#Do I brush my teeth after oil pulling?

[khulkarjiyo]

Gurunanda oil pulling for whitening teeth Benefits Side Effects

We all want to live a healthy life which is not known for many reasons, the main of which are related to our food or it affects the health of our teeth or mouth, such as the peeling of the teeth or the smell of the mouth, etc. Oil pulling is rinsed with oil which proves to be very beneficial for the health of the body. It is not a new method but it is a very old technique of Ayurveda, but in…

[naomis-daydream]

her favorite place // paige bueckers

summary: paige goes live as she gets her hair done from her favourite person sat in her favourite place.

warnings: none!

a/n: not my best work but I wanna start writing for her and this is the first time in months i’ve flowed while writing so!

✧

the image looked suggestive, or at the very least, questionable to viewers.

as hundreds joined the huskie’s live, they couldn’t help but notice the comfortable position their favorite player had between a pair of parted thighs.

uconnfan what did i click awn…

user3 facing the wrong way tbh

user8 who is that behind her??!

she smirks slightly as her eyes dart over the flood of comments.

“where am i?” she reads, “my favorite place,” she says, scrunching her nose as she smiles.

she knows what she’s doing, you think from behind her, rolling your eyes at her antics.

as if she could hear your thoughts, she stops taunting her growing audience.

“y’all chillll, i’m just getting my hair done. my favorite spot, aka the hair chair, getting my braids. come on now,” she assures, turning the camera at an angle to show you, eyebrows furred as you focused on a braid.

she nudges you with her shoulder, nodding at the camera. “hey live,” you say gently, poking your head out from behind paige with a soft smile. in the bottom corner that the blonde was still visible, her lips curled into a small grin as she watched you speak.

“today we’re switching it up a little bit from her normal two braids. we’re doing three on each side pulled into a slick back.”

paige nodded along as she put herself back into frame. “yup,” she popped her lips, “she’s getting me right.”

a low “mm-hm,” left your lips before you spoke again. “yeah, i gotta treat her right after them cruise braids. poor girl was traumatized.”

she whipped her head around at your comment, truinng to look up at you. “hey, i thought we left that in the past, i got set up.”

you giggle as you take one hand to push her jaw forward. “stop moving. then your hair really is gonna be messed up.”

you hear the smack of her teeth as she refocuses on the live, shaking her head slightly.

as you continued, she spoke with viewers about the upcoming season, plans for summer holiday, and traveling, occasionally reading comments aloud to you.

“‘can y/n do my hair next?’ uhhh no, she’s booked. got her for the whole summer actually. right?” she pans the camera to you.

“sorry guys, p comes first,” you say with a feigned frown.

she turns the phone back, shrugging her shoulder. “i could get kayla for you if you want though, for sure.”

you apply oil to the parts in the braided section then smooth you hand along the middle section. “okay, im done with the braids. can you get the brush and gel so i can do the bun?”

“but i’m on live,” she replies, looking at the screen.

you stop, looking at the back of her head silently. really?

paige slowly turns around, meeting your incredulous expression.

“yes ma’am.”

“thank you,” you smile as she gets up, propping her phone up on the glass table in front of you both.

as she turns the corner to the bathroom you lean forward, reading some of the comments flooding in.

wbbluver period suh!! you tell her

huskie4l “yes ma’am” ohh it’s like that💀💀

ice.bradyy made blondie get up real quick

you laughed at a few, responding as you read. “yeah, because I don’t know who she thought she was talking to.”

said blonde walks back into the living area, gel and brush in hand “what’re you in here giggling about?”

“nothin’” you shake your head, leaning back to give her space back between your legs. “just chattin’ with the people.”

she sits down, folding her legs criss crossed as she passes you the products. “what are you guys saying about me in here, huh?” she asks as you push her head playfully.

“oh hush, we weren’t talking about you.”

she hums quietly as you begin brushing her hair back, smoothing over any fly aways or unarmed tangles before grabbing a scrunchie and tying her locks back. you pull her hair through twice before pulling it halfway through the third time and wrapping the excess hair around the bun.

you place your hands on her shoulders, sighing softly, “okay, you’re all done.”

her eyes light up as she sits up straight, “perfect! ayeee, lemme see.” she looks in the camera, licking her lips before they pull into a smile.

oh lord now she’s feeling herself.

“okayyy, my girl got me right! braids by y/n get at her,” she exclaims before correcting herself, “but like i said, i got first priority, you know this.”

you laugh at her softly, gathering the supplies to take em back to the bathroom before a hand stops you.

“wait you can’t leave without saying bye to the live,” she says, wrapping her free arm around your shoulder.

you smile, waving again, “bye liveee,” you blow a kiss, leading to paige blowing one of her own followed by a wink.

“talk to yall later, peace!”

✧

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Jacaerys returns to Dragonstone after spending some time in Winterfell. He comes back looking differently…and has learned some new things 😏👅🐱

Request: 9 for Jacee ‘’Where have you learned to do that?’’

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), slight fingering, assumption of cheating

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Months have gone by since the prince Jacaerys left for Winterfell to gain House Stark and the North for the cause of his mother, Queen Rhaenyra. His visit should have been a short one, but Cregan Stark insisted he spent more time in the North. According to his letter, Lord Stark had taken a liking to him and wanted Jacaerys to get a true experience of the North. He said that getting closer to the northmen would help gain their support. 

Life on Dragonstone was lonely without him. A part of yourself was missing. 

You spent time with Baela and Rhaena, helped Lucerys get more confident with his dragon, played with Joffrey when no one would. You were in the early stages of a civil war, the adults didn’t have much time for the young boy. The Queen was grateful for your help. 

A few days ago, after you got back from riding your dragon, a raven came from Winterfell — a new message from Jacaerys saying he should be expected to return in the late afternoon. 

Excitement bubbled in your stomach. 

Rushing to your chamber, you didn't want to greet him smelling of dragon. You shed your riding clothes as a handmaid helped you fill your tub with hot water. She added rose oil to make your skin soft and you made sure to scrub extra hard with the brush. You wanted to look nice for Jacaerys. 

After bathing, you put on a clean dress and asked Baela for help with your hair. She was the best at braiding. 

‘’Do you think he missed me while he was away?’’ 

Behind you, Baela chuckled as she twisted your braids and pinned them. ‘’I wouldn't doubt it, Lady Y/N.’’ 

Hearing a dragon's roar, you jumped and went to your window. The air was gloomy, making it difficult to see through the horizon. You bit your lip, searching for an olive green shape. Although he was a small dragon, Vermax’s red wings were easy to discern in the skies.

You glanced over your shoulder to Baela. ‘’They’re here.’’ 

She finished your hair, ensuring every strand fell perfectly in place, and you descended the stairs with Baela on your tracks. 

As you reached the great hall, you saw the Queen and her children standing near the painted table, accompanied by a hubbub of voices. Lucerys talked animatedly about sword practice while a very excited Joffrey was jumping on his feet, excited to see his big brother. Rhaenyra told them to quiet down and give Jacaerys some air, which made you laugh. 

The sound caught their attention, and Jacaerys' eyes shifted to you. 

He had grown since he left — his shoulders broader, his stature more commanding. His once pin-straight hair now cascaded in soft curls that framed his face perfectly. He looked nothing like a Targaryen anymore. 

‘’Jace,’’ you whispered, a smile lighting up your face as you approached him.

For supper, a small feast was held in his honor. Daemon and Rhaena joined you for the meal, raising their cup to Jacaerys’ return. 

When the hour started to get late, you and Jacaerys retired to your chamber. Half-way there up the stairs, he pulled you into a corner of the staircase and kissed you the way he had been dying to since he got back. You pulled a moan out of him when your teeth glided against his bottom lip, and circled your arms around his neck as his hands were gripping your hips with a strength that was new. 

A voice came from the staircase below — probably one of the servants —, prying the two of you apart. You giggled against Jacaerys' shoulder. 

Once you reached the privacy of your chamber, Jacaerys shut the door and drew you to him again as he kissed along your jaw and down your neck. You moaned under the touch of his mouth, melting against him as your fingers worked on each other’s clothes, pulling at the laces and buckles until they fell off your bodies and onto the floor.

You tried to not step on your dress as you walked back to the bed, then let your shift slip down your shoulders and pool at your feet, leaving you fully naked. 

‘’Gods.’’ 

You blushed as Jacaerys followed down your neck to between your legs, taking his time to admire your body. You had never felt truly desired before him. Only objectified — as were all women in Westeros.  

‘’Do you like what you see, my Prince?’’ you asked, his eyes finding their way back to yours. 

Jacaerys didn’t respond. All he did was gently push you down into the bed. 

You expected him to get on the bed too, but to your surprise, he kneeled at the end of it and pulled you close to the edge. A frown drew between your eyebrows as you looked down. You opened your mouth to ask what he was doing on the floor, but the words got caught in your throat as Jacaerys kissed the inside of your thighs. 

It was something new, but not disagreeable.  

Then, he pushed your thighs further apart and pressed the sweetest kiss right over your slit, causing you to squirm. 

‘’Jace, what are you—’’

Your question died on your tongue as he peaked out and flicked your clit, sending a jolting sensation up your core. Jacaerys didn't stop there — he was far from finished with you. He laid his tongue flat and licked a fat strip up your entrance to your clit, stirring a gasp from your lips. 

Your reaction made him smile, encouraging him to pursue. He took a second lick of your cunt, then captured your clit between his lips to suckle at. You let out a mewl of pleasure, your hand traveling down your body to clutch at Jacaerys's soft hair. He alternated between sucking and licking at you, the room filling with obscene noises as your legs tightened on each side of his face, caging him. 

Releasing your clit, Jacaerys slid his tongue between your folds, tasting your arousal on his tongue. You've had his fingers inside you, but never his tongue. Arching your back, you pushed against his face, asking for more. And Jacaerys was happy to give it to you, adding a finger to the mix and pushing deeper inside you.

With your free hand, you clutched the sheets, biting your lips and holding back the moans that wanted to slip out. Had Lucerys’s bedchamber not been so close to yours, you would not have held them back. But y0u didn’t wish to scar his young ears. The poor boy would not be able to look you in the eyes again. 

Jacaerys withdrew his tongue and added a second finger, moving the former back to your clit and making a slobbering mess all over you. 

The rush of pleasure filling your body intensified and you rolled your hips into his face with abandon as your orgasm snapped. Your husband’s name left your lips in a delicate whimper, throwing your head back as he lapped at you, taking everything you were giving him. 

Easing your hands off his hair, you slowed your hips down. 

Jacaerys took the cue and left your pussy alone. 

‘’Where did you learn that?’’ you asked, looking down between your legs as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

He rose to his feet and fell back on the bed with you. ‘’The North.’’ 

Your heart sank, and a knot formed in your stomach. Thoughts raced through your mind, thinking he had bedded another woman. You would have never thought that he would commit infidelity.

Seeing the concern etched across your face, Jacaerys reached out to gently cup your cheek, his touch warm and reassuring. ‘’No,’’ he said softly, his eyes searching yours for understanding. ‘’Not…’’ He shook his head. ‘’Never.’’ 

His words washed over you like a wave of relief.

‘’Northmen, when they get drunk, they talk a lot. About their hunts, about their horses, about the things they do to their women in bed. I didn’t know women could be kissed there, but I wanted to try it. Did you…did you enjoy it?’’ 

A smile curled on your lips as you looked at him. His physique may have changed while he was in the North, but inside, he was the same nervous boy you wed in the spring. 

You nodded slowly. ‘’Can you do it again?’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen@naty-1001@katiepie67@moshpot24x@hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler@saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag@wondxrgurl@aerangi@strmborns@astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection

All and more taglist:  @kenqki  @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever

[lowkeyremi]

JJK CHARACTERS AND THEIR ICKS

basically things they do that make you upset. this is a joke so please do not attack me. y'all already know i never miss a chance to slander gojo!!! credit to my sweet mutual lene (@satorisoup) for giving me this idea!!! GO READ HER'S (if you're into haikyuu)

Gojo

PLEASE. He 100% leaves his clothes on the floor and it really grates your nerve when the hamper is RIGHT THERE!!! and he just leaves them right in front of it. It's so embarrassing when you have guests over and they just pull a dirty sock from between the couch cushions.

