, men want a woman who is warm, who smiles.

Look less miserable, but has he noticed her fallen face and the empty look in her eyes? Likely not.

Her body feels numb again.

“Look at me,” the man demands.

She turns her head towards him but her eyes are down, elsewhere completely. She pictures candlelight, a veil around the edges of a bed so the bodies around her are like shadows. She feels a weight on her chest and stomach, limbs intertwined with hers, long, loose hair spilling over her bare skin. A voice is just out of reach.

Look at me, look at me, look at me–

“My Prince!”

Her senses come back to her as quickly as a match takes to flame. Her head darts to where the soldier is looking, to the man standing before them, dark leathers, silver hair, an eyepatch over his face and a sword hanging from his hip.

Aemond tilts his head, his one eye intent on her. 

“Apologies, Prince Regent,” the soldier says, and shoves her off his lap so he can stand.

She stumbles but holds her ground. Her eyes are on the floor but imagining his face frowning in displeasure, the sight of his scar, the lines of his muscles under his skin. She cannot bear to truly look upon him, but he’s watching her.

Why come now? Why her, when she has already proved worthless to him?

“Come,” Aemond says without reaching for her, without waiting for her to match his gaze. She follows, if only to escape the wanton soldier.

Aemond takes her to the same chamber, standing at the foot of the same bed where they used to lay together.

She stands before him with her eyes lowered.

He towers over her and lifts her chin to match his gaze with a gloved hand. The leather against her skin is unnatural, cold, disturbing her very being like ripples through a peaceful surface of water. The sight of him only brings her pain, as does the separation from him. Fear and admiration twist together and writhe in her gut.

He reaches to remove the necklace first, letting it fall to the floor. “An ugly thing,” he mutters, “do not wear this again, I find it distracting.” It bares her bruises. He traces his gloved fingers over the flushes of red and purple in her skin.

Next he undoes her dress, another gown designed to fall away from one clasp. She does not remove the rest to bare herself, so he tugs the gown away himself, pulling her forward by her wrists to make her step away from where it pools on the floor.

Without any further preamble he surges into her, cupping her jaw with his hands and kissing her passionately. He demands reception with his lips, tongue and teeth, but she will not give it to him. She remains as steadfast as she can.

He pauses, kissing her again, then again.

“What’s the matter?” His voice is subtle and as soft as the edge of a knife. Gently, he takes a hold of her neck. It is tender, but not quite a comfort. Her pulse beats furiously against his fingers. “You are angry with me, is that it?”

Has he thought of her these last few days? Does he blame himself for the bruises on her neck? 

She says nothing.

“I’ll not fuck an unwilling whore.”

“No,” it falls from her lips like a breath.

Aemond tuts and tilts his head. “No?”

She parts her lips but she cannot speak.

His one-eyed stare darkens. He will take her silence for defiance, and that is not what he pays for.

If all he seeks is carnal desire she will grant him this. She tears away the layers of him, his gloves, the buckles on his jerkin, her fingers fumbling in her determination.

Aemond grunts as she pushes the sleeves from his shoulders, the leather landing with a heavy thud on the floor. His face is perplexed but he does not resist.

She tugs at the strings of his undershirt and pulls it over his head. When his chest is bare she puts her hands on his shoulders and pulls herself in, crashing her lips into his. Everything becomes a single feeling, a fire in her chest, hurt and rage and— she’s not naive enough to call it love, but it’s an urge that spurns her to be close to him. Their teeth clash. She loses her focus and her lips graze over his cheek. She finds him again, drawing her tongue against his, dragging her teeth over his lip–

“Fuck!” Aemond hisses, snatching himself away from her. He dabs his fingertips to his lip, checking for blood that isn’t there. 

His eye is wide but gleaming, excited at the challenge. 

Her heart leaps when Aemond grasps her jaw. He drags her chin up, fingertips pressing into the bone. “I find your insolence tiresome,” he snarls.

The edge of his nose brushes against hers. She feels his breath, how his chest rises and falls against her body, how his heart beats as frantically as hers.

She shakes her head. “I am yours, my Prince.”

He lays her on the bed, pushing her thighs apart and holding them down as he kneels.

He sighs at the sight of her.

Each drag of his tongue is divine, circling and pressing at the places he has come to know will please her the most. She tries to chase the friction with her hips but he holds her firmly in place.

She reaches for his hair, slipping the eyepatch from his face so she can see all of him. He looks up at her as she does, his lips glistening with her arousal while his sapphire consumes the golden light of the candles. 

Between the movements of his mouth he mutters to himself, words she has heard before but does not know the meaning to. His voice is heavy and breathless and she adores it. 

Her peak comes suddenly, a wave of warmth and weightlessness that lingers after Aemond has drawn his mouth away from her.

He’s just out of her reach, standing over the bed and slowly pulling on the strings of his breeches. 

She brings herself to sit, only to be thrown down again and roughly turned onto her front.

“Aemond?”

His hands pull her up by her hips. His thumb glides in circles over her entrance and she stutters into compliance. There’s a ruffle of fabric before he replaces his digit with the head of his cock. He teases her as he rocks back and forth. The pleasure is sparse, a delicious kind of torture. She grips at the linens and sinks her teeth into her lip.

On one motion of his hips, Aemond slips inside of her. She sighs at the stretch of it. He stills for a moment to let her adjust, pushing himself to the hilt and slowly drawing back. She feels how his fingertips dig into her flesh, marks that will stay for days. She can picture the look in his eye, his resolve melting away.

She props herself up on her hands, turning over her shoulder. He meets her, pressing his nose against her cheek, teasing his lips over her skin.

“Do you still find me insolent?” she whispers.

Aemond hums. 

He draws back, only to snap his hips harshly into her rear. It knocks the breath from her lungs and he holds his arm around her to hold her close to him, his palm pressing into her stomach as he fucks her roughly and without reprieve.

This is the Prince she has only ever seen glimpses of. She’s heard the workings of his mind and his regrets, but she’s never seen him unleash himself, a dragonrider, a warrior, now a demanding lover.

Each kiss of his cock at her sweet spot aches and drives her towards bliss. She grasps at his hand, leaning her head into his. His sweat drips onto her brow. His moans fall upon the shell of her ear.

She feels another peak edging closer when Aemond pushes her torso down against the bed. He keeps his hands on her shoulders. Her own moans are muffled against the mattress and she cannot move. She can only take what she is given, fast fucking and brutal precision. 

He comes with a unrestrained groan, spilling himself deep within her cunt. His weight falls against her back and he nestles his face into her neck, whispering some appraisal in an ancient language, gently fucking his seed deeper.

She whines as she catches her breath, letting herself settle with him on top of her. They stay like this for a time. Before he finally moves, Aemond presses a delicate kiss to her brow.

