#and like if i really tried i could actually get what i want

[hivemuthur]

i have a request for some ✨emotional, pinning smut✨ for viktor x female!reader based on “Crush” by Cigarettes After Sex

like viktor getting so flustered while watching her try on clothes (“i want to watch you as you’re trying on your clothes, and now you’re all i think about when i’m alone”) and him being just so down bad for the reader

and the sexual tension between them is *palpable*

just some good ol friends to lovers pinning, resolved with some smut

please and thank you, i love your writing 🥺🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏🙏

Hi Anon! I loved this request so much you have no idea!

Skin

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! lots of yearning, poor Viktor :v

author’s note: It's exactly what is says in the request. I listened to a lot of Cigarettes After Sex for this and when it began to annoy me switched to Grimes and remembered she had some good stuff going on in 2012, hence her song Skin will fit this as well if you read with music in the background :) @rennethen beta read!

word count: 2,4K

—

Viktor is trying to figure out a way to sink further into your armchair, have it swallow him whole—legs, arms, fingers, every single strand of his hair—before he disintegrates into a puddle. He had no idea it was going to be this bad when you said, "Can we just rest instead of studying for once?"

Sure, he could rest. He’s tried resting before. What could go so especially wrong? Other than, say, you deciding to organise your wardrobe on a whim while he’s trying to read. And then, when he finally gives up on reading—because it is physically impossible to keep his eyes anywhere but on glimpses of you dressing and undressing, tossing clothes around—another thing that could happen is you parading around in a T-shirt long enough to hide your underwear, but not long enough to hide your legs. And it’s just for a moment, just to change a song or take a sip of your tea, but it’s enough for him to sink so deep into the chair that he can feel the springs digging into his ass.

Or, say, you stepping out of the wardrobe in an appallingly microscopic mini skirt, asking, "Is this too short? Am I too old to wear things this short?"

Yes, it’s too goddamn short.

"Hmm, maybe a little?" he offers, trying so hard to make it look like you’ve just interrupted his reading. The same sentence, for about the fifteenth time—but he really is reading. So, just a glimpse. Just one look at your thighs, where they inevitably end and something else begins, and the skirt is so, so short he can almost—

"A little too short, or I’m a little too old?" you chuckle, and—God forsake you—you turn, and your ass cheeks peek from underneath, and now he knows you’re wearing a pair of white knickers. Just plain old cotton, but what it does to him. There is almost no chair left for him to squeeze himself into.

"Uh… both?" he offers weakly, not really knowing what he is saying, and you shoot him a look of mock offense.

"Forgive me, clothes are far from my areas of expertise," Viktor says, finding his voice—and finding some strength to look away and focus on the sentence he’s been trying to read forever. And the voice he’s found is nowhere near dignified enough for him to look you in the eye. It’s exasperated and breathy in a way that makes you pause for a moment before you shrug and retreat to the wardrobe, and he can breathe again.

"Expertise or not, you must have an opinion on something, Viktor," your chant reaches him as you shuffle between hangers, pulling out the next number to reconsider—a dress this time.

"Must I? I will remind you, I was lured into a trap with the promise of a study date, which somehow turned into a fashion show." Viktor mutters, shifting in the armchair��his stomach muscles actually ache from being flexed the whole time. All the forced breaths, all the cramps in his lower belly, are giving him such a hard time.

"Trapped? Excuse me, are you being physically restrained?" you ask, stepping out, your arms folded on your chest, having no idea that he actually is. Having no idea that his legs wouldn’t work, that if he were to stand up and leave, he’d have to crawl out instead.

"I am," he states bravely. "Weighed down by the sheer gravity of this experience." And you smile, thinking that he jests, but he really doesn’t.

Viktor looks at you in your silly dress, his face burning even hotter, lids heavy from all the warmth pooling inside him. He swallows, and you mistake the struggle for restraint as mockery.

"Oh, sod off," you cackle at the look on his face and step back inside, deciding you’ll keep the dress. "You're free to study if you want, you poor soul."

"Thank you, merciful creature," Viktor grits through his teeth, now carefully studying the letters in that one goddamn sentence he’s been trying to read for the past half hour. He’s never felt less free to do anything.

Finally, he admits defeat and puts the book aside. He takes a sip of his tea—now cold—and thank God for something cold in his mouth, because his tongue is a piece of burning coal. Stretching his legs in front of the chair, he surrenders to this slow, exquisite torture: watching you try on skin after skin, none of them particularly vulgar or filthy, but the sheer thought of you being nearly naked just a wall away makes something writhe inside him. Once in a while, he catches vignettes—an arm, a bra strap, a thigh, a little bit of bum as you lean over to pick something up.

And he would have done something a long time ago, but you are such good friends. It would be a real pity to complicate things. So he bears it—all of it. Every accidental touch, every fleeting glance, and allows himself to wonder sometimes, when your face dusts pink around him, if it's really his doing or just circumstantial evidence. If your pupils dilating at his lousy compliments mean something, or if you simply like to be praised. If you invite him over for his exceptional conversational skills. And if yes, he wonders how disappointed you must be today, as all he’s given you are quiet grunts and chuckles to cover how close he is to being absolutely ruined.

His skin is still burning when you step out again, this time wearing just a long sweater, and even that does something to him. You lean over him to press next on the music player, and Viktor catches a whiff of your scent, forcing his eyes not to roll back. He fails, so keeps them clamped shut.

"Is this also undergoing the purge?" he asks, clutching at straws, desperate to redirect his thoughts to any other thing in the universe but your skin under his fingers.

"I don’t know, you tell me." You pause mid-rise, face suddenly close to his. He blinks slowly, and you make nothing of it. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, but you make nothing of it—just wait for him to reply.

"You must have an opinion," you press, and it feels like you are pressing on his chest, forcing the answer out of him.

"I like the sweater," Viktor whispers, taking the sleeve hem between his fingers. His skin brushes yours. "I like all of your clothes, actually." A confession finally escapes him, voice barely there as something sparks between the contact. And suddenly, you're no longer talking about clothes.

You glance at his eyelashes—long and dark, boyish and shy as his eyes move between two points: your wrist and his fingers.

"This one… is nice," he swallows, accent cutting his words into whispers. He can’t help it. He indulges—just once—in the light brush of his thumb across your wrist, where the skin is so thin he can feel the stutter of your heartbeat.

And you are aware of what’s happening in your chest. But you feel less embarrassed once you spot the similar rhythm pulsing through the vein on Viktor’s neck. And you tell yourself you are only checking if his heart is beating equally fast to yours, not staring. You tell yourself that while staring at the column of his throat and imagining how your tongue would fit in there. How Viktor would lean his head back and sigh if you pressed your lips to this tiny point where his heart echoed.

With you frozen, hovering over him, Viktor doesn’t exactly indulge further—but his hand moves outside of the jurisdiction of his will, fingers wrapping around your wrist. Once his suspicion is confirmed, though, he moves with intent. His fingers slip beneath the sleeve, caressing your forearm before sliding back down, memorising the shape of your knuckles. Your hands are so cold against his, burning, but it’s not the hottest thing you’ve felt yet.

Gently, carefully, he lifts your hand and holds it close to his mouth, palm facing him. His lips barely press against your wrist, and you exhale, your breath visible in the movement of his hair. Still frozen, you close your eyes as Viktor’s mouth travels up your palm, your nails grazing beneath his ear, goosebumps rising along his neck in response. Your fingertips catch on the plush of his lips before he sucks them into his mouth—his tongue hot, hotter than even his touch, swirling over your index finger. You can feel the edge of his teeth against your skin, and your forehead presses against his as you pathetically moan out his name.

The moment the silence is broken, he stops, and it takes everything in you not to whine. He chuckles out a nervous sound but doesn’t let go of your hand.

You decide you owe him the next move. Slowly—so painfully slowly—you shift in front of him, sinking onto your knees on either side of his thighs, still hovering just above him as you weigh the moment, wondering if shoving your fingers into his mouth was enough of an invitation.

Viktor’s hands answer for him. They slide up your legs, thumbs hooking over your hips to press you down onto him, and he groans at the contact. He squeezes, despite himself, looking drunk on the sensation of your core pressing against his, both of you sinking into the tight embrace of the chair. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, and Viktor gasps, „Oh, God.” His eyes remain closed.

Your fingers on his scalp are almost enough to have him undone, as his hips buck up and you follow his cry with a less dignified, “Oh, fuck,” catching on his lips.

"Please say something," a plea escapes him on an exhale, eyes still hooded, as if opening them could shatter the moment.

Instead, you press your lips to his—a light, hesitant touch at first. Viktor startles, and for a moment, you both just breathe into each other’s mouths. Then, as if something clicks into place in his mind, Viktor moves his tongue. Licks your upper lip, tentative, before his hands slide up your sides—one wrapping around your waist, the other gripping your neck as he pulls you deeper into the kiss.

His mouth claims yours, firm, almost bruising, and he catches up on breathing through his nose. Thumb stretches out your cheek and when you part, it’s only for an inch. He finally looks at you and you whisper, “Something.”

Faces close to each other, foreheads touching, you wordlessly reach for his belt and Viktor’s eyes follow the movement of your fingers. You tug on his pants to slide them down his hips and take in the vision of his cock, outlined in his boxer briefs, throbbing and leaking, a patch of wet cotton sticking to the head.

He grabs your hips, slides them over himself and you both moan as your wet underwear meets his. Hands everywhere on you, under your sweater, on your ass, as if Viktor can’t decide where he wants to touch you the most. His lips find your neck and your spine arches, your cunt pressing firmer on his cock. You feel his breath coming in hot pants with each movement, his tongue swiping along your neck, lips sucking hickeys into your skin.

He tugs at your jumper and with no words said, you lift your arms to help him rid you of it and do the same with his layers, baring his chest. You kiss his clavicle, and Viktor can’t help but whimper at the feeling of your hot mouth against him.

His fingers hover over your back, a silent question about your bra but before you can nod or say anything, you undo it with one flick and Viktor’s lips are on you immediately. On your breasts, on your nipples, just frantically licking and nipping before his tongue travels back up, tracing a slick line through your sternum, your neck, chin and lands back in your mouth.

He pushes you closer to him, your chests meet, and you sigh at the feeling of his heartbeat next to yours. You kiss him and between kisses Viktor breathes, “God, you are so wet.”

“You are so wet too,” you reply, and he chuckles. You rub against each other, your hips rolling on top of his and he hides his face in your neck, forcing himself not to come before you. You wrap your arms back around him, mouth hanging open against his forehead, his hair tickling your face. One, two more rolls of your hips, two more rubs against his clothed cock and you come twitching, pressing his face into your throat, with a force that could snap his neck, and he both feels the moan vibrating in your larynx and hears it ringing in his ears.

Not letting you go, he ruts into you, sliding his cock between your sore, swollen lips, soon to join you with your name falling from his mouth in a quiet broken whimper, muffled with a bite on your neck and you can feel the wetness spreading between your legs, hot and sticky as your underwear merges into one mess of cum. You both breathe heavily, stay embraced before looking at each other.

When Viktor shivers beneath you, you suddenly remember that you might be crushing him and wince, asking “Am I hurting your leg?”

“No, God, no,” he mutters into the pool between your collar bones and his breath is still so warm. His palm is splayed on the nape of your neck, heavy and firm, other encircles your waist. You comb his hair away from his forehead and look at him firmly. “So… fashions shows. Not so bad in the end, huh?”