Yuji

I love him but I just KNOW he leaves toothpaste in the sink. It's like he doesn't understand the concept of rinsing the sink out after you brush your teeth. You'll finally be making your way into the bathroom to brush your teeth and there's dried spit and toothpaste in the sink.

Megumi

Always. talks. back. It does not matter he always has something to say. "Well you could have just taken out the trash like I asked you to." and he'll say something snarky like, "Maybe if you weren't so soft spoken I would have heard you." BOY SHUT UP BEFORE YOU GET SLAPPED.

Geto

He is a HUGE gossip. "Mimiko was telling me about xyz yesterday." He just doesn't know when to shut up. People think Geto is a very quiet and kept to himself kind of person but when he knows you he will not stop talking shit.

Toji

There are so many things I could say but the worst of them all is the fact that he will wear the same pair of underwear more than twice. "Toji... are those the same fucking boxers you had on Thursday?" You can see the hem line of his boxers and it looks like the same pair from Thursday. He sets down his cup, "Uh, probably. What's today?" ... "IT'S SUNDAY. JUST WASH YOUR CLOTHES!"

Nanami

He's overbearing with tasks. He forgets that you know how to do things and will bug you until he knows you've done them. "Don't forget to take your car to get an oil change soon." You nod.

A few hours later when he returns home, "Have you gone down to get the oil ch-"

"Kento! The love of my life. I know. I'm going tomorrow." ... "Oh, okay. I'm sorry."

Nobara

Leaves her plate/bowl/etc on the table. You've reminded her on multiple occasions that she needs to do it but she just forgets. "Food was great!" She yells with a smile. In no time she's up from the table sprinting to the living room. "Nobara.. your plate." She freezes, "Oh shit right. I'll get it!"

Maki

She snores. It's not the cute kind either, it's the loud obnoxious kind that prevents you from sleeping. You've tried to get her to change her sleeping posture and find other ways to help but it does. not. matter. By the end of the night she will be holding you close. Your back pressed against her front and loud snores ringing in your ear.

Inumaki

Never gives you any kind of warning when he's going to fart he just does it. HE KNOWS they're a lethal weapon but finds it funny whenever you're screaming at him and gasping for air. God forbid he ever farts while you two are in bed because a dutch oven from him is probably enough to kill you.

Shoko

She laughs whenever you trip or get hurt in any kind of way. She doesn't even mean it she just does it. Like say she sees that the pavement is uneven she doesn't say anything and watches you trip, just to laugh about it. "Okay okay okay, I'm so *giggle* sorry. I should have said something, let me help you up."

Sukuna

Thinks because he's lived for a long time he knows everything and then he gets mad when, "This stupid little talking box won't work." (his phone) "This shit is broken again." He complains throwing it to you. "Dude.. it's powered off. 'Mr. I Know Everything.'" He rolls his eyes at you, "I do know everything you shit for brains." You scoff, "See if I ever help you turn on your 'talking box' again."

Choso

He's always second guessing you. He doesn't even realize it either. The two of you will be driving and he's like, "Are you sure you know where we're going? Should I pull up GPS." YOU KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING CHILL. He's just really cautious though which is why he asks a million times.

[twola]

Could we get a medium honor Arthur that's obsessed with the reader having no gag reflex? He takes her any chance he gets 🫣🫣

Of Many Talents

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Those hands - calloused and rough, strong and beaten, scarred and certain, they curl around your jaw with such gentleness it still surprises you.

“My girl,” He hums, and you nuzzle your cheek against his saddle hewn thigh, his course pubic hair brushing against your skin.

“Don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He continues, swaying slightly as you press your lips against the crease of his hip, continuing the journey you’ve been on for the last several minutes.

The oil lantern in the corner of the hotel room burns low, the shadows of the night cast across the room.

“Arthur Morgan, don’t you start.” You smile up at him from your knees, resting your chin on his thigh for a moment.

He chuckles to himself softly, running his hand then over your hair, tucking loose strands of it back gently behind your ear.

You adjust yourself on your knees, fortunately there was a rug on the hardwood floor beneath where your skirts pool down. You can tell he is anxious, swaying again, his spurs jingling slightly. His knees are bound by his pants, pulled down enough to allow you to run your hands up his pale thighs to his abdomen- he holds his shirt up with one hand as the other caresses the back of your head lovingly.

After teasing him quite enough, you set yourself to the task at hand - literally, as your hands move to his pelvis, one wrapping around the base of his hard cock and the other cupping his balls. He sucks in a breath loudly as his hips pulse forward out of his own volition.

"Eager there, cowboy?"

"Jesus - you... please..." His voice is rough, like he had been gargling gravel as you shallowly pump your hand up and down his shaft.

You decide not to tease any longer. You draw yourself up back on your knees and open your mouth to him, your tongue darting out to lick the sensitive slit of his head.

"God damnit-" He groans in the night, teeth gritted as he stares down at you, one hand fisted in his shirt, the other resting lightly on your head.

You continue, enveloping the round, blunt end of him in your wet, warm mouth, he lets out a breathe he had been holding for a few moments with a groan as you continue, taking inch by inch of him.

"Oh god, girl-" He mutters, and your eyes dart up to him coquettishly. You slowly slide forward, staring up at him all the while, until your nose presses into his coarse hair, until the very tip of him curves down your throat. At that, Arthur throws his head back and moans, his hat falling and bouncing to the floor as his fingers pulse in your hair. You breathe through your nose and rock back and forward, saliva dripping down your chin as you properly fuck him with your mouth

"Oh, oh sweetheart, you -hah- got the wickedest mouth on you-" He pants.

You moan, and he lets another breath out near painfully as the vibrations from your throat pulse around his cock. Working your jaw slightly, you rock back and forth faster as his fingers work into your hair harder, knowing that your lover is well on his way to completely losing his composure. You slow down, and he looks back at you wildly, his eyes lust blown and mouth hanging open.

With a haughty blink of your eye, you suck, hard, and the outlaw is finished.

"Oh - aw shit-!" Arthur barks out before his hips thrust forward and he's shooting his spend down your throat. He rocks slightly as it peters off, and pulls his cock from your mouth with a hiss. You clear your throat, rubbing at your neck as he incredulously looks down at you.

"I dunno what deal you made with the devil to be able to do that, but I ain't complainin'," Arthur wipes his brow with the back of his hand as he grabs his pants, pulling them up as you lick the last bit of pearly spend off your lips. After he situates himself, both of his arms dart down to help you up, and continue by pulling you into an embrace.

"Just like makin' you happy," You nuzzle into his chest. A laugh bursts out from his lips.

"Honey, you make me more than happy. Now let's get you down on the bed and I'll get to makin' you sing."

[pursuitseternal]

“I prefer the real thing…”

UA Astarion x Reader | Smut Asks Prompts (personal request by @wtv-my-current-hyperfixation )

CW: Eye fucking, body worship

The way your hair curls around your ears…

The wrinkles when you laugh…

Sharp piercing eyes…

That dangerous smile…

That was what you had told him so many tenday ago, a broken mirror in his hand and vanity raging a tempest inside his undead soul. Now, he sits very still, posed and perfect. The light caresses his form as Oskar puts the final touches on his work. A near-flawless likeness, captured in oil. Gaze darting between them, between Astarion the painted and Astarion the decadent bastard in the flesh as he lounges on the scarlet chaise, there is so much more you wish you had had the bravery to tell him that night. When he asked you to be his mirror.

No amount of poetry or paints could do his ruinous beauty justice. You love him and all the ways his undeath has frozen his beauty. Like those dark circles beneath his eyes that bring out his gaze, that make the crimson of his irises glitter with vitality. Like the way the sharp cut of his jaw draws the eye inexorably to his pointed ears. Gods, and those ears, the little ways they twitch and flush and wriggle depending on his mood… his hunger… or his arousal.

Staring at his ears as he poses, you feel warm, and quickly you have to calm yourself.

A deep breath, you look away until your heart finally levels back into a steady thump. But the temptation is too great to keep ogling him as he lounges. After all, the artist can appreciate him for a few hours, but he is a man you may call yours. Your lover. Your partner.

Eyes dart to his shoulders, to their masculine broadness, to the angles of his clavicle and the two scars in his sinewy neck that stare back at you. His cream silken shirt is pulled open—Astarion insisted that if he’s going to be painted, he should present all his best assets. And you pray to every god in gratitude for it. Those ridges and rises of his chest, his abdominals make mouth water. Those pink nipples of his pecs draw your eye, your mouth recalling with exact detail how it feels to suck on them. To squeeze them between your teeth.

You must be licking your lips loudly, because it draws his pointed, vermillion gaze to you. A spark of mischief ignites in his eye. A flare of his aquiline nose and you know without a doubt he’s scented that warmth pooling between your thighs.

The slightest shift, and his fingers pull the edges of his shit up higher on his belly. That fucking left brow arched just a shade higher as he watches your reaction.

You know your eyes widen and your cheeks flush to see those glorious muscles that cut his lower half in a v… the deep grooves of his waist that disappear disappointingly beneath his waistband. You don’t even have to try hard to recall with perfect accuracy what the cock that’s nestled in that bulge of his leathers looks like… smells like… tastes like. You’re blatantly staring now, licking your lips, and the slick sound of oil paint smearing on canvas is not helping to distract you. Your own thighs feel oiled, your slick soaking your small clothes.

Even posing for a portrait so he may finally see himself in all his vampiric glory… Astarion is a menace. Your menace. Shaking your head, you mouth the single command, “Behave.”

His answering stare undresses you, and your knees visibly give out just a single, slight tremor in response. The rest of his body remains frozen but his eyes roam over you, up and down, dwelling on the parts of you that he delights in the most: your buckling knees… your drenched sex beneath your leathers… your heaving chest and your own matching set of bite marks etched permanently in your flesh.

You have to break your stare from him first or else you’ll do something reckless and improper. Retreating to maintain some shred of propriety, you move behind Oskar as his brush swipes up and down, left and right, capturing Astarion’s rakish smirk and pearlescent skin. After a few more brushstrokes, Oskar jubilantly proclaims it finished, and you step back to admire it in its entirety.

“A masterpiece, to be sure….” Lost in thought, you trail off, noticing how the artist’s eye has missed so many of those little weathered details of his face… laugh lines at the crease of his mouth, bags under his eyes… ridges and rises of his sculpted chest and belly you know by heart now. “It’s a beautiful likeness, but I still prefer the real thing….”

“What?” Astarion snaps from his chaise, bolting to stand beside you, his ruffled shirt hanging haphazardly from his shoulders. The moment he looks at his portrait, you can hear his lungs suck in air—a teeny gasp he holds in his undead chest. You watch him… his eyes scanning his image, lips quirking up and down… smiling and frowning alternatively. He grips his own chin, the image of judgment, bushy silver brows furrowed in deep contemplation as he starts to nod.

“Well?” you finally prompt him after a long, heavy, and increasingly awkward silence.

Still nothing from your vampire, even as the artist sways in his toes, awaiting his praise. You immediately fill the vacuum. “Thank you, Mr. Fevras, we will cherish it.”

Pleased with your response, and even more pleased to leave, he departs once he hurriedly gathers his things.

Astarion remains locked in his place, frowning as he grips his chin. Deep in thoughts, maybe even memories, you think of using the tadpole or a spell for a moment to detect his thoughts…. Instead, you choose to stand next to him, wrapping your arms around his narrow waist in a sidelong embrace and resting your head on his arm.

A laugh in your throat, you quote your favorite Tiefling companion: “Copper for your thoughts?”

“Hmm,” he offers. Nothing more at first. Taking a deep breath, he threads one arm around you, kissing the top of your head. “Well, darling, I see why it was so easy for me to seduce you… yes, I see what all the fuss has been about…”

Gods, you can feel the smirk he’s making as he rests his head on top of yours.