They lay amongst linen and silk, his head on her chest, his arms wrapped around her ribs, moving with her as she breathes. 

He tells her of Rook’s Rest, of his plan to attack during the daylight and bait their enemy into sending a dragon, then he would lead Vhagar into an ambush. He had not expected Aegon to join the battle, and when the smoke cleared, only Aemond and Vhagar remained unscathed.

“Perhaps I should have been more forgiving, but he got in my way.”

What did you do? She wonders, but cannot bring herself to give a voice to her question. 

That soldier had named Aemond as Regent. Not the title he wants, but it is a brutal reminder that only one life stands between him and the throne he pursues. 

“And even when he is… incapacitated, my victory is named as his. It was meant to be mine.”

The dragon head was his doing after all. 

Tears run freely down her cheeks, not that he will see.

He takes a breath and waits. She’s done this enough times by now to know he’s waiting for her to say something. He needs her to say something.

What loyalty has your brother ever shown you? He knows you were better suited to war, at least now he will not overestimate himself.

She does not wish to think of Aegon. 

“You left me,” she utters.

Aemond tilts his head towards her. She meets his eye. When he sees the tears on her face his own expression softens.

“You left me to entertain those men. You didn’t even look back.”

Aemond swallows thickly, making a soft clicking sound with his tongue. “I had to.”

“Had to?”

“You would not understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You are a Prince. To you, I am nothing but a body to be used.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You do not need to say it. It is the nature of the world we live in.” 

He shifts himself to lay beside her, face-to-face. His thumb strokes over her cheek and at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve only ever admired you,” he says. “You came to me when I felt alone.”

Back when they were children, when she was innocent enough to think the gods favoured those who were kind, merciful, good. 

“You looked lost. I was the same the first time…” the first time Sylvi brought her into a room with a strange man. When she sees girls of the same age, she wants to take them into her arms and shield them from strangers, from the people who promise to care for them and do not. “I knew how it felt to be used and then discarded, like none of it mattered. But it did. It mattered to me.” 

Aemond’s eye shimmers like glass.

“I needed you, do you understand that? I needed your protection,” she says.

He blinks and a tear falls from his eye. 

“You taunt me with this,” she says, wiping it away with her thumb.

He holds her hand against his jaw. “I’m not trying to taunt you,” he pleads. “You are the only one, the only one I can speak my mind to.”

She has seen his pride, his remorse, his shame, but she has never seen fear in Aemond. She does now. He clasps onto her hand like she’ll fade away.

“I try. I know my place in my family. I know what they need of me. I try, but I am not always strong enough.”

Jaehaerys, the little Prince who lost his head. He has a sister and a mother grieving his loss, what of them?

What of Aegon?

“I’ll protect you,” he says, kissing the heel of her palm, the inside of her wrist.

How will he do that? Before morning he will leave a purse of gold in her hand and return to his Keep. While he plots his war and demands taxes and tithes from the people of the Crownlands, she will endure in a city that is slowly starving to death.

And when the war of dragons comes to the skies over King’s Landing? Will he pick her out from the masses atop Vhagar? Will he find a way to spare her from the fire and the bloodshed?

It does not bear thinking about. She holds him and tries to forget anything other than this feeling, his weight and warmth, his hair between her fingertips, the points in his bones, his legs intertwined with hers. Everything about him that is cold and cruel. Everything about him that is quietly beautiful.

I've kinda given up on taglists <3

[pancakeke]

super dark photos but I have a thing to shill: plastic razor blades.

these things scrape soap scum off my shower in one go like they're wiping it away. they also remove those weird dry grease spots from the back of my stovetop like they're nothin. I didn't use any sort of cleaner first so soften that shit up either (though I used soap afterward to remove non-stuck on stuff).

the blades don't seem to scratch hard surfaces like tile or enamel, but they wear down with use. also I dropped the scraper once and broke the corner off a blade, but that was on me.

I would highly recommend a pack if you dont have the strength or energy to spend lots of time scrubbing surfaces with a bristle brush.

[oneforthemunny]

dripping down |dom!eddie munson x brat!reader|

prompt: after bratting all day, you take your time in the shower to make both of you late and eddie is less than pleased.

contains: dom and sub dynamics, brat tamer!eddie, mean!eddie, bratty reader, language, spanking with implement (bath brush), mentions of oral fem receiving, mentions of p in v sex. minors dni 18+

You took your time, gliding the razor over your legs slowly, watching the shaving cream foam catch and drip with every slide. The water was beginning to turn cold, the steam thick and heavy around you. You simply pushed the nozzle further, the water heating even further, boiling you even more.

"Baby," Eddie's voice was huffy, annoyed. "Are you almost done? We're supposed to be there in twenty minutes."

You huffed, ignoring him, lips pressed together in deep annoyance. Jeff and his fiancé, Kate, were celebrating moving into their own home- a tiny townhouse on the other side of Hawkins. It was a housewarming party, just with a few friends and their partners, the usual crowd. It wasn't that you didn't like Jeff or Kate, or that you didn't want to go, it was Eddie.

Since your conflicting work schedules, social events, and everything in between, you'd barely got to spend time together- alone. He'd barely fucked you all week, not for lack of trying. You were tired, or he was tired, and the times you had managed to slip in a quickie before bed or before leaving, it was half hearted and barely fulfilling. He hadn't even gone down on you since last Friday, a week ago. You were going crazy, unhinged and beyond frustrated.

At brunch this morning, with Steve and his new girlfriend, Claire, you'd tried to be a little fun, sneaking your hand over Eddie's crotch, palming him lightly through his jeans. You hadn't even managed to get the top button opened before he'd put your hand back in your own lap, a side eyed hard stare that left you pouty. You were bratty the rest of the brunch, huffy and irritable, you knew you were. But you didn't care, you really didn't.

When you'd gotten back to your apartment, later than you meant to because Eddie and Steve couldn't stop talking. You'd tried again, kissing him a little deeper than usual, hands trailing down his sides, fingers looping through his jeans. Eddie snorted lightly in the kiss, pulling back with his hands on your jaw.

"Oh, now you wanna be nice, huh?" He asked, mocking, tilting his head to the side. You bristled, nose scrunching in anger. Eddie grinned, pressing a little peck to your cheek, smacking your ass lightly. "You wanted to take a shower, right? Better go now, we gotta leave in an hour and a half, alright?"

The way he'd blown you off, sweetly but not even bothering to chastise you for brunch, not even wanting to join you in the shower. That surly feeling quickly replaced with anger, hurt. You stomped to the shower, slamming the door and locking it furiously, shoving off your clothes. He wanted to ignore you? Fine.

