#or just plainly uncomfortable in my body

[acrosstimeandspace]

been thinking and one of the nicest things about getting exploration with my gender through s/is has been getting comfy with styling myself however i want! having really short hair, dressing in super girly clothes, or wearing more baggy clothes to look more masc without binding or anything.

things that in the past either made me feel icky or i did bc i wasn’t comfortable with myself. but now they’re things i’ve doodles my s/is doing with pride, played around with to find my style, and i do with joy.

[interstellarflare]

A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART FOUR-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. Gif by @catalinabaylors

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE|

Sooner than he would have liked, the time to leave for Lady Danbury’s ball crept up on Anthony. Truth be told, he really wasn’t looking forward to tonight.

Eloise still wasn’t speaking with him, at least politely anyway. She would glare, scoff in annoyance every time he opened his mouth, and often snapped a snide remark in reply to a question.

Anthony could see that his mother, Violet, was incredibly uncomfortable with the whole situation. She had warned the two of them to sort out their differences before arriving at Lady Danbury’s residence, otherwise the two would be an embarrassment to not only themselves, but the Bridgerton House. Even if was only just for the night.

The carriage jostled about along the cobblestone street, with Violet, Eloise and Anthony sitting in complete awkward silence. Anthony could feel his sister’s glare burning holes into his head, the tension weighing heavily as his gaze moved to settle on his mother. Violet looked between her two children nervously.

They were to be at Lady Danbury’s residence any second now, appearing before the ton in such a state was not a good look for anyone. “Now I don’t know what is bothering the both of you, but you two need to resolve this matter quickly. You are both the face of our family tonight-“

“Mother-“

“Enough! I have never seen the two of you bicker like this before, it is unlike you both. Now I suggest that you settle this matter here and now, before we are to arrive” Violet snapped, glaring harshly between her two children before her. All Anthony could do was sigh. He heard Eloise scoff, shifting uncomfortably beside him as she grumbled “Fine. I will play nice for now, but you need to actually open your eyes-“

“Open my eyes to what!?” Anthony exclaimed, turning his body to face her fully “You had told me nothing! What exactly am I supposed to be looking for here?”

“It is so plainly obvious, even Colin could figure it out”

“Then why don’t you tell me!?” Anthony shouted, hearing his mother sigh heavily across from him.

Eloise glared, clearly uncomfortable with where this conversation was progressing. He noticed that her hands had now clenched into fists by her side, her eyes falling to the carriage floor. “I…I cannot, I am sworn to secrecy-“

“Oh for the love of-“

“Oh thank god, we’ve arrived…” Violet breathed nervously, fixing her cream and gold patterned dress as she adjusted her gloves anxiously. Both Anthony and Eloise fell into silence, anger bubbling in his chest as he continued to stare at his sister.

Something was going on, and it irked him to not know what it was. He felt the carriage stop, and turned his gaze towards his mother as she quickly exited the carriage and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Next was Eloise, who cleared her throat and fixed her skirts as she moved toward the carriage door, but Anthony stopped her. He gently grabbed her forearm, stopping her from moving as she quickly turned to face him, a furious expression on her features.

“Does this have something to do with Y/n? The girl we met this morning?”.

He’d been wanting to ask that question since their return home, since Benedict had bothered him all afternoon about his feud with their sister. If this was supposedly about you in some way or another…why? He knew that you and Eloise were close, good friends even. But what did Eloise, and supposedly Colin know that the rest of the ton did not? What was going on in the Worthington household?

The way Eloise’s expression softened confirmed his suspicions, she sighed heavily. “I can say no more, but I will say this to you, and I want you to think about it…really think about it. The ton knows that Lady Worthington married Lord L/n upon his late wife’s passing, and she adopted Lord L/n’s daughter alongside her own. So, think on this dear brother…what happened to her?”

Anthony froze, his brow furrowing as he though on Eloise’s words. He hadn’t thought about it really, no one had seen Lord L/n’s daughter since his passing. He’d heard rumours that she had run away in grief, leaving behind her family estate and fortune to Lady Worthington and her daughters. He remembered he’d only seen her once, he’d attended one of Lady Danbury’s balls as a child with his mother and late father. He had been quite nervous being amongst all those people, but he couldn’t take his eyes off a young girl about his age, perhaps a little younger, dancing with some of the men and women at the ball.

She had the brightest smile, and a contagious laugh. It was only after the ball upon their return home that Anthony had asked his father who that girl was. Upon hearing that it was the daughter of Lord L/n, he’d hoped to see her again. But he never had.

Violet stuck her head back inside the carriage, glaring at the two of them harshly. “Will the two of you get out!? People are watching!” She exclaimed in a hushed whisper, urging the two of them out with her hand. Eloise forced her arm out of her brother’s hold and stepped outside, smiling forcefully up at her mother as she tried to appear happy.

But Anthony was stunned. He felt rather uncomfortable now, unsure of what to think or do now with this knowledge. It irked him, made his stomach churn uneasily as he stepped out of the carriage and fixed his jacket. His eyes met Eloise’s once again, and he couldn’t help but feel sad. He entered the ball by her side, his arm looped through hers as they moved about the crowd of people. His mother had disappeared to speak with Lady Danbury, he could see the two on the other side of the room gossiping to themselves happily.

He felt as if he was in a trance. Amongst the dazzling light of the chandelier and the multitude of candelabras strewn about the room, he couldn’t focus. The sounds, the surroundings, everything was blurring into one big mass. He left Eloise for a moment, allowing her to mingle with some other debutants while he chose to escape outside for a moment of fresh air.

He felt sick, an uneasy feeling settling in his chest. It had only been an hour since their arrival, but all Anthony wanted to do was leave. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t actually come to terms with what Eloise was suggesting…if she was even suggesting that in the first place. He took a deep breath in, now turning back to face the congregation inside.

He couldn’t go back inside, not after seeing Lady Worthington and her daughters enter the room with an extravagant pose. Upon seeing Lady Worthington, dressed in a deep blue gown with golden shawl draped over her shoulders, Anthony jumped the small balcony and landed in the gardens below. He fixed his jacket, releasing a quick breath as his eyes quickly darted around to make sure no one had seen him.

Though…he had to be the most unfortunate man at the ball tonight.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Benedict exclaimed in a hushed tone, a confused yet furious expression on his features.

Anthony flinched, lifting his gaze upward and giving his brother an awkward grin.

“Cover for me”.

“Excuse me!?”

“Just…be there for Eloise…” Anthony groaned in annoyance, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly “…I have some business I need to take care of-“

“Don’t you dare leave me here with…” Benedict growled, his entire form freezing as he heard the shrill voice of a woman call out to him, one that Anthony couldn’t help but snicker at “…that.”

“It would appear that Miss Mary Worthington requires your presence, dear brother. Perhaps it is I that will enjoy your misfortune instead-“

“Oh, oh ha ha ha…” Benedict snapped sarcastically, glaring down at his older brother with annoyance “…you’re such little bas-“

“Give my sincerest apologies to our mother, and I shall see you upon my return home!” Anthony called out as he spun on his heel and jogged away, laughing quietly to himself as his brothers’ pleading cries faded into the distance.

Tag List:

@infectedbypedropascal @erysione @spookystitchery @scoopsahoyspidey

@misscaller06 @slayqueenizzy @everythingmarveltopgun @idek-what-to-put

@everythingbagel00 @thecraziestcrayon @bollzinurmouth @reejero

@pinkcat246 @ambitions-like-ribbons @jackierose902109 @ladybirdbeetle7

@sweetsourpus @in-deans-arms @blackthorngirl @kee-0-kee

@sometimesminsan @prawntoastsworld @scoopsahoyspidey @darkness-falls-xo

@reallysparklychaos @hottie-bishop-belova @riptidewaters @jay-being-weird

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@freyagallileaevans @gracielou0518 @judig92 @rafaaoli @queenslandlover-93

@esquivelbianca @fanfictioncafe @hjgdhghoe @sillynilly27

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@adrienette715 @bootsandcats-world @rebeccawinters @mp-littlebit

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@justaproudslytherpuff @forever-is-the-sweetestcon @butterfly-lover

@thetiredtoad0-0 @sk1mah1 @st-ev-ie @ghostwritermia @wishyoudaskme

@adrienette715 @weaselyss @maggiecc @longpondlibrary @bdudette

[eggyrocks]

THE MANEATER CHAPTER ELEVEN: claws

masterlist

divider credits to roseraris

She’s going to be late for work.

Her hair is half-done, and she’s got nothing on but Iwaizumi’s shirt and her Naked Wolfe boots as she frantically rushes through her living room, wondering where the fuck her phone could have gone. She figures that it should be buzzing loud enough for her to find it. It’s the time of day when Iwaizumi usually starts bothering her about where she is.

She’s ripping up the couch cushions trying to find it when the sound of a throat clearing makes her stand upright, spine straight and gaze snapped in the direction of the noise.

It’s Kiyoko, standing there with a purse over her shoulder, dressed in all black for her shift. “You’re going to be late,” she speaks plainly, a frown slightly tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You just don’t want me to do anything with my life because you just want me to stay stuck here at your level!”

She swallows. There’s a humidity in the apartment that makes the leather of her boots stick uncomfortably to her skin. “Can’t find my phone.”

‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You think I’m beneath you? That I’m not worthy enough for you?”

Baby hairs escape from Kiyoko’s ponytail. “You left it in the bathroom. It’s been vibrating on the sink nonstop.”

“Just because you’re satisfied working at some crappy club for the rest of your life doesn’t mean I am, and you’re being a shitty friend for expecting that of me.”

“Oh,” she says, and nods. “Checks out.”

“Fine! Then fucking quit! Do whatever you want. If your apartment and your job and your friends are so fucking shitty then go get new ones!”

Kiyoko narrows her eyes at her, taking a slight step forward. “Who’s shirt is that?”

Her hands find the hem of it, and she tugs it down to get a better look at it. “Oh, um, one of Omi’s old ones, I think.”

It’s a lie. They both know it’s a lie. But Kiyoko just nods, and turns on her heel. “Alright. Well, see you at work.”

“Yeah. See you.”

They have a nightly routine, at this point. Iwaizumi wanders into the back alley, and rolls his eyes at the sight of her, like he wasn’t hoping she would already be there. She groans at the sight of him, already smoking, and says something fresh and in a tone of faux annoyance. Tonight it’s, “Oh my god, can’t I just get fifteen minutes of peace without you ruining it?”

“Payback for having to listen to your set all night.” Iwaizumi pulls up the milk crate and sits next to her. Every night, he pulls it up a little closer than the one before. Tonight, his shoulder brushes up against hers. “Can I bum a cig?” he asks, slightly nudging her arm with his elbow.  

She brings the end of the cigarette to her lips and curls them around it. Iwaizumi watches and does not try to censor his thoughts. “You’re such a fucking leach,” she says, words laced with smoke. She takes the one from between her lips and hands it over to him.

He feels smug when he takes it, and her lip gloss stain feels sticky when he inhales. “Thanks, brat.”

Now she turns her head, resting her chin on her hand as she watches him smoke. Iwaizumi can feel her stare on the side of his face. It feels close. She feels close, body warmth radiating off of her and seeping through his clothes. He doesn’t dare turn his head. “The fuck are you looking at?” he questions, gently, with no edge to his tone.

“You,” she answers earnestly, and offers no further explanation.

His heart leaps into his throat, and he turns to look at her. Her face is just as close as he thought, and he can see the slight smudge in black ink off the corner of her eye. She blinks, and he can swear he can feel a small gust of air from the eyelashes glued to her lids. “Why are you looking at me?”

She smirks slightly. “What? I can’t look at you now?”

Iwaizumi inhales and tilts his head slightly to avoid blowing smoke in her face. As he looks back down at her, he lifts the cigarette to her lips, and she opens her mouth without being told to. He places it between her lips and waits for her to inhale; he pulls it away again once she does. “Nah,” he says, voice low, “look at whatever you want.”  

The side of her thigh presses against his. “So, are you gonna do it? Or do I have to do fucking everyth-“

Iwaizumi cuts her off, hand pressed against the line of her jaw, and lips crashing against hers. He kisses her hard, nothing held back, and she returns it by knotting her fingers in the roots of his hair. Iwaizumi’s hands trail from her jaw, down her side, until they eventually find her hips. He’s not sure if he pulls her or if she leaps or if it’s both, but she finds herself straddling his lap, pressing as much of herself against him as she can.

His fingers press into the skin of her hips, and her skirt rides up her thighs. Iwaizumi feels lightheaded. She pulls away, and is slightly breathless as she looks down at him. “Wanna go back to my place?”

extras!

massive thank you to @mollyrolls for helping me out and brainstorming and coming up with solutions to problems i had written myself into lol. their help was a big influence in this chapter <3

i did not proofread this bc im BUSY

iwa got the 'yes sir' text and it was over for him

like he was done after that completely cooked

yn absolutely knew what she was doing

kiyoko knows that's not omi's shirt because she's never seen it before and omi owns like six shirts and also she absolutely texted him about it after she left

things are weird for them! very weird!

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @guitarstringed-scars @nbcvs @garfieldissocool @iheartpinky @yogurtkags @yuminako @michivrse @19calicos @sunnyskiezzzz @bailey-reeds @staileykout @loverlunaire @iluvaquaphor @lllaw @alpha-mommy69 @acowboykisser @karasyuu @aquariarose @torkorpse @wave2mia @southernfrogprincesd @mfcherry @soulfullystarry @jaynawayna

[pedge-page]

Will we get any more Sub Himbo!Joel? I miss him and his neediness…. :(

 Over the Edge

Sub!Himbo!Joel x F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes Joel gets so caught up in making you feel good, he forget how to make himself feel good too.

Warnings: Sub!Himbo!Joel, Softish Dom reader, face fucking , oral F! Receiving, tongue fucking, edging, orgasm denial, naked Joel on his knees, squirting, hands free ejaculation, male masturbation, Mommy kink

18+ ONLY

- - - - 

Joel’s got the fluffiest hair.

 It’s so rich and lusciously thick, curls bouncing back into place each time you run your hand through their soft strands. Frames his face so perfectly.

He looks so good on his knees too. 

“You gettin’ your daily nutrients from Mommy’s pussy, huh baby?” You ask with a grin.

Joels mouth is latched between your spread legs, his pretty eyes peering up at you from below as you grind your pussy into his tongue. He hums in response. 

Naked and kneeling on the floor, his erect cock sticking straight against his belly with little jolts, Joel Miller falls into a state of hypnosis. He strokes along your smooth thighs and calves, the breath of his nose fanning against your folds. When he digs lower, the tip of his snout nudges your beady clit. His beard scratches along your skin, but it burns . Based on the way you sigh and roll your hips against his face harder, he can tell you like that. Mommy likes that, and he’s eager to do it more.

“Touch your cock, big boy.”

He doesn’t wait. His right beefy hand immediately fisting over his sensitive length. He grumbles into your mound, almost pulling away to gasp. Your hand quickly grips his hair and pushes him back into your cunt, making sure he keeps slurping like he’s supposed to. 

“You fisting your poor dick? Just like Mommy does it.”

He nods, gulping down the juices that were pooling in your mouth. His body quivers from pleasure, sticky beads of precum that had been oozing from his tip now generously coating him as he pumps himself.

His taste buds and dick feel so good right now, he feels himself rising off his feet. Euphoria building so quickly that his whole being is shaking and wiggling. His hand wraps around your ass to keep his jaw pressed to your sweet pussy.

“Good boy,” you whisper. You don’t even need to remind him. He’s learned now from punishment what happens when he takes his lips off, though some part of you suspected he liked the punishments.

You can tell he’s working himself near orgasm: nostrils flaring with quick breaths, tongue that is buried inside your walls going slack. Even his eyes faze in and out of focus. His whole arm working his cock like a mad man ready to burst his load—

“Off,” you command plainly.

He immediately removes his hand from his cock, whimpering into your pussy lips. His poor dick pulses angrily. Beat red and slapping his belly from denial. Joel’s mind is fighting the instinct to keep going, to deny himself his orgasm the way you demand it.

“That’s my good boy. Mommy’s good big boy,” you coo, rubbing his cottony head with affection. He breathes in your scent and closes his eyes in agreement. Stomach clenching and unclenching, he wills his body to calm down from the edge until he’s ready to eat you out at full speed again.

Again you make him touch himself, and he knows to pull away from his angry length when he’s close. The noises from his throat get more needy each time. They vibrate onto your numb as he rolls his tongue and sucks on it like a tootsie pop. Watching him shift on his knees uncomfortably, he tries to rub the ache in his balls with his heels if possible. But he knows nothing is going to feel as good as cumming when you let him. 