“If it’s any consolation, it’s good likeness, but I still love the wrinkles when you laugh, old man,” you mock, brushing a thumb at the corner of his eyes.

“Tch, I told you, I may be centuries old, but I’m not your doting grandmother,” he feigns offense, his voice outlandish in tone, but the smile on his face as he looks down at you belies the words themselves.

“Centuries old, undead, and not a day over forty,” you tease.

“Thirty-nine, I’ll have you know.” He corrects, a wag of his finger in your face.

You look up at him, laughing to yourself, “And just how long have you been thirty-nine?”

He huffs dramatically, a sarcastic, cheeky sigh as he turns towards the door. “I’m not one for math, nor details, darling,” he taunts in that sing-song voice of pure impudence.

He cards his hand through his hair, a petty and vain smile on his face as he assesses the painting once more. But beneath all the arrogant jests, he seems more complete, more self-assured, if that was even possible, now that he has finally seen his face. One, long, affected sigh, and he gives a conceited smirk. “I’ll tell you one thing, now that I’ve seen my eyes, red is definitely my color…”

[biscuitdolly]

oral health ♡

now , obv u wanna be brushing your teeth 3 times a day , flossing , mouth wash etc .. but here are some extra things that can help improve your oral health , breath and teeth!!

oil pulling ♡

you can use coconut oil , sesame seed oil , or sunflower oil. swish a teaspoon of said oil around in your mouth to coat all your teeth , spit , and then repeat. @/ally.renee1 on TikTok recommends adding peppermint oil , this helps it taste better and also acts as a natural mouthwash!!

floss your teeth before brushing ♡

use either waxed or woven flosses! never use glide flosses , they have Teflon (Teflon is a chemical , it's used in stuff like non-stick sprays , flosses with Teflon literally don't do anything but glide between your teeth). try flossing as if you're flossing both teeth instead of the space in between!

water flossing ♡

for this you'll need a water flosser. hold for about 5 seconds in between each tooth (don't water floss after brushing teeth because you want the fluoride in the tooth paste to stay on your teeth!!)

tongue scrap ♡

self explanatory. get a tongue scrap , and scrap from back to front 5 times. it's really gross what kind of stuff comes off , so you wanna make sure its all gone!

mouth wash ♡

i'd recommend a teeth whitening one but any will work!! (obv you can use whitening strips too). swish for 30 seconds then spit.

brush teeth ♡

personally , i use an electric toothbrush bc the rounded brush head gets rid of plaque better , but its okay if you don't have one! manual toothbrushes are fine , just make sure you brush extra good!

i brush my entire mouth once , spit , and then brush it again, just to make sure i get absolutely everything. make sure you're brushing the teeth at the very back , your gums , the roof of your mouth , and your tongue!! brush for a total of 3 minutes.

extra ♡

why do i use mouth wash before brushing? because i don't want to wash away the remaining fluoride from the toothpaste that's still on my teeth. If it's morning , i use mouthwash again around 20 minutes after brushing, just to make sure my breath smells good.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 5

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, mentions/depictions of injury/violence/death/trauma, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, baby fever, fluff!, typos, etc.

A/N: i said i'd end this on p5 but i think i'll be ending at p7 HAHHAH lol originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @minttea07 @fluffpudel @j3nn-1

I suck in a sharp breath as I rouse due to the sound of groaning. I sit up from my bed and vaguely hear mewling.

I light the oil lamp by the bedside table and wipe my face, "Sandor?"

I inspect his face but realize he is turned away from me. He is laid on his chest on the edge-most part of the other side of the bed.

He lets out a shaky breath. He sounds like he'd been running when he finally speaks, "fine."

I knit my brows and swivel on my knees. I move to his side and hear his heavy breathing. I ghost a hand over the blankets covering him, "is it your back?" 

He hisses shakily, "sss- m'fine!"

I slowly take the blanket in hand and pull it down.

"F-fi-"

The white bounds on his back are bloody red. "You're bleeding."

"Fine," he whispers.

I get up from the bed and run out of the bedroom. I immediately head for maester Yannick's room and knock on his door. The moment the door opens, I tell him Sandor's wounds are bleeding. We immediately go back to our room.

Sandor mutters he's fine as the maester inspects him. He mutters it even though no one is speaking. To say I am worried is a deep understatement.

"His wound has festered," Yannick declares. 

A line forms between my brows as Yannick walks off and Sandor continues to mutter he's fine. I follow after him, "what are we to do?"

"We need to burn his wound to stop it from festering any further."

I clench my teeth at the thought.

"Worry not, my lady," he says, "I will give him something for the pain."

I sigh, "is there not another way?" I think about his facial scar, "he's been burned once."

Yannick offers me a look, "yes," he sighs, "but this one is necessary for his health, Lady Clegane."

I walk back to my bedroom to prepare Sandor as maester Yannick prepares the things he will use.

I go to the side of the bed. I kneel in front of the Hound, "my lord."

"M'fine."

I make a face at the sight of the sweat permeating around his forehead and neck. I brush his hair back, "maester Yannick says your wound is festering."

"F-fine-"

"He says we have to burn your wound to stop it from-"

I jolt back when he screams, "NO!"

I fall on my butt and look back at him as he pushes himself up to stand.

"NO FUCKING FIRE!" he growls as he gets on his feet. I half expect him to walk away, I half expect him to do something to me, instead he just stands there. He looks at me then screws his eyes shut, "no fire."

He lets out a deep breath and I stand. I freeze a second when I see him reach out to me. He quickly withdraws his hand when I get on my feet.

"Sandor," I step closer, "if we don't do this, your wounds are--"

"I don't like fire!" he quips.

We stand there in silence.

Maester Yannick walks in with a tray. He looks at his lord and motions with his head, "you needn't stand for this. Please, lie back-"

"NO FIRE!" he snaps, turning around. 

The old man stops in his tracks.

The Hound turns to him, and when he does, I get a view of the blood on his back. I make a face, "Sandor."

He looks back at me when I take his arm.

His expression is so unlike him. He looks at me in a way I've never seen before. His eyes stare back at me with the same intensity his scar had in this moment. I feel my throat tighten, "I know this... this procedure makes you feel... hesi-"

"Scared."

My jaw drops. My ears ring at the sound of the word. I step forward and grip both of his arms. My eyes widen in concern and my brows furrow, "Sandor."

"Don't make me do this," he whispers.

My breath hitches when he grips my arms with trembling hands. My eyes dart to maester Yannick, "is there another way, maester?"

Yannick stares at me for a moment and sighs, "I could remove the puss and change the dressings of his wounds, but I fear it might seep through his lungs. We would be risking his life."

I turn back to Sandor, "would you rather risk that?"

He closes his eyes.

Before he can think to answer, I do, "I would not."

He opens his eyes.

I make a sound when I see how his eyes watered. I get on my tip toes and take his cheeks in my hand, "we'll give you something for the pain."

"Yes, my lord," maester Yannick walks towards the bed and places his tray there. He grabs the ewer and the cup on it and hands it to Sandor, "you may have as much as you desire."

"I don't want to do this," he tightens his grip on me and pulls me closer. This is when I realize he was trembling all over.

"Sandor."

He chokes out a sob, "don't make me do this."

"San-" I cut myself off with a gasp.

He drops to his knees and wraps his arms around my waist. He sinks his face into my belly and muffles out, "please."

I bring my hands up in shock, extremely unsure of what to do. I turn to maester Yannick for guidance. He frowns, "my lord, please. We understand your fear. What we wish to do is meant to help you however. We want to help you get better."

Sandor cries into my nightgown.

I finally bring my hands down. I brush his hair back, "it's alright," I hush, "I am here for you, my love. I want to keep you safe. Believe me."

He presses his cheek against me and pulls me closer. I feel his fingers dig into my flesh, "don't make me do it."

I look at maester Yannick. He looks back at me. I sigh, "Lord Clegane does not want to go through with it."

"But my lady-"

"Perhaps he will change his mind in the morning, maester," I raise a hand, "we did take him off-guard."

Yannick sighs. He nods, "of course."

I feel Sandor look up at me. I look down at him and brush his hair back, "will you at least let him change your wounds?"

Sandor stares at me for a long moment before nodding. I nod back and slowly pull away from him.

Maester Yannick undoes Sandor's bandages and I offer him milk of the poppy. He takes a cup from me, and downs it.

Just before he's about to get rewrapped, he turns to Yannick, "wait."

The maester looks down at the kneeled man.

"Will you burn my whole back?"

"Just the worst gash, my lord. There is a large one and a small one."

Sandor turns to me, "I'll do it."

I nod and smile at him.

"But only if you'll hold me," he reaches out a hand.

I nod quicker and take his hand, "of course."

Sandor immediately rips me into him and buries his face into my belly again. He mumbles, "be done with it."

Maester Yannick prepares his tools in haste.

I stroke his head and sing him a lullaby, the one that was sung to me when I was scared. I whisper in between the lyrics, "it'll be alright."

He shudders hotly against me.

Sandor remained kneeled the entire time. He did not make a sound when his wounds were being burned. All he did was embrace me for dear life and sink his face into my side.

When it was done, he would not let me go nor let maester Yannick bind his wounds. He only let up when I promised him he could hold me again after.

And right after he was wrapped up, he stood up and nearly flung himself onto the bed where I had been sitting. He grabs me and begs to hold me until we sleep. I warily wrap my arms around him, making sure not to hit his wounds, and whisper, "you can hold me for as long as you want, my lord."

He lets out a shaky breath, "thank you."

My eyes flutter open. I turn to other side of the bed. Though it's been a three days now, it's still a wonder to see him beside me when I wake. It gave me a strange sense of joy to be around him. I figured it was due to the safety I felt in his presence. I tried not to think about it too much, nor dwell on the fact he's been sleeping in, for I knew it would be short lived.

He hadn't been able to do much for the past days. He was still a long way from recovering from his injuries. Maester Yannick said it would take at least another week for him to be able to walk around again. He got rather dizzy when he did right now.

And as horrible as it is to say, I liked him like this. He could not fight me, for he had no energy to, I didn't have to worry about him, for he was stationed nearby, and I felt no guilt in speaking to him about issues of our house, because he had no choice but to listen if he wanted to be filled in, which he did.

The Hound is flat on his chest, cheek pressed against a pillow, hair covering his face. 

I sit up and pull the blanket down, checking his bandages, finding they were exactly how maester Yannick had kept them last night.

Satisfied, I get out of bed and go about my day.

I break fast with Lucy then begin daily rounds of seeing the people. Many of them came to speak out their concerns for their houses, which had been affected by the recent storm, and many others came to give their regards to Lord Clegane for what he has done for them. They were so gracious in giving food and herbs for his recovery.

You can then imagine the stir that happened  when the Hound, himself, walked in the room. I nearly jump from my spot when I see him. I dash over and grab his arms, "what's wrong?!"

"LORD CLEGANE!" 

"MILORD!"

"MILORD HOUND!"

"Thanks the gods!"

Sandor does not know where to look. He darts back and forth between me and the people calling out to him. His lips twitch, "I'm leaving."

My heart leaps into my mouth. I release him, "what?"

"I'm going outside Brown Wood."

I immediately feel like I'm being choked, "what? Where are you going?" I knit my brows deeply. I feel hurt by his words because it sounds like he means to leave me. Soon enough, irrational rage rises up my stomach. Was he trying to make a scene? Was he trying to upset me in front of everyone?

The Hound's face contorts in confusion, "just outside for a walk..." he peers his eyes up and looks at the faces of the people in the room. He looks back at me, "have they upset you?"

I drop my expression. I clear my throat and shake my head. I step back, "no, I- ... you shouldn't be walking around."

"What good is a caged hound to a pretty squirrel?" he asks.

"You're not caged," I snap and shake my head, "you're in bed rest so to regain your strength!"

