#+ he’s still also a man- he’s just embracing the beauty of femininity more (and might be a girlboy but shhh))

[rotteneldritchhorror]

Kristen is transmasc out of spite and for the body hair

Fabian is transfemme for the soft skin and elegance

[thehighladywrites]

THIS ISN’T GOODBYE, THIS IS SIMPLY SEE YOU LATER…

⋆˙⟡ pairing: ex husband/baby daddy rhysand x fem reader

⋆˙⟡ summary: people who love each other will always find their way back. you and rhys divorced a few years ago, but you will always love each other

⋆˙⟡ warnings: 18+, mdni light angst, hurt to comfort, fluff, smut, violent behavior (not rhysand), misogyny, they’re in love your honor😔

⋆˙⟡ amara’s note: i’m a little iffy about this bc i feel like it could be better but i hope you love it. The smut isn’t really that smutty, it’s more fluffy. Please, let me know what you think; leave a comment😌💗 also english isn’t my first language so if something doesn’t make sense, ignore💀 ALSO LISTEN TO CEILINGS BY LIZZY WHEN YOU GET TO THE RUNNING SCENE PLS IT’S GONNA MAKE SO MUCH SENSE (i hope)

Getting back into the dating scene after your divorce felt strange. Unbeknownst to you, you found yourself unconsciously comparing every man to Rhys, nitpicking on their behavior. Seated at a beautiful restaurant with a guy quite different from your usual choices, things seemed promising until he gave you some backhanded compliments.

“You say you're a doctor? You?” His words grated on your nerves, and you couldn't fathom why he was so shocked.

“Yes, I am. Is that surprising to you?” you retorted.

He chuckled nervously and shook his head. “No, no. I just pegged you for a nurse or something. You know, something more feminine.”

Your hopes deflated. Turns out, this guy wasn't different at all—he was just like every pompous and misogynistic man out there.

Keeping your cool, you fire back with a smirk,

“Is this coming from the person who just told me they bake for a living? I pegged your for a construction worker, you know, something more masculine.” With a smile you excuse yourself from the table, leaving him puzzled and perhaps questioning his outdated assumptions. Your departure left him to contemplate his lacking dinner date skills.

In the search for someone matching the love you'd known, you found yourself in a loop of comparing every date to Rhys. You shook your head, realizing you needed to stop this habit and maybe, just maybe, find happiness beyond those high standards.

With a dramatic exhale, you frowned, blaming Rhys for your lousy love life. After all, he had treated you like a goddess, setting extremely untouchable standards.

—

As if the mother herself had heard your wish, you finally met a somewhat decent man who wasn’t giving you any backhanded compliment or was making you feel uncomfortable. Although he was somewhat nice he was a little bland and not something you would typically go for. He was very nice with your daughters but could have a temper.

But beggars can’t be choosers right?

With utmost tenderness, you approached the conversation with your twin daughters, explaining the new man in your life. In soft words, you explained that mommy and daddy weren't together anymore, framing it as a journey of finding happiness even though you deep down weren’t feeling the happiness you portrayed. You emphasized the still-there love between you and their father, assuring them that sometimes people are just better off as friends.

Even though the news initially saddened them, your gentle touch in explaining the complexities of grown-up emotions, coupled with the warmth of your smile, melted their worries away. As they saw the happiness radiating from you, your daughters embraced the idea, understanding that your heart always carried love for them and their father.

Little did you know that your mischievous baby girls spilled the news to Rhysand, sharing every detail about the man you were seeing, your dates, and even telling him that you still loved Daddy. However, being the little dramatists they were, they exaggerated, making it seem like you were head over heels for him.

Despite almost three years of separation and the seemingly agreement to divorce, the twins' confession ignited a flame of jealousy in Rhysand. The mere thought of you going on dates and being entertained by other men stirred an irrational desire within him to claim you as his own. Witnessing other males treating you and touching you made him feel absolutely murderous.

He hates that you’re not together anymore, hates that you don’t wear your wedding ring even tho he wears his, he hates that he’s not by your side. But most of all he hates himself for ever letting your marriage break apart.

Rhys had attempted countless times to mend what was once whole, to win you back and rebuild what had crumbled. However, you always hesitantly turned him down, insisting that you couldn't put each other through that hurt again.

The fact that the girls spoke so highly of the man you were dating only fueled Rhysand's jealousy and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes dramatically. “Oh, he’s so nice, took us out for ice cream and we went to the theater,” they gushed. He couldn't shake the feeling that it should've been him – watching plays with you and your daughters, taking them out for ice cream together. The longing for the life he once had with you remained a persistent ache in his heart.

Of course he doesn’t let it go the next time you come around to drop off the girls

The joyful echoes of your daughters filled Rhysand's new and massive mansion, quickly greeting their father and saying goodbye before dashing inside, leaving you and Rhysand alone. Observing them run to the living room, playing with their new toys, you couldn't help but smile. With their father's violet eyes and dark hair, they were practically clones of Rhysand.

Caught in the moment, you looked up at Rhysand, finding his captivating eyes already fixed on you.

Fuck.

The intensity of his gaze almost made you forget the dinner plans with your boyfriend.

“I heard you were seeing someone,” he remarked, and you froze, feeling an unexpected twinge of embarrassment. It wasn't supposed to be a secret; you just weren't ready to share it yet. Trying to save face, you swallowed back any stutter and inquired,

“Who told you that?”

“My daughters told me all about him.”

That’s what you get for trusting 6 year olds. Your attempt at secrecy shattered, and you found yourself apologizing,

“Ah, sorry for not telling you about it; it's all very new, but the kids seem to like him. And I promise he wouldn’t be around them if i didn’t trust him.”

Rhysand's jaw ticked in frustration. Well, wasn't that just fucking great? Your daughters not only liked but loved the guy, and here you were, agreeing with them.

“So, you two hit it off. How marvelous.”

You sighed and looked away,

“Please, just don’t.”

Silence hung in the air as you both stood there, the weight of unspoken emotions filling the room. Breaking the silence, you sighed, signaling your readiness to leave your old house.

“Okay then, I'll be leaving now. I'll come pick them up later tonight. Thanks for watching them tonight, I know it was last minute. But, um, actually, can I pick them up tomorrow instead?” you asked, and Rhysand felt a flicker of suspicion, silently praying he was wrong.

“ I thought we agreed on tonight. Do you have other plans?” he inquired, hoping for a straightforward answer.

Your face flushed red as you considered explaining the evening's plans, but it felt wrong to share such details with Rhys. Opting for a lie, you hoped he wouldn't catch on.

“Oh, yeah, I've got some things I need to do at the hospital tonight. You know, just some reports on a few patients. Nothing major, but I might be a bit... worn out tonight, and that's why I need to pick them up tomorrow.”

The half-truth hung in the air, and Rhysand's suspicions lingered, creating a subtle tension in the farewell.

“So this has nothing to do with you going on a date with your little friend? Sorry, boyfriend.”

Before you could respond, Rhysand stepped closer, closing the gap until there was almost no room between you. You backed away slowly until your back hit the front door. His towering presence made you look up at him, a shiver running down your spine. Tilting his head, he approached your ear, and the soft words he spoke, combined with the warm breath on your skin, sent a wave of heat through your body.

“It should be us, love. Please come back to me,” he murmured, and your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the proximity. As his hands came around your waist, turning you around so your back rested against his sturdy chest, it became impossible to leave the embrace of his warmth. Deep down, a part of you didn't want to escape the intoxicating sense of his presence.

He pulls you even closer, wrapping his arms around your middle as his calm heartbeat pounds against your back, his words confessing a truth that breaks your heart twice.

Once, because the vision he paints sounds so ideal – the two of you getting back together, going on dates, playing with your daughters, being a whole family again. It's the life you had once dreamed of, the life you wanted with the man you spent centuries with, the father of your kids, your greatest love.

The second break comes with the painful reminder of why you found yourself in this mess in the first place. Rhysand had been too consumed by his work, constantly holed up in his office, neglecting the precious time with you and your daughters. Despite understanding the importance of his duties, you couldn't help feeling the sting of neglect. It reached a breaking point when your girls tearfully asked for their daddy every night, only to find he wasn't there.

Realizing the toll this dynamic took on your family's well-being, you made the difficult decision to part ways. Telling Rhys that you weren't good for each other at the moment, you emphasized the need for him to work on himself and find a balance between work and family.

As you gather the strength to move out of his grip, facing him becomes the hardest task.

Turning around to meet his gaze, his face reveals the devastation within. His once vibrant features now wear a sad and empty color. You utter words that add another layer to the heartbreak,

“Rhys, please, you know we can't. Someday but not now.”

His eyes gloss over as he whispers,

“Fate was not in our favor, my dear. But I swear on everything I have, I will do my best to earn you back.”

Tears well up as he kisses your forehead, whispering promises of finding a way back to you.

The weight of the unspoken goodbye lingers, and you walk away, hoping that time and healing would pave a path for the future you both yearned for.

Because you did want to be with him, you really fucking did, and you cried the whole way home. Rhys had given you the town house while he lived in the River estate. The tears flowed even more freely as you sat in your empty and silent house.

Each sob intensified as you went to your cold and empty bed, the very one that used to cradle him in – your husband, your heart. The ache of the empty space beside you was a painful reminder of the love that once filled those sheets, now replaced by solitude and the haunting echo of what had been lost.

—

Your puffy eyes opened slowly, abruptly yanked from a deep slumber by the pounding on your door. Glancing at the clock on your desk, the numbers 1:46 glared back at you – who the hell could it be at this hour? Irritated, you stumbled to the door, ready to chew out whoever dared disturb your sleep.

The door slammed open, revealing Sam standing there, visibly upset. Your still-sleepy brain failed to connect the dots fast enough, and it took a moment to register that you were supposed to be on a date with him tonight. The realization dawned, and you found yourself caught in the awkward aftermath of a missed arrangement, facing Sam with both confusion and exhaustion etched on your face.

“Where the hell have you been? I have been waiting for hours,” he exclaimed, his worried and angry eyes searching yours.

Feeling a twinge of guilt, you pulled him in by his hands, urging him to come inside. Apologizing over and over, you hugged him tightly, saying that you fell asleep over and over until he forgave you.

A part of you knew you did it to calm his potentially violent reaction.

“At least your alive. Next time, let me know so I don't look like a fucking idiot,” he said, his comment irking you despite understanding where he was coming from.

Stepping closer, you wrapped your arms around Sam's neck, pulling him into a distracting kiss that escalated quickly.

Before he could say anything more about the situation and grow even more angry you kissed him again, trying to shift his focus elsewhere, which was easy. He lifted you and walked you toward the bed, the same one you had shared with Rhys.

Suddenly, a wave of panic hit you at the thought of another male's scent mixing with Rhysand's. With huffed breath and panicked words, you interrupted the moment, “No, not the bed. Let's just use the couch instead.”

Your urgency left no room for argument as you pulled him toward the living room, desperate to avoid a mix of past and present that could overwhelm you with regret.

—

The birds chirping outside stirred you from your sleep as you stretched in your soft bed. Morning got here quicker than you thought. However, the warmth you felt next to you wasn't just the morning sun – it was Sam. Your eyes opened, facing the clock, you saw it was very early in the morning, 3:57. The memories of the previous hours hit you like a brick. A bigger realization followed – Sam's scent now filled the air, replacing the familiar citrusy aroma that had been your husband’s for centuries.

This revelation overwhelmed you, making you want to throw up as tears welled up as panic set in. Crying over this felt foolish, considering your separation from Rhys, but it made everything feel permanent and official, like there was no turning back. The chance to reconcile seemed lost.

As you stood up, the room spun with regret, and you slithered to the bathroom. The sight that greeted you made your stomach churn – bruises covered your neck, arms, and legs. Your hair was a mess, and your lips were swollen. More tears fell as regret, deep sorrow, and the weight of your choices consumed you.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to be like this at all.

In your panicked state, you stepped into the shower, hoping to wash away not only the physical remnants of the night but also the emotional burden that clung to your every step.

The steaming shower brought no comfort, and as you shut it off and walked up to the mirror, wiping away steam, you saw a hollowness in your own eyes. The water didn't wash away the feel of Sam's hands on you. But you knew you could drink a tonic for the bruises, so you could atleast pretend it never happened.

Frustrated and heartbroken, you couldn't stop the tears from flowing. The one person you needed the most, Rhys, felt impossibly distant, intensifying the ache inside you.

Desperation took over, and wiping away tears, you threw on a robe, downed the healing tonic and quickly ran over to his house. Each step carried regret and a deep yearning to fix what had gone wrong.

Your Rhys, the father of your children, yours.

He was what you needed in the moment, he’d make it all better.

In the midst of irrationality and impulsivity, you could not find it in you to care about the consequences. All you needed was him.

You burst into his estate, slamming open the doors before frantically searching for him.

“Rhys?”

Your attempt at a yell came out as an ugly cry, tear-stained and choked.

Yet, it was enough to grab his attention.

Rhysand descended the stairs, clad only in pants, his trademark messy bedhead on display as worry etched across his face.

It was so unlike you, and it had him speculating the worst.

Before he could ask you any questions, you ran up to him and broke down in his arms. Rhysand immediately comforted you, picking you up, and hauling you upstairs to his bedroom.

No words were needed as he undressed your sobbing form and put you in his shirt before pulling you closer to him, making you sit in his lap.

Your face buried in his neck, tears dampening his skin. Rhysand, familiar with your ways, sensed you’d open up when ready. He sat, holding you, flooding your mind with love and reassurance without a single word.

Rhysand conjured a glass of water, holding it to your lips, ensuring you didn't exert yourself. As you downed the refreshing water, he gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering by your neck. His thumb traced soothing circles on your cheek, a silent gesture of comfort.

“Thank you, Rhysie. M’sorry for showing up like this but I just needed you.”

His gaze intensified, his grip firm yet reassuring as he held your chin, locking eyes with you. With a seriousness that touched deeply, he spoke, his words carrying a sense of unwavering commitment.

“You don’t apologize for it. I’m here for you, no matter what. Do you understand?”

You nod, throat closing up at the wave of emotions,

“I understand.”

He leans forward, kissing your forhead while cradling your head,

“Good girl. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

With teary eyes you look up to him and reveal what’s on your mind.

“I want us back together again. We belong together and I’m tired of pretending we don’t. I miss you so much. You’ve been working on yourself and I’ve been doing the same. I know we’re ready.”

Rhysand remained silent, his eyes studying you carefully. He sensed an emotional storm within you and was hesitant about decisions made in this state.

“I do not disagree. Reuniting our family, especially getting you back, my sweet girl, is my ultimate desire. But, I want you to sleep on it. I want us to discuss this when we're well-rested and more alert. What do you say?”

You knew you were being rash and quick, so you were thankful for Rhysand's guidance. You nodded in agreement.

He kissed your cheek and gently placed you under the sheets, joining you in bed. Rhysand pulled you closer, and soon you were resting on his chest, listening to the steady thudding of his heart.

“I’ve always loved you, Rhys, so much. I hope you know that.”

His heartbeat quickened as he pulled you even closer.

“I know, sweetheart. I love you too.”

—

The chirping birds and soft sunlight streaming through the window woke you up gently. Your body felt completely relaxed and at ease, knowing you were safe and sound. Stretching lazily, you sighed in contentment before rolling over in bed.

You felt the warmth of something next to you, so you snuggled closer, enjoying the comfort. After a few moments, you felt it stir.

The moving object was Rhysand. Your eyes widened, and for a moment, you almost scrambled away in panic before the events of this early morning flooded back to you.

Despite the fact that you had left your boyfriend alone in your house and now found yourself in your ex's bed, cuddled up to him, you didn't feel any panic. Instead, you felt indifferent. You felt surprisingly good, even better than before. You felt right. Like everything was in it’s place.

“Don't panic,” Rhysand murmured softly, reaching out to gently stroke your back. “We need to have that talk, darling.”

Nodding silently, you agreed to follow him downstairs, your mind racing.

You couldn't help but melt around him. There was no need to even use your brain around him. Rhys made everything feel delightful as he began fussing over you. He did everything from dressing you in the cutest outfits to gently brushing your hair. With his big, warm, comforting hands, he led you downstairs, making every step feel like a new chapter starting.

Once in the kitchen, Rhysand set to work, expertly whipping up breakfast as you watched him, a knot of anticipation forming in your stomach. You knew this conversation was important, but you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort as you observed his familiar movements in the kitchen.

You couldn't help but admire Rhysand as he moved around the kitchen, his muscles flexing with every movement. He had a newfound confidence about him, a certain dad-like aura that only added to his appeal. His masculine energy was buzzing, and combined with his good looks, it was hard not to be drawn to him. Rhys had grown impossibly more majestic and stunningly handsome in the years you were seperated.

Rhysand caught you staring, and a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “Like what you see?” he teased, his voice low and suggestive. The heat rose to your cheeks as you quickly looked away, unable to hide your blush.

“Maybe I do,” you whisper teasingly, a hint of mischief in your voice.

“Careful,” he warns with a playful glint in his eyes, matching your flirtatious tone.

As he handed you a plate filled with nostalgic food, you couldn't help but feel touched by his thoughtfulness. He had even removed the bits you didn’t like, showing that he remembered even the smallest details about you. It warmed your heart to know that he still cared so deeply.

After you finished eating, he cleared his throat with a serious yet excited tone and said, “Let's talk.”

With a nod, you accept and he extends his hand, guiding you to a cozy sitting room.

“Where are the twins?” you ask, curious when you don’t hear or see your daughters.

“They’re with Cassian and Nesta. They came and picked them up earlier this morning,” he responds.

You nod again, then sit down on the cushy couch next to him.

“Rhys, I’ve thought about it for a while, and I think yesterday just cemented it for me. I think I’m ready for us again, and I’ve missed us together. What do you think? I mean, do you want me too?”

He flashed you his most sincere and hidden smile he only showed you and grabbed your chin with his pointer and thumb

“Sweetheart, I’ve missed you more than words can express. Of course, I want us to be together again. You are my everything and I will never again risk you.”

He took a deep breath and looked down, his voice filled with remorse.

“I've hated myself for letting you go so easily. I wasn't there for you or the girls, and it will always be my biggest regret. I vow to never again disappoint you and to do everything in my power to earn back your trust in my presence. Please forgive me.”