You'd taken your time washing your hair. Lathering, rinsing, repeating, brushing out your hair in the shower slowly, detangling slow and precise before working in your conditioner, raking it slowly in. You'd even exfoliated with your bath brush, lathering it in the body wash and scrubbing your skin raw. You'd done everything as slow as you could, precise and sluggish.

Eddie had started knocking on the door, jiggling the knob after thirty minutes. "Baby, you almost done?" You'd ignored him.

Then he'd come back, a little firmer this time. "Seriously, are you almost done? We've gotta be out of here soon and you haven't even started drying your hair."

"Oh my God, can you leave me alone, Eddie? Fuck, quit rushing me! I'll be done soon!" You snapped back, huffy and annoyed through the curtain. You turned to the spray of the shower, letting the warm water wash over your face.

"Babe, you've been in there forever, c'mon. Hurry up." Eddie huffed.

"Then you shouldn't have stayed talking to Steve so long! You knew I needed to take a shower!" You yelled, huffing in annoyance. You rolled your head in the spray of the shower.

Now, it had been well over an hour. Your fingers were pruned, Eddie was hammering on the door, shouting at you to hurry up, but you ignored him. You heard his heavy footsteps stomp away, his shouts and threats stopping, and you smirked, finally thinking you might have won.

Until you heard the scratching of the lock. Your brows furrowing, peeking around the curtain of the shower. The door bursting open, a fuming Eddie glaring at you from the door. You squeaked, ducking back behind the shower curtain, like it could protect you.

You might have miscalculated, really, you realized that when Eddie's heavy hand pushed back the curtain, the whirring of the metal of the shower rod revealing Eddie's hard expression. You watched as he slapped the water off, leaving your body dripping, and leg half shade. His eyes scanned to the bath brush that hung on the knob of the shower, gripping it tight before grabbing you with his other hand.

"Wait, Eddie, I'm almost don-"

You grunted when Eddie yanked you out, propping his knee up on the lip of the tub, holding your waist tight to him. Your hair and body dripped, shivering with the cool air mixing into the shower.

Eddie rubbed the bath brush to your wet bottom, bringing it forward with a soaked smack! that bounced off the porcelain shower walls following with your loud yelp. The brush was hard, stinging against your cheeks. Something about the water or maybe your already flushed skin from the steam made it sting so much worse.

"Ow! Eddie, stop!" You flailed, tipping forward to brace your hand on the sink.

Eddie brought the brush down again and again, slapping against your wet skin. He knew you were just being a brat, you'd been one all day, sulking and huffing and mean. He'd tried to ignore it, he knew you'd be upset with him, but he'd hoped it would make you try to please him. He hoped it would get you submissive and sweet, but it seemed to have the opposite effect, only making you worse. He had enough.

"You," Eddie grunted, smacking the brush down on your ass, the smooth, wooden end dancing off your cheeks, leaving small rounded imprints behind. "Are going to get finished now." He brought the brush down twice, hard, making you cry out. "Understand?"

You sniffled, trying to wiggle out of his hold, wet and cold from being yanked out of the shower, aching with every hit of the brush on your burning cheeks. "Understand?" Eddie growled, smacking the brush against you hard, making you yowl in pain.

"Yes!" You sobbed, back arching at the hit. "I'll be done! I'll be done!"

Eddie set the brush down, slamming it against the counter angrily. He reached over, hand smacking the water back on, the stream of the shower trickling back onto the wall. You were shoved back in, sniffling and writhing away from the cold stream.

Eddie glared harshly down at you, brows furrowed in seriousness, ignoring your rounded eyes and little sniffled as you looked up at him pathetically. He remained stern but hoped you wouldn't see the way his jeans tightened at your little pout.

He grabbed the timer from the kitchen, winding it tightly so it started to tick. "You have until that timer is done," His ringed hand pointed towards the timer winding down. "To get finished. Understand?"

You nodded, reaching back to rub your stinging cheeks, thighs pressing together. Eddie nodded. "Five minutes." He pulled the curtain back, stomping out of the bathroom.

You were done in two minutes. Finishing your shave quick, nicking yourself twice with the razor, hissing at the trickle of blood from your knee. You bandaged yourself, drying your hair quickly with the dryer, trying to multitask as best as you could, desperate to be good and forgiven by Eddie.

You'd pulled your hair back, not getting to style it the way you wanted. Every time you looked at Eddie, he would sigh dramatically, looking down at his watch, lips pursing together in feigned annoyance. You knew he was playing it up, the exaggerated disappointed role for you, but it made your tummy flip-flop, pooling with warmth in your core, going faster at the task to finish it; desperate to please.

Eddie placed his hand on your back when you left your apartment, a sweet gesture that you savored, leaning into him sweetly. He circled his arm around your waist, both of you stepping down the creaking, wooden stairs towards the van.

"You gonna be good for me tonight?" Eddie asked with a raised brow, fingers wrapped around the handle before he opened the door for you.

Your head bobbed, eyes rounding sweetly up at him. "I'll be good." You breathed, his hand on your hip. You ass still stung, burning with every rub against the rough fabric of your jeans.

Eddie nodded curtly. "You better be." He opened the door, nodding at you to get in. "If you're a good girl, I'll be good to you tonight when we get home." He leaned in, brown eyes locking with yours.

You crossed your arms, huffing lightly, rolling your eyes to look out the other window. "I'm sure you'll be too tired again." You snarked.

Eddie's tongue rolled down his cheek, eyeing you viciously. "That's what this is about, hm?" He cocked his head to the side, brow quipping.

You shrunk under his glare, squirming in your seat. You could feel the burn of your skin against your jeans, rough and scratchy on the sensitivity. "Yeah, it is." You grumbled. "We haven't had sex in forever, Eddie." You whined.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "We had sex last night, baby."

You pressed your lips together. "Barely." You muttered. "That was like bare minimum sex. It didn't count."

Eddie sighed heavily, moving his hands to cup your jaw sweetly. "If you're good tonight, I'll fuck you extra good and sweet. How you like it." He muttered, his lips moving to brush over yours. You lifted into the kiss, his grip on your jaw stopping you from kissing him fully. "If you're bad, I'll still fuck you, but it won't be how you like." His eyes darkened at the threat, seeing excited chills down your spine, straight to your pussy.

You blinked up at him, eyes rounding slightly, his nose touching yours, smushed up so you could feel his breath joined with yours on your top lip. His eyes were soft, round and brown and big in the way that made him look so innocent and sweet- deceptive really in a way. He could be very sweet, was very sweet to you, but innocent? Not so much.

"Will you eat me out if I'm good?" You asked plainly, biting back a grin when he laughed, breath caught in his throat from the surprise of your request, blunt and direct.

You smirked, the blush rising on his neck towards his ears, hidden away by the mess of curls. Eddie pulled back, shaking his head at you playfully. "Yeah, baby, I'll eat you out if you're good." He grinned, leaning on his arm on the doorway of the car. "I'll do whatever you want if you're good, promise."

