#discussion further below

[wonder-worker]

Queen Margaret (of Anjou) had written to the Common Council in November when the news of the Duke of York's coup was proclaimed. The letter from the queen was published in modernised English by M.A.E. Wood in 1846, and she dated it to February 1461 because of its opening sentence: ‘And whereas the late Duke of N [York]...." However the rest of the letter, and that of the prince, is in the present tense and clearly indicates that the Duke of York is still alive. The reference to the ‘late duke’ is not to his demise but to the attainder of 1459 when he was stripped of his titles as well as of his lands. If the queen’s letter dates to November 1460, and not February 1461, it make perfect sense. Margaret declared the Duke of York had ‘upon an untrue pretense, feigned a title to my lord’s crown’ and in so doing had broken his oath of fealty. She thanked the Londoners for their loyalty in rejecting his claim. She knew of the rumours, that we and my lords sayd sone and owrs shuld newly drawe toward yow with an vnsome [uncounted] powere of strangars, disposed to robbe and to dispoyle yow of yowr goods and havours, we will that ye knowe for certeyne that . . . . [y]e, nor none of yow, shalbe robbed, dispoyled nor wronged by any parson that at that tyme we or owr sayd sone shalbe accompanied with She entrusted the king's person to the care of the citizens ‘so that thrwghe malice of his sayde enemye he be no more trowbled vexed ne jeoparded.’ In other words the queen was well informed in November 1460 of the propaganda in London concerning the threat posed by a Lancastrian military challenge to the illegal Yorkist proceedings. Margaret assured the Common Council that no harm would come to the citizenry or to their property. Because the letter was initially misdated, it has been assumed that the queen wrote it after she realised the harm her marauding troops were doing to her cause, and to lull London into a false sense of security. This is not the case, and it is a typical example of historians accepting without question Margaret’s character as depicted in Yorkist propaganda. Margaret’s letter was a true statement of her intentions but it made no impact at the time and has made none since. How many people heard of it? The Yorkist council under the Earl of Warwick, in collusion with the Common Council of the city, was in an ideal position to suppress any wide dissemination of the letter, or of its content.

... When Margaret joined the Lancastrian lords it is unlikely that she had Scottish troops with her. It is possible that Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, sent men from Wales but there was no compelling reason why he should, he needed all the forces at his disposal to face Edward Earl of March, now Duke of York following his father’s death at Wakefield, who, in fact, defeated Pembroke at Mortimer’s Cross on 2 February just as the Lancastrian army was marching south. The oft repeated statement that the Lancastrian army was composed of a motley array of Scots, Welsh, other foreigners (French by implication, for it had not been forgotten that René of Anjou, Queen Margaret’s father, had served with the French forces in Nomandy when the English were expelled from the duchy, nor that King Charles VII was her uncle) as well as northern men is based on a single chronicle, the Brief Notes written mainly in Latin in the monastery of Ely, and ending in 1470. It is a compilation of gossip and rumour, some of it wildly inaccurate, but including information not found in any other contemporary source, which accounts for the credence accorded to it. The Dukes of Somerset and Exeter and the Earl of Devon brought men from the south and west. The Earl of Northumberland was not solely reliant on his northern estates; as Lord Poynings he had extensive holdings in the south. The northerners were tenants and retainers of Northumberland, Clifford, Dacre, the Westmorland Nevilles, and Fitzhugh, and accustomed to the discipline of border defence. The continuator of Gregory’s Chronicle, probably our best witness, is emphatic that the second battle of St Albans was won by the ‘howseholde men and feyd men.” Camp followers and auxiliaries of undesirables there undoubtedly were, as there are on the fringes of any army, but the motley rabble the queen is supposed to have loosed on peaceful England owes more to the imagination of Yorkist propagandists than to the actual composition of the Lancastrian army.

... Two differing accounts of the Lancastrian march on London are generally accepted. One is that a large army, moving down the Great North Road, was made up of such disparate and unruly elements that the queen and her commanders were powerless to control it.” Alternatively, Queen Margaret did not wish to curb her army, but encouraged it to ravage all lands south of the Trent, either from sheet spite or because it was the only way she could pay her troops.” Many epithets have been applied to the queen, few of them complimentary, but no one has as yet called her stupid. It would have been an act of crass stupidity wilfully to encourage her forces to loot the very land she was trying to restore to an acceptance of Lancastrian rule, with her son as heir to the throne. On reaching St Albans, so the story goes, the Lancastrian army suddenly became a disciplined force which, by a series of complicated manoeuvres, including a night march and a flank attack, won the second battle of St Albans, even though the Yorkists were commanded by the redoubtable Earl of Warwick. The explanation offered is that the rabble element, loaded down with plunder, had descended before the battle and only the household men remained. Then the rabble reappeared, and London was threatened. To avert a sack of the city the queen decided to withdraw the army, either on her own initiative or urged by the peace-loving King Henry; as it departed it pillaged the Abbey of St Albans, with the king and queen in residence, and retired north, plundering as it went. Nevertheless, it was sufficiently intact a month later to meet and nearly defeat the Yorkist forces at Towton, the bloodiest and hardest fought battle of the civil war thus far. The ‘facts’ as stated make little sense, because they are seen through the distorting glass of Yorkist propaganda.

The ravages allegedly committed by the Lancastrian army are extensively documented in the chronicles, written after the event and under a Yorkist king. They are strong on rhetoric but short on detail. The two accounts most often quoted are by the Croyland Chronicle and Abbott Whethamstede. There is no doubting the note of genuine hysterical fear in both. The inhabitants of the abbey of Crowland were thoroughly frightened by what they believed would happen as the Lancastrians swept south. ‘What do you suppose must have been our fears . . . [w]hen every day rumours of this sad nature were reaching our ears.’ Especially alarming was the threat to church property. The northern men ‘irreverently rushed, in their unbridled and frantic rage into churches . . . [a]nd most nefariously plundered them.’ If anyone resisted ‘they cruelly slaughtered them in the very churches or churchyards.’ People sought shelter for themselves and their goods in the abbey,“ but there is not a single report of refugees seeking succour in the wake of the passage of the army after their homes had been burned and their possessions stolen. The Lancastrians were looting, according to the Crowland Chronicle, on a front thirty miles wide ‘like so many locusts.“ Why, then, did they come within six miles but bypass Crowland? The account as a whole makes it obvious that it was written considerably later than the events it so graphically describes.

The claim that Stamford was subject to a sack from which it did not recover is based on the Tudor antiquary John Leland. His attribution of the damage is speculation; by the time he wrote stories of Lancastrian ravages were well established, but outside living memory. His statement was embellished by the romantic historian Francis Peck in the early eighteenth century. Peck gives a spirited account of Wakefield and the Lancastrian march, influenced by Tudor as well as Yorkist historiography. … As late as 12 February when Warwick moved his troops to St Albans it is claimed that he did not know the whereabouts of the Lancastrians, an odd lack of military intelligence about an army that was supposed to be leaving havoc in its wake. The Lancastrians apparently swerved to the west after passing Royston which has puzzled military historians because they accept that it came down the Great North Road, but on the evidence we have it is impossible to affirm this. If it came from York via Grantham, Leicester, Market Harborough, Northampton and Stony Stratford to Dunstable, where the first engagement took place, there was no necessity to make an inexplicable swerve westwards because its line of march brought it to Dunstable and then to St Albans. The Lancastrians defeated Warwick’s army on 17 February 1461 and Warwick fled the field. In an echo of Wakefield there is a suggestion of treachery. An English Chronicle tells the story of one Thomas Lovelace, a captain of Kent in the Yorkist ranks, who also appears in Waurin. Lovelace, it is claimed, was captured at Wakefield and promised Queen Margaret that he would join Warwick and then betray and desert him, in return for his freedom.

Lt. Colonel Bume, in a rare spirit of chivalry, credits Margaret with the tactical plan that won the victory, although only because it was so unorthodox that it must have been devised by a woman. But there is no evidence that Margaret had any military flair, let alone experience. A more likely candidate is the veteran captain Andrew Trolloppe who served with Warwick when the latter was Captain of Calais, but he refused to fight under the Yorkist banner against his king at Ludford in 1459 when Warwick brought over a contingent of Calais men to defy King Henry in the field. It was Trolloppe’s ‘desertion’ at Ludford, it is claimed, that forced the Yorkists to flee. The most objective and detailed account of the battle of St Albans is by the unknown continuator of Gregory’s Chronicle. The chronicle ends in 1469 and by that time it was safe to criticise Warwick, who was then out of favour. The continuator was a London citizen who may have fought in the Yorkist ranks. He had an interest in military matters and recorded the gathering of the Lancastrian army at Hull, before Wakefield, and the detail that the troops wore the Prince of Wales’ colours and ostrich feathers on their livery together with the insignia of their lords. He had heard the rumours of a large ill-disciplined army, but because he saw only the household men he concluded that the northerners ran away before the battle. Abbot Whethamstede wrote a longer though far less circumstantial account, in which he carefully made no mention of the Earl of Warwick. … Margaret of Anjou had won the battle but she proceeded to lose the war. London lay open to her and she made a fatal political blunder in retreating from St Albans instead of taking possession of the capital.' Although mistaken, her reasons for doing so were cogent. The focus of contemporary accounts is the threat to London from the Lancastrian army. This is repeated in all the standard histories, and even those who credit Margaret with deliberately turning away from London do so for the wrong reasons.

... The uncertainties and delays, as well as the hostility of some citizens, served to reinforce Margaret’s belief that entry to London could be dangerous. It was not what London had to fear from her but what she had to fear from London that made her hesitate. Had she made a show of riding in state into the city with her husband and son in a colourful procession she might have accomplished a Lancastrian restoration, but Margaret had never courted popularity with the Londoners, as Warwick had, and she had kept the court away from the capital for several years in the late 1450s, a move that was naturally resented. Warwick’s propaganda had tarnished her image, associating her irrevocably with the dreaded northern men. There was also the danger that if Warwick and Edward of March reached London with a substantial force she could be trapped inside a hostile city, and she cannot have doubted that once she and Prince Edward were taken prisoner the Lancastrian dynasty would come to an end. Understandably, at the critical moment, Margaret lost her nerve. ... Queen Margaret did not march south in 1461 in order to take possession of London, but to recover the person of the king. She underestimated the importance of the capital to her cause." Although she had attempted to establish the court away from London, the Yorkist lords did not oppose her for taking the government out of the capital, but for excluding them from participation in it. Nevertheless London became the natural and lucrative base for the Yorkists, of which they took full advantage. The author of the Annales was in no doubt that it was Margaret’s failure to enter London that ensured the doom of the Lancastrian dynasty. A view shared, of course, by the continuator of Gregory’s Chronicle, a devoted Londoner:

He that had Londyn for sake Wolde no more to hem take The king, queen and prince had been in residence at the Abbey of St Albans since the Lancastrian victory. Abbot Whethamstede, at his most obscure, conveys a strong impression that St Albans was devastated because the Lancastrian leaders, including Queen Margaret, encouraged plundering south of the Trent in lieu of wages. There must have been some pillaging by an army which had been kept in a state of uncertainty for a week, but whether it was as widespread or as devastating as the good abbot, and later chroniclers, assert is by no means certain. Whethamstede is so admirably obtuse that his rhetoric confuses both the chronology and the facts. So convoluted and uncircumstantial is his account that the eighteenth century historian of the abbey, the Reverend Peter Newcome, was trapped into saying: ‘These followers of the Earl of March were looked on as monsters in barbarity.’ He is echoed by Antonia Gransden who has ‘the conflict between the southemers of Henry’s army and the nonherners of Edward’s. The abbey was not pillaged, but Whethamstede blackened Queen Margaret’s reputation by a vague accusation that she appropriated one of the abbey’s valuable possessions before leaving for the north. This is quite likely, not in a spirit of plunder or avarice, but as a contribution to the Lancastrian war effort, just as she had extorted, or so he later claimed, a loan from the prior of Durham earlier in the year. The majority of the chroniclers content themselves with the laconic statement that the queen and her army withdrew to the north, they are more concerned to record in rapturous detail the reception of Edward IV by ‘his’ people. An English Chronicle, hostile to the last, reports that the Lancastrian army plundered its way north as remorselessly as it had on its journey south. One can only assume that it took a different route. The Lancastrian march ended where it began, in the city of York. Edward of March had himself proclaimed King Edward IV in the capital the queen had abandoned, and advanced north to win the battle of Towton on 29 March. The bid to unseat the government of the Yorkist lords had failed, and that failure brought a new dynasty into being. The Duke of York was dead, but his son was King of England whilst King Henry, Queen Margaret and Prince Edward sought shelter at the Scottish court. The Lancastrian march on London had vindicated its stated purpose, to recover the person of the king so that the crown would not continue to be a pawn in the hands of rebels and traitors, but ultimately it had failed because the Lancastrian leaders, including Queen Margaret, simply did not envisage that Edward of March would have the courage or the capacity to declare himself king. Edward IV had all the attributes that King Henry (and Queen Margaret) lacked: he was young, ruthless, charming, and the best general of his day; and in the end he out-thought as well as out-manoeuvred them.

It cannot be argued that no damage was done by the Lancastrian army. It was mid-winter, when supplies of any kind would have been short, so pillaging, petty theft, and unpaid foraging were inevitable. It kept the field for over a month and, and, as it stayed longest at Dunstable and in the environs of St Albans, both towns suffered from its presence. But the army did not indulge in systematic devastation of the countryside, either on its own account or at the behest of the queen. Nor did it contain contingents of England’s enemies, the Scots and the French, as claimed by Yorkist propaganda. Other armies were on the march that winter: a large Yorkist force moved from London to Towton and back again. There are no records of damage done by it, but equally, it cannot be claimed that there was none.

-B.M Cron, "Margaret of Anjou and the Lancastrian March on London, 1461"

[eupheme]

my love for this grumpy asshole has been reignited 👀 been working on a little one-shot about neighbor!reader (who is a baker) and wingman!wade trying to hook his new bff logan up - I have a little sneak peek below!

edit - fic is up here!

logan/wolverine x f!reader | rated e

(will include spoilers from deadpool & wolverine)

Wade claps his hands, standing between you.

“Logan, this is our neighbor, Sugar. She bakes a mean penis cake and likes emotionally unavailable men,” He explains cordially, as if discussing the weather.

A dejected sigh as he regards you, “Which is why it’s never worked out between us. I am just too open.”

You’re already cringing at the weight of Logan’s side-eye, fiercely regretting this deal you made, “Oh my god. Wade. It was one time. Why do you have to put it like that?”

“Just skipping over the ‘getting-to-know-you’s, so you can know if you’re compatible.” He’s already turning to Logan, who’s turned even more wary.

“And this is Logan. He’s from another Earth, is two-hundred years old, and has a metal dong.”

Logan’s teeth grit, before he snarls, “It’s not made of metal-”

Your eyes dip, curious. A knock rings out then, interrupting him from further clarification.

“Ooh! Door,” Wade thumbs over his shoulder, “Go on now, we’ve got some good energy going here. Sugar and spice, I love it.”

A spin on his heel, and he’s leaving the two of you alone.

“Nice to meet you.” Logan seethes, shooting daggers at Wade’s back as his jaw grits.