As the faint burn of the promising bargain tattoo emerges on both his and your wrists, a soft smile graces your lips. With gentle assurance, you reach out and place your hand on his, your touch offering comfort and calmness.

“Rhys, I forgive,” you say sweetly and hopeful. “I've missed you, and I want us to be together again. Let's leave the past behind us and focus on building a future together, okay?”

Feeling his arms around you, you melt into the hug, wrapping your arms around his neck. His touch is comforting, and you revel in the warmth of his warmth. As he gently squeezes your waist, you giggle, feeling a sense of joy wash over you.

He attacked your cheek with kisses, making him land on top of you on the couch as your back rested on the seats.

“But I think we should take it slow. Maybe start off by going on dates.”

He pulls back and looks at you, his gaze intense yet tender. “Yes. Let's take it slow. We have all the time in the world, no need to rush.”

You both sit there, locked in a silent exchange, the air thick with anticipation as you inch closer to each other.

“We definitely shouldn't kiss, right?” you ask, feeling the heat of his breath mingling with yours.

His arms tighten around you as he speaks softly, his words grazing your lips. “We shouldn't.”

The moment your lips touch, tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It's been so long since you felt the familiar warmth of his kisses, the feeling of home in his embrace. Rhysand, your darling, the love of your life—you've missed him more than words can express.

As the kisses grow more messy and desperate, a soft whimper escapes your lips, causing his eyes to darken with desire.

A sudden panic washed over you at the thought of your now ex-boyfriend waking up to find you gone.

“Rhys, I have to go back and end things with Sam,” you blurted out, your voice raspy and flustered between kisses.

Rhys's expression darkened as he heard about your ex-boyfriend.

“I'll handle it,” he declared, determination lacing his voice.

“What does that mean?” you pressed, curious and a little concerned.

He responded with a secretive smile, kissing you again, his touch making you melt into him.

“Don’t worry your little head about it. I got it covered,” he assured, his tone confident and reassuring.

So you let it go. If he said he had it handled, then you trusted him to take care of it.

His assurance left you feeling cared for, sparking a desire for more. More of him, and more of that comforting reassurance he provided.

Before you could voice your need for him, he beat you to it. With a tender kiss on your forehead, he spoke softly.

“I’m going to take you upstairs and make up for lost time. But before we start, I’m going to feed you a little bit more. Don’t argue, you’re going to need the energy.”

Your mind went blank, slipping into a submissive state, ready to follow his lead without question.

With a nod, you rose from your seat, arms outstretched in silent compliance.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured as he lifted you effortlessly, cradling you in his arms. With each step towards the kitchen, his gentle strokes on your hair and whispered promises of what lay ahead sent shivers down your spine, heightening the anticipation of what was to come.

After quickly eating the food he conjured up, you stood up in a rush and grabbed his hand, urging him to take you upstairs right away.

He chuckled and scooped you up, showering kisses on your lips and neck as he carried you upstairs, your legs instinctively wrapping around his middle.

Your nails dig into his scalp, head thrown back as you whimper with pleasure. Your toes curl as his teeth graze against a sensitive spot, his smirk growing against your skin.

“Tell me, darling. How do you want it today?”

You're only aware that you're inside the bedroom when he sets you down in front of the bed.

You know exactly how you want it. You want him to take charge, dominating your every move, just like he used to. Rhys knew how quickly you submitted to him, and he had a hunch of how tonight would go. It was easy slipping into those roles with him in charge. So you look up at him with a shy smile, fondling with the strings of his dark linen pants, and tell him.

“Can we please do level four?”

Pride spread across him at your good manners. He loved that you still knew what to do even after years of not being together.

He would have sent all his loving emotions through the bond if it existed. The absence of a bond between him and you always seemed abnormal. Both of you questioned the Mother’s decision all the time, hiding the fact that you both were scared of the possibility of your mates popping up and claiming the other.

Shaking away his thoughts, he smiled at your words again and complied.

Step by step, he undressed you, his eyes never leaving yours. Rhysand’s eyes dropped to your pebbled nipples, goosebumps erupting on your skin at the intense attention he gave you.

“You still remember the safe word?” he rasped out, his pupils expanding as you nodded, your lips nervously caught between your teeth.

He pounced on you, eagerly kissing you in a brusing manner as he tightened his arms around you. Rhys slowly made you back, resulting in you falling backwards into the bed before he climbed on top of you.

His hands found your waist amd subtly squeezed before sliding up to your boobs and playing with your hardened nipples.

You whimpered in pleasure, making him smile as he lowered his mouth to attatch to your right breast. His wet, warm tounge swirled around the bud, biting and licking soothingly. He repeated the move on the other side, reveling in the way you were squirming under him.

“Is it too much, sweetheart?”

“Not enough.”

So his hand slid down your body until his thumb brushed over your throbbing clit. Your eyes rolled back when he put pressure on it, rubbing tight circles against you. It was almost mortifying how quick you melted and lost your mind.

A few more circles and you’d be cumming. Almost, almost.

The pleasure was short-lived when he removed his thumb, causing you to pout slightly as your brows furrowed in confusion.

“No teasing. You can play later, I’ve missed you too much.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a heated makeout session.

You also wrapped your legs around his waist and whispered against his lips,

“I need you so bad, please. I need your entire being.”

He slipped one finger in, sliding in all too easily. So he added another finger and felt your walls pulse around him. Rhys pulled them out before shoving them back in, repeating the move, stroking your walls. He curled his fingers inside as he carefully watched your face morph from a begging expression to a fucked out smile.

“I will give you whatever your heart desires,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you again. As he did, he conjured his massive and majestic wings, spreading them proudly behind him, a breathtaking display of power.

Your wobbly smile melted into tears of joy as you whispered, “There you are,” feeling overwhelmed by the rush of emotions at seeing him again.

Rhys didn’t waste a single second, pulling you forward and slowly positioning himself in front of you. He held onto his cock, letting the tip trace your pussy, circling it and letting your wetness drip onto his cock. Stroking the wetness along his cock, he used it as a lubricant before he slid himself inside you.

Rhys pulled out and then in again until his entire cock was stuffed in you. He then leaned forward, putting his forehead in the crook of your neck, gently biting and sucking hickies onto your skin. He began thrusting, harder and harder. The entire room echoing with skin slapping, groans and pornstar-like moans.

Rhysand’s gripped your hips in a brusing manner, rocking them back and forth forth as he moved his own hips.

He lifted his head and gently brought his hand to your face, cupping your chin as he murmured,

“You're mine. Mine to love, to fuck, to have.”

You nod eagerly, your need evident.

“Only yours, baby. Forever and always, yours.”

He growled softly and turned your body around so you were on all fours. Gripping your hair, he pulled it back, causing your back to arch against his chest.

Rhysand put his dick back in and pumped deliciously against that spongy spot that had you acting like a mindless fool.

“You got fucked this good while we were seperated, hm?”

His hand snaked up and held your neck, applying a gentle pressure, a hint of restraint, as he taunted you.

Of course, he already knew the answer. But it was always nice to hear it from you.

“M-right, there, no one compares to you. No one could ever, ah fuck, do me this good. P-please, let me cum.”

“Fuck, yeah that’s right. But I think it’s a little too early for you to cum. I told you I wanted to make up for lost time. We’re nowhere near done.”

You let out a whine at the denial, a little vexed that he didn’t give you permission yet. But you knew he had plans so you decided to wait in hopes of getting something better.

“Good things come for good girls, you know that right?”

“I understand. Just keep going.”

You knew you forgot to add a please and were more than happy when he gave your puffy clit a slap.

“Manners.”

“Keep going, please.”

He chuckled at how quick you gave in and kissed your cheek, letting go of your hair and pushing you forward to your elbows and knees. Rhys grabbed your hips and gave you deep, slow and intentional strokes. Almost like he wanted you to cum early.

Rhys kept going for a long time, bringing you to the edge, only to snatch away pleasure in the last second. You were tired but knew all of this was building up into the most intense and powerful orgasm ever.

“Do you know how much I love you? Do you have any idea how deep my love for you goes?”

Cue the waterworks.

Really, his words started making you bawl right there. With concern etched on his face, he gently moved you into missionary, turning the back-breaking backshots into a tender moment. As he pushed in for the last time, he hovered above you, his forearms on either side of your head, kissing your puffy lips.

“I love you too, Rhysie, so, so much. There's really no one I love more than you.”

Your words were raspy and choked, his words were sweet and understanding.

“I know, sweet girl. I know you do.”

Suddenly, a snap felt in your chest. You both locked eyes, breathing heavily as you felt a thread weaving your very souls together. Tears prickled in your eyes at his words.

As the realization of the mating bond sinked in, a warm glow envelops both of you, filling the room with a sense of love and belonging. Rhysand's eyes softened even more, if that's possible, as he gazed into your tear-filled eyes.

“You're my mate,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and reverence. “My soulmate, my other half.”

You reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the connection between you grow stronger with each passing moment. “And you're mine,” you replied, your voice filled with emotion. “Forever and always.”

Rhysand moved quicker and quicker, finally allowikg you to cum.

You were on the verge of passing out, the only reason there was any sort of fight in you left was because of the charged bond.

Before he pulled out, you locked your legs around him and begged him to stay inside. He did and slumped on top of you, his head resting on your raising and falling chest. You ran your hands through his damp, dark hair and reveled in warmth when he wrapped his wings around the two of you.

You both rest for a while before starting up again. Normally, a session like this would have you knocked out cold but you guessed it was the fresh bond.

The entire day was spent tangled in sheets and fucking in showers, other rooms, hallways, kitchens, roofs. Rhysand also sent a mental message to everyone in the inner circle, breaking the news and asking them not to disturb you for at least a week. He also asked Cassian to keep looking after the girls and warned that anyone who got too close would likely die.

—

You and Rhys, lay together in a pile of fluffy blankets and pillows on the floor, the bed damaged and broken from the week’s activities.

“Rhys, do you know what I think? I think it’s kind if poetic that we broke up and then became mates. I mean, it sounds very romantic.”

He chuckled and pulled you closer to his chest.

“You know what? I agree. The Mother does work in mysterious ways. I guess we weren’t ready before.”

You smile at him and nod,

“I’m glad we find our way home.”

With a tender look and a sweet kiss, he whispered,

“As am I, darling.”

🏷️ taglist: @tayswhp @jenjen-0-x @itsinherited @thisblogisaboutabook @luvmoo @se7enteen--black-blog @feyretopia @possiblyphobia @azriels-mate2 @sfhsgrad-blog @readychilledwine @amara-moonlight @tothestarsandwhateverend @blupblupfish @cleverzonkwombatsludge @iloveazrielshadowsinger @cat-or-kitten @dreamlandreader @honeybeeboobaa @queerqueenlynn @rowaelinsdaughter @redbleedingrose @clairebear08 @danikamariewrites @midnight-and-books @ruler-of-hades @annaaaaa88 @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @stasiereads @harryshoobies69 @itsagrimm @a-dorkier-book-keeper @b0xerdancer @erikan809 @glittervame

[daniels-swagger]

Try On Feminine (Danny Wagner x Reader)

Author's note: first fic I'm posting :) It was gonna be a smutty josh one shot but my last post inspired me to write this blurb! I wrote it in 20 minutes so it's kinda shitty but yea.... Danny is so charm coded!!!

Word count: around 600? Just a little blurb :)

Warnings: fluffy fluffy fluff!!! Use of "baby", reader wears makeup, chronically online daniel low key.... Danny is a sweet boyfriend and also a girly girl!!! DANIEL IS ALSO A CHAPPELL ROAN FAN!!!! Tehehe!!!!

Summary: you put makeup on your boyfriend :)))) pretty much it lol might do a part 2?? Where I pick out an outfit for him??? 🤭

“Does this feel alright?” You stood over Danny, who was seated in your vanity chair. You were meticulously applying eyeliner to his waterline. The soft hum of your Carole King record filled the room.

“Mhm,” he replied, careful not to move. You smiled and set the pencil aside.

“How about a little wing?” You giggled. “Not as in Jimi Hendrix, but as in eyeliner.” Danny chuckled as you shook your liquid liner to mix it up.

“Go for it, baby.” He gave you a playful smirk. “Just don’t turn me into a minion... I’ve seen those videos...” The two of you laughed together.

“I would never, Daniel,” you said, clutching your imaginary pearls in mock shock.

His base was flawless, perfect. A touch of bronzer, blush, and highlighter gave him a bronzed and glowy finish. The way his freckles peeked through the makeup was particularly charming. Just before applying the eyeliner, you had created a warm brown smokey eye, topped with rose gold shimmer and a bit of highlighter in the corners. He looked absolutely gorgeous, more than words could express. You were thrilled that he embraced his own femininity and allowed you to play dress-up with him.

“Close your eyes for me...” You applied the black liner with a steady hand, crafting a sharp wing. “First try, baby!” You pumped your fist in triumph. He laughed.

“Don’t celebrate too soon... you still have the other eye...” You resumed work, replicating your movements on the other side. You giggled as you made a slight mistake, using a Q-tip to clean up the edge. You picked up some wispy lashes, letting the glue dry slightly before placing them over his own, gently pressing them into place. You stepped back, checking for symmetry, and sighed.

“This is as close as I’ll get. That was genuinely nerve-wracking....” The two of you chuckled. “Alright, what should we do for the lips? We’re almost finished...” You sifted through your makeup drawer.

“How about that pinky-red shade you usually wear?” he suggested. You raised your eyebrows, pleasantly surprised.

“A man of good taste.” You smiled, grabbing your usual lip liner, lipstick, and gloss. You applied them with precision, cleaning up the edges with a Q-tip. You signaled him to rub his lips together, blending everything seamlessly. You stepped back to admire your work, beaming with satisfaction. You turned the chair towards the mirror. “What do you think?”

He took a moment to scrutinize his reflection, examining every detail. A genuine, heartfelt smile spread across his face.

“I look... beautiful,” he said softly. “I look like you.” He glanced up at you from the chair. You grinned and placed a kiss on his forehead. He leaned in to kiss your lips, but you gently pushed him away.

“Oh, right... gloss...” He giggled. “Are you sure you didn’t just turn me into you?” You playfully rolled your eyes. He stood up and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. You pulled back slightly and looked up at him, caressing his cheek tenderly.

“Such a pretty boy... We should do this more often.” His eyes sparkled, and he smiled widely.

“Can we try Chappell Roan makeup next?”

“You're too cute... of course!” The two of you giggled. He drew you in again, and you rested your head on his chest, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Thank you, baby. I really feel like i get to be myself when I’m with you, when we do things like this...”

“Anything for you, Daniel...”

Tell me what you guys think about this :D

[deadboyfriendd]

I Hope This Letter Finds You Well.

Summary: It is already so hot that it burns. The sheriff had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn't decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heatstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this.

A culmination of letters shared between family and new friends turns into a stand-off at the tarmac of Tucson, Arizona.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Sheriff/Wyatt Earp!Steve Harrington x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, death of a spouse, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, feminine rage embodied (I couldn't give her a gun this time because, if I did, everyone would be dead), eventual discussion of The Civil War and the politics that came from it.

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 4.5k

Author's Note: This is it. Bisbee is here and it feels like I'm breathing life back into my cowboys through my sheriff. This is so, so special to me and @dr-aculaaa, and I cannot wait to tell you all their stories.

Find the series masterlist here!

“When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf.” Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian

Nellie, 

I believe that the face of death is a woman, and that she is beautiful. 

I believe that she may have loved my betrothed, at least as long as there was breath in his lungs and a thrum in his chest. I believe that William looked into her dark eyes and followed her into that unknown place, and I know, there, he might finally find something to still his mind. 

I believe that she kissed him good and hard, Nellie, in a way that I could not have done– that she danced her spindly dance clear across the desert, through the plains of the midlands, and splashed in the bayou of Louisiana until she found him. 

I believe that death is a friend to our family, that her sinewy arms loom over our men in an embrace that we can not provide, and I believe that she is warm. Much warmer than you or I have been created to be. I believe she walks alongside us, whispers into the ear of our husbands, and laughs as they dance their troublesome dances. 

I believe she is kind, much kinder than us, for why else would our men leave the safety of us for her? I cannot fathom it, Nellie. 

I no longer believe that death is cold and harsh, for I know that no man could be as cruel as she. 

We were always cut from the same cloth, in life, and now in death. 

Signed, your cousin. 

+

He could have said that he never wanted any trouble, and he could have said he didn’t go around picking fights, yet both seemed to find him with speed and vigor. He sought them out, begged for the metallic heat to seep from behind his teeth and drip down his lips like ambrosia. The boy could not read nor write, yet also harbored a taste for mindless violence– his gangly teenage frame a harbinger of death. 

The monsoon was fast approaching, dark clouds filling the sky in an apocalyptic haze, though the Lord knew this land needed it. The rain came down in heavy sheets, droplets weighing deep against the flesh and warm in strides. The powder dust beneath it stirred and settled in waves, and he prayed for no wind, for the wall of dust that would overtake them in the future just might suffocate him. He cried out in thirst, having mistaken this anguish for freedom. All he could do was turn his mouth towards the sky and hope it would wash away the rawness in his throat.

This heaviness did not go away with time nor age. The boy-now-man sifted through the powder silt of the remnants of his life the same way he sifted through these crises as a child, though with more sure steps and a heavier hand for subtlety. He no longer craved ambrose violence gilded in the candied sheen of shed blood, though it did not stop searching for him. 

He was out with lanterns, in search of himself. 

There used to be nothing here but a broad expanse of mirage, the heat rising from the sand and warping the distance into a false lake like a sick joke. He remembered the settlement. The miners came first, then the saloons, and dance halls. The cattle drovers and thieves would follow suit to reap their fortunes, but the plume of the mines came first. 

Still there is hope, an old miner had said to him, for I know of two Bibles in town. 

Though men of God and men of war both have strange affinities, it would seem. 

War, much like God, was here long before man. It crouched its ugly pose and waited for his arrival. The ultimate trade awaits the ultimate practitioner. 

Today, the oak planks, rotted from years in the sun, groan in the same anguish beneath his boots and he ignores it as much as the God he prayed to ignored his own cries. The bright orange of globe mallow presses its way between the planks, soft resilience even in this heat. When he reaches down to touch it, it crumbles between hardened finger pads. 

This township felt like a tunnel, a vignette blurring the Gaussian edges of its structures that settled like graves. His boots sunk a lowly sulk through the banks of the roads where wagon wheels had pushed them from their packing. He still felt the nothingness here, vast openness in which he awaited a tomahawk crowning, sinking into the same sand on his knees, candy-coated in that gilded red gloss. 