You grinned smugly, pulling your seatbelt on while he shut your door. You clung to him all night, holding his hand on the drive there, arms around his waist when Jeff and Kate showed you the house. You were so sweet, sitting in his lap, only pouting when he playfully patted your ass once, letting him smother you in kisses as an apology.

You were happy and sweet and pleasant, chatting with all his friends and their partners, giggling with the boys when they told you stories about Eddie from high school that made him blush.

You were so good, which is exactly why Eddie was between your legs for the remainder of the night, your hands gripping his curls, heels digging into hi shoulders. He could see the faint marks from the bath brush, rounded and imprinted on your cheeks when he fucked you hard into the mattress, adding a smattering of his handprints to the already irritated skin while he rutted into you from behind.

[witchthewriter]

𝐆𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!   

a/n: I watched the new season of The Witcher and somehow Geralt got even hotter??? Anyway, he has dilf energy and I'm in love

Warnings: family abuse, curse previously put on reader

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ        

・He had saved you, and yet, your family still did not want you.

・Geralt found out that it was your own father who cursed you

・A noble family that saw you as less than. And they banished you from their land, not wanting you anywhere near them.

・And when Geralt spoke on your behalf, asking what you were supposed to do, your father shrugged his shoulders and ignored the Witcher.

"You won't even keep y/n on as ... as anything?" The Witcher was disgusted when your father kept on ignoring him. It got to the point where Geralt threw a golden plate just above your father's head and his attention snapped to the white-haired man.

"I could have your head for that." Your father's voice was cold, it was always cold.

"And I could have yours," snarled Geralt, whose eyes were ablaze. But he knew he couldn't do anything about your family. Only about you.

・So, Geralt couldn't leave you to fend for yourself. And he didn't.

・Besides, you had no idea how to look after yourself. You had been a monster, trapped inside a form that was not yours for 7 years

・You were filthy, tired, and utterly defenseless.

・And even though Witcher's weren't known for their grace nor kindness, Geralt was different.

・He took you with him, damning your family for casting you out. Promising that you would rise above what they had done to you.

・But for now, he had to clean you up and ... catch you up on life.

- ✦ -

・Geralt sat you in front of him, Roach slightly grumpy with the extra weight. But once you reached Geralt's destination, he rewarded the steed with extra food

"Thank you, old friend," he whispered into the horses' ear.

・Helping you inside, he had arranged a room that had a bathing chamber

・The water ran hot as Geralt added in oils and different kinds of herbs

・It was an odd situation, yes, helping a stranger clean themselves.

・But Geralt couldn't live with the knowledge of you being left on your own. The possibility of so much danger. Of being taken advantage of.

・Helping you undress was slightly embarrassing, for the both of you. Your body was still getting used to its original form. Your balance was off, and your posture wasn’t very good. Geralt had to keep on correcting it.

・Easing you into the bath, he grabbed a cloth and started gently rubbing the grime from your body. The dirt, sweat and mud that caked your body

・Even when you transformed back into your normal form, the dirt still remained, as did the torn clothes that you had worn before being cursed into a great beast

・Speaking was difficult as well, but it was becoming easier with time. Even though not much had passed.

・The bath was the best thing you had felt in 7 whole goddamn years.

・Hot; like it was ridding you of all the hurt that built over time

・You swished your fingers through the water, delighting in the ripples they made. Such a small happiness. Yet you found glee in small things now. Grateful for a second chance.

・Geralt kept on scrubbing at your skin, using a bristled brush on some areas, careful not to be too rough or stay in one spot for too long

・Next he used this delicious smelling soap. Your knowledge of herbs was next to nothing, due to a lack in education, but you thought it smelt homely, earthly and calming. Lathering it in his hands and massaging it onto your own, you both worked the soap into different areas of your skin

“I’m going to wash your hair now,” he said. Voice soft yet still rough, like he wasn’t used to being kind to others. If that were true, you wondered why he was doing this for you.

“But first we need to brush it,” his eyes squinted at the tangled mess but started on it nonetheless.

・It hurt at first, but you knew Geralt was being as gentle as he could be, but there were so many knots.

“What do you think about cutting it?” You shook your head. Your hair was one of the only things that made you feel … beautiful.

“Ugh, fine. But this is going to take a while.”

・You shrugged your shoulders and happily kept on sitting in the tub, taking over some of the scrubbing, especially your feet, which felt so sensitive.

・Once they were large and clawed, now … they were human

・Your eyes stilled as the water reflected the glow of the candles around the room

・And you sighed. Not in sadness, or pain, or grief. But with the knowledge that you no longer had to be someone that you were not. Whether that was a beast or playing a role in your family that you didn’t want to have to play.

“You alright?” Geralt had made significant process, practically finished with your hair. And he grabbed a bucket and told you to lean back as he poured the water onto your hair.

・Geralt grabbed a different kind of soap and placed it in your hair, massaging and rubbing it, making sure there wasn’t a spot unwashed.

・You weren’t used to the sensation and let out a laugh. It tickled a tiny bit, especially when he rubbed behind your ears

・Unbeknownst to you, Geralt was slightly smiling. He enjoyed seeing you experience some happiness.

・After he had washed your hair a total of three times, he stood back satisfied with your appearance and held out a towel for you to wrap yourself in.

・Helping you out of the bath, he set down a pair of clean clothes on your bed and said he would be back in a few minutes.

・He wanted to give your privacy, while also wanting to check on Roach.

・The clothes were a big pair of brown pants and a long white shirt. They were a fresh pair from the Innkeeper's husband, who had recently passed away. Geralt had paid extra for them.

・After twenty minutes, Geralt came back into the room to find you asleep on the floor. The usual place you slept.

・A place you had slept for 7 years.

・7 years without a bed. Without a blanket or pillows. Nor were you given any sort of comfort.

・A rage so hot spread through Geralt that it practically radiated off of him.

・In that moment he swore you would have a better life, the best he could find … or give you.

[widowbitessting]

Sugar Mommies Season 2, Pt:6

Polite Reminder That All My Work - Especially For Sugar Mommies - Is 18+! Minors Do Not Interact.

“Hey darling, are you busy?”

You look up at Carol with a glare, pink barbie toothbrush in your sweaty palm; white bristles blackened from the grout you were being made to clean. 

You bite back the urge to swear at her, instead opting to force a toothy smile to your face. 

“Not really no, why?”

Carol, ever so smug, leans against the door frame with her arms crossed. 

“Are you sure, kitten? You seemed hard at work when I came in.”

“What do you want, Carol?” You can’t help the bite in your words. 

You’re really not in the mood.

“Oh stop pouting, princess; you earned this punishment yourself.”