I stiffen where I stand when he steps forward and takes my hand. He rubs my knuckles with his thumb then cocoons my one hand in both of his. It was so tiny in his grip. My heart races.

"Do not wait up for me. I want to walk to the Sterling River. With my pace now, it will take me the whole day."

I scowl at his words. How treacherous of him to speak them so softly. I feel a line form between my brows. I shake my head, "if I cannot tell you what to do, you cannot tell me what to do," I pull my hand out of his grip.

I turn away from him, "if you must go, then go. Do not be foolish enough to injure yourself any more than you already have."

Sandor stiffens. He feels embarrassed. He deflates and bows, "no, my lady."

When I look back at him, he is slowly making himself out of his room. I wipe my face in frustration.

Sandor makes his way out of the estate.

He's now walking down the path by the edge of the forest. He finds himself wondering if his wife would mourn him if he was killed by a monster on his walk.

He freezes when he hears a whine by the thicket. He reaches for his hilt.

"Fuck."

He didn't bring his sword.

Sandor stills when a whining sound catches his ears. His instinct to rip his sword out is futile for he had no sword to draw. When his initial reaction of shock and agitation settled, he spots something moving in the bushes.

He bends down as he walks towards the sound. Whatever worry he felt melted away because he soon identified the whimpers as nonthreatening, judging by how high-pitched they were. He gets lower and reaches out to the foliage once he's close. He pushes the bushes apart and sees 3 pups huddled together, spooked by the sudden intrusion.

They run deeper into the bush. That's when he spots a large dog. He pulls away, not expecting to see it. He was glad he saw before it lunged.

It takes him a good few seconds to realize the thing wasn't going to move at all because it was dead.

Sandor sighs.

He doesn't think, he just acts. He looks over his shoulder; he could barely see Brown Wood. He really doesn't want to go back and so he walks off, looks for soft soil, gets on his knees, and begins to dig with his hands. The action is hard on his back, but image of Daisy at the front of his mind won't let him stop.

He was covered in dirt and sweat when he finished. He huffs as he gets up. He goes back to the bushes and grabs the mother first. It was apparent now that she was likely attacked by an animal its size or a bit larger, maybe a fox, a wolf, or even a small bear, judging by the bite mark. Her body was already rigid. He tries not to compare her to Daisy too much.

The pups bark their head off as their mother is taken away from them. Sandor moves as quickly as he can in his state and puts the dog in the grave. He comes back for the puppies and takes them in his arms before covering the grave; he does so with his feet, pushing the dirt into the hole.

Sandor looks at the three pups in his arms. He makes himself believe the dog saved all her babies, that she did not lose one or two and died anyway. He makes himself believe she died knowing all her pups were safe.

He examines his surroundings and spots a blueberry. He stands still for a moment as the puppies in his hands begin to realize their yapping was for naught. Sandor nods, "I'll take care of your pups, Blueberry."

With that, he walks away.

He looks at the warm creatures in his arms. They were all long and dark coated with floppy ears. He wonders how they ended up in the forest. He wonders if they were abandoned. He begins to get angry at the thought.

He huffs and decides to think nothing of it. It wasn't like he could do anything about it anyway. He busies himself instead with thinking of names.

Then he stops.

Literally.

His feet plant him in his place as he wonders if it would even be alright to bring the pups back home with him. His wife, after all, was still mourning the one she lost. 

Sandor's face contorts.

He proceeds to then think of the fact that even if she did want a dog, she probably wouldn't want one from him.

The realization stings more than his back did. He sniffles and begins to walk.

He stops again when he's just outside the gates. He knows it's a matter of time before that stable boy, Polly, comes out. He swears that kid could smell him, and ya know, maybe he could.

Sandor finds himself walking to the garden to Daisy. He looks down at the growing daisy bush and sighs, "what do you think, girl? Should I give these pups to the villagers instead?"

He notices the puppies were beginning to fall asleep. 

"You actually miss 'er?"

Sandor looks over his shoulder.

Lucy is walking up to him, looking at him like she couldn't believe he cared for Daisy. Yet there was something in her eyes that said otherwise. She crosses her arms, "you shouldn't be walking around, worrying milady like this."

Sandor sighs and looks away. He looks at the lone flower bud before him, "you think she'd feel better if I gave her a gift?"

"What?"

Sandor turns, and in turn, reveals to her the puppies.

Lucy's face falls. She unclasps her arms.

Sandor is filled with dread because of her expression. He shakes his head, "tell her you found these puppies," he hands them to her.

Lucy takes the small creatures, unable to do anything else really, and gives Sandor a look as he continues, "tell her you want to find them homes. If she wants to keep one, good, if she doesn't... well, good as well."

Lucy makes a sound as the puppies stir in her arms. She shushes them as she watches the Hound walk away. She knits her brows when he sees his dirty hands. She looks down at the pups, wondering where her lord found them. She's about to call out to him to ask, up until the little boy, Polly, runs up to her and gleefully cheers, "PUPPIES!"

When Maester Yannick and I finished hearing the last concern for the day, tis I that began to complain to him. It's mostly empty complaints about exhaustion, but he takes it all rather seriously.

Yannick was a sweet old man. His scrawny body and sunken cheeks do not deter him from looking otherwise. He barely had any hair left on his head and yet I would say he was still a handsome elder.

He leads me into the ward to give me another dose of the herbs and medicines I had been consuming as of late.

"This will help you relax," he hands me a cup of tea, "and it is also known to help increase fertility."

I offer him an apprehensive smile as I take the cup from him. 

He watches me drink it and sighs, "have you talked to Lord Sandor about it yet?"

I take a sip before I ask, "about me taking tea that aids conception?"

"About how he got on his knees and held you to calm himself," he walks off to clear his table.

I watch the old man fix his things and begin to pace around the room as I drink from my cup. I sigh, "I was too upset about him announcing he would leave for there to be any other conversation."

I stare at my tea as I wait for the maester to rebuke me for doing that. When he doesn't, I turn to him. He walks off to put his herbs away.

"Aren't you going to tell me off, maester?"

"Mmm, perhaps it was uncalled for, objectively speaking," he spares me a glance, "one cannot make any sound or good judgements under a haze of anger," he continues tidying his stuff, "but sometimes we cannot help it. Didn't you tell me he's done that to you many times over?"

He looks back at me, expecting an answer.

I nod.

He shrugs and looks away, "an eye for an eye." Yannick finishes his task, "in fact, you're owed much more eyes, my dear."

I cannot help the chuckle that leaves me. The old man walks over to me, chuckling himself. I smile at him, "I don't want either of us to end up blind."

He smiles back, "and that's what makes a lady different from a hound," he motions, "drink up."

I press my lips into a line. I set my cup down, "Yannick-"

"MILADY!"

Both of us turn to the door just as Lucy bursts in. She grins from ear to ear as she runs inside with three puppies in her arms.

"Lucy!" I gasp, "what have you-"

"IT'S A GIFT!" she excitedly comes up to me. The puppies whine as she hands them to me. 

I really was about to protest, but then they begin to lick my face. I am too shocked to do anything but look away in hopes they don't lick my lips or eyes.

Lucy gasps, "sorry, milady," she reaches for them, "I just fed them and they got really rambunctious."

"That's why they smell like that," I mutter.

She takes two from me but stops getting the last one when I begin to laugh. Lucy's lips part and eyes widen. That was a sound she has not heard in a long time.

Maester Yannick takes one of the puppies for himself and immediately chuckles the tiny creature.

I coo at the dark brown colored pup and lightly scratch its round belly, "where on earth did you find these pups, Lucy?"

"Milord wanted you to 'ave 'em."

I blink and freeze.

Lucy shakes her head as she cuddles the pupper in her arms. The maester and I look at her, taken aback by her admission.

She continues, "but 'e told me not to tell you it was from him, and I can't make 'ead or tail as to why."

"He told you not to tell me it was from him?" I furrow my brows.

"Aye. He wanted me to say that it was I that found the pups," Lucy purses her lips, "I couldn't shake that there was something ill about it, so I had Polly-boy go pester his master."

"And what did Polly say?" maester Yannick asks.

"Polly said he told him to go fuck off but eventually the 'ound told him he found the pups in the forest," Lucy kisses the puppy, "their mum was dead so he buried her and took the pups for safe keepin'."

I raise my brows.

Lucy looks at me, "he did that for you. He probably hates the fact he had to kill Daisy."

My cheek twitches, "had to kill Daisy?"

I knit my brows tightly when Lucy speaks my name. I huff as she continues, "I told you what I saw that day our dog was buried. He was heart broken about Daisy. I wasn't just seeing things. It was real."

The puppy in my hand begins to wrangle out of my grip. I put the small thing down and take a deep breath as I straighten up. Yannick and Lucy stare at me.

Upon seeing their sibling on the floor, the other puppies begin to wrangle out of their captors' hands, and soon enough, there are three puppies exploring the ward and playing with each other.

Yannick begins to run after them.

Lucy takes my arm.

I look at her as I feel hot confliction coil up in my belly. I feel the corner of my lips pull downward.

"I can't believe I would be to one to tell you... but I think he cares for you. Truly. Milord wants to do good by you."

The thought overwhelms me. It makes me sick to my stomach. I huff through my nostrils, "Lucy."

"I wouldn't lie to you, milady."

I feel my chest tighten as I look at her.

She rubs my arm.

"No you wouldn't."

She nods.

"I should speak with him."

Lucy nods faster and releases me.

My head was spinning with a thousand thoughts as I walked out of the ward and began looking for Sandor. I search all over for him and end up being told by Polly that he was in our bedroom, and that he had just been there helping his lord change his bandages.

I immediately make my way to the bedroom and halt before the door. I suck in a breath for courage and walk inside.

"Sandor?"

I step into the room and spot a body laid on the bed. I repeat, "Sandor."

He says nothing.

I go up to his side and see him sprawled on his chest. I press my lips as I inspect the handiwork of him and the boy. They did a pretty good job. I gently run my fingertips down the bandages on his back and then cover him with the blankets. I look at his face and watch him exhale. He looked peaceful.

I catch myself reaching out to his face just before I can touch his scar. I pull my hand away and mutter, "sleep well, puppy."

I walk out of the room.

Sandor opens his eyes and watches.

It took me a whole day to decide what to call the new members of the Clegane clan, and I settled with Rose, Lilac, and Sage, keeping them on theme with Daisy's name.

Rose was the biggest of the three, which was why I assume she's the oldest of the pack. She was really excitable and loved roughhousing with her siblings.

Lilac was second in size. She was also the loudest, as she made it a point to bark at literally everything that moved, including herself.

Sage was the smallest and lone boy of the group. For what he lacked in size, excitability, and vocal prowess, he made up for affection. He was the sweetest boy in the whole world and loved snuggling with his sisters, and with any person wanting to hold him.

I had let them sleep in our bedroom, in a basket with blankets, but then I realized it was not the best idea as I was awoken by three puppies barking for my attention.

I had no choice but to attend to them. I was glad Sandor was a heavy sleeper, and slightly envious of him in all honesty.

Envy aside, I didn't regret waking up though, as the pups and I spent the entire early morning together. We ate together, played together, and when they tired out, they sprawled on my belly as I read in the living area. I was now halfway through my book.

I straighten up when I hear a gruff voice speak up.

"Mornin'."

I watch as Sandor walks over while scratching his eye. I raise my brows when it dawns that he going to sit beside me. I begin to panic, "Sandor- my lord- I-" I scoop the puppies closer to me and quip, "good morn."

Sandor comes in front of me then stops when he sees the puppies. He stares at them for a moment then looks at me. He parts his lips then points, "where..."

I look down at he puppies. I look up at him and begin to tense under his gaze, "hmm?"

Sandor drops his finger and blinks rapidly for a moment. His lips twitch, "where'd you find those... fucks?"

I furrow my brows tightly, "what?"

The Hound clenches his jaws and whispers, "where'd you find the fucking puppies?"

I raise a brow in confusion of his words. Was he... pretending to be cross? Is he actually about to act like these puppies where not the ones he chose to save in the forest?