Through the nothingness there was a stirring, his eyes fixated on the microburst brewing along the mountain's edge in the distance. 

Thunder fades to wheels along tracks.

You’d watched the land turn from green to brown and back again. You’d watch the sun wick the water from the soil and feel it warm your skin. There’s a certain disdain that fills your chest like liquid when you picture Nellie on this trail. There was no train west to take. There was no railway. 

Did Nellie still look like her mother? Had her mouth begun to crease with a perpetual smile? Was her hair still long and did she still let it fall in ringlets down her back? Surely, she had not sounded the same in her letters, though, this sullen stranger had still signed the letters with the same swooping motions. 

As the trees became sparse and turned into gangly, reaching boojums, you realized just how far from home you had been. You had never left the great state of Louisiana but, had run those riverbeds and marshes ragged with bare feet, had run heels hard against the hollow tomb of that old paddle boat. Could you be as wild as the West? Would it love you in the same way the marshes had? Wrap you in its mossy embrace and let you sink beneath stagnant water in wait?

But for what? 

The sharecropping had been a logical by-product of everything your father had fought for in the war, rock salt and nails and hand over first for years under the lead of General Benjamin F. Butler, though no one could foresee the way the plantation had hemorrhaged money after he took on nearly ten hired men, or the way the land had would have dwindled to nothing had you not taken that ghastly, ugly burden against your back, one heavy enough to spur you west. One heavy enough that even the sting of the sunburn did nothing to quell the ache that you still felt in your chest against it. 

You watched the life drain from this land, music and the lush green of the coming summer turning to sweltering, daguerreotype daydreams. You pressed your palm against the glass and sighed. 

It was already warm enough to burn. 

When you pressed your face against the glass, you could feel the rumble of the hardened earth beneath the sodden tracks. The dried parchment of letters scraped against themselves where they pooled in the makeshift reservoir of your dresses ruched into your lap– just high enough so that your ankles could feel any movement within the waning stagnation of air in the train car. 

You tore the one on top open with your thumb– the last one to remain unopened. Its straight edge was too sharp and angled perfectly as you pulled at it, the edge of your thumb already pooling cherry beads of blood where it rippled. 

“Shit.” you cursed.

Gilded eyes peered towards you, slicing through the silence of this welling heat like ice. Had it been dark, they would have glowed. Ladies in Parisian hats tailing the woeful gazes of their well-tailored merchant husbands turning towards the spectacle that was you. Young. Unmarried. Unaccompanied and profane in your lack of grace aboard the train to the lawless lands. Maybe, by God’s hand, you had been cut from the same cloth as this lawless place– the rumble of the tracks a song to the listlessness that stirred in your chest like silt in distant waters. 

You dismissed the judgment, the venom of it all sliding off of you like that same water against a duck’s back, turning your attention back towards the product of your own disdain: Nellie’s letter, signed, sealed, and delivered to your last known location. 

Cousin, 

Your father has sent word about your arrival in Tucson, and I will meet you at the train depot in due time. I do hope that, in time, the heat of this land may dry your tears in the same way it has mine. 

I fear that you may not recognize me upon your arrival to Tucson, my face has grown harder and my body less soft. You will become this way, too. I am tough. I am afraid this place has weathered me like old leather. 

I have asked the sheriff to accompany me to the train depot in Tucson, and he has happily obliged. I didn’t think you would mind much, either. 

The sheriff is a nice man, as I am sure you have come to find, however, this land has hardened him in the same way it has hardened Edward and I. In the same way, it took Wilhelm as payment for some grander, more horrendous scheme.  I do not ask you to excuse his shortcomings– or mine– but I do ask that you try to understand us. 

Though it is better now than it has ever been, this place is still not like Louisiana. This land is lawless. This land is tough. This land does not make promises or send prayers. It exists as it is, rough and unbinding– blistering for all it is worth. 

We are the law, here. 

If we lose our morality, we lose everything. 

I will see you soon. I love you. 

Nellie. 

It was an unspoken truth that there was something broken much deeper within them that they had shared some form of solidarity within. Somehow, in some way, Nellie and Steve had shared something they never wanted you to see, but, even now, something was different about her in more recent letters that you couldn’t quite differentiate. 

Perhaps it was the way she told you she loved you. She hadn’t written those three words since writing of Wilhelm’s death. Maybe she said it then in search of the love she had lost, had looked for shreds of it to mend herself back together. Maybe Edward had done that for her, and maybe now she had some left to give. You hoped that much for her.

Edward was an entity unknown to you– a phantom in his own respects. He reaped his own form of morosity in the way he loved Nellie. He did so in a way that was devouring, in a way that encompassed her in every respect. You had been well past the persuasion of beautiful faces, for a face much like his was the face that launched a thousand ships. Another puppet wielded by The Devil, he was. That holy shape becomes a devil, best. 

It was an unholy thing, to resurrect the dead. And, you supposed, Edward had done just that. Nellie’s letters came to an abrupt halt after the announcement of the Death of Wilhelm. Your family, the only remaining kinship to her lineage, had not received a letter from her in over a year. 

You’d thought of all of the ways she could have died, but the most plausible cause was a broken heart. Even now, as rolling hills turned to planes and back again, as you watched the horrors that this land reaped, you could not see any of them taking your cousin. No, she was a force to be reckoned with. Not even this land could break her will. No, if she were to die here, now, it would have been by her hand. 

And then, by some unforsaken force beyond even your father’s control, Nellie breathed once more. Her letters were flowery, her writing curling into crashing waves of stories told. You watched as this solemn stranger breathed life back into Nellie, something as cruel and unusual as beauty in this place unseen and unheard of for years, beauty unseen to Nellie since Wilhem was killed. 

You knew of only unholy things that fed upon the dead– that breathed an ugly, hot breath back into their lungs and pulled them from the sodden earth in which they lay. Edward was not entirely truthful, that much you could tell. 

You supposed you and Edward had shared that sentiment, in some way. 

+

The Whispering Sands was still not the ritzy bar. That was still located in the lobby of The Grand Hotel, just footsteps from where The Sheriff stood now, planks still singing their groaning songs of protest beneath his legs, still stiff with sleep or nerves or years of failed prayer. 

His footfall fell heavy against the hollow floors, the weight of him reverberating against the early hum of the bar. The dealer was still as straight as a Christmastime wreath, though, now, he knew that this one could at least shoot in the right direction. You no longer needed to carry when you walked through, your spare now confined to below the counter out of sheer caution and the guiding hands of ghosts alone. The doors didn’t hang crooked anymore, the dealer making fast work of fixing all of the things Nellie had pushed to the back burner in relentless disembowelment of her own self-preservation that she so readily gave to him in the form of softened twine and spoken promises tightened around ring fingers. 

The Sheriff would not be so easy. His self-preservation ran deeper than that. 

Nellie knew it, knew that his roots were wrapped around something vital within him, something deeper than hers– something from a time before her, before this town, and before the West was wild.  

The echo of him reverberated off of the walls of the bar, bounced off of the piano, and rattled the windows. It demanded her attention long before the brass bell of the front door rang and the heavy oak clattered against the frame. 

8:50. Like clockwork. 

In the times before, just after Wilhelm, he would stop in and buy a cigar, though, to this day, she had never seen him smoke. She never inquired it, and he never inquired her. 

There was a solidarity in their grief, and it never quite, even now that she felt happy more times than not. She had a sneaking suspicion he was there for something other than a cigar every morning, but she pulled one from the humidor and took his money anyway. There had been a time where she insisted it was on the house. It wasn’t worth the fight, now. 

He looked different today. Still sullen is his strange, tortured way, but there was almost something beautiful about it, about the way he ruminated in this state of torture. Even in the way his stagnation had turned into just that with time, something seemed to still sit there in wait, leaden in the pit of his chest. 

He looked like the face of a handbill like this, enveloped in all black. Square-toed boots with black trousers that made him look ganglier than he was, made him loom over Nellie more than he already did. His black frock coat dusted his calves at a three-quarter length, and a black bolo tie covered as much of the stark white high-collar as possible. On the hat rack by the door sat his usual wide-brimmed Stetson, and, from just behind the plain silver of his belt buckle, the Colt Burtline Special shone in the light. 

He looked fit for a funeral.

He walked like he beckoned the apocalypse in clouds of rolling thunder behind him. When his heels pressed into the softened sand, the earth quaked beneath it. The weight of him made the stagecoach groan on its hinges– leaden and heavy with the weight of something bigger than settled silt within his chest, kicked up like the sand behind horse hooves and stagecoach wheels. 

Parchment sat like lead in his lap, curdling there and souring something that had sat too long. Cracking fingers curled around your words like poison, sweetened with sasparilla whiskey, golden ambergris letters seeping into him and warming his throat like bile and molten gold. He opened the first one with a nimbleness unlike one he had ever known, and read it once more:

25 April, 1894

To the Sheriff that this letter finds, 

I am afraid your letter has found me in a state of disrepair. I have never been one for niceties and I am afraid I do not have it in me to start now. 

My betrothed had never known peace in life, and I am afraid that he may not ever know it in death, wherever that plane Hell may be. 

Maybe it is I that has died, and maybe it is I that walks across this Hell. Maybe it is my own doing that brought me to this. Maybe I am the creature of my own undoing. I am not a nice girl, Steve. Not the nice girl you think I might be. 

We were raised like leather, stretched and scraped to be tough in the way that our mothers were, unbending and unbreaking as they had been. They were not forgiving, nor were they kind. Nellie was once that way, too. Though, I fear that your desert sun has softened her. That it changed something deeper within her in a way that she may be someone I no longer recognize. 

I plan to arrive in Tucson by train on the first of October. Maybe this sun will soften me in the same way it has softened my cousin. Maybe I don’t want it to. 

Though I hope for my tomorrow to be kind, I have an inkling that it never will be, for this life had never had a kindness to offer. 

I’ll be the one in white. 

I will see you then, Sheriff. 

He pictures the way you will step off the train, white linens spilling over the threshold of it by some sickened grace of the hand of an unkind God. He both relished in it and could not bear the thought. He thought of linens hiked over knees and rucked up under the fabric of itself, a  depiction of the implosion of his world. 

He had already lived this, soft hair against soft legs and white linens shed in a dustbowl around shared space and soft, breathlessness passed between lips. He had felt this kind of softness before– had known this tender touch of a woman outside of the mother he never had. 

It was the first time he had ever been touched gently. 

Even Nellie’s hand seemed gruff as it gripped his shoulders in a grounding movement, his eyes slowing with the movement of reading and dissipating into blankness an indicator that he had gone somewhere that even she would never be allowed to see. It was a look she had known all too well.

“I’m afraid she might not like me much.” He whispered, low enough for Eddie to not be able to hear– or, at least, low enough so he could pretend not to. She knew what he meant by this, another feeling chased after her own reanimated heart. 

Nevertheless, she avoided the philosophical nature of it all, answering him with the only thought she had: “I’m afraid she might not like anyone much, Steve.” She starts, and the questioning gaze he gives her urges her to continue. 

“It wasn’t easy for her, either, Steve.” She starts with another sigh, now more like the weight was being pressed out of her lungs from the weight that she felt, “Most of the time, it was out right hard.” 

“We’ve all had it hard, Nellie. Nothing about this life has been particularly easy.” Steve says back. He didn’t mean it to be as harsh as it was. She knew that, though it didn’t stop that initial sting of his dismissiveness.  

“William wasn’t a nice man, no matter how much she loved him.” She tells him, louder this time and too fast. Eddie couldn’t help the the way his eyes are drawn to her from where they are fixed to the periscope of landscape before them, “Forgive her if she isn’t welcoming.” 

+ 

To the Lady that may find this letter, I hope it finds her well

Tucson still radiates heat at this time of year, the mirage at the end of town makes the expanse of land between here and the mountains feel both endless and right in front of you at the same time. It warps like the heat is melting space and time itself. Nevertheless, the first blooms of orange mallow have begun to open in a patch where the stagecoach stopped. 

He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he was inclined to plock them from the ground and brush the dirt from their roots. 

It seems the desert knew you would board the train in New Orleans and set west for us, and wanted to welcome you with its kindest hello. The desert is not kind, but she would make an exception for someone like you, I would suppose. 

The wheels screech along the wrought iron of the track as they slow to a halt– and he swears, just for a single, fleeting moment, his heart stops with them. There is a stream of people that step down. Ladies with large hats and square-shouldered men in frock coats not unlike his. He wonders if you will know your face before Nellie does– wonders if he knows who you are just from the curls of your letters. 

And then, you were there. 

You were unremarkable in every way possible, though, at a closer glance, you had chosen to forego a bustle and corset. Instead, the pliant lines of your body undefined against a white buttoned shirt and a long dark skirt. A plain, flat-brimmed stetson sat against the crown of your head, just enough to obscure your face from his view. 

Your cousin is very kind. I like to think that you are kind like her, though, I also hope that you are tough in the same way that she is.

He steps forward, his hands sticky with sweat or the sap of the stems of the orange mallow crushed beneath a pressing grip, he isn’t sure. As he steps on to the tarmac, he remembers his manners– remembers that he isn’t an animal and you are not inherently dangerous, and pulls off his hat, pressing it to his chest as he holds an arm out stiffly towards you without any further introduction. 

You see the star against his chest, pressed silver pinned there like a placard on the spectacle of the man before you, and know that this is him– that this is the entity whom has spilled his heart to you over parchment and ink and blood, “Well, now, those are awfully pretty, sheriff.” You say to him, looking down at the crushed orange matter in his hands. They have already begun to wilt. 

“I have an affinity for pretty things.” 

He flirts shamelessly with you, and something deep within you stirrs. It is not the schoolgirl crush you harbored with William. It isn’t even akin to love, but something worse and something ugly. His letters and flowery words and then his backtracking and condolences meddle into one ugly mass of insult. No, this thing that rose in you was not love, nor was it even a cousin. It was hate. Blinding, furious hate.

“And I have an affinity for men who can make up their minds.” You nod towards him, reaching towards the tarmac for the cracking handle of your green steamer trunk, especially now that the gangly, lean man you presume is Edward reaches for it. 

There is a moment in time where everyone freezes. Both Nellie and her husband, as well as the sheriff before you. They are walking a thin line, one akin to the silver thread between life and death. The tension is palpable, and Nellie shatters the thing you cling to for resolve like glass:

“Now you’re being outright childish–”

She sucks in a breath when you snap, the wild dogs that live within your chest writhing and pulling against chains as you release whatever hurt and pain you held in your heart towards her. Everything you had wanted to say, everything you wanted to scream back at her once she had resurrected. You weilded them now as weapons against her. 

“You sure are one to talk about childish, Nellie. You ran in the other direction when things got hard, and then you up and died on us.” 

“I’m not dead. I was never dead.”

“Well, I have a hard time believing that.”

The Sheriff and the tall man take a step back behind Nellie, shrink away from your thunderous roar as if you might actually bite. The leather of your handle and the steamer dropping from your hand with had resonant patriarchal basso against the tarmac. Time has frozen in place, but people continue to swirl around you in a flurry of haste and posthaste annoyance. Silver tears well against the pink line of her eyes, and you are acutely aware that yours are a mirror image.

Steve had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn’t decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heartstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this– his wife was only ever tender. 

He can see the rage drip from your mouth like hot, molten tar, can see the tears well in your eyes like casted silver against the mold of your face– the way a single one cools and leaves a residual streak against the ashen skin of your cheek. You want to love Nellie, in the same way she wanted to love Edward, and in the way he loved his wife. He can see it, that burning want so bad that it becomes hatred. That kind of love whose flame burns blue. 

He knows Nellie loves you, too, but also knows how dangerous it is to speak it aloud– lest that vile maiden Death may hear it. 

Your eyes stare holes into him, burn against his abdomen from where you fix them. He had heard of women becoming alight with lust born from rage before, but had not though of you to be insane enough to eye him in a familiar way right here on the tarmac. That blue flame affixed to him and warming him from the inside, as well. 

“That’s an awfully ugly belt buckle, sheriff.” You speak, finally, breaking the silence and restoring some semblance of order to this congregation. 

This place is not forgiving, nor is it kind. I hope that your heart is not faint, and I hope that this place is kinder to you than it has been to us. 

With warmest regards, 

Steven Harrington

[thecameronchronicles]

Savior

TW: abusive relationship. Cheating. Mentions of death/violence/homicide/blood. Language. Smut. 

SUMMARY: Being neighbors with Trevor came with a specific benefit as he always kept a close eye on you...

WORD COUNT: 3500

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

Savior

Trevor's POV

How in the fuck did I convince myself to come to this? Her boyfriend's party. But one look at her in a dress he didn't deserve to see let alone peel off reminded me why. Not only for the deafening need to know just how my hands felt beneath the fabric, but also for the way I wanted each and every one of her smiles to be because of me. And for anyone responsible for her tears, may God have mercy on them...

"Trevor!" She welcomed me with an embrace that allowed every inch of her body to be felt in the thin fabric that separated. God, this woman could wear only sweats and a messy bun as she did the first day I saw her and I was still needing to adjust the swell in my seam. 

"Thank you so much for coming!" She gripped tightly into my forearms. For a moment, it seemed as if I had been her reason for gravity. As if my presence soothed her somehow. Certainly an assumption as I was rarely seen as anything more than an inconvenience. And yet ever since she moved in six months ago, she always left me feeling this way. 

Important. Worthy. So fucking needed that it was enough to make you dizzy. And if this devotion wasn't enough, the way she made it a point to make me comfortable had been that tipping point that made her different. That made any girl comparable to her and yet none would hold a candle. All because one of those simple looks set me on fire that paled to even the most skilled of women I attempted to use to forget her. 

That was my plague. She was unforgettable. And I was the poor son of a bitch in love with someone else's girlfriend...

"Yeah, man, thanks for coming." It took everything I had not to curl a lip or even my hands to a fist. This possessive and arrogant asshole has a goddess at his fingers and yet his eyes scanned every feminine soul in attendance as if she was nothing. And she noticed. 

The light that fought to remain behind her eyes remained at war against his presence. Never a kind word that didn't leave her embarrassed in the end. Details of their sex life enough to speak well of her as everything else was an apparent service that made him a victim or a martyr. And why she allowed it continued to astound me. Surely she knew she deserved better. Literally anyone. Wishful thinking made me hope it could one day have been me. 