He’s waiting for it. Waiting for your praise and command to release, knowing he’s been such a good boy this whole time. Your approval is the single greatest pleasure of his life now, the thing that he looks forward to each day when you play with him like this.

Finally, a small alarm goes off in the kitchen.

You smirk. “Hear that baby? You did it!” 

Joel humps the air excitedly. It’s been a hour of edging and he hasn’t cum yet. His cock and balls hurt like hell, swollen and throbbing aggressively, but fuck he actually made it. In the past, he used to immediately blow his load the second he put his face between your legs and just sniffed your arousal. Its been a long time since then, and neither he nor you couldn’t be prouder.

“Tongue out.” You stick yours out for him to see.

He follows suit, tilting his head back so you can see its pink muscles flex. There’s a slight grin on his cheeks, knowing you’re going to take over. And all he has to do is sit back let you use him until you’re satisfied.

You lean back a little further, gripping the back of his head with your fists. The tug on his hair pains his skull, but it’s nothing compared to the way his tongue slips inside your entrance. You throw your head back and moan, beginning to fuck his tongue with fast ruts of your hips. 

It’s long and gummy, curls up in just the right places. He sits back on his haunches as you fuck yourself on it. His lips are stained with your succulent juices, and he feels trickles of it sliding down from the tip that’s plunged deep inside your walls down to the back of his throat, struggling to swallow. He really wants to eat your cunt all the time. It’s the best time of day, whether you ride his face, or shove him against your pussy and fuck him like this. 

“FUck—Joel—Such a good fuck toy—getting Mommy’s sweet nectar. Gonna make you big and strong. FUuuuccckkkkk—shit— Letting Mommy fuck your tongue. Nothing but a dumb little whore for Mommy’s pussy, huh sweetie?”

A strained grunt huffs from his esophagus and you laugh. You push your entire snatch against his face, suffocating him and rolling your hips as deep as they can go. You don’t care that he can’t breathe. Nosed stuffed against your pelvis with your thighs atop his shoulders. His tongue is such a good fuck, almost as good as a normal sized cock. The further it goes into you, the wider it gets, stretching your hole. You bite your lips as you feel the wire in your belly begin to tighten. 

You don’t care that Joel is tapping your thighs, begging for air. Fuck his needs. Not when he looks so good, red cheeks puffed against your legs, eyes bulging with love and fear. You fuck him harder, leaving no room to pull out of you.

“Nobody knows you get all your vitamins and minerals straight from your Mommy’s pussy. You drink every last drop, yeah? Get you all drunk before we go to the bar tonight. I bet not even Tommy knows you eat pussy on your knees like this. My little pussy-eating slut.”

He needs you to cum. Needs it like air and water, food and shelter. Life is better when you're cumming down his throat, or on his cock, fingers, any bit of him that makes you feel good, makes him feel heavenly. He'd let you put him in a collar and walk around town naked on his hands and knees if it means you'd smile down upon him and shower him with your praise.

Finding the right angle, his nose perfectly nudges your clit perfectly. You yelp and begin to cum, moaning loudly so he knows what a good fucking boy he is. So good in fact, that you squirt into his mouth without warning, and his dick almost explodes from excitement on its own had he not gripped his fist to stop it. 

Joel knows to swallow your juices. Flooding his mouth with squirt after squirt that he can barely gulp quick enough, yet he always manages to in the end. Never wasting a delicious drop. Joel lives for your squirts, knowing it doesn’t happen often. You’re on your tiptoes, practically hunched over his head for support as you hold on to that beautiful high that only Joel Miller knows how to bring you. 

Once the last roll of your orgasm subsides, you pull away just as Joel cough and gasps for air. He smiles lazily up, swollen lips and bushy beard dripping with your arousal. You push his face back in again, smearing your dripping cunt against his cheek, over his nose again and then to the other side. He just grins, letting you defile him with his favorite fucking pussy in the whole world all over his face. 

You even push him down further, letting your lips part along the bridge of his nose. It’s strong and big, literally the perfect fucking face to ride every feature. Sliding up and down, Joel giggles as your twitching clit humps his forehead, at the same time your slit rolls down to the tip of his nose, poking into your hole briefly.

“Such a pretty face for a pretty boy,” you tease, stroking his cheeks. “You enjoy your meal today?”

“Yes Mommy.” His voice is wrecked, throat probably still clogged up with your release.

“You wanna cum now?”

“Y-Yes Mommy. Please? I’ve been g-good.”

“Get on top of me.” You take his hand so he stands and follows you to the bed. Carefully lying down, he crawls over top you, keeping the same close distance the entire time. His hands positioned on either of your sides as you roll your top up, exposing your naked chest. A pathetic whine escapes his lips, his eyes trailing down to your body.

“Touch yourself.”

Joel brings a shaky hand to his cock and begins jerking himself off. His speed increases, quickly working up his denied state. He’s so close, biting so hard in to his tongue that he almost draws blood. His whole body is on fire, all focus on the thick member that is getting beat between his legs. It bobs painfully, fat shlickshlickshlick sounds filling the room along with his groans.

He rasps desperately, squeezing his eyes shut. Face scrunched up in deep, frustrated concentration, shiny with sweat. He keeps licking his lips to savor your juices, hoping it will get him there. But nothing is working. He’s been on edge the entire time and now when he can finally cum, when you finally tell him how good he’s been, how much hard work he’s done, he cant fucking do it. What if you scold him? What if there’s something wrong with him? What if you think he doesn’t love you?

Finally, he whimpers, letting go of his unsatisfied weeping cock and falling forward onto your breasts. “I cant— it hurts—I cant do it,” he breathes out in defeat. He feels horrible; heart shattering because there’s this block inside him, and he can’t give you his cum, his love, to show you how much he appreciates letting him eat you out. What the fuck is wrong with him???

You feel his shoulders sagging as you rub his head. “Shhhhhh, it’s okay.” You kiss his forehead, cradling his cheeks so he looks up to you. “Sit up f’me,” you say in a soft, calm voice.

Joel sits back on his ass as you straddle his lap. You’re careful to avoid touching his dick, just holding his face as he stares deeply back and forth between your eyes. You kiss his lids with soft pecks, his lashes brushing against your chin. “You’re okay,” you repeat reassuringly. Placing your hand on his chest, he takes a deep breath in and then pushes it out. His heartbeat is erratic but slowly starts to dissipate as you hold him close. All the tense muscles in his arms and back unwind under the careful trace of your palms soothing over his skin. Joel sits back and remains motionless, letting you shower him with soft, loving touches until all but his dick is relaxed.

The moment your knuckles just barely graze the veins against his fat cock, your nails brushing along the tip, thick ropes shoot out from the slit. He gasps just as you seal your lips around his, and Joel keeps cumming, untouched, as white ribbons paint his and your thighs. His brain clears of all worry and thoughts, except the one that tells him how you always know what he needs, and you’ll always give it to him. And he shouldn’t be worried about anything when he’s in your adoring arms, wrapped up in your embrace like his whole world keeping him grounded. His member throbs violently with each pulse of his seed, until finally dribbling down to little blobs. 

“That’s my good boy.” There’s no hint of anger. Just love. Just everything he needs and nothing more.  Nothing less.

 You suck along his lower lip before releasing. Joel breathes out a long sigh, closing his eyes and falling back against the bed in blissful peace. 

You carefully lie down next to him, resting his head on your breasts . Kissing the top of his head, you brush along his arm once more, feeling him drift to sleep.

You don’t expect the dreamy words that slip from his lips, and possibly unaware that he was thinking aloud:

“I love you.”

He’s softly snoring against you before you can even process it.

- - - -

more Sub!Himbo!Joel: Safe, Closer , Statement, Mine is Mine

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

[charnelhouse]

no but like what if ghost did fuck reader in front of the team. my head is so full with that thought.

A/N: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader. Voyeurism kind of. Vague smut.

It’s not out in the open. Not really. But every damn one of them knows what’s happening. 

Price is on watch while the rest of the team lies on the floor of a dirty, old living room. It’s a rundown shack in the middle of Colorado. The cold is severe, full of needles and glass, and Soap can see his breath. Gaz is pressed against him. Vargas is on his other side. 

Romantic. Two unshowered men nearly on top of him, but the heat is appreciated.

It’s quiet except for the wind screaming like something out of legend. Makes him think of banshees or spirits. Soap can hear voices in the violence of its texture. Branches snap against the windows and patchy roof. Howls of agony that may just be from the meat of his head. He's seen a lot of death this week.

“We can’t.”

It’s you, your voice high and thin before it's met by the low, rumbling rasp of Ghost responding with something Soap can't discern. The floor creaks, the shadows burning patterns across the popcorn ceiling. Cobwebs. The stench of rotten wood. 

What are they whisperin’ about?

Soap hears Ghost shift. He’s surprised at how the man maneuvers his colossal mass without the room buckling.

Simon somehow got dibs on being your source of warmth for the night. Soap had even asked first, a tease more than anything.

“Care to be my cuddle buddy, lass?”

You’d laughed before your eyes cut to Ghost who was leaning against the wall, bulging arms crossed over his chest. All black aside from the white stain of his mask. Looming like some stone effigy.

“Um,” you said. “Sure, Johnny-“

“You’re taking watch with me, Red,” Ghost had cut in, tone flat and dry enough to burn. You’d blinked at him, the corner of your mouth twitching. 

“Oh,” you said softly. “Forgot. My bad.”

Sure.

Soap jerks when he hears you whimper. It slices through the cold, the wind. He moves his head to look before Vargas knocks him in the thigh. Soap scowls.

“What the hell, mate?” he whispers.

“He’s fucking her,” Vargas states plainly. “Just warning you.”

Soap nearly chokes, a laugh punching at the back of his throat before he stifles it. “Come again?”

Vargas widens his eyes meaningfully. Soap can’t believe it and so he lifts himself to his elbows to peek across the room. He’s not exactly understated, mostly running on curiosity and bewilderment. 

Lieutenant wouldn’t -

Oh. Holy. Shit. 

Ghost is on top, one arm braced beside your face. Soap can barely see you due to Ghost’s giant body that’s pinning you to the floor. You’re revealed in flashes. Bare knees locked against Ghost’s waist, pant leg loose around an ankle. His trousers are hitched lower, but he still appears fully dressed. Your small hands clasp the back of Ghost’s head, before slipping down to dig your fingertips into the nape of his neck.

Ghost is fucking you slow and lazy. His ass rises before driving forward, lurching you slightly up the floor. One gloved hand is under the crown of your skull, pillowing it from the uncomfortable wood surface. Your heel slides down the back of his thigh. He thrusts a little more sharply and it forces a moan from your lips.

“Shhh,” Ghost murmurs in a voice that Soap has never heard him use. In fact, it sounds alien coming out of Simon Riley. It’s coaxing and tender. “Good girl,” he finishes before there’s the distinct noise of something wet. 

A hand grips his collar and wrenches him back down. It’s Gaz, expression chastising as he cocks an eyebrow. “If Ghost catches you watching them…”

“He’s gonna what?” Soap returns, jaw clenched because the sight, the sounds are doing something to him. “If Price walks in, the cunt’s gonna have his fuckin’ head for screwin’ her.”

Gaz squints, his teeth gleaming white in the dark before stifling a yawn. “They’ve been sleeping together for months. I thought you knew.”

The wind screeches outside.

Soap gapes and Gaz flicks his chin. “Close your mouth, man, before the flies get in.”

Soap rolls his eyes. “How’d you know?”

“Saw them going at it outside that bar in Rio.”

“Like kissing?”

“Like he was behind her and had her cheek shoved up against the alley wall.”

Jesus. He remembered that trip. You’d scraped the side of your face and you’d said you’d fallen. 

“They haven’t been subtle,” Vargas shrugs. “Remember when Ghost slaughtered half that room on Vlad Kuznetsov’s boat…”

“Yeah,” Soap replies. “But they’d shot her. He was just reacting.”

“He was supposed to keep them alive,” Vargas reminds him. “Death only if necessary.”

“So he deemed it necessary-“

“Because they hurt his girl.”

“I’m too tired for this,” Soap growls. “He should-“

There’s the startling noise of Ghost slamming his hand on the floor and shuddering. You giggle, and he bites off a curse before slapping some bare piece of you - probably your ass. Christ. 

Silence returns. The two lovers are breathing hard and deep. The floor creaks and fabric rasps. Simon is talking to you in a soothing baritone before he chuckles. It’s weird as fuck.

“Think she’s seen his face?” Gaz suddenly asks. The question hangs there between the three of them. When Soap hears Ghost laugh softly again, Soap thinks it’s more likely than not.

For the Follow-Up.

[scoobydoodean]

what is your opinion on people calling dean a heavy misogynist? i don’t agree personally but i feel like you could put my thoughts into better words

First, I have to chuckle a little at "heavy misogynist". Apparently, some people have begun to realize their fave is also guilty of misogyny crimes therefore they focus on making sure all of us know Sam is a light misogynist and Dean is a heavy misogynist. I just find that amusing.

This is a broad topic in a long show, so I won't endeavor to address every conceivable incidence of misogyny in the show I can think of. Instead, I'm going to create a few headings, at least one of which I think most criticism falls under.

Misogyny through the writing team

How Sam's misogyny gets a pass

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

How Dean actually treats women

Misogyny Through The Writing Team

First, Supernatural in of itself has issues with misogyny—as in, the writers of the show (including female writers) have issues with misogyny which they are happy to put on display semi-frequently. The show started in 2005, during a period of time where casual sexism was absolutely rampant on TV and no one thought anything about it. Female celebrities were regularly mocked and dragged on cable television in a way men simply weren't. They were called bitches and skanks and whores, and even "progressive" voices were inundated with casual misogyny and a fixation on purity culture (that largely applied to women only). Quite simply, I think fandom tends to be far too generous toward the writers, assuming certain things were "flaws" the writers intentionally wrote for the characters.

Put another way, there are some criticisms I prefer to level at the writing team rather than the characters, because what is written plainly reflects their ignorance in the real world rather than any intent to give Sam or Dean or any other character meaningful flaws—much less outright terrible ones that greatly harm their image. I'll give a few examples:

2.17 "Heart" makes me very uncomfortable as I sit here in 2024 and observe how Sam and Madison's romance develops. Me feeling that way does not mean the authorial intent of 2007 Sera Gamble was that I think to myself, "Man Sam comes off as uncomfortably rapey here." Hopelessly bad with women, perhaps—but not creepy.

In season 2, the writers begin to develop a running “joke” that Sam is afraid of not just clowns but also little people. The latter “joke” is (wisely) dropped fairly quickly. I have never criticized Sam for being afraid of little people, and I never will. It is readily apparent to me that this running "joke" reflects the ignorance of the writing team rather than an intent to give Sam meaningful or interesting flaws. Their intent was to use little people as the butt of a joke. I personally find this "joke" distasteful, and the idea of trying to take that and somehow "dunk" on Sam for the bigotry of the writers is more distasteful to me.

This is also how I feel about the running "joke" of a porn magazine and website (BAB) that solely features Asian women, that is put on display on multiple occasions during the show—first in 2.15 "Tall Tales", where the context is Gabriel infecting Sam's laptop with a virus from the website and making him believe Dean is responsible. BAB continues to make "Easter Egg" appearances in the show afterward. While often associated with Dean by fandom, the writers clearly think of BAB as a general, "funny" (it isn't), running gag with no more depth than "haha men like porn funny". An issue is stolen by a sentient teddy bear in 4.08 "Wishful Thinking". An issue is owned by the teenager who swapped bodies with Sam in 5.12 "Swap Meat". The Men of Letters also collected a considerable number of issues (8.17). I simply do not believe the writers thought for a single moment about BAB being a grossly racist gag. They most certainly did not write it as an intentional criticism of Dean from that perspective. It reflects nothing but their ignorance and racism here in the real world, and absolutely SHOULD be criticized from that REAL WORLD impact.

How Sam's misogyny largely gets a pass

One of the things I have not been able to stop noticing on this rewatch is Sam's issues with misogyny, and how often Sam's misogyny comes out in conflicts with Dean... starting from the very first episode of the show. Pretty much any time you get anything that feels like it might be a misogynist Dean or horn dog Dean moment... Sam either just has or is about to follow that up with some misogyny of his own.