I open my mouth, "Lucy... Lucy gave them to me..."

The Hound makes a sound and speaks with no conviction, "keep them in line."

I tilt my head and slowly push the puppies off me. I do my best not to rattle them, as they were on the precipice of falling asleep. 

Sandor watches me as I gently move them off my lap. He instinctively reaches out to me. I look at his hand, confused and curious, then slowly take it. He helps me stand up. I am wholly puzzled. Do I look like I need help standing from my seat?

I call out his name with uncertainty.

He speaks mine in a tender manner.

I look at our joined hands. His hand is massive, rough, and warm against mine. I wonder why he hasn't let me go. My body burns when he rubs my knuckles. I stutter, "a-are you al-right?"

I finally look at Sandor. He was already looking at me. I catch how his lips twitch. He releases a deep breath, "I am," he cocks his head side to side, "my back is still fucked up."

I turn to our joined hands again.

He finally releases me, as if he'd forgotten he was holding me in the first place. He wipes his hand on his trousers. He clears his throat then wipes his face.

I am baffled when his ears begin to grow red. I knit my brows, "did you need something from me, husband?"

Sandor freezes. He clenches his fists. He points behind him. He stares at me for a moment, finding the words to say. He opens his mouth then closes it. He looks at the puppies then lowers his hand. He closes his mouth then huffs through his nostrils.

I raise my brows, "is it something in the bedroom?"

"If... I..." Sandor starts, "it's just my back."

I nod and look at him expectantly.

"I... I need help... changing."

I straighten up and furrow my brows, "are you going to leave ag-"

"No," he quickly blurts, "I'm going to continue training those scrawny boys. It's been too long since the last time I did."

I relax at his words. I tilt my head, "why do you have to change?" I eye his dress shirt and pants, "is this uncomfortable to train in?"

Sandor mirrors my head tilt, "... I figured I... should dress like a lord."

"You are dressed like a lord," I shake my head, "you are a lord."

Sandor takes a moment to respond. When he does, he speaks softly again, "I'm normally in my armor when I train them because I'd go on rounds after."

I part my lips in realization of his sentiment. It was a matter of his pride. I'm about to tell him I will help him dress, but he dismisses the thought altogether. 

"It's probably better for my back not to wear something so constricting anyway," Sandor says.

With not another word, he turns around and walks away.

"Wait!"

He immediately stops and looks back at me, "yes?"

I realize then what I've just done. I am overcome with embarrassment for I really had nothing to say, "I just... Forgive me. I was taken aback by... how you just walked away."

Sandor visibly tenses. 

I smile at him, raise my hand, and stop him before he speaks, "it's alright. It's my mistake."

"It's not," he retorts. He turns to his feet and back to me. He shrugs, "I'm just an arsehole."

Taken off guard, I chortle. I slap my hand on my mouth and clear my throat, "I beg your pard-"

"S'fine," he speaks through a breath, "it's funny cos it's true."

He and I look at each other for a moment. I notice how his lips curved upward. 

I rub my arms when I begin to feel the weight of his gaze.

"I'll be... going then," he says.

I gulp and step forward, "may I watch you?"

He blinks.

I bite my lip in agitation.

"You want to watch?"

I slowly shrug, "the book I'm reading is not very interesting."

Sandor turns to the couch, looking at the dogs sleeping next to said not-very-intresting book. He looks back at me with a solemn expression, "I'd never be one to deny you."

My stomach drops at his words.

He cautiously motions with his head then walks off. I follow after him.

[sugawhaaa]

🌺Dating Theo would include...🌺

Pairing:: bf!Theo x fem!bodied!reader

A/N:: Tumblr posted this again before it was finished so I'll be updating this continuously and I'll mark it when it's finished. Okay I've finished it but I'm still really bad that Tumblr keeps doing this.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ᡣ𐭩Fluff headcanons𐙚˙⋆.˚ᡣ𐭩

He'd call you at random points in the day and when you pick up and say "hello?" He would start right off with smth like "God, I love your voice,"

TMI sponge, he loves hearing everything you have to share whether it's dirty, clean, or somewhere in between

Hed say stuff like "I'm such a lucky man," and "I'm so lucky you're mine"

He loves to prepare baths for you and when you get in he often sits to the side of the tub either talking to you or just soaking up your presence.

The two of you have a morning routine set up together. Brush teeth, ear breakfast, shower, skincare. Of course, some days it gets messed up but that doesn't matter to Theo, as long as you are together.

He's not a huge fan of cuddling per se, he's more of an intimate touches kinda guy. He'd still be close to you or wrap his arm around you but while doing so he'd run his fingers through your hair, caress your face, all kinds of gentle things like that

He can get kinda protective, always wrapping his arms around your waist when he feels the guy you're talking to is getting a little too comfortable

This relates to the bath thing but I could see him loving showering together.

Playing with each other's hair <3

He'd call you his baby, darling and ofc, my love

Gifting you flowers 😭💗

This one may be a little weird but I could see him loving your nose, specifically booping it all the time

He becomes super whiney and babyish around you

Cooking together <3

He would like to talk about your future together. Getting married, having kids, all kinds of things but he'd never force/make it picture perfect. He's just daydreaming

Theo might not seem like this type of guy but I think he'd like little camping trips with you

Words of affirmative <3

Loves kissing you all over your body, just the most random places

Little things like putting lotion or sunscreen on ur back makes him all giddy inside

You stepped out of the shower with Theo's helping hand. You stepped onto the dry mat under by the side of the tub as Theo grabbed a towel for you. He quickly dried you off before ruffling up your hair in the towel. You laugh and hit his chest, telling him to stop. He smirks before wrapping the towel around your neck, hanging down your shoulders.

He dries himself off some more as you dry your hair. You then set your towel back are your neck and look up at him, soft music playing in the background. He brings his hand up to your cheek before grabbing the ends of your towel, pulling you into a kiss. You gasp softly into the kiss, surprised by the sudden contact but he swiftly lets you go and heads over to the sink. He starts putting on his cleanser and taking glances over at you to see if you would follow him.

Of course, you did walking up to stand next to him. You follow the same steps as him with your skin care, using the same products. After the skincare, he softly asks you to turn around. He brings out your favorite body lotion and sweeps your hair to the side, your back fully accessible. He pumps the lotion onto his hands before rubbing it into your back. You jump slightly from the coldness.

"Sorry~" he says with a cheeky grin before rubbing it down your back. While he does so you put lotion on all the areas you can reach. Theo then puts some oils in your hair and runs his fingers through it, taking out any small tangles. His fingers run along your scalp occasionally massaging it to rub in the oils. You hum in satisfaction.

"That feels good," you smile and Theo chuckles softly, his fingers never faltering their work.

"I can imagine," he smiles before kissing the back of your shoulder. "Maybe we should plan to do something like this but more professionally," he says as his hands pry away from your hair. He washes his hands before using some oils on his own hair. You bring your hands up to his hair and start massaging for him, returning the favor. He smiles as he looks at you through the mirror.

"Go on," You giggle, curious as to where Theo is going with this idea.

"Like we go to a spa, or some relaxation massage therapist together," he proposes. "I would love to be the one doing the massage to you but I'm afraid I would probably just make your body more tense," Theo laughs to himself and you smile.

"That sounds lovely," you say before rubbing his temples, his eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. He hums peacefully. "Then we could come back and cuddle, our bodies relaxed and basically just melting into each other," you laugh and Theos eyes open again, twinkling at your idea.

"Yes!" He smiles. "That would be perfect," he says before taking your hand and kissing the top of it like a gentleman.

⬇️⬇️⬇️[Ns/fw +18 below] ⬇️⬇️⬇️

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆Smut headcanons★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

Theo is quite the interesting character when it comes to anything sexual.

His first time with you he would literally make a list beforehand of all the things you like "Do you like receiving oral and/or giving it?" "What about like degrading or praise?" "Favorite positions?" He needs to make it perfect for you

But overtime he'll soften out and get used to your preferences

I feel like sex with him is quiet but not awkwardly quiet. He likes to hear the sounds you make and the feeling of your skin together. Even if he's just running his hands along sensitive spots he loves to hear the way his hands rub against your skin

As for Theo's preferences, they're very obscure and not your typical "sexual preferences"

He likes the whole dom and sub thing, specifically him being dom and sorta in a daddy way but sorta not

He wouldn't want to be specifically called daddy but he wants everything that comes with it. The kind of "ownership" of you, the control he has, listening to how you sound for him

He has this little thing for lingerie and he loves pink panties so much. He knows it's weird but he can't help it

Toys wouldn't be his go-to but if you struggle with climaxing he of course would do anything for you

He is however a huge fan of little vibrators. Whether they're for external or internal use doesn't matter to him as long as he can control it

Definitely a praise kinda guy

Loves loves loves to bend you over his lap and finger you.

He wouldn't be opposed to a little bit of pain

Loves it when you pull or grab his hair

He loves getting head from you but he's not super forceful with it. He lets you do your thing and may just hold the back of your head for support or just to feel you.

He doesn't sound like this type of guy at first but I can see him liking to record you, especially when you suck him off. He feels a little shy about it but he won't hesitate to rewatch the clips over and over

Very touchy during actual intercourse and loves being close to you. He'll also make out with you a lot while fucking you :P

Loves when you sit on his face

Aftercare with Theo GOES HARD bro omg

Praises the shit out of you when your done

Always has water prepared beforehand for you

The next day he'll do all the cleaning work and let you rest. He'll clean the bed sheets, make breakfast for you, and help you with any marks from the night before.

Theo had you bent over his lap while sitting on the edge of the bed. Your hips and ass right in the center of his lap as he runs his hands down your thighs and up to your lower back. He runs his finger down your folds through your panties as you squirm lightly.

"Such a pretty girl," he smirks softly before hooking his finger around the fabric of your panties, pulling it to the side to access your core. He runs his finger down your exposed folds and you bury your face into the bedsheets. He chuckles at your instant reaction. "So wet," he comments softly before effortlessly sliding his finger into you. You gasp softly at the intrusion. He roamed his finger around, softening up your walls as he prodes around.

He curls his finger against your gspot and you moan softly. Theo's free hand creeps up to your back pushing it down slightly so you're even more bent for him. "Relax my love," he grins mischievously as he rubs your tender skin. You nod with a soft whimper as his finger curls and straightens out continuously. He then slides in a second finger, loving the way you clench around his fingers. "You're so warm," he chuckles as his opposite hand moves back down to your ass, rubbing the circular skin.

You lay there, accepting all of his tactics before feeling one of his fingers gently poking at your asshole. You jump in surprise and Theo grins. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna push you...for now at least," he chuckled as his other hand starts flicking your clit and pressing down on it. Your moans and whimpers grow at his teasing fingers. You squirm and wiggle beneath him. "Use your words doll, are you gonna cum?" He smirks softly and you nod. His fingers slow down. "Use your words," he reminds you and you instantly perk up.

"Yes! Yes, I'm close," you admit and Theo keeps pumping his fingers in you. His thumb still pressed against your ass, gently poking in the slightest bit to add to the stimulation. "I'm gonna cum," you whimper as your body flutters around uncontrollably and soon enough you unraveled beneath him. Your juices cover his fingers. He slides his fingers out of you and rolls you over before pulling you up, sitting on his lap.

He rubs your back softly as you feel your cum dripping from your pussy onto his pants. You blush softly and lean your head into his shoulder. He then shows you his fingers, drenched. He sticks them together and pulls them apart, watching your arousal stringing together.

[dxckgrxsonx]

any thoughts about Jason's beautiful thick thighs you'd like to share, friend? I'd share mine if I had any lmaooo when I see them I just go feral and my mind goes blank 🥴

my love, i have many thoughts about Jason Todd's thick ass thighs. please observe.

**

They’re so thick that he has to routinely buy new pants because the thighs wear through too quickly. The fabric thins and splits after a certain amount of time and it drives him absolutely insane. He’s lost too many good pairs of jeans and tactical pants to excessive wear and friction.