"Keep an eye on her would you? Gotta go do some rounds-" He abandoned her when he should have wished to show her off. It was enough to be thankful of his absence but regretful it brought her such pain. 

"Can I show you something?" I asked as she illuminated to the offer. 

The second we made our way outside to the balcony, she seemed to take a clear reprieve. I loved that it was possible in my presence. But I loathed knowing she would have to return to him eventually. But not now. And that's what mattered. It wasn't now. 

"I always loved the stars...he always complains it's too cold to see them..." She placed her fingers on the edge of the railing and trusted it to lean forward. My eyes drifted down her curves and to her neck. A chosen hairstyle leaving her neck accessible to view. Soft skin accented by a beauty mark in perfect placement. A true work of art I was able to adore without needing to share. 

Yet I remained as a friend as it's what she always needed. Everytime she was on the curb outside the complex in tears. Anytime she was left without a car and asked me for a ride. Each time keeping myself in check while burning for her. Just one signal that told me she wanted this and I would gladly risk his wrath for even a moment of that attention. A moment of bliss for a lifetime of hell. 

"You deserve to see them..." She only shrugged. 

"I saw this hotel...I can't remember where it is, but there are these igloos with glass ceilings you can spend the night in...and you can just stare at the stars all night. I'd sleep outside of I could..." The careless way she spoke with such raw honesty of her dreams made me want to make them real for her. No matter how stupid or impossible. But this one made me envision her wrapped in my arms, sheets draped over us just enough to be warm-

"Trevor?" 

"Yeah?"

"It means a lot that you came. You're the only one who I actually like being around here...so thank you..." She confessed, my hand moving closer to hers as my pinky judged hers just enough to gain her attention. 

"I wish it was only us..." This was the sign I needed. This was the step forward she needed to take so I knew. And I didn't care about the consequences. 

I used a hold on her wrist to pull her towards me. A gentle collision anything but humorous as I use the same ledge she trusted to set her against. Instantly, her hand came to a rest at my cheek in the reminder of how delicate she was. And yet, her tongue was the one to tease mine. 

"Trevor..." She breathed softly, a hand to my chest as she fisted to fabric. 

"I can take care of you..."

"It isn't that simple..." She confessed as I nodded. 

"Then let me help you not think..." I directed her hips harder into me, making my intentions clear before softening them. My pulse at war with her own, my cock desperate for even a small trace of her fingers, and my lips needing more. Needing all of her. 

She tried to speak, but her body betrayed her as mine orchestrated us both. My fingers held a mind of their own, remaining cautious to not frighten her with how badly I desired her, but also speaking where words couldn't describe. Every kiss telling her I wanted her. Every touch or grasp informing her I'd protect her. But she remained distant from me. 

"I want to make you feel good...I swear to God I won't stop until you do. I want to make you-" She nodded, her fingers toying with my belt as my thumbs teased the low rest of her skirt. 

He was so fucking lucky and took her for granted. She would have been unable to walk if she wore that skirt for me. But then again, I wouldn't have wanted a party. I would have been content unwrapping her in repetition. 

"Baby?" His voice echoed as she pushed me away, guilt riding over her face. 

"Please don't say anything...I'm..I'm sorry Trevor..." In six months, I managed to learn of her emotions. But this had to be a first of terror. 

After this exchange, knowing her body in my palms and the desperation her own made against my chest, I couldn't watch him use her as a trophy. Squeezing her ass when he wasn't reprimanding it. So I slipped out just prior to the cake, her eyes beckoning me to stay as even those pleading eyes wouldn't be enough. 

Returning to my apartment has never been this difficult. I struggled to enter as I turned back to face her door. Separated by only a walk, I was able to hear remnants of the party until it died down enough to hear only them. Her cadence softer but still muffled and his sloppy and intimidating to her. It was rage inducing as I paced my bedroom floor, needing her now more than ever. 

But she wasn't mine. It was simple. She chose him. Every night. Tonight. On the balcony. And it was enough to keep my ass in place. 

At least until two in the morning. 

The first rousing sound was that of broken glass and his raised tone. I slipped from my sheets and towards the wall, hearing her plead with him. It lasted a handful of times until the slamming of doors could be heard and an eventual sob. It was this sound of her sadness that sent me to their door before I could stop myself. 

Not your problem. Not your-

"Dumb fucking bitch!" 

Now it is. 

My anger came behind my fist as I pounded on the door. But as it came open, she only showed me half of her. The entire left side of her body was hidden behind the heavy door as I could see the disarray that remained. The strap loose down her shoulder and her hair clearly gripped after the perfect waves I had embraced a few hours prior. 

"Trevor..."

"Get rid of him..." He groaned behind her. 

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine..." Even a half mute, blind, or fully drunk man could tell she was lying. If the way she shook didn't show this, then the silent plea in her eyes had. 

"I left my phone...can I come get it?" 

"Can I...just have...I'll give it tomorrow-"

But as she tried to diffuse my presence and the tension it brought, he opened the door wide enough to observe her. Whatever works he spoke to me were moit behind the evidence over her. A busted lip. A bruised cheek. Tears escaping as she pleaded for me not to act. I had suspicions he was a dick. But I would ensure he'd never touch her again. 

"Get it through your head man, she isn't gonna fuck you, no matter how pathetic you are-'" Were his final words as I clasped his collar. He was quick to respond with a lower cut to my ribs, an unsuspecting blow that gave him only a temporary upper hand. 

"Trying to fight for her? She isn't fucking worth it! Trust me!" 

"Stop!" She pleaded, trying to get between us as he only pushed her away. 

"Go to my apartment..." I attempted to direct her but she remained as I was swung at. A last minute maneuver and his hand was smashed into the stone wall separating our living rooms. 

"Fuck!" 

"You're nothing but a low life asshole obsessed with her!"

"You don't ever touch her again!"

"Wrong. I do every night. Quite well. You MUST have heard her screaming for me...Knowing you'll never have her!" I ran to him as a bull to a crimson flag, sending him into the edge of his own sink. A set of elbows to my back made me release him before I rose like a man literally fighting for his life. Punch after punch until he was straddled flat. Nose broken enough to bleed profusely and two teeth loosened enough to spot out as evidence of my imminent victory. 

"Are you okay?" I asked her as I left him on the floor. My hands to her cheeks were accepted by her fingers wrapping around my wrists. But as I helped her in place, my forehead at hers with a silent confirmation, she opened her eyes in a split second to find him lunging after me. 

"Trevor!" The blade if a knife would nick my forearm before it was directed back within his abdomen. A pure reaction to a fight or flight response as everything chilled. 

I wasn't a man who often made the "right" decision. My methods were questionable and I was anything but honest in the means of...well most things. But I protected her. And it was enough to silence the guilt that she developed secondhand. 

"Trevor..." My name has never sounded so sour on her lips. But I understood. 

"You both...are...gonna be...sorry..." He shot blood rapidly. Whatever was struck by the blade was enough to be fatal as he became an immobile and flaxen in less than a minute. His back ceasing to rise in even the most shallow of breaths. 

He was dead. 

I killed him. 

For her. 

"What did you do?" Her eyes were wide. 

"He isn't going to hurt you anymore..." I took hold of her wrist and led her to my apartment. My mind was wild with a list of what to do. But as I thought of calling the police or cleaning up the scene, I watched her on the couch where I left her. Cleaning the blood from my hands in the kitchen sink, I moved to her. 

"I'm not going to apologize about what happened , but I am sorry you had to see it." I ran my thumb against her lip. "He deserved it..." she stood for a moment, my words rejected and my kindness left behind her steps. But as she moved to the door, she turned back to face me. 

"Do you have any idea what you've done? Who he is?! That's Roland Voight's son. Elusive millionaire...macabre and dark...questionable-"

"Guess the rotten apple doesn't fall far from the tree..." 

"You killed his son!" I moved closer to her. 

"And I'd do it again." I spoke with the attempt to be confident, but my words shook. Not in the fact it was untrue, but for the fact I hadn't understood the reality until she spoke the words back to me. But I meant it. If presented with the same circumstances, I would have done the same. 

"You...you killed him...you...you-" She was tripping over her words as I began to hollow. Not that I expected gratitude, but at least not hatred. I could have her disgusted with me even more than this. But then suddenly she was against him, knocking me off of my feet with her arms around my neck. 

"You freed me..." A weak smile broke our kids as I lifted her back towards the couch. This beautiful, battered, woman was mine. And I wasn't going to question it. Whether it as adrenaline or some kink, I didn't care. As far as I was concerned, she was mine and I was hers. 

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you..." 

"I know..." She smiled softly as she writhed against me. A dance of sorts allowed to my torso as she pulled my blood soaked shirt from my body. As it bled to my skin, she traced it for only a second before I brought her focus back to me. 

"I know I should feel guilty, but I can't...I've wanted this for so long, Trevor." I couldn't believe what she said. Like a seventh wonder presenting itself for me. Only me. And I was a greedy man. Especially when it came to her. Only her. 

"So have I..." 

"Please..." Her hand came to my pants as I stopped her hand, her plea coming from this rejection. When I remained in disbelief to her, she took it upon herself to bend over the arm of the couch. Her body presented to me in the most carnal of ways. Her panties peeking from beneath her shorts and a bra strap having fallen to her elbow. But this wasn't a one night stand. This wasn't a quick fuck to forget about her. I wanted her. I needed her. I wasn't going to rush this. 

"I want to know..." She confessed looking back at me. 

"Know what?" 

"What it's like not having to fake it..." She moved back towards me, slipping out of her clothes until only her lingerie remained, as I was at a loss to do anything but witness her. She was even more perfect than I imagined. Her curves. Her soft skin. Her. 

Fuck. 

"I thought of you. Everytime he touched me. Kissed me. I wanted it to be you-"

"Jesus Christ, you're gonna kill me..." I spoke against her neck. She hasn't been on her knees for me or touched my cock and yet it throbbed like never before. 

"Please Trevor...I can take it. However you want me...I can-"

"I want to make love to you, not fuck you..." She tensed to my words, as if they were worse than the painful ones she'd sadly become accustomed to. 

"I..."

"We don't have to..." 

"I want you..." Her arm cranes around my neck. "I've always wanted you."

"Then we're doing it my way..." My dominance was only to remind her of what she deserved. And for that, I moved into my knees for her. Her legs over my shoulders as I devoured what he always took advantage of. And fuck, she was sweet. So wet. So fucking sweet. And all fucking mine. 

Her back arched in seconds as her hands gripped for a reprieve she would never have. I didn't mean to edge her yet I wanted it to last. So I slowed. The most delicious of moans coming from such swollen lips. 

"You deserve to feel only pleasure...and I'm going to show you how to..." I set her fingers between her legs. 

"No...I want you..." 

"And I need to be patient because I won't last if-"

"I don't want you to...please Trevor..." 

"Not yet, baby...you're gonna be adored first..." I pulled her around me and into the bedroom. She deserved a bed. She deserved the comfort and space I'm sure he didn't allow her. Swift ducks to make himself come. But to know I was the only one to make her, genuinely, it was a high better than any woman on her knees for me. Maybe even her. 

"I can't wait...please Trevor..." She pleaded again as I'd stretched her for me. My fingers coated in her from tip to knuckle, learning her body exclusively for me. Every shudder, mine. Every moan, mine. Every whimper belonged to-

"Trevor!" She gasped as I used my cock through her lower lips. 

"Please..." She mewled, the desperations sweater with every utterance. 

"I can't wait." She nodded, her body welcoming me stronger than I expected. Her inner walls a vice around my shaft. Fuck I could  have come immediately. Everything was too much. But she deserved to be thoroughly blissed. I pinned her hands flat on either side of her head and controlled the thrusts as she continued to beg me. 

I never wanted her to beg. It was beneath her. But damn, she made it sound so sweet. 

"Harder..."

"Not yet, baby." 

"Ugh!" Her back arched as I began to increase my speed. Sweat mixed in abundance to tell whose belonged to who. It stained the sheet all the same. 

"Please make me come, Trevor...I can feel it..."

"You don't have to ask...I will, baby. I just want you to feel all of me..." I thrusted again. Shit, she was so fucking good. Too fucking good. The way she dug her nails into me. The way she breathed in my ear. Every goddamn detail. 

"I do! You're so deep, baby-" A moan escaped my lips. I would be anything to her, gladly. But any possession made me an immediate switch. A submissive to her desires. 

"Fuck..." I strained over her as she nodded. 

"Yes, Trevor! You're gonna make me come!" Her nails clawed into my back.

"Harder." I teased the words she offered earlier as she obliged. We both wore the wounds of the night in both pleasure and pain. Red lines of nails on my back as they were left on her hips. Bruises from him were kissed and quelled by me as she showed me her appreciation of my valor. 

"Baby, tell me where to come..." 

"Inside-"

"But I didn't put on-"

"Inside-" her nails were sharp into my ass. God, I'd sold my soul to her. 

"Fuck...." I inhaled with a groan as she nodded. 

"Yes! Fuck! Ah!"

"Is it too hard baby?" I asked as she only shook her head, biting her lips closed to not belt. My hand came to her lips as she took them between her teeth, biting softly onto the pad as I kissed into her neck. 

The edge too close. Her body still too far. 

"I love you-" the words left my lips as I came to regret them already. 

"I...I didn't mean..."

"I love you too, Trevor..." She confessed breathlessly. Those words more of an aphrodisiac than any other moment. My body submitting to her as if I'd never known pleasure before. My body in tremors that she accompanied, until I was left at a rest against her chest. 

"I meant it..." I confessed. 

"Good." She smirked. "I did too." She kissed me softly. 

This was how it should always have been. Us. And I would face any charge, any man, even any hell to keep her. 

Little did I know, I was about to...

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916

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[helplesslypurple77]

Day 5 Atsushi/Dazai w/ forced Proximity(stuck in a closet)

Notes: shut up ik that i already used a closet in the Fyodor one, but in this one the closet is more heavily featured, so there. Slowly but surely “Kinktober” has turned into “AtsushiFuckTober”. Maybe I should do that next year too.

Atsushi was grateful to Dazai, he owed the man his comfortable life, and that was a debt he would never be able to pay.

“Um Mr. Nakajima, please come this way.” A soft, feminine voice at his side, and Dazai was missing again.

He idolized the man of course, and recently, new feelings had been popping up, but for the love of god, he wished the man would quit trying to throw himself into every single body of water they came across. Be it a sink, or a bathtub, as soon as he spotted it, Osamu Dazai would make a break for the water, shouting gleefully about suicide, and Atsushi was rapidly loosing the little amounts of patience he had left.

It didn't help that their companion, a pretty woman by the name of Akari, who had graciously volunteered to lead them to their destination, had to also deal with the fallout. She smiled patiently, even as Atsushi dragged Dazai away from a fucking bathtub, for the hundreth time this evening.

He didnt know what was happening, and why Dazai had suddenly doubled his suicide efforts, and in the middle of a mission of gods sake, but as he dragged Dazai away from the barrely filled bathtub and down the carpeted hall, he bemouned his circumstances.

“I apologize, Miss Akari. He usually isn't this bad.” Miss Akari had to be an angel in disguise, because she just laughed a little, and gripped his arm leading him down the hallway. Dazai trailed behind them, rattling off suicide facts.

“At~su~shiiii~” Atsushi wonders if Dazai has been eating poisonous mushrooms again. “What, Dazai?”

Dazai giggles as they make their way down the chandelier lit hallway. “Did you know that on average, 1 person dies by suicide every 11 minutes in the US?”

“Dazai, we live in Japan.” Dazai ignores him, opening his arms dramatically, his bandages catching the light. “Oh how I long for the sweet embrace of death, how I crave the kiss of the underworld king, summoning me to my final embrace…”

Its weird actually, given how pretty Miss Akari was, Atsushi would have expected at least one invitation for double suicide, or at least a bad pickup line, but nothing, the whole night. It was strange, but Atsushi is just glad he doesn't have to apologize to Miss Akari for anything other than minor inconveniences. Dazai is talking again, but Atsushi tunes him out, instead focusing on the beautiful scenery surrounding them. They walk down a long hallway, lined with gold framed portraits of families. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the floor is carpeted in red velvet. The entire place screams money. Atsushi supposes that makes sense, their target is a very rich man after all.

Miss Akari is still clutching his arm, her gloved hands shaking slightly. She's very pretty, with long black hair and big, doe eyes with long lashes, dressed prettily in a pink dress with white gloves. And, given how she's just Dazai’s type, Atsushi seriously would have expected an invitation for double suicide.

‘Your skin is lily white, your eyes captivatingly beautiful, your long dark hair reminds me of the night sky, you would make me a happy man if you joined me on a double suicide.’ or something like that.

And then Atsushi would have to apologize to the poor woman, and she would probably run away screaming, and their mission would be ruined—

“Mr. Nakajima?” Atsushi startled, and sent her a small smile of apology. She continued, her voice as soft as a spring breeze. “I was just wondering about you. I hear you work for the Armed Detective Agency?” It's odd that she's asking about him, but Atsushi guesses she's just curious. He smiles, ignoring Dazai yet again. “Yes, as well as the bandaged idiot behind me.” She laughs, the sound like bells. Atsushi wonders yet again about the strange absence of double suicide invitations. “That must be hard work. You really are amazing!” She pressed close to him, her body pressed against his side, her hands still clutching his arm. She must be scared. Atsushi tries his best to send her a reassuring smile.

“It's not too hard, I'm lucky that I get to work with such amazing people.” She lets out a little giggle, her eyelashes fluttering as she looks up at him. “So, what's your ability? I'm sure it's amazing.” Atsushi laughs a little, she really is a kind person. “It's called Beast Beneath the Moonlight. I can transform into a giant white tiger.” She giggles again, clutching his arm. “Wow you're so strong, I feel so reassured now that i'm next to you.”

Atsushi is glad she feels safe, but then the suspicious lack of loud Dazai noises gets to him and he turns, and of course, Dazai is gone. He turns again, Miss Akari still on his arm. “I'm sorry, I have to find my colleague. Could you wait here for a minute?” She nods, her eyelashes fluttering again and Atsushi sends her a grateful smile. “Thanks, you're an angel.” When he leaves, he sees her leaning against the wall, her hands over her cheeks, smiling.

When he finds Dazai around the corner, once again trying to drown himself in a bathtub, Atsushi lets out a long, suffering sigh. “Dazai, that bathtub has no water in it.”