He cackles, caught off guard. “Not so bad, no,” he muses, looking you deep in the eyes. Spent, happy, cheeks pink and hair tussled, he looks so pretty it takes everything in you to not smooch him in another kiss. “I might want to frequent those more often,” he says bashfully, and you smile.

“Oh, there is a lot to be seen. I haven’t even begun with the underwear drawer,” you whisper against his lips and kiss him softly and to Viktor it’s abundantly clear, that he will have to crawl out of here were he ever going to leave.

[nativegirltapes]

⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚ what happens when sweetheart!reader invites drew over after their recent movie together finally wraps . . .

pairing: sweetheart!reader x drew starkey

warnings/notes: smut but not much until the end. also new reader yay <3 hoping to get her moodboard out tmr 🎀 lmk your thoughts sexies

the tension between you and drew was undeniable, to the both of you and the rest of the world; your friends, his friends, and both your guys' fans. it's not like you guys tried to hide it though, you were both constantly staring at each other whenever in the same room, especially during interviews, or the way you would both subconsciously have your hands all over each other, or maybe the way you'd both find a way to bring each other up when the other wasn't around.

and now that the movie you both starred in was wrapped, you both felt some weight fall from your shoulders. drew didn't feel like much of a pervert since you weren't exactly his costar anymore. and you didn't feel like you had to suppress the way your body reacted every time he got too close to you.

you hated how much you liked him, he made your stomach do literal flips. the feeling was mutual though, drew adored you in a way he hadn't anyone else. "nice place you got." drew said as you showed him around your apartment. "thanks." you stopped when you made it to your bedroom, drew looked around, your bedroom making him realize how much he really didn't know about you. "so, this is where the lucky guys get to come huh?"

"guess so," you plopped on your bed, letting your dress ride up your thighs. you'd be lying if you said that you didn't have intentions of getting somewhere with drew tonight after inviting him over alone. and it would also be a lie if drew wasn't hoping that you had intentions tonight, because he definitely did.

"am i one of those lucky guys?" drew questioned as he sat next to you on your bed. "are you?" you questioned him back, flashing him a little smile. "can i be?"

you shot out of your bed, standing up in front of him. "don't know. can you?" you teased him. drew chuckled, you were playing hard to get and it surprised him. you were the shy type yes, but there was something playful and even a little daring about you tonight and drew loved it. "do you like messing with me?" drew looked up at you as you still stood in front of him. it took a lot for him to not pull you down on his lap and kiss you. a lot actually. "maybe."

"we both know you want me just as bad as i want you right now," drew's hand fiddled with the end of your dress. "and what makes you so sure about that. hm?" you took a seat on his lap, his arm wrapped around your body, they felt even bigger than they looked. "i don't think you would've let me in your bedroom if you didn't." he said. and he was right, he was absolutely right and you didn't like it.

but clearly not enough because before you knew it, you were both tearing your clothes off each other and you were riding him. "fuck, i'm obsessed with you." drew said squeezing your ass as you bounced on his cock. his tight grip making you squeal a little, you knew it would leave marks but that was the last thing you were worried about. "you're so fucking perfect." you watched as drew's chest rose and fell at a certain pace. "cmon, talk to me." he begged.

your whole body felt so good that all you literally could do was let out moans and squeals, "s' good." you whispered, your eyes instinctively shut from the amount of pleasure. "wanna fuck you all the time." you said.

"yeah? you can baby. i'm all yours." drew responded. it was your first time having sex, but holy, the way your pussy felt wrapped around him; he swore he'd never even want to fuck anyone else ever again. "knew you weren't that shy."

you felt your cheeks get red at his comment, "m'gonna come!" you fell into his chest, heavy breaths leaving your lips as you collapsed on top of him. your manicured nails gripped onto his big arms, "me too." drew's breath hitched. you laid on him as you both caught your breath, "soooo, i am one of those lucky guys?"

[callipraxia]

I’ll admit it - thinking of ‘but what will people think of me?’ has stopped me short of writing things before, in everything from writing actual content to writing part of a review on a friend’s story. “What will [Friend] think, seeing that I know that? Even if I explain the actually relatively innocuous reason why I know it, would they even believe me? This is an issue of how something is portrayed in media that I feel pretty strongly about, but in context, it might be better to just…drop it.”

I…tried actually including a detailed example of my next point here, drawing from Anon’s Robert Jordan remark, but it ended up breaking the thousand-word limit before I even got past the introductory explanations, so I guess I’ll write a separate essay about why I don’t really agree with the “dudebro is secretly obsessed with lesbians and BDSM” line of thinking, maybe link it back here later if I remember. In the meantime, the point was - if I start thinking “dang, I think Author X has an Issue with Y,” it’s usually a lot less because of what the author leaves in than what the author leaves out. As an author, one deliberately chooses to explore certain topics, including dark ones that reflect the issues that preoccupy us (isn’t Anne Rice’s work supposed to be kinda messed up? I mean, I’ve never read a word she wrote that I can recall, but aren’t they all, y’know, horror novels?). As distasteful as we might find it, incest and pedophilia and sexual assault and suicide and all those other words you can’t use on YouTube are real things that happen every day. There’s a plethora of reasons why any given author might want to explore such issues in writing, and at least half of ‘em have nothing to do with sex. I’ve never heard anyone imply that Dostoyevsky must have been really, really turned on by the thought of attacking pawnbrokers with axes, much less that he ever committed a murder in real life just for the heck of it. From what I’ve read - though to be fair, my reading on the subject is not extensive - Nabokov probably wasn’t really a pedophile, and Mario Puzo probably had nothing to do with real-life organized crime. I have heard a few people suggest Stephen King must be a perverted serial killer in real life to write what he writes, but those people were idiots. And so forth. Point is, an author examining evil through a certain point of view really should not lead to the assumption that the author has done or wants to do any of those bad things. That’s why we say that authors use their imaginations when they’re working.

Plus, well…nine times out of ten, nobody’s going to make you read a book. If you really can’t read a book without getting uncomfortable because you can’t stop thinking that X or Y means that the author might have wanted his wife to put him on a leash and spank him, you can almost always just…put down the book and go read something else. You can also do this if you’re uncomfortable with Anne Rice apparently having conflicting feelings about God - that isn’t a potential theme that bothers me, but I know people who would be upset for days about reading something that even hinted at someone Having Questions about the divine. Heck, I have a few books I 99% enjoy and I just skim over or entirely skip parts that involve actions I find uncomfortable - my one hard rule is that I won’t willingly even skim anything where bad things happen to pets, but even then, I don’t assume that everybody who ever earned a Newbury Medal is a bad person who likes thinking about such things. I just don’t read their books. Unless you are compelled to do otherwise for a class* or the like, just do thou likewise.

*I was, very reluctantly, compelled to read two books in my undergraduate Adolescent Literature class where bad things happened to dogs; it was the first and last time in my life that I’ve ever tried to get out of reading something, but the professor didn’t believe what I could bring myself to explain about just how negative of a reaction I knew I would have if I read any books with dying dogs in them. Now I still have one of those scenes lodged in my carousel of intrusive thoughts that drive my anxiety level up and make it really difficult not to engage in compulsive behaviors whenever they rudely shove their way up to the front of my brain, but I don’t think badly of Sherman Alexie because of it.

Do you think authors sometimes don't realize how their, uh, interests creep into their writing? I'm talking about stuff like Robert Jordan's obvious femdom kink, or Anne Rice's preoccupation with inc*st and p*dophilia. Did their editors ever gently ask them if they've ever actually read what they've written?

Firstly, a reminder: This is not tiktok and we just say the words incest and pedophilia here.

Secondly, I don't know if I would call them 'interests' so much as fixations or even concerns. There are monstrous things that people think about, and I think writing is a place to engage with those monstrous things. It doesn't bother me that people engage with those things. I exist somewhere within the whump scale, and I would hope no one would think less of me just because sooner or later I like to rough a good character up a bit, you know? It's fun to torture characters, as a treat!

But, anyway, assuming this question isn't, "Do writers know they're gross when I think they are gross" which I'm going to take the kind road and assume it isn't, but is instead, "Do you think authors are aware of the things they constantly come back to?"

Sometimes. It can be jarring to read your own writing and realize that there are things you CLEARLY are preoccupied with. (mm, I like that word more than concerns). There are things you think about over and over, your run your mind over them and they keep working their way back in. I think this is true of most authors, when you read enough of them. Where you almost want to ask, "So...what's up with that?" or sometimes I read enough of someone's work that I have a PRETTY good idea what's up with that.

I've never read Robert Jordan and I don't intend to start (I think it would bore me this is not a moral stance) and I've really never read Rice's erotica. In erotica especially I think you have all the right in the world to get fucking weird about it! But so, when I was young I read the whole Vampire Chronicles series. I don't remember it perfectly, but there's plenty in it to reveal VERY plainly that Anne Rice has issues with God but deeply believes in God, and Anne Rice has a preoccupation with the idea of what should stay dead, and what it means to become. So, when i found out her daughter died at the age of six, before Rice wrote all of this, and she grew up very very Catholic' I said, 'yeah, that fucking checks out'.

Was Rice herself aware of how those things formed her writing? I think at a certain point probably yes. The character of Claudia is in every way too on the nose for her not to have SOME idea unless she was REAL REAL dense about her own inner workings. But, sometimes I know where something I write about comes from, that doesn't mean I'm interested in sharing it with the class. I would never ever fucking say, 'The reasons I seem to write so much of x as y is that z happened to me years ago' ahaha FUCK THAT NOISE. NYET. RIDE ON, COWBOY.

But I've known some people in fandom works who clearly have something going on and don't seem to realize it. Or they're very good at hiding it. Based on the people I'm talking about I would say it's more a lack of self-knowledge, and I don't even mean that unkindly. I have, in many ways, taken myself down to the studs and rebuilt it all, so I unfortunately am very aware of why I do and write the things I do most of the time. It's extremely annoying not to be able to blame something. I imagine it must be very freeing. But it ain't me, babe.

Anyway, a lot of words to say: Maybe! But that might not stop them from writing it, it might be a useful thing for them to engage with, and you can always just not read it.

Also, we don't censor words here.

[yoyomomiko]

Could I pls request some cute luffy dating headcanons? Also your page is so cute<3333

pairings: luffy x female reader

cw: not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

— (a/n): tysm!! >.< i've actually been wanting to write something for luffy for quite a while now!! also i'm sorry this is short :(( -> m.list

Luffy is obsessed with physical affection. He constantly wants to hold your hand, hug you, or just lean against you!!

If you're sitting down, expect him to plop down beside you and wrap his arms around you.

He gives you random kisses all the time!!

Luffy doesn't really think about it. He just sees your face and kisses you. It could be your lips, cheek, forehead or even nose. If you look kissable (which is always), he's going for it.

He steals food for you!!

He'll steal some meat off of Sanji's stove just to share it with you. He thinks it's romantic, even if Sanji is screaming right next to him.

Will fall asleep on you. Whether it's your lap, shoulder, or even if you're standing, he has no problem with dozing off while leaning against you.

Whether you like it or not, dating Luffy means getting dragged into his stupid adventures. He doesn't want you to get hurt, but he likes it better when you're there with him.

He gets jealous and doesn't even realize it!! He'll complain to the rest of the crew about how you don't give him enough attention. Sometimes he squishes himself in the middle of the person you are talking with and inserts himself into the conversation, wrapping an arm around your waist, completely unaware that he's being possessive.

He talks about you all the time!! The crew is constantly hearing "Did you see what [Y/N] did?" "Isn't that impressive?" "Isn't [Y/N] so cool?" He's your biggest fan.