[ellecdc]

Sirius' Admirer

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader at a party with Sirius' determined admirer

CW: fluff, shy!reader but it's only discussed, possessive Remus, brief mention of alcohol/being tipsy but no description

original request/prompt = @unstablereader

The party was winding down as the small group that was left in Gryffindor tower pulled the various sofas and chairs closer to the low coffee table for another party game. 

Not you, though.

Remus was very happy to have you curled up in his lap, pretty well asleep, as he watched Sirius smirk and laugh with the remaining party goers. 

It was no secret that you were a touch more shy than Sirius or Remus were. 

Okay, you were terribly more shy than Sirius and Remus were, but Remus was more than happy to sit on the sidelines with his and Sirius’ little wallflower.

And it was no secret you put in a solid effort to be more social for your more extroverted boyfriends'; showing up to this party was evidence of that, both of them knowing that the old you would have never agreed to such a thing.

He was certain that had you been a little less tipsy and a little more awake, you would rather die than be seen falling asleep in one of your boyfriend’s lap. 

That made Remus love his current situation all the more.

You shifted slightly at a boisterous laugh from the group and Remus used his hand that was supporting you to rub your back soothingly. He couldn’t help the proud smirk that took over his face when you nuzzled a little further into his chest at the action. 

Remus could suddenly smell trouble in the form of one Gryffindor girl a year below the three of you - who seemed to have quite the crush on Sirius - as she approached the group. 

Now it’s important to note that it’s not that he blamed the girl for her crush, per se, but he certainly didn’t like it.

And Moony liked it even less. 

Remus watched as the girl approached Sirius, and Sirius - not quite able to rid himself of the Pureblood gentleman he was raised beaten to be - began to stand in order to offer her his chair.

“Oh that’s okay! We can both fit!” The girl offered boldly, grabbing Sirius’ arm before he was at his full height and pulling him back down into the (albeit rather large) one seater chair. 

Though Remus could see Sirius was slightly taken aback by the boldness of the younger Gryffindor, he quickly schooled his face and offered a polite shrug before turning his gaze to the rest of the room. 

Before the game began, Sirius’ eyes flit upwards towards the chair he knew the two of you were occupying where he took in your tangled forms.

A soft, loving smile took over his face as he watched your chest rise and fall peacefully before his eyes met Remus’, who he offered a wink before returning to the game at hand.

Now Remus tried to focus on the feel of your steady breathing, your weight on his chest, the warmth of your body, and the contentment he had felt all night with you and Sirius.

But Moony was far more concerned with that little witch who was sitting far too close to his Padfoot. 

Remus tried to mentally grab The Wolf by the scruff of the neck, begging him to relax for now.

And it almost worked.

Except the little witch had thrown her head back in laughter and slapped Sirius' thigh playfully. 

Remus could feel a possessive discontentment rumble through his chest, and unfortunately for him, so did you.

“I’m sorry, dovey. It’s okay, go back to sleep.” He murmured, pressing a conciliatory kiss to your hairline as you stirred in his lap. 

You tightened your hold on Remus in a way that you never do in public, and he was immediately back to feeling quite smug about his current situation.

Though, unfortunately, the smugness didn’t last long. 

Sirius was having a playful row with James over whether or not James had cheated during his turn, paying no mind to the younger girl who was scooching ever closer to him in his distraction, to the point that Remus felt she was nearly sitting right on his lap.

Mine. Moony growled petulantly in his mind. 

Remus thought, hoped, and prayed that he was strong enough to ignore it, but it seemed that either Moony was particularly possessive tonight or this witch was particularly bothersome. 

Sirius was leaning forward in the seat with his elbows on his knees conversing with Peter as the witch leaned forward and rested her head on his shoulder. 

Remus wasn’t exactly sure what his plan was in attempting to stand up, but that plan (or lack thereof) was quickly thwarted when you whimpered at the disruption. 

“Moons?” You whined as you started to tense; eyes scrunching in preparation to open and see what Remus’ fuss was about.

“Sorry. I'm sorry babylove.” He cooed as he settled back into his chair and kissed the space between your brows.

Damn his difficult hot and oblivious boyfriend and his sweet little sleepy girl - causing him nothing but grief. 

How in the sodding hell did Sirius not notice what was going on right now!? He had to feel the weight of her stupid sodding head on his shoulder?

But apparently whatever discourse he was currently participating in with Peter was more interesting than his admirer. 

Remus tried to remind himself that the fact that Sirius wasn’t noticing and not interested in the witch was really rather a good thing as he continued to keep an eye on his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s devotee.

Apparently though, Remus had a threshold.

And that threshold came in the form of the witch slowly wrapping both her arms around Sirius’ arm that she was already leaning against.

Sirius barely had time to furrow his brows and turn to look at the girl incredulously before Remus had shot a tame stinging hex at him. 

“Ouch! What the fuck?” Sirius hissed as he shook the hand Remus had stung - not coincidentally the hand that the witch was moments away from trying to hold - forcing the girl to straighten up from where she’d been attempting to cosy up to him. 

“Oi Prongs, are Rem and my girl still around?” Sirius called loudly regardless of the fact that Remus knew that Sirius knew exactly where they were. 

“Never very far, Pads.” James smirked as he used his head to gesture towards your and Remus’ forms. 

Sirius looked over with a salacious grin on his face before quickly standing and abandoning the witch in her chair built for one as he made for the two of you.

“Awe our poor girl, Rem.” Sirius cooed as he leaned over you to press a kiss to Remus’ lips. “You should have called me over earlier so we could bring her to bed.”

“You seemed a little preoccupied.” Remus answered pointedly, though his chiding was minimised by the teasing smile on his face. 

“Fuckin’ weird.” Sirius breathed out before crouching down to be level with you.

“Hey pretty girl.” Sirius murmured as he pushed some of your hair away from your face. “You ready for bed?”

You let out a pitiful sound as you tried to nuzzle further into Remus’ chest, only for both boys to chuckle at you. 

“Come on, sleepy-head.” He continued, pulling you from Remus’ lap by your hands and into his chest. Remus watched Sirius support basically the entirety of your weight where you were leaning against him as he guided you towards the stairs of the boys’ dormitory. 

“Goodnight everyone!” He called to the group, causing you to timidly burrow further into his side to hide from what Remus was sure was the horrifying ordeal of being seen. 

Remus watched as everyone wished the three of you a good night, save the usurping witch who was pouting in her rather empty looking chair. 

Remus couldn’t really blame her for trying, he supposed, but if anyone was going to spend the night cuddling you and Sirius, it was going to be him.

[sincerelybubbles]

could you write something where the reader is listening to reid going off on his tangents and when he gets insecure, just straight up saying. "no, go on. i like the sound of your voice." ? ty! 🤍

Don't shut up // no warnings as far as i can tell? lmk if not <3 pure fluff!! ty for the request <333

"They usually called her the Limping Lady but there's really no way to tell how many pseudonyms she used," Spencer is saying, dragging his hand through your hair where you lay on his lap, His other hand is busy grasping at the air while he talks.

"Because of the prosthetic leg?" You ask, urging him to continue talking. You're nearly asleep, eyes heavy and chest loose with the comfort of his proximity.

"Yeah. She actually nicknamed it 'Cuthbert' when she got the wooden prosthetic. It's actually pretty interesting - people have been using prosthetics for a really long time. We don't know exactly when people started using them in modern medicine, but the first evidence we can find of them dates all the way back to ancient Egypt where they found a prosthetic toe."

The documentary Spencer put on over an hour ago about World War II has long since been paused, Netflix's blinking "Are you still watching?" hovering uselessly on his laptop screen. He paused it ages ago to discuss the inaccuracies about Hitler's past, then Italy's involvement in France and the parallels between the almost French famine and the Irish famine, leading him to Virginia Hall.

All in all, you're in heaven. He's been stroking your hair, blunt nails scratching every so often, voice rumbling through his chest and stomach where your ear presses against. He's talking calmly, even, if not slightly rushed, like he can't wait for even a breath to keep telling you about everything he knows.

"I just want you to know all of the things I know, too, you know?" He told you once when you urged him to slow down. He's learned to take his time with you, eventually, realizing that you're not waiting for your opportunity to jump in. You don't spend your time with Spencer figuring out when it'll be your turn to talk next; instead, you lull in the comfortable space of listening while knowing he'll return the favor the moment you have something to say.

"Sorry, are you trying to sleep? I can shut up and turn the movie back on," Spencer says suddenly, hand stilling in your hair.

You open your eyes slightly to find him looking down at you, lip caught between his teeth, a hesitant look in his eyes.

Spencer doesn't often get insecure like this around you - you've spent plenty of time convincing him that there's no need - but moments like this still happen. You suppose it's a natural product of constant teasing and bullying through childhood.

"I don't mean to ramble," he mutters when he catches your eye.

"No," you say, interrupting him and reaching up to brush your fingers across his cheekbone and up to his eyebrows. "No, Spence, I literally love the sound of your voice. Please, keep going."

You watch him melt, afraid for a moment that his liquid brown eyes will start to water. You make a concerned noise, about to sit up and comfort him further, when his hand moves to press down on your collarbones. He holds you in place as he looks at you for a second, heated gaze causing you to feel warm. Slowly, he bends to press a kiss on each of your eyelids, right below your eyebrows. He rests his lips on the bones there for a few moments before moving to the next.

"I love you," he murmurs, the truth of the statement oozing out too sincerely to ignore.

He doesn't give you a moment to breathe before diving right back into his explanation of how ancient prosthetics were integrated into modern medicine, hand resuming its path in your hair and voice slowly bringing you to a calm half-nap.

[dwaekkicidal]

𓆩Shy Boyfriend Seungmin𓆪

gn!reader | fighting my demons (my wips) so take this brainrot until I can post something longer :3 MDNI!! smut/NSFW below the cut

Shy bf Seungmin who can’t hold eye contact with you for more than a few seconds when you first start dating, constantly looking to the side or down at the ground when he talks to you

Shy bf Seungmin who almost takes off the first time you hold hands, shoving the cuff from his sweater on his free hand against his lips to hide his smile (🙁) and prevent himself from screaming like a lunatic

Shy bf Seungmin who always is sly when it comes to buying you things

Shy bf Seungmin who carefully watches your every move at the mall and waits until your back is to him to take pictures of things you linger on for too long or things you straight up show him and tell him that you like

Shy bf Seungmin who sneaks gifts instead of just handing them to you; sliding them into any bags or drawers he knows you go into at least once a day or putting them on the table the split second you look away

Shy bf Seungmin who keeps an extra blanket and hoodie of his in areas you two frequent just in case you get cold so he can say “Oh, I left my sweater here last time. You can use it.” or so he can ‘coincidentally’ find a blanket in a cabinet that nobody ever goes into and silently drape it over you before acting like nothing happened

Shy bf Seungmin who can’t find it in himself to be comfortable with pda in front of the others, but will “accidentally” brush his hands against yours or will “accidentally” leave something in the now vacant practice room that he needs your help in finding

Shy bf Seungmin who then drags you to the very entrance of the room, steal a kiss, then walks out and goes "Oh, never mind, it was in my pocket."

Shy bf Seungmin who freezes in place and turns red in the face when you eventually bring up taking things a step further

Shy bf Seungmin who can’t help but be timid during your first time together, his face a bright red the entire time

Shy bf Seungmin who is still hesitant and soft with his touches, even months/a year into the relationship

Shy bf Seungmin who is secretly ecstatic can’t help but choke on his spit when you ask him to be rougher in bed next time

Suddenly less shy bf Seungmin who sits you down to discuss kinks you want to try and has you decide on a safeword

Suddenly less shy bf Seungmin who doesn’t exactly tell you what he likes, but you can see the sides of his lips twitch at certain things you list

Suddenly less shy bf Seungmin who, next time you’re in bed together, repeatedly asks you if you’re sure. So much so that you almost take it back

Not so shy bf Seungmin who will suddenly grab your throat, squeezing the sides expertly and pinning you down to the bed after you convince him you’re sure

Not so shy bf Seungmin who eases you into degradation by making you beg for his dick to be in you and calling you things like his "pretty little slut"

Not so shy bf Seungmin who bullies his dick into you, hushing you with his fingers down your throat when you start to get too loud

Not so shy bf Seungmin who folds you into any position he knows of that will get him as deep into you as possible and pull the prettiest cries from your lips

Not so shy bf Seungmin who tells you to “Take it, like a good pup” when you cry out that he's so deep and it's too much, but not before reminding you that there’s a safeword in place

Not so shy bf Seungmin who laughs when you don’t use it, teasing you about how much of a slut you are for enjoying this

Not so shy bf Seungmin who grips your chin and forcefully makes you hold eye contact with him as he pummels into you when you shy away from his gaze

Not so shy bf Seungmin who threatens to tie you down and overstimulate you when you almost cum without his permission

Not so shy bf Seungmin whose dick twitches against your walls when he catches sight of tears on your face as he fucks you through your orgasm

Not so shy bf Seungmin who pats your cheek with his fingertips when he’s close to cumming and tells you to “Take it all. Every last drop.”

Not so shy bf Seungmin who gives you the CRAZIEST orgasm(s) of your life to then, two seconds later when it’s all over, shower you with kisses and praises 

Shy bf Seungmin who gives you the best aftercare ever, cleaning you up, hand feeding you food, and holding up your water for you while you take sips

Shy bf Seungmin who gives the warmest cuddles after the fact, holding you close and massaging your skin while he presses soft kisses to your lips, face, and hairline (and needing some of these for himself) until you’re both normal again

Shy bf Seungmin who needs reassurance when he holds you close, wanting to make sure you enjoyed it as much as he did and that he didn’t actually hurt you

Shy bf Seungmin who now has newfound confidence in bed. Not as fragile with his touches and no longer shy of eye contact, even in more vanilla sessions

Shy bf Seungmin who, even after all this, blushes like crazy and stutters when your lips sneak his a kiss near his members the next day

[writingwithcolor]

WWC’s A Beginner’s Guide to Academic Research

We are pleased to present  WWC’s A Beginner’s Guide to Academic Research!

This pandemic project has been over 2 years in the making and we hope it will greatly assist any of our readers who are eager to conduct in-depth research but may be at a loss where to start. 

Go to the Guide Here

The guide is split into 6 parts:

Introduction and Table of Contents

Part 1: Getting Started

Part 2: Searching for Sources Online 

Part 3: Evaluating Sources

Part 4: Navigating Academic Sources 

Part 5: Recognizing Your Limits

Each portion of the guide has links to connect to the previous and next sections. While it is possible to view tumblr pages on phones and tablets through the app, we highly recommend viewing this guide via browser on desktop whenever possible. Tumblr page formatting is better suited for browsers and each section is very dense with information, which will make scrolling in the app or on your dashboard difficult. 

Future FAQ/ Discussion: 

As noted in part 5 of the guide, for the next two weeks, we will be keeping an eye on the notes for this post. If you have further questions or comments about academic research, drop them here and we will select the most pertinent to respond to in a later post. 

If you find this guide helpful, we request that you consider tipping the moderators below for the work and time required from conception, to drafting, formatting and debugging. Their ko-fis are listed below: 

Rina: https://ko-fi.com/arcanabean

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[kurooh]

i love this man. ♡ lil suggestive

keigo’s wings betray him with their movement, revealing how he feels at even the most inconvenient of times. he swears they have a mind of their own, which is always so goddamn annoying whenever he’s having a serious discussion or interaction.