In 1.01, right after entering Sam's apartment and meeting Jess, Dean mentions the Smurfs on Jess's shirt. We think to ourselves "Okay. A little misogynist... a little horn-dog Dean." Sam is happy to 1-Up that in two ways. First, Jess voices her intentions to go get dressed. Dean dismisses this, but while doing so, makes it clear he intends to leave the room with Sam, as he'd like to have a private conversation with Sam anyway. Sam objects, walking over to Jess and putting an arm around her, demanding Dean say whatever he needs to say right then and there. Maybe this would feel supportive if Jess wasn't in her underwear and hadn't just made it clear that now that the panic over a possible break-in is over, she'd really like to not be in her underwear in front of a stranger. But nope. By god she needs to stand there so Sam can prove a point about misogynist Dean! Second, Sam immediately (and I think quite erroneously) jumps to imply Dean is trying to cut Jess out of the conversation because she's... a woman? Or... something? He makes a big show of moving over Jess and standing beside her, saying anything Dean has to say, he can say in front of Jess. However, the moment Sam actually understands that Dean is here because John is missing on a hunting trip, he dismisses Jess to speak to Dean alone... because he's lying to her. By painting Dean erroneously with this "The men are talking" bullshit that had nothing to do with anything, Sam sets himself up to be viewed as a misogynist by his own framing of the situation and what it means to leave Jess out of a discussion. He also reveals his own alleged principles as a performative illusion. Despite being his intended life partner, Sam never intends to tell the woman he loves about his past as a hunter (he makes this clear later on the bridge). However, I think because Sam's actions usually co-occur with what gets called out more directly or more immediately recognized as misogyny from Dean (should have gotten him for the Smurf's comment, Sam!) Sam's misogyny often flies under the radar... and he's really... pretty bad.

I spoke here at length about how Sam tends to look down on women who interact with Dean (often before meeting them). There is absolutely an intersection with purity culture here and there's discussion in that thread about that as well, and whether this is a "2000s writers" issue or intentionally written flaws.

In 1.06, Sam cuts Dean off before Dean can accept an offered beer from Rebecca, but then as soon as Sam needs Rebecca out of the room, Sam asks her to not just bring them those beers... but also fix them sandwiches. Rebecca says, "What do you think this is, Hooters?" and Dean mumbles, "I wish" and we somehow lose sight of the fact that Sam literally just asked a woman to make him sandwiches which is possibly the number one misogynist man trope. Sam vaguely suggests Dean is a misogynist in 1.19 for nudging Sam to go on a date with Sarah Blake and possibly get information on the case, because that would be "using" her, but Sam wants to "use" Meg Masters in 1.22 and he wants to "use" Ruby to get what he wants, and when he said getting information from women was "Dean's job", he was also showing he was perfectly willing to use Dean and Sarah—he just doesn't want to get his hands dirty. It also comes to light in 1.19 that this is more about Sam's belief that he has to protect women from him, and Sarah herself ends up calling Sam antiquated for it.

I mentioned before that Sam doesn't plan to ever tell Jess who he is, and he makes the same plans with Amelia. Dean, meanwhile, confides in Cassie (it's what leads to their breakup) as well as Lisa.

I also have to mention... one of the funniest things I see deancrit samgirls in particular dig at time after time after time is Dean calling women "bitches". Never mind that Sam also calls women like Ruby and Bela bitches and calls a woman a bitch in front of Madison. Apparently none of these occurrences count because... *looks at notes* reasons. "Bitch" only counts as misogyny when it's Dean saying it. Also, let's not mention that Sam exclusively uses the word "bitch" to refer to women, while Dean also calls men and creatures bitches at different points so it isn't a gender specific insult for him.

Dean is definitely the "heavy" misogynist here... right? (I guess Sam is a "tall" misogynist instead).

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

Dean is commonly treated in fandom as if he's some kind of sex pest, and quite blatantly... he isn't one. Women almost always proposition Dean first (thejabberwock has sets on this here and here), but him asking people out also isn't inherently creepy in any way? Co-occurring with Sam's purity culture inundated judgements, we often see fandom's own as well, where Dean is some kind of sex pest because he... likes women? Or... because he has sex with consenting women who also want to have sex with him? Sometimes it's giving purity culture wank, sometimes it's given big radfem energy... but regardless, I sometimes see people talk about Dean like him so much as making eye contact with a woman is a violent sexual threat, and that's just laughable—as is denying the agency and autonomy of consenting women in general.

Even though it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, I'll also add that Dean... doesn't even actually have sex with the frequency that people talk about it? Dean has sex with Cassie—who was a long term partner of his in 1.13. He has sex with an actress in 2.18, and with Doublemint twins in 3.01. He has sex with a waitress 4.05. He plans to have sex with someone in 3.04, but turns her down when he realizes she's a prostitute who's working. This happens again in 10.07. I'm on season 4 of my rewatch and haven't been formally keeping up... but Dean is not actually having a lot of sex? We get implications he's been out partying a few times, and can maybe infer he scored, but we don't actually know.

I'm not a huge fan of performing Dean, in the sense that I think over the years I have seen it wildly overstated far too many times. But I do think Dean sometimes plays a character for Sam especially. Dean tells us this himself in 2.03 "Bloodlust" when confiding in Gordon. He never says so directly when it comes to the sexy sex guy doing sex persona, but his actions reveal him. One can think of plenty of examples of Dean saying horny stuff about women to Sam... but what about his actions?

How Dean actually treats women

Finally, there's how Dean actually treats women... and one would be very hard pressed to prove to me that Dean is sexist toward the women in his life. He's been close friends with multiple women and worked with women on hunts on multiple occasions and never once batted an eye. Jo in 2.06 is sometimes floated as an example, but it's actually discussed within the episode. Dean makes it very clear that he thinks women can do the job just fine. What he has a problem with is Jo's lack of experience and her romanticization of the job (especially during a period where Dean has fallen deeply out of love with the job himself). Everything we see as the series progresses supports Dean's assertion as truth. He's very good friends with Charlie, Jody, and Donna and doesn't go around excluding them on hunts while favoring men. That is not a thing that happens. While he initially tries to talk Claire out of the life (as he does everybody—this is not unique to women—see Adam for example) when she decides to hunt, he supports her regardless. There is nothing uniquely overprotective about how Dean treats women who hunt. End of. Dean has no illusions about traditional gender roles or any of that nonsense, jumping to clean dishes after dinner at Jody's and cooking breakfast for Lisa and Ben. (Our knowledge of Dean and the chores he does for his family already tell us this—but regardless). Even Demon Dean, an entity with no love for anyone and close to zero principles, targeted men who abuse and threaten women, and when Crowley ordered him to kill Lester's wife to fulfill the terms of Lester's demon deal, Demon Dean instead became so deeply annoyed with Lester's hypocrisy (he cheated on his wife first) and his assertion that it's different when men cheat, that he killed him and smiled while doing it.

So anyway, nope—I don't think Dean is a "heavy" misogynist.

[letsgetrowdy43]

Settling down—

Quinn Hughes x reader

Request: Can we get a Quinn getting mad at his brothers for fucking around and making his gf uncomfortable. They didn’t think he was that serious about his gf. He told them “She’s important to me”

Quinn had met her at some Canucks charity event in the early fall.

The breath was knocked right out of his lungs as he bumped into her while trying to get some fresh air, drinking up the way her silhouette looked in her floor-length gown. He was a goner. Now she sat curled up in his lap as they lounged on his boat, a soft smile on her face as he dragged his fingertips up and down the length of her spine.

Jack, Trevor, Luke, and the others were very skeptical of their relationship, she was nice, but she seemed so far from their world of hockey that to them there was no chance that she was a keeper. Plus the fact that she was an absolute smoke show, and he was just Quinn, showcased just how too good she was to be true. Quinn thought otherwise though, to anyone who wasn't blinded by idiocy, like his brothers and co., you could plainly see how he watched her with such love in his eyes.

A dopey grin grew on his face as she whispered in his ear, her fingers running through his messy hair as she placed a kiss on the high point of his cheek. Her smile grew as Quinn's lopsided smile took over his expression, "You are the prettiest, y'know that?" she mumbled into his ear as his face broke out in a flustered mess. "You're one to talk," he mused, her head leaned up against his chest, goosebumps on her skin as a gust of wind kit her bikini-covered body. "I gonna go join your mom on the beach, and get my sweater," she said getting up off of Quinn's lap, sending her boyfriend a wink as she walked to the front of the boat hopped off and onto the beach they were parked on.

Her ears perked up as she walked past Quinn's brothers and close friends, hearing her name in the jumble of their conversation. "She is just some wet dream he's living out for the summer, he's been lonely in Vancouver, it seems temporary," she knew that voice well, Jack, her brows furrowed as she dug through her bag for her sweater and shorts. "He's in a phase where he thinks he's ready to settle down, he's only twenty-three, and she's got him brainwashed!" "It doesn’t even matter, she's hot, he deserves some of the extra attention she’s been giving him," Her jaw dropped as she finally dug up her clothes, a frown on her face as she made her way over to the older woman who laid out on a lawn chair on the beach.

"Hey sweetheart," the woman said as waved the girl to sit down next to her, offering her some of the remaining white wine in her bottle, which Y/n gladly accepted, "You okay?" "Yeah, just a little drained from the sun," she grinned sadly as she took a sip of the wine out of the solo cup she was given. "Heat stroke is the worst, I won't mother you though, I'm sure Quinn will baby you the moment he gets home, just make sure to stay hydrated." "Do you think?" "He's gonna go full mother on you, you mean a lot to him, I know my son, and I can tell," she grinned at the young girl who nodded with flushed cheeks, looking over to her boyfriend who was laughing along with his friends.

Later that night after they'd arrived back at the lake house, eaten, and showered together, the couple laid in bed, her pressed up against his chest as they watched a movie on her laptop.

She turned around to look at him, her fingers brushing over the stubble on his chin as she watched his concentrated face as he watched the movie. "You're staring," he grinned as his eyes found hers. "I'm just feeling really lucky right now," she fluttered her eyes closed and hugged herself deeper into his chest. Quinn licked his lips as he tightened the arm that lay across her torso and pulled her in even closer, "I'm the lucky one," he whispered.

The conversation she overheard hours before was still lingering in the back of her mind. If his brothers and friends thought that there was no place for a future between the two of them, then what was he saying to them?

She pulled away a little to look at him again, "You see a future with us, right? cause I think it would break my heart if I was all in and you weren't," she mumbled as she watched Quinn's face break out into a look of confusion. His hand tucked her hair behind her ear so she could see him better, "Of course, I wouldn't have brought you to meet my family and let you basically live with me," he confessed as she nodded. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I was doubting this, you're just too perfect to be real" she shook her head as she took his hand and kissed his knuckles.

Quinn was still confused as to where this was coming from, and then he remembered a conversation between Trevor and him when she first arrived, one where Trevor made a comment about how he was stupid for wanting to settle down already. "Did one of the guys say something to you?" Her lips formed a straight line, deciding whether or not she wanted to out the boys for the chat she had eavesdropped.

The long pause was telling enough for Quinn, "Don't listen to them, they are all in their egotistical frat era," he laughed unbelieving of the stupidity of his brothers and friends, "they don't get it yet, but this, us, I'm certain is something that I want for the rest of my life," he confessed as he sat up beside her.

"Don't tell them I heard anything," she said sitting up next to him, "I don't want to drag this out, it's stupid." His face softened as he listened to her, knowing that this was in fact nothing, but she was willing to put it behind her to get along with his family. "I won't, but if you hear anything else like that you tell me," he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a kiss, a giddy smile on her face as he pulled her into his lap, smothering her in kisses before they both laid back down.

the moment she fell asleep Quinn snuck out of bed and into the rec room where his brothers and company were drinking and playing pool.

"You guys are fucking idiots," he said with his arms crossed as all the guy's attention was averted to him, a frown on his face as Luke paused the music, "I'm so serious I have a really good thing going on with Y/n and I really like her, and you're all fucking it up" "Calm down Huggy," Trevor said as he grinned at the annoyance on the older guy's face. "No, I can't, 'cause she thinks I'm just fucking around with her feelings 'cause you idiots feel the need to openly talk about my relationship while my girlfriend is around." "We didn't know she was listening," Jack tried to reason but was shot down with a glare from his older brother. "This relationship is important to me, she is important to me, so respect that!"

With that, he left the rec room, quiet tension filling the room as Quinn made his way back up the stairs to his shared room with Y/n. Her brows furrowed as he slid back under the comforter, "where were you?" she mumbled quietly. "Just needed some water," he whispered back, the girl lifted her head and placed a sleepy kiss on his cheek before wrapping her arm around him and hugging him closer to her.

"Love you," she mumbled, half awake as her head buried itself in his arm. The words took him aback for a second, surprised that she said it, for the first time, while half conscience. "Love you too," he mumbled before closing his eyes.

-

-

-

[hauntedestheart]

Confidence Booster (Male Bodyswap)

Part 1:

Hector Rivera had woken up that morning in bed missing forty pounds of muscle, six inches of height, and four inches... somewhere else. So already that was a bad start to his day- but then when he'd stumbled into the bathroom and looked into the mirror, it had gotten a whole lot worse.

Ray Baldwin. He'd been turned into fuck Ray Baldwin! He didn't have anything against the guy but he was just so... not like Hector.

In many ways the two were complete opposites: while Hector was bold and outgoing, a natural leader, Ray was more reserved and docile, a meek follower. These personality traits extended to their physicalities as well, with Hector being a towering specimen of manhood (built like a brick house) while Ray was short and slender (a textbook geek, pun intended). And now Hector was short and slender while Ray... where was Ray?

As a small blessing, Hector had still been in in his own bedroom, but everything looked out of place because of his shorter vantage point and it made him feel a bit like an intruder. His phone was still on the bedside table where he'd left it before and when he finally got his wits about him to check it he found a barrage of texts from Ray waitinf for him. While most of them were panicked nonsense, Hector gathered from some of the more sane ones that Ray was making his way over on foot. Meaning Hector's body was out there wandering the streets without him!

Of course Hector wasn't going to sit around and wait- he set out to meet Ray halfway. Mortifyingly, the only thing he had that fit his new body were an old hoodie that a girl had left at his place and a pair of athletic shorts that managed to stay up when he tightened the drawstring all the way (and even then they still hung down past his knees), but he didn't have any other options so he gritted his teeth and walked out the door dressed like a clown. He was halfway to Ray's place when he spotted a tall brown hunk stumbling down the street with a confused look on his face- Hector's face.

He'd choked on air at the sight of his real body- he couldn't believe the outfit Ray had crammed his body into! The white tank top was practically transparent, his nipples plainly visible as his pecs strained against the fabric, and the skimpy shorts left nothing to the imagination. His entire body was on display for anyone who walked by to see!

Being trapped in Ray's body was bad enough, but seeing his incredible body on display before him was just salt in the wound. The two men locked eyes, and Ray let out a little whimper.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" Hector hissed, staring in horror at the clothes the muscular young man standing before him was stuffed into.

Ray, seeming just as uncomfortable as Hector was, grimaced. "When I woke up this morning your body tore through my clothes and this was the only thing I had that fit." Ray crossed his arms for a little pout, which made his biceps bulge, and it was Hector's turn to grimace. "I lost the shirt I got on my trip to Texas! I loved that shirt."

"Will you forget about your old shirt? I look like a stripper playing a track and field star!" Hector lamented, eying the too tight shirt and the too short shorts distastefully.

"It's not my fault, it's this body!" Ray exclaimed. He threw his arms out to the side for emphasis, stretching them out to their full impressive wingspan. "These shorts are usually baggy on me but your body just has a lot more going on down there. You're just so... big."

Hector's face grew dark and his temples began to throb. How dare this guy talk about Hector's body like it belonged to him!

"I want my body back right now," he snapped, and Ray shrunk back.

"And trust me, I'd give it to you if I could!" Ray sounded completely genuine when he said this, a slight whimper to his voice as he shifted himself around. From the way he held himself it was clear that he was uncomfortable in his new body, and he confirmed it a moment later. "I feel like the Incredible Hulk right now in a bad way, I'm all... bulgey!" He shuddered as he said this, and then winced when the motion made his package jiggle. He sighed with exasperation and stomped his foot, gesturing towards the bulge in his shorts. "And I'm tired of this thing bouncing around!"

Hector gaped. "Dude, stop manhandling my junk in public!"

"Sorry, it's just..." Ray reached down and adjusted his crotch, pushing down on it in an attempt to flatten it out, but the soft flesh immediately bounced back. "How do you deal with this thing? It's always in the way!"