Despite him being an adorable boyfriend, he's got a few errors. He's terrible at keeping secrets!! He'll try to keep it a surprise, but he'll blurt it out seconds later.

Loves it when you play with his hair. He will instantly melt if you run your fingers through his hair. If you ever want to put something cute in his hair, like a little bow, do it. He'll wear it proudly.

Luffy is extremely food motivated, but he always makes sure you get a bite before he devours the whole plate.

He TACKLES you. I wanted to say that he tackles you when he's excited, but let's be honest, he doesn't have to be thrilled to jump on you.

If you've been apart for a while, prepare for a Luffy to collide into you at full speed the moment he sees you again.

He brags about you constantly!! He'll legit tell strangers how amazing you are.

Luffy wants you to wear his hat. He doesn't trust just anyone with his hat, but sometimes he'll put it on your head and grin, because you look pretty in it. His words, not mine.

He gets so easily distracted by you!!! If you're in the middle of battle and looking cool, he'll stop what he's doing just to admire you.

Always tries to carry you. Piggy back rides, bridal style, he just loves carrying you!! If you let him, he will never put you down.

Luffy hates it when you're sad. If you cry, he is panicking. He'll make the funniest faces, tell the dumbest jokes and even offer you his food just to cheer you up.

He falls asleep talking to you. You could be having a deep conversation, and all of the sudden you hear him snoring. He falls asleep mid sentence. You can't even get mad because he looks so peaceful.

He wants you to sit next to him at every meal. He'll save you a spot and glare at anyone who tries to take it. You're his favourite person, and meal time is sacred.

Luffy loves it when you wear his clothes!! If you throw on his vest or one of his clothes, his face lights up. He might even tell you to keep it!! Nami might genuinely turn pale if she sees you wear one of... Those vests.

★yoyomiko ★miko

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Weird black neglected!reader and the things the hate about the batboys do that disgust reader

So basically, there was a post ask what the bafamily does that disgust readers, or what disgusts readers—that's something like that. I can't find the ask because I answered it by accident when I wasn't finished, so whoever asked, you know who you are.

What disgusts readers the most about Bruce is his playboy persona; it irks readers to their core. Readers have always held Bruce to high expectations because their mom only spoke well of him. But all that changes when they attend a gala and see Bruce flirting with a girl decades younger than him. It makes their blood boil. Readers know the next girl is just the woman of the month, maybe day. When they were younger, a lot of the ladies would try to be nice to readers just to get on Bruce's good side. And Bruce tries to tell the reader it's just a fling and it means nothing, so no one will think he's the bad guy, but you don't care (he could be loyal, and loyal to your mother). Making the bat really guilty.

Dick, with his fake smiles and womanizing ways, makes it hard for the reader to support someone who hides their feelings or opinions when reporters or paparazzi approach him. He feels compelled to smile even while seething inside. Not only that, the reader dislikes when Dick attempts to fix everyone else's problems just to elevate himself and suppress his feelings; his womanizing tendencies are even more off-putting. The reader once looked up to Dick as a younger sibling would to an older brother, but his constant flirting with anyone within a five-mile radius has turned that admiration into disdain. This makes your poor older brother feel horrible and like a bad remodel.

Jason's nonchalance or indifference to things is perplexing, especially since you know deep down he is passionate about something he cares about. Yet, he'll never express this, at least not with you. He acts as if nothing is wrong when there is indeed something wrong. Deep down, a little Robin is screaming out and asking for help, but he'll never let it out. This type of denial disgusts the reader. Being your true self is the best self you can be; being passionate and headstrong is the best feeling in the world. Yet, he refuses to embrace it; he would rather stay constant than move forward. Jason really wants to make connections; he desperately wants to be a part of something. He wants to confide in the reader, but it might be a little too late for that.

Tim, a hypocrite and a smart-ass, reader is okay with being corrected; it just shows that they needs to learn. However, nitpicking every little thing he does really irks them. Telling the reader that something is wrong is not actual criticism; it’s just a way to put someone down. Boy, he is such a hypocrite! Timothy will literally tell you that monsters are bad, yet he goes and downs six Red Bulls before a patrol. Sure, he needs the energy, but he could eat a protein bar like a regular person. Not to mention, he is always telling you that something is really unhealthy, only for him to eat little to nothing at all. You always snap at him, and he’ll try to tell you he’s looking out for you like a brother should, but you don’t care. He really just wants you to be better than him, and be more responsible but the reader doesn't care for that.

Damian, pretentious and with a God complex, is literally an Arabian prince, so what did you expect from that little twerp? He thinks he’s better when he’s not that special. He’ll show off to readers every day and in every way. You pick up new hobbies, and it's his hobby now, and he’ll be better at it than you, probably discouraging you in the process and making you give up. If you're good, he'll try to be twice as good. Some younger siblings want to be like their big brother or sister or whatever, and it’s cute, but this isn’t cute; this is just stupid, and you hate it because Alfred always makes you hang out with the hellspawn. He’ll show off to your friends or brag about being Robin or how he used to live before the manor, and you want to hit the living daylights out of him. But even if you're taller, the kid was trained to kill at birth, so there’s no way. But all of this is because he really wants your attention and praise. You’re the only person in the house who doesn’t praise him or give him the time of day. He’s your younger brother; he shouldn’t be ignored like this. He’s royalty! Why are you rolling your eyes while he’s telling you about all the places he's been? You should be clapping and smiling—don’t ignore him!

[lucygraysboy]

“don’t smile like that at ‘im,” billy playfully scolds, lowering his voice so the kid can’t overhear them. the corners of his lips twitching, a smirk threatening to bloom. “you’ll make ‘im fall in love and i’ll have to find a new pizza place.” it’s all just a joke, an attempt at making the brunette blush, but it really is this easy to fall in love with her. one smile and men lose their minds. he doesn’t blame them, that’s what happened to him, too. all those years ago. “oh, i’ll get you a glass of water. no problem.” he sets the paper plate with his slice of pizza down on the table, puts the coke next to it and heads back to the counter only to return with a bottle of water and a glass. ice cubes clinking inside. “well, i have a real nice blender.” blair got it for his birthday because she wanted to start making healthy smoothies. he used it maybe once. “we could buy some fruit and make one at home, or we can just grab somethin’ on our way back, up to you.” there’s a nice smoothie place near the starbucks they’d visited earlier today, just around the corner from his apartment building. “no, i actually haven’t. i’m kind of worried ‘bout the texture? that’s like eatin’ orbeez. have you tried it? but anyway i’m feelin’ adventurous.” so if she wants a boba tea, they’ll get boba tea. “wait, did you just pick one favorite pony?” eyebrows moving in surprise, he can’t believe she didn’t give him the usual they’re all my favorite line. “is it my fashion sense?” he attempts to guess, picking up his slice of pizza and biting into it. “mmm… oh, this is so good. i love this place,” he hums in approval, briefly closing his eyes to fully appreciate the flavorful bite. the warm, buttery crust crunching softly beneath his teeth, giving way to the stretchy, gooey mozzarella. the cheese melts so perfectly, its rich creaminess coating his tongue, mingling with the tangy tomato sauce. each bite a perfect harmony of textures and flavors. “in another life, you could be a therapist, lulu gray. hey, is yours good?” next time, he’ll take her to a fancier restaurant but she should also see the less glamorous albeit still very atmospheric side of new york city.

“hidy!” pearly white grin beams at the stranger, giving a little wave to the friend to billy before politely going back to her phone she has pulled out until the dark haired boy comes back. her attention going solely to him. “hmm.. coke?” the first thing that leaves lucy gray’s thoughts, doe eyes finding the can of pop stuck between his arm. “maybe i should’ve gotten water. i wanna definitely get a healthy smoothie after this. well, when we go back to your place i mean. or a boba tea! you’ve ever tried one of those?” hands eagerly take the plate of pizza, giving god a silent thank you for the food while she’s lifting up the heavy piece. bambi eyes watching in awe as the cheese strings apart, semi stuck to the plate. picking some off, she takes a bite, catching what she can and humming in delight at the flavor. it’s either good or she’s really hungry. “the rainbow one.” smirking at her choice of ponies. “i ain’t sure, by the way. about weird things about you.. there’s a few.” devious little spills of laughter sounds from the brunette, dainty hand catching the cheese sticking to her chin. “thank goodness, that’s the best news i’ve gotten ever. that two brothers who need each other are talkin’ again.” eyes becoming alight with joy, a long journey of getting it to happen finally well paid off. she’s just grateful she can finally say that.

[itzy-bitsy-spidey]

"Hedgehog, porcupine, it's the same thing (pt.5)"

or "Something made a hole in my backyard pt.5"

Shadow the Hedghog x reader (platonic)

Notes: I finally have connection again!!! This part feels a little of to me but anyway, leave a comment if you want to be in the taglist or leave a comment if you liked it! ENJOY!

Part 4.

It happened so fast that you could barely process it, the creature looked at the room, then at you, then at the window and in a red flash it disappeared.

For only a fraction of a second, because as soon as it disappeared it appeared right back, but now besides your bedroom's window.

It fell to the floor with a thud and you swore you heard it say something.

But that would be ridiculous, animals don't talk.

"What the fu-?" You didn't even finished your question when the thing turned around to look at you.

The room was silent. Everything felt like it was made of very thin glass, and any sudden move coul shatter it all.

You crouched.

You didn´t know if you wanted to make yourself less intimidating or if you just wanted to be able to protect your hole body in case it tried to move again.

And so, you both just looked at each other. It was really the first time you had stopped to look at the creature so closely.

It´s eyes were red, but not just any red, they were crimson like blood on the outer part of the iris with a warmer fire-like red on the center. It had fur which looked super soft covering all of it´s body, but there was something like spikes coming out of it´s head.

Yeahhh, you knew what animal it reminded you of...

"Hey there" you said softly as not to scare it.

"Who are you and where am I?" the creature demanded more than asked.

"Holy shit, you can TALK!!??"

"Where am I? Did G.U.N sent you?" It had now started to get on it´s feet and speak louder, though it still seemed as in pain.

Everything about what was happening felt kind of surreal to you, one thing a little more than anything else.

"Why do you sound like Keanu Reeves?"

"Is that another agent? I will kill you in seconds if you don´t answer my questions" It furrowed something that you assumed were his eyebrows.

But between everything that was happening you suddenly lost balance in your crouching position, and fell on your back. When you managed to sit on the floor you found yourself with the sight of the alienish creature which had also fallen flat on it´s bottom, presumably trying to protect itself from you.

So then you were both sitting in the ground.

"I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot" you started to say, as calmly as you could. "I´m not here to hurt you, you were the one who crashed on my backyard".

It kept on looking at you as if you were going to attack it at any moment, so you decided to give him something more, you told him your name.

"Shadow" It... He answered back, though it felt more as an attempt to get you to shut up than anything. More time passed in silence.

And so you got up, and left.

Shadow just sat there, slightly confused, but soon enough he weakly got on his feet and turned towards the window. He tried to give a step, but all of his muscles ached at it. He felt helpless. He hated feeling helpless, it reminded him of the cryo tube he was kept in for fifty years.

His efforts did not last too long either, as he felt two warm hands pick him up from under his armpits and sit him back down on the bed. Even though he slightly hissed at the pain and tried to fight back his efforts were usless and he found himself comfortably sat against the cushions.

You smiled at him and apologized for any discomfort that you may had caused, then you offered him a pastry (your aunt Maddie had brought them for tea).

He picked one up, and after a troughout examination, which to you kind of looked as a cat smelling something to see if it was food or not, he actually took a bite.