“no get off me, you ate my leftovers.” he pushes you off his lap, his wings pressed into the couch and resting still.

“kei i’m sorry! seriously, they were like three days old and in the back of the fridge!” frustrated, you throw your hands around wildly. “kei, don’t be unreasonable.”

“i’m not,” he sniffs, his chin jutting out as he turns his head to the side stubbornly. “those were MY goddamn chicken wings.”

“i’ll buy them for you,” you offer, attempting to sit on his lap again, this time facing him instead of sitting sideways. he shakes his head, still looking away from you. again, he tries to shove you off in his pettiness, but your legs wrap around him, and you hook your ankles together at the small of his back.

“no. you’re not winning this argument, keigo.”

“yes i am,” he reaches behind him and shoves his fluttery wings against the couch to prevent further movement. he’s still dramatically looking away from you. “i don’t care what you do, but i’m gonna mourn my KFC.”

“fuck off,” you groan, grabbing his face in your hands and kissing his cheeks. he tries to tug away from you, and you accidentally rub against him as you unsuccessfully try to grab him back. his wings start to twitch.

you aim for his neck this time, kissing his sweet spots below his jaw and behind his ears. delicately, your lips brush against the tender skin, occasionally puckering to give him kisses. one of his wings snaps out from between the couch cushions and his back, jerking to the side fully opened. glancing towards his face, you notice the irritated crease of his brow as he tries to control his other twitching wing.

your sweet kisses become wet as you gently suck his skin; now your tongue lightly trails over his delicious sweet spots. keigo releases a shaky breath, his pinned wing starting to flutter frantically. still, he’s fighting to maintain his sour expression, despite your successful ministrations.

after a particularly sloppy kiss to the spot right below his chin, you feel a firmness in his lap, and you see his facade cracking slowly. when his wings flutter hard at the same time, you go in for the kill, nipping right at the spot you’d just kissed. finally, keigo chokes out a groan, and his wing jerks to the side, the both of them trembling behind him.

“are you done now?” you ask, pressing your chest to his and loosening the grip of your legs around his waist.

“shut up.” keigo says seriously, his face hot as he stares at your smug expression.

“in case i don’t tell you enough, i love your wings.”

he glares at you, and your lips split into a smile as you erupt in a fit of giggles, pulling off his lap and laying on your back beside him. your legs still rest on his well muscled thighs, clad in sweatpants.

he starts to laugh too, falling on top of you and burying his face in your neck as he wheezes a little. “you.. you annoy me so bad sometimes.”

“thanks, you do too.” you yank his hair, and keigo hisses, coming up from your neck to give you a kiss before snuggling against you.

“let’s go get the KFC,” he whispers against your ear. “i’ll write my name on my box and yours on your box.”

“okay okay, fine. i won’t eat your leftovers, kei.”

“promise?” you glance at him and his eyebrow is raised dangerously, his fingers poised at your sides to attack you with tickles in case you answer wrong.

“yes keigo. i promise.”

[sprout-fics]

More Sith 141 x Jedi Reader because I can't get the idea out of my head

Tags: F! Reader, Dubcon/noncon, Darkfic, Manipulation, Abduction, Spanking, Predator/Prey, Primal play, Hunt/takedown, Aftercare, Orgy, General filth

The first time they spot you, it's at the periphery of your master's body, their hand reaching out to you in one last attempt to keep you safe from the four sith that stalk forward from the shadows, their red sabers activated and humming bright with vicious intent. Your master's smoking corpse oozes blood that pools just shy of your feet, and you clutch your own lightsaber, fallen to the floor, trembling and shaking from head to toe and trying to remember the code that you'd sworn yourself to.

There is no death, there is the force.

It's the sith with the broad stature and the beard that steps forward first, yellow eyes raking over your shivering form and wide eyes with a slight tilt of his head, a grin that doesn't feel as dangerous as it does hungry.

You try to fight them, try to get to your feet and fend them off in a desperate bid for survival, escape, but when you stand and hold your lightsaber the leader merely stretches a hand towards you-

and everything goes dark.

There's four of them, you learn when you awaken in their stronghold. Two masters- each with an apprentice, and all four in a dyad of their own making, which will soon include you.

Your talent is wasted with the Jedi, they murmur as their hands roam your body, and even as you try to escape an invisible hand keeps you prone, open to their touch. They coo in your ear about how pretty you are, how soft and sweet- discussing you above your head as if you're hardly there. They talk about keeping you, lovely thing that you are, and putting your potential to better use.

You try to protest, to writhe and escape, but the only thing that falls from your mouth is moans, gasps, whimpers. Price, their leader, holds you on his lap, forces your legs up with a unbreakable grip so his fellow sith can marvel at your soft folds. He coos praises in your ear even as you try to squirm under their stares and petting hands, and when Soap gets down on his knees to eat you out sloppy and almost mean, he watches with delight as your toes curl and you try to fight the whimper in your throat.

This is merely a taste of the pleasures of the dark side, he tells you. A mere sampling of what's the come. The Jedi would never allow you to be defiled like this, and they'd be wrong for it, allowing such a pretty little cunt to go to waste.

They take turns, each of them reaching to grope a breast, to twist a nipple, to curl their fingers inside of you- and with each orgasm you feel your mind fray a little further, and the oath of the Jedi become a little further out of reach. You try to struggle, but all you get in return for your effort is a low, growled warning in your ear, a sharp slap to the back of your thighs that has you squeak- which is only answered by mocking laughter. You're drooling against Price's shoulder by the end of it, eyes glossy and thoughts empty except for the low, warm pulse below your belly.

and Price is right. It's only a taste of what's to come.

They spend hours with you, purring in your ear about the temptations of the dark side. Price takes a touch that in any other life would have felt like a master- guiding, stern, but soft at the edges with praise when you need it. You quickly learn that any effort to disobey him, to fight your way out, any use of the force towards your captors results in him taking you over his knee, restraining you with the force, without even having to touch you so both hands are free to bring his palms down on your bare ass. You're always so exhausted by the end that you don't fight when he has you curl up on his lap and whisper praise in your ear of "Took it so well, darling. Just needed a little reminder of where you belong, hmm? Our precious little Jedi."

The times you are allowed to fight is only with Soap, and you dread every time he takes you to the mats and allows you one of the practice sabers. Never real ones. God forbid you hurt yourself, he tells you. You can see the energy brimming inside of him, bouncing on his heels, grinning wild, golden eyes gleaming. Yet you know how it ends, each and every time- with you, defeated, pinned under him as he paws at your clothes, whining, shucking your pants down to your knees and mounting your winded, prone form until his cum dribbles between your trembling thighs. All while grunting in your ear "Bet ye wanted to lose, huh? That's why you're so wet fer me. Want it that bad? Oh, poor wee hen."

Ghost isn't much better. In some ways he's worse. Where Soap is over energetic, too excited in a way that leaves you tender and sore for days after, Ghost is mean.

The first time he takes you outside the stronghold, on the surface of some desolate planet, and releases you, you think it might be your only chance of freedom. Instead he tells you you're simply going for a run, and when he says you're done, no matter where you are, he'll come find you.

So you run. As fast as you can, trying to memorize the labyrinth of stone and forest around you on whatever lonely planet you're on that feels steeped in the dark side. You run until your feet bleed in the vain hope you can find some way off this place, back home to the temple, praying you can outrun the sith who hold you captive.

Yet each and every time it always ends the same, with Ghost appearing from the shadows, stalking towards you as a massive shadow that makes your legs give out due to your fear. He silences your scream despite the fact there's no one to hear it, revels in the chase, the hunt, in the way it heightens his bloodlust enough for him to take you there in the open, balls slapping against your clit and huge frame keeping you pinned under him as he takes the prize of his pursuit.

Gaz's touch is softer than the others, more patient. He's less touchy than the others, still insistent on bathing you after a sparring match or run outside, bundling you in a towel despite your protests and giving you a kiss on the nose. It's endearing, in a cruel and twisted way, that he's so gentle with you, hardly touches you like the others. Rather, Gaz apologizes for the others treatment of you, and that compassionate smile of his lulls you into a false sense of security, held in his arms in his bed where he strokes your spine.

You try to appeal to him, to voice your protests of being kept here like...like some pet, some prize for them. Despite the fact that you're taken care of, clean and fed and kept safe, you know you don't belong here. You tell him you are a Jedi, soon to be a Jedi knight, that you're supposed to help others and keep the galaxy at peace.

You think he listens to you, but Gaz has a way with words that manages to twist your own into something they're not. he tells you they are doing good, keeping peace. Just without so many unnecessary restrictions. Every objection you voice he offers a primed rebuttal to, twists your words around you with a silver tongue until you're confused, desperate, unsure of the code you swore yourself to. He coos at your brimming tears, holds you close and pets you as you sniffle with uncertainty into his shoulder. You cling to him more so than the others, not realizing that, out of them all, Gaz is by far the most dangerous, waiting for the moment you finally shatter and beg for him first, before anyone else.

You realize his ploy far too late, because when you do break, when you beg him to touch you, he isn't alone. The four of them share you, stuffing your holes and mouth and drowning you in pleasure, in the torrid, horrifying taste of the dark side that grows within you with ever orgasmic crest, every whimpering mewl and plea that falls from your lips. Price tilts your chin up towards him, your mouth open and tongue out, remnants of his release dribbling down your chin just as he watches your eyes flicker a stunning, beautiful gold.

[astarionancuntnin]

Nothing But A Dream

summary: you've agreed to take things slow with astarion, only partaking in nighttime activities when he specifically desires them, and this morning, he wants you, but he would hate to intrude on your precious beauty sleep.

rating: E

word count: 1.6k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader)

cw: 18+. MIND THE TAGS! light fluff, established relationship, somnophilia, cnc/mildly dubious consent, light choking, p in v, creampie, cock soaking. full list on ao3

read on ao3

or keep reading down below~

Ever since defeating the Absolute, you’ve been enjoying your quiet life in the Underdark with Astarion. You agreed to take things slow when it comes to sex; he still wanted to experience this with you, but he needed time to feel truly like himself when being intimate. It wasn’t an issue for you, and you were open to take as much time as needed and indulge him in anything he wanted to try, whenever he wanted to, for as long as he didn’t feel pressured by it. You knew how important this was for him, after the discussion you had following the defeat of Cazador, and the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable. 

Even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud yet, you sensed how he enjoyed the proximity you shared without the pressure of sex. It’s in the way he allowed himself to relax when he was with you, as you laid close on the sofa while you were both reading, or how he insisted to wash your hair and style it afterwards – it drives him crazy how little care you give it –  when you were taking baths together, so he could look at you like you were his masterpiece, but what he told you he preferred were those lazy mornings cuddling in bed naked. He would lay over your chest, skin to skin, listening to the lulling melody of your soft heartbeat. Finding comfort in your warmth reminded him of the sun’s embrace that he missed dearly. Those were the moments he cherished the most, where he was able to see you being at your most vulnerable, on display, just for him. 

You were a heavy sleeper, and with no real responsibilities anymore, you allowed yourself to sleep-in way more often than you used to (you deserved it, after all, who would blame the Saviour of Baldur’s Gate for indulging in a little respite). It’s not something Astarion was able to do, but he had no reason to get up on his own and do anything else. What point would there be of doing anything without you, the very reason he kept on living? This morning was no exception, as you laid bare in the warmth of your bed with Astarion hugging you from behind.

As you slightly move half-awake, you feel his hand ghosting over your hips, and eventually cupping your tender breasts. You happily moan into his touch, loving how his grip held all of you ever so perfectly. It wasn’t necessarily sexual when he did it, rather comforting – as much for him than for you – and you loved how he cradled you as if you were going to slip out from his grasp at any moment, holding on tight to you. There was one thing that felt different today, but in the bliss of your slumber, you weren’t able to quite put your finger on it. You hum, checking in on him as you feel him grab onto you rougher than usual, with his nails digging into the soft skin of your boobs.

“So sorry dear, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, his voice deep, as if he himself had just woken up. 

“Mh, you okay?” You mumble, still in limbo.

“Everything is just fine darling,” he kisses your shoulder softly. “Go back to sleep.”

Astarion’s honeyed voice in the crook of your neck brings you comfort and you find yourself following his words, nuzzling into your pillow as you back up into him further, seeking for more contact from him. In your dazed state, you think you can hear him growl softly, and you pay it no mind at first, until you feel something poke harder at your back and his hot breath upon your shoulder. This, along with his hand kneading your breast constantly, have you feeling a warmth pool to the bottom of your stomach that was becoming difficult to ignore. You try to shift around in your dazed state only to find Astarion holding you tightly in place, stopping you from moving at all.

“ ‘starion?” You mutter, as you finally awaken.

“Shh, you’re alright, love,” he purrs, his voice but a whisper.

“What are you– ah–!”

His hand leaves your boobs to sneak down between your legs, sliding between your folds to find the dampness that’s been accumulating there.

“Aren’t you the neediest little thing,” he groans, his voice becoming darker as his fingers lazily massage over your clit. “You can relax, dear, I just need you to stay still now.”

The stimulation he’s been providing between your legs finally stirs you completely awake, hazy from his touch. He slides his cock just between your folds and that’s when you realize what the firmness in your back was. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart to help him ease in, wanting him to go further, but he closes your thighs back together, uttering in a raspy voice.

“Tsk tsk, I said relax. You need not do anything.”

“Are you sure about this?” You manage to say through your breathy voice.

“Very much so,” his other hand wraps around your throat pulling you back, only applying a light pressure around your neck and a whimper escapes you. “Now, be good for me, will you, darling?”

You nod, as much as you can with his hand around you, and close your eyes, letting him use you as he sees fit. His hand over your waist holds your legs tightly together, as he slides his length between your legs, getting his cock wet from your folds. His rhythm starts slow as he gets accustomed to the sensation, and the friction it creates has you panting, as your own pleasure builds up.

"Oh doll, are you enjoying me using you in your sleep? How depraved," he growls and you feel yourself getting soaked from the sound of his voice and his shaft sliding over your entrance.

It had been so long since you had been intimately close, you had almost forgotten the surprising size of him. You wanted nothing but for him to slide inside of you and indulge in his carnal desires, to use and defile you as if you were nothing but a toy to him, but you let him completely take the reins on this one, let him reclaim his sexual and bodily autonomy the way he chose to, and this morning, it involved fucking you while you were asleep, without you moving as much as a muscle. He chose to focus on his own needs, and in doing so, you discovered a new form of pleasure.

You hear him grunt as his thrust become more erratic, with his nails digging inside the soft skin of your hips, and the wet sounds of your juices slipping over his cock between your legs, and although this was meant for him to focus on his own pleasure, having him handle you this way after many weeks apart brought you close to your edge just as fast as he did. You find yourself contracting the muscles of your thighs together, squeezing around his shaft tighter and at the same time, providing additional stimulation to your clit

“Gods– ah, you feel too good, dear, I won’t last much longer,” he breathes behind you, his growling turning primal now, making him almost unrecognizable. “Can I slide inside of  you? It’ll just be the tip, please, I need to feel you.”

You’re not even sure if he heard the “yes” you barely manage to voice out, when you feel him plunge inside of you in one strong push, your pussy offering little to no resistance in the state it is.