“Alas, i am simply imagining what it would feel like, the sweet embrace of the water—”

When Atsushi drags him back, Miss Akari is still waiting, like the patient person she is. Atsushi smiles at her as she takes his arm again, clutching it tightly as they walk through the gilded corridors, looking for their target. The faint sounds of music and laughter echo from upstairs, the occasional clink of glassware and silverware barely heard under the cacophony of noise downstairs. It's a dinner party, a family reuniting for a will reading and Atsushi can hear the arguments all the way up here. Miss Akari, a daughter of the dead woman, had requested they come, because she suspected someone would break in and attempt to kill the family, while they were all in one place. The family was an old money family with dealings with the port mafia, and Atsushi had asked why they didn't help but Akari had informed him that they didn't do that sort of thing. It made sense, he supposed.

Right now, they're supposed to be patrolling the upper hallways while the family ate, because Miss Akari was sure the person wouldn't strike until after dinner, when the family gathered for the will reading. She had informed them that she would rather not let the others know, because in her words; ‘there was sure to be a riot!’. And so, they were sneaking around the upper floors of a rich person's house(scratch that, it was basically a castle, Atsushi had never seen so much wealth in his life.) Dodging the occasional stray family member had been easy, but they were becoming more and more frequent as the night went on, the partygoers tiring of the endless arguments and retreating upstairs to the many different entertainment rooms.

“Atsushi?” Miss Akari is speaking again, pulling him out of his brain and back to reality. She leans up, whispering in his ear. She smells faintly of rose petals. “I think someone in my family might be responsible for moms death.” Atsushi feels this isn't something she should tell just anyone, even if she feels they are trustworthy, but he nods along with her anyway.

“You think so?”

☘ ☘ ☘

Miss Akari is the most suspiciously suspicious person Dazai has ever met. I mean it's obvious. Why else would she be hanging off Atsushi like that, stealing Dazai’s rightfully deserved attention. The wench. She was obviously an enemy spy or something like that, hellbent on pulling Atsushi to the dark side! Dazai scowled as they walked down the hall. They were obviously leaving him out like this, whispering and flirting like that, and right in front of his salad(I'm sorry). How dare that Harlot, steal his Atsushi from him.

Dazai scoffed. She wasn't even that pretty. Ok, maybe he was being a tad dramatic. Miss Akari was actually very pretty. She had long straight black hair and dark black eyes, and she was clothed prettily in a nice sunday dress and small kitten heels. And honestly a long time ago she would have been Dazai’s type, but recently he had found himself into people less like Miss Akari, and more like Atsushi. Or rather, he had discovered he was in love with Atsushi.

It was embarrassing and dumb and humiliating and entirely too hard to deny, and if he was being truthful, he was just jealous of that wench. Jealous that Atsushi would let her hang all over him like that. Probably smashing her plentiful bosom and ladylike charms all against him and stealing him from right under Dazai’s nose. And it was highly unlikely she was an enemy spy, she was just an admittedly kind and pretty young woman who was interested in Atsushi, and Dazai hated her for it. There were times, times when his darker days came back to haunt him, times when he got unhealthy ideas like keeping Atsushi locked away, for if he was locked away only Dazai could have the privilege to gaze upon his form. But most of all he wanted Atsushi to be happy, and no one would be happy caged like a decorative bird.

And so, he simply stood back and allowed that Harlot to hang all over Atsushi. But of course, not without the occasional ploy to steal his attention back. But alas, it had seemed Atsushi had tired of his antics, and Dazai had been threatened, in no uncertain terms, to be left behind with the old ladies. And so, he had to be content with watching. For once he was thankful for Atsushi’s dense personality, because although it had screwed him over, it had also screwed everyone else who had approached him too.

Dazai’s love for his subordinate had snuck up on him like a tiger hunting its prey, and then jumped him from behind and completely overwhelmed him. It was even beginning to overtake his desire for a double suicide, wich was a terifying thought. It had been a slow, but steady process but subconsciously he knew he was doomed from the moment he met Atsushi. When he had first opened his eyes, soaking wet on the riverbank, he was sure he had succeeded in his suicidal endevors. For why else would there be an angel hovering above him, highlighted by the setting sun.

Their relationship had been a series of devastating blows delivered under the sunset. For it had been sunset when they had first met, and Dazai had found out that Atsushi was not, in fact, an angel, but a poor orphan boy. He was sure Oda was laughing at him from behind the grave, when he took him in, purely with hidden selfish reasons. Reasons he himself didn't even see when he did it.

The second sunset, on the way back from Ranpo’s case with Atsushi. He had refused to admit he got himself caught in the net to be in Atsushi’s proximity. He had justified it with ‘i just want to watch his progress, and kunikida wont let me,’ but it was obvious to an older and wiser Dazai that he just wanted to be around him. It was embarrassing, but all Dazai could feel was the heat of his body, the close proximity, only a few measly inches between their shoulders. He had longed, subconsciously as he prattle on, to pull the boy close, maybe wind an arm around his thin shoulders.

The third sunset, the one that graced them as they sat on that parkbench, on the day Atsushi figured out the orphanage headmaster had died. And although Dazai had appeared calm and rational, like he always pretended, the mere mention of the man's death had filled him with glee. The extent of the abuse he had subjected Atsushi two filled him with an indescribable amount of rage, that he had always chalked up to protectiveness as a friend. It was apparent that it was not, that the extent of the protectiveness he felt was far and beyond. That was the second sunset, and perhaps maybe the tipping point.

But the third sunset, the sunset on the ship after the defeat of the guild, was the breaking point. As he had nonshalontly raised a glass, and as Atsushi had smiled at him, his eyes mirroring the color of the sunset, his heart had stopped. And then it had resumed, beating triple time against his chest, threatening to leap out completely. He had been overwhelmed by how beautiful the boy across from him was and how desperately Dazai wanted to embrace him, to hold his thin frame close and press kisses to his lips and he had just stopped functioning for a moment.

And that was when he knew, that he was well and truly gone, that he was unequivocally, irreversibly, deeply and truly in love. And then, he had kind of accepted his fate. It was obvious that the affection Atsushi held for him was purely platonic, and even if he had other feelings the boy himself was unaware of them, at least for now. And truly, the boy was terribly, annoying, incredibly dense. Even outright flirting was just brushed off with a laugh and an eye roll, and any physical affection(aside from outright just kissing him) was just attributed to platonic feelings, and Dazai had been about three second from pulling all his hair out and jumping out a second story window, so he essentially gave up. Not completely, he just bided his time and would have to make do with fantasies and daydreams, until the day he decided to take a leap of faith.

But, this harlot was testing his last nerve. She was far too conventionally attractive and although Atsushi didn't seem to notice how hard she was flirting, Dazai was sure that at some point she would give up on subtlety and just ask him out. And then Atsuhsi would blush adorably and accept and then they would start going out and it would be all suffocatingly cute and cuddly and then one day they would get married and Atsushi would of course ask Dazai to be the best man and Dazai’s heart would break into tiny little pieces but he would do it because he would do anything for Atsushi and then they would have little kids who looked like Atsushi and Dazai would grow old alone and sad and have to watch their happily ever after—

“…zai. Dazai. Earth to Dazai!” Dazai pulls himself out of his depressing fantasies and back to reality with a jolt. Atsushi is standing in front of him, noticeably missing the evil harlot Miss Akari, his hands on his hips. Dazai almost skips to meet him, grabbing his arm as they make their way down the hallway. “So, where did Miss Akari go?”

“She had to entertain her guests, remember?” Atsushi regrettably pulls away from Dazai, crossing his arm and coming to a stop. “Really Dazai, she's a really nice woman. You should pay attention to her.” Dazai really will throw himself out a second story window. Watch him, he’ll actually do it, just watch. “Do you like her or something?” He sounds like a middle school boy. Embarrassing. Atsushi smiles. “Yes actually.” Dazai’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach. The boy continues to drive knives into his poor heart. “She’s a very kind woman. And she’s very pretty too. I was sure you would have invited her to do a double suicide with you by now.”

If it were, perhaps, a few months earlier, Dazai definitely would have. But now he’s down bad for his subordinate, who apparently ‘loves’ Miss Akari. He forces a smile, almost choking on actual tears. Embarrassing. “So, when's the wedding?” Atsushi just looks confused. “Wedding?” Dazai might actually cry. “Yeah, Wedding. She’s obviously into you and if you love her back you might as well just get married then.” Atsushi blushes pretty, his pale cheeks turning a dark pink. Dazai wishes he were the cause of that. “What are you talking about! I don't like her like that, I thought you meant if i thought she was nice.” Dazai’s tears are suddenly gone, done choking up his throat and clogging his stomach. “And she’s not into me anyway. People usually aren't ‘into me’.”

‘Me!’ Dazai wants to scream. ‘I'm into you and you are worth it and I want to kiss you please let me kiss you please—’ but he holds it in. He doesn't, however, hold in his gleeful smile. Atsushi gives him a baleful glare. “You could have been nicer to her, and did you really have to try to throw yourself into any bathtub–, no, anything that holds water?” Mood restored, Dazai swings his arms by his side. “Really Atsushi. You’ll never understand the joys of suicide.”

And the rest of the evening is going just wonderfully, it's all just wonderful and sunshine and rainbows really until suddenly Atsushi is grabbing his collar and he's being yanked backward and shoved not so nicely into a closet. Really, he's about to complain, but Atsushi makes an adorable little shushing noise and crowds inside as well, and Dazai hears the sound of footsteps and conversation. And he remembers the only part of the conversation he had listened to, where Miss Akari had told them she didn't want the rest of the family to know she had invited agents. And really, he should be concentrating on what the people walking by the small closet they're in are talking about but the only thing he can concentrate on is Atsushi’s proximity.

It's a small closet, made for sheets and towels, and the lack of space forced Atsushi to press in tight, his back shoving Dazai against the wall. Dazai’s senses are asaulted by the clean scent of green tea and cheap soap and the heat radiating from Atsushi’s back and Dazai is simultaniasly cursing and praising whatever fucked up god got him into this position because his pretty subordinate is pressed against him and all his fantasies are coming back to haunt him.

Atsushi is shorter than him, about two or three inches, and his frame is smaller. Dazai’s body almost cages him in, even with his arms pinned to his sides in what little space they have, and it's frighteningly arousing. Dazai’s nose is shoved in his hair, Atsushi’s back lines up with his chest and most damning of all, his but presses directly on Dazai’s dick. People are walking by the room, and Dazai knows it definitely isn't the time to get hard, so he puts all impure thoughts to the back of his mind for now.

Really, he should take advantage of this opportunity, and he does. He wraps his arms around Atsushi’s frame pulling him closer even still, and allowing himself to hug the boy their warmth blending together. And it feels wonderful and comforting and like all is right in the world, until Atsushi squirms, grinding his ass back directly on Dazai’s clothed dick. Dazai’s hands drop like a hot stone, shooting to his side as he tries to separate himself from Atsushi, to no avail. Because now all those times he had arrived after a fight to see Atsushi laying face down on the ground, his cute little ass on display for Dazai(and the world). And he didn't know why the boy insisted on landing in this position every chance he got, but it was truly a strange(sexy) position. For every time he did that all Dazai could think about was that position in a different context, maybe something with one hundred percent less clothes and it was all coming back to haunt him.

For some reason the people outside the closet have insisted on talking like three feet away from the closet doors, and not moving and now Dazai knew his dick was at least semi hard and he was never going to recover from this one—

“Dazai?” Atsushi has turned around to whisper, and now it's almost worse because their faces are a two measly inches away from each other, breaths tangling together and Atsushi’s eyes are breathtakingly beautiful. “Dazai, do you have something in your pocket, its poking against me.” Oh now this is just lovely. He's taking to long to respond and Atsushi’s going to get suspicious. “Yes actually. A gun.” Atsushi rolls his eyes. “It's not a gun, that's not what a gun feels like.” Fuck. “Jesus Dazai, what is it? Is it something your not supposed to have?” He’s still whispering, but now he looks slightly panicked. “Did you bring a random knife or prescription pills on missions again? You know Kunikida’s going to kill you.” This conversation should be killing him hard on but it's still there, and harder than ever. Dazai hates himself.

His lack of response seems to be worrying Atsushi because now, to his horror, Dazai feels his hand trying to get in between their bodies. He grabs it, trying to hold him away from his overeager dick. Atsushi frowns, whisper yelling at him. “Dazai, lemme see it!”

“Don't worry about it, Atsushi!” This, obviously, does not deter him.

“Now I'm even more worried!”

As much as he would like Atsushi’s hands all over his dick, he really would prefer different circumstances and so he thoughtlessly grabs the boy's wrist, pinning them above his head. It's almost worse this way. Their faces are close together, breaths intermingling again, and to Dazai’s satisfaction, he sees the blush spreading across Atsushi’s cheeks. It's visible even in the dark closet as the boy evades his eyes, blush furious across his pale skin. Dazai can't resist the urge to tease him.

“My Atsushi, what’s got you so flustered?” The boy glares, all while that cute little blush is still plastered across his face. “Shut up Dazai.” And so, Dazai seels his lips with a kiss.

...

End Notes: I always headcanoned that Atsushi is oblivious to flirting because of his low self esteem lol. A pretty girl could be hanging off his arm, telling him how amazing he is and stuff and he would go ‘haha lol she's so kind.’ or ‘haha lol she must be scared.’ also i'm tired of writing full smut so here you go, half smut

Taglist: @mulit05ho3st4n

[whoreteen]

in her shadow (chapter III)

series masterpost. main masterlist. buy me a coffee.

wc: 4,5K. genre: angst, fluff, smut.

“Are you sure that you want to do this?” Your boyfriend murmurs as he holds your waist, his brown eyes searching yours. 

You had been together for nearly three months and after significant pressure from your parents, you had invited Taehyung to a family meal. You didn’t want to take him, your parents were bound to find some sort of issue with the magazine journalist, but you knew they wouldn’t accept another excuse. 

You had been skirting around the issue for weeks and had no choice but to take him to your parents before your parents sought Taehyung out. 

“Sure? No, but we have to do it,” you return as you fix your dress. “My parents will never shut up otherwise.”

You had never liked wearing dresses, but if you turned up in jeans, your mother would have had a field day. You weren’t the most ‘feminine’ woman and for your mother, that appeared to be the worst thing in the world. 

“You look beautiful, baby,” Taehyung smiles sweetly. 

You return his smile and peck his lips lightly. “How did I end up with you?” you ask, smiling softly. 

He wasn’t what you wanted and if you had your way, you would have been with Jeonghan by now, but Taehyung was a lovely man and you were lucky to have him. He was kind, funny, smart, he was everything that Jeonghan was with just one exception.

He wasn’t engaged to Nina. 

He smiles at you softly before your phone buzzes, signalling that you needed to leave. “It’ll be fine, Y/N,” he says, assuring you as he wraps your fingers together. 

“Easy for you to say, you’ve not spent time with my family.” You return before leading him out of the apartment and towards your car. 

Jeonghan didn’t understand why he had to spend the night at his fiancée’s parents home. He had only just gotten back from an away trip with the boys and had been rather looking forwards to a quiet night in, but Nina was insistent. Your parents had invited them and she had accepted on their behalf, not once considering the notion that he might want to rest after another long performance and flight. 

“They’re here!” Your mom exclaims loudly. 

Jeonghan furrows his brow a little. He had thought it would just be them, but judging from the look that lit both Nina and your mom’s face, he knew he was dead wrong.

“Who’s here?” he murmurs. 

“Y/N and Taehyung, Jeonghan, I told you.” Nina hisses.

He offers a long sigh. Sure, he recalled some sort of mention of you and your boyfriend, but he had most definitely ignored it, not wanting to get caught up in thinking about the girl that had turned the offer of his heart down. It had been weeks, nearly eight to precise, but still, your rejection hurt him. 

Don’t misunderstand him, he knew you had done the right thing, at the end of the day, he was Nina’s fiancée and she would never have been forgiven for taking him, but still he wished you would change your mind. He was falling for you; hard, and wanted nothing more than to press his lips to yours without fear of being caught, but he also knew deep down it couldn’t happen. Nina appears deadly serious about getting married and Jeonghan knows there is no way out, not one that can have seen him with you at least. 

“Y/N, sweetheart, you look so pretty,” your sister beams as she skitters towards you, embracing you in an awkward hug. 

You return it briefly before you step back, your hand wrapping once more around that of the man that stands at your side. “Mom, dad, Nina, this is Taehyung,” you say gently, biting your lip. 

Taehyung squeezes your hand a little before he steps away, engaging your parents and sister in conversation. You watch him before you turn your head a little, spotting Jeonghan as he sits, unmoving, on the couch; your heart skipping a beat, but you choose to ignore it.

“Oh. I didn’t think you would be here,” you say, trying to keep the awkwardness out of your voice. 

Jeonghan shakes his head. “I didn’t either to be honest, but Nina wanted to come so here we are,” he responds as lightly as he could. 

You nod your head a little. “Seventeen performed well,” you smile, referring to the AAA performance.

Jeonghan lifts his head and offers a meek smile, silently thanking you. 

“I thought that Seungcheol looked a little like he was lacking though,” you joke playfully, trying to make the atmosphere a little more light hearted. God, the intensity is different this time, you feel like you can cut the (sexual) tension with a butter knife. But, you knew it was going to be awkward, how could it not be? You just didn’t want it to show. If you both acted weird, someone was bound to ask questions and you could not lie; it was a weakness of yours. 

“I’ll tell Cheol he needs to work harder,” he says, a little chuckle escaping his lips. 

You beam at the sound of it before your boyfriend steps to your side, wrapping his arm around you. “Jeonghan, this is Tae.” You say, your eyes fixed on his which were fixed on Taehyung’s arm. 

“I heard,” he murmurs, his hands pushing him to his feet. “Excuse me, I need some air,” he says, glaring at your boyfriend before he walks away. 

“What is his problem?” he hears Taehyung whisper to you. 

You shake your head and fix a smile, simply saying you didn’t know. You did know, of course you did, but you didn’t want to draw any attention to it. If Nina noticed the way you looked at him then you both were screwed. 

“You really didn’t need to run out of there, you know.” You say as you stand beside the patio door, your arms crossed over your chest. 

Jeonghan was sat on the edge of your parents’ pool as he turns a little, his brown eyes scanning your delicate frame. 