She may have a point there. 

Carol continues on, “I warned you not to push me. And what did you do?”

“I didn’t listen, obviously.”

“Lose the attitude or I’ll have you clean the sidewalk too.”

“…sorry.”

A raised eyebrow makes you continue your apology. 

“Sorry Captain, I’ll stop being a brat.”

“There’s my good girl.” Carol crouches in front of you, balancing perfectly on the tip of her toes. You really have to fight the temptation to push her over. 

God. Your inner brat is thriving. 

“Tell me, my good thing. When do your classes finish?”

You brush some loose strands of hair from your glistening forehead. 

“Finish? For break?” 

“No love, when do you finish for the weekend?” 

“Oh!” 

“And did I say you could stop working? You’re still in your punishment, darling.” 

You automatically go back to scrubbing, pushing the bristles of the toothbrush into the cracks between the tiles a little more harder than needed.

“Answer the question, baby. I know that dumb brain struggles to comprehend simple questions sometimes but c’mon; I know you can do it.” 

“I…” You have to wrack your brain to think, “Wednesday. I think. I’m sure my Friday classes are cancelled.” 

“Think you can find out before the end of the day for me baby girl?” 

You look up at Carol and nod. 

“Sure. Why the rush?”

“I’m thinking of whisking you away after your last class until Monday. Does that sound good?” 

“A holiday?” 

“A mini one, yes.” 

You jump up and grab Carol into a hug, toothbrush clattering to the floor behind you.

She wraps her arms firmly around you.

“Where are we going?” 

“Do you really want me to tell you or do you want it to be a surprise?”

You don’t do well with surprises. 

At all.

“Just tell me!” You pause. “Please.” 

“Such a good girl, using her manners.” Carol presses a kiss to your nose. “I’m taking you to go and see Nat and Wanda.” 

You squeal so loudly you’re sure only dogs can hear it. 

Carol seems to be prepared for it as she doesn’t wince, instead choosing to grin down at you. 

You’re all but vibrating with excitement.

“We’re going to see them?!”

“Yes, sugar. Thought the news would cheer you up. Get you to stop pouting.”

“I wasn’t…” You trail off, fighting the urge to push out your bottom lip.

“Yes you were, my darling. Such a pouty little baby, hmm?”

She’s doing this deliberately. 

You’re already in trouble - your current predicament proves this - and Carol probably has another two, if not three, punishments already thought out. 

You’re really stumped at how to reply. 

Mercifully, Carol decides she has toyed with you enough.

“How about this: the sooner you finish your punishment, the sooner you can speak to Natasha and Wanda. I’m about to go and call them to discuss our trip…it’d be a shame if you were too busy pouting and being grumpy to speak to them, wouldn’t it?” 

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Get scrubbing, little girl.” 

“But I’ve only done half!” 

“Scrub fast.” 

She leaves you and the bathroom and you can only stare after her.

A second later, you hear her shout, “They have a present for you too, bunny!”

You perk up at the mere mention of a gift. 

“A present?” You call out, peering out of the doorway as Carol saunters away.

“Mhm. although, if you’re not there on the call with them then they might just return it…” 

You know she’s lying.

Heck, a toddler would be able to tell she’s lying. 

“You’re bluffing.” 

Carol turns to look at you. 

Her face is smug. 

So.

Freaking.

Smug.

“Try me sugar; see where that gets you.”

*

It’s safe to say, you never want to clean grout ever again. 

Your knees are throbbing, back sore like an 80 year old woman who's worked every day of her life; and you’ve cracked enough nails to know that Carol can pay for your next manicure appointment. 

You might even throw a pedicure and a chiropractic appointment in there too. 

But does that stop you barrelling out of the bathroom at full speed, with the toothbrush clattering behind you?

No. 

It does not. 

When you stumble into the room, Carol is saying her goodbyes and is about to press the hang up button.

“I’m here!”

“Timing on that, baby girl; you almost lost your present.”

You go to tear her phone from her hand but Carol moves it just out of your reach.

“Say please.”

“Please, Captain.”

“Good girl,” she pecks your cheek and hands you the phone. “You talk to them and I’ll inspect your work. Make sure you didn’t cheat and take any shortcuts.”

“I’m offended you’d ever assume I’d do that.”

The smirk on your face makes Carol roll her eyes and tap your nose. 

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay! The bathroom is glistening.” You say. “Take your shoes off!”

The faint “No!” has you giggling as you place Carol’s phone against your ear.

“Hi!”

“Well hello, naughty girl.” Natasha’s voice fills your ear. 

Your smile is officially cemented to your face. 

“I -”

There really isn’t any point in denying it.

“Yeah.”

Natasha tuts at you. 

“My, my, what are we going to do with you, hmm? A good grout scrubbing is a fairly decent punishment…but I know for a fact if I asked you to FaceTime us right now…you’d be smiling. You haven’t learnt your lesson, have you, kitten?”

“…I have…kind of.”

“Mhm. That really is believable.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Then switch this to a FaceTime kitten. Prove me wrong.” 

Those final three words really are like the nail in your coffin. 

They grate down your bratty side, taunting and teasing you, and it makes your eye twitch. 

There’s no denying that Natasha did it purposely. 

In fact, you know she did. 

She knows how it works on you. 

Knows that you’ll be her good little submissive and do as she says.

Natasha knows you better than yourself at times.

Which is why, the second you press the FaceTime icon on the screen, you know you’ve made a huge mistake.

Natasha’s perfectly beautiful face comes into view, as does Wanda’s.

You can see them.

And they can see you.

Your eyes automatically lower in submission, smile sliding off your face. 

It doesn’t go unmissed by Natasha, eyebrow raising slightly as a smug smirk forms on her lips.

“Well, hello there, little brat.” 

“Hi…”

“Use my title.”

Your brain takes a second to buffer.

“Your…huh?” You risk a peek up and quickly look away again.

“My title. Just like I trained you to do.”

“...daddy.”

“Now use it in a sentence. Go on, kitten.” 

“..hi daddy.”

“There we go, pet. That wasn’t so hard now was it?” Natasha says, “we miss you, pumpkin.” 

All humiliation is quickly forgotten.

“I miss you two, too.” 

“But we will see you soon!” Wanda shouts, jumping up and down. “Wednesday, Carol says.”

“That’s in like 3 days!” You let out an excited squeal and flop down onto the bed, your h/c hair fanning out around your head. “I don’t think I can wait that long.” 

“Well there might be something to help…ease your tension, baby girl.” Natasha says. “Check under the bed for me?” 

You had completely forgotten about the gift.

“Oh!” 

You leave them on the bed as you dive underneath, snatching the gift bag before resurfacing with it clamped tightly in your hands. 

“I love presents!” 

“We know you do, baby.” Natasha smiles.

