#I think it hurts more because I always fucking suspected it but I loved them so much still because that’s what a kid is supposed to do

[reiderwriter]

Please Accept My Apology

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After three days spent trying to convince the BAU that they had made a mistake, Spencer Reid shows up at your door to offer his apology.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, smut 18+ minors dni, slight age gap, penetrative sex, squirting, fingering, dirty talk, name calling, degradation, hints of bdsm, implied creampie etc.

You can find my masterlist here and my 2024 song fic challenge here (don't forget to send song recommendations to my inbox!)

You never thought you'd ever see the inside of an interrogation room before this week. Now you didn't think you'd ever see the outside of it.

“Y/N, you're brother ran from law enforcement multiple times, if you know where he is you need to tell us or you'll be charged with accessory to murder and kidnapping after the fact. Is that what you want?”

“Of course it isn't what I want, but I already told you I can't fucking help you!”

You paced in the boxed room, feeling closed in and hot.

Your brother - your innocent brother - was the key suspect in a series of child abductions and murders, and as he'd ran from law enforcement multiple times, they'd dragged you into the police precinct to try to track him down.

For the last three days, you'd been stuck sitting at that table across from Doctor Spencer Reid, waiting for the worst news of your life, because you knew it was coming.

“He's not a murderer. He's mentally ill, but he wouldn't hurt anyone. I keep telling you that, why won't you believe me?”

“A lot of loved ones protest a suspect's innocence, right down to the last second.” You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from the depth of your chest.

“My brother is schizophrenic. He was violent before, sure, he had outbursts. But he has been monitoring his meds for the last three years perfectly. He has a job, he has a son. He would not hurt those kids.”

You had always looked up to your elder brother, even through the tough years.

He'd inherited both your fathers drinking problem and your mother's mental illness, each demon feeding the other until he had a breakdown at age 19.

You were only 17 yourself, but with no one else to hold him accountable, you'd been there. You'd checked him into a facility, you drove him to each of his doctor's appointments when he was clean. You'd been around for each sober anniversary, for each birthday and holiday and celebration that he'd made it one more year without falling into himself.

He'd reciprocated by being the most reliable man you knew. He helped put you through college when he was stable enough, he'd managed to work his way up in the ranks at his construction job. He had a beautiful wife (currently in another interrogation room with another agent) and the cutest little boy.

He'd promised you that your family struggles would end with the two of you. You'd promised each other to take care of each others families if anything happened to them in the future, and while you currently had no family to speak of, you sure as hell were going to make sure that your nephew never wanted for anything in his life.

Your brother wasn't a murderer, and you had proof enough.

“You know, you haven't asked me yet why I think he's innocent.” You took your seat again, and gathered your hands together on the table, leaning in closer to the agent in front of you.

You watched him think for a second, then mirror your pose, leaning in just as close, eyes locked with yours.

You'd talked about a lot of things these past three days, and you got the idea that he was a bit of a jackass. If not a jackass, then at least big-headed; he'd practically shouted his title of Doctor at you as he'd walked in, and made sure to correct you every time you'd called him agent or sir.

You kept doing it just to piss him off eventually.

“It's denial, Miss Y/L/N. You don't want to see the signs you'd ignored for that lingered, so you beg and protest and plead, hoping that eventually you'll turn out to be correct.” His voice was low, but you caught every word.

“While I am sure you know what you're talking about Agent Reid, that is not why I'm here still. I'm not being charged with a crime, and I've been here much longer than 24 hours. I'm free to go at any point, but I'm sticking around here, lawyer free, because I want to watch your face when you realise you'd been wrong this entire time.”

He shifted uncomfortably and you smiled, happy to get under his skin once again.

“Okay, Miss Y/L/N. What makes you so sure your brother is innocent?”

“Your profile.” His eyes slightly widened at that, and you basked in it, leaning back and waiting for him to take the bait as the tide turned in your conversation.

“We profiled that our unsub would be late 20s to early 30s, probably a family man who'd likely been abused as a child. The profile also suggested he may have had a psychotic break recently, likely as a result of coming off his meds. Your brother fits the profile, Y/N.”

He'd dug his own grave, and you were happy to see him getting ready to sleep in it too.

“No, he doesn't, Agent.”

A tense silence passed between you, and you knew his gaze was fixed on you. You let your eyes dart elsewhere, rolling down his body to his hands. They were totally still of course, but you could see how tense he was by the way he pushed them flat against the table, almost as if he were trying to ground himself, finding reassurance in the pressure.

“How does he not fit the profile?” His brows were knitted together, and his expression was one of annoyance now.

No matter how much you had shouted or let out your frustrations these past few days, he'd kept a placid look of sympathy plastered across his features. He hadn't listened, or even suggested he'd wanted to, assuming your brother was guilty.

Now he was annoyed, as if he had the right.

“Despite what your records supposedly tell you, my brother is not off his meds.”

“Miss Y/L/N, we know that your brother did not refill his prescription three months ago, and that he looked into some clinical trials in the metropolitan area and was rejected.”

“Congratulations for having 50% of the facts. My brother wasn't rejected from those trials, he withdrew because they changed the terms. They wanted to study my nephew as well to see if they could predict where hereditary cases of Schizophrenia would manifest.”

You leaned in again now, enjoying watching the thoughts rush through Spencer Reid's head once again.

“His health insurance had some issues after the withdrawal, so his prescription couldn't be filled until next week, but my brother always had six months of pills delivered.”

You watched the realisation come crashing down on the agent in front of you, though he was doing a good job of keeping himself out together.

It was time to end this conversation.

“To take part in the clinical trial, he needed to stop taking his regular medication for two weeks. Meaning he has two more weeks of his regular medication. I watched him take it Monday morning, right about when your second kidnapping occurred. My sister-in-law will confirm.”

He stood from his chair slowly and nodded at you, making his way to the door.

“And Agent Reid?” You said making sure to hold his attention one last time before he could leave. “If anything happens to my brother, I will hold you responsible.”

He slipped from the room without another word, and you relaxed into the chair, letting your eyes fall shut as you waited patiently.

Xxx

It was another week before your brother was totally cleared. He'd turned himself into law enforcement the same day you'd forced the BAU to reevaluate their profile, and both he and his wife had cracked up your story.

With nothing else to distract them, you'd been happily informed that they'd caught the actual perpetrator, and saved another victim.

You were back at home now, trying to relax, to get back on track.

You knew by the knock on the door that you weren't going to get back to your normal routine just yet.

“Agent Reid, I wasn't expecting you.” He was there at your door, and you had to brush off a wave of annoyance, forcing yourself not to slam the thing in his goddamn face.

“It's Doctor Reid. You know that, though.” He mumbled the words, jaw tense as he heaved out a sigh, trying to get to his point but being distracted by your prickly words.

“I came to talk. May I come inside?”

“We talked for three days straight, Doc. What else could we possibly need to discuss?” You made sure to block the door with your body, one arm resting on the doorframe as you leant across it, the other holding the door tightly next to you.

You thought he'd get the idea, tuck his tail between his legs, and swiftly leave you alone, but you were sadly mistaken.

Instead his eyes raked over your body as you put it on display, curiously exploring every inch you put in his eyeline.

“May I come in?” He repeated, eyes still trailing down your body. If it weren't for the heat building inside of you, you'd have slammed the door in his face. A moment's hesitation was all you got instead, as he locked eyes with you again, and you reluctantly moved an inch to the side.

You stayed there in the doorway even as he entered, his body brushing against yours almost intimately for the second, his hand faintly tracing over your hip as he stepped inside, watching you all the time.

Needing desperately to gain your composure back, you jumped into asking questions. “You're in now. What do you want?”

“I wanted to apologise.” He hadn't moved far into the apartment, and you realised aa soon as you turned away from locking the door, overestimating his distance. You spun right into his arms, one of his palms coming to your waist to steady you as the other steadied the two of you against the wall.

“And whatever would the wonderful Doctor Reid need to apologise for?”

Your words were venomous, but the heat in them rose from somewhere deeper than the acid in your stomach, somewhere more fiery than the burning sensation at the back of your throat.

“I'm trying to do the right thing here, Y/N.”

“After a week of doing the wrong thing, Spencer, I'm not sure you're fully capable of that.”

His brows furrowed as he pouted, and you hated his proximity, both too close and too far at the same time. You wanted to run him apart, and then delicately sew him back together.

“I was doing my job.”

“You almost got my brother killed.”

“I'm sorry.” He heaved out an exasperated breath with the words, body relaxing and pushing your back fully against the wall. His eyes widened, and you could tell that he hadn't meant to move you in that way, but you just stared at him still, eyes flicking down to his lips with every intrusive thought.

This was how close you needed him.

“I don't give a shit if you're sorry.” You meant the words to be harsh a warning, but you hadn't realised your heartbeat bursting from your throat, your breathy gasps for air making it sound more erotic than angry.

He blinked once, then twice, slowly as if he was a scientist observing an experiment, not wanting to take his eyes off of it until he was certain something wouldn't happen.

“You're enjoying this.”

“I'm not.”

“Your heart rate is at 127 bpm, your pupils are dilated, your breathing is shallow. You're enjoying this. Why?”

His hands didn't let up, even as he shot out his words, brows furrowing further as you resisted the urge to push him away.

It was more comfortable keeping him close.

“I told you I am not enjoying this. You're just too close.”

“So, you're having a physical reaction to me?” He asked, almost quizzically. You had expected to hear a triumphant smirk or something in his voice, but he seemed genuinely curious.

“For God's sake, Spencer, yes. Yes, you're close and it's making me uncomfortable. You spent three days making me feel uncomfortable, and now you've come back for round two, are you happy now?”

“You're not uncomfortable,” he shot out again, almost as if he couldn't stop the words from spilling out. “You're aroused.”

“Know it all.” He laughed at that, and you could feel the heat in your cheeks. You weren't sure what the hell was going on with your body, because you'd spent the week despising the man in front of you, but now a simple hand on your wrist and a laugh had you blushing like a schoolgirl.

“So what if I am aroused? You're touching me, you have me pinned against the wall, really this is your fault, Agent.”

“It's Doctor, but you can call me Spencer. Or you can go back to another colourful insult if you'd prefer?”

“You're pretty full of yourself, I thought you came to apologise.”

“I did, it's not exactly me that is acting like they want to be filled right now though.”

“Jackass,” you snapped, as he lowered his hand around to cup your ass, finally allowing himself a tiny hint at the smirk you'd predicted earlier.

You gasped as he took a handful of your ass and pulled you flush against him.

“I want to say sorry, I want to make it up to you. I'm being quite charitable here.”

“Charity, my dear Doctor, is where you give something and expect nothing in return. It seems like you want something in return.” You spat the words again but you let your hands press lightly against his chest, waiting for him to make the next move as you played with the buttons of his shirt.

“I'd be more than happy to do that, too.”

You weren't sure who reached for who, or which one of you made the first push, but you were suddenly joined together by your lips, each of you battling furiously for dominance.

Your hands pushed up desperately, clawing into his long, busy strands and pulling him down further into you as you worked against him.

He was still stronger than you though, so when he forced your head back an inch, you moved out of necessity.

“Is that enough, or should I keep apologising?”

“Nowhere near enough, jacka-” he cut you off by pushing the tip of his thumb into your mouth, using one of his legs to spread yours so he could nuzzle himself between them.

“Why so quiet now? We couldn't shut you up in those interrogation rooms, but now you're so polite and obedient.” You moaned around his thumb as he stroked your tongue, encouraging you to suck it.

You didn't need much instruction, desperate now to show off your superior skills to the man in front of you.

“That's it, show me how much you want it, my little whore.”

His hand slipped into your pants quietly, but you twitched as his hands feathered their way along your pelvic bone, twitching at the sensitivity of the connection.

His hands slipped into your panties and you knew immediately it was over for you. You were so wet, and he was going to be able to tell just how much you apparently wanted him.

You moaned as he roughly pushed your pants down, finger teasing your cunt through your panties as you still struggled to suck his thumb so you didn't make any louder noises.

“You're enjoying this.” It was no longer a question, but a confident statement, no curiosity but simple satisfaction at how good he was making you feel.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, rubbing some saliva across your lips to make them shine before he turned you around and pushed you up against the wall. Your hands barely pushed out in from of you before your chest collided with the wall, and he was close behind you.

As he coaxed your panties down your legs, you closed your eyes and tried to keep your breathing steady, desperately clinging to some high ground where you could find it.

His fingers were hot and long, and they quickly found your clit and got to work as he ground his hard cock against your bare ass.

His pants were still on, but you could feel the outline of his dick against you, hips rutting back into him with each flick of his wrist.

“Now, come on Y/N. You said it's not charity if I receive something in return, right?” He whispered into your ear as you tried to reach behind you to grab his dick.

“We're going to take this nice and slow, and you're going to enjoy all of it.”

His fingers slowed to an aching pace as he finally pushed a first digit inside of you. His hips finished moving and his free hand held you still too, so the only friction was coming from that one hand between your legs, practically edging you.

“Fuck me, just fuck me Spencer.” You moaned in frustration.

“Doctor.” He whispered in your ear, the glee in his voice igniting your hatred of him all over again.

“What?” You spat out.

“Call me Doctor Reid, and I'll give you anything you want. You want to cum, right?”

His fingers kept their slow pace, and you could feel yourself growing more impatient, even as you grit your teeth together.

“Fuck me, Doctor Reid.”

“What about please?”

“Fuck you.” You instantly regretted your words when he pulled his hands off your body completely, retreating further into your house.

“No, shit, wait.-”

You scrambled after him as he took a seat on your couch, removing his jacket and loosening his already dishevelled tie.

“What do you want, Y/N?” He asked, palming himself through his pants as he watched you practically fall at his feet, needing his hands back on you.

“I want you to f-fuck me, please Doctor Reid.” He nodded slightly, pulling your remaining clothing off as he responded.

“That's a good little slut.” He led your hand over his cock and let you undo the buttons and pull him out. You needed no other instructions as he leaned back and pulled your legs into a firmer position.

You gave his cock a few strokes before lifting your hips and sinking back down onto him.

“So fucking wet for me, you were so aroused, baby.”

He didn't let you control the pace, but held your hips still just above him as he began pushing into you from below, lifting his hips to fill you up with each thrust.

You couldn't bite back the screams as his balls slapped against you, Spencer trying his best to fit his entire length into you with each deep thrust. You wanted to kill the man only an hour earlier, and now you were sure you wanted to have him inside you like this forever.

“Oh fuck, just like that, just like that Spencer please!”

Your hand drifted down to your cunt and you're began to rub feverishly, even as you felt the pressure build up from your gut.

The pressure was almost unbearable and before you knew it you were squirting on his cock, fingers splashing wave after wave of your arousal over his cock and clothes.

“Already squirting for me? I thought you didn't want anything to do with me, Y/N. I guess you are just a little whore.”

You twitched, but couldn't respond, as he began thrusting sloppier than ever before, grunting in your ear as he finally joined you in your mess.

His grip on your hip slipped as he finally started cumning, and you moaned feeling him so deep as he gathered you in his arms and pulled you chest to chest.

You sat there panting together for an eternity before you even thought about detangling your limbs from one another.

“You made a mess of my fucking sofa.” You said as you finally rose up slightly, looking down at the mess beneath you.

“No, Y/N, that was you. I simply helped.”

“Jackass.”

“Whore.”

You gasped as he laughed at you again, pulling your hips back down over his so you couldn't slide off his cock again.

“Don't act so scandalised when I can feel just how much that turned you on. You're enjoying this.”

You pouted a little, but let your head fall back against his chest.

“And what if I am, Agent Reid?”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Away From The Past - Max Verstappen

Request from anon - My apologies if this is too dark. I recently came face to face with a person who sexually assaulted me for a while when I was a child. Would you be open to writing an imagine where Max Verstappen finds out his best friend is experiencing this? Could it be friends to lovers? 

Sensitive themes/warnings: Mentions of previous SA, PTSD

I know it's anon but if anyone reads this can we send some love in the replies to the requester? I think they could use some love even just from strangers online.

Sidenotes: I am going to give the abuser a name, sorry if it's a name of someone you love or are friends with. It's just a random name I've plucked from a generator.

No part 2 requests please

As much as someone can wish something not to happen. It doesn't actually bring it into a reality.