Ray frowned down at his new junk, barely hidden by his shorts, and he jostled it around as he searched for some mystical position that would make it go away. Almost defiantly, as if it were mad at the notion of being hidden, Hector's penis elected to grow instead.

The real Hector's eyes widened as he watched his old body growing aroused. "Dude, cover that up now!"

Ray stared in horror at the obscene bulge forming in his shorts, only semi-hard and already straining at the fabric.

"Oh no!" He shouted, doubling over and placing both hands over his crotch in a desperate attempt to block his growing erection from view. "Sorry, it's just, your penis is so much bigger than mine and I–"

Hector winced at the comment and shuffled uncomfortably, trying desperately not to think about what he'd seen when he'd taken a piss that morning. "Trust me, I'm painfully aware of the size difference."

"I'm so sorry Hector," Ray gushed, tears brimming in his eyes. "I didn't mean to disrespect you and-"

And then he started crying in earnest, which meant Hector was stuck with a six foot tall hunk wearing what was basically lingerie sobbing in the middle of the sidewalk with a full boner- he hated his life. It was early in the morning so the two were alone, but they were still on an open street, and Hector needed to calm Ray down fast.

"Stop apologizing, okay?" He said firmly, reaching up to grab his own shoulders and squeezing them with as much might as he could muster. Something about it must have gotten through to Ray because he paused in his sobs and looked at Hector, who did his best to smile reassuringly. "Look, it's just- I know we're both freaked out about this, but stressing out and losing our minds isn't gonna help anybody. We need to calm down, okay? Just, take a deep breath or something."

"A deep breath, yeah, okay, I can do that," Ray babbled, and then his massive chest heaved up and down. His breaths were frantic at first, but gradually, he relaxed.

"Feeling better?" Hector asked, and Ray nodded. "Okay good. Now, do you have any clue how this happened?"

"No, I just woke up this morning and I was like this! I had to sneak out the window this morning so my family wouldn't see me–" A panicked expression crossed Ray's face. "Oh no, what am I going to tell my family? I can't go home looking like this!"

"You aren't going to tell them anything, because if we tell them we switched bodies they're going to send us to the loony bin," Hector said firmly, and then he scoffed. "And by the way, looking like that is a goddamn blessing, okay? Show some respect to my body."

"Sorry, it's just–" Ray shuffled uncomfortably and fiddled with his hands, his meek body language looking rather out of place on Hector's hulking body. "I'm not really used to being a big guy like this."

Hector sighed and rubbed at his temples, fighting an oncoming headache. He may be small now, but he was clearly going to have to be the leader in this situation.

"Don't worry, we'll figure this out, okay?" Hector finally said, and Ray nodded in relief. "But until then, we don't do anything to draw attention to ourselves, okay? We just lay low for a while."

Ray smiled with his handsome new face. "Definitely."

Part 2:

Ray was not laying low.

Research into getting their own bodies back was going slowly (Google search results for "men switching bodies" just turned up online erotica) but perhaps it would be going faster if Hector had some help. Unfortunately, Ray was too busy making an ass of himself to pitch in... which normally wouldn't be a problem, except he was using Hector's ass to do it.

See, Ray had realized what Hector had known all along: being hot is fun. After the initial shock of waking up in a different body had faded, Ray had taken stock of what he'd gained in the swap, and he found he liked it.

For one thing, he had pecs now. Pecs. Huge slabs of muscle that jutted out from his chest that jiggled when he jumped up and down. Tight, perfectly formed, and with a pretty brown nipple at the peak of each- he hadn't been able to resist giving them a little squeeze, and he'd nearly fallen down when one of his fingers grazed one of his nipples and it sent shockwaves of pleasures throughout his body. His old sunken chest certainly hadn't been this fun!

And down below those pecs were the abs, which he was really a fan of. As a skinny guy, he'd always had a flat stomach, but he quickly realized there was a difference between having a flat stomach and having a toned stomach. Ray didn't know how many sit ups Hector had done in his lifetime to get those cheese grater abs, but he was glad he'd done them.

Big arms were nice too. Ray had a habit of scratching behind his head and he noticed that every time he did so eyes were always drawn the way his bulging biceps would flex when he lifted them- not that he could blame anyone for staring. It was a beautiful sight! Hector's arms were the part of body that belied his strength the most, almost intimidatingly large, and Ray quickly learned that many situations could be controlled just by crossing his arms and letting the muscles pop out.

The ass had taken a bit of getting used to (there had been several embarrassing incidents where he'd knocked things off of tables because he forgot to account for how much junk was in his new trunk) but Ray had quickly come to embrace it- in fact, he was embracing it often. He loved the feeling of the firm, supple flesh beneath his hands, which was surprisingly soft considering how tough the rest of Hector's body was. It was a proper bubble butt and it became Ray's favorite part to show off, ready to shake at a moment's notice.

And his new dick... Ray knew size wasn't everything, but he wasn't exactly opposed to getting an upgrade in that area. At first he'd been annoyed by the damn thing because it was nearly impossible to hide the bulge it made in his pants, and he felt like all eyes were on him when he was just trying to walk down the street. It wasn't his fault it looked like he was smuggling produce in his shorts!

But he didn't have to be self-conscious, he realized, because people weren't judging him. They were jealous of him. Lusting after him. They wanted what he had, one way or another, and he should be proud of it. So he stopped hunching over, stood up straight, and let everyone see what kind of man he was.

Not to mention the stamina of Hector's body was incredible. His cock was practically spring loaded, jumping to attention at the slightest hint of arousal, and being trapped in Hector's stupidly sexy body meant that Ray experienced that any time he so much as glanced down. He'd managed to hold out for two days before caving and seizing a hold of his manhood and pumping one out– and there was no turning back after that.

That orgasm had opened a floodgate in Ray. He already had a new body, but after that, he felt like a whole new man. And it turned out that man was a bit of a show-off.

While Hector was an outgoing guy, Ray had taken it to another level. He lost his shirt at any opportunity, eager to expose his new treasures to the world, and it was never long until his pants followed as well. It was excessive, but the sight of an adonis like Hector Rivera in his underwear, bulge swinging heavily, was something nobody wanted to complain about.

Invitations to parties and nights out were flooding in– everybody wanted to bring "Hector" along because sooner or later his shirt would come off... and he wasn't shy about letting people feel either. Ray was taking any opportunity he could to flaunt Hector's rippling muscles, and he was having the time of his life doing it.

The real Hector found it infuriating– one because Ray was making everyone in town think that he was an exhibitionist, and two because seeing his body flaunted in his face just reminded him of what he was missing.

If anything Ray was getting a bit too comfortable in Hector's body, which made the real Hector nervous. If Hector did find a way for them to switch back, would he even be able to convince Ray to take it?

Part 3:

"Ray, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Hector shouted, stomping down the driveway towards where Ray was making a display of himself jumping rope. Ray gave him an unimpressed look.

"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm working out," Ray kept jumping rope, which made his ample chest heave up and down; the sweat on his tan brown skin caught the light and made him glisten. "I wanna keep this body in shape after all."

"Okay, but why are you doing it shirtless in my front yard?" Hector protested, glancing around nervously. A few of his neighbors were milling about, not-so-subtly enjoying the show Ray was putting on for them, and Hector waved at them to look away. "Everyone can see you!"

"So?" Ray shrugged his broad shoulders. "I'll give 'em something to look at. You know your chest bounces, right?"

He sucked in a deep breath and puffed his chest out, creating an impressive sight as his bulging pecs jiggled obscenely with each bounce, and the jump rope dropped the floor while his two hands slid up his body and cupped around his pecs. In full view of everyone he began to squeeze them, and as he did so he smiled fondly down at them like they were beloved pets.

"Stop feeling my body up like that!" Hector hissed, and Ray rolled his eyes but planted his feet on the ground and lifted his hands up, palms open. Hector huffed in relief. "Thank you. Now can we–"

"Sorry, just gotta stretch for a second–" Ray interrupted him, and Hector blinked. Then Ray reached both of his arms back behind his neck, muscles popping as he bared his armpits, and arched his back so his hips thrust forwards like a stripper. Through the thin grey fabric of his sweatpants, it was obvious he wasn't wearing underwear. "Oh shit that feels so good."

He squinted his eyes shut and gave a groan of relief that was louder than strictly necessary that echoed down the street, and a passing car nearly crashed into a stop sign. Ray relaxed to a more normal pose and threw the dazed driver a wave and a wink.

"That keeps happening," he chuckled as he watched the car speed off down the street. Then he threw one muscular arm behind his head, baring a sweaty armpit for the world to see, while the other hand rubbed absently at the six-pack on his belly.

Hector's mouth was wide open in shock at the shameless display before him– what had happened to the shy Ray he knew? Hector's face reddened and he grabbed at Ray's arms, attempting to pull them down and tug the man back towards the house, but with Ray's skinny frame he had no chance of moving his former body even an inch. He gave up and tossed his hands in the air in frustration.

"You've gone mad with power," Hector gasped out.

Ray shook his head and shrugged. "Chill out Hector, I'm just having a little fun."

"You're acting like a cam boy is what you're doing," Hector snapped, crossing his skinny arms and narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "It just seems like you're getting a little too cozy in my body... almost like you don't even want to switch back."

Ray's shoulders slumped, and for a second Hector could see a glimpse of the shy guy he was more familiar with.

"Look, for the last time, I didn't do this! I miss my family and I miss my life," Ray sighed, but then shook his head and drew himself back up. "But since it happened, I'm gonna take advantage of it! Do you know what it was like to go from that–" he pointed at his original body. "to this?"

He spread his arms out and spun around, allowing Hector to take in the full view of the body that used to belong to him. Ray hadn't been lying about taking good care of it- perhaps it was just that he was seeing himself from the outside now, but Hector's body looked better than it had in his entire life.

"I went from being a beanpole to having B-cup tits and an ass you could balance a latte on!" Ray reached out to the side and flexed one of his arms, the toned muscle rising into a small mountain. "Your arms are wider than my neck! And your abs are probably harder than my bones." He tittered with excitement, but then his smile softened. "Getting to be you has been incredible and I just... I wanted to enjoy it. But I'm not evil Hector, if you find a solution, I'll give you your body back. Until then though? I'm gonna enjoy every second of it."

Hector frowned. His time in Ray's body, robbed of all of his physical advantages, had been quite a bad time for him, and Ray had to live with that all the time. Could he really blame the little guy for going a bit over the top?

"Okay, I'm still mad at you for acting like a whore," Hector chastised, and he watched Ray shrink before him, which was comforting in a way. Even with their bodies switched, they were still the same guys inside. "BUT, I get it. You officially have my blessing to have a little bit of fun- while we look for a solution;"

"Really? Thanks Hector!" Ray smiled, yanking the other man into a bone crushing hug. Hector winced in pain, but returned the embrace with good faith. "Tell you what, why don't we go research how to switch back right now, okay? Just let me wash off first."

Ray released Hector and then grabbed the hose from off the ground and lifted it to his face, spraying the water dramatically into his face and shaking out his hair. Water cascaded across his nearly naked body, falling like a waterfall from his pecs and trickling through the ridges created by his abs.

Hector swallowed. "Any chance you can do it less... sexually?"

"Nope."

[penny00dreadful]

Just had a thought about Steve and Eddie headed out to the gay bar for the night. Not quite there yet, but just on the cusp of something. Like less than an inch from the edge.

When Steve’s ex made an appearance.

Clearly smug, clearly trying to flaunt how he had moved on, how he was doing so much better than Steve right now with the guy he'd arrived with.

They don’t really talk, Steve was pretty content to ignore the attempts to reel him into conversation, happy to continue on with the only acknowledgment being a roll of his eyes in Eddie's direction.

Until the guy, clearly frustrated at a lack of response, tried to pick on Eddie.

And, like, Eddie didn’t need people to stick up for him, he could do it on his own. He was wild and weird and unsettling and he leaned into it when he needed to, with relish.

But he also knew Steve and knew that Steve was not going to stand by and let the insinuation that Eddie couldn’t fuck him as good as the ex pass without a response.

So he just leaned back against the bar with a grin and a little nod that said ‘get her, Jade’ while he watched High Bitch King Steve come out.

Steve verbally eviscerated his ex while expertly weaving in a bit of pity and commiseration towards the little otter the ex had come in with who was looking increasingly uncomfortable.

And when the ex snapped “Don’t lie to win an argument. You always enjoyed everything I gave you.”

Steve just stopped dead.

Then his breathing started to pick up.

Soft little whimpers fell out of his open mouth as he panted.

He tipped his head back and fluttered his eyelashes, little whimpers turning to soft moans turning to breathy chants of “Don’t stop. Please. Oh my-”

Steve was standing in front of the bar giving a one man show and completely uncaring about those overhearing, getting progressively louder and louder, calling out "Oh, yes! Yes! Harder! Oh, fuck!"

Eddie took a glance around to see the other patrons looking on in confusion or intrigue, some even looking thoroughly entertained, like they knew exactly what was happening.

With one last shuddering cry, Steve rolled his whole body forward, allowing his breathing to even out before tipping his head back down with a sigh.

He let out a muttered “Sorry, just gotta clean up real quick, I’ll be back in a minute.” before he allowed his face to melt back into one of pure condescension.

“Like that?” He asked plainly, almost bored.

Eddie couldn’t help himself anymore. He pushed off the bar and got right up in Steve’s space.

“I’ve never been more attracted to you than I am in this moment.”

And Steve just fixed him with a devilish smirk, not even bothering to look back at his ex as he took Eddie by the hand and called over his shoulder “Sorry, got somewhere else to be.” before dragging him off to the bathroom.

This message has been brought to you by the mother of all head colds and surprisingly not When Harry Met Sally, but instead Legally Blonde the Musical.

[mydearesthrry]

lover, you should’ve come over - h.s.

a/n: part 2 to casual. read here! also, this is lowkey not great cause casual wasnt supposed to be a 2 parter. but bc i love u i did it. be grateful. enjoy my babies!!!! song: lover, you should’ve come over by jeff buckley

warnings: angst, happy-ISH ending

pairing: loser doormat!y/n x harry styles

— MARCH

harry: hi princess, i really miss you.

harry: i haven’t seen you since two fridays ago, where’ve you gone?

harry: text me back, please baby.

y/n: safe and alive

y/n: and i already told you, u don’t need to worry abt me

y/n: im fine

harry: i’m coming over.

y/n: har, please don’t. it’s really okay.

harry: not to me.

setting her phone down with a sigh, y/n scrubbed her hands up and down her face as she felt the beginning of a headache begin to brew at the thought of having to see harry.

after the conversation they’d had two weeks ago, harry hadn’t come over, and she hadn’t made the effort to ask him to. she reckoned that if she pulled back slowly, he wouldn’t notice.

she curses herself now for thinking that. of course he’d notice. because he’s harry.

she didn't want to have to talk about how she felt, because it meant admitting that she loved him. and she knew that wouldn't exactly fare well for her.

trying her hardest to make time pass by as slow as possible, she stepped into her bathroom, starting a bubble bath. if this was what she was going to have to deal with tonight, she might as well be comfy. harry can deal with sitting on the floor.

“princess?” she heard him call. her eyes squeezed shut as she braced herself, knowing that even seeing his face was going to viscerally affect her.

“i’m in here,” she called back, quieter than he was initially. “hi.”

“you look pretty,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. an eye roll from y/n had him squatting down in front of her, face inches from hers. “wanna give me a kiss?”

“no, not really.” she said plainly, sinking further deeper into the water, creating distance between them. harry couldn’t see her body as it was completely concealed by the mountains of foamy bubbles.

“ouch, princess, i don’t see you f’two weeks and this is what i get? even drove over here 5 over the limit jus’ t’see you.” harry didn’t want to admit that her rejection had felt like a gunshot wound to the heart, but he’d accepted it anyway so as to not make her uncomfortable. he knew she was upset and needed to fix it. he just didn’t know why.

“i’m sure you’ve gotten plenty kisses from claire the past two weeks, hm?” she mumbled pettily, shifting her glare to the faucet in front of her.

“so that’s what this is about.”

“what’s this?” she didn't think he actually noticed.

“you being all bratty, not talking t’me, s’hurting m’feelings, my love.”

harry was surprised to hear a laugh emit from her throat. “hurting your feelings… i’m hurting your feelings? that’s rich, really, harry. even for you.”

“what?”

“how do you not know that you’re making me miserable?” she whispered defeatedly and the dam broke. silent tears began to run down her cheeks, and she knew she couldn’t blame it on being sweat from the heated water. not when harry reached out to wipe them away with his calloused thumbs.