“Open it, I can’t wait to see what you think!” Ever Wanda the impatient one. 

You tear into, gift paper soaring over your head and as you reach into the bag, you tilt your head in confusion. 

“What is it?”

You inspect the wrapped package.

“It’s a toy.” Natasha says.

“A toy?” 

Looking back at this moment, you’re ashamed of how long it takes your brain to connect the dots and figure out what kind of toy it is. 

“What? Like a My Little Pony?” 

“No but it’s something else you can ride.” Wanda says with such a straight face, her joke washes over you.

“Oookay…” 

You tear the paper open and all but drop the box as if it electrocutes you, when your eyes see the word ‘g-spot’. 

“Oh my god.”

You’re red. Blushing crimson as you hastily cover your face and let out an embarrassed laugh. 

“You owe me $5.” Wanda says smugly. “I knew she wouldn’t act cocky.”

“Is that what I think it is?” You mumble, still hiding behind your hands.

“A sex toy?” Natasha says. “Yes, yes it is. We want you to try it out for us. Now.” 

That makes you peek up through your fingers. 

“Now?” 

“Yes, baby. Now. We haven’t had the time to play with you in so long. We miss you.” 

“I - I miss you but, on camera?” 

“You can do that for us, can’t you?” Natasha is staring at you. “If you’re uncomfortable, remember your signals, my love.”

“I - I’m okay, I just…”

“Shy?” Wanda asks. 

You look at the toy again and can’t help but smile in embarrassment. 

“...yeah…” 

“It’s just us, baby girl.” Wanda says. “You’re with us, you’re safe.” 

“Why don’t you open the box, hmm?” Natasha suggests, “have a look at what we got you.”

Your hands are shaking. 

Because why wouldn’t they?

The item is pink. 

Soft to touch, incredibly soft in fact. 

You keep the toy on your lap, so the two women watching you intently can’t see it.

“It’s big.” 

“It’ll fit, don’t worry. Once you’re worked up and ready to take it, it’ll fit.” 

“Can you read the name out for me?” Natasha asks.

You quickly look up and meet their eyes. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m selfish and I love to see my baby girl blush, that’s why.”

You push your face into your hands in an attempt to hide. 

“The G -” 

“Nu-uh.” Natasha stops you. “Let us see that beautiful face.” 

You shake your head.

“No?” 

You shake your head again.

“Look at me and say no. Go on, detka.” 

“I…can’t.”

“And why not?” 

“‘Cos…” 

“Wow, such a good reply. Stumped us there, baby girl.” Wanda’s reply makes you smirk, even though you try your hardest not to. 

“Now you’re ignoring orders?” Natasha’s voice wipes the smirk clean off your face. “Look at me and repeat what you said. Last chance, Y/N.”

“Hey!” Your head snaps up and you shoot the redhead a glare before quickly looking away. “Don’t full name me!” 

“She just did, sugar. Answer her. Now.”

You - somehow - manage to drag your eyes to Natasha and for one brief second, you hold her gaze.

And then quickly look down. 

Submitting. 

“That’s what I thought.” Natasha licks her lips. “Now show your doms your beautiful face so we can see that pretty little blush.”

You do as you’re told, even if your bottom lip is sticking out a little. 

“There she is.” Natasha smiles. “Our blushing beauty.” 

“I’m not b -” You sigh. “Okay, fine, I am.”

“And we love it.” Wanda says. “Think you can read it out for us?”

“Signal in, detka.” Natasha orders. 

“Green…I’m just…”

“Shy, we know, my love, we know. But you’re okay. If you don’t want to read it out you don’t have to.” 

“I want to. Believe me, I do.”

“Go for it then, sweetie. At your own pace.” 

“The…um…the G-Spot Massager…” 

“God, you’re such a good girl.” Natasha coos. “You did so well for us, honey.” 

“Do you think you wanna try it out for us?” Wanda asks. 

You meet their eyes.

“Yes.” 

[tragedy-of-commons]

as an apology for my absence, here is some stray brainrot. stellaronhvnters may recognize. dental hygiene hcs ft. my favs from hsr (the creatures)

topaz

electric toothbrush haver. defends her choice fervently but honestly she just bought the most expensive option and it's yet to break

whitens her teeth on occasion with one of those scary glowing mechanisms. one time she whitens them in the dark and you think there's a fucking fragmentum monster in your house and you scream

struggles to string floss in between her teeth so for herself she uses floss picks

jing yuan

languid brusher. good god he really takes his time to wash all of the toothpaste out and stuff

because he's sleepy sometimes he accidentally swallows mouthwash

gargles obnoxiously loud

makes brushing teeth a group activity with you because he likes the domesticity of it. though he can be distracting

qingque

aggressive brusher. her toothbrush bristles are so frayed it looks like she scrubbed a bunch of spikes with them. when she replaces it every few weeks or months it doesn't take long for it to revert to the same state

had braces for a stint when she was growing up and has never been the same since. i know this trust. the food restrictions were torture for her so she didn't even follow them

snores LOUD and open-mouth at night so brushing is a requirement

aventurine

has a fancy waterflosser but a standard toothbrush

not aggressive but not languid??? my average king in that regard. good for him

cannot handle toothpastes that are too minty. even if it's embarrassing my princess will find an alternative

FIRST THING IN THE MORNING BRUSHER!!!!! especially before he gets dressed too because he'd rather stain his silk pajamas than his normal get-up

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Missed me? Pt 3

Stepdad!Anakin Skywalker x Femme Reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: stepcest/inappropriate relationships, cheating, kissing, flashback, past minor injury, angry/kinda violent thoughts

Info: honestly ur mom is rlly good at psychological warfare

You ran with Chewie in tow, your lungs on fire as you attempted to get home as quickly as possible. You skid to a stop on the pavement outside your house, the scene unfolding before you hitting you hard. Your mom, stomping out to her car and slamming the door shut. Throwing it in reverse and peeling out of the driveway without even glancing your way. You could physically feel the air blowing past you as she sped off out of the neighborhood.

You walked inside, terrified you’d find a mess. But to your surprise everything was in its place. You unclipped Chewie’s leash and let her roam about inside the house until she found a cool spot on the floor.

You could hear Anakin still working in the garage, he’d turned on some music to keep him company. Maybe you overreacted? She probably didn’t think anything of it right? It’s innocent enough. Anakin is notorious for leaving grease and oil stains in places they should never be. Like the time you painted your palm shoe-polish black just from opening the fridge.

It was nothing. Right? Anakin would be in here upset and waiting for you if something had happened, so everything must be fine. You thought back to your earlier conversation with your mom and recalled how annoyed she seemed about that coding mishap.

Relief spread through you, she was extremely anal about her work. A perfectionist through and through, maybe she’d received word the damage was worse than she originally thought. That would definitely warrant nascar level driving in her eyes.