Y/n wished she's never have to see him again. But in reality she knew that was unrealistic. Especially because she's somehow befriended the current F1 champion and Gavin was always a fan of F1.

He's also fairly well off in finances so perhaps she should've suspected one day he might be at a race at the same time as her. But really she'd tried to keep thoughts about him to a minimum if she could.

She saw him with the paddock pass and sick had risen up her throat in an instant. Flash of memories she'd try to bury as deep as possible surfacing aggressively to the forefront of her mind.

More than one person had seen her pale and tearful state, they'd tried to catch her and calm her down from whatever spooked her. But they were too close in proximity to him and she is in not any rational state of mind to speak to them.

Y/n only speeds up as her mind tries to find some grounding.

Sadly, her body gets there first when she bumps into someone, then tripping and bumping into another body that she takes down with her.

"I know you are excited to be here, but you-Y/n?" Max frowns as she scrambles up, her thoughts in a panicked frenzy as her panic to get away from Gavin. "Y/n?"

"Max." Y/n chokes out suddenly brought back down to earth like she's just been body slammed.

She almost feels winded suddenly as Max manages to somehow get them both up and on their feet.

She doesn't really hear what he says next, she only knows she's looking back behind them while Max tries to get her inside, away from prying eyes who have just watched Max be tackled by a young woman and entirely by accident.

"Ok." Max soothes sitting her down and look at her with eyes that fail to hide his concern. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." Y/n mumbles earning a raised eyebrow. "It's not really something I want to discuss right in this moment."

Max sighs and nods then standing up and getting her a glass of water.

Max mustn't have much going on today because he is very much content in sitting with her as long as she needs even without her knowing if she wants to go out into the paddock again.

"You don't have to tell me. But I'm here if you need to-"

"There's a man here...who hurt me when I was younger and...I just saw him and panicked." Y/n mumbles with a thick swallow.

"He hurt you?" Max echoes in question, but he really doesn't need any repeat or future explanation. Hell any for of hurt, physical or emotional is enough for Max to decide this man has to go. "What's his name?"

"W-What?"

"His name. What is his name?" Max urges trying to keep a gentle tone since she only just calmed down.

"Gavin Smith." Y/n mumbles making hum nod. "Why?"

"Well he is not going to stay in the paddock if he's hurt you, he could hurt someone else. It's for your safety and everyone else's." Max frowns standing up while she looks at him for a moment, very much in shock about it.

"Fucking hell." Y/n sighs before she rubs her hands over her face with a heavy sigh. "Max, you can't do that. I-I mean he probably didn't even see me. It's not like he ever paid for what he did for me."

"Well...it might not really be how he should pay for it, but he's going to pay for it today." Max declares making her eyes widen as he stands up but his hands gently push her back down. "You stay here, I'll handle it."

Y/n stutters over unspoken words but Max is gone and with her not wanting to chance chasing him out and running into Gavin. She remains sat while Max speaks to whoever he can apparently speak to in order to get Gavin kicked out from the paddock and possibly the whole race as an event.

-

Max reported back to y/n with a smile of success and victory over the fact that he'd made sure she'd be comfortable in the paddock and feel safe there.

But as much as y/n wanted to appreciate it. Her mind had been fried and her mood has been dampened for the weekend.

Not that Max is allowing that to stop him from making several attempts at perking her mood up. From getting her in the garage to just kind of giving her the most inclusive experience of the day.

Perking up her mood is a nice additional goal, but really Max is actually wanting to just keep an eye on her.

It really goes on like that the whole weekend. Obviously Max's attention is forced to focus elsewhere.

"Have I ever told you, you have the coolest job?" Y/n asks as she walks with Max into the hotel.

"Maybe once or twice." Max teases knowing y/n has definitely told him that much more than once.

"Once or twice only?" Y/n smiles lightly, slowly letting her usual persona peak back through a bit. But her smile drops almost as soon as it arrived.

"Do you want to come to my room and just hang out for a bit? You can go on the sim..." Max offers wanting to do anything to bring back y/n's smile.

"I can?"

"Yeah, Don't beat the hell out of me again though please." Max jokes since actually on one occasion which has yet to be repeated she managed to beat a lap time record he'd set.

Y/n does go up to Max's room and he helps set her up on the sim, then just sitting beside her on the floor to watch how she does. By some miracle he manages to bite his lip to keep any backseat driving silent.

After she manages to crash pretty hard, y/n ends up giving up with some laughter.

Eventually they also get something to eat, and it doesn't take long for Max to begin to really notice why he's enjoying her company so much and why he wants to protect y/n so much. Obviously he'd enjoy her company and want to protect her just as friend, but there's something much more development with flutters in his chest whenever he sees her smile.

But also he felt a type of upset he'd never felt that hit him to the core when he saw her upset.

He also felt like he had an inclination of what happened to her when she was younger at Gavin's hands. Above and before all else, he wants to make sure no harm can come to her again and he wants to make sure the Gavin never gets the opportunity to be near her again.

The man was in a rage when he was informed of his paddock pass and weekend ticket being revoked for no reason other than Max had explained that he was a threat to the safety of others and he wanted him gone as matter of security.

"Y/n...would you come with me to the rest of the races?"

"The rest of the races? That's nearly the entire season." Y/n laughs lightly then making him look at her.

"Well I have quite a busy schedule and I think taking you on dates while you come around to races will be a good way to spend the spare time I get on weekends...if you'd let me take you on a date?" Max smiles lightly making her look at him. "I just...realised today how much you mean to me and if you just want to be friends that's fine, but if you would like to be more than friends I'd like to try it out."

"You realise I'm not exactly an easy person to date like I'm easy to be friends with, Max." Y/n mumbles swallowing thickly. "Gavin...really fucked me up."

"And I want to help you with that, and I want to do it as your boyfriend as much as your friend...I don't care about the past in anyway apart from helping you heal from it." Max states shifting forward and trying to catch her gaze. "If you'll let me."

Y/n takes a couple deep breaths, looking at him for a moment before she smiles and nods biting her lip lightly. Her face trying to hide the idea o travelling with Max around to races and going on dates while he really tries to help her heal.

"You're already better than I deserve." Y/n sighs earning a hug and shake of the head.

"Don't be silly. The whole world knows I'm a horrible person." Max jokes earning a taste and gentle swat for being unkind to himself even as a joke. "But we are both going to prove each other's worth."

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[saerins]

─── & 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 4k | content: slight angst, established relationship, friends/exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, breakup, mentions of jealousy, implied adults here

notes: DISCLAIMER I HAVENT WRITTEN PROPERLY IN A WHILE so it’s probably quite shitty but i missed him ok !!! T_T sobs i hope you guys like this one <3

summary: sae’s still learning the ropes on being in a relationship, and sometimes you think you can’t wait any longer. but this is itoshi sae, maybe you can.

sae hates this sickly tension in the air.

your brows are furrowed and you’re biting your lower lip; it’s the look of confusion that he’s not very used to, but is most aware of anyway. it’s the look you always carry when you’re upset and conflicted and you’re trying not to say any more than you already have on the off chance that you’d cry after you do.

it’s not your fault for getting jealous—sae knows that. all it is is an unfortunate byproduct of him not being around as much as you need him to. but in his head, his mind tells him one thing only: how can you expect him to when that’s what his career entails?

didn’t you know that before agreeing to be his girlfriend?

maybe you’re painfully aware of how it’s neither of your faults, and maybe that’s why you’re really confused. because there’s no one to blame. sae wasn’t to blame for having to show up at an event with some famous actress. he was doing his job. he had told you not to go, but somehow oliver had taken it upon himself to invite you anyway.

“i’m at every event with a different girl, the tabloids wouldn’t suspect a thing about her being your girlfriend, right?”

famous last words because sae’s going to have to kill him one day for that.

beside you on the couch, sae’s head falls to his hands, elbows propped on his knees. it’s not your fault either, he realises, for not being able to take it when you experience firsthand how people gush over him and saiko, the actress. you aren’t used to this life. maybe you shouldn’t have to.

“i don’t know what to do anymore, sae.”

after an entire hour of arguing how he should at least talk to you about these things instead of throwing them under the rug, after an entire hour of how sae tried to defend himself by saying he couldn’t possibly read your mind—you’re both exhausted.

“well i don’t fucking know neither,” he confesses, half snaps, and his head is still in his hands. he knows you’re looking at him, wanting to search his expression for answers that he can’t give verbally. but sae doesn’t want you to see him like this, unsure and conflicted, almost as much as you.

through your eyes, you’ve never felt more rejected than you do when you look at your entire world and see it refuse to let you in. his hair is a mess now, from running after you in the rain, his expression is unreadable and his clothes soaking through his body. sae is always like this when there’s a fight—always avoiding the hard conversations.

and maybe you would’ve let it slide if you’re sure of his feelings for you, but you’re not. you’ve been friends with sae for three years, been together with him for six months. but in all this time, he’s never actually told you how he feels for you. not a small utterance of his love, or any indication of his feelings through text.

no matter how strong or optimistic you are, you aren’t sure if you can last any longer like this.

“sae, can you answer me honestly?”

he doesn’t say a thing, but you know he’s listening. he always does. which is why it hurts even more when he doesn’t do anything whenever you argue. because you know that out of everyone, itoshi sae best knows what you need.

but he won’t do it.

“do you still want this?”

a suffocating silence blankets the room, and after an agonising two minutes, you get your answer in his silence.

slowly, you get up off the couch, and you can almost laugh at why your impending departure is the only thing that can make him look at you.

“i’m sorry, sae, i can’t do this anymore,” you tell him, smiling even though you’re crying, and for a moment, the way he widens his beautiful teal eyes and how he instinctively reaches out to grab your wrist almost breaks you. but you’ve decided, and it’s too late now. “i’ll find an apartment and move out as soon as i can.”

when sae watches you retreat to your shared bedroom and lock the door, he realises by the plunging of his heart that he’s not okay with this. that he’s not okay with letting you leave. it’s stupid why he can’t even find the fucking words to say because he does, he does want this.

that’s why he rushes to the door, knocks rapidly in succession only to hear silence in return. and now he knows exactly how you feel. you’ve always been the vocal one, always been there—armed with your assurances that you never realised he needed, coupled with your smile that drives every negativity in his head away.

“y/n, open the door,” sae tries, but you don’t respond. he hears the tap switching on and he’s cursing himself in his head. his forehead presses against the white wooden surface, unable to bring himself away. “y/n, talk to me.”

for the first time since he met you, you don’t listen.

the next morning is even more torturous than the night sae spent not sleeping.

when you finally come out of the room, you feel like a stranger. your hair’s done up, your makeup fresh, the smile on your face is still gone.

“morning.”

your eyes flick up to meet his as you walk to the kitchen, but they don’t light up like they used to. he can see you swallowing the lump in your throat before you choke out a good morning in return, though it’s strained.

have you been crying all night?

“listen, can we talk about last night?” sae asks, but it’s futile.

the way you close the fridge door carelessly sits uncomfortably with him, only because he feels like he recognises you even less. the way you smile after that is so forced he would rather you didn’t.

“oh right, about that, good news,” you try to sound chirpy, but it settles awkwardly between the both of you. “i managed to find some listings, so i’m gonna go check them out. fingers crossed i’ll be out of your hair soon!”

you’re prancing around the kitchen like a madwoman, humming tunes he doesn’t know and playing the part of not you all too well.

“y/n, i don’t want you to—”

“stop, sae,” you cut him off, heart broken and head buried in the cupboard.

he saunters to your side, not daring to get too close to you, afraid you’d just retreat further away. “tell me what i can do.” a part of him wants you to ask him that question again, so that he can answer now. so that he can tell you how he really feels.

but it doesn’t come. you’re just staring blankly at the wall.

when his gaze falls to your neck, he realises that necklace he gave you isn’t there like it used to be everyday. his heart sinks even further. “you’re not wearing it anymore?”

it’s stupid of him to expect you to. as of last night, you both were as good as broken up, after all.

“y/n, can we talk? i really—”

“sae, enough,” you utter through gritted teeth. “i don’t want to hear it anymore.”

—love you. that’s what he wants to say. but you’re past caring, it seems.

sae’s lips are sewn tightly shut after that, both of you eating breakfast in silence. you’re eating what you cooked, some sausages and a sunny egg and toast while sae’s stuck with cereal because you usually do all the cooking.

you don’t look at him, and he doesn’t look at you. the hands on the analog clock are all either of you hear aside from your own chewing.

“at least let me drive you,” sae says as you head for the door, slipping into your sneakers.

your hand hovers over the doorknob, as though you’re considering it, and for a minute sae is hopeful, but then the next minute, you pour water over his fire.

“it’s fine, i can manage fine on my own.”

for some reason, sae feels like you’re telling him that for much more than just today.

days pass and you’ve barely spoken two words to each other. sae finds himself taking the chance to look at you much more than he has before; you still look tired. maybe it’s from all the house visiting, or maybe it’s the outcome of being with him. he’s still not okay with you moving, with you not being in his life, but sae’s stuck at a loss of what to do.

you’d been spearheading this relationship all this time that now, sae has no idea what to do. any attempt at a conversation is thwarted by you, and any time he comes near you, you relegate to the room and lock yourself in there.

sae’s taken his necessities and moved to the guest bedroom, and he thinks it’s so stupid to think that sleeping in a different room is better than being at a different apartment altogether.

but how long until you find a suitable apartment and move out? how long until sae has zero chance at being able to see you again?

“that sounds like a you problem though.”

as sae sits across the booth and deadpans at his younger brother, he thinks maybe the most useless thing you’ve ever done is repairing their relationship. especially with rin mumbling useless shit like that.

“yeah, thanks for the help,” sae rolls his eyes, watching as rin pops a nugget into his mouth.

“why didn’t you answer her then?” rin surveys his older brother’s movements; uncomfortable, awkward, reserved. he’s amazed that anyone can get sae like this, if he’s honest. he doesn’t usually give a shit about anything that doesn’t concern himself.

sae sighs. if he knew, he wouldn’t be here. he’d be with you, trying to explain how fucked up he is and why he didn’t say shit when he should’ve. but now, you won’t even give him the chance to talk without shutting yourself away.

rin groans, thoroughly annoyed because unbeknownst to his brother, you’d already filled rin in on everything. besides, you’re kind of already like a sister to him anyway. and you’re better at being an older sibling than sae is, granted.

“do you still want her though?” rin asks. it’s kind of tiring, being in the middle, being told by both parties to not say a thing to the other. he’s also tired of sae and his cryptic messages when he wants advice but is too proud to outright ask for it. and also of you whining in his messages about how if sae keeps this up you can’t keep being strong about this anymore.

“yeah.”

sae’s answer is surprisingly simple, and rin is entirely unamused.

“yeah maybe i see why she left you.”

“excuse me?”

rin meets his brother’s gaze, unrelenting. “you still want her yet you’re here telling me about it instead of her. i think you’d win best boyfriend of the millenia award.”

rin is dripping with sarcasm and maybe if he wasn’t his brother sae would’ve already punched him. but by the end of the night, sae can only come to one conclusion; it’s his fault for not talking it out when he could. so he could either let you go, or try, just like you did before.

he’d have to do it tonight, unless he wants to wait another month after his match next week in the states. but if he does, you’d be gone by then, he knows it. so he has to make it tonight.

and he’s hopeful, because he’ll make it fucking work no matter what he has to do. he’s not going to back down that easily, not anymore. and he knows it’s late and it’s 11pm and you’re probably asleep but fuck, you’re just going to have to wake up when he pounds hard on the bedroom door.

which is exactly what he plans to do—wake you up, talk to you, and tell him how fucking stupid he is and that he’s sorry and he fucked up.

it probably won’t make up for all the times he failed to speak when he should’ve, but sae thinks it’s a start.

so he unlocks the front door and walks straight to your bedroom door, but when he reaches up to knock it, he realises it isn’t even locked. when he slowly opens the door, you aren’t even there.

sae knows what to expect, but he still opens the closet anyway. and all the drawers. and inspects the bathroom. but every trace of you is gone. even the photos in the living room that had been all framed up. it’s no longer there. you probably threw them somewhere.

fuck.

he’d chase you if he could, but you’re already long gone. his calls aren’t even going through—did you block him already? not even a goodbye note, nothing.

it’s useless, but he opens your chat thread anyway.

y/n, come back. i still want this.

but it reads undelivered.

it’s a long shot. a very, very, slim chance.

sae tries to take it anyway.

a month later, the moment he touches down and puts his luggage back at home, he grabs his car keys and makes a break for your favourite hangout; a cosy family cafe at the edge of the city, near your workplace. he’s taken you there many times before on your request, and if there’s anywhere he’ll find you, he bets it’s there.

after a whole agonising month of trying and failing to talk to you, sae’s still going to try. fuck it if you reject him after that—at least he gets to say he tried.

he sits at the cafe from noon till evening, five hours of occupying the spot at the corner—your favourite one because you say it shades from the sun and it’s easy to wave the waiter over.

sae’s beginning to think that you’re not coming today, but then he sees a familiar figure strolling into the cafe. it’s not you, but it’s your best friend, suzuki, if he remembers correctly. suzuki, the one with the black hair and sharp blue eyes because the moment she walks in, she spots him in the corner, a knowing smirk on her face.