“I think I did,” he returns, his ears listening to the sound of your footsteps drawing ever closer. “Shouldn’t you be with Tae?” He spits, jealousy evident in his tone and features, as he watches you set your heels at his side, slipping your bare feet into the cold water. 

“He’s busy with Nina and my mother, they are showing him my baby pictures and giggling about how awkward I was,” you quip.

Jeonghan just shakes his head before muttering, “Why are you here Y/N?”

It was hard for him; having you around, and he wanted it to stop. You had made yourself clear, you avoided him, got yourself a new man and, you clearly weren’t going to take him from your sister. So, what was the point?

“I wanted to check on you. It’s been over an hour since you stormed off,” you mutter. 

You knew he’d left because of you and you did feel bad.

“Why do you care?” he snaps.

You flinch a little before softly muttering, “I do care Jeonghan, of course I care.”

“Yeah, sure you do,” he spits at you. “You care so much that you turned me away and started dating someone else.” He adds a little bitterly. 

“What do you want me to do, Jeonghan?” you snap in exasperation, getting tired of his attitude already. “I’m not going to hurt my sister just to make you happy, she’s family and I would like to still have a family when all is said and done,” you exclaim. 

“All I wanted was a chance, but you denied me. I’m falling for you Y/N and I can’t stop,” he says. “Trust me, I have tried.”

“Try harder!” you retort loudly. 

“Like you don’t feel the exact same way,” he says, scoffing. He wasn’t an idiot, he had seen the looks and knew you felt the same, he was merely curious as to why you wouldn’t admit it. 

It was so obvious. 

“It honestly doesn’t matter, Jeonghan. You proposed to Nina. Nina is my sister in case you forgot. That means that nothing can ever happen here, regardless of who feels what and who wants what. I’m not going to allow you to cheat on my sister and I’m sure as hell not going to let you do it with me.” You say before pushing yourself up. 

Jeonghan reaches out towards you and grips your wrist, pulling you haphazardly towards him. “What if I left her?” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. 

You stop breathing for a short moment, wiping away any chance of a comprehensible response.

“W-what?” you stutter, completely in shock.

As you allow your eyes to search his, Jeonghan realizes how down bad he is for you. He can feel himself getting lost in your eyes as you stare each other down.

You shake your head before softly replying, “It wouldn’t matter.”

“Why?”

“She would blame me for you leaving her and I would lose her and my parents. I’m not prepared to do that Hannie, not even for you,” you whisper, your hand twisting a few strands of his black hair around your fingers. That in itself makes Jeonghan’s heart so warm, but it’s only amplified when you make direct eye contact with him. Your expression is gentle, sweet and vulnerable and, the way you gaze at him is so tender. Although he’s quite certain it’s just the light from the moon on your cheeks making you look this angelic, there’s just something about the soft nature of the moment that gets him too.

Jeonghan shifts his body against yours and presses your heads together, enjoying your embrace.

You make eye contact again, not missing the way his eyes shifts to your lips.

Sighing, you bite your bottom lip lightly. “I need to get back inside,” you murmur, but he just shakes his head, his hands still holding you so close his thoughts smell like you, unable to let go. 

“Jeonghan, people will come looking for us. It wouldn’t be good for either of us to get caught like this,” you explain. “Please?”

He lets out an irritated sigh, but moves his arms, allowing you to step away from him. 

“Y/N,” he calls, his body following yours. 

“Mhm?” you hum, turning and nodding, your face lit by nothing more than the dim moonlight. Locking eyes with him, you can tell he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out and pulling you close.

He wants to kiss you, so badly he’s tempted to just grab your face and make out with you right then and there, not giving two fucks about anyone catching you. He has never in his life felt like this before; never had he wanted to kiss someone so desperately in his life, but he also knows he shouldn’t. Even as your eyes remain steady on his lips and the way he dampens his own with his tongue.

If this isn’t what love feels like, Jeonghan can’t imagine the intensity of the actual feelings. This had to be it; this had to be what people called love.

“Fuck it,” Jeonghan mutters, stepping towards you, slowly positioning on your cheek before instantly pressing his lips to yours, savouring the familiar feel of sparks in his veins. 

He can tell that you want to push him away, to slap him across the face for being so fucking careless and stupid, but instead finds your hands gripping his white dress shirt, pulling him as close as it is possible. 

His large hands ghost over your curves before they move to the back of your thighs, lifting you up and curving your legs around his waist. 

You let out a small noise at the feel of his hands against your skin, it wasn’t something he had done before, but fuck, it made your head spin. 

“Jeonghan,” you moan a little. He smirks at the sound of his name from your lips, it’s something he’s thought about time and time again, something he’s dreamt about for a while now. “We need to stop this,” you mutter, your fingers weaving through his thick hair. 

He merely hums, his lips skimming over the side of your neck. You shift a little before you unfold your legs from his waist, dropping back to your feet.

“We…we need to get back inside,” you whisper softly, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek before you step past him. 

Jeonghan stands there frozen, just watching after you. 

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He’s going to find a way to have you. 

He just have to.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” Taehyung smiles softly as he extends a neatly wrapped gift towards you. 

It had been weeks, nearly six since you and Jeonghan had kissed, and as before, things had moved from comfortable to awkward between you guys. 

You refused to be left anywhere near him and he had taken to keeping his distance from you. 

You didn’t like it though, you missed the funny and friendly boy you had grown to become friends with, but you also knew it was for the best. Neither of you could control yourselves around one another and it was only getting more and more obvious. You were still quite amazed that no one had picked up on it. 

“You didn’t have to buy me anything,” you say as you lean up and press a kiss to your boyfriend’s lips. You felt a little bad about being with him, you had kissed Jeonghan behind his back after all, but you hadn’t had the heart to break it off with him. Taehyung was so lovely, an actual sweetheart in fact and, if it wasn’t for Jeonghan and your ‘thing’, you were pretty sure you would have been entirely happy with him. He was the type of man you had always wanted. The type of man you needed in your life.

“I wanted to. We’ve been together four months, I would have looked like a real jerk if I had bought you nothing,” he teases, pecking your lips a few more times. 

You offer him a soft laugh before you tear at the paper, revealing a piece of baby pink material. 

“You didn’t,” you giggle loudly as you unfold it. 

He nods, a boxy smile plastered on his face. “You said you’d come to love them and so I bought you a shirt. Now you’ll look like a real SEVENTEEN fan,” he teases.

You admire the shirt for a moment before turning it over, your heart jumping at the sight of the name emblazoned in black on the back. 

“I figure since he is nearly family, you’d probably want his name,” Taehyung says. 

Swallowing a little, you nibble on your bottom lip before offering him a smile. “It’s wonderful, Tae. Thank you,” you murmur before you set it on the floor, the white words ‘Yoon Jeonghan’ and the number ‘95’ staring up at you. 

“You’re wearing a SVT shirt?“ Jay chuckles as he wraps his arms around you, welcoming you into your parents’ home. 

You roll your eyes a little but smile, nodding your head. “Tae bought it for me, says it makes me look like a real fan,” you giggle. Truth be told, you weren’t really a fan, you merely dabbled in watching their variety shows and music videos, but you really loved your shirt, even (especially) if it did have Jeonghan name on the back. 

Jay playfully rolls his eyes before he leads you into the living room. “Beware, Nina is being uber bitchy,” he whispers in your ear as his girlfriend moves to embrace you. 

You cock a question eyebrow, but your brother merely waves a hand, signalling that he will explain later. 

“Why on earth are you wearing that thing?” your mother squeaks dramatically as she moves into the living room, her eyes fixed on you and your oversized sweatshirt.  

You roll your eyes. “Tae gave it to me,” you explain, your hand tugging at the material. 

Your mom went to say something else but Jay cut her off, pulling you towards the large Christmas tree that stood in the middle of the room, a large selection of gifts dotted around it. 

You offer your brother a thankful look before you set your bag down beside the others, dishing the presents out. 

“Where the fuck is Jeonghan now?” Nina’s loud voice barks as she steps into the room, a scowl etched onto her face. 

She was ticked, Jeonghan was being off with her, but instead of talking to him, she had opted to take it out on her family, shouting and acting like a spoiled teenage brat, stomping her feet because she wasn’t getting her way.

“He was helping dad in the kitchen,” your brother returns shortly. 

Nina rolls her eyes before she spots you, her eyes immediately drawn to the black lettering that poked out from beneath your ponytail. 

“What the hell is that?” she hisses. 

You turn around and offer her a little frown, confused about her frustration. “What?”

She rolls her eyes and stalks towards you, her hand grabbing the shirt a little too sharply for your liking. 

“What the fuck, Nina?” you growl as you jerk out of her grasp. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“You have his name on your shirt. My fucking fiancée’s name,” she hisses as she slightly pushes you. “Have you gone insane?!”

“He is a talented idol, I’m not the only girl who will wear his name on their back,” you say as you roll your eyes at her childishness. 

She snarl a little before she flicks her perfectly styled hair over her shoulder. “He wouldn’t want you anyway, you ugly bitch,” she snorts. 

You bite your tongue, not wanting to rise to her taunts. It simply isn’t worth it. 

Nina notes the almost defeated look on your face and smirks. “Like let’s be for real, why would he want plain old you when he could have me? I mean look at you,”she taunts, an insulting laugh escaping her lips as she looks at you up and down. “There’s absolutely nothing special about you. You’re just so fucking basic. Ugly. Pathetic.”

You wanted to retort, but was stuck for something to say as she left you speechless. 

“You’ve got a boyfriend Y/N, one that is more appropriate for you. You wouldn’t know what to do with a man like Jeonghan,” she cackles before she skips away, leaving you stood in the centre of the room, your shoulders slumped as a few tears slip down your cheeks. 

You knew it was only Nina being spiteful, she had always been bitchy, but still her words hurt. They always targeted your vulnerabilities and made you self-conscious as fuck. 

“Are you okay Y/N?” your brother murmurs, gently rubbing your back. 

You offer a weak smile before you scamper away, heading up the stairs towards your old bedroom. 

“Knock, knock.”

You don’t respond, only looking up when Jeonghan steps into your old bedroom, a shy smile perched on his face. 

“What are you doing here?” you quip sadly, your eyes peeking up from behind the pillow you cuddled. 

“Jay mentioned what happened. I wanted to come and see if you were alright,” he says as he sits down on the edge of the bed. He had heard from your brother what had happened and, after a fight with Nina, he’d decided I wanted to see you; to check up on you, even despite the awkwardness that lingered. He wanted to ensure that you were fine. 

You shift a little, pouting as you shake your head, making Jeonghan’s heart lurch a little. 

“I am so sorry for her,” he mutters. He felt awful about what Nina had done, and for some reason, he felt like it was partially his fault.

“You need to stop apologising for her. You didn’t make her freak out and you certainly didn’t make her say any of the things she said to me,” you say, letting out a sigh before you continue, “She is a bitch, Jeonghan, and you need to stop taking responsibility for her, you’re not like her.”

“So, I’m not a bitch?” he asks, trying to lighten the mood.

You smile at his question before shaking your head. He was nothing like your sister and frankly, you didn’t understand what he saw in her; why he was still with her.

“You’re a good guy.”

He deserves so much better than what she could ever give him.

Jeonghan nods his head a little before he spots the baby pink material of your shirt, something which makes him smile a little. “Jay mentioned that you had a shirt. Can I see it?” he pokes. 

You furrow your brow but push your pillow away from you, revealing the shirt to him as his heart races at the sight of it. He doesn’t know what it was, but the idea of seeing you in his group’s merch makes his heart skip. You look drop dead gorgeous in it. 

“You have got that look in your eye again, Hannie,” you comment, your eyes shifting down towards your feet. 

He swallows a little before he edges forwards a little, his lean fingers brushing the material of your shirt. “You look amazing in it, Y/N,” he mutters, his hand ghosting over your figure. 

“I bet Nina looks better,” you return, your voice sharp and a little bitter. 

That was when Jeonghan shakes his head and scoots the shirt up a little, revealing a small slither of your stomach. “She wouldn’t be caught dead in it,” he says, his head ducking a little. 

You went to push his head away, but you were too slow, allowing Jeonghan the chance to press a kiss to your skin. 

“We can’t, Jeonghan,” you mutter softly.

He doesn’t respond, merely kissing your stomach again, smirking to himself as you let a tiny, almost inaudible, moan escape your lips. You push his head back a little before you lean towards him, initiating for the first time a kiss between you.

Jeonghan shifts a little so that his body hovers over yours. “I thought you were being a good sister,” he mumbles breathlessly between kisses. 

“I was,” you say, your lips tracing over his. “But then she pulled that stunt downstairs.”

“Are you sure about this?” Jeonghan asks curiously as he moves to kiss down the side of your neck, his lips gently attacking the soft spot as his hand simultaneously tugged the shirt over his head. 

“I’ve never been more sure,” you return, offering him a sweet moan. 

You know it’s wrong, that it was more than likely to be the worst thing you ever did, but you had honestly had enough of Nina lording it over you. 

You wanted Jeonghan and you were going to ensure that he wanted you too. 

You feel his soft lips instantly press against yours as he begin moving them into your frozen ones, tightly gripping your waist. It doesn’t take long before you start to kiss back, just as intensely and passionately. 

Grabbing a hold of his body, you pull it towards your body as your fingers drags through his hair, softly tugging at it which made him groan out in pleasure. 

“Fuck, I want you so bad, Y/N,” he speaks, breaking the kiss and planting tender kisses down your jawline. “You’re so fucking beautiful…” He cooes into your skin, only making your body heat up as his breath was fanning hotly on your skin. 

“You’re driving me completely mental,” he continues, letting his lips trail down to your collarbones before he grabs both your hands in his and laces your fingers together.

A shiver runs up your spine at his words as you bite your lip. 

You can almost feel your heart beating right out of your chest as his lips tenderly kiss and suck at your skin. You reel his lips trailing down to your cleavage over your tank top, something which makes you let out a moan. 

The second he hears the sound escape your lips, Jeonghan groans as he desperately pulls your top off, letting his lips cover your breasts in sloppy kisses which makes you throw your head back as you whimpered. Arching your back, you push your chest to his face, making him smirk a little before he continues to worship your body. 

He sloppily brings his lips back to your lips letting his tongue slide and tangle into yours. Your leg instantly lifts while he takes it upon himself to grip at your thighs, pulling them around his waist. 

You let out a moan feeling his hands finding the inside of your thighs, inching closer and closer to where you desperately need him. 

“H-Hannie,” you gasp breathlessly as his finger finds the inside of your underwear. 

“Just relax baby,” he speaks huskily into your ear as his finger circles you ever so softly, making you moan out, feeling your body growing more and more excited. 

Not being able to control himself any longer, he roughly attaches his lips to your neck, grazing his teeth along the skin before sucking on it. A loud gasp suddenly leaves your lips as a finger slides inside you, making him grin against your skin. Jeonghan lets his teeth sink in as he inches his finger in deeper and deeper, curling it to find your sweet spot. 

“Fuck, you sound so good,” he groans as you feel the tension between his legs. “So beautiful. Moan for me again, baby,” he says in a low, husky voice. 

You can’t control the feeling he’s giving you, you let out a high pitched moan feeling his thumb circling you and his other hand immediately flies to cover your mouth. 

“Shh, not so loud,” he cooes in your ear, smirking all the while before he squeezes your thighs tight enough to leave bruises. He runs his hand up your sides before cupping your breasts, then down your back to your ass. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

You throw your head back, feeling his lips trail down your neck again, his tongue sliding across your skin as he lets another finger push deep inside you. 

“J…Jeonghan,” your voice comes out in a whine as you moan, feeling his fingers roughly pump inside you as he drops his face into the crook of your neck. “Nghh, oh my god-fuck!” You pant, whimpering and arching your back. 

a/n: blessing y’all with a cute little chapter as i’ll be super busy and drowning in homework the next few days. the next chapters will be… intense 👁❣️👁 feedback is highly appreciated, let me know what y’all think.

taglist: @hanihans @sofijaeger @bsshjsjsn @soundershreya @heelariousx @woohoney @veruwu @kayleeshinee @yoonabeo @awkwardnesshabitat @shuatm @sweethyuka (send an ask or comment if you wanna be added!) 

[bigsoftwolf]

Honestly I know this isn't the kind of ask you'd expect around here & fair enough but dude you actually have such nice comfy friend vibes. Ur blog helped me feel like being transmasc is attractive & I shouldn't be ashamed of it (I'm not a binary trans man, but I do want to medically transition.) It sucked when everything I saw was very cis man centric and made me feel like I'm unwanted for what I look like or would look like (especially being pre everything. Stuck in an unsafe environment currently)

That's all to say while I'm not necessarily interested in the nsft side of Tumblr etc, I really enjoyed your blog for the messages it sent and you seem like a kind person. You have this brotherly vibe about you, honestly. You may not have been expecting a completely platonic ask but hey, keep doing you man. Have a good time today

Dude this is so sweet :,)

Gonna be a long read here because this is such a nice ask and I have a lot to say.

Honestly part of the reason for the shift in some of my posts is this, like so much of nsft tumblr or even transmasc tumblr in general is so cis focused and it’s super frustrating. And I think I lot of transmasc people feel like the only way they can be attractive is if they either pass 100% as a cis male and are super binary, or basically still look like a women and it’s like “I mean yeah I’m a trans boy but don’t even worry about it I still look like a girl so I still have sexual value!” Like those shouldn’t be the only options to feel attractive or desirable. And they aren’t like that’s not true in real life!

As someone who is a trans adult and is in real world queer spaces people are so varied and there are infinite ways to be attractive. For me I’m really into transmasc people who are very feminine but just because it’s fun and they like it. I personally don’t really care if a guy is on T or has had any surgery, if he’s a guy (or transmasc of some kind) then that’s what he is and I see him that way. And also sometimes the people I’m into don’t fit into that! And that’s ok too! I’ve always been more interested in the person than having any kind of distinct “type”

You should never feel unwanted for being trans, and you shouldn’t feel like it’s just a tolerable part of who you are. It should be part of why you’re desirable! Your trans masculinity is sexy and cool! And if wider cis society can’t see that fuck em’ it’s not your job to make them comfortable. Embrace being a little freak in the best way possible. Having the ability to create who you are is admirable and beautiful.

I’m really glad that I can be someone you can look to and feel better about your own future. I hope you can get out of the unsafe situation you’re in <3 feel free to reach out if you ever need any kind of advice.