Even so, you felt the need to placate her when she returned. After a shower and a clean set of comfy clothes you set about cleaning the main floor of the house thoroughly. Scrubbing each surface clean, vacuuming, mopping windex-ing the windows. You even cleared out the leftovers and expired items from the fridge. Going so far as to jot down the items that needed replacing.

Trotting over to the cork board mounted on the wall of the short hall leading to the laundry room and the garage door. This was where everything of importance lived, bills, grocery lists, to-do lists, even a family calendar. Something in red ink had been added to the calendar for tomorrow and you nearly stabbed yourself with a push pin when you read it.

‘Date Night 6:00 @Marzettis’

Written in the ridiculously neat and proper cursive that only could’ve belonged to your mother. If you measured the PSI of your bite force right now, you were one hundred percent sure it would be enough to bite off your mother’s writing hand. Your jaw was clenched so tightly that you heard your molars squeak in protest.

Jabbing the list into the cork with the pushpin you let out a breath that you’d been holding long enough to make you alittle lightheaded.

Calm down. They’re married. Married people go on dates. Anakin can’t really reject his own wife can he? No. No he can’t. It’s okay.

You shook out your anger, resolving yourself to ignore the fact that your stomach was churning with nerves and your tongue burned with unspoken venom. There was still things to do. And doing things is good. Scrubbing every centimeter of the bathroom shower with such aggression that you permanently bent the bristles of your favorite scrub brush was definitely a healthy alternative to committing a felony.

Hours passed and Anakin finally returned from the garage sending the current vehicle he was working on back to its owner a full day early. It’s amazing what alittle midmorning pussy pick-me-up can do for a man.

It also probably helped that your tiny arms shaved off at least an hours work of dismantling parts of the engine that were in his way of retrieving the piece he actually needed to extract. Though he’d milk his coincidental success as the result of your passionate rekindling for all that it’s worth. It couldn’t hurt to test out that theory a few times could it?

“Whoa.” He snorted, seeing you to his left scrubbing the inside of the washing machine. “What the hell are you doing?”

You lifted your head a bit too fast and wacked it on the lip of the washer, immediately wincing and bringing a hand to rub the top of your head.

“Apparently I’m doing my damndest to give myself a concussion.” You joked, glancing over at him in his sweaty, greasy clothes.

“There’s this guy who has disgusting laundry, that occasionally leaves residue in the washer.” You dramatically explained.

“So I’m doing him a favor and saving him from an accidental repeat of the fancy hand-towel stain incident of 2020.” You grinned and watched as Anakin mirrored your expression.

“Lucky man.” He chuckled, coming over to give you a quick peck on the lips before rushing off to shower.

Dinner rolled around and you decided to order in, the local Chinese restaurant had the best egg rolls around, and that was just what you needed. You texted your mother to ask for her order and jotted yours and Anakin’s down on a scrap of paper.

~be home alittle late. Just get some Udon for me.~ She responded quickly.

Easy enough. You called in the order and it was delivered and delicious in around 30 minutes. You spread out the feast on the kitchen counter and laughed at Anakin practically drooling over the crab rangoons he was shoveling into his mouth.

“So whens she gonna be home?” He asked, not even bothering to cover his mouth despite chewing like his life depended on it.

“She just said late.” You shrugged, late could mean anything. 10 minutes, an hour; it’s a ridiculous measure of time that you’d always had trouble accepting.

“Well.” He clicked his tongue as he popped open a cold beer from the fridge. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Oh actually, you know what he haven’t done in a while?” You grinned.

“Housewives?” He smirked.

“Yes sir. Take your pick.” You scooped up your take-out box and made a beeline for your favorite seat, the comfy and worn out recliner.

“I’m thinkin’ New Jersey.” He mused, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and searching for your guilty pleasure show.

There’s something comforting about watching someone else’s life like this. Honestly you found it… strangely calming to know that other people have more stressful lives than you. And of course it didn’t hurt that you really loved a bratty cat-fight. Scripted or not, it was undeniably as entertaining as a train wreck.

It would seem that your mother’s definition of ‘late’ was around 45 minutes, she walked in the door as chipper as ever. Doing wonders for your earlier worries; nothing seemed amiss to her.

She took in your comfortable nest of blankets in your recliner, Anakin’s lanky legs draped over the armrest of the couch with his head propped on a pillow. She was… assessing the scene and found no evidence of any foul deeds.

“It was a good idea for take out.” She said, tossing her items on the table. “I’ve missed these noodles.”

“Oh I know.” You agreed. “I saved an egg roll for you.”

“Thanks sweetie.” She said, flashing a blank stare and an empty smile over her shoulder that went unnoticed by the both of you.

“So Marzettis, is that alright for tomorrow?” She asked Anakin sitting on the couch near him with her food.

“That new Italian place?” He asked, his eyebrows pinched together. “That’s the one Obi took Satine to isn’t it?”

“Yeah it is,” she nodded, seemingly pleased he remembered. “They gushed about it so much I figured it was time we try it.”

“Alright, as long as there’s breadsticks I’m happy.” Anakin smiled.

Meanwhile you were boiling in your seat as you listened to their conversation. Just like in an old cartoon you swore the top of your head would screw itself off and rattle with white hot steam. Honestly, you wished it would. That might just be the only way to get rid of this pressure in your skull without *actually* combusting.

You suffered through their small talk and meaningless conversation about blah, blah and blah. Finally, the episode of Housewives ended and you made your quick egress to your room with a wave goodnight.

You lay awake in bed, planning your to-do list for the next day. You needed to keep yourself busy and entertained to avoid falling victim to the wallowing hole of self pity that is your mind’s way of ‘coping’ with your jealousy.

To-Do:

Wake up

Scream

Nap

Repeat

Perfect.

You woke up, unsure as to when you actually fell asleep; though arguably in a 73% better mood just from the simple fact that you could hear power tools being used in the garage. It was comforting. The noise used to bother you, irk you to the edge of insanity, because who in their right mind would wake up and use the loudest power tools known to man at 6:00am?

Anakin would.

Every time you woke up to the noise, it reminded you of your first kiss, what could be a better way to wake up? Except for maybe an actual kiss from him.

You had stomped from your room to the garage, having been woken up at 6:00am *on summer break* for the previous 4 days. You threw the door open and yelled for him, but he didn’t hear you. Between the loud grinding sound of metal on metal and the earbuds he had in, you had little choice but to pull something dramatic.

Spotting the extension cord you had unplugged it and relished in the momentary silence before hearing Anakin cursing and repeatedly flipping the switch. You stood and observed with a self-satisfied grin, crossing your arms and jutting out your hip as you waited for his small man brain to figure out what happened.