“what’re you doing here?” she asks, without a greeting first, because you probably told her what happened and she’s probably not very happy with him.

sae sighs, feeling stupid sitting here for five hours. although at least, she’s confirmation that you’ll be here soon.

“eating.” weak excuse, but whatever.

suzuki cocks a brow, “sure you’re not just a pathetic loverboy waiting for my best friend?”

is this embarrassment even worth it anymore?

before suzuki can say any more, sae hears a very familiar voice speaking his name, and there it is again—all the negativity seeped out of him in an instant.

“y/n, hey,” he greets, as though you haven’t been avoiding him this whole time.

on your part, you acknowledge him, which is way better than what he expected (you storming out and running away from him).

“what’re you doing here?”

sae wants to talk to you, but with suzuki’s eyes glued onto him, it kind of ruins the mood. still, this is the most you’ve spoken in two months and he’s not about to pass that up.

“i wanted to talk to you,” he says, keeping his voice down. “meet me after dinner?”

there is hesitance in your eyes, but your gazes meet again and for the first time since that night, sae is greeted with your genuine smile—“yeah, sure.”

just like that he’s taken back to three years ago when he first met you, when he first saw you smile at him and instantly knew that he had to have you, somehow. sae’s stupid to have hurt you however he did, he knows that now.

but now, selfish as it is, he can only hope that you haven’t moved on yet.

sae puts your new address into his phone as you get into the car, fortunately agreeing to let sae drive you home.

“so, how’ve you been?”

it’s a stupid question to start with, and he hates himself for not getting to the point, but sue him; he’s still somehow afraid you’d shut him out straightaway if you knew what he really wanted to talk about.

your fingers rest awkwardly on your lap. sae can’t help but remember how they used to crawl over to the driver’s seat, resting on his thighs or teasingly curling his hair.

“i’m okay, finally left that job of mine.”

the one with the overbearing boss who micromanages way too much—yeah, sae remembers. he really wishes he’d treasured the little things more when he had them, like your small updates on your job and your family, or even the way you’d routinely text him everyday after work to see what he wanted for dinner.

“found a new one yet?”

you look out the window where you’d usually look at him. guess this is still awkward for you. “nope, but i’m working on it. i have a couple of interviews scheduled next week.”

“that’s nice,” sae responds, albeit half-heartedly because he’s never been good at conversations like these.

(on your end, you can’t help but realise how slow he’s driving even when there’s no other car in front of him. a part of your heart warms at the fact that maybe itoshi sae wants more time with you after all.)

“how about you? how was the match in london? heard you guys won by a huge margin.” (that’s a lie. you didn’t hear anything, you watched the match, stayed up late and all. nothing that sae needs to know.)

sae can tell you’re lying though, because you have that little habit where your ears twitch ever so slightly when you speak, and he chuckles softly. “it’s not a crime to watch my match, you know?”

your cheeks heat up—you really shouldn’t have asked anything at all. you whip your head towards him, sulking, “i didn’t watch it, okay?”

“sure, whatever you say,” sae tells you, feeling the tension lift off, feeling the normal you come back again. “how’s the new house?”

“it’s… okay. my roommate’s a little bit annoying but i can live with it.”

sae thought he could endure the small talk a little longer, but he can’t. not really. because the words just slip out of his mouth.

“then move back in with me.”

the car comes to a stop at a red light, and neither of you can look at each other. sae wonders if you’re just going to be impulsive and run out the door.

you don’t.

“it’ll be a little awkward living with an ex, don’t you think?”

“then all you have to do is get back with me,” sae answers, witty as you always remembered.

a moving car isn’t the best place to have this conversation, but if he doesn’t take the chance now, what if he loses it forever?

“i was stupid, okay? i don’t know why i didn’t say anything back then but the answer is yes, yes i do still want this- you.”

and it takes you aback slightly, because he’s never been one to be so vocal about his emotions. it kind of scares you a little too, how easily you fold when it comes to sae. it took everything in you to block his number that day, and everywhere else, and you’ve been hard at work trying to forget him, to the extent you’d agreed to room with some male even though you knew it was a bad idea.

but the moment you saw sae in that cafe, everything goes back to square one. and you’re kind of sick of lying to yourself—that the way you left didn’t leave a gaping hole in your heart, that the way you blocked him didn’t leave you chock full of regrets.

“maybe you should’ve said that before i left, then.” but you’re also stubborn, so there’s that.

sae pulls up outside of your new apartment complex right as the words leave your mouth, but his hand reaches out to grip your wrist after you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“i know i probably wasn’t a good boyfriend—” sae can’t bring himself to look at you as he speaks the words he thought would never leave his mouth— “but i promise i’ll work on it, ‘kay? just- don’t leave.”

again.

maybe in another life, you’re stronger than this. in that other life, maybe sae’s better at being expressive, better at reassuring you.

your eyes flick across the car to meet his, and he’s looking right at you, a sort of gaze that you’ve never really quite seen before—a mixture of both faith and fear. his grip on your wrist is firm, as if he’s afraid you didn’t believe him when he uttered those words.

“you make it very hard to stay broken up, you know that?” you’re pouting, hard, if only to try to keep yourself from smiling.

and the second you respond, the second he realises you didn’t reject him, his expression levels with that of a—how would you describe it, a golden retriever? as though he’s wagging his tail.

“so- you’re willing to give this a shot?”

you chew your inner cheek, “not so fast, hot shot. i’m not taking you back that easily.”

sae pulls back, cocking a brow, but he knows by the tone of your voice that his chance is at least granted. “what do you mean?”

you grin, “maybe i want you to chase me again, itoshi sae. can’t have you thinking i’m that easy to get, you know?”

your future boyfriend smirks, shaking his head. “you’re impossible, y/n l/n.” you hear nothing but fondness in his voice.

and just like the good boyfriend he envisions himself to be in the future, he walks you up to your doorstep, complete with giving a peck on your forehead when you arrive.

“how am i doing so far?”

“sae, it’s only been an entire elevator ride!” you laugh, sae pecking even more kisses onto your face. what makes this entirely more amusing is how he’s so straight-faced while doing it. “okay okay, i’ll rate you a six so far. you’re gonna have to do better on those dates you’ll ask me out on.”

he thinks you’re such a tease, but hey, he wouldn’t have you any other way.

when you open the door, you turn around to look at him, pressing your lips into a firm line before placing a quick kiss on his lips, making his heart skip two beats because he didn’t think you’d be so kind.

“see you soon, itoshi sae?”

sae nods, “yeah tomorrow.”

“someone’s eager,” you chuckle, though you agree to it. “see you tomorrow.”

bonus: the next day

“itoshi sae, you’re too much.”

you’re lugging your suitcase behind you, sae carrying one of the heavier boxes. he keeps quiet, a sullen expression on his face.

“we could’ve at least waited for the movers to be available, you know?” you sigh as you get into the lift, sae pressing the topmost floor—back to the apartment you shared after a mere month of living on your own.

sae’s expression is now tilted towards you, and you don’t need him to speak to know what he’s thinking.

“do i really deserve the silent treatment for this?”

you’re not really arguing, but having a little disagreement. a small part of you is happy you get to do this with sae again, and not anyone else. that just means you two are that much closer, still.

“as if i’m gonna let you continue living there.”

you scoff, “what are you talking about? that apartment was completely fine!”

sae raises a brow, completely aware that you’re not actually back together but not being able to help himself nonetheless. because like hell is he ever allowing you to live there ever again.

“don’t fucking care, you’re not living with that michael fucking kaiser ever again.”

#bllk x reader #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #blue lock x reader #sae x you #sae x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #sae itoshi x reader #sae fluff #itoshi sae fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #૪ aeri’s fics !

[fakeboycorrection]

Fakeboy story time!

You and your male friend are hanging out in his basement, smoking, playing video games, talking about girls. Just doing stuff for the boys, like you always do. But today, you felt a little bit different, more comfortable around him. Safe. So you finally decided to come out and tell him that you're trans.

"Wait, so like... you want to be a girl? That's fuckin weird dude..." he responds. Not the response you were looking for.

"No I mean, I was born a girl! And then I transitioned, before I even met you..." you say back, struggling with the words, not thinking it would need this much explanation. You'd assumed he suspected you were trans, but apparently not. "I wear a binder to keep my chest down, and I usually wear boy clothes, so i guess it might not be as obvious as i thought..." you whisper back at him, a little sad at how this is going.

"Wait, so you have fucking tits?" He lunges forwards and touches your chest. You yelp and try to pull away from him, but his hand stays on you. "Oh yeah, fuck dude... I feel something here blocking them..." he reaches down and grabs your shirt, starting to pull it off.

"W-wait, what are you doing?!?" You shout as your shirt flies up over your head, revealing your binder.

"Relax dude..." he responds, looking at your chest inquisitively. "Two guys seeing each other's chests is normal. What the hell is this bra you're wearing, looks uncomfortable as hell." He grabs at it and literally tears it off your chest, as you feel the sting of it snapping against your breasts. Your tits spring out immediately, showing just how large your chest really is. "Fuck dude..." he whispers in amazement. "Why the hell were you hiding these away from me?" He reaches down and grabs one of your tits, squeezing it in his hand.

"S-stop dude, that's not funny!" You shout, grabbing his hand and trying to pull it away. But he doesn't budge an inch. You'd wrestled together before and knew he was stronger than you, but he must've been holding back before, because now, he felt stronger than ever. "Please... don't..." you try to stammer out, struggling not to moan as he squeezes here, brushing your nipples with his fingers.

"Can't believe you were hiding this from me all this time... I could've been having so much fun! You could've been my tomboy girlfriend..." he says shoving you down and getting on top of you, squeezing your tits harder and causing an involuntary moan to come out of you, getting a small smirk out of him.

"I'm not a girl though!" You shout back at him, trying to shove him off. But he just smiles back.

"If you're not a girl, then what are these?" He says, squeezing your tits harder. You moan, louder than before, impossible to ignore. "And what's this?" He says, tearing a hole in the front of your sweats, revealing your nicely shaved pussy. You stare down, fear beginning to build up in your body as you realize that he's not stopping.

"And if you're a 'real man' than why don't you have one of these?" He asks, pulling out his cock. It's massive, as big as the ones you see in porn all the time. His dick is throbbing, just inches from your face, a pearly drop of precum dripping down and resting on your chin.

"Please... don't do this..." you whimper out, struggling not to cry, but also not to moan just at the sight of his dick.

"Don't worry..." he leans down, whispering into your ear. "You're going to love it." And with that, he shoves his dick straight into your pussy, no lube, no preparation. Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt at all, probably because you're already soaked just from thinking about what he's doing to you. You cry out, half a scream for help, half a moan as he thrusts in and out of you, making you feel things you never have when you've masturbated.

"Fuck, you weren't lying last month when you said you were a virgin, you feel so fucking good around my cock, slut..." he grunts out, thrusting into you furiously, without any care for you pleasure. Despite that, it feels great. You hate that he's doing this, you hate that he's fucking you like a girl, that he's fucking you at all. But you can't deny the physical pleasure of the whole situation... still, you try to get him to stop.

"Please, please s-stop!" You yell, holding in a moan while he slaps your tits and fucks you harder. "I'm not a girl, d-don't fuck me like one!" You'd prefer if he wasn't fucking you at all, but that's as much as you can ask for.

"Shut it, bitch. You hid this from me for so long, the least you can do to repay me is to let me use your pussy how I want... I'm going to use you all night, fucking you and cumming in you over and over..."

Your heart stops for a moment and your eyes grow wide. "Cumming in m-me...?" You ask, looking up at him with fear. "You can't! I'm not on birth control or anything!!" You grab his arms and try to push him off, but it's no use.

"Oh? I thought you were a "man" though? Men can't get pregnant, so I'll cum in you all I want... then we'll see..." he says, thrusting harder and harder. You can tell that he's already getting close to cumming, judging from the speed he's going at. You do your best to try and push him off, all while begging him to stop over and over, but it's no use. After just a few minutes, he finally plunges his cock deep inside of you, so far and fast that it actually makes you cum, squeezing his cock even harder as it starts finishing inside of you, filling you up with a feeling of warmth, overflowing and hitting every inch inside your pussy with his seed. After a minute or so of you both orgasming and panting, he collapses on top of you, with his cock still inside of you, and gives you a nice, intimate kiss. You try and push him off now, but it's still no use. He's too big, too strong to get off of you, like any real man is.

"Fuck..." he whispers out, kissing you again and again as you try to avoid his mouth. "That was amazing... we're doing that again as soon as I get hard." He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at you, relishing in the look of pure terror still sitting on your face. "You're a really good actor, with this whole "man" character you've been playing. But let's see how good of an act you can put up when your belly starts swelling in a few months..."

You look back at him in shock and start crying, hoping that your tears will convince him to let you go. Instead, you just feel his cock inside of you, growing hard once more.

#detrans kink #ftm detrans kink #ftm girl #ftm misgendering #detrans female #ftm detransition #detrans ftm #fakeboy #detransition kink #forced detrans

[oliviajdjarin]

Azriel Shadowsinger: Sex Habits

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Summary: Headcanons (more like a bunch of imagines) about how Az treats his mate in the bedroom and otherwise.

Warnings: smut, smut, smut, smut, smuuuuuuut. Azriel is a switch, so is reader, swearing, lord of bloodshed cameo. This is pretty fucking dirty.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Thank you @cherryjain17 for this amazing, inspiring request. I hope I did it justice.

SJM Masterlist

If you would like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated &lt;3

(pic from pinterest)

Morning

-I am of the opinion that Azriel fucks you differently depending upon the time of day.

-Let's start with morning, shall we?

-Azriel is a scheduled, reliable male. Training in the morning, always, no matter the night he had before. He owed it to his High Lord to always be ready for a fight - physically, and mentally. His constant, consistent training was how he maintained that.

-However, what Rhys didn't know about what he partook in before training wouldn't hurt him.

-When Az would wake in the morning next to your - usually naked - sleeping, curled, warm body, hair sprayed across the pillows, scent unique to you filling his lungs, face painted in pure elation and serenity...

-...yeah, he would get a little hard.

-The best was when you would wake up with him, eyes dull with sleep, but their color still bright. A small, languid smile on your face. He couldn't help but touch you in that moment, his body begging him to satisfy every sense he had with the feeling of you.

-He would begin with your face, dragging the knuckle of his pointer finger across your cheekbone. Opening his palm to feel the entirety of your cheek. Tracing down the column of your throat with his pointer finger. Painting across your collarbone with every digit. Cupping your breasts delicately, fondling them, massaging them. Dragging fingers down the center of your stomach, heating up every inch of it before finally...

-...yeah, I think we get it.

-The interesting thing about sex in the morning with Azriel is that, although it begins slow, he goes fucking fast in the mornings. Pounding his fingers into you over and over again, your cum dripping down his fingers and wrist. When he finally tastes you, it's a feast. Sloppy and wet and messy and you're groaning and he's smiling so fucking big. He gets you right on the edge of euphoria before pulling back and pressing a quick kiss to your lips and turning you around, face pressed against your soft pillow, and plunging himself inside of you without a drop of mercy.

-(All of this happens within minutes because, like I said, he's got a schedule to keep).