He gets awful chafing during the warmer months or when he’s training excessively and wearing shorts, so he always keeps coconut oil handy. Will definitely enjoy it if you apply it for him, just soft, smooth motions to moisturise the raw, sensitive skin. He’ll have to sit with his legs spread to avoid any further discomfort and he takes note of how your attention lingers on his thighs.

They make a wonderful seat. Sitting in his lap is so comfortable due to the extra padding and Jason genuinely loves having you close so he takes every opportunity to tug you down and hold you in place. Likes it the most when you’re face to face because he can sneak kisses from you whenever he wants (which is almost constantly).

The most comfortable pillows. When you’re yawning and sleepy you can just drop your head onto his thighs and drift off. There’s no shifting around to get comfortable, you can just cuddle up to him and fall asleep without any effort what-so-ever. Jason will run his fingers through your hair and whisper about how he’ll wake you up for something to eat in a few hours and it��s bliss.

They get sore when he’s overworked. Having thighs that thick and strong often means they ache and get tight if he manages to overwork the powerful muscles either through training or a difficult patrol/mission. Never asks you to help loosen up the knots in his thighs but is always appreciative if you get him to lay down so you can dig into the muscle and massage away the discomfort. Often finds himself involuntarily making soft little grunts and groans when you work through a particularly stubborn knot and grins if you start to react to those little noises, never one to pass up an opportunity to tease you ruthlessly.

His inner thighs are. so. sensitive.

Even just the slightest brush of your fingers across the inside of his thighs has him twitching and hissing through his teeth. If you get your mouth on him and start pressing soft, wet kisses up his thighs he starts trembling, breath coming out in short little pants. The closer you get to his groin the more he starts to fatten up in his boxers, unable to not think about your smart mouth wrapped around him when you lick and bite at the unbearably sensitive skin. You’ve made him come just from lavishing attention on his thighs alone.

They’re surprisingly easy to mark up. When you bite and suck marks on the inside of his thighs the skin blooms a beautiful dark red and Jason loves it. He wants to be marked up by you in a place only the two of you know about. He likes feeling wanted, desired, loved. He wants the slight sting and ache from where you’ve bitten him hard enough to bruise because it’s a reminder. More than once you’ve had him nearly incoherent when you insist on marking him as yours and then the days after whenever he catches sight of those marks he smiles and remembers all over again.

They’re easily strong enough to hold you in place. The strength in his thighs alone is alarming and it’s not surprising because they are so big and thick and beautiful. You get your mouth wrapped around his cock and he just locks you in place, squeezes his thighs around your head and stops you from pulling off him. Will coo and smirk and stroke the hair out of your eyes whilst you gag and drool at the base of his length, unable to do anything until he loosens those muscles and allows you to pull back.

Perfect for thigh riding. Grinding yourself against the dips and grooves of the muscles gives such good friction and he knows it. Guides your movements with his gentle hands and words of encouragement and so much praise it has your head spinning. Will bounce his leg just slightly to give you more pressure until you’re falling apart and making a mess. Kisses you when you come so he can swallow all the pretty sounds you make whilst you shudder against him.

[inkdrinkerworld]

autistic reader doing her whole skincare routine to remus in all the ways that make sense to her and he’s just loving it

remus has asked about this before, about your skincare routine- specifically your morning skincare routine and you’ve never really explained it to him before.

mostly because you wake up too early, earlier than he does and do it before he’s awake- but not this morning.

remus wakes up right after you’ve brushed your teeth and are about to start washing your face.

“will you show, dove?”

his voice is raspy as he stands in the doorway in just his boxers and sweater and you nod.

“but it’s long remmy,” you say and he nods.

“s’okay. i wanna know.”

so you start, an oil based cleanser first, and then a water one.

“to make sure my face really is clean before i start.” you explain and he nods.

you show him your oil and frown a little, “i have to restock, but now i have to do my facial massage.”

remus nods again, watching as you start at your chest, massaging at your traps and then your chest before moving to your neck.

“and what’s this for again, dove?”

there’s no judgement in his tone, just a want to understand.

“it’s supposed to drain the puffiness from your face but i’m not sure if it actually works. it feels good though.”

he chuckles and kisses your shoulder, knowing that once the routine had been set there was no real going back from it.

“now, this one is debatable. everyone says sunscreen and then moisturizer but i just go by their thickness.”

remus nods, watching as you apply your vitamin c cream first, then your moisturizer and lastly your sunscreen.

“and that’s it. or well, if i’m putting on makeup that’s the base.” you say and remus smiles, completely enraptured by you.

“what about your lip balm? which one are you gonna use today?”

this is his favourite part. you have a container full of differently flavored lip balms and remus likes having to guess for which flavour you’ve used.

“i’m not gonna tell you rem. close your eyes.” you say and remus does as you ask.

you rifle for the one you want and apply it before standing directly in front of remus.

“good morning, remmy.” you whisper before kissing him.

remus hums against your lips before pulling away, “caramel.”

[madsmilfelsen]

I think Rust is neat and all but what drew me in was his HANDS. Idk how to explain it, but something about the way he holds things and articulates makes me just. Stare at them. Like I just Know he has rough hands

alright babe, you want to talk about his hands, let’s talk about his hands via timeline

Obviously living in the bush of Alaska requires a lot of manual labor to survive, skin rubbing raw inside leather gloves, blisters from splitting wood, scars from his knife slipping on salmon (v real, I used to filet 500 salmon a summer and baby…. yew, my left hand has gotten nicked more than once— Travis and Rust had a fish camp on the Copper River, probably across the bridge from Chitna and a touch north, and lived way up river between Slana and Nabesna bc I’m making all this up right now and I said so) etc etc so his hands well worn before he got out, moved back to Texas and meets Claire snared by his weirdo allure and bizarre way of handling things— Sophia comes along and I bet he was washing his hands like a maniac, dry as fuck, probably worried his rough hands might make her fussy so held her with her little swaddling blankets at first (compensated with A LOT of skin to skin time but that’s a different ask), carefully petting her hair with just the tips of his fingers, down the bridge of her nose to make her go to sleep. Sophia loved his hands (like mother like daughter fr) could be occupied when he took her fishing by just letting her sit in his lap to play with his fingers, try on his wedding ring, ask why his nails are shorter than mommy’s or why they aren’t soft like mommy’s, map his calluses, trace the lines of his palms until he set a hook and watched him reel in dinner.

(Addition) hol up, hear me out— Sophia rooting around his bare chest and pacified with the curl of his knuckle, Sophia teething and gnawing on his fingers, Sophia learning to walk with her soft pudgy hands in his, Sophia squealing and giggling as he tickles her round lil tummy, Sophia’s only sitting still to get her hair brushed but only for daddy— Rust’s hands becoming the most abused part of his body after she’s gone

Crash era— this man does not give a shit about his hands, the most treatment they get is when he taped them together after breaking a finger, had a punching bag for obvious reasons and beat the shit out of it no gloves no tape constantly bruised. Not a stranger to working with mechanics (in Alaska, Travis would make sure he could keep his equipment running— boat engines, four wheeler oil changes, changing snow mobile tracks etc) and probably took his bike apart and put it back together just to make sure he could be Authentic, different calluses with new tools, divots in his skin lost to the unforgiving scraping bite of metal, hissing when he gets transmission fluid in his split knuckles

1995– habitual hand washing returns, dry as hell, his wrists probably crack and bleed in the winter (very very very rarely is annoyed enough to actual do something about it, probably had to bleed on one of his files— he’d use Johnson and Johnson baby lotion becuase that’s he only shit he knew, definitely drunk cried about it at least once, before sucking it up and swtiching to Vaseline), pull up bars give calluses at the base of the fingers/tops of the palms, just does calisthenics because who the fuck wants to buy equipment. Does all the upkeep on his truck (and thinking about it, this would be the first time he’d be like Alone alone in a long while, no handlers, no Iron Crusaders, no backstory upkeep, no dad, no wife, probably takes truck parts inside and cleans them on his kitchen counter because no one is there to say what the fuck are you doing— “we don’t mind being alone” okay Okay sure honey) Makes it worse by the talcum powder in his rubber gloves or licking his fingers to go through case files or staying too long in the dry archives where he can’t smoke so probably tapping his mouth, rubbing circles on his knuckles with his thumb or running it along his nails— don’t know what flavor of adhd that man has a strangle hold on but he can’t sit entirely still, fingers moving with the bits of his mind that aren’t occupied to keep himself from distraction, pretending he didn’t lose his patience with his fatherhood.

2002– Laurie :) home girl said that’s enough! Probably got recommendations from surgeons and plys him tins of hand salve, he doesn’t like the greasy feeling, but his girl is askin’ he won’t say no babey!

2012– full circle, back to them Alaskan fishing boat hands, type of hands that snag fabric (my husband isn’t a mechanic but does work with his hands and I can’t wear silk around him) and hair gets caught on, the man does not own a brush, finger combs his hair once a week and puts that shit in a hair tie, done with it.

[forwhump]

a/n; I’m sorry I keep posting 😭😭😭 remember when I hated it more than anything ?? now I can’t stop

I actually have a list of requests now (!!!!! 🥹 !!!!!!) & I swear I cross my heart I pinky promise if you asked me for something I WILL post for you !!! if you were kind enough to request smth from me I’ll actually write & post anything you want forever just not chronologically in any form at all, that’s all LOL

I found this first when I was perusing the wren folder so that’s why this one is up but NEXT TIME, next time it will be softer & there will be caretaking I promise

just a little bit of wren’s first night in the district first, that’s all <3 (spoilers : it’s horrible) @ doughnut this one’s for you 😚

tw/cw: kidnapping, captivity, rape, noncon, humiliation, psychological torture, sexual torture, misgendering, transphobia

sexual servant whumpee, creepy whumper

There are a glorious few moments, when Wren first opens his eyes, that he isn’t scared.

He’s in pain — the pain starts before consciousness does. But he isn’t scared. It’s a small mercy.

Instead, he wakes to that pain. Groggy, it’s hard to tell exactly what hurts, a sort of fog much the same as trying to wake from unconsciousness. As he wakes, as the fog of sleep clears, the pain settles and Wren couldn’t tell exactly what was hurting because everything hurts. He groans, and even his jaw hurts. He tries to groan, anyway, but the sound is muffled because he’s gagged, a strip of cloth pulled tight and knotted at the back of his head.

For a second, for a split second, Wren doesn’t really think about it. Still barely conscious, he barely considers the gag, and thinks, instead, of the knot at the back of his head. He can feel where it’s tangled in his hair, tugging at his scalp with each exhale. He’s face down, and as he blinks his eyes open, he doesn’t really notice the concrete, but the sheet of his hair.

Wren doesn’t wear his hair down. Wren hasn’t worn his hair down since he was a very small child, a child beauty pageant queen, and his mother would spend hours brushing and oiling and meticulously braiding it for him. He doesn’t think he’s had a haircut since only a few years after that. By the time he was old enough to decide for himself what to do with his hair, he was proud of it. He has great hair. But he also has really long hair, and it’s a pain in the ass. Really impractical, at times.

This is what Wren thinks about. He doesn’t wear his hair down. Why is his hair down? It’s pooling on the concrete around him, and why would he have —

The concrete?

Everything hurts.

Wren’s gagged.

That’s when he gets scared.

It’s the most scared he’s ever been in his life.

Wren’s been scared before. He would be lying through his teeth if he said he hadn’t. He’s never been scared like this. He’s never felt anything like this.

It’s an infection, a parasite that burrows deep into his chest, into his core, and it spreads through him quickly, churning through his bloodstream, just under his skin. He’s shivering, and he doesn’t notice, not right away, that it isn’t only because he’s scared. It’s only when he rolls onto his back that he realizes just how cold it is, so cold his breath clouds the air above him. His hands are tied behind his back, and he traps them against the ground beneath him as he rolls over. It’s why his arms, his wrists, his hands, his shoulders ache — his hands are tied so tightly at his back his fingertips are buzzing with static.