“Fuckkk, I've missed how you feel wrapped around me,” he groans. “So sorry love, I simply can’t resist your cunt when it's drooling for me like that,” he resumes his thrusts into you, nearing the point of his own climax, when he hears you whimpering. “You've been so good for me, I just need you to hold on a bit longer. Can you do that for me, my sweet?”

You’re way past the point of answering, reduced to small cries and gasps as he rams recklessly into your needy cunt. When you hear him whine your name, you clench around him, hit by the waves of your orgasm. As your walls tighten around him, he finally stills inside, pushing your hips flush against his to shoot his seed deep inside your womb. You feel his cock pulsing inside of you as he unloads himself and the sensation sends an additional wave of electricity through your body.

You’re both left as panting messes, bathing in a mix of your combined sweat and come as you come down from your high. He rests with his forehead against your shoulder as he catches his breath.

“Wouldn’t want to make a mess here, it’d be better if I just stayed inside you, don’t you think?” He says between breaths, and you hum, your voice still out for the count, as he smiles behind you. “I thought so. Now, I believe you have a beauty sleep you need to catch up on, you should try to rest a bit more before we face the day.”

Even if you wanted to get up, you wouldn’t have been able to, as this session got you as tired as if you had never slept in the first place. He snuggles back into the position he initially was, with the additional embrace your cunt was providing around him, and leaves a loving kiss over your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. As you close your eyes, ready to drift back into a deep slumber, he whispers softly:

“Thank you, my love.”

-

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard

[undertheorangetree]

The Last of the Dragons

Chapter One- The Consummation

Summary- With the Targaryen dynasty at risk, the last of the family must make unsavory decisions in order to ensure their reign continues.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Angst. Politicking. Consummation of marriage with witnesses. Mentions of death. Trauma. Uncomfortable smut.

Author's Note- This first chapter is not very sexy!! There is (consensual) smut but it is not hot nor is it meant to be. The sexy smut will happen later. With that said, the link to the full chapter is below :)

series masterlist

When the dust settles around the Dance of the Dragons, she is the only member of her family still alive.

Her mother burned by dragonfire, her step father cut down on dragonback. Jace and Luke lay dead at the bottom of the ocean alongside Aegon and Viserys while Joffrey lay scattered across the streets of Flea Bottom. It is a reality she does not like to face and though she still has Baela, Rhaena, and their grandfather, she knows she is the last of her family line. The last of Rhaenyra's blood, the blood of the true heir. 

It is that blood that damns her the moment Aegon is found poisoned, laying dead in his litter.

She had been spared alongside Baela and Rhaena, though she knew that was more so Corlys's idea than anyone else's. Aegon had demanded her head the moment he learned that it was she and Silverwing who had been responsible for Daeron's death but Corlys had managed to talk him down to simply keeping her as a hostage. He had argued that by having her bend the knee, it would show her mother's loyalists that he was the true king above all others, that her fealty had the power to stop Cregan Stark's march south and would calm tensions in the Riverlands and Eyrie. Aegon had agreed, though only after Alicent had prompted him to, and she had been spared from the executioner's block. Though as she sits at the small council table, staring at her last living uncle, she wishes Aegon had found the kindness in his black heart to swing the axe.

The Battle Above the God's Eye had left Aemond with another scar, this one having ripped through the flesh of his left shoulder and bicep. She wishes it crippled him further, that Daemon's final act managed to cut his arm from its socket, gouge out his last remaining eye and send him plunging into the depth of the God's Eye but other than a deep new scar, her step father managed little. 

"Lord Corlys and I believe that it is important, especially now, to assure the smallfolk that this war is far behind us now. Aegon's death threatens the already fragile stability we have managed to find ourselves on," Alicent explains, though it is not directed at her. They had all been whisked away into the small council chambers less than a handful of hours after Aegon had been found dead and that grief is still present in Alicent. Her eyes are rimmed red- a common trait of hers now- and her voice is hoarse from crying, but she still manages to stay strong before the men gathered. She and Aemond had been ordered to sit in on the small council meeting but neither have been given leave to speak. They sit silently, waiting for the moment that deemed their appearance here necessary as Alicent turns to her grandfather. "Which is why we have come to a kind of agreement."

"We want the Iron Throne to remain in Targaryen hands just as fervently as all others here and with the death of our king so fresh, it is of the utmost importance that we find a suitable heir quickly. One that puts both the Blacks and the Greens at ease and prevents a continuation of the war," Corlys says, fingers pushing at the small ball that rests before him. 

When the two of them had the time to discuss a potential heir, she has no idea, but perhaps it is a blessing that they had. With Aegon and all his children dead, there are few options left for the throne. She knows in her heart that she is the legitimate heir, being the only one left who has Rhaenyra's blood running through her veins, but she is a woman. After all that has happened, only a fool would attempt to crown her. The same could be said for Baela and Rhaena, though their claims are not as strong as her own. That left Aemond, a man, but widely hated for all he had done throughout the war. 

They are damned regardless of who is chosen, the risk of further rebellion at every turn. She does not pity the remnants of this council for the choice they must make now. The realm rests on the shoulders of the six people left in this room and that is a burden she would not want to carry.

"And you have an idea as to who the most suitable heir would be, my lord?" Lord Larys asks. Though he sits at the table, he is not truly facing it, leaning on the cane in his hands. She turns her head to look at him, his eyes wide with his question, and feels her stomach turn at the mere sight of him, their master of whisperers. 

Corlys looks toward Alicent, waiting until she gives the faintest nod of her head before speaking again. "My granddaughter, the princess, is Rhaenyra's last surviving child. Aemond is the last surviving child of King Viserys and acted as Aegon's regent for more than half his reign. The dowager and I propose that we unite house Targaryen once and for all and have the two wed to serve the realm as king and queen, like the Old King and Good Queen Alysanne. Equal in power, so as to bring all this unrest to an end."

Read the rest here :)

Taglist- @ammo23 @bellstwd @kckt88 @aemondsbabygirl @shygardengalaxy @duds31 @at-a-rax-ia @ladymarg0t @queenofshinigamis @drakar-i @cl-0-vr @castellomargot @moonlightfoxx @ladybug0095 @marihoneywk

[feeder86]

The Feeders' Fortress

It was the dirty floor against his face that Mike noticed first. His head felt fuzzy and the room was so incredibly dark. It was impossible to work out where he was. He stumbled groggily to his feet, realising that he was dressed only in his underwear. What the hell kind of party had he been to last night to wake up here? Then again, had he been to a party last night? His head was so disorganised.

Reaching around the space, Mike tried to find his clothes and, hopefully, his cell phone so that he could find some light. As he did so, he heard footsteps creeping outside of the room and, for the first time, a streak of light through the crack under the door.

“There’s another one in here!” cried a deep masculine voice as the door opened and Mike suddenly had a small torch shone straight into his face. “Same as us. Underwear. No clothes in sight.”

“What’s going on?” Mike asked indignantly.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” sighed another voice beside the person shining the torch. He reached out his hand and lowered the light so that Mike was no longer blinded. Where the light touched, Mike could see the dilapidated interior of the house he was in: filthy, boarded up and crumbling. Tired, dated pieces of furniture lay haphazardly around the edges of the room, some covered poorly with dust sheets.

“What is this place?” Mike mumbled, getting to his feet.

“Someone’s creepy idea of a joke, no doubt,” came another voice as the footsteps of the guys entered the room. “It looks like your classic haunted mansion. All the windows and doors are locked tight and we haven’t found the way out yet.”

“If there even is one,” replied a pessimistic voice.

“Of course there is,” disputed the guy holding the torch who had seemed to appoint himself the leader. “We got in here somehow, didn’t we? So there has to be a way out.”

The others sighed. None of them claimed to know how they had arrived, each arguing their alternative theories about why they were there. None of them had before. They were all strangers. But, to Mike, there was one clear detail that each of them had in common: outstandingly good looks.

Finn, holding the torch, was a quarterback for the local college team and, even in the limited lighting, Mike could tell that the guy was more strapping than anyone he had ever seen on the pitch. The person standing beside him was Oliver; even taller and toned to absolute perfection. Like Mike, he did some modelling whilst studying in college. Mike knew the agency that he worked for and, whilst the other two were arguing about which direction to search next, the pair discussed the surprising stresses they had encountered with certain jobs they had done. The only other guy was Rob, another football jock for a rival team of Finn’s, though neither of them claimed to know the other. He was built for clear functional athleticism, with the lightest six pack of all of them and a meaty, muscular butt. Delicious.

Even now, in this bizarre situation, Mike could feel himself getting aroused in their presence: these three gorgeous, practically naked boys. Together, they were calm, even jovial. They bolstered each other’s confidence, methodically searching the large building as if they were trying to hide the fact that they were silently terrified. There had to be answers to their questions somewhere in this building.

“What’s down there, do you think?” Oliver asked as they shone the torch down some stairs. 

Out of habit, Mike flicked the light switch, expecting nothing to happen, when suddenly, the whole room below lit up perfectly.

“Success!” roared Finn, heading straight down; soon followed by the others, at quite some pace.

What lay below was the most bizarre of sights: a small, neatly made up dining table, filled with tasty treats: cakes, doughnuts, cookies and pastries; all fresh and smelling incredible. Such a homely scene lightened the mood further, with Finn and Rob heading to sit down at the table and Mike following them, if only to hide the tightness in his crotch which would be clearly evident in this well lit room.

“I knew we’d be alright! This just proves it. It’s definitely some sort of prank,” Finn smiled, reaching out for one of the doughnuts.

Oliver stood to the side, surveying the scene with more scepticism. “Isn’t this a bit fucking weird?” he asked. “This whole place is a shit hole, and now this?” he pointed at the homely scene before him.

“Relax!” Finn scoffed at him, already chewing on a bite of the doughnut. “It tastes fine.”

Rob reached out next, picking up a pastry, now that Finn had sampled the goods. Meanwhile, Mike had his eye on one of the cupcakes, feeling surprisingly hungry after waking up here. Eventually, even Oliver followed them to the table,sitting down at the fourth chair, picking up a cookie and nibbling it with only a small amount of hesitancy.

Under the light, it was clear just how beautiful these guys all were. Mike found himself trying not to stare for fear that his erection may get even more severe if they all had to get up soon and explore the place some more. The mood was relaxed and surprisingly light-hearted as Finn reached for a second and third doughnut before any of the others had even finished their first chosen snack.

“Who do you think made all these?” Oliver asked the guys.

“Whoever it is pranking us,” Rob replied, scanning the room for cameras as he sat at the table.

Mike sat up nervously. He didn’t want to be on camera right now. Not with his erection as it was.

Mike suddenly felt a slight prod on his arm as Oliver looked at him seriously, pointing across to Finn. The movement caught Rob’s attention as well, until all three of them were gazing at a now motionless Finn, staring down at the table and seemingly stunned after finishing his third doughnut.

“Are you alright, buddy?” Rob asked, noting the sweat that was glistening on Finn’s face.

Finn looked up slowly until his eyes met with Mike’s right across the table from him. His jaw was slack as he picked himself up by leaning his strapping body on the table. Then, from out of nowhere, a giant burp erupted from his throat, right in front of Mike. It was so loud and deep, completely unnatural after such light snacks, making the three others stare across in panic.

“What the fuck?” Oliver asked, standing up in alarm, sensing immediately that something was wrong. It was then that Mike noticed that Finn was not as slim as he had thought; that for all his muscles, he was actually carrying a little paunch that looked bizarrely out of place.

FInn’s hips started to rock, like he was fucking some invisible girl in front of him, and, even in his loose fitting trunks, it was clear to Mike that the guy was also nursing an erection.

“What’s he doing?” Rob shouted; his eyes similarly caught by the shape of Finn’s stomach. Each time the guy rocked back and forth, the budding love handles at his sides seemed to swell more and more.

At some point, all three of them realised what was happening. It was the way Finn’s gut began to flutter and jiggle with the shaking. Fat was ballooning in his stomach, actually pushing it outwards. The relaxed fit of his underwear began to disappear as the gentle creases stretched out and the material tightened around him, spurred on by an obvious widening of his tight butt. It was then that Mike began to observe even Finn’s chest starting to succumb; his nipples pointing and a softness spreading into his pecs. It seemed to bloom and spread itself under his arms, softening up his biceps at the same time and swelling his neck; producing a shameful double chin.

Oliver was still the only one up, with Mike and Rob still stunned in their seats. Then, without warning, Rob suddenly bolted for the stairs, grabbing the torch at the same time.

“What do we do?” Oliver asked Mike in pure panic, clearly desperate to follow Rob and get the hell out of there.

Finn’s sweaty body glistened as fat spread throughout. The blubber began to pour itself over the tight waistband of the guy’s underwear, now digging in quite painfully. Mike could see the guy looking down at himself in shock and alarm: his beautiful body becoming more and more obese.

Mike had no answer for what was happening or what on Earth they were supposed to do about it. He could see Oliver looking back towards the dark stairs; no sign of Rob at all. More than once, Mike thought that Oliver might run off in fear as well. If he did, Mike decided he was going to run straight out with him.

A general widening seemed to take place in Finn’s body. The love handles pushed out to further extents and his hips swelled above the two extremely blubbery thighs. The guy’s cute underwear had allowed his large, sweaty glutes to slip out as the inflation took hold. Now the material began to tear; stretched as they were in every direction.

Within no time at all, Mike realised that Finn was now carrying an insane amount of fat on his body; 400 lbs? 450? His underwear were reduced to little more than rags, still dangling from a destroyed waistband; an entire sack of lard now filling Finn’s groin. 

Oliver bolted, quickly followed by a petrified Mike, throwing himself up the pitch-black stairs. “Wait up!” he cried out in horror, wincing as his feet stepped over the debris and dust. All he could do was follow the sounds of Oliver’s lightning footsteps. 

Suddenly, Mike felt himself bumping straight into Oliver, knocking them both to the floor.

“Watch it!” Oliver grumbled. “What the hell were you running for? We can barely see a thing!”

Mike’s mouth filled with all the things he wanted to say and then, just as quickly as they arrived, nothing. Why was he running? Had something scared him? No. He would have remembered that. He shuffled to his feet. “Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling rather silly. “I must have just been trying to catch you up.”

Oliver shushed him and the pair listened intently as voices came from another wing of the enormous house. They began stepping in the same direction, noticing faint glows of the torch around one corner.

“But this is the way I came in!” argued a new voice. “The door was open, and now…” he shouted, banging forcefully on what appeared to be the front door.

“Oh, thank heavens!” Oliver bellowed, finally spotting Rob standing next to a police officer. 

The relief that Mike felt was indescribable. Tall, built and appearing nothing but strong and capable, the police officer turned to face them both, shining a second torch in their faces.

“Is this all of you?” the cop asked. 

“No, there’s another guy,” Rob mumbled, as if he couldn’t quite remember exactly. “Finn. He’s downstairs somewhere. He was eating some food we found,” he continued; his voice wispy, like he was trying to piece something together. He’s pretty big and heavy though. I don’t suppose he wants to go walking all around this place at that size.”

Mike nodded, realising that Rob was probably right. That must have been why Finn stayed down in the basement. 

“Well, this door has locked behind me. I don’t have any signal on my cell phone and there doesn’t seem to be any reception for me to contact the station on my radio,” the cop explained grumpily. “I guess you had better take me to see this Finn guy so that I can check on him too,” he finally decided, slamming into the heavy door one final time, just in case it budged at all. 