It was actually nice, and it had a slight bitter taste to it.

"So... are you some kind of porcupine?"

"I´m a hedghog and the ultimate life form" He answered back with still looking angry, but his voice had slightly less bite to it. You smiled kindly back as you held back a laugh.

"Hedghog, porcupine, it´s the same thing."

Taglist:@boogiemansbitch@vxllys@whoisgami@baby-bloos@sapphireravensworld@mothmanperson@4rm-the-mf-concrete@eliknowsnothing

[247-diaperboy]

Friends house

Story of high school friends reunited after several years of not seeing each other.

Max had been my best friend when i was young. We stayed friends all though eliminatory school and high school. After graduation, we went our separate ways.  He went to college on the west coast and i went to college on the east coast. 

He went to school studying to work in cooperate finance. He wanted to be a cooperate vice president of finance for a big compony. He was ambitious and determined. I had a feeling that he would succeed. 

I went to law school and graduated from law school. I prepared for my bar exam.  I decided to start my own law firm.  It was silly but I wanted to try to make a go of it. I actually kept my day job. Just in case. 

My law firm did take off. I was able to get clients. I developed a reputation. I was still young and could make a life for myself. I would have money. I had a purpose. That was what i wanted.  

Max too was going up the letter. He got a job in an accounting department at a fairly well-known company.  He was able to move up to mid-level management.  Then he was offered vice president of finance after his predecessor was moved up in position.  

We had tried to keep in touch after we graduated. We had for a little while. We talked on the phone and email.  Then we got busy and had our own lives. We tried to keep in touch, but it did not work. 

It seemed we had moved on. We were in a different place. Our lives no longer intertwined. Over time we were fine with it. We were so fine with it that we did not notice that we were apart. It was not a major factor in our lives. 

I made a comment on his social media page. He wrote a response.  I followed up with a response of my own.  Then he commented.  We ended up having a long conversation on his wall. The conversation moved from his social media page wall to messenger. We had quite the online conversation. It went on and on for quite some time.  

After a time, I got a call. I answered my phone.  “Hello this is matt. I said. "Matty its Max.” he said. I was thrilled to hear from him. We ended up talking on the phone for an hour in a half. It was like old times. 

We ended up talking on the phone back and forth. we had numerous phone calls. He had suggested that i come visit him and stay over for a week or so. I did not think that he would really happen. I was pretty sure that he did not think it would happen either. I said, sure that sounds great. We did continue to talk about it.it seemed like a pipe dream. It hardly sounded like something that would really happen.  

He kept talking to me about coming to visit him. Over time it became a real possibility. We decided that we were really going to do it. We made arrangement for me to come see him for ten days. I would stay with him in his home. 

I held out my enthusiasm at first. I refused to get excited. Then as we cemented our plans, I got more and more excited.  Then as i got closer to my vacation, I got really excited.  I wanted to see Max again.  I knew that Max wanted to see me. 

I worked my last day before my vacation. I had packed though out the week. After I completed my last shift before the vacation, I went home and finished up the packing. I went to bed and the next day I got ready to go. 

A friend of mine drove me to the airport. I was there in plenty of time. Until I actually boarded the plane, I still did not totally feel that it was real. As the plane neared the airport near Max, I knew that indeed this was really going to happen. 

The plane touched down. We were allowed to disembark. We got up from the plane. I was exhilarated as I departed from the aircraft. I looked for my friend. After a few seconds of canvassing the area, I found him. 

I walked over to him. I gave him a great big hug. I got in his car, and we headed to his house. We arrived. He took out his grill. We got caught up on what we had doing.  We reminisced about our crazy activities as a kid. We laughed a lot. 

It was like no time had passed. We both had a lot of fun. I was enjoying myself. I could tell that he was as well. 

After a long day of hanging out and catching up, we were both tired. We both decided to call it a night. 

“Hey, I am going to have you stay in the guest room. It is the first bedroom up the stairs to your right. Max said. “Oh ok. Sounds good. I answered. “I have another request. I was taken a back. I had no idea what this ‘request’ was. “What is this request? “I asked. 

“I want you to wear a diaper to bed. “A diaper?” I asked. “Yes. I waterproofed the bed but just as a precaution, I want you to wear one. I was totally shocked. I was not expecting that. 

“A diaper? Really max! I have not had a problem with bed wetting sense i was eight. I don't have any problem with incontinence. I assured him. 

“I remember your issues when you were younger. I have not seen you in a while. I think it is a wise precaution knowing your history Matty.

I did not want to fight with him over this. This was his house. I agreed. We went upstairs.  He took out a diaper.  I pulled down my pants.  I took off my underwear. I laid on my back on the bed. He put a diaper under my bum. Max pulled the diaper up between my legs and fastened the tapes. As strange as it may sound, I slept great.

I woke up. I had not peed myself. I hoped maybe I would convince him that I am fully potty trained and wearing a diaper is really not necessary.  I woke up and went downstairs. He was making breakfast.

“How did you sleep?” he asked. “I slept great. I told him. I noticed he was wearing a diaper. I asked why are you wearing a diaper?

I wear diapers at night now.  It feels so good.  Did you soil yourself?” he asked. “No i did not. “I said. 

“You should. It feels so good. “He said. I was stunned. After breakfast he asked me to help him take off his diaper.  We went to his room. I took off his diaper. It was really wet. I threw it away. 

He told me it would be a shame to waste a diaper.  He told me to pee myself.  I tried and tried. I could not do it. He told me to relax. He told me to picture a toilet.  He told me to tell my brain it was ok to let go. Finally, the urine leaked out. It felt weird. It also felt good. I liked it.

 That night he suggested we sleep in the same bed. I liked that idea.  We laid in bed.

Neither of us was gay.  We both liked girls.  We had had girlfriends.  We were both busy with careers, so we were not dating as of late. We were one of those friendship where we made people wonder. We did not care. 

We hung out all week. We played basketball. We ran together. We watched tv and movies together. At one time he leaned on me. I put my arm around him.

One night we cuddled.  I hated when the vacation was over. He came to visit me a few months later. We continue to correspond.  I started to wear diapers at night.  I wet my diaper at night. I wore regular underwear in the day. I never had an issue.  However now I had an entire stock of diapers in my bedroom.

Max and I kept in touch.  He started his own compony in my town. Eventually we decided to move in together. We sleep in the same bed.  Are we a couple?  It is not clearly defined at least not yet. 

[karanseraph]

It goes back to the voters, though, right?

Like, I know people were saying this last year after the election: I can't believe so many Americans voted against their own self interest

But, a bunch did.

And even if that percent wasn't the majority of everyone, or the majority of all registered voters, the situation and turn-out was such that it was enough to result in our current situation. (Where there's no "mandate", but they keep repeating there is.)

And so, understandably, now, a lot of people who didn't vote for that, or didn't vote, or regret how they voted are now stressed and frustrated in their own ways.

And I don't know what to do to make any future votes we may have better. My Congresswoman and two Senators happen to be Democrats and have been making some statements about what is going on. But Republican majorities, even if narrow still exist.

Yet, in my own household there is an enjoyer of a certain news channel who is an apologist for anything Trump and Republicans do, no matter what I say. One of those "I don't like him personally, but..." Just steadfastly convinced that somehow Republicans were the way to go.

And I have tried for years to argue against this and it does not work. I will just be seen as a hysterical girl or indoctrinated. I talk about Project 2025 "Oh, he said that's not his". I talk about the recent "buyout" of federal employees being an attempt to evade unemployment payments and labor policies, "lots of people think it's a good idea".I say something is seems wrong or unjust, "That's the way the world works."

There's people who for whatever reason can't process that society is what we make it at any given time. We can change it. But we have to want to and then do the work. We need a certain number (I don't know the percent) to tip change in a given direction.

I mean in 2020 we rapidly made sweeping societal changes and showed remote work could work for a lot of people (not everyone) and maybe it was better for the environment, but ever since there's been those who want to go back to the way things were before. Get everyone back in an office. Saying think of all the businesses like restaurants and shops that are near workplaces that will go out of business.

Well, those shops could be located closer to where people actually live where we could walk to them.

Anyway, that's my rant.

(But PS, extra side-rant, this person in my household will tell anecdotes about how back in the day in their industry it was rare to hire women as engineers, but he told those co-workers, that no he seriously did want them to consider the resumes of the women and not just pretend. So, it was all a great thing when he could be the good one and let these resumes be considered or to go do recruiting at universities, but now he can defend people who say DEI is a bad thing with all the insinuation that it's like saying "straight white men need not apply" when really it's saying "No, seriously, everyone can apply". (and then, yanno, have their resume read by a bot for some ghost position.))

[keepingitformyself]

good men die too (so i’d rather be with you)

A/N: first natalie fic. needed to get this off my chest. crush by ethel cain on repeat as i wrote this.

SYNOPSIS: natalie scatorccio isn’t the kind of girl you bring home to your parents. and she’s not the kind of girl you’d think to spend forever with. she’s reckless, dangerous, and rough. but that doesn’t stop you from wanting her all the same.

pairings: natalie scatorccio x reader

genre: no crash AU

warnings: suggestive themes, blood, bruises

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

it’s no surprise to anyone when natalie scatorccio comes strolling into soccer practice twenty minutes late. long after coach martinez has just finished a speech on the importance of time management.

her leather jacket slung over her jersey clad body gives you just the faintest scent of marlboro reds clinging to her clothes. she wears a smirk as she approaches the rest of the girls on the field.

coach martinez merely rolls his eyes at her presence. he decides to barely batt an eye anymore. what was the point? natalie was good. maybe not the best, but good enough to get away with her shit.

you weren’t really close to her like the others were. not like misty, who hung on her every word, or shauna, who tried (and failed) to keep her in check. you weren’t even like lottie, who seemed to understand her in a way that made no sense. no, you and natalie were something different.

you didn’t talk much, but when you did, it was charged. every snarky comment or off-hand joke felt like it was said to imply something neither of you wanted to admit. like a game neither of you were willing to lose.

the first time you really noticed it was after a game. the team was celebrating a win at some rundown diner. cramming into booths that barely fit you all. natalie sat across from you, her fingers wrapped around a coke bottle, condensation dripping from the glass.

her eyes met yours, and she smirked like she knew something you didn’t.

“you’re staring.” she drawled, bringing the bottle to her lips.

“you wish.”

she laughed, low and throaty, before leaning in. “i know.”

that was how it always went. a flicker of something in a hallway, a touch too long passing water bottles at practice, her voice too close to your ear when she made some off-hand comment that sent heat pooling in your stomach. and every time, you refused to acknowledge it.

because natalie scatorccio was trouble. and you didn’t do trouble.

but damn if you weren’t drawn to her anyway.

it was easier to act like she didn’t get under your skin. to roll your eyes, to scoff, to push her buttons just to see if she’d push back. you’d rather drive her crazy, make her hate you, than admit what you actually wanted. becuase if you admitted it, it would be real. and real meant dangerous.

real meant natalie had the power to ruin you.

so you kept playing the game. kept up the act. and natalie…she played right into it.

even with the others around, you found ways to test the limits.

at parties, when she was sprawled on a couch with some guy draping an arm over her shoulder, you’d pass by and let your fingers brush against hers for half a second too long. just long enough to make her glance up at you through her lashes, lips quirking like she knew exactly what you were doing.

in the locker room, when the team was too busy talking about the next game, you’d let your knee knock into hers while tying your sneakers. she never moved away.

one night, the team had gathered at jackie’s house for a movie night, a tangled mess of limbs and blankets on the floor.

you ended up beside natalie, bodies pressed together in the dark. her hand rested on her stomach, dangerously close to yours.

you could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, but neither of you moved. not when she exhaled slowly, not when her pinky brushed yours so lightly it could’ve been an accident. you weren’t sure if you imagined it, but you swore you felt her shift just a little closer.

then there was the time in the school hallway. the team was heading to the cafeteria together, but natalie had stopped by her locker. you weren’t supposed to wait for her, weren’t supposed to lean against the metal beside her as she rummaged through her bag, weren’t supposed to mutter,

“hurry up, scatorccio,” in a tone only she would catch. she smirked at you then, slow and knowing, before tucking a pack of cigarettes into her jacket.