There’s only a single light in the ceiling above him, something fluorescent. Its glow is orange and its flicker, irregular, buzzing with shorted electricity. Something starts to burn low in Wren’s stomach, and the contrast to the cold in here and in his bloodstream is enough to make him gag.

The room is empty, except for him and that fluorescent bulb. It’s concrete on all sides, an empty concrete cell, and the only door is an iron slat carved out of one wall, the bolted, armed doors of a military hanger.

Wren can taste his heartbeat. His hair is down. What the fuck is —

And he can still barely keep his eyes open. Blinking slowly, he braces his hands behind himself and manages to push himself up from the floor, not far but far enough that he can lean heavily against the wall across from that door. His skirt is flouncy, red and white gingham layered with tulle, and it settles in a fan across his lap as he sits up. His eyes close on their own, too heavy to be —

They fly open again just as quickly. His skirt?

No, it’s —

No, he’s not wearing a skirt. It’s a dress, and only then just barely. It’s short, and it’s so tight around Wren’s waist that it hurts, and it hurts a little worse each time he breathes. It’s a child’s dress, and something about that makes Wren more uneasy than anything else. He tries to swallow, and it makes him sob.

He’s wearing cowboy boots. They aren’t his boots.

What the fuck is going on?

It’s so fucking cold.

Wren tries to stand, leaning his weight against the wall, but his legs are shaking too badly and they give out from under him. He falls hard. This time, it has nothing to do with the cold.

He tries to take a deep breath and it catches on something in his throat, something that makes him sob. He isn’t sure when he started crying, but his tears are cool on his face.

What the fuck is going on?

He isn’t so fortunate that he has to wonder for long. Huddled against the wall, shaking so hard he might be pulling himself apart at the seams, Wren cries. He tries to stand, to pull his hands free, to make any sense of his surroundings, and he can’t, and he cries. For a time, the only sounds are the hoarse, panicked hitching of his sobs and the constant, droning hum of the fluorescent bulb above him.

It starts with a chirp, with a weird, technical sort of beep. Wren doesn’t even get the illusion of relief, of somebody coming to his rescue — something is really, really wrong. What’s going on? There’s another beep, then a series of more beeps, and then a sound, through the door, like muffled thunder.

Wren’s heart beats at the back of his throat.

When the door opens, it opens slowly. A man fills the doorway, and he makes Wren’s blood run cold. He looks like something from a nightmare, something so horrible Wren can’t even really fathom him. He doesn’t look real. He can’t be. All black, a monster, the shadow of a monster, except for the cowboy hat, perched low on his head.

For a second, for a naive, blissful second, Wren doesn’t recognize him. He doesn’t recognize the dreadful black uniform or the macabre silhouette. He doesn’t remember how limp Robin had been.

Beneath his cowboy hat, he’s wearing a mask. It’s just as dreadful as the rest of his uniform, but when he pulls it down, it’s so much worse.

He knocks the wide brim of his hat up, out of the way, grinning down at Wren. Looking up at him, into his face, at his eyes, it’s like looking into the eyes of a violent animal. There’s nothing human in his eyes. Wren recognizes those eyes.

He lurches without meaning to, pressing himself a little harder into the wall.

There’s an intensity in the way he watches Wren that makes Wren’s stomach bubble, acidic. He grins a little wider, and something in the way it pulls at his face is grotesque. Unnatural. He doesn’t have a human smile, either. “Why, good mornin’, sugar,” he says, and he says it with an equally unnatural twang. Is he mocking him? The dress, and the hat, it’s — “I’ve been waitin’ on you.”

So, this —

This can’t really be happening, right? It isn’t. This is — what is this? What’s — who is this? What is he — gingham. This is — gingham. Why is Wren wearing gingham? What the fuck is happening? This can’t be happening.

The train of thought must show on his face and the soldier doesn’t try to hide how much he loves it. His grin stretches. The way he angles his head is predatory. Something in Wren’s chest gets very, very tight. “Why, shucks,” he mocks. “You’re awful pretty when you’re scared, girl.”

Heat spreads beneath Wren’s face and trickles down the back of his neck. When the soldier takes a step closer, he flinches back against the wall again. He doesn’t mean to. His hands are shaking at his back, trapped against concrete so cold his fingers are starting to numb with it.

There’s an even colder, unfiltered terror in the way his grin is fixed to his face, in the way he isn’t looking at Wren, not really, but at the hemline of the dress. Gingham. He stalks towards him like a predator, and he crouches down in front of him, too close.

He’s big. He’s massive, in fact. Wren’s never been a particularly big guy, but this guy would tower over even Robin, all six feet and three some odd inches of him. His shoulders are probably double the width of Wren’s own. When he crouches in front of Wren, he blocks the light with the bulk of him, and tears blur his silhouette.

When he speaks again, he speaks without twang, but with a smug, probably militant sort of confidence that makes Wren shiver, try as he might to help it, try as he might not to let this man see. “My men call me Point,” he says, and there’s something almost condescending in how he says it. “You will not. You will not speak unless you’re spoken to. If you must refer to me, you will refer to me as daddy. If you disobey, you’ll be punished, cowgirl, and I won’t take it easy on you. I don’t care how purty you are,” and he puts the accent back on. “Y’understand?”

Wren can’t breathe. His chest is too tight. The lump in his throat is too big. The soldier — Point? — looks like he’s expecting an answer, and Wren doesn’t have one. He can’t breathe. Against the wall, he shakes his head.

“No?” Point asks, sickly sweet.

For such a big guy, he’s fast. He grabs Wren by the face, so fast Wren can’t do anything to stop it. He cracks his head back against the wall behind him so hard that for a moment, Wren loses consciousness again.

It’s a glorious moment, but it’s only a moment. When he blinks his eyes open again, Point is leaning in, leaning too close, and the back of Wren’s head is wet. Warm.

“You will behave,” Point warns, and the accent is gone, replaced by something lethal, unamused. “You will do exactly as I tell you, cowgirl, or I will hurt you very, very badly.” Wren makes a soft, involuntary sound, and that grin flickers back to life on Point’s face, a thousand watts. “I took a big risk taking you out of there, girl. You were supposed to be put down. You owe your life to me, and I’m not about to let you get away without paying your debt.” He lifts the cowboy hat from his head, placing it on Wren’s. Wren shivers, trying to shake it off, and the soldier moves again, that same sort of movement, too quick for the human eye. He grabs Wren by the throat and pins him back against the wall. “Behave.” He thumbs slowly along the underside of Wren’s jaw as he holds him there, and the way Wren’s skin crawls almost aches. His fingertip catches on the gag. “Now I’m going to take this out,” he explains, “because I want to hear you beg. But if you wanna scream, cowgirl, you can go right ahead. Y’know why?”

Wren doesn’t want to know. He tries to sob, and it gets stuck beneath Point’s hand.

Point, who angles his head and whistles.

The door swings open again barely a full second later, and it’s still more than enough time for the fear to build, and build, and build, and burst into something that Wren shudders with, so hard his ribs rattles against each other. Another soldier fills the doorframe, another macabre silhouette. Another follows it, then another still, shadows that crowd the dim concrete cell, an army that filters into the room, blocking out the light.

Point grins at him. “Because the only men that will hear you,” he explains, for good measure, “are my men, and they want to hear you scream. The only men that will hear you are my men, and they’re just waiting for me to be done so they can have their turn with you. I’m not usually much for sharing,” he adds, finally sliding the cloth from Wren’s mouth, “but we’ve never been allowed a plaything down here. It would be cruel not to let them have my sloppy seconds.”

Cold seeps through Wren’s skin and forms crystal in his bloodstream, a cold that aches from the inside. “Please,” he blurts, and it’s weird the way the words come, not from his brain but from the festering, infected panic in his chest. “Please, don’t, don’t —”

But Point only grins, leaning in so close Wren can feel his breath. “I knew it,” he says, sickly sweet, laying the accent on thick. “You’re prettiest when you beg, cowgirl.”

“What?” Wren breathes, and he’s dizzy. He doesn’t think it has anything to do with hitting his head. “Please, I —”

He’s interrupted by a groan so low Wren can feel the rumble of it in his bones. His mouth tastes like bile and his own heartbeat. “That’s it,” Point coos softly. “There’s a good girl.”

Wren’s breath hitches, caught somewhere high in his chest. He doesn’t mean to, but he whimpers around it and Point makes another, lower sound, so low the hair on the back of Wren’s neck stands up. He leans away, only far enough to peel off one of his gloves with his teeth. Bared, he flexes his fingers, and something serpentine beats around the inside of Wren’s stomach. “Please,” he breathes, and one of the other men audibly snorts. Wren isn’t even sure why, but it makes him sob. His hands are curled into fists so tight the bones in knuckles are grinding together. “Please,” he whispers, and Point slides a hand beneath his skirt, warm against the inside of his thigh.

Wren reacts with his entire body. He jerks away so hard he knocks his own head, still bleeding, back into the wall. Point, for such a big guy, is fast, he’s too fast, and he has his other hand curled around Wren’s thigh before Wren sees him move. He makes this embarrassing, hiccuping sort of sound, trying to shake him off, to push him away, but Point, without sweat or struggle, pulls him away from the wall by his leg, onto his back on the concrete. As he pushes Wren’s thigh up towards his chest, he coos softly. “Good girl.”

Wren doesn’t even get the chance to plead again. Point leans in close, too close, cheek to Wren’s cheek, and forces three of his fingers inside him with a groan like a man dying.

Wren doesn’t scream. Wren doesn’t do anything, actually. He freezes, so tense he can feel the ache in every one of his bones. His mind blanks, a whiteness, a sort of emptiness he’s never experienced before. It’s like everything stops, all at once, narrows to Point’s fingers and the pain he pushes inside Wren and the rumble of his approval against his chest.

“Stop,” he hears himself say, from somewhere outside himself, from somewhere really far away. “Please.”

Point coos at him again. “Oh, cowgirl,” he says. “We’re just getting started.”

When he does ease out his fingers, it’s to push up his dress, the gingham and the tulle, shoving it up and around Wren’s waist. Panic surges and it tastes like bile. He doesn’t think, not really, not coherently, he only panics, and he tries to kick and Point catches him with a vice grip around his ankle. He hauls Wren closer and the concrete is so cold against his bare skin.

“No,” Wren says, and his voice isn’t his own, too breathless, too loud, too high. “No, please, please, don’t —”

Wren would dare say he’s a strong guy — he’s a lot stronger than he thinks he looks like he would be, at least. He’s no match for Point. Not at all.

And it’s strange, almost, or it would be, anyway, if Wren had the capacity to ponder the strangeness of it. He was already scared, a suffocating, delirious sort of scared, a kind of scared he didn’t think would be possible. And still, somehow, Point forces his thighs apart, and Wren can’t stop him, he can’t fight him, he can’t struggle, he can’t do anything Point doesn’t want him to do, helpless, and it’s like Wren hadn’t been scared at all. It’s like Wren, until that moment, didn’t know what it meant to be scared.

Something new rises, crests, and crushes him. He can’t breathe under its weight. He does scream, then, and he doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice.

Point grins widely. He isn’t looking at Wren’s face. He holds his thighs apart and kneels between them.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. How is this happening?

“Please,” Wren gasps, this hitching, horrible thing, “please.”

Point shifts, pinning Wren to the ground with his weight. Whatever his uniform is made out of, it feels like gravel against his skin. He moves slowly, taunting, as he pulls his belt loose, as he pulls himself free from his pants.

Wren isn’t breathing, not even hyperventilating, just making these hitching, gasping sort of sounds he can’t control. There are so many men in here with him, crowding this concrete cell, and none of them help him. There are so many men in here with him and they all just watch him beg. There are so many men in here with him and Wren has never been so alone, not once in his life.

He wants his big brother. He wants his mom. He wants to go home.

“Please,” he cries, desperate, frantic, almost a wail, most of a scream. “Please, pleasepleasepleaseple—”

Wren, in the end, screams himself hoarse.

It doesn’t fucking matter.