Oliver and Mike took one torch, whilst the cop and Rob walked ahead with the other.

“Do you think he’s a real cop?” Oliver whispered to Mike. “This whole thing just seems to be getting weirder and weirder, don’t you think?”

Mike pondered the idea. He’d not imagined that the cop was not genuine. But Oliver was right. Here he was, wandering around, almost naked in an abandoned mansion with no idea how late at night it was. Absolutely anything was possible.

“Where exactly are we?” he shouted ahead to the cop. “How did you know to come looking here?”

The cop began explaining the exact location of the mansion. “This old place has been crumbling for years,” the guy stated, after informing them all how far out of the city they were right now. “We used to get calls about trespassers quite a lot, but that all stopped about six months ago. Until tonight.”

In the dim light, Mike could feel Oliver looking at him from the side. The guy wasn’t trusting a word that was coming out of the cop’s mouth. 

“Something’s up with Rob,” Oliver whispered a few moments later, when they had slowed their pace to allow the other two to go even further ahead, in search of the stairs to the basement. “Have you noticed how much he is sweating?”

Mike shone the light a little more on Rob. Oliver’s observations were spot on. The guy’s broad back was glistening with sweat, running down his back and drenching into his boxers, all down his butt crack. Something about it all seemed so familiar, although Mike couldn’t put his finger on why. Was this a bad sign? Was it something to be feared?

“We need to keep our distance from him,” Oliver decided, pulling Mike back a little bit more to let the cop and Rob get even more ahead of them. They kept a slow pace behind and waited as the pair eventually found the staircase down to the basement, heading straight down.

“What’s going on?” Mike asked, feeling that Oliver’s senses were sharper than his own; his instincts better.

Oliver rubbed his face, clearly stressed. “I don’t know!” he sighed. “But something tells me it’s going to be me and you finding our way out of here. I don’t trust that cop, and as for Rob…” he whispered. “I just have this really bad feeling.”

Suddenly, the cop was shouting at the top of his voice from the basement, startling both Oliver and Mike.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he blasted. “What are you doing?”

Racing down, Oliver took the lead, standing on the staircase in front of Mike as they looked on at the scene. Rob’s body was rocking and shaking, his tight abs suddenly swollen and buried. The cop stood crouched to the side, his gun out and seemingly very afraid. Whatever was taking over Rob had a very firm grip on his body; thrashing him about as his stomach continued to grow.

In those moments, Mike suddenly remembered what he had witnessed happening to Finn. How could he ever have forgotten? There Finn was, snoozing on the floor, encased in mountains of fresh fat.

“What’s going on?” the cop demanded of Oliver and Mike.

“The food!” Mike mumbled, seeing it all there, continuing to invite them in. “There’s something in the food!” he stated with more certainty as Rob’s fine torso began to be consumed with an onslaught of blubber, swelling into his pecs and rounding out his stomach so that it pushed out further and further. The guy was panicking, managing to waddle around as his body shook, and he gazed at all the food that Mike was now blaming. Just what was it doing to him?

“But we ate the food as well,” Oliver shot back, terrified and transfixed as Rob’s butt widened in those cute little boxers of his; fat starting to crease the skin on his back and love handles swelling out further every single second. The butt crack began to peak out as the glutes grew; little more than an inch to begin with, then more and more; until his super sized butt was almost entirely outside of the underwear. That was when it ripped at the weaker stitching between his lardy legs and the material began to deteriorate quickly; all the elastic stretched beyond its capacity.

Mike put a comforting hand on Oliver’s strong shoulder, hoping to ease his worries in any way that he could.

The cop had fallen to the ground, backing up into the corner by the stairs and holding his gun out still; no longer so big, strong and tough.

Oliver reached his hand up and lovingly held Mike’s own hand upon his shoulder. Despite everything, the sensation of Oliver’s touch was all Mike needed.

Rob had fallen onto the floor, the transformation seemingly at an end, and a deathly silence filled the room.

“We’re fucked!” Oliver sighed. “Absolutely fucked!” He looked at Mike, his eyes full of concern for him. “Will it be us next, do you think?” he asked Mike, still holding his hand sweetly.

At that moment, Mike felt so completely smitten. Yet he nodded. “I think so,” he agreed sadly.

“What the hell are you on about?” the cop demanded of them both, still clearly terrified from what he had just seen. “Food can’t do that to someone! Not like that, anyway.”

“There’s no other way to explain it,” Oliver shrugged. “It took Finn first because he had eaten the most. Now Rob…”

The police officer stared hard at the two enormously fat guys on the floor and then looked in amazement at all the food still resting on the table. But then, his eyes widened even further and he stood up in horror. “Those doughnuts!” he shouted, looking straight at the unusually colourful and sprinkled treats on the table. “There was one just like it on my desk earlier! I thought it was from one of my colleagues.”

Mike and Oliver looked at each other with worry. Was the guy who was here to rescue them, actually just another victim? 

“But did you eat it?” Oliver demanded of him.

“Yes, I ate it!” the cop shouted back, getting angry now. He seemed to feel faint, getting hot under the collar and putting back his gun so that he could take off his shirt.

Again, Mike and Oliver looked at each other. Why was the cop getting so sweaty all of a sudden? They watched as he shuffled around, leaning against the side, kicking off his shoes and even pulling off his socks, as if every piece of clothing was irritating his skin.

“Um, Sir…” Oliver cried out awkwardly as the cop untied his belt, discarding even his gun without a care, then unzipped his pants and let them drop to the floor.

In this state, it was clear to see what the cop had had in common with the four of them; young, handsome and highly athletic as he clearly was.

“Oh, no!” the cop mumbled, tensing all the muscles in his strapping body.

“What’s happening?” Oliver whispered to Mike.

“It must be trying to take him,” Mike shot back. “I think he’s actually trying to fight it.”

Both Mike and Oliver climbed two steps further up the stairs, abandoning the cop and knowing that there was nothing they could do to help him now. The gorgeous officer was grunting and bracing himself against the wall. The sounds he was making reminded Mike of the guys he had seen in the gym trying to lift extremely heavy weights.

“I can’t watch!” Mike whispered to Oliver, who had taken a further step up to sit beside him on the stairs and kindly draped his arm over Mike’s shoulders.

“We must,” Oliver whispered back. “We’ve got to see if he can do it. Who knows, right?”

“Maybe he can fight it off,” Mike agreed hopefully.

“Shit,” Oliver replied, quickly shutting Mike down. “Look at his abs. Can you see? The skin around them is starting to bloat up.”

Oliver leaned his head against Mike’s and rubbed his back soothingly. The arousal Mike felt was spiking once again and he found himself momentarily lost, even as the cop battled on only a few feet away.

“It’s a battle that cannot be won. This guy only got married last year,” Oliver continued, as they both looked across at the police officer. “Yet he’s already cheating on his wife with a new recruit at his station. That’s why he ate the doughnut. He thought it was from her.”

Oliver’s voice was so soothing and intense. Mike felt as though he could sit there all day long admiring the perfect man beside him. But, what was he actually saying? Mike had to replay it in his head, before the obvious question dawned in him. “How do you know that?” he asked.

“His secret girlfriend says she can’t resist those tight little buns of his,” Oliver whispered teasingly, as if trying to hold back a laugh. “Not so tight anymore. Wouldn’t you agree, Mike?” he asked; the pair of them watching as the cop growled loudly in desperation to hold back whatever force was taking him. But Oliver was right; slowly, but surely, the guy’s butt had started to develop some extra meat to it, rounding the glutes in a way that only fat ever could.

“What are you saying?” Mike asked, feeling Oliver’s presence becoming more powerful. 

“Shh,” Oliver soothed, rubbing Mike’s back and continuing to lean his head against his, forcing them both to watch the action in front of them. “We can’t have a cop that handsome walking around, can we?”

Mike’s heartbeat rose to new heights. The person who was controlling all of this had been with him the entire time. His body tensed, making Oliver sigh in happiness as he stuck close to him on that step.

“I love this bit!” Oliver continued whispering, as if telling Mike a bedtime story. “Can you see how he’s trying to hold his breath? He thinks he can force it back down, but he can’t. The formula has now spread into every cell in his body.”

Even with the officer trying to hold on tight, a slow, insidious tire of fat was gently forming over his abs and budding softness grew into love handles. The effort of holding his breath was taking it out of him; his eyes were screaming for release and cheeks had filled with air. Now his eyes were shutting tight, as if to concentrate even more, when a tiny burst of air slipped through his lips like a leaking pipe; more and more, until the floodgates had opened and he had to let it all go; sucking up a great big chestful of air and then burping like never before; all control stripped from him.

That brief pause in the guy’s attention was seemingly all this formula had needed to take control. The hips began thrashing about with surprising violence, with his stomach and rear inflating with remarkable speed; as if making up for lost time.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Oliver asked, kissing Mike sweetly on the side of his head. “So much fat! The thighs, the chest and the arms!” There was such a thrill in his quiet voice, as if he was deliberately controlling his elation to creep Mike out even more.

“Why are you doing this?” Mike asked; eyes still fixed on the ballooning cop as his jawline disappeared under the building flesh in his neck and chin, and blossoming into his cheeks.

“Because I can… And because I want to,” Oliver quietly replied, as he continued to stroke Mike’s back. “Look at him!” he cooed. “Pecs are gone already!”

Mike watched as the officer’s nipples started to bounce and his thick thighs swelled outwards, blowing up his butt to a size that was almost disproportionate to his frame.

“I wonder what his girlfriend will say about him now,” Oliver joked, knowing that Mike would be looking at exactly the same thing. “A disgusting, overfed, fat ass like that!” he whispered gently into Mike’s ear, making every part of the boy tingle with a baffling excitement. “You’re going to be a fat boy, just like him soon…” the devil whispered into his ear.

Mike wanted to get up and run, but being so close to Oliver felt like something he had longed for his entire life. Was this what love felt like? This yearning to be with someone, no matter what?”

Oliver began to caress the tip of Mike’s throbbing hardness under his underwear. “How exciting for you. A whole new life for yourself as one of my fatties,” he teased, turning his head so that he could whisper directly into Mike’s ear as he watched the cop continuing to become even more extremely obese, lose his balance and slide against the wall; landing with a splat on his enormously overgrown backside. Yet, even sitting down, his butt and thighs continued to spread out onto the floor; the rolls and blubber that decorated his torso, softening and spreading; folds deepening every second. 

Then, just like that, the cop had fallen asleep; his revoltingly obese body resting after the dramatic trauma it had just endured. Mike gasped, but not because of the sight in front of him. It was Oliver, continuing to massage his erection. He was brought so close to climaxing, that when Oliver brought his lips towards him, Mike moved swiftly to meet them in a deep, passionate kiss.

As they came out of the kiss, Oliver gently stroked Mike’s hair back from his face. “I’ve so enjoyed our time together,” he smiled with delight. “You’ve been so entertaining, from the very start.”

Mike smiled back, in awe of the amazing man who was giving him all the attention he could ever wish.

Oliver brought his nose close to Mike’s neck and sniffed in deeply all the way up to the top of his head. “I can smell my formula inside of you!” he breathed with genuine eroticism at the thought. “It’s getting ready to take you!”

Oliver took Mike by the hand and stood him up. The pair came down the stairs, stepping over the gigantic cop’s outstretched legs and into the light properly. There was not a single part of Mike that wanted to resist.

“Let’s take these off, shall we?” Oliver asked, pulling the underwear down so that they dropped around Mike’s feet; his hardness springing out with an almost embarrassing enthusiasm “You’ve been such a good boy, this whole time. I picked the cop as the one who would be able to hold out the longest, but I’m so glad that it was you. Such a handsome boy!” he marvelled, stroking Mike’s face. “When I saw you in that magazine, I knew I had to take you.”

“I’m all yours!” Mike spluttered lustfully back; for some reason, only wanting Oliver to touch him again like he had on the stairs.

“Do you really mean that?” Oliver asked, barely concealing a grin behind those innocent looking eyes.

“I do!” Mike nodded. “I would do anything for you!”

“Then prove it,” Oliver snapped. “Don’t make me wait for you. Take another piece from the table and overdose on my formula just like that first idiot did,” he ordered. “Set my beautiful formula into action!”

Inexplicably, Mike’s feet were taking him towards the table. If this was the way to please Oliver, he needed to show him that he could do it. He grabbed at a doughnut and made to push it towards his mouth. However, just as he almost made it, Mike’s hand stopped and tried to push back. There was some invisible, subconscious part of his brain, still active and working, despite the fogginess that was clouding everything else.

Oliver smirked, as if he knew exactly what was going on; why Mike’s hand was not letting him eat. He seized the guy’s wrist and pushed it forwards with remarkable strength as Mike made every effort to keep his mouth wide open and let it fall onto his tongue. He bit down, watched carefully by Oliver, standing in front of him, smiling victoriously,

By the second bite, Mike felt his jaw slacken and stop working. A rumbling burp rolled from his throat, entirely unchallenged. The haze around him seemed to have grown more intense. Oliver was still in front of him, but circling around like a sergeant major conducting an inspection, or a killer whale startling its prey. It was only when he heard the man laughing that Mike knew his hips had begun to rock. He had no idea how the cop had tried to fight it off. The autonomous nature of whatever process this was, seemed entirely beyond his understanding. A warmth was filling his body; building and strengthening. Then that warmth seemed to spread itself across those areas that Mike had seen on the other guys: his stomach felt almost red hot, whilst his butt and legs were tingling and changing rapidly.

Oliver’s hands were seizing upon him, grabbing and pinching parts of his body that Mike didn’t even know existed. Mike tried to speak, to ask Oliver if it was working, but his mouth could not shape the words. Only a groan made it out, shaken and rocked by the vibrations of his instantaneously transforming body. 

Waves of fat began to bounce and crash into each other as Mike felt fresh flesh developing all over his body. A few seconds in, he had thought that Oliver had grabbed at his hardness again. However, he soon realised that it was the tip of his penis slapping against an enormous roll of fat that had invaded his torso. He looked down, seeing the remarkable width of his squishy stomach and the strange pointing of his nipples.

Oliver’s voice was far from soothing now. He was shouting and calling him out on his grotesquely overfed body; telling him how greedy he was, or likening him to a pig. He even oinked triumphantly right down Mike’s ear. 

The body that Mike was in no longer felt like his own anymore. His whole being had been transported into that of something new. The space that he occupied was incredible, surging outwards more and more. He lost his balance, feeling his giant self being collected by Oliver’s unnaturally strong arms as he was gently lowered to the ground.

Mike got a look at his disgusting, blubbery physique, wondering how he would ever use it.  How could he do anything with that enormous belly in the way? How could he get himself up the stairs to his apartment? He’d certainly never squeeze himself into his tiny shower, or find any clothes at regular stores to cover himself up with.

“Goodnight, Fat Boy!” Oiver sang as Mike felt his eyes getting heavy. He knew he'd never see Oliver again. He’d served his purpose. He’d entertained. Now came the sleep that would erase everything from his mind. The factory reset that would prepare him for his life as one of Oliver’s fat boys.

[gin-juice-tonic]

So, for Starters: Book Of Bill Spoilers warning. Another opinion from me below. (Here's my first opinion I shared, if you havent seen it) This new one is about the lost journal pages again, of course.