Karma wasn’t something you believed in until right then, because without even looking up he yanked on the extension cord and the hard plastic socket whipped your thigh leaving an almost immediate bruise.

“Fuck!” You yelled, clenching your fists and biting back a string of words so hellish you might’ve burst into flames if you screamed like you wanted to.

Anakin’s head shot up and he ripped out his earbuds, momentarily confused when he didn’t see the source of the very angry curse word. That was until you hissed as you poked at the tender bruise.

“Oh shit.” He mumbled, rounding the front end of the car to get to you. “Hey- hey sweetheart, what the hell are you doing down here? It’s awful early for you to be up.”

Oh that was it. That was not the thing to say to you right then. He could’ve called you a crybaby and you would’ve took it better than that innocent comment.

“Yeah? It’s awful early to be using whatever the fuck that thing is!” You grumbled, shaking his hand off your arm. “Do you seriously have to do that this early in the morning? Can’t you do something less… grating?!”

“Do you see any other vehicle here for me to work on?” He deadpanned.

“God you’re insufferable sometimes you know that?” You huffed, looking back down at your leg.

“Did you unplug that grinder I was using?” He asked accusingly.

“Yes I did.” You shot back. “It was getting on my fucking nerves Anakin.”

“Well shit- just let me-“ He sighed trying to pry your hands away from your thigh but you batted him away, swiping a droplet of blood across his wrist.

One of the sharp plastic corners had bit into your skin on impact and caused a teeny tiny nick. Though from the amount of blood trickling down your leg, one would automatically assume you had a proper slice of an injury.

“Baby c’mon just let me see? I’m sorry.” He said in a pained tone, you could tell he genuinely felt bad, even though this was mostly your fault.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me.” You had scoffed.

“Fine. My liege.” He grumbled sarcastically.

He approached with paper towels and crouched down to swat your hands away and dab gently at the wound, or rather, lack thereof. He attempted to hand you a paper towel to clean off your hand but you declined, anti-politely wiping off the blood onto his dirty work shirt.

“Are you serious right now?” He scowled.

“Are you almost done?” You countered, crossing your arms again.

“Yeah. It’s just a scratch. Turns out every inch of you is just as dramatic as your shit attitude.” He said, standing up, his height making you feel dwarfed.

“Yeah that’s what happens when-“ you started in an angry, belittling tone.

Though you were cut off and the world paused around you. You went stiff as he grabbed you by the shoulders and leaned down to kiss you. Before you even registered what was happening top-side, your body had already begun to relax in his arms. His big strong, work-worn hands pulling you into him while he slipped his tongue between your lips. Gliding lightly just behind your top row of teeth before you finally gave in and kissed him back.

Your eyes fluttered closed and you hummed know content when he released your waist to cradle your head with both hands, your own fisting his shirt as you kissed like your lives depended on it.

“Hey! You up?” Your mom knocked loudly on your door and broke the trance of the sweet memory. That 73%? Reduced to 32%.

“Yes.” You huffed and rolled out of bed, unlocking your door and letting her in.

“Great, I want to borrow a dress of yours is that okay?” She asked, heading to your closet before you could even respond.

No way. Absolutely no way. She was not wearing that.

“No. Pick something else.” You said sternly, taking the red summer dress and hanging it back up.

“What why?” She questioned.

“Because it has a hole in it.” You lied, “can’t have you going on your big date like that.”

“I didn’t see a hole.” She countered, going to grab it again.

“Trust me. There’s a hole.” And they’ll be another one: in the ground for her if she didn’t accept defeat on this.

“Fine.” She scoffed and drug out a few more options under your watchful eye.

“This one?” She asked.

“Yeah that one’s fine. It’ll look great.” You forced a smile and tracked her during her retreat down the hall.

As soon as she entered her room you slammed your own door shut and locked it again. You went straight to your closet and got the red dress, folding it and tucking it into the bottom of your sock drawer.

Was she intentionally trying to piss you off? No. She couldn’t have known. No one could’ve known other than you and Anakin. You had been so careful, going out of town for a date at the drive-in while your mom was away on a business trip. You’d worn that dress for Anakin and only Anakin, and you’d never worn it since that night, that first night.

In your state of confusion you didn’t notice the sound of Anakin’s garage noise die down.

Anakin had stopped for a coffee break and came inside, finding his wife at the kitchen counter. He gave her a quick smile and and poured some black coffee into a big thermos.

“Sugar? ‘Sugar’?” She asked sweetly, sliding the large sugar canister across the countertop to him.

“Uh, yeah.” He blinked slowly as if trying to rewind her words. “Yeah okay thanks.”

He shook his head and shrugged, raising his eyebrows in concentrated thought as he stirred the sugar into his coffee. The only person who has *ever* said that to him is you. That’s such a weird coincidence… what are the chances? It’s not like you call him ‘sugar’ any other time either. Only ever for the sake of making him smile when he fixes his coffee.

“Well. I’ll be out here then.” He said awkwardly, still very much miffed by the odd comment.

She ‘mhm’d’ in response, enjoying watching him slink back into the garage with his cheeks tinted in shame.

By the time 5:30 rolled around Anakin was in a nice button-up and dress pants, looking absolutely exquisite. That man really knew how to wear… anything, and nothing too. You had to ogle him from afar, watching his cute butt in those well-fit pants as he walked out the door following closely behind your mother. Who was wearing your dress.

You made a mental note to find an industrial shredder to take care of that ruined fabric when she returned it.

At Marzetti’s dinner was going well, much better than Anakin had expected to be honest. It was almost nice, in a weird way. The food was good, the atmosphere was pretty… he couldn’t help but be startled every now and again when he glanced over and didn’t see you across the table from him. You’d love this place, and damn he’d love to see you in it. He just knew the lighting would show off those sexy bedroom eyes you *swore* you never knew when you were making.

The biggest downside was that this place was alittle too expensive to be wasted on your mother. This kind of luxury should be reserved for his princess.

After an hour’s worth of awkward small talk and stupid conversational questions, Anakin got up to use the restroom.

When he returned he was shocked to say the least. The table had been cleared and all that remained was the check, and a thick manila envelope, he hesitantly picked it up and tucked it under his arm.

Fast walking to the front of the restaurant he quickly paid, despite the hostess’s request for him to return to his table because ‘payment is collected at your seat’. He fumbled with his car keys and clicked the lock button to quickly locate his black vintage Camaro… no dice.

He stood frozen in the middle of the parking lot, spinning slowly and spotting his parking spot… where the car *should* have been.

“That bitch took my fucking Camaro.” He whispered to himself, internally screaming at himself for being a responsible adult and having a spare set of keys safely stashed away.

He already had an idea of what was in that envelope, but now he didn’t even need to look at the title page. He just needed a goddamn pen.

Final Part

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