[leclerced]

lando with a girlfriend that has a very complicated hair care routine and it confused him at first but she taught him about it and now he takes better care of his hair. I’m absolutely a sucker for self care and smth about him and his girlfriend taking care of themselves together just drives me insane. in a very soft mood right now, but I can’t help it. someone needs to protect his curls 😔

-

🩰

pls i tried having a curly hair routine for like a year but ive reverted and gone back to straightening it once a week bc its less work /:

the first time lando stays over, she says she’s going to shower and he wants to join. she immediately tells him this is a real shower, no fun. he thinks he can convince her until he sees all the products and she starts telling him about his routine. it’s torture for him watching her wash her body, exfoliate, use an in shower moisturizer. after her body routine, she uses a deep cleansing shampoo, followed by her regular shampoo and after rinsing, starts massaging her scalp with a massager and follows that with a deep conditioning treatment. after rinsing her conditioner, she uses a scalp treatment and a repair mask on the ends. while it sits she might shave or massage her scalp more. then she finally rinses her hair and he thinks she’s finally done. he’d have washed his hair and entire body while she was doing her three step body routine and just watched the rest, swapping places with her when she needed out of the water stream.

he gets out of the shower and tries dragging her to bed before she can even touch her robe. she pushes him away and tells him to wait, throws him a towel and wraps herself in her robe and her hair in a microfiber towel. he thinks she’s teasing him when she rubs lotion on while he watches, but it’s just to lock in moisture from the shower. then she brushes her teeth and does her entire skin care routine, and he’s again thinking she’s done, until she lets her hair down and begins another routine, creams and gels and oils, scalp massaging and combing. its like a two hour process from start to finish and he wonders what it feels like to be so pampered. when she finally puts on pajamas and crawls into bed, he asks how often she does that and she’s like, “which part? that was like an everything shower, i won’t do all of that tomorrow, and i’ll do a different skincare routine in the morning because that’s my night skincare routine, and it’s a thursday, so tomorrow night i have to use different products because there’s certain ones you don’t use two days in a row, y’know?” lando nods and agrees even thought he has no clue what she’s talking about.

he wakes up while she’s doing her morning routine and is offended she started without him because he wanted to see what was different. she stops and shows him what she did and then continues once he’s caught up. then she offers to let him use the products or asks him about his skin and shows him all the products she has and what they’re for, pulling out the ones she bought and never used because they didn’t work for her. he goes to shower later and asks her about her hair products and she immediately offers to join and show him. he’s thinking shower sex again, but she showers with him and tells him about each of them again while washing his hair and massaging his scalp.

he’d pretend to be neutral about it when they get out and she asks if he wants her to keep going and do the rest of her routine with him, like, “yeah sure if you want to” but he’s honestly dying for her to keep running her fingers through his hair. he sits on the toilet while she does her routine on his hair and then she shows him what her skincare routine for the night is and they do it together. they keep doing it every morning and night and the first time he’s away at a race, he calls her from a beauty store asking her what products he needs to buy to do their routine and she’s like, “oh you’re like, actually doing it?” and he’d whine, “well yeah? i didn’t think i’d need to, so i didn’t bring anything and my skin feels awful. so now i’m supposed to do a deep cleanse on my hair tonight and i can’t remember which one we use.” she tells him to pick one he likes, but to make sure it’s for curly hair, and he tells her, “no, i want the same shampoo because it smells like you.” she just about melts inside and rushes to the bathroom to send him a photo to ensure he gets the right one, and then sends him photos of all the other products he needs for his routine. he facetimes her after his shower because he wants to do his routine with her, and she’d have been waiting for his call to start hers because she had a feeling he would want to.

[stardust-swan]

Wow you’re a self care expert! Can you share your hygiene routine please?

I shower every day, usually in the evenings. I dry brush from my feet up to my chest while the water warms up. Then while I'm in the bath, I wash my body first with a natural soap (currently using sandalwood soap but it varies), letting it sit for a while before washing again with a scented shower gel. I also wash under my armpits with Head & Shoulders (the zinc in it helps prevent odour).

I also shave my legs and yoni daily, using conditioner and Gillette Men's Razors (feels smoother than women's razors). I prefer removing my armpit hair with Nair as shaving it makes the armpits dark and discoloured.

After showering, I apply oil all over my body while it's still damp, and apply Brazilian Bum Bum cream on my breasts. I use antiperspirant at night so that it has time to absorb by morning.

After putting on clean pyjamas I'll complete my evening skincare routine (usually I'll have cleansed my face in the shower along with the rest of my body). I prefer doing my skincare routine a couple of hours before going to sleep as that gives the products time to absorb (whereas if you do it right before bed they'll get smeared off on your pillow). And I put my overnight lip mask on every evening. I also like spraying perfume before bed.

This will probably sound like overkill 😅 but as well as moisturising after showering, I also like moisturising my body with a light lotion as soon as I wake up in the morning. Especially as I'm currently taking a medication that has the side effect of drying out skin. I prefer oil straight after a shower but moisturizer can't penetrate oil so I just save the lotions for morning. I also put thick cream on my feet before putting socks on and on my hands before gloves.

I wash my hair twice a week (coarse, thick naturally curly/wavy hair so any more than that makes it feel dry).

Brush my teeth morning and night with Pearl Drops toothpaste and use mouthwash in between meals. I do oil pulling a couple of times a week and teeth whitening strips once a month (I don't use them more often because they make my teeth feel sensitive).

And I don't repeat outfits or shoes days in a row. Shoes and clothes are left to air out for a day (and clothes are washed after 2 uses).

[nightfang22]

Get Angry

As a special treat for my friend @p34ch-tr33 who always pulls out my best work! Enjoy!

TW:Angst,smut insinuation,alcohol,18+

A tear runs down my cheek as I blow out the last candle on the cake. 20 candles nearly completely melted, wax mixed with icing, I sat alone in the dark as I waited for him. He should've been here 5 hours ago. Kenny promised this year would be different. He promised. I scroll through my Snapchat just looking at people's stories and watching dog videos. I clicked on Stan's story expecting to see cute photos of Sparky or videos with Wendy. What I saw broke my heart. Stan's story was filled with nothing but videos of a party at Kenny's house. I could see Wendy and Bebe taking shots and Cartman and Heidi making out. Butters was hitting on some poor drunk girl in the corner and Kyle was playing video games. Craig and Tweek were watching Jimmy break dance on a cardboard box in the middle of the room. I choked back a hard sob stuck in my throat but ultimately I failed. Then I remembered what my father told me when I was little: Don't cry, get mad. And when you get mad, get even. I picked myself up and brushed myself off, tossing the ruined cake in the garbage before fixing my makeup. I grabbed my keys and sped off in my car to Kenny's house.

Ever since Kenny's dad got that oil rig job and is never home anymore, Kenny hasn't really been Kenny. We used to celebrate each other's birthdays together all the time when we were kids but he's missed the last couple of years. He always made it up to me in the end but this time he completely forgot and didn't invite me to his party! I'll show him. I pull into Kenny's driveway and get out of my car. I knock on the door but there's no answer. 'Maybe the music is too loud for them to hear anything else?' So I knock again but louder. Stan opens the door looking back over his shoulder laughing at something before turning his head to face me. His eyes widen in shock. "(Y/N), what are you doing here?" He has a glass in his hand that has a golden brown liquid in it. I relieve him of his glass and down it. 'Hm, Kenny's dad's Scotch from the fancy liquor cabinet.' "I just came to say hi to Kenny and to remind him of the date. You know, since he didn't invite me to his little shindig." I said through gritted teeth. Stan is just staring at me dumbfounded before saying, "What? Kenny told us you couldn't make it cause you were sick. Everyone was asking about you." I smile softly and hug him. That makes me feel a teensy bit better. "Thank you, Stan. Where's Kenny?" I ask, my voice now calm and soft. Stan steps aside to let me in and points over to his dad's recliner where Kenny is sat watching Kyle play Nintendo. I give Stan back the empty glass and march over to Kenny. I stand in front of him, blocking his view of Kyle's game. I see his eyes widen for but a moment before I kick him square in the junk. "KENNY MCCORMICK, YOU ARE THE WORST FRIEND AND BIGGEST ASSHOLE I'VE EVER MET AND THAT SAYS SOMETHING CONSIDERING WE'VE KNOWN CARTMAN OUR WHOLE GODDAMN LIVES!" I scream at him in front of everyone. He's not wearing his parka so I have a full view of his face and just how red his cheeks are from embarrassment. The music suddenly stops and the whole room falls silent as everyone has their eyes on us. "NOT ONLY DO YOU THROW A PARTY AND TELL EVERYONE I'M SICK BUT YOU FORGET MY GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING BIRTHDAY FOR THE THIRD YEAR IN A MOTHERFUCKING ROW, YOU PIECE OF ABSOLUTE DOGSHIT! I HOPE YOU GET TOSSED ONTO A PIKE YOU SON OF A BITCH! I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU GUYS BUT I THINK THAT KENNY KABOBS SOUND PRETTY GODDAMN GOOD RIGHT ABOUT NOW!" And I kick him square in the junk one more time. Just for good measure, of course. "Okay everyone, let the party continue! It is my birthday, after all!" I slit my eyes in Kenny's direction when I say the word 'birthday'.

     The music starts up again and everyone goes back to partying like nothing even happened. I walked into the kitchen to pour myself a heavy drink when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I roll my eyes sighing. Spinning around, I say "Kenny, I'm not sorry for kicking you in the balls and I'm especially not sorry for crashing your party, either." But when I spin around I am not met with blonde hair and blue-green eyes. I am met with messy black hair peeking out of a cute blue hat. "I'm not sorry you did either of those things, too. He really deserved it." It's Craig. I look up at his rather tall frame. Craig has towered over me since we were little. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were Kenny." He fakes being wounded in the chest. "Ouch, (Y/N). That bad, huh?" I could only laugh at his cheesy joke and brush his arm as I reply, "Nah, you're way cuter." His cheeks turn bright pink and that's when I notice Kenny watching out of the corner of my eye. I wrap my arms around Craig's neck and pull him in. We start to makeout and he has me pressed up against the wall. I break away only to pull him up the staircase to Kenny's bedroom. I open the door as Craig takes off his shirt. I turn to him as he pins me to the door, shutting it. He pulls my shirt off and unclasps my bra. He moves me to the bed and takes his hat off, placing it gently atop my head. Removing my skirt and undergarments, Craig kisses his way up my legs before he has me pinned beneath him. I never thought that my first time would be like this. As a revenge tactic with someone I didn't love. Especially not with Craig Tucker. He's leaning down to kiss me again when the door slams wide open. Kenny bursts through the door and pulls Craig off of me by the back of his head, slamming him into the wall. I jump up to my elbows. It appears that Craig is rendered unconscious. He's still breathing at least. I can see his chest moving rhythmically. I stare at Kenny as his head turns to me, his breathing hot and heavy. I can see why. He has a raging boner in his jeans. He pulls off his shirt and crawls on top of me. We make very intense and intimate eye contact for a few silent moments. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I shouldn't have forgotten." I clear my throat. "Or lied to everyone about you being sick. Can you please forgive me?" Kenny gives me his best puppy eyes, the ones that always got me to do whatever he wanted when we were little and even still to this day. "Okay, fine. I'll forgive you." He smiled at me softly kissing me on the lips. "You weren't really about to give away what's mine to Craig, right?" I shake my head while giggling. He chuckles. "Good. Now let me give you your birthday gift." He strips his bottoms and I flip him over. "Let me." I whisper. I get real close to his face before I whisper, "Nice try, asshole." I sit back up and slap him across the face. "You could never have me no matter how bad you want me, McCormick." I spit in his face as I got up, Craig's hat still atop my head. I saunter over to the door taking a final turn to look at Kenny. "You'd just die on me anyways, you fucking flip phone." Those were the last words I ever spoke to Kenny McCormick as I left him laying there confused and sexually frustrated with his cock out in a room with an unconscious Craig.

Word Count:1,358