“baby- i- what?” he blubbered, shifting onto his knees to have an advantage of being closer to the tub. “what do you mean i’m making you miserable?”

“because you like playing this game with me, harry. its just so fucked up. you keep me around, kiss me, fuck me, and then treat me like i’m just one of your fucking lads, like you don’t really care. you get possessive when i talk to other guys at events, but if i get upset that you’re literally fucking another girl, i’m being sensitive, and ‘i should know by now that we aren’t exclusive.’ it feels like you don’t even want me. someone who claims to love me wouldn’t do this to me.”

a pause, a sniffle.

“you’re supposed to be my best friend, h.”

the room was eerily silent. harry’s face had gone stoic and pale. y/n sat there quietly, breath hitching with every sob she tried to stifle.

“‘m sorry,” he started.

“i’m sure you are.”

“how do i fix it?”

“i… i don’t know if you can.” she whispered honestly.

no words were shared between the two for minutes that felt stretched into hours. her fingers and toes had gotten pruny, the bubbles beginning to dissolve. she needed to get out— but she didn’t want harry to see her at her most vulnerable.

“can you please wait for me in my room?” she murmured, reaching over the lip of the tub for her towel that lay on the floor, sliding it closer to the tub.

“princess,” he said in near disbelief.

“please don’t call me that. can you please wait for me in my room?” she said ruefully, catching his eyes so he knew she was serious. she knows he would never purposely disrespect her boundaries.

harry shifted uncomfortably at y/n asking him to stop calling her ‘princess’, the name he’d crowned her with since the beginning. “erm, yeah. sorry.”

walking out of the bathroom, harry collapsed onto her bed, eyes brimming with tears as he tried to control his sporadic breathing. why did he do this to her?

“hi,” y/n said, shuffling out the bathroom a few minutes later with her hair in a small pink towel. she looked significantly calmer, more put together. “let’s talk.”

“i’m sorry-“

“no, me first, you listen,” she stated, watching as harry nodded, not caring that she’d cut him off.

“i love you. it’s not a secret that i love you, and i love you in more ways than one. i love everything about you, how kind you are, how gentle. but you aren’t really,” she paused, not knowing how to explain herself. “you aren’t really nice to me.”

"what do you mean?" he murmured, head cast downward. he reminded her of a wounded puppy. it was his fault, but she couldn't help but feel a little bad.

"i... i don't know how to put this without being the bad guy, but you're really manipulative to me. texting me when it's convenient for you, coming over when its convenient for you, all of it, harry. it's manipulative, and i don't know how to make you understand. i couldn't do it to you, even if i tried."

"why didn't you tell me?" he whispered.

"i tried. every time i tried talking about it with you, you'd shut me up with a kiss, feeding me a line, something. it was always something." she explained, a sympathetic, dulcet smile on her face.

"i didn't mean to hurt you, y/n."

she nods understandingly. she knows that he's a good person at his core. she knows his heart. "i know you didn't mean to, but you did."

"if- if it helps, and i don't know if it's gonna," harry begins, before pausing as his throat began to squeeze, his nose tingling with the onslaught of tears. "i always wanted it to be you."

are you kidding me? y/n thought, taking a deep breath to keep her composure. “if you wanted to be with me, why didn’t you just come over?”

“i don’t know what you wanted. if you still wanted me, or if you wanted to end things… i… i didn’t know. 'm sorry, baby, i'm really sorry, fuck, i really, really am. y've got t'believe me, i didn't mean to hurt yo-” he stumbles over his words, breath catching as he tries to explain himself. y/n can see the panic begin to coat his green eyes, and with throwing all logic out the window, she climbs onto his lap, holding his face in her hands.

"i know you didn't, harry, i know. that's why i'm telling you now, okay? i'm trying to help you. i want to fix this, but you need to understand how i feel too, okay?" she nods, running her thumbs up and down his cheekbones, the tips of his lashes kissing her fingertips.

“i- i can’t lose you, i can’t,” he gasped through tears, shaking his head side to side. “i’m sorry baby, i’m so, so sorry.”

“harry. look at me.” she demanded, holding his face tightly so he couldn’t move. his eyes slowly casted to her face, noting how her eyes had began to gloss over again, nose reddening with emotion. “i know you didn’t mean to hurt me. i’m not that upset anymore. you won’t lose me, but you need to see my point of view.”

“and i do— i really do, i swear. angel, i promise i see you and i hear you, i just- fuck- i don’t know how to make it better.”

“you acknowledging it makes it better. you apologizing makes it better.”

“it couldn’t possibly be enough. i- y/n, i hurt you. i made you cry, and i made you inferior. i promised myself that you would be the one person i wouldn’t ever hurt. you’re too good t’me, you’re so perfect.”

a soft smile played on y/n’s lips. “its okay, h. i forgive you.”

“you do?”

“yeah, i do. but, i don’t think i can do this with you anymore.”

“do what?”

“this, the friends with benefits agreement. it’s too hurtful for me, and if i can’t have you as a lover, i don’t think i can have you at all.”

“what? what do you mean by that?”

“i need time, h. i need space, and i need room to breathe and think. if i see you, i worry i’ll make rash decisions that’ll hurt me in the end.” she sighed, climbing off his lap as she made her decision. “if i can’t love you in the way i know you deserve, i don’t know if i can give you love at all.”

“why?”

“because i don’t know how to love you without it being all consuming.”

“why don’t you let it? i still want you, y/n. i just told you that.”

“but i can’t risk getting hurt again, harry. not by you.”

“so that’s it? i can’t be your friend, i can’t be your lover?”

she sighed, clenching her teeth before swallowing thickly. “i can’t be the reason you didn’t find the love of your life.”

a pause. bated breaths. “what if its you?”

a defeated chuckle. “it can’t be. no matter how much you want it to.”

“why won’t you give us a chance!”

“how can i believe that it won’t be different than last time?!” she screamed, finally at her wits end. standing from the bed, she stood at the foot with clenched fists. “i think you should leave.”

“what? no, baby, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to upset you.”

“please leave, harry. i just need time to think, and i can’t do that if you’re here.” she pleaded. watching harry step up from her bed, she placed a hand over her mouth and followed him out the door.

“i love you, but it’s ruining my life.”

“promise me you’ll call when you’ve had time to think. promise me that you’ll call when you need me again. please, promise me you’ll call me if you want me here. i will come to you, no matter where i am.”

“i know you will, harry. i know. and i will. i promise to call you when i’m ready.”

“i love you, okay?”

“i know. goodbye, harry.”

— JUNE

“hello?” y/n said into the speaker of her phone.

“hi, princess. i’ll be there in 20, okay? i’ve missed you.”

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our girl – Part 5

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader angst

Summary: You wake after succumbing to the mating bond.

Word count: 5.1k

<<&lt; Part 4

Strands of hair tickled your cheeks, a warm, gentle breeze kissing your face as you groggily blinked awake. 

 A spring breeze. 

You jolted upright, urgently scanning around you. It was a lavash guest room, soft white sheets settled over your body, lush pillows piled to have cradled your head. You had no idea who's clothes you wore, but you knew you were at the Spring Manor. 

As if on queue, a house maid opened the doors to your room, behind her a healer. It was the same perky house maid that had greeted you when you first visited Tamlin. 

“Oh good, you’re awake, she pepped. The healer wordlessly approached you, pressing her thumb to your wrist. She gave the maid a quick nod before leaving the room, without having spoken a word. 

“She’s mute,” the maid explained. 

Oh. You stared back at her. So were you, it seemed.

“The High Lord will be eager to hear you are awake. Will you take his visit?”

You nodded silently, unable to form the thousands of questions as your brain came to wake. 

Tamlin was in your room in no less than a few minutes. 

“How are you feeling?”

You blinked. You hadn't really thought about that. Looking within yourself, you felt it there, a swollen heart, alive and beating and thriving, but also aching from a deep wound. You were nautious and weak and so gods damned angry. How could the Mother be so cruel?

“How long was I asleep?”

“Just a day.”

You nodded, running your hand through your hair. “And we’re in Spring?”

Tamlin nodded. “Feyre and Rhys winnowed us here.”

You were too tired to gawk, so you blinked instead. “Pardon me?”

“And your… Azriel and Cassian are still here, waiting for you to wake.”

You must still be dreaming. “You opened your home to them?” you croaked.

Tamlin shrugged. “We wanted to bring you to your Uncle’s, but you could see to a healer faster here. Besides, there was no fitting five fae in that cabin, especially two Illyrians.”

“They could have slept outside,” you ground out, and Tamlin chuckled. 

“You do… remember what unfolded at the wedding, don’t you? That Azriel and Cassian are your mates?”

“Do not call them that.” Taming the bite in your tone was beyond you, even for your friend. You had to clench your eyes shut to stop the reel in your vision, your whole body clenching as you remembered that awful, fated moment.

Tamlin didn't falter. Instead he dropped his eyes before reaching for your hand and squeezing it sympathetically. “Are you in any pain?”

“Yes. No. I don't know,” you said plainly, pinching at your nose. It did hurt, this unwanted binding to the two beings you resented most in this world. It hurt to resist them, to resist it. As if there was a home, beckoning you inside to warmth and food and comfort, and instead you stood outside in the hail and cold, despising it for ever being built.

Tamlin’s eyes were soft as he watched you shift uncomfortably. You hated that look too, as if he was sad for you, as if this bond was your fate and you had no say in the matter. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he blinked. 

“As if I’m some mindless female destined to forget and forgive and go running back with a kiss to each of their cheeks.”

“I don’t think that–”

“Because I’m not, and I won’t. I still have my head, and my senses, and some gods-damned self respect.” 

Tamlin sighed then. “No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to Y/N. I won't allow it.”

You cast your eyes to the roof then, blinking away the sting of tears. “And what of us, Tamlin? Suppose I was free to explore a future with you?”

Tamlin moved to hold your one hands in his, running a thumb in your palm. “You are free, sweetheart.”

“And you would court me, knowing I’m cauldron-bound to not just one, but two others?”

His thumb stopped rubbing then, and his lips pressed to a thin line. 

You stared hard at Tamlin, eyes piercing. Don’t lie - that look said - we do not lie to each other. 

And as Tamlin raised green eyes to yours, in their softness you had your answer. 

“Your silence is answer enough,” you bit, letting out a sharp breath as tears slid down your cheeks, snatching your hand from his. 

It had started – your choices, your freedom – fading away already. Curse the Mother.

“Come now Y/N, I will always love you, and we will always have each other, however our relationship might change.”

“Lies, Tamlin. Fucking lies,” your voice broke as tears streamed down your cheeks. You were flushed with anger then, kicking off the sheets that were now too hot, your skin beginning to tingle. Gods, not now you begged, holding your breath to stifle the sting at your fingertips.

“I do not lie to you, Y/N.” Tamlin said sternly. 

You swung your legs from your bed, standing in a hurry as blood rushed to your head. “You’re just another disappointment,” you said coldly, pacing as you shook your hands to rid of your power. 

Pain flashed in his eyes, and he recoiled slightly before straightening, his eyes hardening. “You’re being unfair.” 

“You males are all the same! You treat females as if they are objects, owned by one male and therefore not to be touched by another. An unspoken exchange, as if I were cattle and not an actual fucking being.” 

Tamlin pinched his nose then, his jaw tightening. “That is not what is happening here. You cannot punish me for not wanting to entangle myself in your mateship, not when I’m doing it out of respect for you.”

You were being unfair, and quite unforgiving, but your words were as unstoppable as your power in this moment, zapping and dancing at your skin. 

“Is that what you define as respect, High Lord? Because despite a year of friendship, all it took was one gods-foresaken moment for you to side with what they want, and start dismissing me. You believe in the bond, and you respect Azriel and Cassian enough to house them, and agree that you won't so much as look at me again. You have chosen them over me, plain and simple.”

Tamlin’s face was grave, and you knew you were twisting an old wound of his. And perhaps you were being rash, but you didn't care. You would shut him out, or anyone who thought they knew what was best for you. 

“I thought I was helping you by allowing them here,” he said defensively. “I thought perhaps you’d feel safe here, but would still want them close, to be able to talk to them.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re gods-damned right I want to talk to them! I’ll tell them exactly what I think of this couldren-made-shackle, of what I think of the Mother if they think for one second they can–” You swayed on the spot as you spat a string of curses, vision blurring slightly.

Despite the cruel words you had cast his way, Tamlin approached, steadying you by your shoulder’s, biting down on the pain that stung him at his touch. 

“I understand your anger, Y/N, I do. But you’re still unwell, you should rest now and–”

Tamlin should have know better than to test your stubbornness. 

So you marched for the door, flinging it open as you stormed through the manor, using that tether you so loathed to cast out your mates. Tamlin was on your tail, trying to reason to take a moment or calm yourself before doing anything rash. But you didn't turn once as you found the room that beheld your mates, ripping the doors open without so much as a knock. 

They knew you were coming of course. Azriel stood near the bed, and Cassian had just risen from the armchair he sat on in the opposite corner – their faces grave, worried, with a sickening kind of longing. 

It was as if the flesh between your bones went soft, your body begging to give out or give in and relish in the proximity of being close to your mates. But you forced yourself to stay stiff, holding a glare that could cut glass.

“Wipe those looks off your faces,” you bit, stalking into the room.

Azriel cast his eyes to Tamlin who held a look that said I tried to stop her. He knew better than to linger, pulling the doors closed behind you.

“How are you fee–?” Cassian tried, but you raised a hand to silence him. 

They waited in silence, and you darted your eyes between them. 

“You think this means I forgive you?”

They knew better than to answer that. 

“You think this means you can have me, because the Mother wishes to see us mated?” you continued, your voice laced with ice. “Well it doesn’t. I will not head to fate and forsake myself, not even for the cauldron.”

Azriel sighed then, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. “Of course you won’t,” he said plainly. 

You scowled. “Is that sarcasm?” you bit, even though you felt his sincerity creeping through the tether. 

“No. It’s knowing.”

You blinked.

“We know you doll,” Cassian said as he too sat back in the chair, running a strong hand through his hair – a tell sign of stress. “Not because of the bond. But because we’ve loved you for almost a decade now. We know there is not a thing that can set you apart from your principles.”

“And we would never ask that of you,” Azriel added.

You shuffled, your arms crossing defensively. “You won't try to convince me to go back with you?” you asked stiffly.

Cassian shook his head. “No, it was wrong for us to ask that of you in the first place.”

Azriel stood then, moving closer to a settee in the centre of the room. “We do ask that you might let us explain. We have so much we've wanted to tell you, even before you left Velaris. And there is a lot of truth we’ve withheld, things you deserve to know.” He slid his hands behind his back, waiting at the seats – a silent offering to join them, to hear them out. 

It was a temptation you couldn't deny yourself. You moved swiftly, sitting on one side, a low reading table separating you as Cassian took a place next to Azriel. 

“We had suspicions of the bond from when we first began to court you.” Azriel began. “It was so rare for us to long for the same female, but the true hint was in the lack of jealousy we felt between each other.”

Cassian nodded. “We agreed to court you as, well, as partners. It wasn't anything we had explored in our 500 years, but with you, it felt so natural.”

“And your ease too, that was a big sign,” Azriel added. “We half expected you to flee, or never speak to us again.”

“But you were so comfortable, you made it feel… right.”

You were frowning slightly. You didn't remember feeling natural or at ease at all, in fact you were sick to your stomach with nerves when you first began dating. But perhaps they had a point, exploring your first relationship with two males hadn’t added any more challenge than regular dating for you. You had put that down to your friendship of many years. 

“Over the period we dated, and as we fell in love with you, we learned to love each other too. We were brothers, but you showed us how to be more than that, igniting something not even they Cauldron dared show us.”

“We wanted to tell you of our suspicions, but it didn’t feel like the right time. You were so focused on your work, so determined to do well. And I suppose we thought it was a hopeless dream – it didn't feel right to distract you with that.” Cassian explained, leaning into his elbows that rested on his knees.

You weighed up their words, eyes darting between the males. It had never occurred to you that a mating bond was at play. You would have never believed yourself to be cauldron-blessed if they had suggested it – or cauldron-cursed rather.

Azriel cleared his throat, cutting through the silence. “It wasn't until the moment that I killed Alvar, that I felt the bond snap,” he breathed out, his voice husky and his hazel eyes cast downward, grimacing as he recalled the difficult memory. “I watched the life leave his body, and then I heard a snap, a force so strong it made me falter. I was reborn in that moment, my new purpose to solely fill your needs, to care for you, protect you. I could feel your desires overriding mine, and in that your determination and hunger to avenge your sister. And I knew then, that I had made the biggest mistake of my life.”