Originally, I wanted to make a super big crazy essay about all the reasons I think the journal pages in BOB (The Book of Bill’s given name) are fake, and show off my super-cool totally completely sound deductive reasoning techniques in the process.  

Unfortunately, knowing myself I’m not sure I’m actually capable of accomplishing such a feat. You all know how I tend to post things in parts, sometimes out of order, often never finished. However I would like to share something in particular that’s been eating at me that I’ve seen… partially discussed, but only partially. And certainly not the part that I would like to discuss. 

It’s about the rats.

You know, the rats.

I saw these rats being talked about since before I was even able to have a look at the book myself. 

But before I get further into it all, I would like to start off with a joke: 

Why did dead rats, eggnog, a land orca, shrimp colors, It’s a Small World After All, and an Anti-Cipherite Suit cross the road? 

Well, that’s easy. To get to the other side. 

Of the book, that is. 

If you’re anything like me, you probably skipped right to the journal pages upon contact with the book. And if you’re even MORE like me, you were probably left a little confounded by them. Not only did they seem… wrong somehow. But they also felt random. Full of odd choices of subject that didn’t make a lot of sense. Could these pages really have come from journal 3? If so, why do parts of them feel so… completely out of context? 

And this is where the rats come in. As I mentioned before, I saw many people discussing them. In particular, they were noting their connection to this passage from earlier in the book:

Many of the related discussions also felt odd to me. Though I lacked the knowledge to be able to articulate why at the time. UNTIL, I read the book for myself from start to finish. That's when I realized something:  This is not the only time something from earlier in the book connects back to the journal pages. In fact, it happens many, many times throughout the earlier passages. (Here is a small collection of them for your perusal.)

And then it started clicking into place. The reasons the pages felt like they were so abnormally out of context… is because they WERE lacking context!

Now, before you can finish saying “Gin, you’re an idiot.” I would like you to ponder these three questions: 

1) Why, if these pages were taken from Journal 3, should they require context from outside of it to be able to be completely understood?

2) Why is it that this context can be found in what Bill Cipher has been writing in the preceding passages up till now? 

3) If you put food in a mogwai’s mouth at midnight EST but drive it over the CST time zone line back to 11PM before it can swallow, will it still transform into a gremlin? 

Okay, you caught me, that third one is unrelated. But the first two I believe require further thinking. So let’s delve a little further into the idea. Consider this the real third question: 

3) Are we to seriously believe that these, the only pages of J3 still lost to us, just so happen to tie into the new topics from the rest of the Book of Bill over and over like this?  

And since you’ve done so well thinking thus far, I’ll ask a fourth question: 

4) Are you aware of the concepts of Watsonian and Doyalist analysis? 

Assuming you don’t and you won’t google it, I’ll skip to the important part. Watsonian analysis is to analyze a story from within it, as if you yourself were Watson making deductions in a Sherlock Holmes novel.  

Now, from a Watsonian point of view, what happens when we try to answer our earlier questions? Why should it be that the Book of Bill provides so many of these points of reference to the journal pages? 

One possible line of thought could be that Bill wrote the earlier passages of his book *around* the idea of what was contained in the pages, but I think this doesn’t work for a few reasons. For one thing, the purpose of the book is to get the reader to make a deal, not to take a whole novel to set the stage for a 3 day mini Ford adventure. For another, not all of what I described prior is really fit to be called “context”, is it? The rats, the “Small World” cassette, and the Bill-Suit are one thing, but Eggnog? Shrimp colors? Land Orcas? I certainly wouldn’t define them that way. If anything, they’d be better suited to being called “references”. And unlike the more contextual ideas, there’d be no real need for Bill to sneak mere references to the pages into his grand story.  And lastly, there are a great deal of Bill pages that have nothing to do with the content in the journal pages at all.

So what exactly am I trying to say here? 

If we do intend to think of the callbacks outlined above as references, the only logical conclusion within the story is that the journal pages themselves are referencing back to the Book of Bill, not the other way around.

But… how? And why? Something Ford has written in the 80’s shouldn't be able to reference something Bill is writing post-weirdmageddon certainly. 

That’s because “Ford” isn’t referencing it at all!

And as for why… Well, have you ever noticed when you're writing a story on the fly, things you wrote earlier all come crashing back to you as you try to wrap things up? I believe personally that the journal pages are nothing more than a strange endcap on Bill’s crazy train of thought! And the "references" are just fuel that further the pages creation. Almost as if, to quote someone much more knowledgeable than me on this subject…

In the end, all I've described above (as well as other aspects of the pages I've not mentioned here) leave me with the impression the pages are not real.

As I stated only a bit earlier, the idea that these pages, the only pages of J3 purported to be lost, should be so connected to the rest of the book is beyond coincidence to me. Not to mention that in order to take these pages as total truth, you must give credence to several other passages of Bill's book as well. And I'm not too keen on having to trust him that much.

To all who have read this far, even to those who may have scoffed at the ideas in here or think I've only written up nonsense. Thank you for reading and considering my thoughts.

I am not saying anyone must agree with me on this. I know some people have found the pages to be important and meaningful to them, and I do not wish to give the impression that I think my view is the end all be all correct one, or that I think lesser of those who believe in them. I only want to share my own opinions. And to anyone else who found the pages to feel "off" somehow, possibly validate their feelings too.

[readychilledwine]

Size Kink

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

A Size Kink is a general term for being aroused by being smaller/larger than your partner. It can be height, muscle mass/weight in general, cock size, ect. This is generally a kink we associate with subs having, but in my humble 5'1" experience, I've met more Doms with this kink than subs (hence my 5'11" baby daddy who thought he'd never have someone short enough to enjoy this kink with.) This kink has several subgroups that fall into it and sex acts that fall into it, but my personal favorite to write is height difference and body frame difference. So tall muscular male, short female (curvy or lean.)

What I love about size kinks is that it's so focused on specific aspects, and ANY body type gets to play with it. Little hands? Little legs? Luscious curves? Member of the Itty bitty titty committee? There is someone out there with a size Kink who is into your body and thinks you are a piece of artwork and sexiest thing on the planet. It's so beautiful because it is a body type kink that does not discriminate, and as a sex positive and body image positive person, I think that's super important and comforting for some people.

💕Peep the Valentines Day list here💕

As always NSFW below the cut

Azriel x short!reader

Warnings - reader is VERY petite, smut, p in v, slow stretching

A/N - So, I actually have a request for a size Kink with Cassian sitting in my drafts as well from before I decided to do Valentines Day Bingo. Since I picture Cassian as an absolute unit, I used a more Megan thee Stallion vibe for that reader (tall and thick) so I decided to go very short and thinner built for this one to ensure they'd be different. I apologize if that bothers anyone. I will try to get that Cassian request finished asap to post it and make up for this 💙

Ps- with how quickly I am cranking some of these out, and how.... spicy some of them are getting, I don't have my normal outside editing all of the time. Baby daddy proof read this one. Before staring at me and going, "that wasn't fair." So, I apologize for any errors, as always, I will catch them on my fresh reread after it's posted 🫠

Azriel was slowly losing his mind as he watched you use a chair to be closer to Cassian's height and argue with him face to face.

You were just so… small. So little compared to the two Illyrian males. They towered over you. They dwarfed you. Hell, he and Cass had discussed several times how easy you'd be to manhandle, considering they were both so sure their large hands could almost touch if they were wrapped around your waist.

At 6’8” and 7’ it wasn't hard for him and Cassian to own a room or be the tallest males, but Gods when Azriel stood next to your 5’ frame, when he saw Cassian pick you up like you were no more than a doll. It did something to him. It made him feel like a God, like he was powerful, possibly invincible.

He had been further spurred on by over hearing you and Nesta yesterday. She had asked you about how, if the opportunity presented itself, you would manage to fuck an Illyrian, and you, you with your never back down attitude had told Ness, “Mountains were made to be climbed.” He did not know if you had meant that in regards to him, but his hand found his cock quickly that night.

Azriel walked over to where you and Cassian argued over cereal. The fight wasn't serious, but he just needed to remind you that even with a chair below you, you still fell a few inches short.

“Get down before you fall and hurt yourself, angel.” He put a hand to you, offering to help you down. You glared, but put your hand in his.

Offering to help you was a mistake.

He felt the blood rushing to his cock as your little hand sat in his.

He shared a knowing look with Cassian when you looked away to step down and get back on the floor. The argument resumed instantly, your hand still in his.

It stopped as soon as Nesta walked in. Her mate and you going silent and agreeing to disagree.

Well, at least you thought you had agreed. Until Cassian turned around, Nesta in his arms waiting to fly into Velaris. He looked between you and Azriel before smirking. “You know, y/n, you might have shit taste in cereal, but at least you're the perfect height for some things.”

You didn't get it until you turned to Azriel, plush lips parted to ask what Cassian meant.

The blush that spread your cheeks was sinful.

Another image Azriel would save when he imagined it was your mouth around his cock tonight.

Azriel's room was across the hall from yours, so he knew you were being subjected to the same torture he was.

He was sure all of the Night Court could hear Cassian and Nesta. He rolled over to his back, throwing an arm over his face and sighing.

You were so small, so sneaky, he hadn't noticed you come in and shut the door until you were sitting on his bed.

And fuck being in his custom made oversized bed made you look so little. “Hello angel.”

He made room for you, welcoming you under the blanket you laid facing him, watching him. “Do you all never.. get worn out?” He chuckled. “Because humans do. Males typically finish, then they're like, done, and asleep.”

He looked towards you, laughing and smiling so hard his dimples were showing. “Is that your way of telling me you didn't enjoy rolling in the sheets while you were human?”

That blush spread your face again. “I had plenty of fun before Hybern did this to me. Thank you very much, sir.”

You had done it. Azriel shut his eyes, growling at the nickname as he did. “You cannot call me that when you're laying in my bed, y/n.”

You looked at him, snuggling closer to him. You knew what you were doing to him. You had known for a while. You always tracked his eyes when he'd watch you take your heels off, biting his lip thinking no one was looking. You noticed him hide his arousal behind a mask of indifference when you would climb things around the House of Wind. You had also noticed Azriel and Cassian taking every chance they could to lift you.

You had even know Azriel was so sneakily listening to you and Nesta the other day, and you had meant it. Azriel was a mountain you intended on climbing. “Of course, sir. Wouldn't want you to have to use those big hands to keep me quiet.”

The growl that echoed through the room had your thighs clenching. He was on you in an instant arm between your breasts, so it rested on your neck. The other hand sat on your hip, inching forward. “Do not tease me.” You could feel him pressed against your back, mind immediately lost in how that would fit.

You may have been biting off more than you could chew.

But fuck it.

You had never backed down from a challenge. Why start now?

You wiggled further into him, grazing his cock with each movement. “What if I'm not teasing? What if this is an offer, sir?”

“You're going to regret that, little one,” Azriel's hand immediately was in your shorts, his other hand squeezing your throat. A thick finger ran your soaked core, pulling a moan from you. “Going to have to go slow,” Azriel ground his hips into you, needing that friction on his aching cock. “Don't want to hurt you, angel.”

That one finger entered you without warning. It was already a stretch, but one you welcomed.

You loved how everything about Azriel was so big. His hands, his muscled chest and arms, his wings. Of course he'd be big there too. Anticipation began to replace the fear. You relaxed into him, tilting your head and pulling him into a heated sloppy kiss.

Azriel swallowed your moans and cries as his finger opened you up for him. You were tight, so damn tight. His hand moved from your throat to your breasts, loving how they weren't even a handful for him. You were so petite and slim, he reminded himself. He pulled your tank top off, maneuvering the best he could to get you fully below him. He pushed in a second finger, watching as you squirmed so helplessly below him. “So fucking little,” he moaned. “Mother above you're perfect. Just perfect.”

He leaned back, fingers increasing speed the best they could with your shorts in the way while he toyed with your breasts, pinching your nipples and smacking the tender flesh as he saw fit. “Cum for me so I can sit you on my cock, angel. You can do it, y/n. Show me how tight you'll be squeezing around me.”

You felt like you were floating as you came, whimpering Azriel's name as you watched him rut against the mattress for some friction, hazel eyes damn near lost in lust.

He pulled his fingers out of you, wasting no time ripping his sweatpants off and using those juices to coat himself. Your shorts came next, torn to shreds as he pulled you to the edge of the mattress and rested one leg on both sides of his chest.

He was as perfect as you imagined. His cock was long and thick. He was running it along your folds, soaking up at the slick he could before smacking the head of it against your clit.

Azriel could help but to stand with his hips flush against yours, admiring how it looked like his cock would be damn near in your stomach. “Gonna go slow,” he mumbled as he positioned himself at your entrance. “Can't risk hurting my little angel.”

He pushed the head in, keeping an eye on you as you moaned out a long fuck before relaxing into his bed. He sat there, only a few inches inside of you, feeling as your walls stretched out to accommodate him.

He pulled out and slowly reentered, pushing a little more inside of you. Your back arched off the bed, a whimper of pleasure ripping through your throat. The burn of it felt so good. You felt yourself drooling already, mind numb, and lost to anything that wasn't Azriel.

He continued his motions over and over until he was flush against your hips, and you were screaming for him. You had cum just from him slowly getting inside of you, and now he could see the bulge he had created, the slight swelling inside of you as your body made room for him.

Azriel put a hand on the bulge, feeling himself inside of you as he began thrusting. You were squeezing him so tight, hand struggling to find him to hold on to something.

He felt himself losing control, pace growing faster and faster as he watched you squirming and moaning below him. His arms went behind your hips and back, lifting you off the bed and manhandling you in the air for a little while. He brought you to his chest, moving you to be against the wall that shared his room and Cassian's.

A silent brag, and message, that he could now accurrately inform Cassian how easy you were to toss around like a doll.

Your hands found purchase on his shoulders as you became a babbling mess. Your silky core was twitching and tightening around him all over again, indicating to him how close you were, how ready you were. “Az,” you panted. “So fucking big.”

“Yeah,” he kissed the top of your head. “Bet it feels so good stretching you out, doesn't it, baby?” You couldn't respond as a certain angle had you becoming pliant in his arms. “Fuck I know it does.” He was practically lifting you on and off of him, watching as you stretched around his cock. “You're close, aren't you, angel?”

You nodded, eyes glazed over and jaw fallen open to the perfect o. “Gonna cum.”

“Then cum. Squeeze my cock. You wanted to climb the mountain, right y/n? Fucking climb.”

You hit that peak on his command again, clinging to him tightly as he continued using you and stretching you out.

It took Azriel a few more moments, but he stilled inside of you, head thrown back in a loud growl as he came inside of you. He pressed you back against the wall, panting slightly as he stared into your eyes. He lifted you easily, allowing his cock to fall out of you and you to whine at the sudden emptiness that took place where he had filled you.

“This can't be a one-time thing,” his voice was almost desperate as he moved to set you on the desk, forehead finding yours. “I need more of you. All of you.”

You couldn't help but to bit your lip, nodding so quickly with a growing smile. “I like how little you make me feel. How safe you make me feel.”

Azriel's eyes almost rolled back completely as they shut. “Gods you are perfect.” He leaned in to kiss you, only to be interrupted by his door slamming open and Cassian and Nesta barging in.