-As he ravages you, pumping in and out and in and out faster than your brain can process, he fucking sweats. It drips down his back, down his face, across his lips, down his chest, everywhere. Your still drowsy body loves when you scrape your nails down it, coating your palms with it and fucking up his previously clean, fluffed hair with it.

-The finest, perfect part about his sex in the morning is that, even though it's rough, quick, rabid, he holds you close the entire time. He cradles your head in his forearms, litters your spine in passionate, lingering kisses, holds your hips like a cracking sculpture, caresses your scalp, thighs, and lower back.

-It is a paradox; rough yet gentle, greedy yet giving, horrid yet beautiful, quick yet endless, and hateful, yet some of the most loved you ever feel by him.

-When he finishes, and you finish multiple times, he departs you with only a kiss, and rushes down the stairs to make it in just enough time for Cassian to not suspect anything.

-He gives you smirks and winks all day anyway, much to your chagrin.

Afternoon

-Around mid to late afternoon is when Azriel tends to get an itch.

-An itch to step away from it all: his desk, his tasks, his responsibilities.

-Sometimes this itch can be scratched by something simple: a walk around Velaris, or a flight, a cup of cocoa, or even a quick nap.

-Other times, however, this metaphorical itch can only be scratched by the exclusive, spectacular taste of his mate.

-And luckily for you, Azriel is the fucking king of quickies.

-He finds you within minutes, utilizing the convenient bond cemented in his very bones, and conveys his desires with only a look.

-Some days, you decline. Too busy with work, too tired from a night previous, or just plainly not in the mood.

-On these days, Azriel understands. He leaves you respectfully, always with a short kiss and a silent promise of "later" permeating in the air.

-On the days where you do accept, however, is when Azriel truly lights on fire.

-The caveat to quickies with Azriel, however, is that he cannot risk any...leakage onto his clothing. Whether that be cum, spit, or otherwise.

-Frankly, you couldn't either. The both of you took your jobs and professionalism too seriously.

-Which is what makes these quickies so fucking good.

-He kisses you, hard, and lifts you under your ass against his waist to press you against a nearby wall, covering the both of you in shadow. He kisses you until your head spins before unzipping whatever top you have on, and claiming the shit out of your breasts.

-Gods how he loves your breasts.

-He kisses and licks, nibbles and bites, marks and marks and marks you all over your chest and ribcage, whispering words dripping in honey.

-"All mine, these are all mine, aren't they?"

-"Never going to get enough of these - enough of you."

-"I can hear your heart, baby. Need a break?"

-"Fuck you," you respond, your matching smiles and shining eyes giving away your infectious joy.

-He kisses your tits long enough to make your mouth go dry from hanging open so long, before finally making his way up to your throat, whispering "mine" along the column.

-Never leaving a mark.

-He kisses around your pulse, and sometimes you kiss around his as well, before finally recolliding his mouth with your own, and kissing you like a male starved. Mapping you like a cartographer exploding a new land. Rejoicing in the mix of your skin and your mouth on his tongue like a male on his knees in prayer.

-You would think just kisses from him wouldn't count as a quickie, but with how thoroughly and religiously and hungrily he does, you come close to release every time.

-The both of you counted it.

-On days when his cartography becomes too much to bare, or the ego in your chest roars at the thought of him getting you so close to release by just his kisses, your fingers finagle their way to the tent growing in his pants, and palm him through the leather.

-Azriel felt that, as long as your mouth was not on him, he could control himself. The bar of professionalism would be met, and the risk of leakage would be next to none.

-But you have never been one not to test a theory, especially in the name of science.

-You palm him so wretchedly ferociously and savagely that you can practically sketch the exact curve, vein, and girth of his bulge. That's how hard he gets through his pants. You wonder if there is any blood left for his brain.

-You even push him away from you and lick him through the leather, never enough to stain his pants, but enough for him to feel the heat of your tongue cupping his balls and dragging across his dick.

-Still, he never comes, not once; however, that didn't mean he didn't retaliate.

-On days when you'd suck him off this way, he strikes back like a true Illyrian warrior.

-Unforgiving, and calculated.

-He guides you away from him, and does the exact same thing to you.

-Fingers you through your pants, pressing the fabric so taught against your clit you thought you would explode, before pulling his hand away, and replacing it with his mouth. Licking your folds through the fabric, nudging your clit with his nose, devouring and consuming you through the protection of one tiny piece of fabric.

-The mix of heat and fabric is so delicious that, every time, he leaves you near tears.

-He pulls away from you slowly, makes sure you can stand on two feet, and with one last kiss to your cheek, he backs away from you.

-"Later," he whispers, one of his shadows drying the tears staining your hot cheeks. "I want more of you later. I want more of you always."

-You always somehow return to the task you were attempting to accomplish previously, mind puddy, hands shaking, and breasts deliciously sore.

Night

-So yes, Azriel likes to fuck you fast. Leave you wanting more. Drooling for him. Pooling on the floor. Left on shaking knees. Departing from you with only a few words.

-But his favorite, most beloved way to fuck you is to make love to you. Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you love.

-And that is how he does it at nighttime.

-But, I am getting ahead of myself.

-After long days of meetings, missions, planning, or even just boring paperwork, there is nothing he adores more than a quiet, serene dinner with you. He enjoys cooking the meal himself, usually making something one of you has mentioned having a recent craving for, and absolutely beaming when you finally walk through the door.

-You join him in the kitchen, and immediately wrap your hands around his waist, pulling him into a hug. He holds you close, breathing in the products in your hair, and kissing the top of your head.

-"How was your day?" you ask him.

-He's honest. Somedays he says "good," somedays he says "okay," and somedays he just sighs.

-You don't usually ask him to elaborate on those days unless you get the feeling that he wants to, but no matter what, he always asks you the question back.

-You are always honest with him too.

-After that, he finishes off dinner, and the two of you eat. Some nights it's full of conversations, sometimes superficial, like how the weather has been, but sometimes they're deep. Deep enough that sometimes he wonders if your words are able to reach inside of his brain and stroke it, hitting it exactly where he needs to be challenged, praised, or questioned.

-It was unreal every time, how well you knew him.

-Other nights, however, were coated in comfortable silence. Maybe you were both too tired to talk, or too content, or couldn't think of much to say. He never minded. If there was anything he could appreciate, it was happy, wonderful, comfortable silence. It was a sign that his day had come to an end, he had kept his Court and his people safe, and he had done at least something right.

-And what better way to bask in the safety of silence than with the person who knows you better than anyone, and the person you have more love for than stars in the sky.

-After the two of you have full stomachs, he always leads you to your shared bedroom by his arm, and pushes your chair in for you.

-Your face heats every time. Without fail.

-So does his.

-He leads you to the bedroom and kisses you once, twice, three times, before departing to take care of the dishes. He pictures how you make the mundane, simple task of getting ready for bed so godsdamn beautiful: your face cleaned, your hair refreshed, your breath newly minted, and your shoulders and jaw relaxed. A timeless beauty. A vulnerable sight, only for him.

-He finishes up and heads back to you, hands clean and soul at ease. He finds you already in bed; maybe reading, maybe writing, maybe already closing your eyes.

-He gets ready for bed himself, making sure his teeth and tongue are brushed thoroughly.

-Some nights, that is it. He joins you in bed and you drift off together, holding each other close at the beginning of the night, and closer in the morning. Smiles on your faces. Soft snores escaping you. Bodies breathing in sync.

-But not most nights.

-Most nights, after him joining you in bed, you pull him in, and kiss him so softly he barely feels it.

-But it's there.

-"Touch me, Azriel," you whisper, "and let me touch you."

-And he lets you.

-The kisses start soft, just lips on lips, before your tongue breaks his lips apart, and your bodies begin to warm up. Either he lays you down on your back or you push him down, either way, one of you gets on top of the other, and the two of you begin to do nothing less than venerate each other.

-So much kissing, so much feeling each other up and down; down each other's backs, across each other's faces, through each other's hair, across each other's stomachs, and so much breathing and groaning against each other's skin.

-This is all before a scrap of clothing comes off.

-When it does, however, Azriel undresses you like a nurse would undress a wound. Almost in slow motion, so he can take a peek at how every inch of your body looks that day. Maybe you gained a bruise, a scratch, a freckle, or a stretch mark. Either way, he wanted to make note of every inch of your body, memorizing every way your skin moved or wrinkled, your muscles flexed. He needs the image of you in his mind constantly updated.

-You do the same to him. Collecting every change in his body and adding them to his mental schema.

-When all of your clothes are finally off, and his mate stands before him completely raw, is when he begins to lose control of his mouth.

-"Gods, have you always looked like this?"

-"So warm, so soft."

-"How come every time I see you, I feel like I've spent my entire life blind?"

-His claim of never needing to resort to poetry holds true, but that doesn't mean he isn't damn good at it.

-After minutes and minutes of leaving hickeys, kisses, and indents on each other, so much so that both of your lower stomachs have begun to boil and your lungs are gasping for air, is when Azriel pulls away.

-"Can I?" he asks as he presses his forehead against yours, his hazel eyes glowing and his bulge pressed against your slick. You nod, smiling, and with one last kiss, he slides home.

-And fuck does he go nauseatingly slow.

-Even if you're on top, he ensures you pierce yourself with him with purpose, sliding his dick all the way in, all the way out, and all the way in, over and over and over.

-It was fucking heaven how well he fit in you, how he got you so wet you didn't even need to try, how deep his dick goes inside of you...

-...and how he has no qualms about never shutting the fuck up.

-Especially when you're on top - the view of you sliding him in and out of you, your body fully open to him to admire, and face at his disposal to kiss and whisper into.

-"My mate, oh my mate."

-"Right there, do you feel that? Fuck you take me so well."

-"My gods look at us, look at me in you."

-"You like that? Right there? I fucking love you. My mate. My love. My soul."

-As I said, poetry.

-One thing he never fails to take advantage of is the full-length mirror leaning against your wall, giving the both of you the perfect menu of angles to view yourselves.

-I think you know where this is going.

-"Look at us, baby. Look at us."

-"You're so fucking beautiful."

-"Look at yourself when you take me inside you."

-He goes on and on, drunk on the feeling of you, diminishing him of any sort of filter.

-I cannot imagine any reason you would want to shut up the most private, silent male in all of Prythian while he's sprouting sweet nothings to you, but if you do, there's one surefire way to do it.

-Reaching out your pointer and middle finger, only two fingers are necessary, and tracing thin lines down the veins in his wings.

-Never will you ever see him go so silent so quickly. His cheeks instantly redden and his voice escapes him. His cock begins to twitch inside you, his grip on either you or the sheets becomes so fierce his scarred knuckles turn a milk white, and his mouth falls open.'

-He becomes immediately and totally helpless.

-The two of you begin to fuck harder then, chasing the high the both of you are so close to, fucking into each other faster and faster and faster until finally you are coming on his cock, and he is spraying across your thighs.

-Finding release with a mate is different than any other - it is blinding, hot, and immeasurably pleasurable. It fills every vein in your body with a molten rapture, forcing you to collapse into his body, and his own to collapse onto yours. The bond within both of your chests throbbing in delight like a second heartbeat.

-After a few moments of you practically regaining consciousness, his warm, sweat covered body begins to move against you, making sure your head is comfortable on a pillow and your body is flat. He then presses kisses all across your face, etching a smile onto your face.

-"I still believe," he whispers against your temple, "that I will never get enough. I love you I love you I love you."

-The smell of sex and sweat vanquishes your nostrils as you stand up and head to the bathroom, Az's eyes burning holes through your skin.

-By the time you return, Azriel's arms are open to you, and you tuck yourself in. He holds you impossibly close, his miniscule chest hair rubbing against your cheek. His wings add a second layer of protection.

-Your body begins to fade, but your mind lingers a little longer to process one final statement whispered into your hair.

-"Gods, never allow me to be parted from her."

Taglist: (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

@leahkenobi @notquitehero @lovelyladymayyy@seraphqueen @em---r @azaideen @katiebellf @llovelydove @tinasbookishlife @xxpeachyxo @evlyncelia @icarusave @forever-paramore28 @peachyxlynch @feyretopia @wingedmiken @moonslattes @hollyismentallyillhelp @esposadomd @redhighlady @bsenpai-blog @buttercake2234 @perssepeony @whor-3-crux @avengerswhre @mystic-sculptorture @wolfyland7 @are-y0u-serious-blog @hilism @tooobsessedsstuff @simplysensual @hernameispa @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @i-am-fascinated @seraphimluxe @just-living5 @saphiraprince22 @azsazz​ @thatonespriteobsessedbitch​ @moisyinfluencerstrawberry @bigcreatorwombatdreamer​ @azsazz

#azriel x oc #huge azz #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf fanfiction #sjm books #crescent city #throne of glass imagines #cassian fanfic

[samkerrworshipper]

long distance | mapi leon x reader x ingrid engen

inspired by a prompt i got a while ago asking for a touch starved and anxious reader who’s been away from mapi and ingrid for a while and needs a reminder just how much the love her

no warnings just fluff n angst

There were a lot of pros of being a professional athlete. There were also a lot of negatives. Travelling fits into both categories, a lot of people would argue that travelling as a part of your job is awesome, especially when you're getting paid to. You agreed, travelling across the world to play soccer was pretty fucking awesome, getting to experience new cultures and different cuisine was one of your favourite parts of your job.

But being in a different country to your girlfriend for half of the year was pretty hard. Especially when you were a whole ocean away from each other.

Normally, you managed just fine, sure it messed with you a little bit but you managed, normally you’d get to see them every month or so with international breaks and weekends off, but it had been two months since you’d seen your other halves, and it had been starting to get to you.

A month was typically your threshold, so a two month stretch was a lot for you, especially with the busy Arsenal schedule that had you playing sometimes two games a week and training every other day you were being laid out thin, and it was starting to get to you. You started to get needy in the absence of Mapi and Ingrid, a weird mixture of distanced but also uncharacteristically clingy. You were grumpy, your typically never ending patience finding the end of its fuse.

Specifically you wouldn’t let Kim or Katie out of your sight, constantly attached at the hip to your teammates. You were aware it was annoying, and particularly problematic when you were a mixture of tired, hungry and touch deprived, that was when you were at your crabbiest.

You suspected someone had told on you, considering the rather lengthy text messages you’d been receiving from both Ingrid and Mapi expressing their worries about you, and letting you know that it was okay to feel a bit alone and that if you ever needed anything they were there. Not to say that you didn’t already know that, you trusted your girlfriends more than anybody, but it seemed that the longer you were away from them the more you seemed to feel like you were a burden to your girlfriends.

It was really fucking hard being the one who was always away, because you felt like you were always compensating for lost time. Mapi and Ingrid were always together, whereas you didn’t have that, you didn’t have the connection that they had on a daily basis, so every time you returned home to Barca, you felt like you had to strengthen that bond, that you had to work harder to make up for the lost time.

When the time finally did come around where there was an International break period you were a mixture of ecstatic and anxious. The final week in England had been a major struggle for you, to the point where Katie had to stay the week at your apartment because everyone was worried about you. You weren’t sleeping, or really taking care of yourself, too consumed by the ticking down days that were slowly getting you closer to the day of seeing your significant others.

You’d been dodging their calls as much as you could, you weren’t quite sure why but everything seemed harder when you were away from them, and seeing their faces was just the cherry on top.

It’s like when you get in the shower and you think the water is too hot but for some reason you don’t feel it. You just see the steam rising from your red skin and subconsciously you realise that it’s hurting you more to look at, so you take your eyes away and focus on the steam on the window and just go about your shower like nothings wrong.

Or at least that was what it felt like for you, like the more you saw and thought about Ingrid being together the more it actually hurt you, so you pushed it away for as long as your body could manage it.

When the day ticked over for Kim to take you to Heathrow you were at the end of your manageable threshold. You were tired and so deprived of everything that your whole life felt like an anxiously numb cloud that you were slowly drifting away on. Kim tried to talk to you, she even walked through the security with you and took you all the way to the gate like a six year old, you didn’t have to in you to protest and you got the vibe that if you did you would just end up with a really long and intricate lecture from Kim, which you couldn’t be bothered with, you were tired enough as it was.

You were just glad that the flights to Barcelona weren’t too long, so you could put on whatever shitty movie that had just come out and sit back and relax and ignore the fact that you were three hours away from being face to face with your girlfriends.