There was a downward tug of your lips, your face muscles jerking involuntarily as you tried not to cry, imagining that moment that changed everything for the worse. 

“I have dreams of Alvar, still alive and at the mercy of Trutheller. I dream that I sheath my sword and step away, returning to a world where you are waiting for me at our home. And your embrace is warm and true, because you love us, and we never did a thing to ruin it.” Azriel’s voice broke as he flashed those hazel eyes, lined with tears. 

Two silent tears slid down your cheeks, your chest tight with the shallows breaths you kept to keep yourself from crumbling. You didn't respond – what could you say? Instead, you cleared your throat, grasping the arms of your chair even tighter. “And what of you?” you asked Cassian. 

“It snapped for me in that same moment. But I was journeying home from the northern training camps in Illyria.” 

You blinked in shock. The bond had snapped for the both of them, with that greater distance between them while Azriel was across the sea?

“As I was flying back to Velaris, and I heard the snap in my ears before I felt it course through my veins and wounding my heart. That realisation, that same pain that Azriel described, the devastation at what we had done… it sent me crashing into the thick of forest.”

You closed your eyes as you imagined the great War General, bought to his knees by such a thing. 

“It seems none of us have been welcomed to this mateship gently,” you said tightly. Why had the Mother forsaken so much pain?

“I could hear Az then, speak to him through the bond in the same way Rhys and Feyre speak in  our minds. I could feel his panic too, his fear of having to tell you, to break you in such a way. I calmed him down as best I could, and reassured him that we would do it together, as soon as he returned.”

Your eyes turned cold again. “But that isn’t what happened.”

“It was a cowards choice to ask Rhys to be the one tell you, we know,” Azriel said with dismay. “But the concept of hurting you, of wounding our mate so deeply? It was unfathomable.”

“Its not an excuse,” Cassian added. “But we hope you can understand, there is an instinct there that twists our concept of what is wrong and right. Rhys understood that, it was the same instinct that kept him from telling Feyre about the risk of birthing Nyx. I think that’s why he volunteered to tell you, to protect us from something that would wound us so deeply.”

“We are learning, Y/N, and we are so sorry that we hurt you,” Azriel said, hazel eyes pinning you with their intensity. “But we are trying, and we will do better by you.”

You looked between the two of them, pulling your hands to your lap as your fingers trembled. It was just all so much. 

Closing your eyes, you imagined what it would be like to say those words – I forgive you. 

You could see it, relief flooding the bond and breaking those solemn gazes, their embrace and warmth and scent surrounding you, fulfilling your primal desire. Their lips on yours, their hands on your body, yours on theirs, puling each other in and never letting go. There was a thrumming in your heart, a pulsing through your veins. It felt so right. 

But then you thought of the life you had made, the path you were forced to walk by yourself after what they had done. They had broken you completely, and you had put yourself back together, now stronger than ever. Your mission work, your life in Spring, the pain you endured and the scars that remained from doing it alone – it was a part of you now, and you could never let that go. 

You were at a cross roads – one path leading to the overwhelming promise of unconditional love that tempted your heart, the other promising freedom and choice and sense, tempting your head.

“What are you thinking?” Cassian asked, his voice soft from where he still sat, anxiously fidgeting with his hands. 

You took a deep breath. “That I am overwhelmed.”

Cassian nodded, and Azriel watched you before speaking softly. “That is understandable.”

You didn't have an answer for them, not even for yourself. 

“I don't know what to do,” you whispered. 

Cassian continued to nod, casting his eyes down sadly. “Whatever you decide, Y/N, we will do right by you.”

“Of course we dream of you accepting the bond, of becoming our mate, we won't deny that. But we want you to want it,” Azriel added. 

You gulped, anticipating the pain that would come from your next words. “And what if I decide to break the bond?”

Cassian’s head dropped as he let out a wrangled sob. Azriel’s shadows recoiled so fast they disappeared entirely. The latter gripped the chair, his knuckles white as he slipped into that place he so often had to as the Spy Master – a place where nothing could hurt him. “The choice is yours.”

“Please,” Cassian breathed out, tears streaming down his face. It was a plea, even the thought of the bond breaking unbearable to him. 

It unbearable for you too, and fresh tears slid down your face as your arms coiled tighter around the ache in your stomach. It would sicken you, perhaps almost kill the three of you. But it was what they deserved. 

You were exhausted, and keeping that wall up through the bond, stopping their emotions from tampering with your own – that alone had you begging for your bed. 

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” you said with a broken voice, guilt slipping through at the sight of the General sobbing before you.

Azriel put an arm around his brother, comforting him as best he could. “We know that, sweetheart. Of course we know that.”

You cast your eyes sideways as you blinked through more tears. “But I don't have an answer for you.”

Cassian nodded, running his hands over his face as he tried to collect himself. “Take your time,” he said after a few moments, his voice shaky and breaths forced. “We will wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“And you don't need any more bargains from Rhys or Feyre,” Azriel added. “We will respect your privacy Y/N, any and all distance you might need. Let us prove that to you.”

You nodded then, forcing yourself to your knees despite the scream of protests in all of your muscles and joints. Gods, is this how the rest of your life would be, forever fighting a higher cause? Perhaps you’d go mad before you could ever hope to forgive them.

“I will…,” you trailed off, not knowing what to say. “Good bye, Cassian and Azriel,” you forced out, your voice thick from the cry that begged at your throat. 

Cassian’s lip wobbled, and Azriel’s brow broke upwards as he spoke. “Take good care of yourself, Y/N.” 

Cassian’s head felt to his hands, and you forced yourself to close the doors behind you, quieting the sound of his cries. 

————

You spent three weeks at your Uncle’s cabin – mostly in bed and unspeaking, even to Finbark. He dotted over you, trying to pry you from your room to spend some time outside or eat a full meal. But that familiar pain had returned, that same weight that kept you bed bound for days in your old apartment. It was grief, in all shapes and kinds.

You hadn't broken the bond, but it was rejected good and proper for now. And it hurt so gods damned much. Your waking moments were consumed with the tug and pull of what was right, a constant reeling battle that exhausted you to every extent. 

The mission aid work carried on without you – you had a competent team of friends that you trusted to continue to provide care across Spring Court. You were grateful for their passion and dedication – while your desire to help others was unreachable in those moments, and you felt completely numb to what you once had thought was your life’s calling. You despised the bond for changing you so.

You wondered of the wild Geranium, if it had been harvested yet and if Tamlin or your team had made any progress on bottling its healing pigment. 

And there was pain and guilt when you thought of Tamlin too. You had hurt him – you were malicious in your anger and said so many things you hadn't meant. You weren't angry at him, not really. Your anger lied with the Mother and your mates, and you could not fault him for not wanting to complicate relations and involve himself where he knew he shouldn’t. He was true to his word – he was open and honest with you – and you had punished him for it. 

Tamlin hadn’t sent word, and you knew he was respecting the distance you sought, perhaps even licking his own wounds. So you would start there, apologise to him, and help just one person hurt less from the recoil of your poisonous mating bond. 

You sent word to his Manor, asking him to meet you in three days time. 

————

Tamlin was at the stables, brushing down his steed when you trotted up on Podie. 

He wore his riding pants again, boots to his knees, a shirt tucked in at his tight abdomen, strong forearms moving the brush gently across the horses back. You cursed the Mother that the sight of him didn't have the same effect on you as it had a few months prior – the bond chipping away at what you had once known to desire. 

Your heart did clench at the sight of him in a sorry way, his blond hair pulled back as he worked humbly. You had missed your friend dearly, and even the Mother could not stop you from feeling that.

Tamlin turned, his face neutral as he watched you approach, neither of you speaking. Green eyes followed your dismount, and you lingered for a moment before you rushed at him, wrapping your arms at his waist and burying your face into his chest. The scent of mountain dew and fresh cut grass filled your nose – gods you had missed that.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked before sobs overtook, muffled by his clothing. 

Tamlins arms were still in the air, shocked by your approach. But he loosed a breath, bringing them to hug you, rubbing soft circles on your back. 

Relief found you then, and you melted further into his touch. A sign of truce. “I’m so so sorry Tamlin.”

“Shhh, it’s alright Y/N. It’s alright.”

You shook your head, pulling away and looking up at him. “You were only trying to help, and I was so cruel. The things I said, I–”

Tamlin shook his head gently, hushing you. “I don't understand the instincts of a mating bond, but I do know what it is to say things out of anger.”

“I didn't mean them,” you swallowed with guilt.

He smiled softly. “I know.”

You took a deep breath. “Please forgive me.”

Tamlin rolled his eyes playfully then, a smirk now on his lips. “I already had.” 

You tried to smile back, but it came out all wobbly, so Tamlin pulled you in again, swaying in a hug as he kissed the top of your head. 

After some lunch and a stroll through the gardens, he watched your carefully as you fingered the roses. 

“Do you know what you’ll do of the bond?”

You stiffened, your eyes not leaving the row of flowers before you. “No, I really don’t,” you said sadly. It was true, you hadn't a clue what to do next. 

Tamlin nodded.

After a deep sigh, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “But I do know what I want for my life. I want to continue my mission work, expand my horizons and work across Prythian. I suppose I need to approach the other High Lords, and harvest the Geranium if you’re still willing?”

Tamlin smiled, his eyes warm as he seemed to find relief. “It’s all yours.”

You nodded, smiling back. There was relief for you too – you recognised your old self in those words. Your passion to help others was still alive and strong – and that meant the cauldron hadn’t changed you beyond recognition, and if you fought hard enough, it couldn't if it tried.

“I’m so grateful to have you in my life, Tam,” you confessed, your chest swelling with sincerity.

Tamlin raised his brows in question. 

You gave a half smile. “You make me feel… like myself. No matter the circumstance.”

Tamlin’s face softened in a way that made you wonder how long it was since he was shown a genuine kind of love – especially after what happened with Hybern.

“You are wonderfully you, Y/N, with or without my help.”

“Always the humble High Lord,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “But I would not have made it this far without you. You’re my dearest friend.”

Tamlin reached and squeezed your hand. “You’re dear to me too, Y/N.”

You squeezed back, and you swore to yourself that the bond would not interfere in this friendship ever again. 

————

6 months later

The High Lords meeting was held in Dawn, in an impressive wide cast room, marble sprawled from floor to ceiling, glassless windows arched at every wall. All seven High lords and one High Lady seated at a wide-spanning table, a cartographic map of Prythian etched within the wood. 

Fingers tingling as you shook them out, and skirts kicking at your feet, you paced anxiously on the other side of the double doors to the meeting hall.

Today was the day you would propose your mission to expand refuge aid across the whole of Prythian, asking the High Lords to consider opening their borders and contributing resources and volunteers of their own. 

Your team had worked tirelessly to get to this point – the wild Geranium was now harvested and a new batch was already seeding, and you had worked for months on your proposal, researching natural resources, writing guidance sheets on how to train volunteers, identifying what each court had to contribute and when. 

The challenge that lay ahead of you now was to appeal to spectrum of powerful leaders waiting on the other side of those doors. You knew of their egos, of the rivalry and sensitivities between courts – this was no easy task.  

“Tamlin must certainly be a terrible lover if this is how wound up he leaves you.”

You threw a scowl over your shoulder, knowing that voice and whitewood scent. 

“And what of you, Eris? Waiting for daddy to finish his meeting like the good dog you are?”

Eris gave a half grin, one that didn't reach his eyes. He strolled over, leaning against the wall as he watched you try to calm yourself, delighting in your nerves. “Speaking of dogs, I heard your mates are cooped up at Night Court, the both of them suffering from wounded hearts.”

Your bared your teeth before you could think twice. Eris knowing that both Cassian and Azriel were your mates was dangerous, but the primal snarl had escaped you for that insult alone.

Eris’s eyes danced with satisfaction. “Oh, don't go feral on me now, Y/N. From what I hear, you haven't so much a secured the bond with a fuck.”

“I will–“ your hands curled into fists as you stalked up to the male, overcome with a shaking rage. 

But Eris stayed leaning, cleaning his nails with arrogant nonchalance as he cut you off. “I suppose they’ll have to satisfy each other instead, how sad.”

Your hand was raised, ready to strike, and fire glowed in Eris’s eyes. 

“Try that, girl, and your pathetic mission turns to dust. You can forget any allegiance from Autumn, and it’s likely others will back out too.”

You faltered, your arm swaying slightly. He was right – the prick. A sounding slap was not the way to heed your proposal.

He grinned with smug satisfaction as you lowered your arm and turned away. “Such a violent response from someone who preaches to only want to help others. Perhaps you’re not the peaceful messiah you claim to be, Y/N.”

“I’ve never had a problem defending what is mine,” you threw over your shoulder. “And my aid is offered to those in need, not to arrogant princelings, or lapdogs and the likes.”

A snarl tickled at Eris’s lips, and you were glad to have landed at least one blow, be it verbal. 

“You consider those overgrown bats yours?” he asked with distaste. “So it’s true then, about the bond?”

Blinking, you played back the words that had found you so naturally. Was that how you felt? 

Chewing on your lip, you decided to ignore Eris’s question. You would think of that later – you had a meeting to focus on, and you’d be damned if either the mating bond or Eris distracted you from it. 

You didn’t have time to throw a final insult his way before Thesan pulled the double doors open, eight pairs of eyes now set on you, and Eris no where in sight. 

“Y/N, we are ready for you,” Thesan said with a soft smile. 

You gulped before straightening yourself, stepping into the room and facing the most important moment of your entire existence, whether you were ready or not.

--------

Part 6>>>

AN: SURPRISE guest appearance by Eris ;) ;) ;) Hello hello lovelies, thank you so much for your patience on this part, I know it took a while ❤️  I am so so excited to finally explore a bit of Cazriel's perspective, and get their side to the story. I hope I've done all the characters justice so far! And there's still so much to explore – I am very keen to share the next part and see how this High Lords meeting goes down (let's face it, there will be TEA). As always, I LOVE hearing your thoughts and opinions on the fic, so pretty please drop me a comment or ask anytime! Hope you're all well and are taking care of yourselves too. MWAH!  ❤️  ❤️  ❤️ 

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Ñuha drakarītsos (dark!Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

synopsis: Aemond attacks Harrenhal and decides he deserves a spoil of war. And he doesn´t take lightly to any objections.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, (public) humiliation, non-consensual sex, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, reader getting treated like a toy, angst, no happy end, afab reader

word count: 3.1k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @targaryen-dynasty

Adrenaline races through your body as you run through the halls of Harrenhal. Keeping your bare feet moving over the hard stone ground and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your loud, huffing breath is the only thing you hear besides it. You don't remember losing your shoes or ripping the skirts of your dress. It does not matter now though. All that matters is getting out of the castle and away from the men invading it or die trying. But you refuse to give up without a fight.

You can count the number of hallways on one hand, when you get caught by a knight and despite your struggles, are forced back to the inner courtyard. There you get pushed towards the other woman from the castle, who had all been rounded up like scared animals. Clinging to one another, shaking and crying hysterically. Your eyes flit over the yard. Knights are pushing around lords and servants, rounding up more women. The screams mixed with the scent of fire entering your nose is disorienting. Your head spins from the cacophony around you and then silently everything goes quiet as he enters the courtyard. That piercing blue eye burns into your body for just a moment before eyeing the rest of his and his men's work. His voice is heard barking orders at his men and then Aemond Targaryen stands before all of you, lips pressed together in a thin line and his hands behind his perfectly straight back.

With a methodical carefulness the prince regards all of you, looking down his nose. After walking the line, he comes back around to stand in front of you.

“You.” He says plainly.

Before you know what exactly he means by that, you get pushed a few steps forward and your clothes are ripped off your body. A gasp goes through the group behind you, the women cowering away to further single you out as Aemond walks towards you.

Inches away from you, he stills. One of his large, rough hands finds it´s way onto your thigh, the thumb sliding over the inside to graze your folds. Instinctively your legs squeeze together tightly, a thick layer of goosebumps spreads over your body, yet while it brought a sardonic smile to his lips, yours are graced by a snarl. His touch wanders upwards, leaving a burning trace in its wake that makes you feel the need to purge. Acidic taste burns its way up your oesophagus, overwhelming you entirely as the burning trails over the curve of your breasts to stop right under your jawline.

He runs a thumb over your lip ring, tracing the curve of your lip before finally releasing your chin.