A massive wing snapped between you and them, blocking your body from their view.

Cassian cleared his throat before speaking. “We want to know how exactly that worked. Show us. Please.”

“Show you?!” Your voice cracked as you turned to a smirking Azriel.

Azriel kissed your forehead. “Bend over the desk, angel. Gotta give him a show since he asked so nicely.”

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Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

[mythicmanuscripts]

(I’m not sure if this counts as poor bdsm etiquette but if it does tell me so I can try and make it better)

Literally just thought about it but the brothel ladies using aegon as a sort of way to get their anger out as they cant do it on their other clients. Practically abusing him and degrading him so badly but he takes it cause they praise him after and he thinks it’s the only love he deserves. It’s sort of talked about in the brothels that if you need a way to release your anger aegons the one to do it on.

But then he meets his love and it all turns around and he realises how bad that treatment was and how much he deserves to be pampered like the pretty prince he is and be

Oh my god I love this!! So while this is absolutely what I had meant by bad BDSM etiquette, I realise I was a little too vague about it in the rules. I am more than happy to write anything in to do with characters having experienced bad BDSM etiquette in the past with someone else. What I won’t write it the reader having bad BDSM etiquette because don’t want that stop of thing promoted. As you all know, I have a weakness for angst and anything to do with bad relationships in the past really makes for some of the best angst. Apologies for the confusion there! I’ll update the rules to be clearer about it after I finish this.

Anyway, there is angsty sub!aegon below the cut but fear not, it ends happy :))

So there are two scenarios that I think this would work with. The first is just that Aegon went to the brothels until he let you and was shown how he deserves to be treated. The second is when you’re already married to Aegon and you two fell into something akin to a dom/sub relationship and Aegon craves full submission so badly but he bring himself to ask you about this because he’s so scared you’ll reject him and so instead he goes to brothels where they mistreat him and then you find out when he came to your quarters in. This ask seems to be hinting more towards the first one so that’s while be discussing here, but I’m happy to share some thoughts about the second idea and to hear your own thoughts about it so let me know!!

Anyway, on to this specific idea.

Firstly, as we all know Aegon is a bit of a slut, but only because he so desperately wants to please and be told he’s good. He enjoys the sex, sure, but there’s plenty to aspects of it that he doesn’t enjoy but he does even anyway because it means he’s doing something that someone actually likes, even if that someone is just a brothel worker he’s paid.

I think that Aegon would have originally gone to the brothel workers for affection and care and love but well… he can be a little pathetic. He can be very whiney and teary eyed and very very needy, just a weeping pathetic little thing who needs someone to care for him.

But when this side of him comes out with the brothel workers, they call him pathetic and laugh at him, because they’re not used to this kind of thing. Aegon freezes, but then the workers seem to enjoy humiliating him? So he just lets them, and he lets them push it further and further and further until eventually he’s gained the reputation of someone all the sex workers can abuse.

When it’s over, he always just crawls to them and tugs at their clothes, trying desperately to be allowed into their arms. Some of them let him, most of them don’t. But they do all say he did well, some even stroke his hair or wipe away his tears.

That’s what he comes for. That’s what he pays for, just that moment of praise.

Of course he always feels horrific when they leave, because no one ever gives him the proper aftercare he needs. Well actually, he doesn’t even know what’s what he needs. He just knows that even though he loves the praise and love, he feels awful once they leave?

Secretly he wishes they’d stay and help him recover. He wishes they’d wash his hair and kiss his forehead and let him cuddle into their arms, maybe even give him a soft hand job. But he never asks for that, because he’s too scared to see the rejection and disgust on their faces.

When he marries you, he doesn’t tell you about what he does at the brothels. He knows you know he goes to the brothels, but he’d never tell you what actually happens there because he’s so sure you’d refuse to give him an heir entirely.

I think maybe you’d start to see his submissive side when you try to be nice to him? He quite literally bursts into tears the first time you bring him a cup of warm milk for the kitchen the night after he told you he’d been having in trouble sleeping. And not small tears either, he’s literally sobbing into his cup of milk.

He starts to spend more and more time with you, because he realises how much he loves just talking to you? You make him feel all warm and safe and sometimes even loved, so he’s always following you and listening to your every word.

The first time you initiate sex, the first time it’s proper sex and not just trying for an heir, he basically melts into you? He’s just so pliant, and he’s so so so happy when you immediately start to lead him and direct him rather than trying to make him get back in control.

You weren’t planning on going as gently as you did, but then when he was laid out before you, you knew that gentleness was what was required. Cause he’s just… so open? He’s laying on his back, breathing hard and whining every time you touch him his crotch. He’s letting you play with him without even a word of protest, and so you promise yourself that you’ll keep him safe.

You ride him and you hold him when he cums and when Aegon realises you aren’t leaving immediately, it makes him cry again. You wipe his tears and kiss his head and tell him he was so good.

He goes stiff then and looks up at you, all teary eyed and confused.

“Good?” He asks, his voice so so soft, “but I…you didn’t hit me?”

You try to ask what he means by that but he’s far too out of it, so instead you end up just shushing him and cuddling him until he calms.

Once you start giving Aegon the pillow princess treatment, you can’t stop. He is just perfect for it. When he realises that you’ll never hurt him, he’s practically always free use for you. He gives over his entire body because he knows you’ll make him feel good.

Needless to say, he stops going to brothels.

[matryosika]

Hyung Line: Love Languages and Sex

Wordcount: 5,467 words.

Genre: Smut, partly head canons and scenarios.

Includes: SKZ Hyung Line members, female reader, brief discussion about food in Minho's scenario, curse words and dirty dialogues. Smut warnings below.

Author's note: Long time no see! I just randomly thought about this yesterday, and I had a couple of scenario/drabbles I wanted to write about regarding this topic so here they are. I thought about uploading them individually, but I don't know. I'm currently working in the second part of this, so yeah. Thought I would just put this out there for now. I hope you guys like it! Please remember that english isn't my first language and this is not proof-read so I apologize for any mistake in advance.

If you like this, please consider supporting me by reblogging, leaving a comment or sending me an ask. If you wish to support my work further, please consider buying me a coffee! ☕

Smut warnings (varies from scenario to scenario): Masturbation (f. receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, praises, use of petnames, established relationship, foot massage (for Minho's part), public sex (for Changbin's scenario), body cumshot (for Hyunjin's scenario), vaginal penetrative sex, unprotected sex, implied creampie (for Changbin's scenario).

Chan: Acts of Service and Words of Affirmation

“One more?”

When you told Chan you were feeling stressed, you didn't exactly expect him to try and cheer you up like this —face buried in your sweet, throbbing cunt, and hands intertwined with yours. You have been going at it for hours on end, with no signs of Chan ever wanting to stop —not even after your third orgasm.

“Channie…” You want to tell him it's his turn, that you also want to make him feel good. That you need to help him releasing the tension between his legs, make him come just as much as he has made you tonight.

But you can’t even begin to deliver a coherent sentence, or at least not when his nose is applying the perfect amount of pressure to your clit while his tongue laps messily on your slit, his spit and your own wetness creating a sticky, awkward sensation that reminds you of all the time Chan had spent working on your cunt in the past hour or two.

“Mhm?” He knows you’re too fucked out you can’t even speak, but the devilish grin plastered on his face tells you that he wants to listen to you. Or at least your babbles. “What is it, baby?”

“Chan,” you latch your hands onto his dark locks, pulling them harshly and earning a hiss from him. “Chan, please!”

You don't have to tell him exactly what you want for him to know. The way you grind your hips against his face sells you out —Chan knows you need more than just his mouth, and he is more than happy to comply.

If you ask for it, of course.

“Greedy,” he laughs under his breath, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your cunt. “Come one more time for me, and I’ll consider giving you what you want”.

A fair exchange, you think. But when the ravages of over-stimulation start hitting you painfully than before, you highly doubt you can fulfill his plea.

“I can’t,” you gasp with shortness of breath, hands leaving Chan’s to clinge at the bedsheets underneath you. “Chan, fuck, wait!”

The last thing you want is for Chan to stop, but the words fall from your lips faster than you can process them. So he withdraws from your pussy and stares at you with half-lidded eyes, swollen lips and chin glistening with your arousal.

“No! Don’t- don’t stop, I’m sorry”.

You’re not making any sense, and he loves it.

“Am I hurting you?”

You shake your head eagerly, swallowing hard while you take advantage of the break to take a breath. “No, it’s just- I’m- I want to please you”.

Chan smiles.

“I have to take care of you first,” he mumbles, lips attached to flesh of your inner thighs. “Want to make you come enough until your mind is completely empty”.

“But I-”

“Tonight isn’t about me, okay?” he drags his words lazily, humming and slightly whimpering them when he rubs his nose yet again against your clit. “I need to make sure you’re not feeling stressed anymore”.

You plop down onto the bed again, hands gripping his curls while unconsciously bringing him closer to your core.

“See, I know you can come one more time,” Chan whispers against your pussy, two of his fingers spreading your folds while he coats them with your previous arousal, “you’re always good to me like that”.

You buck your hips when he unexpectedly thrusts his middle and ring finger inside you, walls welcoming and clenching around them so tightly Chan almosts come right in his pants.

“3 orgasms are not enough for someone like you, hm?” he fucks you delicately, enjoying the wet sounds your cunt makes every time he sinks his fingers inside you, “you still want more”.

You cover your face in shyness, only letting out small whimpers and moans every time he curls his fingers.

“Don’t,” his available hand, which he has underneath your right thigh and the curve of your ass, reaches out to pull both your arms, causing you to uncover your face, “I want to see you when I’m talking to you”.

He grabs both your wrists with his available hand, while the other works wonders on your cunt. From where you lay, the sight is heavenly —you can catch a glimpse of his flexed shoulders and back, along with his bare face and messy, dark curls. You could reach your fourth orgasm just by that alone, but Chan has other plans in mind.

“You’re so sweet,” he’s practically groaning his words, licking remains of your orgasms from his lips, “I don’t ever want to go a day without tasting you, ever”.

You moan at his words, heart racing faster than it was before. He has always had a way with words —ever since you two met, he has always known exactly what to say to have you at his feet, mercilessly.

“Channie,” you cry out loud, head falling back as your back arches in pleasure. “Chan!”

“Come on,” he drags his swollen lips against your hip bone and the side of your tummy, inhaling deeply the scent of your skin while the room is filled with wet, lewd noises, “I can feel you’re close, I know you can take one more”.

There’s no point in trying to hold back, so you start letting yourself go.

“All day I’ve been thinking about your sweet cunt,” the more he talks, the rougher he fucks you with his fingers and the closer you get to your release, “you’re all I fucking need. I don’t want anything else but you”.

You melt with love, tears threating to spill from the corners of your eyes. There’s something enticing about the contrast between his words and his touch, how he can say the sweetest, purest and loving things while his fingers keep on fucking your pussy with no tenderness, exactly how you like it.

“I just want to show you off to everyone,” Chan continues, feeling the wetness around his fingers starting to increase, word by word. “Want to tell everyone how pretty you look like this, how proud I am to have you with me”.

“F-fuck,” you’re coming, he can tell. The way your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your hips spasm against his hand sells you out.

“That’s it,” he moans, the raspiness of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Give it to me, I know you can”.

He continues fucking your cunt through your orgasm, not daring to stop even when drops of your arousal wet his hand and bed.

“Stay still, baby,” with his available arm, he holds you down and pins you against the bed, preventing you from closing your legs or get away from his touch, “make a mess, I want to lick it clean”.

Minho: Acts of Service and Physical Touch

Minho is naturally a giver.

Sure, he does love being on the receiving end from time to time, but really nothing gratifies him more than taking care of you, in every way you should be taken care of.

Whether it’s taking a chore off your hands when you’re exhausted, running an errand to save you time on a busy day, or picking up take out and medicine when you’re feeling down, one of Minho’s ways to show you love it’s by performing acts of services.

Hence that, you’re not surprised to come home tonight with a full home-cooked dinner, with dessert and all.

“Hope you’re starving,” your boyfriend welcomes you, still wearing an apron on top of his work outfit. Black, formal pants and a white shirt with rolled sleeves, “It’s your favorite, by the way”. 

Earlier today, he called you to ask you for a quick grocery shopping list, in case you had some things missing from your fridge. Apparently, he was going to be released early from work, so he had some spare time before meeting you at your place and he could stop by for the things you needed..

“My head is all over the place,” you admitted, hands brushing through your hair in frustration, “I’m sorry Min, I completely forgot to leave the grocery list you told me. And I’m not even sure what’s missing- probably the whole fucking fridge is empty”.

He could tell how busy and exhausted you had been over the past few weeks, so he came up with a plan.

“I can come to your place and do the list myself,” he proposed by the phone. “Then I’ll go to the supermarket and pick the food and stuff you need, yeah? I’ll return to your place at night, and we can unwind together. Is that okay?”

You thanked him, probably a million times, before hanging up and going through with your day.

When he sits at the table with you, you finally get a taste of the dish. As expected, is more than just delicious. It’s a whole fucking experience, especially because it was made just for you.

You two eat together and help each other cleaning the kitchen afterwards. When you're done, with a comfy outfit and while having another glass of red wine, Minho suggests he does a massage on you because you look tense.

“What a nice, elegant sex proposal,” you laugh, extending your legs on top of his while you are sitting in the couch.

“I never said anything about sex,” Minho tiltes his head, the tip of his digits grazing against your skin. “So who’s proposing that to who?”

“You know, I could use a massage,” you leave the glass of wine on top of the coffee table, and let your body slowly slide into the couch. “I’m not sure about the sex part. I don’t know if I could ride you with how fucking sore my legs are, but I can make it up to you during the weekend”.

Minho laughs, a genuine, heart-warming laugh.

“We don’t have to fuck tonight,” his hands and digits trail an immaginary path from your feet, to your ankles, to your knees and inner thighs. The touch is enough to get you wet, and you curse him mentally for that, “but I still want to make you come, at least once”.   

Sometimes, you really can't begin to comprehend how Minho is all that. Attractive, smart, hard-working and just… perfect in every aspect, including sex.

“I’m so embarrassed,” you admit, moaning softly when his hands start working on the soles of your feet. It’s certainly not a massage massage, but rather a compilation of soft and lustful touches, “I really want to make things up to you but I’m a mess right now, there’s a lot going on at work and-”

“Hey,” he interrupts you, caressing the sides of your feet while working on them. “I’m not complaining nor asking for anything in return, am I?”

He isn’t.

And he is also not the type to expect some sort of payment for a favor.

Minho loves like that¸ without expecting absolutely nothing in return except for your satisfacion.

“But-”

“Am I?”

“No,” you softly reply, more as a whimper than an actual response. He is still massaging your feet and ankles, slowly growing harder at the series of moans and hisses you’re letting out.

“Why don’t you tell me where you keep your vibrator?” You love how it’s a casual question, how you no longer grow timid when he asks stuff like that. You are a couple, and he knows way more about you and your private life than anyone else. “Let’s put it to use tonight, hm?”

“Nightstand, second drawer,” you immediately sigh, losing the warmth of his body when he stands up from the couch to go to said location —the nightstand, second drawer.

He comes back not even 2 minutes later, holding the hot pink item to his hand. He sits right next to you, inviting you to spread your legs for him while he pushes your underwear and pijama shorts to the side.