All you wanted to do was get there and makeup for lost time, go out to dinner, or do something that was the norm. You needed something normal, something just to make you feel like you weren’t a burden or a problem for your lovers.

When the plane did touch down you felt a surge of anxiety course through your veins, your body was too tired to even really feel it though, you could feel yourself forcing your body through the motions, picking up your bag from the luggage claim and the walking out into the Barca sun, trying to find a cab to take you to Ingrid and Mapi’s apartment.

You knew you could have asked them to pick you up from the airport, but you felt so wrong in doing so, like it was even more trouble to ask them to go out of their way to come and collect you. So you sat in the back of an uber, your knee anxiously jumping up and down as the car slowly winded through the different Barcelona streets, with every single kilometre driven slowly reeling you in closer to your final destination.

You’d never missed anybody more in your life than you had them. When you were away, there was an empty, Mapi and Ingrid shaped hole in your heart. Nothing or nobody would ever come close to filling it, and when you were away you were certain that it might never feel whole again. You felt like you were going to be sick, like everything was riding on you being okay and this interaction being okay. What if they thought you’d changed? Two months was a long time, and sure, the three of you had been dating for nearly two years, but that didn’t make it any easier. Your hands were absentmindedly toying with the rings on your fingers, silently twisting them as you pondered what your next interaction was doing to look like.

You were so busy thinking and playing with your rings that you didn’t even realise the car had pulled up to the front of the complex, until the uber driver was turning back to look at you and signalling for you to leave his car, so you did, you picked up your bag and your stomach, which you felt was about to fall out of your mouth and walked forwards into the lobby of the apartments and straight towards the elevator. You were genuinely worried about throwing up your stomach, it felt like all of your internal organs were crammed in your throat and it was seriously affecting your brain's ability to think and your ability to breathe.

You managed to make your way to the doorstep of the apartment, and managed to raise your fist high enough to knock on the door. You had a key, but you didn’t want to break in, not without warning.

You waited a few seconds, before you were rewarded with the sight of Mapi opening the door, her eyebrows shooting up as soon as she realised that you were standing in front of her.

“Princesse, come in!”

Mapi’s face lit up immediately, and it did wonders in easing your stomach and easing up the deep frown that had become so familiar to your face recently.

You allowed Mapi to usher you into the apartment, into the kitchen where Ingrid was sitting, her eyes lighting up similarly to Mapi’s when she noticed who had entered the apartment.

“Elskling! You’re here?”

You’d thought that you’d texted one of the women to let them know about your flights, but you weren’t sure, in hindsight you probably should have looked into that.

“Yeah I’m here, sorry if I’m disturbing anything, I thought I texted one of you.”

Ingrid stood up from her spot sitting at the island bench, a bright smile on her face as she got closer to you.

“Not at all, we were just about to head out and get lunch and maybe go to the beach for some recovery, but spending the rest of the day with you sounds like a pretty good plan to me, Maria min?”

You felt your throat close up, you were stepping on their plans, something that you most definitely didn’t want to do.

“If you had plans then we can do them, I’ve had a coffee so I’m feeling great and i don’t want to ruin your plans.”

Ingrid just shook her head at you.

“Nonsense, we’ll stay in for the day.”

It sat wrong with you, knowing that you were potentially wrecking their planned day.

“No, I seriously don’t want to wreck any plans, I feel up to it.”

Ingrid’s big smile turned into a little frown, as she finally broke the barrier between the three of you, her hand reaching out to your flustered face and brushing a piece of hair out of your eyes.

“Elskling, in the nicest way possible, you look wrecked, how about we get into some pjs and hop into bed? You look like you're due to catch up on some sleep.”

There was little fight left in your body to disagree with Ingrid, the Norwegians' deep frown of concern working wonders at bringing down your barriers.

“Ingrid I feel fine, I seriously don’t want to ruin your guys’ plans or be a burden, let’s just do whatever y’all had planned, I feel fine.”

Ingrid let go of a deep exhale, her lungs deflating as she looked you up and down, Mapi mirroring her concerned look from behind you.

“Bebita, Kim told us that you haven’t been sleeping, that you’ve been struggling, let’s just go to bed, yeah?”

You noticed the way that Ingrid’s hand snaked it’s way down from your face to your waist, pulling your body closer to her own, craving the contact that she was providing, and the skin on skin slowly pulling the refusal out from your body. You felt yourself flinch away from Ingrid’s touch slightly, your body so shocked by the unfamiliar contact.

“Baby?”

You could hear the hesitance in Ingrid’s voice.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m just not used to this, it’s been a long time, I forgot what it felt like to be in your arms.”

As soon as the words were leaving your mouth Ingrid’s arms secured around you tightly, like she was never going to let go. You could feel tears pooling in your eyes, the strength that you’d been holding up for so long just by the feeling of Ingrid’s thumb massaging against your hip bone.

“Never apologise Elskling, let’s get you to bed, hm?”

You didn’t even try to protest as Ingrid led you towards the bedroom, Mapi already in the bed waiting for you. Ingrid helped you onto the bed, before handing you over into Mapi’s arms, your body falling limp against hers as it absorbed the touch it had been desperate for.

“Hiya hermosa, it’s okay, we’ve got you, you're safe here.”

You felt the pooled up tears start to fall down your face, the warm water leaking down your face like a dripping faucet, steadily creating a little reservoir of water at the base of your chin.

“Oh bebita, it’s okay, I’ve got you, I’m here, what’s wrong?”

For you it felt like the whole world was wrong, like it was upside down and topsy turvy.

“You guys just love me too much, I’m so much trouble and you never get to see me and every time I am here I’m tired and a burden.”

Your speech was like word vomit, all of your insecurities just coming out in one go.

“Oh elskling, you’re not trouble at all. There is nothing Ingrid and I would rather do than sit around and look after you. God knows you need it after being in London for so long, you should have told us you were struggling, we would have come and visited you, even if it was just for a day. It’s human for you to need this, to need us. We love you whether you're tired or not, we couldn’t care less if our time together is spent going out or sitting in bed all day, as long as it’s with you elskling then that’s what matters the most.”

Mapi’s words only spurred your tears on, sending them ricocheting down your face.

“Oh bebita, it’s okay, Ingrid and I are here now, you're back where you should be.”

Mapi’s arms tightened around your body, bringing your head into her chest. Ingrid slid into the bed beside the two of you, a drink bottle and some paracetamol.

“Hey bebita, can you just drink some of this for me before you rest please, we don’t want you getting dehydrated.”

You didn’t want to, but you also didn’t have the energy to push it, so you took the bottle from Ingrid and took a tentative sip.

“More please elskling, at least a few more sips.”

You pulled your head from Mapi’s head, taking the offered pain relief and downing it with the sips that you took from the bottle. After downing a decent amount of the fluids you handed the bottle back to Ingrid, who placed it down on the bedside table before wrapping her own arms around you and embracing both Mapi and yourself.

You felt so safe with them, so secure, like every single insecurity or problem that you’d been dealing with in the last two months didn’t matter now, because you were in their arms, you were with them.

As you slowly drifted off to sleep you felt more at peace then you ever had, or more at peace then you’d ever felt in London, for whatever reason, when you were with the Spaniard and Norwegian every single external noise just went quiet, the world was peaceful, and they were the reason why.

Your happiness, your positive feelings all revolved around them, they were the sun and you were earth, just orbiting them and bathing in whatever sunlight that you could find.

#woso #woso community #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #mapi león #ingrid engen #mapi leon x ingrid engen #barca femeni #barca #mapi leon x reader x ingrid engen #little bit of fluff #love angst

[2rats1gogh]

I’ve never really seen anyone talking about this, but I noticed that one of the main reasons why I am team green is because team green feels like an actual team that is this whole thing together.

Team Green feels connected, united, like a family.

Team Black on the other hand is… meh.

And let me explain why:

Rhaenyra being delusional and thinking that Daemon is actually in love with her when he literally just groomed her since she was a child because he has always been after her title and now wants to be her king consort. They have one of the most toxic, creepy and problematic relationships in the entire fucking show.

Then there is the very awkward and uncomfortable moment of Rhaenyra and Daemon having sex on Laena’s funeral, while Rhaenys, Corlys, Baela, Rhaena and Laenor are mourning the loss of their daughter, mother and sister. How fucking disrespectful is this. And then the fact that they have Laenor “killed” just so they can get married and have their own perfectly blonde targaryen babies.

And Rhaenyra lying about Jace, Luke and Joff to everyone in her very own “team”, trying to gaslight not only Corlys, and Rhaenys but also her own sons into thinking they are trueborn, when even Jace himself. as a child, starts asking questions.

Then there are obviously Rhaenys and Corlys, who for some fucking reason neglected their trueborn granddaughters in favor of some dark haired white bastards their daughter-in-law is trying to pass off as their son’s children. Rhaenys is trying sooo hard to please her misogynistic husband because he so desperately wants his name to go down in history. Then the disrespectful betrothal of Jace and Luke to Baela and Rhaena. Rhaenyra is literally robbing these poor girls of their rightful claim to Driftmark and usurping them. And now, with Luke being dead, Rhaena’s claim dies with him.

Baela and Rhaena losing their mother, and now their father suddenly remarries, and has two blonde boys. Rhaenys losing BOTH her children and then seeing her son-in-law and daughter-in-law getting married soon after that.

Everyone in team black is after their own ambitions. They lie to each other, they don’t trust each other, they suspect each other in different things, they cheat on each other (with each other) and lie about it, they give each other forced ultimatums, and yada yada. All their scenes feel forced, tense, awkward and uncomfortable. They look so miserable with each other.

Team Green in this sense is the exact opposite.

Although their dynamic is far from perfect, obviously, you cannot deny that they care about each other very very deeply.

Alicent loves all of her children, and even while acknowledging their flaws, she still loves them.

Aemond might’ve been a little envious of Aegon, but he would never turn his back on him. He would never betray his brother, be would never try to take his crown from him.

Aegon was far from being a perfect man and king, but, as we know, it was his love for his family, and the fear of them getting hurt that made him a more responsible person and a more protective father, husband and brother. Sure, he is a cheater, but at least he’s honest about it and doesn’t lie to his wife. He is not a hypocrite.

Criston is working for Alicent not for ambition or for self-gain, but because he genuinely loves her, whether it’s romantic or platonic, doesn’t matter.

Helaena would never betray her family, her brothers, her mother. They are all she has. She would never switch sides even if given an opportunity.

And even Otto, arguably one of the main villains of the whole show, still loves his family. Sure, he is ambitious, but he would never become Corlys level of ambitious.

Team Green feels like they are fighting against the enemy all together, they have the same goals, they feel united and you can feel their devotion to each other. Especially after blood and cheese, when they become closer than ever. They’re in this together and only if they stick to each other, they can make it. It feels genuine and honest. They don’t hide anything from each other, they always have their loved ones’ best interests at heart, they would never in a million years betray each other. Yes, they are all doomed from the start, but their dedication and love to each other is truly something else.

#house of the dragon #hotd #asoiaf #pro team green #team green #anti team black #anti team black stans #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti rhaenyra #anti daemyra #anti daemon x rhaenyra #anti daemon targaryen #anti rhaenys targaryen #anti corlys velaryon #pro alicent hightower #pro aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #team alicent #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen

[buccini555]

𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲, 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲

𖥻 H e a d c a n o n s!

⁀➷ They react to you suspecting you are being cheated on after seeing them talking "affectionately" to someone else

↻ 𝑭𝒕. Manjiro Sano, Kazutora Hanemiya, Baji Keisuke, Mitsuya Takashi, Takemichi Hanagaki, Izana Kurokawa and Kakucho Hitto

𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐨

Manjiro would definitely feel uncomfortable knowing that you believed he would be capable of cheating on you

"What the fuck kind of guy do you think I am?" He would say upon hearing your words, no matter how much he was completely irritated by such distrust, he would try to maintain control so as not to hurt you, he would not betray you under any circumstances, and if he did, he would break up with you and let you know.

"I would never do that, I would never cheat on you, I don't know how you came to that conclusion, but, I wouldn't do that." He would try to find out what caused such distrust and change any type of behavior that was making you jealous.

𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐚 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚

Kazutora would be hurt by such distrust, as he never intended to cause you such "insecurity"

"Me cheating on you? What a bad joke, huh?" Kazutora would be incredulous at such distrust, since in his eyes he had done nothing wrong and everything was unfair.

"As much as I was offended by this, I understand... Tell me the reason for such distrust, I will change." He would take your jealousy seriously, Kazuto would never hurt you, hearing you distrust him really made him more aware of the way he behaved.

𝐁𝐚𝐣𝐢 𝐊𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞

Baji wouldn't take your distrust seriously, he wouldn't even care about your words since his conscience would be completely clear

"I know I'm not the best boyfriend in the world and I'm far from being, but cheating on you would be too much" Even though Baji was a bit of a difficult person to deal with, he was always extremely sincere in his words, Keisuke visibly became surprised and disappointed by such an accusation, he spent some time without talking to you, as the days went by he forgot about this incident, despite not having taken your distrust so seriously, he began to pay more attention to his own behavior.

𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢

Mitsuya would NEVER betray you, he would be worried about your distrust, so he would talk and be very clear with you

"Me betray you? I would never be that coward!" Mitsuya would say immediately upon hearing his words, he would try to remain calm at that moment, as he didn't want to make you hurt even more.

"I didn't enter into this relationship with you without purpose... I love you and I would never break our trust, tell me what made you think that, I'll change, I'm sorry!" Mitsuya would hug you and tell you as sincerely as possible, regardless of what caused you such distrust, he would change that fact.

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐤𝐢

As soon as he heard your distrust, Takemichi would become extremely agitated, he didn't betray you, but he felt like he had done something wrong without even having done it

"I didn't cheat on you, I'm sorry for making you think that!" In the midst of trying to hold back his tears because he thought you would break up with him even though he was innocent, he would beg for your forgiveness for having caused such mistrust, Takemichi would only calm down when you realized he was telling the truth.

𝐈𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚

Izana would be angry, sincerely disappointed with such an accusation coming from you

Izana would remain silent, just listening to you carefully, after finishing listening to his words, he would look at you with disgust.

"If you really think I would do that, you better get out of my life! You don't know me well enough..." He wouldn't react well to your words, Izana wouldn't betray you, he was deeply in love with you and hearing that It really affected him.

𝐊𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐨

Kakucho would not understand the reason for the accusation, but he would do his best to make you believe him and realize that it was all just a misunderstanding

"... I'm sorry, I don't want you to think that about me, I would never hurt you in such a way." He would say calmly, looking away as he was hurt by the rage of your words.

"I don't want to make you suspicious, this won't happen again." Kakucho would be more careful with his behavior, even though he didn't do anything wrong, he never wanted to hurt you.

#tokyo revengers manjiro sano #manjiro sano headcanons #mikey headcanon #mikey tr #manjiro sano #kazutora tokyo revengers #kazutoraheadcanons #kazutora headcanons #kazutora hcs #baji tokyo revengers #baji headcanons #baji hcs #tokyo revengers keisuke #mitsuya tokyo revengers #mitsuya headcanons #tokyo revengers takashi mitsuya #takemichi tokyo revengers #takemichihcs #hanagaki takemichi #izana headcanons #izana kurokawa #izana hcs #tokyo revengers kakucho #kakucho hitto #kakucho hcs #kakucho headcanons #tokyo revengers #tokyorev headcanons #tokyorevengersheadcanons #tokyorevengers

[undercoverpena]

vii. take care of me

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. smut - p in v. reader has a bad day, soft romantic fucking.

word count: 4.7k

an: the biggest thanks to @thetriumphantpanda who read this before bake off and left me a bunch of comments that made me so excited, you almost had this chapter yesterday.

You had seemed downtrodden before he rocked up and ‘broke a rule’.

His pretence at forgetting all quickly seen through, as though he’s transparent. He had wanted to explain that he had only wanted to cheer you up, but you looked less in the mood for an apology than you did an explanation.

So he swallowed both.

From the middle of the week, he had suspected something was wrong. When he had finally managed to call you, you had sounded so close to tears, that he wondered whether he should drive back sooner.

Especially when you had barely laughed at a joke he made on one of his commutes back to the hotel—barely even answering when he asked it if was his movie choice or yours.