“Unclean.” He mutters, sounding unimpressed at the dirt and ash that had accumulated on your skin. 

The smirk returns to his face as he reaches out and grabs onto your cheek.

He leans in close, his warm breath against your skin as he whispers. “You´re going to make a perfect little whore for me.”

The only answer he gets is a growl from deep within your body.

A soldier gets called over to wrap his cape over your shoulder. It is wet with drying blood and smells of the fires that had been set all around the castle, leaving you uncomfortable. Though it gives a sense of modesty.

The thought of which goes flying as soon as Aemond wraps an arm around your waist, to without much decorum, pick you up over his shoulder. To no avail you kick your legs and hit the back of the prince’s armour, which only gets regarded with a tightening of his grip.

Somehow, he manages to get you on top of Vhagar, trapping you between his arms. “Now. Are you going to behave yourself?” He asks firmly but doesn't wait for an answer as he commands Vhagar to take flight.

He doesn´t need to. It was more of an order than a question really. It is not like you could do much anyway without falling off the massive dragon and breaking your neck if you are lucky.

“Let me go!” You break your silence against him once you are far away enough from the castle for the screams on the ground to fall silent.

“Or mayhap you could give yourself to me right here.” He muses aloud.

“I will never give myself to you willingly.” You spit out the bitter tasting words. “And if you truly believe there to be even the slightest chance of it, you must be a bigger fool than the usurper himself.”

Aemond smiles coldly at your defiant words, enjoying the fact that you were unable to fully submit to him. He leans forward and bites down hard enough on your neck to break the skin where his teeth marked your flesh. It stings horribly, yet he seemed to find pleasure in your pain. 

“And yet here you are, unable to do anything but sit in my lap and take whatever I choose to give you.” He purred softly, running his fingers over your hair gently before suddenly yanking it back harshly in a makeshift ponytail, causing tears to spring to your eyes.

The sharp pain running through your scalp lets up only moments after, yet as Aemond lets up on your throbbing tresses, he immediately begins pinching at your breasts through the fabric that hangs around your shoulders still.

“Perhaps I should break more than just your will?” He asked with a sinister grin, reaching between your thighs to pinch at them as well.

The sensation makes you jump in the dragon's saddle, only saved from falling by his arms around you and holding onto the next best thing you can find, which luckily is the pommel.

Your heart beats wildly out of your chest and while the wind howls in your ears, carrying over a loud amused laugh from behind your back.

By the time you reach the capital and the red keep, you feel ready to pass out. Even if in all technicality the way doesn’t take long on dragon back, the prince´s relentless teasing and humiliation has you so on edge that it becomes straining.

When Vhagar finally lands and your feet feel some solid ground under their soles, you are immediately restrained by the wrists behind your back. At first you have half a mind of making a run for it, but one look into Aemond's eye tells you that there wasn't a worse idea in the world right now and that his treatment would become only worse if you followed up on that instinct. So, you comply with him as he nudges you in the back to get you to walk. Stumbling after him as he leads the way towards his chambers, you shiver under the judging glances of passing royalty and servants alike. Hearing their whispers about the now open and thus very revealing cape had you clench your fists.

You want to yell at them, rage, defend yourself, run. Anything to make you feel less helpless, but there is no way you would survive that. So, you keep following Aemond, keeping your thoughts to yourself and focusing on the stone floors. Even if their gazes burnt into your body just like his steel blue eyes had back at Harrenhal, you wouldn't meet their eyes. Doing so would only serve to lose the last smidgeof respect you had preserved for yourself.

Somehow the walk through the castle feels even longer than the flight from Harrenhal. Perhaps because it is linked to the much greater shame of being seen in this position, a shame that feels like boulders weighing you down from your stomach.

Eventually he does open the doors to his private chambers to you though, closing them behind you, before coming up to.

Even the way he moves marks him as a predator. The slow steps, cold, ever calculating eyes, the way his head always moves before his body. Always planning something that no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to keep up with. Smelling and getting off on the fear of his prey.

You notice that you have let yourself get lost in thought, when Aemond pulls the cloak off your shoulders and loudly calls in some maids.

On his order they give you what must be the roughest bath ever. Scrubbing until your skin is reddened, but at least it rides you off the dirt and smell of smoke and dragon.

You are given the grace to be dried off, but one look tells you that you won't be given any new clothes.

Instead, once the women hand you over to Aemond again, with arguably pitying gazes, you find yourself held down on the mattress.

With leather straps your wrists and ankles get bound to the bed posts in an embarrassingly open position. And no matter how hard you pull on them, the restraints do not budge, leaving you in that position for anyone that would walk in the room to see.

“Do not worry. You will learn to love being under my control.” Aemond runs the back of his fingers over your burning cheeks.

An amused chuckle leaves his lungs as you turn your head to snap after the slender digits.

“I will never love being under your control. I surely will not ever love anything associated with you.” You pick up the fight against the smooth leather once more, yet all it does is cut into your skin.

“It's quite amusing to watch someone resist so hard.” The blond remarks. “But ultimately futile.”

He leans in close again, his hot breath brushing against your ear as he whispers. “You will learn to crave my touch as much as you fear it.”

Without a warning he bites down on your earlobe, causing you to cry out in pain and shock.

“Fuck you…” You hiss back at him.

Aemond smirks at your response, his eye gleaming with a mix of dominance and pleasure.

“I think I quite enjoy hearing you say that. Although I would much rather do that to you.” His hand wanders down between your legs again to forcefully push two fingers inside of you.

You cry out, a strangled sound that claws its way out of your lungs, but he does not relent. The sensation of his fingers penetrating is brutal, making you want to scream, but you bite your tongue instead. Under no circumstances would you give Aemond that satisfaction, if you could prevent it. Yet your thighs squeeze together tightly.

The action now elicits a deep growl from his throat, warning you to better behave or he might not be so kind as he is at the moment.

“Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me.” He continues to force his fingers inside of you, tearing at your sensibilities as he watches your face twist in discomfort and humiliation. His violation fuelling your hatred for him only further.

Eventually you have no other choice but to let your legs fall apart.

“That´s a good girl.” Aemond purrs.

His other hands slides up the middle of your body to rest loosely around the base of your neck.

Though he doesn't restrict your breathing yet, it hitches in your throat still. Aemond is unpredictable, even if you were to follow each of his commands.

Then suddenly his fingers leave your aching cunny. The same moment the rustling of clothes fills the room alongside your shallow inhalation.

Even with his hand away from your neck, you only dare to look at the prince from the corner of your eyes. It proves to be enough to take in the sight of pale skin, being exposed until even his breaches fall to the ground.

Aemond grabs your hair to force your lips open in a gasp. Without wasting time, his hardened length gets buried deep in your throat, forcing you to gag and choke as your body desperately tries to adapt to his long cock. Meanwhile Aemond, with a deep groan, began to thrust into you harshly. Tears burn in your eyes and flow over when you see the look of cruel joy in his darkened one. The wet sounds of the blond fucking your throat are beyond lewd and loud enough to be heard by the guards outside the door for sure. At the same time, you can´t stay quiet at the intrusion. Your lungs refuse to be silenced. Even if your cries for help are muffled and masked by the sounds of deep moans, you don´t give up hope one of them would take pity on you.

But nothing happens. The doors stay closed, no one intervenes, the leather cuffs do not budge for you to find a way out yourself. And you are forced to listen to your torturers irregular breathing and expressions of pleasure.

By the time he pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, Aemond´s cock is soaked with a mix of spit and pre cum, the mixture dribbling down to his stones and wetting your chin from your swollen lips.

However, the assault has not found its end yet.

Aemond climbs in between your legs and lines up his slickened length at your in fear tightened opening. Your fists clench in preparation until the knuckles turn pale. None of it is enough to help against the pain.

Without preparation and with one swift motion, Aemond buries himself inside your core until he bottoms out.

“There we go.” He coos in a taunting tone over your stifled scream. “Feeling nice and full now, are we not, ñuha drakarītsos? My little dragonfire.”

Again, there is no break. He pulled out slowly to give you just the smallest moment to breathe, only to push back in even harsher than before. Every time he thrusts into you, a new scream claws its way out of your lungs, long after they are raw and hurt almost as much as the rest of your body.

Aemond reaches deep inside of you, stretching your still narrowed core, the curve of it making sure to hit all the most sensitive spots inside and out with the assistance of one large hand coming down to rub circles into your pearl to get you to loosen up.

His efforts, to your detriment, are fruitful sooner than late.

Under Aemond´s ministrations your body begins to betray you. Writhing and squirming against your will. The way liquid fire flows through your veins, calling for more and the feel of his stones slapping against your backside with every thrust. At the same time bile rises in your throat from how wrong this is. This shouldn´t make you feel good. None of it.

“Are you finally realising your place in the world, ñuha drakarītsos? Are you ready to give in to me?” Aemond leans down to let his breath tickle your ear.

His hand finds its way around your throat again, warning you not to say the wrong thing.

“Never. I will never bow my head to a levereter like you…” You are cut off by Aemond´s hand squeezing your throat tight enough to cut off any air flow.

Helplessly you gasp for air, as he keeps rutting into you, unflinching. Luckily your torturer shows a smidge of mercy, letting go of your neck just as the black dots begin to dance in your vision begin to grow.

“I will give you another chance. Are you ready to submit to me?” He puts extra emphasis on every word as he spits them out like sone expired food.

“You may ask as often as you wish. My answer will not change.” You shoot back in the same tone, spitting in his face afterwards.

“Oh, I will make you regret this.” The prince growls angrier than you had ever seen anyone. It is not a threat, especially not one made idly. It is a promise that he means to fulfil.

Until long past sunset, Aemond pounds you into the mattress, to a point where you pass overstimulation by a longshot. His seed leaks out of your swollen, numb folds to stain the bed sheets. A red print of his hand signals where he had cut off your breath repeatedly. And still he kept thrusting into you at a brutal pace. Where he still takes the strength from to keep it up you aren´t sure. And if you are honest with yourself, his efforts to make you submit have you unable to coherently think anything at the moment.

Much to Aemond´s delight, he is able to observe your head rolling from side to side weakly, your whole body shaking uncontrollably, the fight entirely gone from your spent muscles. At least for now. You have resorted to begging him to stop on a barely coherent mumbling tone, raw from everything that has happened prior, which is answered by a wolfish smirk as Aemond finally slows his hip movements.

The slower thrusts allow him to lean down one last time to suck purple and blue marks into the sensitive skin around the one his hand had left earlier. Some pitiful, scratchy and quite hurtful whines leave your mouth in response to the prince´s doings. Observing his masterpiece it only takes Aemond a few more pumps to climax one last time.

Through hazy eyes and an even hazier mind you barely register him pulling out. Your senses are overwhelmed by the low light of the moon reflecting off his hair to make it shimmer like liquid silver and the stench of has previously transpired. You are exhausted, eyes barely able to keep open as Aemond gets off the bed to clean his cock and get redressed.

Once he is finished caring for himself, the blond, releases your weakened limbs from the restraints. Then he climbs in bed next to you, though he makes no attempt to share his blanket with you, nor show any care towards your still far-gone mind. Why would he you were naught more than a spoil of war, a toy to be used and thrown away once it became too broken. He seemed to sense however that there was some fight left in you, even if at the moment you did not.

“You better be ready to bow to me on the morrow. Or there will be more punishment. I do not mind either way. It is up to you if I will your dream or your worst nightmare.” Aemond rasps, the tiredness in his voice clearly audible even through the fog that seemed to want to stay in your brain. You don´t remember much of what followed that night. Somehow he ended up with one of his arms laid loosely over your middle. Though the air between the two of you remains as hostile as before.

He knows there is no fondness for him in your heart, no trust. He can’t blame you for it. In all honesty he does not even care much for it. You belonged to him now either way. His little dragonfire.

[spookypete-94]

"Under My Skin." GhostxFem!reader

Reader explains to members from TF141 what scares her. Ironically, in a way its what scares our loved big brooding specter. Trigger warning for mentioning of fears, dog bites, heights... some insect reference.

"Dogs," Johnny said on the opposite side of the flames of the bonfire that was blazing between the five of them. The warmth was almost too much in places on your body, but still welcomed none the less.

"Dogs?" you asked, curious for him to elaborate.

"The big 'uns, the kind tha'll chase ye'." He said eyes closed and giving a little shake, "Big bastards."

It made you snort, finding big dogs far from scary. If anything they were just more to pet and love on.

"Heights," Gaz quickly answered while leaning back into his chair, legs anchoring him further to remind himself that he was grounded. "You know...for.. reasons." Eyes now looking up at the night sky while he also shivered matching the motion that Soap had just done. Price gave a chuckle, fully understanding the reference of being upside down after falling out of a helicopter- rope tied to his waist.

"You're alive sergeant, and on the ground," Price finally echoed the silence trying to remind him all was well. A warm smile on his face while he drank from his tumbler of scotch.

Gaz gave a scoff as he sat up in his chair, hands squeezing his hat anxiously.

"Ticks," you said plainly, trying to change the subject and get the spotlight off of Gaz, who was clearly uncomfortable still from his ordeal.

"Ticks?" Soap asked, laughing as he did- perhaps its amusing to him that you both are so far on the spectrum. He afraid of something large with teeth that could sink and leave holes, either choosing to grab ahold and not let go- or maybe even worse. Biting again, over and over.

But here you are... afraid of something that can be so small as a pin prick on your skin.

"Ticks," you said firmer sitting up with your elbows on your knees now. "You don't even feel them on you at first, all while they crawl up your skin." Fingers now dancing up as you talk with your hand. "Then before you know it, they make it up to your most vital and tender areas," hand now referring to your upper body and head. "Next they bite you, and sometimes you don't even feel that. Head burrowing under your skin, latching on to you to feed. Sucking off the life force that feeds you, slowly growing, becoming part of you. It started out so small, and now because they are so shady and stealthy, they have grown. Now you know if it. But once you do, you know now this thing has violated you in a way."

"Ya've put some thought inta this," Johnny said, wide eyed, his hands now brushing up and down his exposed arms trying to shake off the imaginary critters that were crawling up him.

"I have, the fact that something can get under your skin so easily is disturbing to me." You said leaning back into your chair.

All of their eyes returned back to the fire watching the flames dance and ashes sparkle in the night ... all except one. Ghost, all clad in black along with a mask sat opposite from you next to Soap. But his eyes locked on your glowing form as you took another drink from your cup. Brown embers like coal, hotter than the fire in between you that actively burned.

If the mask was removed, his face would be so readable. An image that would be almost paintable from the imprint that would have been left behind in your memory. It was shock. He was a deer in the headlights. Somehow, your irrational fear of ticks is the same irrational fear he held for you. You had come into his life. Slowly inched your way up to him in theory. The respect he held for you was great. A woman that had fought her way up to be at the same level they were all regarded in. From earning his respect, you had stopped at his heart, symbolically burrowing your way into it. Now you had latched yourself to him, finding a way to get under his skin. It scared him to his very core, and he is just now finding you latched on to him ... but he could never tell you.

Simon "Ghost Riley Masterlist

[bsdawgz]

「 ✦ I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship… ✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Port Mafia: Michizō Tachihara

a/n: tachihara smut as promised (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ part2 of THIS post!

~if you read a lot of my work, you know that i usually dance around words like pussy but i actually use it in this one cuz my headcanon is that tachihara is a dirty, hard n fast type lover ahhh ><

genre: nasty

content: f!reader. MDNI! cunnilingus, rough sex, brief drug (marijuana) reference at the end. tachihara has a big dick. ♡

summary: looks like it's gonna be hard to stay "just friends" after this...

"Oy, what the hell–?"

Tachihara is just about to fight you when you yank the blankets off his half-naked body, but once his vision focuses on you and he realizes he's not in any danger, he relaxes back into the bed. "Fucking shit, it's just you," he mutters, rubbing his eyes.

It's nearly 10PM when you impulsively decide to barge into his apartment and confront him after a week of no contact after the incident. But much to your annoyance, you find Tachihara still fast asleep in his bed, lying face-down with a pillow over his head.

"Just me?"

You scoff at his words, climbing into his bed and beating him over the head with his pillow. His face turns bright red as you situate yourself beside him, and he instinctively pulls the covers over his boxers, shifting uncomfortably as you move closer to him.

"Where the fuck have you been this whole time?" you press, clearly pissed off. You spent this whole week worrying about how your friendship might have been affected by what happened between you – after you and Tachihara went from smoking a joint and laughing to full-on making out and groping each other on your couch – but it doesn't look like Tachihara had thought about it at all.