I probably will still post/repost sexy stuff on here but if you do want to engage with my stuff I’ll probably post more stuff like this now too.

[moriartyluver]

FALSE LOVERS CHAPTER I

MY DEAREST MOTHER AND FATHER,

How are you? I do hope the two of you are well. I truly miss you both and as if fate has brought us back together once more, I am writing to invite you to visit me in London. I look forward to hearing father's wholesome laughter and mother's silent but affectionate smile.

After months of mother reminding me that I must find a husband to secure my future title of the Grand Duchess [Last name], I have finally found a suitable husband for myself whom I love with all my heart.

Do you remember when you came to visit me at university when I was eighteen years of age? I hope you do. There was a boy there who was talking to me right before father approached me with mother following behind. Father joked about how he seemed to be a potential suitor to which I promptly denied in annoyance.

That young, once irritating, boy is to become my husband within the next few months. We had been courting secretly for a while before our engagement, and the day of the proposal was possibly the happiest day of my life.

William, that is his name if you didn't remember, is a good man. His older brother is Earl Albert James Moriarty, a man who works for the military and his younger adopted brother, Louis James Moriarty is equally noble despite his background. William holds them both dear to him which I find the most beautiful thing.

He's selfless, intelligent (I recall mother making the remark that I would find it difficult to settle with a less clever man than I because I always sought competition in a partner. I suppose she was right because our rivalry in intellect is what drew me to William in the first place) , and very, very handsome. Not like those older men with bushy facial hair and large statures who repulse me ever so slightly, but rather, William has a beautiful sharp and youthful face with the most darling red eyes, more precious than any jewels I've seen in my days in [home country]. His hair is silky and soft with the prettiest blond colour and he always, even when enveloped in fatigue, maintains this angelic beauty.

I couldn't be more happy with any other man. I now realise that the two of you were right when you said I would find a man for myself someday who I will love dearly, and who would love me even more, just like my dear parents love each other.

Was this unexpected? When I was sent to Britain for my studies by the request of my parents, did you ever feel the urge to keep me in [home country] with you? When everyone told the Grand Duke and Duchess that I would become less desirable if I studied in a man's field, did you ever agree with them?

I wouldn't blame you, of course. Although higher education is becoming more available to those of my sex, it is still surprising to some. Thankfully, [home country] is slightly more progressive than England. Sending your only child, and daughter at that, to a separate and somewhat controversial country due to Great Britain's relations with [home country], only for her to study in University then work as a professor despite my status, it must have been upsetting.

I'm glad that during my youngest years as only a mere child with a heavy interest in books and mathematics, Father and Mother, you both noticed my talent. My intellect was recognised and I am forever grateful towards both of you for raising me, not as a feeble young girl, but as the daughter of [father's name] and [mother's name], the Grand Duke and Duchess of [home country]. I was raised with swords and books alongside my dolls and dresses. I wasn't forced to reject my femininity but instead encouraged to embrace it whilst also enhancing my strength and intelligence.

Thanks to the two of you, I am working only for myself and I never, no matter how many degrading comments from noblemen I received, changed myself for anyone. With that upbringing, I had high enough standards to accept a man like william into my world. I hope that you both grow to love him as I do.

So until I see you again, with your blessing for my marriage, I bid you farewell.

With love and admiration,

[Name] [Last name]

"I wonder if that'll convince them," (name) turned to look at her closest aide. "What do you think, Josephine?"

The girl in question looked at the letter in (name)'s hand, her grey eyes skimming over the paper. Her mistress had taught her well and she was able to read the letter with ease.

"You write all that and you still deny that you love Lord Moriarty?" Josephine laughed as she teased (name), who scowled and quickly folded the letter, sliding it into the envelope.

"I don't love him!" she exclaimed, her eyebrows furrowing as her previously empty expression shifted to an irritated one "I just..I needed it to be convincing. My parents, well my father may act a bit silly, but they can both see through me easily in person. I've had to practice my acting skills in the mirror every morning whilst trying not to laugh! It's difficult work Josephine Evans!"

Josephine only laughed more, to the extent tears even threatened to spill from her eyes. A pale finger reached over to wipe her eyes as the brunette tried to regain her composure. "My..ha..My apologies, your ladyship, but I don't think you'll have any issues convincing your parents. Even I find it difficult to remember sometimes that you an' Lord William aren't a real couple."

"So it is convincing..?" (Name) trailed off  "I suppose that issue is sorted..I don't think my parents care too much for the status of the man I marry. Mother is tired of me constantly rejecting my supposed admirers, and father would be glad that his little (nickname) has finally fallen for a man after so long."

"Uhm.." Josephine opened her mouth to speak. (Name) turned around in her chair to face Josephine who was standing behind her. She raised an eyebrow.

"What is it Josephine? You know you can speak freely with me. I'm not a tyrant." (Name) said

"Right..my apologies if this sounds rude, but..how are you to deal with the issue of.." Josephine felt her freckled cheeks grow red in embarrassment

"The issue of...?"

"Offspring!" Josephine said a bit too loud " I mean-..how uh..do you plan to uh...you said earlier that your father joked that he wanted grandchildren so-"

(Name)'s face visibly darkened as if she had seen a ghost. The thought hadn't crossed her mind before hand. It would have been deemed improper in such an era when even seeing a woman's ankles was scandalous.

"I..don't know.." (name) whispered in a depressing tone. "For the first time in my life, I don't think I know the answer.."

"I'm sorry Lady (name)!" Josephine exclaimed as she bowed repeatedly to her depressed mistress "I shouldn't have asked!!"

"I think I should probably talk to William about that..wait no..that's be embarrassing..but if I don't produce an offspring, rumours may spread that our marriage is an unhappy one or that I'm infertile..because of course it's always the woman's fault..maybe rumours would spread that William has a secret lover behind my back..I don't think I could bare that at all..and I can't expose a child to murder and death like that.."

(Name) had started muttering and spiralling in her thoughts. Surely doing..it..with William would be out of the question, right? He wouldn't even dream of such things..at least she hoped he wasn't a pervert of some sort..no..William? A pervert..? Surely the man was still chaste anyways..no woman would be attracted to such a rotten man in (name)'s eyes, let alone love him.

"L-Lady (name)..? I think it's best you sleep on it..it is late after all, and your uncle," Josephine spoke, snapping (name) out of her thoughts "I mean the Marquis, has reminded you to rest every so often.."

(Name) nodded, "I'll quickly stamp this letter and have it sent before morning so it can reach my parents before the engagement ceremony, then I'll sleep.." she said as she poured red wax on the seal of the envelope, stamping it with her personal seal and handing the envelope to Josephine who quickly left to send it off whilst (name) went to bed.

And how did this young lady somehow trap herself in a fake marriage? The problem had routed to about a year before, when she had to ask for help from a certain blond for the first time in her life.

At the time she regretted doing so for the sake of her pride, but now, there would be a lot more to regret in the future thanks to her involvement with Professor William James Moriarty..

The Lord of Crime.

A/N: hey guys, first actual chapter lol. Please give (nice) feedback because I’ve never uploaded a long series to tumblr before so I don’t really know if you guys will like it or not 😞 (please be nice about the feedback or I will cry) Also let me know if you guys wanna be on my tag list bc I’m thinking of making one.

[pollenallergie]

Please can you write something with croquette!reader x eddie 🥺

Hey! So, initially, I wasn’t going to fulfill this request because I’ve heard that the coquette aesthetic has some problematic origins (infantilization and the lolita complex, mostly). However, I really like the idea of embracing your femininity (as someone who adores hyper-feminine aesthetics), so I figured I would try my hand at writing this but without explicitly making the reader coquette… If that makes sense?? Instead, I went for more of a general, soft, hyper-feminine aesthetic. I also tried to balance it out by giving the reader a more mature personality; she’s a bit shy and coy but not helpless or innocent. I hope this works for you!!

As always, you must be 18+ to interact with this post!!

To anyone else, you might seem like this delicate, demure flower. Between the pretty, lightly colored dresses you wear and the dainty gold jewelry you’re constantly adorned in, you appear to be this heavenly, angelic creature. Not to mention, the sort of shy politeness you bring to just about every social interaction might suggest that you’re just this radiant orb of positivity, this delightful ray of sunshine plucked from the sky and sent down to bless mere mortals with your sweet compliments and graceful gaiety. However, Eddie knows that you’re so much more than that.

Other people may think of you as this shy little dove, all coy and sweet, but Eddie knows you. He knows that behind those wide, dewy eyes rages a passionate fire. He knows that those smooth, glossy lips are for more than just sweet-talking; he’s seen them utter words so fearsome that they’d make even the most hard-headed man admit defeat, and he’s watched you, felt you commit the kind of sins with them that would make even the most devout cleric stray from his religion. Eddie also knows that, despite your meek demeanor, you can be brazen when you want to be; that’s actually how you drew him to you in the first place.

Eddie had sat behind you in U.S. History during his second senior year, and though he’d always believed you were pretty, always admired the way you smelled like lavender and vanilla even after your morning gym class, he’d never thought much of you. However, that all changed one fall morning when, during your class’s discussion of the fight for women’s suffrage, Eddie witnessed you launch a meticulous, dare he say glorious, diatribe against Tommy Hagan after the idiot had the nerve to say that women’s suffrage “sure caused men a lot of suffering.” From that moment on, Eddie swore you were the most beautiful, magnificent person he’d ever encountered.

A little over a year and a half into your relationship, he still swears that you’re some divine creature sent down from the heavens above. To everyone else, you might seem like a mild-mannered darling, the epitome of beauty, humility, and purity. However, Eddie knows you’re not some meek little lamb, content to follow everyone else’s lead, too unsure of yourself to make a fuss. Instead, you’re a woman; equipped with sharp wit, a healthy sense of self-worth, a passionate heart, and the litigation skills to get just about anything you want. You may be a bit coy from time to time, you may be introverted, and you may dress like an angel walking amongst men, but you’re nothing short of a fucking goddess; a divine seductress, a clever scholar, a fierce advocate of justice, and a kind, courageous leader all wrapped up into one. Most of all, you’re the woman of Eddie Munson’s dreams.

[biggestthighestgeminiest]

Here are my combined thoughts about Barbie (2023) as I saw it on the 18th and have had more time to think abt it.

Some good, some bad - overall I very much enjoyed it, laughed my ass off, cried quite a bit, was enthralled by the set and costume design, but left feeling like some things were off and perhaps not accomplished in the best way. This will all be delivered in bullet points in a very chaotic and random way and is NOT ordered in importance omg. Anyways i love media analysis and I will probably not explain this in the best way but HERE WE GO

the casting was fantastic, everyone read the assignment and lived their campiest life, margot robbie was phenomenal and ryan gosling absolutely killed me with laughter, glorious glorious

set design, costume, props,, perfection when it comes to bringing the mattel products to life. bangin'

i had that stupid fucking dog that eats and shits. i lost my mind when he came on hsdgkhakh

the message of barbie being representative of all little girls is still very lost on me. the idea brought up when barbie speaks to the teens, where they tell her that she gave them unrealistic body standards- well this never really gets resolved at all. Yes there was a diverse range of Barbies but they were all still beautiful in a conventional way that adheres to western beauty ideals. every barbie has perfect hair and skin and clothes even by the end of the movie. and yes i guess barbie is supposed to be this "above everything else" sort of divine feminine beauty but is still not representative of most young girls. as hilarious as the line narrator's line about margot robbie is, it sort of knows itself, that it is showing us the most perfect looking women, but doesn't address it at all beyond a simple joke. honestly what will mattel do beyond this? i imagine people will be more than happy with this movie so they won't have to make any big changes. i mean their "curvy" fashionista isn't close to being fat, and i don't believe they will ever make a barbie that isn't conventionally beautiful... so this movie just sort of gets to say it's about accepting yourself without actual real-life substance if that makes sense? it reminds me of that cartoon of all those diverse yet conventionally attractive models, with diverse people who don't fit those standards standing outside that box looking angrily. what's the point of the film at the end of the day when not addressing all those people left out of the conversation? also made me annoyed that cellulite was still the big thing that barbie was concerned about, like really?? it's a bad example as people are coming to embrace cellulite and it's also relatively easy to hide, i don't think they would have margot robbie have like, idk, dark under eye circles or a double chin,, idk someone say this better than me but the cellulite thing annoyed me (as someone who has loads of it!!)

the plot was BONKERS and i for one don't really care about plot holes or cartoon logic. there were some things that made me overthink about barbie lore and then i thought to myself that it doesn't really matter. the campiness of it is more important. im sure it will deter some people but again i dont mind it being silly in that way as long as it delivers on its messages and themes, which it does to a certain extent

absolutely lost it at the you are kenough shirt, ljadhkglkhd

as i said in a previous post i predicted that it was going to be the mom who was paired with barbie. i loved the idea sm and it was very heartwarming

i CRIED when barbie first sat down and watched the humans around her living their life, she was so overwhelmed by so many emotions and it was such a simple moment of show-dont-tell and man did i weep :))

i LOVED the ken bits and i did feel as though there was a bit too much ken. especially at the end. but at the same time i loved the dance sequence. its hard loving it so much yet wanting it not to have been to prevalent. i felt like it took away from the barbies a bit which goes against the whole point of the movie????

um the barbie's plans of distracting the kens was... i guess reminiscent of all these spy or superhero movies where women use their beguiling nature against men to get the upper hand? like i am woman so i will flirt with man to distract while my team escapes and hooho it works :)) it was slightly different and not overly sexy or about flirting but it still had the same undertone. like really? the best way to get the other barbies out was to continue to conform to patriarchal standards and pump the ken's egos? surely there's a better way? yes the kens are idiots and turning them against each other works but it still felt a bit icky. i guess i just find this trope annoying being like... ok i am being taken advantage of men so i will USE the thing they oppress me for against them,, idk surely surely there's another way.

also America's character's plan of kidnapping the barbies and ... using very true and very valuable feminist lines to snap them out of it felt... weird? like what she was saying was 100% true but taking them out of context and almost using them as one liners made them feel less serious???? like making women "wake up" by just telling them about how the patriarchy takes advantage of them is just... idk. like in real life women who are indoctrinated and truly believe misogynistic things won't just wake up by being told such a line. and i know the barbies are brainwashed to forget their powerful feminist backgrounds so it's not entirely comparable to the women i just mentioned but... idk it felt disingenuous. i did laugh my ass off at the guitar scene but it still had that ickiness attached like..

i would watch this movie again, no doubt about it and i will definitely pick up on new things and easter eggs etc

mattel's board did make me laugh, perfectly casted and performed but again- mattel has its name on this. they know what they are doing. they know we will love this movie and not demand any change. it will still be full of men controlling the output of production. it will still put out products that don't reflect all young people's desires. it will still make products that uphold current societal norms. so having these buffoons in the board meeting just gets soured a bit when knowing these people will still be in power in real life....

the ruth bit made me cry and no i do not care that her ghost is just around. i loved it

the marketing team knows exactly what they are doing. the huge push of promotion made me gobble up all their interviews and im sure people will be buying all the barbie products. i am yet another victim of capitalism and i will thank them for it when i inevitably buy their you are kenough sweater

again i loved this movie despite all the bad things abt it. i love being critical of the wider impact of this movie while still enoying it as a piece of media and entertainment. i needed this movie and fuck it i want to go to barbieland so bad. i know i shouldnt. i love ken and think about ken more than i do barbie which is fucked up but the movie also played into it in a way,, as described before. i mean even ryan gosling being so iconic in all the interviews is adding into this lol. how many people are posting videos of him vs videos of the actresses i wonder.

also cockring ken. BUT HE WASNT WEARING THE COCKRING SO WHATS THE POINT EVEN???

the narrator was an interesting choice, personally wasn't a huge fan of it but it did somewhat fit with the rest of the cinematic language of the story so i can't say much about it

mattel knows exactly what its doing with putting its name on this movie. i think greta did a great job despite the constraints that mattel probably put on her,, it's hard to tell if the flaws of the movie come from the corporation's infuence or from the writer and director's creative decisions, most likely it's a combo of both. again i believe that the actors and designers and production team did a fantastic job with what they had, they committed to the bit. i would have loved for the movie to have been better, but it is still a great film in my book. as said before i would watch it again and would still enjoy it despite the flaws. the himbo part of my brain can shake hands with the media literacy one and emerge with an overall positive experience, yet PLEASE do not think this is the ultimate feminist movie, it is a step in the right direction, it could have been better, and i understand if you don't like it at all. but also i dont think it would be right to blindingly love it and call it perfect bc it's not.

[capobegone]

Why Ufotable Should Animate the Rengoku Gaiden in S3

Okay, man, okay. Hear me out. 

I know what you’re thinking: “But Capo, you’re only saying that because Kyojuro is your favorite and you’re desperate for more content!” Which, fair enough. But you know who else I love? Mitsuri. And I wholeheartedly believe that the Rengoku Gaiden sets up for her bubbly character by displaying her struggle to develop her own breathing form and accept her own strength and appearance.

Here’s why: The very first panel we see of Mitsuri in the swordsmith village, her own arc, is of her naked in the hot tub. (Which, as a massive lesbian, is a win.) However, all of the other leading pillars (Kyojuro, Tengen, and Muichiro) had introductions in their main arcs that immediately showcased their respective personalities, whereas Mitsuri’s focuses solely on her body.

I do believe that Mitsuri’s pride in her femininity and sexuality is refreshing and empowering to see! However, it’s important to show that this is in fact something that she worked hard to achieve and not just a fanservice tactic. And that is where the Rengoku Gaiden comes in.

In the manga itself, it’s pretty much unmentioned that Mitsuri trained under Kyojuro. She refers to him as a cool big brother (so cute!!), but that’s the end of that. However, the Gaiden digs into their relationship and the influence that he truly had on her. There is a scene where Mitsuri is ridiculed for her strange hair, and becomes very self conscious about her looks. In swoops Kyojuro, who assures her that her hair is nothing to be worried about, while throwing in a joke about his own unusual appearance. And then, he tells her this:

BRO. THEY ARE BESTIES. I’M DYING.

Anyway, it’s pretty clear that the Gaiden gave us a much-appreciated look into her hard work on her journey to self love (which is very relatable for many of us!). However, it also gave us an essential demonstration of Mitsuri Lore: Love Breathing!