I don’t mind. You always mind. If I remember right, you have a real thing about me always pickin’ the movie, querida. Well, I don’t today, okay? You can pick—I—Frankie, I have to go.

When the end call tone flooded the bed of his truck, he’d strongly suspected that you’d fought your way off the phone with him so you could crumble. Cracking yourself open into a bunch of shards, all pressure-cooked by the weight of everything you take on, only to say you’re fine.

It’s why he had driven past your place the day before he had made plans to see you. Fighting with himself about getting out and going up to your door. Weighing up the options as to whether checking on you tonight or waiting for tomorrow would be best.

Then there was the fact he wasn’t sure if it was as your best friend or as someone who hopes for something more.

The lines blurred, practically erased. A speech is likely needed, but he’s as poor with words as he is with owning how he feels, so it’s easier to stuff them down—to drive away, wait.

It’s why he grabbed it to begin with. Why he’d been grabbing them since you put the darn rule in place anyway. A habit, a part of his routine seeing you—a thing he did to show you that you mattered, were important, cared for.

Which is why he’d wrestled with him again on whether to leave it in the car when he walked up to your front door or not.

“You broke a rule.”

You look glum, defeated. Whatever your working week had done to you, it had stolen more from you than you’d been able to—never mind willing to give.

And it fractured a part of him. Made his shoulders sink, his heart sinks—because nothing hurt him more than the look on your face. The one which should be full of smiles and twinkling eyes.

Kissing your cheek, he closes your front door behind him. “I think you’ll forgive me.”

You just snort. Momentarily smothering the sadness that had been there before he’d showed you the bottle—whatever had upset you buried, all of it being quickly hidden as you placed the wine down and picked up your water bottle.

It forces more confusion to swirl inside of him, more so as you begin to go back and forth with him on food, on what he wants to watch, and whether he wants to share a blanket or have his own.

He replies in his usual tone, even if his attention is split into equal parts—one part focused on the little things you do, the mannerisms you’re not aware to pretend. The other on the IKEA furniture he built, the memories pricking him, needling, making the zipper of his jeans suddenly feel uncomfortable over his cock.

“Work been okay?”

Your mouth falls open, all set to answer, but then something shifts in your eyes. A shadow—possibly—it dancing across the plain, suddenly all but desperate to thump its way out.

Then the words never come. Swallowing instead, discarding whatever you'd been about to say—pushing it back before any lingering parts of it are blinked away as you offer a nod.

“Yeah. Yours?” you answer, but your tone isn’t right.

It’s flat, without its usual infliction. There isn't any edge to your words, nor a tease or taunt, not even a Morales in sight. And, the smile you paint doesn’t quite reach the eyes.

It’s practically humming now, the fact something is wrong. It simmers, hanging around, whistling through the air.

Yet, you don’t break, don’t confess it all to him like you had once done with such ease. Instead, you just smear another smile on your face, nudging him, phone in hand as you mumble about food options and what he wants as you lead him to the sofa.

He knows on the surface, it looks the same—how the night is playing out. But it’s different. In all the ways he doesn’t want to put his finger on, and doesn’t want to acknowledge. Not as you order food, not as you chew the inside of your cheek as you wait for the order to be accepted.

Even less so when you mumble about the film, reaching for your remotes.

It's then he decides what he wants to do is take the remote from your hand as soon as you pick it up. Frankie wants to hold your fingers in his, even place a kiss on your wrist. He wants to place two fingers under your chin, and ask you again to tell him what has happened—wanting to be let him in, be shared with.

He wants you close, and not like friends do. A need to have your head to his chest, his fingers sliding gentle strokes against your cheek and neck, offering comfort, providing it in plenty.

His own head turns the options over, planning it out, trying to guess what the various outcomes are. Which, by the time he reacts, instead of managing to grasp your hand, he knocks the remote from your hand with a clatter.

Ears burning, he feels your glare before he truly appreciates it. It ripples out over him before it’s blinked away—a momentary flood of fire licking at his skin.

In the oddest way, it’s at least reminiscent of the person he knows. The sharpness in your eyes is more a friend to him right now than the gnawing going on in his chest. Especially, while the rest of you is lost to whatever you’re trying to pretend doesn’t exist.

“What?”

It’s simple, one word.

Almost feels normal. It's all sharp and layered, just like it usually is. Followed by your body sinking into the array of cushions you decorate your sofa with as you pull up his pick, rolling your head to him—nail-picking at the battery cover on your remote.

And he wants to ask again—just like he always would have done.

Instead, Frankie places his hand on your knee, thumb and index swirling over the cloth-covered bone as you look at the television briefly, before flicking back to him.

In the silence, it’s louder—the whistling. It's suddenly accompanied by the noticeable noise of your brain whirring, your cogs turning.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, but secretly he's pleading, begging.

He watches as your teeth pick at your lip, snuggling yourself further into the couch—knee abutting his leg as you sigh. “It's... nothing. Can we... can we just watch the movie?”

“Hey, of course we can. Is…”

He can't ask.

Fearful of asking. A lump forms in his throat, sticking, thickening second by second as he flicks his eyes over you.

Before you can blink it away, he spots it again. The shift in your eyes.

This time instead of a shadow, they fill with water. They vanish any part of your truth that wished to escape in its drowning. Before he can poke and push, you blink it away as quickly as it had first arrived.

And it needles him, pricks at his skin and stabs into his chest, twisting and twisting and twisting—

“I just… wanted my best friend,” you mumble.

“That it?”

You seem to fight it, whatever it is inside of you, before you curl against his arm again, tugging your blanket up closer. “I really missed you this week, that's all.”

It’s been on his to-watch list for ages, and yet he’s one hour into it and he has no clue what is happening.

The pizza box is still half-open on the coffee table, your plate still remaining with picked-at food that you never really made any dent in, and he blames that as to why he doesn’t even know who the good guy is and who is bad.

Because all of the parts of his brain that usually begin working on undoing and arranging what he thinks will and is happening, are working in overdrive on you.

It's also stopping his heart from hammering even louder down your ear. Because, even if the two of you have cuddled before—lots of times—it's not been post the whole sleeping together thing.

And, it feels nice having you against him, normal, right.

He likes the way your fingers occasionally clutch him a little closer, head turned in the direction of the television and the movie he should be watching.

Instead, he's piecing together the puzzle you've thrown on the floor. The one without the box lid, so no image to compare it to. Trying to assess where you missing him, lines up with the way your bottom lip almost wobbled as you confessed it, as though it was a sin and not a virtue.

Frankie tries to line it up with the fact he knows whenever he's found a moment to himself, he’s texted you. The sea of other unread messages piling up, collecting.

It adds to the knowledge that all of the normal conversation he has with you, quickly derails, slipping into something foreign yet wonderful. Casual phone calls, divert into him with his hand around his cock, listening to you breathlessly say his name and that you wish he was there.

And that somewhere between collecting the sweet noises you make and those innocent-but-not-innocent moments, are the soft moments he has where you’re resting—where Frankie has realised, decided and accepted, that there is nowhere else he likes being.

Not a single place.

Because he wants this.

Frankie wants the calmer person he is when he's around you, the thoughts which are less intrusive. He likes that the rain barely bothers him when he has you in his arms, that he doesn’t even overthink, if anything he just plans. Considering things, turning them over, thinking of a future that begins to sketch itself out and colour itself in.

Something which has been doing so since the time in the car.

Your words rolling and rolling, stitching themselves to other phrases you’ve let slip, until he’s sewing things together to create a gallery, a museum of moments he loves admiring and replaying when the world goes silent.

That's when he notices the movie, the shit-show of a plan formed involving a helicopter, and the words roll from him without stopping.

"That would never fuckin' happen. Not—can you imagine, if I said to you—" and he rambles. Feels himself doing so. So comfortable and at ease more and more things just flow and fall from his lips.

Even when the scene changes in the movie, more bright light than the softer one from before, forcing him to blink—he is still detailing how inaccurate it is. Only slowing to nothing when he realises you’re looking up at him. Hanging on to every word as though he's a poet reading something beautiful.

He feels the way they tracing him then, lightly glazing over all his features as he slowly holds your stare.

Because it’s the kind of gaze he sees in the movies you make him watch. The lingering ones—a blend of both fiery and craving. It all peppered with yearning, and swirling in so much he suspects you don’t want to say.

“You’re going to miss the movie.”

Blinking, you smile. Feeling you flick your eyes from him to his mouth. “Am I?”

Your smile slides further into your cheek, and he can’t help but brush his thumb over it. A dire need to touch you, brush your soft skin and remind himself how you feel.

He doesn’t expect it, but he likes that you curl into his hand. It allows him to trace his fingers along your jaw, down the side of your neck. Half-expecting you to tell him to stop, that tonight isn’t about that.

You don’t.

Instead, your hand cups his against your cheek, staring at him, lit up by the flickering scenes neither of you are paying attention to.

Faintly, blooming out in the shimmer of your eyes, he thinks he sees it again—what he thinks is adoration. It mixing, blending, swirling with care, love…

“Thought you wanted your best friend?”

“I do,” you say, low, just above a whisper, “So, take care of me.”

A second passes as your words drip into the air.

So take care of me.

His eyes flick over you. Likely needing you to say it again, give permission, tell him you want this.

You do. Fuck you do.

Your heart hammering against your chest like a drum because of it. All unable to speak, fearful, fucking petrified, with how much you want him.

Because all you do is want him, and if you speak, you worry you won’t stop telling him that.

Let it fall, leak. Slip out and stain like oil on a sheet.

Because you know it's only normal to miss him this much for one reason, and one reason alone. It's the same reason why you want him, crave him, and feel so desperate for him that you can’t think or breathe. It is all-encompassing, looming, forever there in between the days you don't see him and the waiting on replies to texts.

It’s so close to your tongue, held back only by your teeth.

It could come out, could escape. So you keep your mouth clamped shut. It is better, easier, and less bothersome than telling him you’ve been counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you could have your hands on him. Not for this, not because he makes you feel good and beautiful and wanted, but because you feel better. Happier. More you. You feel safe, like no bad work day could ever touch you.

“Querida…”

“I want y—”

The rest of your words are swallowed, stolen. Frankie seals his mouth over yours, barely needing a sentence, just enough.

And it’s searing, full of ache as his hands pull you close, your body singing, itching to come alive—has been since the scent of just him hit your nose.

The worst of days doesn’t matter when he’s around you, less so when his lips marry to yours, when he licks into your mouth, when he breathes you in, and you breathe him.

No one else has ever made you feel like he does.

Not the way your feet almost kick out when his message arrives, a smile gracing your mouth without control when he calls you.

Because he’s different, but then he always has been.

There's always been something, it thriving and growing, embedding vines you pretend are just because you're good friends. But you know, you do. It's hard not to.

Frankie saves you, oblivious to the silent plea for rescue—he just knows. He gets you. Understands every inch of you now, you're unsure how anyone else can ever read you as well. He's someone you could confidently rely on, knowing he’d never leave you alone, not even in the dark—forever a light, a way home.

You think you’re that for him too. Hope so anyway.

He moans your name. Kissing you like he never wishes to stop. He acts like he wants to drown in you, be overflowed by you, and fuck you want the same.

Mine. That’s what you want to say.

Instead, you bury it in a low moan when his mouth captures yours, tongue sliding past your teeth as his hands come to rest on your cheeks. Each touch softer, gentler—from the way he moves his fingers over your cheek, to the way he slides them over your jaw, landing on your neck.

Then, his mouth comes to your ear, breath dancing, all flooded with the flickering television—let’s go to your bed.

He doesn’t rip, he peels your layers off, leaving a trail leading right to your room. He smothers your body with his, his palm remaining flat to your spine, leading, hooking his fingers around the back of your neck as he steers you.

Careful, hermosa.

The consideration dripping from his lips like syrup, all adorned in affection, a taste you have to capture, spinning in his hold, hooking your arms around his neck as you pull him flush, close.

“Tell me you want me,” he hisses.

There's an edge that isn’t usually there but it’s pounding now, all sparkling and fucking shimmering.

You’re more sure of it when he lies you back on your sheets, his mouth exploring, taking his time, taking you to the edge with his mouth as you plead and plead—one hand sliding up over the softness of your stomach, as your back arches into him.

And you shudder, so close to your high—hips held down by his arm. “I want you, Frankie. Always want you. Want you inside of me.”

He pauses—cool air blowing over you as he flicks his eyes up from between your thighs, his skin flushes, a light beading of sweat at his hairline as he comes up onto his palms.

Watching him crawl up you, eyes enamoured, unable to look anywhere else even if they were commanded to. Because he’s more than a sight for sore eyes, he is the sight. He’s the best-looking thing you’ve ever fucking seen, clutching his face in your hands, feeling him drag the head of his cock through your slick walls, staring at you in waiting, like he couldn’t believe this is happening.

“Again,” he asks.

Taking your hand in his, he slots his fingers between yours, fitting, ever so perfectly, before he places your conjoined hands above your head. Eyes tracing up and down your frame, more so as you arch into him, hearing the breathed-out expletive as you wait for his stare to land.

“I want you.”

And, thankfully, Frankie doesn’t let you linger on it. Doesn’t allow you to hyper-focus on it, slowly sliding in, pushing in by inch until you’re full of just him—no more of him left that you can greedily take.

“Always take me so well, baby—“

“Frankie.”

You’re breathless. The air punched from your lungs—his hand remaining knotted in yours, grounding, your nails digging into his skin as his other hand finds a place on the back of your thigh, eyes dropping, all fixated on where the two of you are joined.

“Y'so good for me. Always so good for me,” he adds when his hips are flush with yours. “Take my cock so well.”

Letting his gaze return to you, you’re suddenly so grateful for the bedside lamp you’d left on hours ago because now you get to see him. Admire him, so much so, it makes your throat dry.

Able to watch his muscles contort when he moves, lips parting as he slowly cants his hips into yours, all deep strokes.

And, you know it’s still fucking, but it’s also not.

It’s a unique blend of need that feels right, and also wrong—lips messily finding yours, burying confessions as you eagerly swallow them.

Hoping your throat, lungs or stomach could begin to decipher them as you feel his hand slide down your wrist, and arm until it's cupping your face. His lips slide over your cheek, resting close to your ear, whispering compliments. Because he has to tell you that you’re gorgeous, he says; that you're always so stunning.

Each word that lands has more than an effect on you, as he stutters when you clench around him.

Mouth wrapped around an exclamation of his name as he slides out and sinks back into you.

Frankie has always felt big, but from this angle, like this—he’s somehow deeper, filling you more. He's in your soul. It all filthy and romantic and obscene, but it feels so good, makes heat bloom through your hips and up into your spine, it twisting, eroding the bad day, the bad week.

In a sense, he’s the perfect antidote. A person you trust, care for, lo—

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

Frankie’s hand slides back to grip yours, pressing it down—lightly against the pillow above you, before placing the other beside it. And he’s enveloped in part shadows and the light from the table, blessed in golden hues, giving just enough to see how wild his eyes are and how deep the brown in them goes, how blown his pupils are.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?”

You feel your cheeks warm, your ears—every bit of skin on show suddenly inflamed because of his words. His mouth lapping at your breasts, all arched into him, hips steadily meeting his.

“Always are, really.”

“Well. You’re handsome, Morales.”

It’s intentional, adding his surname. Taking the softness out of it, removing what you can, and adding barriers and throwing up walls.

He still sucks in a breath, eyes lingering on yours, fingers dropping to brush a line up and down your cheek as he continues to slide his cock in and out of you. You moan as the head of him keeps kissing that part deep inside you.

It’s different.

You know it; he likely does too. Thankful he slants his mouth over yours. Slowly rocking with you, thrusting into you as you murmur his name, it falling enriched in moans.

From the way you both kiss, to the way you keep an arm around his neck, desperate to keep as much of him against yours.

“You feel so good, Frankie.” Your fingers scratch at the base of his neck. “Always make me feel so full.”

Stuffed really. Packed in. Clenching around him, all tightening, purposefully wrapping your walls around him until he groans right into your ear. Each drag of his cock in and out feeling exquisite, perfect, amazing.