You sigh, relenting.

"Look, Michi. Let's just move past it already," you decide to say after the silence between you two has gone on for too long to be comfortable. "You regret it, right? Let's just forget about it, then."

This time, it's Tachihara who sighs, rolling his eyes at you. "Listen," he says, tossing the pillow back at you. "I've just been busy," he insists. You only knew about his affiliation with Port. Explaining that he was infiltrating the mafia as a member of the Hunting Dogs was too complicated and would only endanger you.

"Besides," he starts, leaning back into his bed with a smug smirk. "Who said I regret anything?"

You're bunching up your fists at him for making excuses, then it hits you – the implication of what he's just laid out so plainly. He said it so off-handedly that it takes you a while to process, but once you realize exactly what he means, a faint blush creeps on your face.

When he's certain you understand him, he leans in closer... closer... – and the situation feels all too familiar.

"Look," he murmurs, then the back of his fingers are brushing gently against your cheek. You can see your reflection in his amber eyes as they flicker to your lips, and as you watch him, you can faintly remember the feeling of his kiss from a few nights before... How it felt to taste him in your mouth. "I just didn't wanna fuck up our friendship..." His voice is a low whisper, but there's a glowing fire in his eyes.

"Do you...?"

You didn't think it would come to this again, but here you are. You swear you can hear your heart beating in your chest as you stare into his eyes –

If you kiss now, there's nothing and no one to blame but yourselves...

But the answer is all too clear by the way your face flushes and the way your hands tremble as you wrap your arms around his neck. Who closes the gap, you don't know. You feel him cup your cheek in his palm, then his lips are pressing against yours. Those same soft, sweet lips that you can't get enough of...

He gets on top of you, laying you down on the mattress. It's that same springy mattress that you've played videogames on, taken naps together on, and shared joints on, never with any sexual implication. Now, though, he's pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it recklessly on the floor. "I'm not gonna stop this time," he says bluntly, and the straightforwardness with which he says it makes you feel embarrassed. "Unless you really want me to."

You've never seen Tachihara like this. He's your best friend, for God's sake. You've always been the demanding one in your friendship, bossing him around, and he's always followed you around and put up with your antics. Pinned beneath him like this, the roles are completely reversed. You wonder if Tachihara has always been this way, if this is how he normally is in bed. Is this what he's like with girls? Does he usually get on top of them like this and boss them around? Your face turns bright pink at the thought.

"I don't want you to stop this time," you tell him, trying to match his boldness as you undress yourself for him. He grins toothily at your response, pulling you in for another kiss by your chin. This time around, he’s rougher with his hands, gripping your hips and dragging you by your waist to the edge of the bed, where you're on your hands and knees for him.

His calloused hands squeeze your ass, fingertips digging into the fat. Then, he eases your legs apart, pressing chaste kisses up your inner thigh until he's kissing the soft spot, that place you want him most. You feel his fingers peeling your panties down your legs until you're bare for him, and you gasp as you feel the cold air hit you.

He drags his fingers along your slick, spreading your folds open, exposing you... and you can just sense him smirking behind you at your every reaction.

– You're wet for him. For him, Tachihara. Michizō. Michi. Your best friend. And it feels so damn good to him, knowing he's the one making you this horny.

Then, he leans in, tasting your sweetness on his eager lips. You writhe under the softness of his tongue as he teases you, as he collects your arousal on the tip, as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive spot. "Michi..." you stutter out, followed by a broken, "Fuck, Michi, oh God –..." as he eats you from the back like he's a starved man, pulling you flush against his mouth and moaning against your pussy, lapping up all you have to offer like a dog.

"Turn around and come here," he tells you suddenly, and you do as he says, watching as he gets up and strokes himself at the sight of your nakedness, at your glistening folds that are wet with his spit and your slick. When he's fully hard, he shuffles through his drawers for a condom, then wraps your legs tight around him from the edge of the bed.

He's barely eased the blunt head past your folds when you wince at his size. He's big, just as you imagined, but still bigger than you expected. You bite back a whimper as you take him inch by inch, his girth stretching you out so painfully well. Grabbing onto his forearm, you rake your nails against his flesh, your liquid eyes staring up at him in concern as your pussy squeezes around him erratically. "Michi, nnh – it's big..." you stammer out, struggling to adjust to him.

"Yeah?" he pants out, swiping his tongue over his lips seductively. He’s cocky from your words, half a grin on his face. His voice is strained from how tightly you're gripping him. You feel his hands smooth down your sides, making your body tingle from his hot touch, then he reaches down to caress your trembling lips with the underside of his thumb, stroking your cheekbone reassuring with his fingers. "You can take it," he whispers heatedly, "Take a deep breath for me." You nod up at him willingly, then do as he says. Then, you feel him finally bottom out on your exhale with a shaky sigh.

His strokes are slow and shallow at first. He gazes down at you with amber eyes that are hazy with lust, and he bats his lashes at you as he watches you watch him fuck you nice and slow... and his hands are everywhere – they wander down your body, making you shiver as he grasps your waist, as they travel down the sides of your hips, as they curve over your breasts. You arch your back as he rolls your hips toward him, chasing after the feeling of him. Then, you feel him get rougher.

You feel him pull the entirety of himself out of your warmed-up body, then cram himself back into your pulsing walls with a muffled groan, and you clench around him as he does it again and again, the sound of your skin against his filling the air as his pace quickens, as he shoves his hips against yours more recklessly.

Then, his fingers dig into you bruisingly as he grabs you fast and hard. You moan out for him shamelessly, burying your face into the crux of your elbow. He grins in satisfaction from the way your lips form the syllables of his name, then you feel his fingers wrap delicately around your neck before he tosses your leg over his shoulder. "Don't hide," he pants out, and he tips your chin up to peer into your desperate eyes, so that you're staring into his darkened gaze and that wicked smirk on his face.

– “I wanna see your face while I fuck you."

And you gasp at how greedy he is. So, so greedy, getting high on the feeling of you taking him so well, now that you're soaking wet for him. You glance down to where he's buried deep inside you, where he's making such a mess of you. You can see everything from this angle – how easily he's sliding in and out of you, how you're falling apart on him. How you’re swallowing him up so perfectly.

"God, you feel fucking good," he groans, throwing his head back in pleasure.

– Fucking your best friend like this, feels so fucking good.

You feel his thumb on your clit... His other hand reaching for your breast as he thrusts into you ruthlessly... as he fills your vision, as your body gives into him completely... and as you feel yourself approaching your high, as you unravel beneath him, as you cry out for more and beg for him to fuck you harder and harder, and you're thinking to yourself –

This is so wrong, right? Wrong, wrong, wrong. You shouldn't be doing this with your best friend, right?

But it's so good. So, so good – it makes you wonder why you hadn't done it sooner.

It makes you wanna do it again and again.

When all's done, you're on his bed, lighting another joint, passing it back and forth like it's nothing. It feels almost normal, hanging out like this. But not quite.

He rests his head on your lap, staring up at the ceiling as he blows a puff of smoke in the air. You run your fingers through his soft hair, reveling in the afterglow of your orgasm. Then, one of you breaks the silence.

"So, we're still best friends, right?"

author ps: there may be another part. we'll see.

taglist: @shxlxnn @possiblydeceased @vyeisamazing @pe4rl-diver thank u thank u thank u for supporting me and my fics <3 ily and i appreciate every single one of u

© BSDAWGZ 2024. Do not steal or repost ANY of my works! That’s plagiarism, and it’s mean. :(( Beautiful dividers by @ v6que~!

[illyabata]

scars are A Thing™ with wriothesley and nobody can convince me otherwise, idc if there is zero mention of his scars or their meaning when he comes out idc it’s my permanent headcanon that scars and their stories are simply entangled with his character idc

so now i give you: wriothesley who is fascinated by your scars

tw: discussion of scars lol, but in no way do i indicate their origin unless it’s stretch marks. however if talk of scars at all is triggering to you, dont read!! it’s sweet fluffy stuff, but that doesn’t matter if it will trigger you. please take care :)

sfw, big brainrot under cut

theyre so much smaller than his, more delicate, just like you. doesnt matter if compared to other people you are big or tall, he’s such a big guy that he makes you feel small no matter your size or height. and no matter what your scars look like to you, to him they are beautiful. to him they are delicate.

he’s enamored by all of your scars no matter their origin—stretch marks, however, seem to intrigue him the most of all. he’s absolutely transfixed by them, and you can never understand why. he’s simply mesmerized by the way the blemished skin stretches as he thumbs and presses it, watching the discoloration flatten itself only to bloat back when he leaves it alone. for some reason he just seems so puzzled by the concept of natural scarring of the body; nothing had happened to harm you for these to appear—they’re simply the product of change, your skin either going through rapid periods of expanding or shrinking. he thinks they’re pretty.

he’d spend so long just running his rough fingers over your skin, absorbed in the feeling of the puckered tissue under his own blemished hands. whether the scars are stretch marks or from something else, he loves them, he loves you.

this might sound weird but i just like to imagine you both spend time gently tracing each others’ scars as comfort, like it sounds weird in words but it makes sense i promise. there is something intimate and fascinating about scars, no matter what they’re from; it’s truly like the language of your body’s history, a record of what has occurred. you can resent them or be proud of them, it really depends on the person and situation—but regardless, scars are always a record, and that is a constant no matter the person.

and if you’re not comfortable with that level of touch or that much attention on your scars, that is absolutely okay. he’s not going to make you uncomfortable, he’ll always ask if it’s okay before he looks at or touches them—or touches you at all, really. he never wants to hurt you. and if you say you’d rather he not touch your scars, he’ll understand and just show you he loves you—all of you—in some other way.

like idk about anyone else or if its just me and im fucking insane but sometimes i get lost looking at my own scars; sometimes the human body at work is just kind of fascinating to watch, and even more so in retrospect. it’s like holy fuck you’re looking at its handiwork, you can plainly see how the skin has been so masterfully rebuilt into this little woven bandaid of cells, carefully crafted to not only rebuild but protect. your body has looked after itself, and it will continue to do so. and thats just kind of a fascinating thing to me idk😭

some extra thoughts about scars, not really to do with wrio; red brackets will indicate the end of it if you want to skip: [[ it usually replaces any feeling of disgust i have because instead of focusing on the bad feeling of remembering where they came from or being sad at the way they look im able to think about how cool it is the way my body recovered and made my skin even stronger; it didnt just wipe it all away and give me a clean slate so i could forget, it pieced the cells together again bit by bit until it had not only replaced the wound but enforced it—so instead of forgetting the bad feelings, they were replaced by wonder. sort of like a sign that says “proof that where once there was pain, now there is strength”. it’s kind of like how they say you don’t just try to quit bad habits, you must replace the bad habit with a good one. you can replace the bad feelings associated with your scars with new feelings, whether they are good feelings or neutral feelings or meh feelings. ]]

before you, he understood scars to be an ugly thing—a source of shame, a show for others to marvel at if he left them uncovered, for them to ogle at and whisper about as if trying to guess the origin of the wounds was a sort of entertainment to them. and then in the fortress of meropide, his scars felt much less like a source of shame and more like an intimidation factor (which wasn’t something he necessarily felt good about, but it was something that he benefitted from as the duke). but when you came along and he began to know you, suddenly they were this beautiful, fascinating phenomenon that lead him to view his own scars in a different light.

he’s a powerful, strong man, yes. he’s intimidating and feared, but he is also loved, and all for good reason—he is solid and safe, an image of reliability to others. and sometimes it could weigh him down when he couldn’t seem to let another help carry the burden.

the way you made him feel, though, tracing his big ugly scars like they were rivers, like they weren’t repulsive—it changed him entirely, and it changed the way he saw himself. in the overworld, he was a criminal brute slathered in the proof of his savageness. in the fortress, he was the rock-solid standard for redemption, and he had to uphold his firm reputation. but with you, he was able to be fragile; with you, the walls he had built to protect himself from both sides of fontaine’s society came tumbling down, because he didn’t have to pretend when he was with you.

if such a small, sweet thing like you could see him in such a kind light with so much love in those eyes of yours, perhaps he was not so bad after all.

everyone else in all of teyvat could believe he was truly a bad guy like he sometimes enjoyed playing at—but it wouldn’t matter, because there you were in his bed every night, held fast in his big arms as you mindlessly traced the long, thin writings engraved in his skin, letting the stories they told lull you to sleep.

[atinycafe]

warning: suggestive

"come on baby, just get on the bike, i won't go fast, pretty, i promise you," you gaze at your elder brother's closest friend, biker!seonghwa, who sits confidently on his motorbike, extending a gloved hand toward you.

"where's yeosang? i called him," you put emphasis on the last word. you shudder at a sudden rush of cold wind, and your bare thighs press together to supress the shivers. you miss how seonghwa's eyes rake over your body, eyebrows furrowed in a mix of worry and need. "what a tease," he thinks as his jaw clenches tight.

"yeosang's drunk," he states plainly, running a hand through his hair. "pretty, do you really wanna argue with me right now, you're on the verge of freezing, and i doubt you'll have the chance to utter the final word."

with your arms crossed before you, your glossy bottom lip protrudes slightly and you roll your eyes. it frustrates you to no end when things don't go according to your desires. you specifically dialed yeosang's number because you wanted him here. why does it always have to be seonghwa instead?

it's not that you feel uncomfortable around the man; it's just that he's the only one who refuses to indulge your every whim. he has a knack for hiding his true intentions beneath charming words, leaving your somewhat slow thought process in a state of bewilderment.

"it's okay 'm not cold," you lie, even though the chilly autumn breeze penetrates through your delicate baby pink dress, offering little protection. your petite white fur coat could offer more warmth if you were to fasten it, but that would obscure the view of your alluring cleavage and the exquisite necklace adorning your neck.

"c'me here," he commands, and you find yourself compelled to approach him with a slow stride. he removes one of his leather gloves and places it gently at the nape of your neck, just beneath your blonde extensions. drawing you closer, you can actually sense his gaze upon your face, despite the dark glasses he wears to shield himself from the wind while riding his bike., "what did i tell you about lies, huh? pretty girls don't use their pretty mouths to lie, do they now?" as his fingers exert a bit more pressure on the sides of your neck, a blush creeps onto your cheeks, accentuating the heavy blush on them, and you nod in response.

"words, pretty, i wanna hear your voice," he finally releases his grip, his hands shifting to secure your petite white vest, zipping it all the way to the top. his thumbs and index fingers rest on the zipper, while your attention remains captivated by the slight caress of his other fingers as they glide along your body while raising the zipper. the warmth of his touch sends tingles through your skin as his fingers delicately reach your breasts.

as you part your lips to respond, the words become lodged in your throat, leaving you feeling momentarily trapped beneath his penetrating gaze. a smirk graces his lips, as if he possesses the ability to decipher every notion swirling within your mind, amplifying the sensation of vulnerability in your thoughts.

"what's wrong, can't find your voice, my dumb girl?" as you feel a stirring sensation between your thighs, it becomes evident that this time it has nothing to do with the chilly weather when you squeeze your thighs together.

overwhelmed by the situation, you instinctively push him aside to reach for the helmet resting on his lap. determined to join him on the bike, you attempt to mount it from behind. however, you quickly realize it's not as simple as you anticipated. the heels you're wearing make it increasingly difficult, and the seat of the bike sits too high above the ground for you to easily get on.

"pretty girl needs a hand?" his voice carries a smug undertone that you can't help but notice. biting the inside of your cheek, you silently yearn for yeosang's presence, wishing he were there instead.

he gracefully dismounts the bike, showcasing his expertise, and even you can't deny the allure he exudes. as he approaches you, he firmly grasps your waist, effortlessly lifting you up and placing you on the bike. in response, a high-pitched squeal escapes your lips, causing you to instinctively hold your dress to prevent it from riding up too much. seonghwa chuckles at the sight, finding amusement in your reaction. climbing up behind you, he assists in securely fastening the helmet onto your head. the large, black helmet creates a somewhat comical contrast against your feminine attire.

he guides your hands, placing them on the bike's handles, while his touch smoothes over your cold thighs, eliciting goosebumps along your skin. he chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction. his hands venture a little higher, playfully squeezing your buttocks, causing you to jolt in your seat, which only widens his smile. finally, he repositions his hands to firmly grasp the handles beside yours, taking a moment to observe the disparity between your wrists. his own wrists are enveloped by his leather jacket, while yours adorn a multitude of shiny bracelets.

"be a good girl for me and hold on tightly, pretty."

masterlist