“gotta problem with me taking my time?” she murmured, just quiet enough that no one else heard.

you scoffed. “i’ve got a problem with you wasting mine.”

she grinned. “right.”

one friday night, after practice, you found her in the parking lot, perched on the hood of her dad’s beat-up mercury, cigarette balanced between her fingers. the night was cool, and the parking lot was empty save for the two of you.

“you need a ride?” she asked, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“i’m good.”

“you sure? wouldn’t want you walking home all alone. bad things happen to good girls.”

“i never said i was good.”

her smirk widened, something dark flashing behind her eyes. “no, i guess you didn’t.”

you should’ve walked away. should’ve ignored the way her gaze lingered, how the glow of her cigarette lit up her face in a way that made your breath hitch. but instead, you stepped closer. just a fraction. just enough.

natalie tapped her cigarette, ashes scattering to the pavement. “you ever gonna admit you want me?”

you scoffed, crossing your arms. “your window’s already passed.”

she laughed, full and unbothered. “bullshit.”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. she could read your mind just fine.

and that pissed you off.

because you hated it. the way she could see right through you. the way she knew you wanted her even when you wouldn’t admit it to yourself.

it made you want to punch her, just to get rid of the feeling clawing up your throat. you wanted to see her lip split open, watch her wipe the blood away with that smug little smirk because then at least you wouldn’t have to think about how badly you wanted to kiss her instead.

then, one night, she cornered you outside a party, the bass from inside thrumming through your ribs. her lip was split, a bruise already blooming high on her cheekbone, and she looked at you like she had all the answers.

“i owe you a black eye and two kisses,” she murmured, voice laced with amusement. “tell me when you wanna come get ‘em.”

your stomach tightened, heat crawling up your spine. natalie licked at the blood on her lip, watching you like she was waiting for you to call her bluff.

but this time, you didn’t want to call it.

you swallowed hard, fists clenching at your sides. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

natalie tilted her head, stepping into your space, forcing you to meet her gaze. “i know exactly what I’m asking for. and so do you.”

the words settled between you, heavy and inescapable. you wanted to fight her. you wanted to push her away. but more than that, you wanted her to keep going. to ruin you the way you knew only she could.

“say it,” she pressed, voice low, eyes dark. “say you want me.”

your breath hitched. “i—”

“i want you,” she said first, cutting you off. the game, finally over.

and just like that, the bottom dropped out from under you.

you would’ve walked away. but every inch of your body screamed for you to stay. you could feel the weight of her presence as if she was a magnet, pulling you closer, her eyes locked on you like she was reading your every thought.

“i’m not the type of girl who plays by the rules,” she said quietly, voice dripping with something between challenge and promise.

“and i'm not the type who gets caught up in trouble,” you shot back, but it sounded like a lie. you both knew it.

her lips curled into a knowing smile, eyes glinting with mischief. “yeah? that’s funny, because every time i look at you, you seem like you're trying to talk yourself out of something.”

you crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one foot, trying to steady your pulse, but her words hit you harder than you expected. you could feel her eyes on you, following every move, reading the way your body tightened when she came closer.

“trying to act all tough, but you’re standing here, aren't you?” she continued, her tone light but pointed. “guess that makes you just as bad as me.”

your heart skipped, the sting of her words digging into you. “don’t flatter yourself. i’m not playing your game.”

she took a step forward, and you couldn’t help but move back a fraction, but only because you didn’t want her to see how badly she was getting to you. “you’re already in it,” she said, voice dropping lower. "you think i don’t notice the way you look at me?"

your breath hitched, and you scoffed, doing everything you could to keep the distance. "i don't look at you."

natalie cocked her head, eyes narrowing in playful challenge. “really? ‘cause i could’ve sworn i saw you staring when i walked into practice today. or maybe it was when i grabbed that water bottle from you after the scrimage. funny how you can't keep your eyes off me, huh?”

you swallowed, fighting the flush rising in your chest. “you’re imagining things.”

“i’m not,” she said, voice dripping with confidence as she moved even closer. her scent, a mix of smoke and something sharp, intoxicating, wrapped around you. "i know you want to fight it. but you’re not fooling anyone. least of all me.”

“i’m not some fucking game,” you muttered, voice sharp, but shaky. you couldn’t keep the edge from your tone, couldn’t keep the uncertainty out of your voice.

“you’re already in it,” she repeated, her tone quiet but unwavering. “so why don’t you stop pretending? stop pretending you’re not already caught up in me. you don’t get to walk away anymore.”

her voice was so close now, you could feel the heat from her breath brushing against your skin, and every nerve in your body screamed for you to back away, but your feet stayed rooted. your heart thudded, each beat pulling you closer to her than you wanted to be.

“i’m not some... i’m not the type of girl who...” you started, but your words were getting tangled in the mess of thoughts she was creating in your head. you were losing control, and the worst part? you didn’t want it back.

“not the type of girl who what?” she murmured, leaning in just enough to make you feel every word. “who gets what she wants?”

you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but you couldn’t. the words were gone, smothered by the feeling of her closeness, the way she was looking at you, waiting for you to break.

“you’re just a little scared,” she whispered, a teasing lilt in her voice. “scared of what’s underneath all this. scared of what’ll happen if you let yourself want it.”

Your pulse spiked. “stop it.”

“no,” she said, her smile widening. “you start it.”

you could feel the air around you both thickening, charged, and the space between you two felt like it was closing in, getting tighter, until you could barely breathe.

you could taste the words you weren’t saying, hanging in the air, unbearable. and in that moment, you hated her, hated how she could do this to you—make you feel like this.

but you couldn’t pull away. you couldn’t fight it.

and she knew it.

“tell me,” she pressed, voice low, dangerous. “what do you want, huh?”

it wasn’t a question anymore. it was a command. and in the space between, you realized she wasn’t asking for an answer.

she already had the one she wanted.

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 21

Wow! It always amazes me when story gets past 20 chapters. It makes it ending even harder. But ending it is. I completed the final chapter yesterday. It will have 24 chapters and then it one of the other fics I'm currently working will replace it.

Chrissy makes good on her promise to blow each of the kids' minds.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

~

By invite only is what Chrissy said. Holy shit. There were actual famous people here and Steve was freaking out.

Steve, Robin, and his kids were picked up in a shiny, black limo and taken to Wayne’s ranch. There the amphitheater was set up for Corroded Coffin to play. As evidenced by the black and gold drum kit with their logo slapped on the bass drum.

There were actors and other musicians there. Some pretty big names too. So that got Dustin and Mike sorted. They were freaking out and geeking out about each new person they spotted.

Then Max was tugging on Steve’s arm. “Steve. Steve I can’t believe it. He’s here.”

Steve looked over to see a man, maybe a little bit older than he was standing there talking to Jeff’s dad. He didn’t look like much, but the way Max was vibrating next to him, he knew the guy was famous in a way only see would recognize.

“That’s Steve Caballero,” she sighed wistfully. “When I was out in Cali, he was pioneering the skateboard scene. He’s so awesome.”

And then it hit him. What Chrissy met when she said that she could do something special for each of the kids with one event. And this was Max’s.

“Come on,” Steve said brightly, tugging on her arm. “We’re going to go say hello.”

Max stared at him in shock and tried to tell him she wasn’t going to do that, when Steve yanked on her arm and lead him over to Mr. Lawrence and Steve Caballero.

“Hey, you’re Steve right?” he said with his most charming smile. When the guy nodded, he continued, “My friend here is a huge fan. This Max Mayfield.”

Steve looked her up and down. “Long or standard?”

“Standard,” Max said immediately. “I’ve been working on my kickflip and I’ve almost got it down.”

Steve C. raised an eyebrow. “Where do you go to skate around here?”

Max chatted excitedly with him. “Doing street is the best I can hope for in Hicksville, but there is a quarry nearby where I go to practice my bigger stuff.”

“You should really show me while I’m in town...” Steve C. said as Steve wandered off.

Will was talking to a man and woman and so Steve started walking over that direction.

Will spotted him and pulled him over. “This is Stephen Cosgrove and Robin James. They do the Serendipity books.”

Steve turned his head to the side as he thought about it for a moment. “Is that the one with big pink and green sea dragon or whatever?”

Stephen smiled. “Sea dragon is a much nicer term than sea monster, but yes. That’s us.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “I’ve been meeting a lot of Steves today. First Steve Caballero who skateboards and now you.”

Robin and Stephen shared a glance.

“I’m a Steve too.”

They both “ooh’ed” and nodded.

“This young man was telling us that he wanted to illustrate children’s books,” Robin J. said with a smile.

Steve ruffled Will’s hair. “He’s really good, he was even teaching me a thing or two over the summer.”

“There’s children’s illustration exhibit in Indy while we’re here,” Stephen said brightly. “I think he’d be very interested in seeing it.”

Will looked up at Steve, hopeful.

Steve ruffled Will’s hair again. “We’ll have to ask your mom, but yeah that sounds great. If I can get the information from you.”

And both Stephen and Robin J. hurried to do just that with Robin J. handing Will her personal business card. “When you get a little older, give me a call,” she said with a wink.

Will waved dorkily at them and then let Steve lead him away. “This was so cool, Steve. Thanks for inviting me. I’m more of a ‘The Clash’ fan, but meeting my heroes is so mind blowing and to go to see the exhibit would be the icing on the cake.”

Steve smiled, putting his arm around the kid. “We’ll have to see. Your mom is still mad at me for the whole Eddie is a sugar daddy fiasco.”

“Which is bullshit,” Will huffed. “Even Jonathan thinks Eddie is sweet and this was before you got him that camera. As he pointed out Eddie was out of town and a lot of the gifts were cute and not over the top expensive.”

“I wish Jonathan had been successful,” Steve said dryly, “and the whole mess with Scoops would have been avoided.”

“Yeah,” Will said dourly. “Hop is still mad at her for the whole assault thing. Eddie was taking care of you and yes, she might have not have known who it was at the time, but the fact that you could come and go as you pleased, you were able to spend the money on whatever you wanted, and were really happy... like she should have let it go.”

They went to go find Mike and Dustin. It wasn’t long to find them, they were chatting away with Brian and Gareth.

Brian threw his arms out and cried. “Stevie! The man of the hour! Eddie was excited when you agreed to come out to this.”

Steve smiled at the bassist. “Like I could ever turn down a chance to see you guys play live. I did like the music when I heard it the first time.”

“Eddie told us about your musical indoctrination,” Gareth said with a huff of laughter. “You actually went out and bought heavy metal albums of your own accord, so I’ll give you that. Because I always assumed you liked us live because you liked the outfit Eddie wore.”

Steve quickly covered an ear each of Dustin and Mike and yanked them to his side. “There are children present!” he scandalized with a wry smile.

Brian and Gareth cackled as Dustin and Mike struggled to be released.