It’s never been like this with others, never been like this even with him. His fucked out face, the grunts and groans coming from deep within make your thighs unable to stop their twitching as fire floods up your spine and the way he plunges you in lust-filled brown.

And you clutch his face, feverish from him, quivering, shaking. Burying the words, “So close, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m close baby,” against his mouth.

Pressing each letter in, stamping it—ensuring he knows it’s him doing this to you. Making a mess of you. The only person you ever want to make a mess out of you.

It thumping inside of you, hammering—all balled up fists and desperation because you want to tell him. Shout it at him. Paint the walls in it as he paints yours in white.

“Need you, Frankie.”

It’s close to the truth. Barely an inch from it.

“I know, need you too. Need to feel you come around me, hermosa. I need it, please. Please give it to me. Let me feel—fuck—feel you coming around my cock.”

And you hear it, the way he pleads—as well as realise the double meaning. You in the car, whispering words so close to the ones he’s spilling now.

“I will if you stay.”

He doesn’t still, but he does jolt. A hesitation in his pistoning.

Then he drops to his elbows around your face, cradling you, caging you in, as he kisses you—sloppily, messily, sweetly. It’s soft, but also full of heavy moans he wishes to force down your throat. It’s indulgent, a thing you never thought you’d have so now you take as much of it as you can get.

“Course I’ll stay. Never—fuck—anywhere I want to be but here, baby. Nowhere else.”

His eyes fix on you, digging the words in.

And, even if you knew it before, you realise how under your skin he is. How he’s woven in around tendons and ligaments, found a home, left marks against your bones you never want to rid.

You’re sure it’s that and not the words which make everything else mute.

Even if it’s all you can hear. Not the television in the other room, not the headboard clattering against the wall, not the sounds you’re making each time he drags his cock through your walls.

Just his words. Whatever he blesses you in. Your thoughts are all incoherent other than that. All shaky, practically vibrating; all gasping and torturous heavy heat, all unable to breathe and yet never wanting any of this to stop.

His hand slides around your thigh, pulling on your knee, bringing it closer as his grip almost grows bruising on you. He’s deep. Fucking into you so hard, hearing the concoction of his hisses, gasps and moans, before his mouth lands back on yours.

It’s overwhelming. The height you’ve reached, the way your mouth is only able to say his name as you watch him lick his thumb and distinctly feel it slide between the two of you. Finding it. Barely struggling to press the pad of it to your bundle of nerves before you lock up, the knot tightening, almost ripping inside of you.

It fraying from how much you’re fighting it, so close to bursting—

Then he draws quicker circles, all persistent, expertly, and you snap.

It surging, all white-hot, all blistering and mind-melting. You become both light and heavy all at once, your nails finding purpose in his side and your sheets, twisting, knotting to root yourself in this, in him—in how much you fucking love him.

“Fuck, querida—that’s it.”

You can’t respond, can’t even think up a response, but you do yank his mouth to yours. Pressing those three words there, laying them down, as well as thanking him, over and over until you slide your mouth against his cheek.

“Be good for me now, Frankie.”

His eyes flick to you, all ablaze and engulfed in want. And so you nod, knowing he can see it, feel it.

“Look so good, baby,” you add.

The noise is strained that comes from him, all sucked in breath. Then, his hips stammer, convulsing, all strangled, tightly entangled in a mess of your name and fuck.

And you kiss him.

Happily licking into his mouth to taste how delicious his moan is.

You try to fight the way your heart drops when you return from using the bathroom. Biting the inside of your mouth as you see the bed empty, sheets a mess, your throat swallowing back whatever sob wishes to escape.

Because the edges of your happiness crumble, your arm wrapping around the other, bottom lip almost wobbling.

That is, until you feel his hand on your lower back. Your head turns quickly, seeing him there. All hair-wild, and soft smile.

“Water, baby?”

Smiling, you thank him, taking several sips before handing it back to him, watching him do the same. Studying the way his throat bobs as he does, the faint marks of your mouth still lingering there on his skin.

“C’mon,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. “Let’s get in bed.”

“Oh, but the—“

“I’ve sorted it. Turned it off—folded the blanket, put the plates in water.” His hand wraps itself around yours. “So, let’s sleep.”

All you can muster is an okay. It leaves soft, slightly webbed at the edges from the way it catches on the growing lump in your throat.

It isn’t until you’re curled against him,

“Is this okay?” you whisper.

He lets out a laugh, little and breathy. “More than okay, hermosa.”

Guiding your leg to hook over his. Keeping his body flush as the two of you cuddle. His thumb swipes across your cheek, forehead close to yours as his fingers fan out over your hip, and he presses a kiss to the space between your brows.

You’re pretty sure your heart just tripled in size.

And those three words, the ones which have amassed into a chunk in your chest have suddenly begun pulsing all on their own—a beat completely separate, you find, to the one which pumps blood around your body.

CHAPTER EIGHT ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #jo: iltwy #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

[fairydares]

loook i get why the idea of riding the "anti/pro" fandom disk horse makes people gag a little in their mouth and try to opt out entirely, but here's why i went from feeling exactly the same way to taking a firm profiction stance. I've been meaning to make this post for a while.

~10 years ago, I posted a fic for the first time and it got its own harassment campaign. The fic wasn't even sexual, and wasn't going to be (it remains incomplete). It was accurately rated T on fanfiction.net. Anyone in the Fairy Tail fandom will understand this: I literally got harassed for writing a "Lucy leaves the guild" fic💀.

After many nice comments, someone left a pretty nasty one. Hurt, I messaged them back. They acted super attacked that I'd responded (lmao) and after we argued, threatened to "rip my shitty story apart in the comments section" if I responded again. I told them "go ahead lol."

They went ahead.

Now know that it was a relatively small harassment campaign, but at the time, it was devastating. Right around then, I wound up in the hospital. After I got out, I went to excitedly check my fic, and found several reviews saying things I wouldn't repeat to my worst enemy. I was suicide-baited more than once, told "thank fuck you finally abandoned this shitty story, dumb cunt," stuff like that.

There were several accounts involved, and I can't say for sure, but I suspect at least a couple different people were involved, though probably at least half of it was one person.

All the other comments were screeching about how I hadn't updated, mostly. "NO UPDAAATEE WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS TO MEEEE??!!!" was one that stood out after I'd been miserable in a hospital for an extended period of time.

Idk what people think is going on when FT fic authors write this trope, and frankly I don't give a fuck. Because while I was partly writing the story out of some young, cringe feminist rage, I also did genuinely have a real story I was compelled to tell. I was inspired by another, popular fic I loved which used the trope to talk about how trying to shoulder our burdens alone really just hurts both ourselves and everyone who cares about us.

My own story was ultimately going to have similar themes, with more focus on strength, what it means, and in what contexts earning and having it actually matters. In retrospect, no wonder I wound up in hot water, because at the time "Lucy vs. Strength vs. Misogyny" was the FT fandom's Designated Nonsensically Activist Debate™. But that's partly why i wanted to write about it; engaging with the fandom had gotten me thinking about it 🤷‍♂️

Not too long after that, FFNet oh-so-benevolently granted us the ability to delete comments from our own stories (they never took my reports seriously at all, afaik). I deleted all or most of the harassers' comments (may still be a one or two up, and i'm fairly sure there's a couple comments defending my fic from the harassment) without saving screenshots, which I really regret now. I was just so mortified and full of self-loathing about the whole thing that i wanted to forget it completely. Something that had brought me joy at a very lonely, vulnerable period of my life had turned so negative, and i couldn't even tell the people closest to me about it without being made fun of for writing anime fan fiction.

I didn't understand why this happened at the time, but--after a period of trying to forget/bid out of it all with a slight anti lean (a common approach I see people use, and one which I'm not proud of adopting)--I just had to figure out What the Fuck Even Happened There. And I'm telling you, after years of reflecting, wrestling with both sides, and educating myself, that this goes way deeper than you think and comes out of a way darker well than you probably realize. An astonishing amount of this is, quite literally, TERF shit and evangelical shit.

Trying to be in fandom and take a stance of, "Anti/Pro shit? Ew, I'm Not Touching that," is like swimming in a heavily polluted river and being like, "Poison? Cringe. Not me lol."

You might be lucky enough to be in a less-polluted part of the river (AKA a relatively non-toxic fandom, in which case good for you!)...but tbh this rhetoric and peer-signalling will still seep in.

I can't stress enough that pro-fiction, AKA "proship", is the normal, leftist-about-art-and-sex opinion. Pro-ship is against all the horrible things you're against; in fact, pro-ship isn't trivializing real trauma by equating it with fictional trauma, or trying to apply literal evangelical/radfem solutions--which are proven not to prevent or help. Profiction/proship is literally just saying, "Fiction is fiction, reality is reality, and the two don't have a 1:1 relationship. And historically, trying to censor just things we've decided are bad has done nothing but get LGBTQ+ and POCs censored. Therefore, depictions of illegal things shouldn't be censored." That's it. "Proshippers all ship problematic ships," is a brazen lie. Many of them share other fans' disgust for those ships, they just don't believe in censoring fic authors over it.

It is also taking a stand against harassment because--and I hope my own story has helped drive this home--as with all groups who adopt ingroup/outgroup thinking, antis are defined by their tactics, not actual stances on real, serious issues. What happened to me was absolutely a result of anti, "it's okay to 'bully out' anything I just don't like" mindset pervading fandom. In a way, this was the mindset's final form. They didn't even feel the need to cite a reason the trope was "bad" or "wrong"; it annoyed them, and they viewed their own feelings as a valid enough pathway for policing to go right ahead and do so.

In the interest of offering solutions instead of just bitching about problems, I might make a "how to know if you've bought into these types of views"-type post sometime. Also might come back to this and provide some sources/citation.

#cw harassment #tw suicide-baiting #tw hospitalization #posts i actually wrote #fairy tail #nalu #fandom #fandom meta #proship #pro fiction #anti-censorship

[serickswrites]

I Care

Warnings: captivity, physical violence, restraints, drugging, creepy/intimate whumper, yandere, suicide, faked suicide, fake blood, presumed dead

Whumpee came to slowly. Their head was pounding and their mouth was dry as cotton. What happened? Where am I? Whumper! The thought had Whumpee starting awake.

"My love, you are awake," Whumper whispered into their ear, lips gently brushing the shell of their ear. "I am so glad."

"Wha," Whumpee had to clear their throat to get the words out, "what didjou do?" Where did you take me? Where is Caretaker? What have you done?

"What needed to be done," Whumper said coolly. "Really, I thought you would be happy, we're together, just like I promised we'd be. I always keep my promises."

What needed to be done? Oh God. Caretaker! "Caretaker?" Whumpee said as they realized they were restrained in a bed. Memories of the moments leading up to Whumper taking them flooded Whumpee. They had opened the door, expecting Caretaker, but found Whumper. They opened their mouth to scream, but Whumper came at them, punching their mouth, boxing their ears, and then grabbing them and......a sharp prick and then nothing.

"Oh they're alive, Whumpee. Don't worry. I wouldn't kill them. Though that would have made my life much easier," they said in afterthought.

Whumpee sighed. Caretaker's alive. They'll find me. They always find me. "They'll.....hunt....you." Their mouth was still dry, the words stuck like glue to their tongue.

Whumper giggled. "They're not going to come looking for you. I made sure they wouldn't."

Whumpee's heart pounded in their chest. They tried to free their hands, but the silken ropes bound them so tightly. "What didjou do?"

"I faked your death. At your own hand of course. That way Caretaker will never suspect me. And you and I can have all our time together. Just like I've always dreamed."

Faked my death? Suicide? I would never! Images of Caretaker's grief filled them, the pain so palpable. They think I'm dead. They think I'm dead. I'm not dead. They think I hurt myself. I would never. I could never hurt them that way. "Why?" Was all Whumpee managed to croak.

"I'm doing this because I care about you, Whumpee. More than anyone else." They cupped Whumpee's cheek and stared into Whumpee's eyes, a maniacal gleam filling their own eyes. "I care so much about you, Whumpee, that I will do anything to take care of you. Even if it means making sure no one will know you. No one will come for you. It's only you and me."

Whumpee spat in Whumper's face. It was the only thing they could do, they were bound to the bed so tightly. "Fuck you," they hissed.

Whumper winced as they wiped the spit off their face. They reached into their pocket and pulled out another needle. "I think you just need some time to think about how great our time will be with no one to interfere."

Whumpee tried to roll away. Tried to free their hands. Tried to do anything to avoid the prick of the needle. But it was in vein. As Whumper stabbed their neck with the needle and depressed the plunger, flooding their body with a potent sedative, Whumpee realized that until Whumper trusted them, until Whumper believed they wouldn't try to escape, they would remain tied to the bed.

I will get out of here. I will get back to you, Caretaker. Whumpee made their silent vow as they began to slip into the deep sea of unconsciousness. I will get back to you. Caretaker. I love you. Please, don't give up on me.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw physical violence #tw drugging #creepy/intimate whumper #tw suicide #tw faked suicide #tw fake blood #tw presumed dead #tw yandere whumper #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump day 23 #febuwhump day 24 #prompt: presumed dead #prompt: “I'm doing this because I care” #queue

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

On the topic of people I haven't written about. I have...many feelings when it comes to Mingyu. Homeboy was my first bias in Seventeen lol. This was heavily inspired by his Nephew TV episodes with Jeonghan. I thought about writing something involving Jeonghan but, I realised I haven't written anything for Mingyu yet so, voila. I also like how everyone just agrees that Mingyu would be great dad lol.

Heads up: Kim Mingyu x Fem! Reader, unprotected piv sex, Big dick! Mingyu, breeding kink, Mingyu is a caring sweetie, reader thinks Mingyu being a good dad is hot pretty much lol, this ended up being softer than I anticipated, established relationship (they're married with two children). I wasn't kidding when I said Kim Mingyu makes me feel some type of way.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Watching your husband with your daughters always made a deep warmth settle into the very fibre of your being. Seeing your three favourite people together was a sight you've come to cherish deeply, if the hundreds of photos of them on your phone were anything to go by. There was something also so incredibly attractive about just watching him be a dad. Getting them dressed for the day, making adorable lunchboxes for them, putting them to sleep are just a few examples of the things he did, and took pride in doing, for your girls. The butterflies were especially bad when he'd hold them, carry them and play with them. You suspect your husband knows how this effects you because sometimes he'll send you a knowing smirk when you're staring at him a little too long. It was one of those knowing smirks that got you in your current predicament.

Even with three orgasms and making sure he stretched you out on his thick fingers, Mingyu makes sure to be careful when he aligns his cock with you and slowly sinks in. It's no secret that he's a huge man, in every sense of the word, so he tries to be careful when he first enters you. You think it's sweet most of the time, him still being concerned after being intimate for years but, right now you're more frustrated than anything else. "Mingyu, babe, I'm okay. You don't have to be so careful," you pant out, fingernails dragging into his back as he splits you open inch by agonising inch. He stills for a moment, hesitance clear in his eyes, his cheeks a slight red and his inky hair sticky to his sweaty forehead. If your legs weren't partially jello from all the orgasms he made you take earlier, you'd push him down and ride him until both of you couldn't move. He just looked so cute and his concern did warm you. It's been awhile since you two have had the time and energy for sex, between work, the girls and taking care of the house. You know he gets a little extra cautious when it's been awhile. "Are you sure?" He asks just to be certain, gently stroking your hair. You don't know why but, the gesture chokes you up for a moment. You just love him so much. "Yes, I'm sure. I'll tell you if gets too much, okay?" You reassure him, rubbing his back and trying to hold as still as you realistically can half stuffed with his cock. He still looks unsure but, he knows you'd tell him in a heartbeat if he was doing anything to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. With that, he pushed the rest of the way into you until he eventually bottomed out. It's hard to tell who moans louder at that moment. His hands shifting to grip your thighs firmly and, yours digging into his back so hard you're fleetingly worried that you may draw blood. "Always so tight for me. So good," he groans low into your ear, slowly stroking into you. You keen at the praise, holding him as close as possible before meeting him in a messy kiss. It's all tongue and teeth and spit, moaning into each other as he picks up the pace. "You're so deep," you moan out, tears springing to your eyes when he angles his hips just right while fucking into you. "Yeah? You love taking this big cock, don't you, baby? Love when I fuck y-you stupid," he groans out, his own eyes rolling into the back of his head with how you try and milk him for his cum. "Maybe I should fuck another baby into," he says, sounding almost delirious on desire. You clench around him hard at that, barely able to form a coherent thought, let alone utter an actual word in response to your husband. You love when he gets like this. All arrogant and lost in pleasure with you. Chasing nothing but your respective releases. "M-Mingyu p-please," you beg, you're not sure for what but, his answering smirk makes it seem as though he's well-aware of what you want. Moving down to take one of your sensitive nipples in his mouth, his other hand moves from where it has imprinted itself on your thigh and, begins to draw quick circles on your swollen clit. The reaction is instantaneous. Your orgasm rips from you before you even realise what's happening. Mingyu has to move quickly from happily sucking and nipping at your nipple to kissing you so, you don't wake the girls. Swallowing your hoarse cries and tasting salt on your respective lips from the tears that falls from your eyes. "F-fuck, cumming," is all the warning you get before you feel him pulse violently inside of you and fill you with his cum. If you hadn't already cum so hard you almost blacked out, hearing, feeling and seeing Mingyu fall apart would have easily sent you over the edge. Your quiet panting fills the air. The scent of sex and sweat permeating your bedroom but, you're both too spent and pleasantly wrung out to start cleaning up just yet. Content to cuddle for atleast a few moments before the discomfort settles in.