In the Gaiden, Mitsuri has not yet developed her own breathing style, and struggles to adapt to the heavy style of Flame Breathing. Therefore, as the battle goes on, she develops her own style IN REAL TIME. What an absolute badass. This shows that she is actually quite clever, and very much worthy of her status as a Demon Slayer. Even though she is only a Mizunoto at the time, she is already displaying what will eventually become Pillar-level thinking and response to situations. Holy shit, I want to see this animated so badly. It perfectly portrays her struggle and shows that she can use her loving heart and gentleness as a strength in its own right! Amazing scene, beautiful character development, we love to see it.

And, of course, she and Kyojuro have a omg-we-did-it embrace at the end while the Kakushi freak out about his injuries. Cutest shit I’ve ever seen. If this scene was animated, I would cry forever.

Anyway. Is it at all likely that it will get animated? Probably not. But I swear, the mix of Mitsuri’s individual strength and her sisterly relationship with Kyojuro is just so good, and I think it would be a huge service to her character if we got to see at least a few scenes from it!!

(If not, I’m still holding out hope that they’ll do the Rengoku Gaiden, Giyuu Gaiden, and maybe more Kimetsu Academy as OVAs! Please Ufotable, feed us more crumbs of our scrunklies!!)

[plaindangan]

After Graduation, most of the students went off to do their own things. But after a few years without seeing each other, they organized a party reunion.

There were 3 students that stood out the most:

Makoto, who looked older but still cuter, giving off massive 'Stay at Home Malewife' vibes. (Though the same can't be said about the Leviathan hidden between his legs)

Hajime: His chest grew, and a bit of muscle could be seen from his tight suit, not to mention the growing shaved beard that was plastered on his face.

Lastly Shuichi: BOY OH BOY, it seemed God had his favorites, Shuichi still looked slim and feminine, but his emo look gave him that handsome and 'mature' vibe, he was like a combination of borderline femboy and sexy masculinity (something that a certain Pianist would love to 'inspect' in further detail)

Disclaimer: Below is content that's more on the racy side! If not for you, you probably shouldn't read!

"You certainly have changed quite a bit, Makoto?" Kyoko said, looking at her old lucky friend with those keen eyes of hers. He was wearing a dark green hoodie, that resembled his signature one, and a pair of tight black pants covered by a a long waist apron. He still the same height, but that warm, loving spirit, was still there if matured into wiser man. Seeing his old pal, Makoto was in high spirits and hugged her.

"You too! But its great to see you again!" he said. Being with Makoto always brought out a smile from Kyoko. Well, that and feeling that 'something' else was also glad to see her. With a smirk, she raised an eyebrow.

"Wearing the apron because those pants are too small to fully cover up your 'perk'?" Blushing, all Makoto could do was look to the side embarrassed. Patting the guy on the head, she managed to quietly lead him to a quiet, part of the building, inside a closet. She knows just how to treat that python of his~

As for Hajme, he was having a similar problem concerning his tight shirt. He had grown so many of his dress shirts that the only one he could ever really find was a white one that was still showing off plenty of cleavage. He had hoped his jacket could be used to help mitigate such issue.

Too bad it didn't work as Chiaki immediately had her eyes glued on the rock hard abs. He sighed in embarrassment. "Y-yeah, figured they stick out like crazy."

With a reassuring smile, Chiaki embraced him and placed her head on his chest. "There's nothing wrong with that. You should be proud since this means you really take care of yourself well, even now. So instead of thinking 'should I keep this hidden' think more 'perhaps I should expose them more!" Hajime's face went red as Chiaki started to trace light circles on his chest and even kiss his bearded face.

When they both got back to his place, he would expose them all he'd liked for her!

Finally, there was Shuichi. A mix between both worlds dressed in a black dress shirt and matching paints. Radiating both handsomeness and beauty that him made the envy of of anyone eye. But it was Kaede, who took the first move once she saw her dear detective again.

"Wh-wha!? K-Kaede!? I-It's good to see you, but...what are you doing!?" he said, his pale face blushing incredibly red as his crush tossed him over her shoulders and was marching away to one of the empty classrooms.

"Isn't it obvious?~ You've changed so much, I just need to catch up with you. One..." Smack! Her hand slapped his ample, rather girlish, rump and looked delighted at every to see it still jiggled even now. "On one~"

With a soft, lewd, moan from Shuichi's mouth, it was pretty much the single that their 'catch-up' was going to be long, hard and very, very, very, dirty~

[sucrows]

Hi!! I just read your nazuna post and I love it <3 curious though, do you have any other transmasc hcs for other characters? Or was that just a one time thing for the drabble

I love considering any and every character as trans when the whim hits me tbh, butttt I do of course have favorites so I'm going to make a list of who and why for both horny and non horny reasons: (under cut because i got too invested lmao)

Nazuna: Ok we already know i just have the hots for him BUT theres also other reasons. One of the big factors in Nazuna's misery in Ex Valk was because of his voice changing and no longer being able to sing his old parts. Can you imagine the angst potential in that being because he started T? ESPECIALLY if he were stealth? Like, I highly doubt he would've been able to get away with it but, if he were, then his voice changing would've been something occurring due to something he actively chose to go through. Would he feel like him choosing his joy in transitioning is the same as choosing Shu and Mika's misery? There's just so much to consider there

Mayoi: I also have the hots for them and every character I have them for is schrodinger's gender where they're whatever I want at the moment. Otherwise, he's a weirdo! A freak! I love that for him! I enjoy his funkiness and think he should embrace it with his gender. A lot of trans people are already outcasts so fuck it! he's already an outcast why not embrace it. Not to mention it would add another layer of depth to his insecurities. Transmasc, trans man, transfem, trans woman, nonbinary, agender, genderfluid, all of it!! any of it!!!

Kuro: Ok, weird one, hear me out though. It stemmed after I read this on ao3 (AFAIK the author does not have a tumblr). He feels pressure to be good for his unit, his friends, his family, etc etc- but one of the things he isn't good at is basically anything "feminine". He's a very stereotypically manly person in appearance and its often what he's recognized for. What if though, he just... starts longing to be what he's not? Maybe he spends time in groups and circles with more women because of his more stereotypical feminine interests and he finds himself feeling a bit too at home there. Maybe he gets a few opportunities to wear a cute, pretty, or beautiful getup and he's like... oh... i like this. Just!!! Agh!!! I like the idea of transfemme Kuro a lot.

Hiyori: Ignored youngest daughter raised to ignore her own feelings discovers he's happier as a man and goes on to do his own thing but still feeling an obligation to the family that raised him even though he was pushed aside in favor of his older brother? Once again, angst potential. Oh also, he's already really fucky with his appearance in not being scared to wear prettier, more feminine shit in a way that implies he know what he's doing and i love that. Could just be him being cool as fuck, or that tboy swag. Either way, I like it.

Ibara: oh i just think it's be neat, otherwise though, we've all seen the unbloomed bogie time card. Similar vein as Kuro, he was raised in a an environment filled with nothing but men, men, and more men. He probably didn't even consider it an option for a really long time that he could be anything but a man. The way I see it happening is through a convo with someone who is already out and trans and hearing about their experiences. He thinks the experience they describe sounds to similar to his background thoughts on his gender and then it suddenly hits him that "oh no... am I?". He would probably stay in the closet a longgg time and then one day just come out all at once.

Oof I don't have to much energy for the rest of these but some others im fond of: Natsume, Shu, Niki, & Ritsu.

[free-angelz]

Really thinking about my place within and without gender

So the gender role of a woman, I absolutely do not recognize myself as that, I don't relate, I don't identify as that. It's also absolutely a role implemented by colonization and living in America from an immigrant family.

This doesn't mean that I can't be feminine, that I can't be part of the little village of women within my community and my culture who help maintain and upkeep our traditions and our customs. It doesn't mean I can't be soft, that I can't wear things that are traditionally feminine, that I can't perform femininity. I think to me, it means finding something outside of the gender norm, purposefully, intentionally. It means embracing my own, inherent, masculinity. Whether it be from my hyper independence, my brashness, my personal power, ambition, rage, and fierceness, even that doesn't define womanhood or masculinity to me. I simply see them as things that make up "me" and that is meant to be expanded upon, not contained. Not controlled,, zero, and open expectations and experiences. It means living outside of what the world thinks and tells me that I should be. It means not getting pregnant, but still having a family, not being a mother, but still being a guardian and a protector of the young people in my life. It still means caretaker, it still means helper, it still means beauty, and love. Nurturer.

I think the only thing I would want to physically change about myself is my chest, and the appearance of my chin. But I also think that these are things that I am able to live with, there is no sense of urgency anymore. It's only my upper parts, the ones that are there for all to see, that I think I have issues with. Whether it be dysmorphia, or dysphoria, a mix of both perhaps, it is the aesthetic indicators of my life that I am dissatisfied with, that I wish were slightly toned down. But maybe the issue isn't me, it's the way society views me, for simply being born with things that literally do not end up defining me at all. It is the thing that I am so scared of openly fighting back against, and changing in some way.

The little things help a lot. The hair cuts, the dye jobs, my tattoos, my piercings. The more queer I become on the outside, the better me I am. The more "me" I am allowed to express, the more I enjoy it. This is something that I think my cis counterparts just can't always seem to grasp. I think it's hard for them ,and especially cis men, to fully wrap their heads around it, and understand that at the end of the day, I'm me. I know what I want, and I know who I am. I know who I can become. And I will achieve it someday, whether they like it or not.

I think it brings into question this new little affair that I've been having with this guy. It brings me a rush, it brings me a lot of mental confusion, it sends me off into the world of idealistic romance, that can ultimate be reduced back down to "I want love, and this person is right here, right now, so I must pursue, and even go to the lengths of diminishing myself even to make him see me". And that is SO SO wrong. Is it wrong of me to diminish my loud crazy, eccentric, unique ass self, just to be loved, and especially by a man like hello? All he really gives me is sex and convos. I can literally get that from anyone. I guess I am just at odds because I haven't approached a man in a long time until now. I am the one who allows him into my space, and my heart says I love it lol

My mind instantly goes to that safe place, where it's romantic, and he's there, and we have these faux romantic conversations that will literally not happen irl, and it's like this beautiful fake dream and scenario. And I get toxic as fuck. I diminish myself for him to be the one to save me and take me out of it, I tell myself that I don't deserve literally the bare minimum of someone loving me and wanting to help me and support me. I act like he is this person on a pedestal, and that's so wrong because Axlov could be ANY man I attach myself to. I did it with Gavin, I did it with literally every single male crush I ever had. And while I have also done this with girlfriends and friends to a degree, I think it is important and specific to acknowledge this dynamic with men who have come and gone into my life. It's sick to me. They're all just place holders for this weird space that I think needs to be filled by them when that's not true. It feels like it's an excuse for me to self harm, it's an excuse for me to escape into my mind, it's an excuse for me to think that someone loving me in this fake world, or even the real one, is going to fix my problems, especially when I know how to be healthy. I know how to change, grow, fall and get back up. It just doesn't make sense to me that I am so enthralled like this. SO instantly.

[pretentious-librarian]

TW: misogyny & SA

Sometimes I wonder if it has something to do with patriarchy and the way that Sam and Dean express their gender identities in different ways. To be clear, what I'm theorizing about in this piece is a subconscious bias rather than an intentional one. Obviously there's tons of other huge factors that go into why someone favors one character over another, especially in such a complex and layered show. Lastly, as a disclaimer, it is all men. Even Sam. I consider myself a radfem,--borderline misandrist--and my compassionate views concerning Sam's relation to his gender and how it impacts the way he's perceived does not change that. Yet as someone who's hyperfixation is feminism, I just couldn't resist delving into this topic with my favorite character. Because while patriarchy harms women most, that doesn't mean it doesn't harm men too, even if to a much, much lesser degree.

(Note that when I use the word 'women' I am using it because it is a term more typically used when discussing the way patriarchy oppresses but in this piece, the word also refers all AFAB people and feminine-presenting people who struggle under patriarchy)

Regardless, the show itself recognizes and comments on both Winchester's masculinity. Dean's stereotypical macho-man stud characteristics are often played up, and our patriarchal society generally enjoys it and I daresay prefers it. In this case, we're able to do that, subconsciously or not, in good conscience because at the end of the day Dean is a good guy, or perhaps maybe 'righteous' would fit him better. I probably can't count on one hand the amount of times he sacrificed himself for the innocent or to save the entire world. Still, that doesn't take away from the fact that Dean is hyper-masculine and thus, more appreciated in this society that upholds patriarchal values and celebrates masculinity as being superior.

Sam, on the other hand, is still quite masculine but as the show points out time and time again through condescending jokes, he's not near as manly as Dean is. Sam is strong, but he's soft and thoughtful too--traits typically seen as emasculating for men to show too much of. His character tends to embrace qualities that many men generally snub. He's not a womanizer and he rarely engages in casual hookups the way most men are encouraged do in the name of using and conquering women. He finds beauty and joy in intellect while Dean scoffs at him and essentially calls him a bitchless nerd. Sam takes care of himself in ways that starkly contrast with Dean's behavior because apparently self care isn't masculine. Even when Dean irons his clothes with beer instead of water, viewers are meant to side with Dean because dean is manly, beer is manly, half-assing domestic labor is more manly than doing it right and anything manly is praised and encouraged; we laugh because it's supposedly funny when a man is incompetent. (But really, if we normalize men's incompetency it in turn excuses putting the often invisible burden of domestic labor on women. But that's a conversation for another time.) Dean always orders a burger--in this show, it's definitely a symbol of masculinity--and Sam always gets a salad, which has a sort of 'weaker' and dare I say feminine connotation to it in this context. While this is likely intended only to be a funny bit that shows the brother's contrasting personalities and relationship dynamic, it also has profound effects on how Sam is perceived within the show because of his 'lack' of masculinity. But patriarchy isn't just funny, condescending jokes at the expense of women and femininity. Patriarchy is violent and oppressive at its core. I'll come back to this point later on.

All things are relative. And relative to Dean, who he spends most of his screentime with, Sam comes across as much less masculine in comparison, and thus generally isn't taken as seriously by the fandom. God forbid a man express his gender identity authentically without feeling the need for excessive gender performance. Anyways, it's pretty clear how patriarchal society views femininity: weaker, sillier, more frivolous, and less valid, just like in the popular comparison between football fans and Taylor Swift fans (yes she's an evil billionaire, that's not relevant to this argument). Football fans who dress up in their favorite team's colors, throw superbowl parties, wear face paint, and spend exuberant amounts of money on tickets are respected for their dedication and are encouraged to have fun with their interests, whereas when teenage girls who attend Taylor Swift's concerts are dressing up in glittery outfits with bright, wearing colorful makeup, and trading friendship bracelets in celebration of their favorite artist, they are seen as silly, shallow, childish, time-wasting and more. Simply put, femininity is not respected, nor is it coddled in the way that masculinity is.

Thus, the femininity in the subtext of Sam's character makes him less respected and less favored than Dean because femininity is always viewed as less than--or unimportant at best--in patriarchy. We all know the show was initially made by men, for men and the fandom rightly criticizes the way this influence is glaringly obvious as it often reduces the roles of the female characters in the show to only existing to further the plot and growth of the men around them. There's no question that there's a good bit of subtextual and sometimes outright misogyny in the show, yet Sam's treatment both in the show and in fandom due his gender expression is often a key factor of that misogyny within Supernatural that is overlooked.

In terms of what op said, Sam's subtextual femininity is often the reason he's less favored and taken less seriously. Femininity has always been taken less seriously and been belittled. In the real world, women have to fight tooth and nail to get life-saving diagnoses, doctors don't take our pain seriously--it's even worse for women of color, we are largely excluded from scientific studies and even drug development trials. Hell, even my ADHD medication simply does not work during certain phases of my menstrual cycle because my medication was created with men only in mind, since apparently female bodies and their hormones 'complicate things too much' to be taken into account when creating and testing medications. (source: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7500607/).

So, because of how our patriarchal society views femininity, Sam's relatively more feminine gender expression causes him to be taken less seriously, his suffering is minimized, and his more 'feminine' interests are ridiculed. Yes, I very much understand that as an attractive, straight, white man, he suffers a mere fraction of what AFAB people, including myself, face every single day. Yet I couldn't ignore the correlation between his gender expression and the way the fandom views him, especially in relation to Lucifer and Dean. To op's point, many fans loved Lucifer's character despite what he did to Sam, which is worrying and has real-world implications. (I am acknowledging that Lucifer's character is very well developed and he makes a fantastic villain, which is different from actually liking his personality.) This is where I revisit the point that patriarchy isn't just crude insults and social degradation, it's vicious and violent in nature.

Several times on the show Sam is sexually violated, just as many women are in real life. because of Sam's more feminine leaning characteristics, it is seen as more acceptable (nearly to the point of dismissal) for him to suffer sexual violence. His subtextual femininity primes him for the writers to put him in repeated instances of losing his bodily autonomy, including but not limited to Becky's sexual assault of him and the heavily implied r@pe he endured while in the cage with Lucifer.

Yet, many Lucifer stans conveniently ignore the heinous things Lucifer did to sam because Sam's proximity to femininity makes his pain and trials seem trivial, and on top of that, Lucifer is comparatively more masculine than Sam and thus given more grace for that reason alone. This is r@pe culture at its finest: defending and adoring the perpetrator while minimizing the trauma of the victim.

I will say this once again: Sam is part of the most privileged group of people on earth (maybe not financially, but let's not forget that he still had access to higher education as prestigious as Stanford.) Yet, it is undeniable that his perceived subtextual feminine characteristics allows viewers to brush off his trauma, to a degree, and make excuses for his abuser, just as patriarchy encourages us to do in real life.

So, yes; because we are conditioned to heavily favor and respect masculinity in a way that femininity is not, Lucifer would've almost certainly not received an ounce of leeway from the fandom if he had done to manly, macho Dean what he did to Sam in the cage. All because Dean is the epitome of masculinity and Sam just wasn't masculine enough to escape the dehumanization that comes with being too feminine and displaying too little masculinity by patriarchy's standards.

Oh, and don't forget that gender is a social construct rooted in patriarchy and created with the purpose of subjugating and oppressing women for men's benefit :)

and I'd like to thank op for this fantastic, thought-provoking, yet unintentional writing prompt.

Supernatural hot take that I randomly thought of:

If Lucifer did to Dean what he did to Sam, most of the fandom would hate him instead of calling him hilarious and adorable and misunderstood.