“Let me go!” Dustin huffed, pushing at Steve’s side. “I’m not a child!”

Steve let them both go laughing. “Yeah, than tell me what Gareth was referring to and maybe I’ll believe you, dweeb.”

Dustin shrugged. “Probably the same reason my likes Elvis. Young Elvis. The long legs and hips.”

Gareth and Steve shared a wide-eyed glance.

Gareth nodded appreciatively. “I can see why Robin calls you the genius child. Right in one, kiddo. How about you, Mike? You in it for the music or Eddie in tight pants?”

Mike stuttered and sputtered as he turned bright red.

“The tight pants for sure,” Brian teased, elbowing Gareth who was giggling.

“But I like girls!” Mike finally managed to spit out, his eyes wide and his fist clenched.

Dustin raised a confused eyebrow. “My ma is always talking about David Bowie and how he likes both men and women and doesn’t matter who his partner is, he’s not gay if he’s with a man or straight if he’s with a woman, he’ll always be bisexual.”

“I think I want to meet your mom, kid,” Gareth said with a low whistle. “I’d like to shake her hand. Sounds like the best mom, ever.”

Dustin blushed as he flashed a big grin.

“You can be both?” Mike whispered, suddenly shy. He ducked his head and picked at his nails.

Brian put an arm around his shoulders. “Let me introduce you to Jeff, he’s bisexual too. He’ll be able to answer all your questions.” Then he quietly led him away from the group.

“Congrats on blowing that kid’s mind,” Steve said with a huff of laughter. Gareth just grinned back.

Dustin scoffed. “I’ve known Mike liked boys since the fourth grade.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “Well then. Still he’s about to be opened up to a world of possibilities he’s never even considered before.”

“If he’s not as big an ass he likes to pretend he is,” Dustin said rolling his eyes, “then hopefully he’ll have asked Will out by the end of the concert.”

Steve burst out laughing. “I love you optimism, bud. But I think it’s going to take Mike a little bit longer than that.” He held up his finger and thumb and pushed them really closed together.

Dustin just shrugged and then started yapping poor Gareth’s ear off on whether or not the EP Kas’s Revenge counted as their first album or not, so Steve wisely made his escape. It was that he didn’t care about that sort of thing, but it looked like it was about to get into a lot technical stuff that would go over his head.

Lucas peeled away from Brian, Mike, and Jeff and spotted Steve. “Hey, man! Thanks for this! This is cool, too!”

Steve smiled. “You’re welcome. It might be a little unfair you getting two events like this, but I with all the stars and shit here, everyone is getting their own double dose!”

“Eh,” Lucas said, cocking his head to the side, “I’m not too bothered by that.”

Steve laughed. “You are such an asshole sometimes, you know that?” he said, squeezing Lucas’s shoulder.

“Hanging out with Dustin and Mike,” he said with a shrug, “it tends to rub off on you whether you want to or not.”

“That’s true,” he murmured looking around. “Hey, I thought your sister came, too. I don’t see her.”

Lucas looked around frantically. “Shit. I don’t see here either. I thought she was right there with me talking D&D with Jeff. I didn’t even realize that she had wandered off.”

Steve stopped looking for Erica and started looking for Eddie. He knew this place better than Lucas or him. He spotted him getting a drink at the buffet table and made a beeline for him, with Lucas hot on his heels.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve said a little panicked as he neared the rockstar. “Have you seen Erica? Little black girl, pink dress, hair in corn rows?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie said with a grin. “Come follow me.”

Steve and Lucas shared a glance but did as they were told. Eddie led them around the house to a part of the property that Steve hadn’t seen before. Out here was more like what Steve had expected when he was told Uncle Wayne lived on a ranch. There were sprawling pastures and a beautiful bright red barn, like something out of the movies.

A little distance away Steve could see Erica with Uncle Wayne feeding a carrot to a blue roan, while a spotted brown and white horse tried to steal from it.

“Erica!” Lucas breathed out and he trotted up to her. “You need to tell someone before you wander off...”

Wayne looked down at her with a glare. “I thought you told me you had told Steve where you were.”

Erica turned back slowly to Wayne, wide-eyed. “Oh, maybe it was Eddie I told. Or, um...”

Eddie put his hands on his hips. “I know for a fact you didn’t tell me, the only reason I knew where you were is because I know a horse girl when I see one.”

“Uh-huh,” Wayne said eyeing her warily. “I’ll let it slide this time, Missy, but I catch you lyin’ to me again and I’ll revoke your horse visiting privileges.”

Erica pouted. “I’m sorry, Uncle Wayne. I’ll be sure to tell people where I’m going from now on.”

Wayne nodded curtly and went back to feeding the horses. “I don’t think you’ve met my horses the last time you were here, Steve.”

Steve smiled at him. “No, sir. Wasn’t even brought up.” He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow to emphasis his point.

“Ah,” Wayne said pursing his lips together. “I guess I was a tad remiss in my duties then. These are two of my rascals. Jadis and Fledge.”

Steve snapped his fingers as he thought. “Those are from the Chronicles of Narnia, right?”

“Eddie came by his love for fantasy naturally,” Wayne said with a smile. “But why don’t you boys head back to the party, I’ll watch this one and make sure we get to the concert just fine.”

“With the promise I get to bring her back at later date so we can both see the horses,” Steve said with a grin.

Erica looked up at Steve with unbridled glee. “Oh can we?” she asked Uncle Wayne.

“As long as your parents say you can,” Wayne said with a solemn nod, “than that’s a promise.”

As soon as the three of them got back to the party Robin came dashing up to them all bright-eyed and excited.

“Ellie is talking to the Diane Von Furstenberg,” she said breathlessly. “Can you believe that?”

Steve only knew who that was only because his mother hated her.

Eddie lit up. “I’m glad she was able to make it. She’s Chrissy’s favorite designer. I hope Ellie gets a lot of good tips from her.”

“Can I run away with you?” Robin asked in wide-eyed seriousness. “I’ll continue to PA for you, I don’t care. But you know some of the coolest people.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Turn eighteen and we’ll talk then.”

Robin jumped up and down clapping. “You coming with me.” She grabbed his arm and forced him to introduce her to some of the other greats that were there.

Chrissy came bounding up to him all smiles. “So did I win back the favor of the fair prince?”

Steve grinned. “Hell yeah you did! All of them have had their minds blown and then are going to be treated to one of the best live shows I’ve ever seen. And when I say that, that’s not hyperbole, me and my now ex-boyfriend went to a lot of concerts growing up. There is no doubt Corroded Coffin blows them out of the water.”

She grinned up at him. “Hell yeah they do.”

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

[mirangel]

You know how tighnari goes into heat right? Can you imagine if male reader is actually teasing him saying, 'oh my~ dude can't even stop being horny lmao!' or 'aww what a cute fox being horny, can imagine you begging on the ground!' and just making fun of his heat jokingly

And then he got enough of it, so when his heat came. He just pushes male reader to the ground and shows him who's the one is going to turn into a mess

Anyway this is like 8. In the morning and weirdly enough, I am curious to see mad and Dom tighnari

tighnari nsfw drabble 11

cw: amab!reader, bratty reader, tighnari’s in heat

nsfw content below, dni if uncomfortable

aren’t you mischievous, poking fun at a clearly suffering man! he’s humiliated by your incessant teasing, burying his face into his hands. you glide your hands over his tail, his ears, and you’re even so cruel enough to lightly tug at them. he tries to swat your hands away with an uncharacteristically strained smile. he can’t stand this. what man could? but patience is a virtue, and he’s sure to take his revenge once the perfect moment arrives.

yet as you’re laid underneath him with your clothes almost ripped to shreds by his near inhuman claws, you can’t help but tease him. you coo at how cute he looks when he’s irritated, how he must be so desperate to fuck you. well fuck you he did, making sure to dig his nails a little deeper into your hips.

“you’re a lot more bearable to listen to like this.” tighnari scowled, his ears flattened against his head. “my ears are sensitive, i’ve told you many times.” he wants to be gentle to you, he knows he should. he salivates just looking at your weeping cock, and it takes everything for him to not stop fucking you and to suck you dry instead. but every man has his limits, and he will not make exceptions.

how many years late am i? far enough tbh… i hope to get back on track with writing!! i am a little rusty to say the least, not to mention i’m not totally familiar with tighnari. i apologize if this is REALLY ooc!!!

[deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist]

Absolutely glorious - I am still cackling like a maniac at these two! These were my favorites, both angsty and hilarious:

“If She hadn’t really wanted him, Dean could’ve offered himself in all his broken, foul glory and She would’ve walked away all by herself. Dean never would’ve needed to worry about losing Her, because he wouldn’t have had Her to begin with. But She’d said Dean Winchester, I want you, and he’d fucking believed Her. He never believed people when they said that.” Oh, damnit Dean…you poor boy

“And him believing Her meant Dean could lose Her. Could truly let Her down and get her hurt. So he’d said no. He’d lied with practiced ease—through his teeth and with a flat expression—and told Her he didn’t see her like that. That She was his best friend, and he’d just never felt that for Her.” Damnit, Dean! I want to throttle him.

“And now he could only hold Her. Only rub Her thighs when he was thinking, only touch her face when he tried to brush Her hair away, only feel Her everywhere, every second, until he drove himself mad.” Oh, damnit….Dean…such exquisite angst!

“It didn’t really count. That wasn’t Dean’s body that he was feeling. But the touch felt real, and he didn’t really want to let it go yet, not if this was the closest to holding Her he’d ever get. Just a small, torturous reparation for his sacrifice of never really having her, where he got to memorize Her body and keep it in his head forever. “C’mon,” Dean said Her name, because he wanted a little more time. A longer chance to exist in this purgatory, because he’d never get the chance to fully enter heaven.” Oh, Dean…damn…twist that knife!

“And I’m you.” She raised Her brows, still holding him, and the fiery feeling got worse. “I’m driving.” / “He should’ve fought more. But Her hand squeezed him lightly, and his whole body grew molten.” Oh, Dean <snickering>

“He wasn’t in full control. When they parked, his body didn’t want to move until She helped him out of his seat, and Dean didn’t miss the look of confusion on Her face, like she wasn’t entirely certain why She’d done that. It was the same expression she had when She guided him inside, or when She opened the door for him.” Damn, Dean. I love this SO much!!

“Don’t test me, Winchester. I swear to god I’ll eat a salad.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll take you for a run.” Bwahahaha!! Oh, Dean…damnit, you are so screwed!

“Some poor chick at the bar war probably getting hit on. The lady behind the counter seemed motherly. She’d handle it if it got out of hand, and Dean had bigger problems to deal with anyway. Problems like how if he didn’t have a milkshake right now, he might actually die.” Oh…oh, no…oh, damnit, Dean is about to learn a lesson about being a woman he is NOT going to like…

“He didn’t know what was happening, or why he was having such a visceral reaction to something that should’ve been passive and boring. Dean knew She got hit on all the time, because she was a fucking knockout, and his usual reaction to it was a possessive anger he had no right to feel. Not disgust, or a weird desire to retreat and hide-“ Aaaaand there it is - he still doesn’t get why her body is reacting to Dean’s body, does he? Bless…

“Dean was starting to like this curse less. To start, he didn’t appreciate the speed at which the idea of Her being his girl had been dismissed. He also wasn’t a huge fan of how She’d called him his girl, and he’d liked it. She’d been talking about how Dean was in Her body, and she probably didn’t want a random creep trying to get in her pants. / Dean’s body—Her body—loved the sound of Her agreement in his voice. It made him feel tingly. / It didn’t help how She was touching him—holding his arms as She glared at the man over his head—and it kicked the feeling from a soft, warm hum to fireworks. Dean wanted Her hand to meld there and never let go.” Oh, damn - SO well-done!!