#kim mingyu smut #kim mingyu #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #seventeen #minyu smut drabble #mingyu smut fuc #seventeen smut drabble #seventeen smut fic #mingyu #this was a pain to post #tumblr has been a bitch today when it comes to posting for some reason #either way enjoy my lusting after kim mingyu #I'd like to think there's a reason he was the first bias lol

[fangirltothefullest]

Saw your post about the fandom, and wanted to stop by and say hi! It actually was nice to see that pop up on my dash, cause a lot of people are getting really negative about the waits, and I've seen it get kinda nasty. So seeing you be so genuine about enjoying it is really nice to see. I'm always open to talk about Sanders Sides, though, it's still one of my favorite things even after all this time.

ME TOO! I love it so much and I think... well as a Content Creator myself, I know how hard these past few years have been for me and I am not surprised at all that it's been hard for him and his team so I can be impatient and want more content but also... I can't be mad. A little peak into my brain coming and I apologize if that wasn't what you were looking for but-

I had to close commissions and my own patreon because I had to get a job that could actually support me, and had a TON of personal stuff happened to me and my family IRL that affected a lot of my online presence.

As a consequence I don't post art NEARLY as much as I used to and I found myself feeling EXTREMELY upset about it. I used to even livestream art, can you believe it? 8U

And I sat there worrying I'd never post art again because of the burnout and stress..... and I thought everyone who liked my stuff may leave. Because that's happened before- I was a product, a machine to pump out free stuff for people to enjoy, and when the product stopped coming, people just left. That's SO hard to face as a creator, ESPECIALLY when you are trying to GENUINELY provide your art and works pretty much for free and you're already going through traumatic stuff IRL behind the screen.

To see people getting SO angry with the content that HAS been provided hurts me more than the wait and it's not because I put the man on a pedestal it's because I humanized him. I had a shit few years and so did he. Would it have been nice for him to be like 'hey I need to go on a break for a while I'm sorry', hell yeah but I didn't either. I posted every so often about Going Through It and kicking myself privately because I could barely sketch on paper, much less muster the courage to do a digital piece, but I didn't tell people wehat I was going through until later and even then a lot of my life is private and I haven't disclosed stuff because... it's personal, it's private. Online space isn't supposed to be privy to all my secrets and stuff you know?

So when I see people nitpicking the plushie episode because it's also doubled as an ad for the toys, I want to growl and bite and hiss because it's STILL an episode with an actual PLOT; it's not like the crofters ads. FWSA, the cartoon one, is a 24 minute ASIDES video and was LITERALLY given to us during Covid when EVERYTHING ELSE was shut down. Have I Grown is an hilarious video that also somewhat recaps but less episode recap and more personal sides recaps- seeing how their current mental state is. The Wes Anderson one is literally a Season Recap episode. We got a fucking Janus Cover of an OtGW song and they're all in their casual clothes and that song is about pretending everything is ok just for a littler while and it's STILL technically plot related. WTIT is a fucking ASIDES video that's 28 minutes long AND HAS PLOT! AND THE CANON CONFIRMATION OF THE SUSPECTED ORANGE SIDE!!! Incorrect Quotes was a way for us to see them being silly and lighthearted and so is The Sides Need A Nice Day!

I just- that's a lot more content than I think people realize. Yes he has a full team but that doesn't stop the stress or the burnout, especially when half your fanbase is saying how terrible you're being not being faster.

Not to mention the bloopers and the Gavin Sides and the entire episodes of Roleslaying AND a cartoon therapy have all come out AND he was part of a few song collabs too.

I just.... I can't imagine going through the stresses I went through and how much it would hurt me to provide that much stuff and still have people angry. Do you know how much I've done since Covid? Not nearly as much in terms of BIG PROJECTS.

Sorry if this came off as a rant, I'm just so passionate about this show that I love to much! >//<

#sanders sides

[utilitycaster]

Could you elaborate on that Orym-grief post? I find it interesting and I love ur character meta

Sure! The main thesis, is, well, the post: Orym has a healthy attitude towards his own grief and deals with it well, but isn't good at handling how the party feels. And, secondary to that, the fandom tends to flip this around in their perception of Orym.

Orym is very aware he is grieving and that this will be a life-long thing. He misses Will and Derrig very much and their absence is a hole in his life. He also has built a life around it. It's a process, certainly, but a process he trusts. He allows himself to feel his feelings (the gravesite sequence in Zephrah), but he also very much wants to live out his life (the feeling of failure when he died, his general enjoyment of things). He's a relatively subdued and quiet person, but he clearly finds a lot of joy in life.

The thing about grief is that it's a unique sort of pain, because there's really nothing to be done about it, and it is, typically, something that will always be there. The process is to find a way to live with that absence and make space for it while also making space for new things. It's an important lesson! It's also not how you should deal with other problems, because it's not really solution focused (or rather, the solution is "it is what it is, and it really hurts, and eventually, time will make it hurt somewhat less though it will flare up in specific situations.") For more on this: Caduceus covers very similar territory; his understanding of grief is incredibly strong, and his understanding of other problems often falters.

With grief, the answer for the living is ultimately "keep going," and that's the thing with Orym: he sure does keep going. But I think it leads him to push past things without stopping to unpack and solve them, because in his case (a guy with a great mother, a happy upbringing, a career he enjoyed, and a loving marriage, who then experienced a devastating loss) the answer really was "yeah, it really hurts that my husband and his father, who was essentially the only father figure I had, were senselessly murdered in an attack on my home. But let's put one foot in front of the other."

However, this is not actually great advice for much of Bells Hells. Several of them genuinely have conditions that lead to a complete loss of control and self that could harm or kill others, and they are at varying levels of dealing with it, potential to the peril of others. Orym notes that Fearne's impulses might put the party at risk, but he never does anything to address it other than say "hey, we need to work together." He even skirts around it himself! I think it's valid for him to approach Fearne to have a backup plan about Imogen potentially joining the Vanguard, but he says his piece and then goes and does that in private instead of fully hashing out why she'd say this in front of the people who were murdered by them, which means the root causes are never addressed. A lot of this party needs to be told both "hey, your feelings here are really valid and you should express your anger" and "hey, get your fucking shit together once you've done that." Orym tends to treat them either like they're grieving (a gentle "hey, we need to keep going, we need to get back"), or treat this like a group endeavor without delving into the individual.

I really suspect the reason we are having such a massive blow up right now is in part because this party has, for so long, been told "hey, your shit? It could ruin it for the rest of us, and we're a team," and Ashton very much went against this. I would not, frankly, be surprised if Imogen (for example) is angry not just only Ashton, but also generally, that she pushed down her stuff and maybe didn't make more efforts to contact her mother and work through that.

Essentially, Orym is really good at smoothing things over just enough to keep everything on task, but eventually, if the gear is broken, no amount of grease can keep it from jamming, and that's what just happened here with Ashton. This is what only repeated quick fixes and no preventative maintenance looks like.

(As for why the fandom thinks the opposite? I personally blame that most putrid - in several senses - belief, that conflict is always to be avoided, mixed in with a longstanding really toxic and genre/medium-ignorant attitude towards death and grieving. I think this goes hand and hand with the really pervasive attitude early on that Bells Hells were so open and honest instead of the truth: it was just a pleasant veneer.)

#answered #puffinator-0 #cr tag #orym #posts that are part of my grand theory of cast dynamics

[umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken]

In conclusion, FUCK rhysand

Currently up to ACOMAF, and I just finished the part with Rhysand's exposition justifying his actions UTM, this scene in particular pissed me off beyond measure. I already hated Rhysand in the first book, but this one was the nail on the coffin.

'So I watched your first trial. Pretending- always pretending to be the person that you hated. When you were hurt so badly against the Wyrm... I found my way in with you. A way to defy Amarantha, to spread the seeds of hope to those who knew how to read the message, and a way to keep you alive without seeming too suspicious.' (ACOMAF p525)

Rhysand can change memories. If he'd truly wanted to help Feyre, he literally could have visited her in secret and wiped the memories of anyone who found out about their alliance.

'I found those three picts. I broke into their minds, reshaping their lives, their histories, and dragged them before Amarantha.' (ACOMAF p 523).

Honestly, he could have just been like 'I know that you hate me and I hate Tamlin, but it would be really great if you could break this curse for the good of all of Prythian, so I'm gonna help you. You just gotta pretend to hate me until the curse is broken, m'kay?'

Whilst writing this bit, I also realised that he never apologised for GRABBING HOLD OF AND TWISTING THE BONE OF HER BROKEN ARM?!?

'Let me see it.' A growl rippled from him. Without waiting for my reaction, he grabbed my elbow and forced my arm into the dim light of the cell. I bit my lip to keep from crying out - bit it hard enough to draw blood as rivers of fire exploded inside me, as my head swam, and all my senses narrowed down to the piece of bone sticking through my arm. (ACOTAR p. 331)

Rhysand: Don't you dare touch my mate or even look at her wrong, but yeah I totally twisted her broken arm into an agreement with me that utterly humiliated her for WEEKS :)

(canon, Rhysand was also too stupid to figure out Amarantha's riddle, that's why he had to pull all of this shit.)

Moving on,

'I made you dress like that so Amarantha wouldn't suspect, and made you drink the wine so you would not remember the nightly horrors in that mountain.' (ACOMAF p.525)

I spent my days sleeping off the faerie wine, dozing to escape the humiliation I endured.' (ACOTAR 354)

HORRORS AND HUMILIATION THAT YOU SUBJECTED HER TO YOU FUCKING SJERGT$GT%H

Yep, absolutely, the obvious answer is to dress her provocatively, drug her, make her perform lap dances, and basically put all of your attention on her, that's definitely keeping her out of harms way and out of anyone's attention. TF??!!!

Rhysand has been Amarantha's toy for 50 years now, don't you think she would find it more suspicious that after all that time, he's decided to spend time in any capacity with the one person that is meant to break the curse and defeat her? I just *give up*

There's plenty more that could be said, but these are the things that stuck out to me the most. In general, this entire bit of the book sounded too practised, you know? Like during the time they spent apart because Feyre was justifiably pissed about him keeping the mate secret, he was busy cooking up this convoluted, air-tight story that explained away all of his bullshit. He had an answer for EVERYTHING, and explained it all away as 'but it was for your own good'.

He also never apologised for ANY of the shit he pulled on Feyre, not even a 'By the way, sorry for twisting your arm or making you dress in half a tissue or drugging you or making you do lap dances on me or treating you like my property that no-one else could touch.'

I also find it hard to believe that Feyre, don't-lie-to-me-or-treat-me-like-a-pawn-feyre forgave him so easily for that. She was literally just like 'OH well, you love me, actions excused have some soup :)'

Anyway, that's about as much as I've got energy for right now. Would love to hear anyone's thoughts!

#anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti inner circle

[archangeldyke-all]

hi!! this is my first time requesting anything on tumblr ever so bear with me. i know you write for sevika (which i love btw because your writing is magical) but could you possibly write something for ran? i haven’t been able to locate a single good fic about them in so long and it makes my heart hurt. they deserve so much more love than they get ☹️

it doesn’t have to be anything steamy (but i would love for it to be). you can have full creative liberty with this because i know for a fact that you’ll come up with something amazing.

if you’re not comfortable writing for ran or just don’t want to then just ignore this! :)

yessss ran needs more love!

a few things before i start: check out @abitohoney 's submit series! ran is a pretty prominent character (and in the latest part, ran and sev and reader are having a threesome EEEK!! so fucking hot.)

also, because ran has no speaking lines, and isn't even named in the show, these hc's are completely pulled out of my ass. it's just what i think they'd be like, with no contextual justification lmaooo. hopefully in season 2 we'll get to know them better!

ok here we go!

men and minors dni

first of all, i've never met someone who looks that emo/goth who isn't a total goofball. i'm convinced the most sunshiney, silly people also have the darkest, moodiest fashion taste.

so i think ran's a goofball.

always making jokes, teasing, laughing. total class clown vibes.

when they're crushing, though, they go completely silent. like, not a word.

you have no idea they're such a goofball for the longest time. you think they're all stoic and cool, but the truth is, they're just shitting themselves anytime you're around.

ran cuts their own hair. that choppy ass haircut? that's their own doing. no stylist ever gets it right.

ran's always playing pool in the show. so when you start crushing back on them, you ask them to teach you.

inside, ran is freaking out, but outside, they're cool, calm and collected.

they definitely do that thing where they stand behind you and move your arms with theirs. both of you are freaking the fuck out the entire time.

ran starts warming up to you then, though, because they realize that you're just as flustered by your closeness as they are.

it starts with little jokes and quips.

and when they get a good reaction out of you, a pretty smile and little giggle, they turn it up to a hundred.

they make a fool of themselves trying to get you to smile.

tripping over their feet in an effort to get your attention, always mumbling jokes under their breath for only you to hear, anxiously awaiting the muffled giggle that it pulls from you.

you start to suspect that they have a crush on you then. they're always trying to make you smile or laugh, and each time they do, their eyes are locked on your curved lips.

so you start flirting.

they blush profusely each and every time.

doesn't matter if you're gently touching their arm, or giving them a compliment, or looking at them for a few seconds too long, they've got the most obvious blush you've ever seen. they're obsessed with you.

you comment on it once.

"you look really fuckin' hot in that crop top y'know." you say one night, tipsy off a few drinks at the bar.

ran blushes bright red and takes a big gulp of their drink.

"and you're so cute when you blush." you add on.

ran sputters on their sip or alcohol.

from then on, they take their flirting up another notch.

always crowding against you at the pool table, helping you even though you know how to play by now.

constantly touching you, especially when they make you laugh. they'll pretend they're just leaning against you to laugh, but they don't take their hand off your shoulders afterwards.

the more time passes, and the more obvious your shared attraction gets, the bolder ran gets.

like when they make you smile, they'll reach up and gently trace their finger over the lines your smile causes to crease up in your face.

they'll press impossibly closer against you while your leaning over to play pool, practically grinding against your ass, no indication that they're flustered beside the bright red blush on their face.

and when you guys finally kiss, it goes something like this.

ran's teasing you relentlessly for a slip up you'd made, fumbling over your words at an important meeting. they're such a shit, and they're so cute as they poke at you and joke and tease, that you just have to shut them up.

so you dart forward and press your lips against theirs.

for the first time since ran's opened up to you, they're completely silent. their one visible eye is wide, and they're red as a tomato.

you giggle.

"where'd all those jokes go, tough guy?" you ask. ran blinks and gulps.

"holy shit." they whisper. you laugh and reach up to tuck their bangs behind their ear, admiring their exposed face, waiting patiently for them to get their words back. they blink at you with stars in their eyes.

and then suddenly, they're giddy and giggling, pulling you against their chest and wrapping their arms around you.

"you get that you're mine now, right?" they ask. you grin, and press another kiss to their lips.

"that's kinda what i was going for." you admit.

"nice." they say with a smirk as they swoop in to press their lips against yours again.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess

#ran arcane #?? #idk what to tag haha