A proud smile peeps out of the corners of his lips, knowing he did absolutely nothing but you’re still dripping wet, underwear and clothes sticking to your folds.

“You weren’t sure about the sex part?” he hums in content, caressing your slit with the tip of the toy. “Honey, you’re body is begging for me to fuck it”.

You arch your back unexpectedly when he turns on the toy, digging it further against your clit. He motions for you to take care of the toy, guiding your wrist to it in order to have both of his hands free and available to caress you, grope you and kiss you as he pleases.

“It’s really good,” you moan, masturbating for him while his hands reach out to your breasts, massaging them and pinching your nipples. “It’s not as good as your cock, but it does the task. I should get a better toy”.

Minho laughs against your skin, tongue latched to one of your hardened buds. His right hand wanders along the side of your body, caressing your waist, hips and thighs as much as he wants.

“You know nothing compares to me,” Minho whimpers against your skin, his hips grinding ever so slightly against your spread thighs. “But it’s cute that you’re still willing to try and find something that could compete against me”.

You bury your right hand onto his dark hair, pulling him closer to you, if possible, while your left hand holds the wand against your cunt.

The more he touches you and kisses you, the closer you get to your orgasm. And pathetically close, at that, since you’ve only been doing this for roughly 3 minutes.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed your body these days,” Minho groans, peppering kisses on your chest and neck while his hand sneaks between your ass and the couch. He squeezes and gropes it harshly, making you move your hips a bit up to give him better access. “Just want to cover it all with my kisses, lick it and touch it how you like it”.

Minho buries his face on your neck, and starts kissing your skin sloppily while his right hand is still groping your body. He doesn’t care about being messy —in fact, that’s exactly what he is going for tonight.

“Don’t stop,” you babble, grinding your hips against the toy while Minho’s lips and hands are all over you. “Don’t stop, Min, please, don’t-”

When you’re just a second away from your arousal, Minho places his hand on top of yours and presses the vibrator against your clit more, forcing you to orgasm faster. “Don’t worry,” he groans near your ear, face still buried in the crook of your neck, “I won’t stop until you’re satisfied”.

Changbin: Words of Affirmation and Gifts

“What do you think?”

Changbin has to take a full minute in order to arrange his own thoughts. If he had to say what he actually thinks of that dress, he would earn a couple of disgusted faces from the rest of the people at the boutique.

“Good,” it’s all he manages to say, slyly leaning forward to hide his bulge, “let me pay for it and let’s go home”.

“I’m still not done, though,” there’s a bunch of clothes you wish to try, and you know that doesn’t impatient Changbin –he is a great shopping partner. But judged by his lustful gaze, you think he has changed his plans, “I’ll be quick, I promise”.

He isn’t mad, nor wants to rush you, but Changbin wonders how long it’s going to take for him to lose his sanity before he gets to fuck you in the very same dress you just tried on. It hugs your body just right, allowing you to show just the right amount of skin to drive him crazy.

“Shit, I don’t know about this one,” you murmur from inside, just a long curtain separating you from Changbin, who is currently sitting at a small couch placed strategically in front of the fitting rooms, “I don’t think this is my size”.

Before he could ponder the situation, the pros and cons of demanding a small, modeling catwalk from you, he asks you to show the dress to him.

“It’s too tight,” you complain, struggling to zip it up, “one wrong move and I- I’m going to flash everyone in here”.

“Let me see it,” he asks again, impatiently looking forward to watching the curtain slide back, revealing you.

“I don’t- I look weird,” the dress is not your style, nor it’s something you would wear out on any occasion. You thought it would be fun to try it on, see if you could get out of your comfort zone, but it escalated too quick. “It’s too much, it barely covers anything”.

It’s not intentional, but you’re practically edging Changbin with your words. The longer you drag it out, the whiner he gets.

“Alright, alright,” you finally exhale, your hand pushing the curtain separating you from his gaze out of the way, “but don’t fucking say anything”.

Even if he wanted to say something, he can’t even speak. His throat is dry, aching just as much as the throbbing pressure between his legs that demands for his whole attention.

After some excruciating, awkward moments in silence, you speak again.

“Okay, say something,” the lack of words from him is making you feel unsteady, because he is just staring right at you quietly. You can’t possibly now what’s going on in his mind. “I told you it doesn’t fit and it is too damn expensive, and the fabric is -”.

“Get that one too,” it’s not a question, nor an advice –it’s an order.

“It’s too exp-”

“I don’t care,” the pent up tension is making it seem as if he’s angry, but you know he isn’t –he is just too damn horny, and needy, and desperate to get home and fuck you in every position possible.

“Alright,” you nod, feeling your heart skipping a beat when Changbin’s intimidating gaze falls up on you, basically begging for you to be done. “I’ll just… take it off and we can- go home, yeah?”

You go back to the fitting room with a wet sensation between your legs, feeling your folds sticking to your underwear while you relentlessly try to take the dress off. It had been hard to put it on, but you underestimated how difficult it was going to be to take it off on your own.

“Bin?” you ask, “is someone there who… could help me?”

Changbin looks around, but there’s no one other than him. Not even the lady who manages the changing room and checks which clothes people are trying on is there.

“There’s no one here,” the dark-haired replies, standing from the couch with more confidence now that he knows no one can spot the bulge in his pants, “what do you need?”

You shyly push the curtains to the side yet again, revealing the now messy dress after your failed attempt to take it off. “Can you help me?”

You turn around, putting the back zipper on display for him. It’s rather an easy task, he just needs to pull it down.

But how easy can it be when all he can pay attention to is your ass, and how good it looks underneath that tight dress? The clothes are so tight he can catch a glimpse of the silhouette of your underwear, buried in the flesh of your arse.

“Please?”

He doesn’t helps you unziping it and, instead, pushes you inside the fitting room again, closing the curtain behind him as he is sure the area is completely empty, except for the two of you.

“I can’t,” he breathes, turning you around so that your hands lay on his chest. “I don’t want you to take it off”.

“I have to if you want to buy it for me, silly,” you’re teasing him, acting oblivious to his sudden reaction. “Quick, don’t want anyone to catch us together in here”.

“I want to fuck you while you’re wearing it,” he confesses, his lips so close to yours you can actually feel his breath caressing your chin. “I want to fuck you right here, so you can see how pretty you look”.

You would be lying if you said you’re not turned on, not even in the slightest. But your hardened nipples and wet underwear speak louder than you can.

“Please,” he begs, hands moving slowly from your waist to your ass, groping it while pulling you closer to him. “Please let me fuck you”.

The more he pulls you towards him, the more you can feel his throbbing, hard cock against your body. You are probably going to regret your decision, but you still give in.

You need him more than he does.

“If someone catches us…”

“They won’t,” Changbin groans, lifting your dress up with one hand while the other unbuckles his pants with a swift motion, “just keep your pretty mouth shut and I’ll take care of the rest, yeah?”

It seems like he isn't asking for a lot, but he is. How can you possibly keep your mouth shut when his raw cock is about to stretch your pussy?

He turns you around, your palms resting on the wall for support while his nimble hands place you in the perfect position for him: back arched, ass up and legs open. Really, how can you possibly keep your mouth shut when the tip of his thick cock slides against your slit?

He knows time is running out, so he doesn’t waste it –he sinks his hips against yours delicately, only to pick up the pace when he feels you getting used to his cock.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he groans against your shoulders, leaving wet, sloppy pecks that soon turn into love bites. “You’re just- too pretty- can’t keep my hands off of you”.

You moan at his words, sounds that are quickly muffled by one of his hands against your mouth.

“So- fucking beautiful,” his words come out choppy, but he manages to keep the volume of his voice down, unlike you. “You're just too good to be real and mine”.

The sound of your muffled whines, Changbin’s soft groans, skin hitting skin and the wetness of your cunt around his cock is what fills the whole fitting room. You’re wondering if someone can hear you two, but you really don’t care anymore.

 “You’re so tight,” he can’t get himself to stop. The urge to praise you and compliment you is the exactly the same as coming inside you, he is really desperate for both and judged by the way you squeeze his dick everytime he speaks, he knows you like it too. “Perfectly made for my cock”.

The rougher he pounds himself inside you, the more you lose balance and control of your own body. Your cheek is against the wall, your weak arms barely doing anything to support your body, but his grip around you is what keeps you stable.

“I’m going to fill you up, yeah?” he is not that far from his arousal, and neither are you. “I want to show you how much I love you”.

You nod eagerly against his palm, drooling all over it. One of your hands leave the wall to rub your clit, the new stimulation provided pushing you to the edge.

“Come with me, pretty,” he pants, barely speaking with shortness of breath. “Give it to me, let me know how much you love the way I fuck you”. 

His words have never failed to make you lose it. Not even once.

Hyunjin: Physical Touch and Gifts

You’re his muse.

You have been since the day he met you, since the very first time he laid his eyes on you.

Whether it’s for a poem, a drawing, a painting or a sculpture, you’re exactly where he finds his inspiration at. Hyunjin would rather die than looking at someone else, would rather stop making art before immortalizing another body that isn’t yours.

And besides being his muse, you’re also his lover. His partner, his accomplice, his everything. He trusts you more than he trusts himself, cares about you more than anything else. He wants to share all of himself with you, from his anger and sadness to the things he can’t say out loud, his filthy desires that he knows only you understand.

To be honest, you share a lot of the same. Especially your preferences, like and dislikes.

“Isn’t it pretty?”

A set of laced lingerie, your favorite color.

“What’s the occasion?” you ask him perplexed, carefully folding the wrap around it.

“Saw it on my way back to your apartment,” he is standing right in front of you, smiling softly at your excitement. “I thought you were going to like it, so I just couldn’t not buy it for you. It’s too pretty for you not to have it”.

Hyunjin is like that, always.

If he sees something he thinks you’d like, or if there’s something he wants you to have, he buys it and gives it to you as a gift. There doesn’t need to be a special occasion for Hyunjin to shower you with gifts —whether it’s a painting of yourself, a small hand-made bracelet, a new coffee mug or a whole expensive set of lingerie, Hyunjin always makes sure to get to your apartment with his hands full.

“I love it,” you reassure him, your fingertips tracing the lace of the underwear. “I’m going to try it on for you”.

He smiles widely, his eyes turning into crescent moons when his muse promises such a thing —he’ll get to see it on you, on your naked skin that always tempts him into touching it.

You come back faster than he expected you, only wearing the set of lingerie and nothing more.

“Oh,” it’s all he manages to say, his body freezing in its place.

“It looks good, hm?”

Hyunjin makes a mental note to go back to that place and buy all sets of lingerie available just to gift them to you, as soon as possible.

“You’re a fucking goddess”.

His compliment gets you shy, but you still walk towards him as he is sitting on the edge of your bed. Right next to him you spot some of his arts supplies –a sketch notebook and some other utensils.

“You want to draw me?” you ask him with a smile and the warmest tone of voice. Like pure honey and sugar.

“I wanted to,” Hyunjin murmured, looking up to you, “but I’ve changed my mind”.

“Why so?”

The position you two are at is perfect for Hyunjin to embrace your body –you’re standing right in front of him, between his spread legs. His mouth is at the level of your torso, and his hands can explore your whole body easily.

“I just want to admire you,” he sighed, leaving a single, quick kiss on your tummy. “Kiss you and touch you, remind myself that you’re all mine”.

You giggle softly while latching his fingers to his hair, something that earns you a subtle moan from him.

“You know I’m yours,” you sigh when his mouth and tongue becomes bold, licking and nibbling at your flesh while his hands caress the sides of your body, “don’t need to remind yourself something you already know”.

“Sometimes I can’t believe it,” Hyunjin whispers, grazing his plump lips against the lace fabric of your underwear, “that you belong to me”.

You arch your back slightly when his tongue licks a trail from your pubis towards your chest, the trace of his saliva looking better than any texture or color Hyunjin could paint, ever.

“I do,” every time it gets harder to hold your sighs and moans, his skilled mouth making you feel impatient for his touch, even when he is all over you. “I belong to you. I’ve been yours ever since the day I met you”.

He inhales deeply the scent of your skin, the way the tip of his nose brushes against you sending shivers down your spine.

“Let me mark you,” Hyunjin whispers, doe eyes staring up, right at you. “Don’t need that sketchbook when I have your body like this”.

He guides his lips to the side of your hips, nibbling at the skin and sucking somewhat harshly, only stopping to soothe the skin with soft kisses and kitten licks.

“You’re going to cover me all in love bites?”

“If you allow me to,” Hyunjin smiles, admiring the print of his teeth against your skin. “I want everyone to know you’re all mine, in every way possible”.

He guides his hands from your ass to your lower back as he stands up, pressing his body against yours.

“I want you to fuck me,” you whisper, hooking your arms against his neck. Your touch makes him shiver, but he conceals it well. “Please?”

You don’t have to tell him twice before he is already laying with you on his bed, taking his clothes off on the way.

“Can you leave this on?” he asks you when you’re about to unhook the top part of the underwear. The idea of getting to fuck you in something he gifted you is riling him up, so he prays for you to agree. “Want to come all over it, so everytime you wear it you can remember me”.

You just smile and nod, impatient to feel him deep inside you.

“You’re so warm,” Hyunjin hisses when his fingers push the lace underwear to the side, revealing how ruined they already are. “So fucking slippery”.

“I’m always like this when I’m with you,” you admit, “especially when you have your hands all over me. It drives me insane”.

You’re both more than ready for each other, as usual. It’s a magical thing, how it only takes you a few words, touches and gazes to receive each other’s body.

“Relax for me,” he whispers when the tip of his cock stretches your entrance, “like that”.

He holds your hand and you squeeze it hard as he enters you, sinking it into the mattress right next to your head.

“Shit,” a gasp escapes your lips when he bottoms out. And, slowly, he pulls away only to repeat the same movements of his hips against yours, “so- good”.

Hyunjin leans down to kiss your forehead, and then your cheek. He then finds your lips, and synchronizes the brushes of his tongue with the thrusts of his hips.

“Faster,” you plea when he releases your lips to let out a quiet whimper, pressing his forehead against yours while his body moves on their own. “Fuck me faster, Hyunjin”.

And so he does. All to satisfy you.

Every time he bottoms out, his pubis brushes against your clit and gives you the much needed stimulation to reach your climax, so you’re getting closer every time he slams himself inside you.

Hyunjin notices it, by the way your walls clench around him, so he continues steady with his movements. He hasn’t let go of your hand and he doesn’t plan to –he loves feeling you squeeze it, telling him with your touch what you can’t put into words.

“Hyune-”

“I know,” he groans quietly with shortness of breath, “let yourself go, I’m right here”.

Your orgasm hits you right when your gazes meet, and Hyunjin can feel it from how wet and slippery you’ve become, and how hard it is to maintain a steady pace when your hips are practically begging for his release.

“Come on,” he encourages you, not wanting to pull out before fucking you through your high, “give it to me”.

You arch your back and let go of his hand to hook both of your arms around his neck, violently trembling against his body while trying to get away from the stimulation he is providing you with.

But only after you’re done he does so, with a swift movement he pulls away from you and strokes his cock two or three times before coming all over your body, the set of lingerie getting paint with his orgasm.

And as he jerks of the remain of his high on top of you, Hyunjin realizes no painting he has ever gifted you has done you any justice.