“She crossed Her arms—Dean’s arms—and he wanted them to wrap around him and keep him warm and safe, maybe choke him a little or carry him around everywhere like he was the only thing She was meant to hold- Jesus.” <swinging and kicking my legs, giggling manically>

“Past Dean had been an idiot. That son of a bitch hadn’t needed to pee this bad, and he hadn’t spent months with Her just in reach.” Bwahahaha!!!

“Son of a bitch. She’d been manhandling him, and he was turned on by it. Her body was turned on by it. She wanted to Dean to jump in his own body and climb it like a tree, and Jesus, that ache between his legs was unbearable, and he wanted his own cock inside off him-They needed to fix this right fucking now.” Damnit, Dean - ROFLMAO!!!

This was AWESOME!! I am still cackling - this has elevated idiots in love into greater heights, and I am all for it! This totally wins the Internet for me tonight - Well-done!!!

Where Do You End Pt. 1

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 2

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, light angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have found yourself in a body swap situation, but your bodies don't seem to be aware of that. They keep trying to do what they always do.

And what they always do isn't really something either of you what the other to know about.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! On god I made it as weird as it could get. I'm proud of me. Also, we're once again looking at multiple parts. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.5k

This was fucking weird. 

Dean knew wasn’t exactly worth saying—it might be the most obvious statement in history—but this was so fucking weird. Weird in a way that made his brain feel a little fuzzy, that made his skin itch because there was no way this was real.

But there was certainly a way this was real.

And it wasn’t Dean’s skin that was itchy. 

She had nice skin. It was soft and comfortable to be inside of, the callouses on Her hands felt better placed than the ones on Dean’s, and there were scars that he’d sometimes touch on accident that felt more like art than stains. Her hair felt right whenever he’d brush his fingers through it. Her waist was perfect to hold whenever he’d brace his hands on his hips. And when Dean would reach up to rub his jaw, he’d be slammed with another reminder that this wasn’t his jaw. It was too smooth, at a different angle, and far too good.

This was the jaw he’d dreamt of holding and angling back. Of kissing a soft line across, sucking a small, dark mark on, or nipping at until everyone could see that Dean had been here. That his hand had wrapped around Her neck because she trusted him there, and he’d been holding Her chin up so She could look him in the eyes as they grinned at each other.

She had the prettiest smile. Her lips would curve up at the perfect angle, her eyes would shine like small stars, and every little line on Her face would serve as evidence that She was happy.

Dean hadn’t seen Her smile in a while. Not at him. Not like She used to. 

And he certainly wouldn’t see it now. He couldn’t.

All he could see was himself, across the room, rolling on the balls of his feet and sucking on his teeth as he thought.

As She thought.

This was so weird.

“I don’t like this.” She muttered, and Dean frowned. His voice sounded rougher, deeper, and heavier from outside. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, or how to interpret the small shivers up his spine and over his skin. 

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, in her sweet and musical voice, and he liked how it sounded. He’d always loved how She said her own name, like it was an answer to something or the only lesson Dean would ever need to learn. “Is it really that bad to be stuck in my body-“

“Yes.” She snapped, raising Her chin and glaring down at him, and now his heart was beating faster. “This feels weird, and I don’t like seeing you be me. You’re doing it wrong.”

Dean frowned, and Her hair fell over his eyes. “How the hell am I doing it-“

“You’re sitting wrong. Your legs are too wide, I don’t lean like that, and when I frown it’d not supposed to look like I’m trying to murder someone.”

Dean disagreed with that last one. Shit, for months the only expression he’d gotten from Her was a frown that told him She wanted him dead. 

He didn’t blame Her. He wasn’t all too happy with himself either, but it had been the only option. She wanted him. She said She wanted him, and she hadn’t been lying, and that had been the worst thing in the world.

If She hadn’t really wanted him, Dean could’ve offered himself in all his broken, foul glory and She would’ve walked away all by herself. Dean never would’ve needed to worry about losing Her, because he wouldn’t have had Her to begin with. But She’d said Dean Winchester, I want you, and he’d fucking believed Her. He never believed people when they said that. 

And him believing Her meant Dean could lose Her. Could truly let Her down and get her hurt. 

So he’d said no. He’d lied with practiced ease—through his teeth and with a flat expression—and told Her he didn’t see her like that. That She was his best friend, and he’d just never felt that for Her.

She nodded, and backed off. Smiling less and frowning more and still joking with him but never bumping their feet together under a table or leaning Her head on his shoulder. 

It was what he’d wanted. She was safer, and still within Dean’s reach to just see Her, to know she was okay. But he’d never expected to touch Her again. He’d made his peace with the fact that She’d always be just a stretch away, but never his to hold.

And now he could only hold Her. Only rub Her thighs when he was thinking, only touch her face when he tried to brush Her hair away, only feel Her everywhere, every second, until he drove himself mad.

He didn’t know if he wanted to thank the witch that had done this, or kill them again.

Right now he was leaning towards the later, if only because he really didn’t like seeing Her in his body. It wasn’t just weird. It was wrong.

“You’re not exactly acting like me either, sweetheart.” Dean raised his brows, and watched his own face drop into a further glower. “You’re standing too much like a girl.”

She scoffed. “What the fuck does that even mean-“

“You’re too relaxed-“

“Relaxed?”

“Yeah.” He tried to raise his chin, but Her hair fell in his face again. He didn’t know how the hell he was suppose to do anything when he had to keep it out of his face. “And you gotta walk slower. We’re not in a rush-“

“I’m in a rush! I told you, Dean, I don’t like this-“

“I’m not a big fan either!” He snapped. “But what the hell are we suppose to do about it? Every time we’ve tried to tell Sammy he hasn’t heard us-“

She rolled Her eyes. And they were Dean’s eyes, but that was Her eye roll. “That’s the curse, dumbass. We have to break it-“

“I got that, sweetheart, but I’m not seeing how you plan to do that without help-“

“I have you, Dean.” Her voice—his voice—was louder. Firmer. Commanding. It made his gut warm, and his body—Her body—sit a little taller of his own accord. “You’re on research duty, buddy. Let’s go.”

Dean scowled. He hated it when She called him buddy. He wasn’t Her buddy, he was supposed to be Her-

Nothing. Dean was Her nothing, because he’d been so very careful to make and keep it that way.

And that knowledge never stopped him from wanting Her. Wanting Her so bad that, when he’d glance down at her hands, now in his control, he couldn’t stop wondering if he’d ever get to feel them like this again. Rubbing against skin and tracing over the curve of his lips and trailing nails on his legs.

It didn’t really count. That wasn’t Dean’s body that he was feeling. But the touch felt real, and he didn’t really want to let it go yet, not if this was the closest to holding Her he’d ever get. Just a small, torturous reparation for his sacrifice of never really having her, where he got to memorize Her body and keep it in his head forever.

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, because he wanted a little more time. A longer chance to exist in this purgatory, because he’d never get the chance to fully enter heaven. “You don’t need my help-“

“Yes, I do.” She snapped, grabbing Her jacket from the bed and marching to the door. “Get up. We’re going.”

Dean didn’t want to get up, but Her body didn’t seem to agree with him. He pushed off the bed and gained an unsteady balance, because Her knees were oddly weak. She wasn’t weak—She hunted like an animal and had used this very body to knock Dean flat on his ass—but something was making him lightheaded and dizzy. 

He was probably just hungry. They hadn’t eaten since the curse hit. 

“If we’re doing this,” he grumbled, shuffling to put on Her shoes. “We’re doing it with food.”

“Deal.” She tried to shrug on Her jacket, froze when it didn’t fit around Dean’s body, and chucked it right at his face. “Wear that. I don’t want you getting me a cold.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but put on the jacket. She was already pissed, and this wasn’t worth fighting about.

“This is so weird,” She mumbled, shaking Dean’s head. “C’mon, Winchester, we’re fixing this-“

“Wait,” Dean frowned, patting his pockets—Her pockets—and scanning around the motel room. “Where are my keys-“

“You mean these keys?”

He turned to see Her holding up the Impala’s keys, a shit-eating grin on Her face. 

Dean narrowed his eyes, holding out his hand. “Gimme my keys.”

“No.” She shrugged, Her grin growing. “I think I’m good.”

“I’m not asking, sweetheart-“

“Okay. You take them, they’re yours.”

She walked out of the motel room, and Dean’s eyes widened. There was no fucking way She was driving his car.

“They are mine!” He shouted, sprinting after Her. “Just cause you’re in my damn body-“

Her body was faster than Dean was used to. He almost slammed right into Her back—His back—and an undignified sound left his when Her arms wrapped around his waist, catching him from a fall and holding him right to Her chest.

He’d never realized he was that broad. Or that strong. She was holding Dean like he was paper, and looking at him with shining eyes—he could see the real Her almost glowing in his body—and grinning with Her whole face. Dean’s whole face, with crinkles near his eyes he hadn’t known he had, and stubble on his jaw he’d meant to shave today.

Her hands were rubbing his waist. It was the small, careful circles he always dreamt of leaving on Her hips and arms. 

He wasn’t sure She knew she was doing it.

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat, because She needed to let go now. Her touch was burning on his body, and they hadn’t really touched since the curse hit, so maybe they weren’t allowed to. “Keys.”

She shook Her head. “This is my one chance to drive, Dean-“

“It’s my freakin’ car-“

“And I’m you.” She raised Her brows, still holding him, and the fiery feeling got worse. “I’m driving.”

He should’ve fought more. But Her hand squeezed him lightly, and his whole body grew molten. 

She needed to let go of him now. 

He tried to grunt Her name, but it just came out breathy and soft. “You crash it-“

“I pay for the repairs.”

Dean scowled, but gave in. Right now She was stronger and taller than he was, and Dean didn’t really want to lose any dignity trying to physically take the keys. 

And She didn’t crash it. Dean watched Her drive with careful attention—grumbling about what She was doing wrong until She shot him the deadliest glare he’d ever seen—and She never even came close to crashing. Her hands were big and firm and broad on Baby’s wheel, and Her arms would flex when she shifted the wheel, and there was a set look of determination on Her face that made her jaw look shaper-

That was not Her jaw. That was his jaw. And his arms, and his hands, and he wasn’t sure why the hell his eyes had been wandering over himself like that. He didn’t know why the hell he could feel his heartbeat in his throat and stomach. 

He wasn’t in full control. When they parked, his body didn’t want to move until She helped him out of his seat, and Dean didn’t miss the look of confusion on Her face, like she wasn’t entirely certain why She’d done that. It was the same expression she had when She guided him inside, or when She opened the door for him.

Those were things Dean always did for Her. He wasn’t used to a hand on his back, or how nice it felt there. Secure, like a tether that told him he’d be alright. He didn’t understand why his body leaned closer to Her’s as they walked, or why his stomach kept doing little flips when Her eyes would fall from scanning over the diner and land on his.

He felt so unbelievably safe and calm. Hell, he’d never felt like this. Like the sky could fall and it would be fine, because the body across from his in the booth would catch it. 

This was a really weird curse.

“You’re going to take notes,” She said, pushing a stack of books across the table that She must have pulled out of her ass. “I’ll look for something online.”

Dean frowned, shaking his head. The fucking hair was in his face again. “Why do I have to do the notes-“

“Because I have better handwriting, and you have my hands.” She handed him a notebook and pencil, and their fingers brushed, sending small sparks of electricity through Dean’s blood. “Tell me if you find something.”

“Nah, sweetheart. I think I’ll have some pie and do the online research-”

Dean had started to push everything back across the table, but he froze at the glare on Her face. It was downright domineering, and did weird things to his brain. He felt fuzzy. 

“You’re doing notes.” She grunted, and Dean definitely felt at least a little dizzy. “That’s it.”

His voice was high and almost bratty in his own ears. He didn’t like it. “But-“

“Don’t test me, Winchester. I swear to god I’ll eat a salad.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll take you for a run.”

Dean tensed. “You wouldn’t fuckin’ dare-“

“You wanna bet?”

She’d won the argument again. Those were the arguments Dean was supposed to win. He was supposed to be able to talk his way out of anything with Her. To smirk and wink and tease Her until she broke rank from Sam’s side, and Dean didn’t have to do the stupid parts of the cases anymore. He hadn’t taken notes in years. He hated taking notes, and he wanted to keep pushing until order was restored and She was doing the notes—she usually loved doing the notes—but Her body had other ideas.

His mouth couldn’t figure out how to open and snap at Her. His body was molded and frozen into the seat whenever She’d look at him, and something kept humming in his chest whenever She’d talk. He was taking notes because he couldn’t remember how not to—how to grab the laptop or point at Her with a stern finger—and Dean’s was writing fast and neat, and his hand wasn’t cramping.

His foot kept aching to inch forward and press on Her calf. His fingers kept wanting to reach out and trace Her jaw. Dean wanted to sit on Her lap—he could never say that one aloud—because his body seemed to think it would be comfortable. 

This curse was insane. He didn’t need to try and act like Her anymore, because his body—Her body—still seemed to remember how She was supposed to move. He found his hands spinning the pen between Her fingers like he’d seen her do a million times. His legs were crossed on the booth instead of spread under the table. He ordered a burger, but he couldn’t eat it. It was too greasy and heavy, and he already felt a little sick from just one bite. 

She’d ordered chicken nuggets, and put Her usual disgusting amount of ketchup on the plate, but barely touched them.

They smelled really good. Dean was starving, his mouth watering as he couldn’t stop staring at them—or Her, in his body, but he didn’t really want to dwell on that—and when She glanced up at him, Her eyes flicked to the burger in front of him.

They traded plates without a word. And Dean had never seen himself eat before, but he finally understood why Sam was always so annoyed with him. She inhaled that thing, chewing loudly and wiping Her mouth with the back of her hand, licking her fingers clean and making disgusting smacking sounds-

The sounds should’ve been disgusting. Instead they settled in Dean’s gut, lighting a small fire he didn’t know how to stop feeding. He couldn’t figure out how to not stare at Her, arms braced on the table and brow furrowed as she read something on the laptop screen. 

He had to excuse himself to go get more drinks. 

“One beer.” He muttered, then immediately cringed. Beer sounded foul to his mouth. “Actually, make it a milkshake.”

“Hey, darlin’.” 

Some poor chick at the bar war probably getting hit on. The lady behind the counter seemed motherly. She’d handle it if it got out of hand, and Dean had bigger problems to deal with anyway. Problems like how if he didn’t have a milkshake right now, he might actually die.

“What flavor, sweetheart?” The server asked, and Dean frowned. Being called sweetheart was weird.

He responded with Her usual order—hopefully that would satisfy his unwelcome craving—and someone off the side cleared the throat.

“You gonna answer me?”

A hand landed on Dean’s arm, and he flinched. It felt clammy and wrong on his body. Like a weight that settled into his bones and sent a creeping, itchy feeling over his skin.

He turned to see a fairly tall, well-built man grinning at him with an almost predatory smile. It made his body go rigid, almost shrinking in on itself.

“Are you, uh,” he frowned. “You talking to me?”

The man laughed. It was too loud, with not warmth, and echoed like a gunshot in his skull. “Course I am, sweetheart. I don’t see any other pretty girls ‘round.”

Oh.

Dean was the poor chick being hit on. 

And he hated it. His body hated it. Not only was this man’s touch wrong, his voice was wrong. It slithered over Dean’s gut and chest, making everything in him recoiled and balk, because that was not how he was supposed to be called sweetheart. 

“I, um,” he glanced back to the booth, frowning when he realized She was gone. “Listen, dude, I’m not-“

“Dude?” The man laughed. “We can do better than that, baby-“

Dean might have visibly recoiled. He hated baby, only one voice felt like it was supposed to call him baby, even if it never had-

He didn’t know what was happening, or why he was having such a visceral reaction to something that should’ve been passive and boring. Dean knew She got hit on all the time, because she was a fucking knockout, and his usual reaction to it was a possessive anger he had no right to feel. Not disgust, or a weird desire to retreat and hide-

“What’s going on?”

That was Dean’s own voice. And there was a large presence behind him that felt reliable. That his body wanted to lean back into.

When Dean turned, She was right there with narrowed eyes. 

He didn’t love how he immediately felt better, and softer, and a little light-headed.

“Hey, man, you gotta wait your turn-“

“My turn?” She snorted. “Walk away from hi- her, buddy, or I’ll kick your ass. I can do that now.”

She puffed Her chest, and—as soon as his brain remembered how to not be static warmth—Dean would have to talk to Her about not abusing his body for unapproved bar fights.

The man scoffed. “Bro, there ain’t no way this is your girl-“

“She is.” Her voice was dry, her face flat. “In more ways than you can imagine. Go.”

Dean was starting to like this curse less. To start, he didn’t appreciate the speed at which the idea of Her being his girl had been dismissed. He also wasn’t a huge fan of how She’d called him his girl, and he’d liked it. She’d been talking about how Dean was in Her body, and she probably didn’t want a random creep trying to get in her pants. 

Dean’s body—Her body—loved the sound of Her agreement in his voice. It made him feel tingly. 

It didn’t help how She was touching him—holding his arms as She glared at the man over his head—and it kicked the feeling from a soft, warm hum to fireworks. Dean wanted Her hand to meld there and never let go. When the man walked away and She started talking, he never wanted Her to shut up.

“You-“ She swallowed, shaking Her head slightly. “Never mind. I found it.”

Dean blinked at Her. “It?”

“How to tell Sam.

“Oh.” He paused, mostly staring at her as the words sank in, and letting out a long breath of relief escape him when they did. “Awesome.”

She raised Her brows. “You’re pro switching back now?”

“I’ve always been pro switching back-“

“You said it wasn’t that urgent.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I changed my mind, sweetheart. What’d you find.”

She gave him an odd look—Dean couldn’t tell if it was hurt, annoyance, or absolute indifference—but continued. “We have to work around the curse.”

“What the hell does-“

“We can’t tell Sam that I’m you and you’re me. Every time we have the call gets dropped, or something loud has drowned us out, Sam’s literally fucking hangs up-“

“I know,” Dean drawled Her name, giving Her a flat look. “I was there for all of that-“

“Shut up. My point is every time we’ve tried to explicitly tell him, he hasn’t heard us. So what if we just don’t?”

Dean frowned at Her. “Your solution is to just freakin’… give up? Like we’re a kiddie soccer team that lost one to many matches, and we’re gonna quit and cry about it?”

“No, Dean. My goal is to not say it, but let Sam figure it out himself.”

“How-“

“Think of something only you and Sam know about. Something you’d never disclose to anyone else.” A wide, broad grin was stretching over Her face. Dean’s face.

He couldn’t keep living like this.

“We’ve got a few of those kinds of secrets, but I’m not-“

“You don’t have to tell me. You have to tell Sam, in my voice. Just like I’m going to say one of our secrets in your voice.”

It was a smart plan, and it would probably work. Sam knew She and Dean were being so annoying and weird about each other, so they wouldn’t be spilling deep, dark secrets anytime soon. Sam would hear them, and he was smart, so he’d figure them out. 

But Dean was mostly stuck on the last part of that sentence.

“You and Sammy have secrets?”

She rolled Her eyes. “We’re friends. Of course we have secrets.”

“About what?”

“It’s not a secret if I tell you.”

She crossed Her arms—Dean’s arms—and he wanted them to wrap around him and keep him warm and safe, maybe choke him a little or carry him around everywhere like he was the only thing She was meant to hold-

Jesus. 

“Whatever.” Dean muttered. He needed to get away from Her now. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She frowned. “Can you hold it?”

“Yeah, but why the hell would I-“

“I don’t want you peeing in my body.”

Dean snorted. “Are you freakin’ serious-“

“Yes! You’ll have to wipe-“

“I know how to wipe, sweetheart. And you’re gonna need to take me to piss eventually-“

Dean could swear She blushed. He blushed. Goddamnit. 

“I’d hold it.” She snapped, standing a little taller. “You can go back at the motel, where I can go with you.”

“Why would you need to go with me-“

“I don’t want you touching me there, Dean!” Her voice was a low, hushed shout. “It’s- You don’t get to- I’d need to wipe, and make sure you didn’t look!”

“It’s just a pussy,” he said Her name slowly, and She looked like she was going to kill him.

His horrible body—Her body—wanted to either give in or push harder, until She snapped him in half. 

It seemed to like the idea of Her giving him anything at all.

Dean could work with that.

“Dean, I’m fucking serious-“

“So am I! It’s just a body, ” He sneered, and really wished She was taller. It was hard to be firm and authoritative when She was bigger. 

When this was over, he’d probably respect Her a little more. She shouted and him and Sammy all the time without ever flinching.

“Look, I get that this is weird as hell, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before-”

 “You haven’t seen it before. It’s my vagina, Dean, and you don’t get to see it now. Hold your piss.”

Suddenly, it clicked. She cared that Dean would be touching Her. If it was Sam, She wouldn’t give a shit.

But Dean had lost the right to touch Her there when he’d decided he could never hold Her.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. Past Dean had understood that She deserved better, and She shouldn’t have to live Her whole life with a target on Her back. Past Dean had known that She’d find better, and he’d be forgotten in a few years, and it was better for his to have another good thing slip through his fingers rather than hold it and break it. Past Dean just wanted Her to be happy and safe, and She’d never be both as long as She was attached to him.

Past Dean had been an idiot. That son of a bitch hadn’t needed to pee this bad, and he hadn’t spent months with Her just in reach. 

Dean opened his mouth to say something—not an apology, because he’d make that choice in every life to keep Her safe—but before he could, She was moving. Grabbing the hook of Dean’s arm and pulling him out of the diner.

“That’s my body, Dean.” She snapped. “You’re peeing at the motel.”

Dean grumbled an agreement, and didn’t fight all that hard. He had bigger worries. She was pulling him through the parking lot, and he was letting Her. Shit, he was trying to jog a little to keep up with Her, maybe fall into her side. Just fall into Her. She opened the Impala door and he scowled, but let Her help him inside. Her hand touched his lower back again, and it set off fireworks around his ribs and through his intestines.

He felt weirdly warm and gooey, his skin was tingling again, and when he shifted slightly in his seat he could feet something wet between his legs-

Son of a bitch.

She’d been manhandling him, and he was turned on by it. Her body was turned on by it. She wanted to Dean to jump in his own body and climb it like a tree, and Jesus, that ache between his legs was unbearable, and he wanted his own cock inside off him-

They needed to fix this right fucking now. 

End Note: Brace for incoming smut and silliness and angst. Brewing a perfect storm over here.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

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@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

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@and-i-wish @jsudsgf

[yougavememyopia]

OH MY GOD UR MASOCHIST YAN DRIVES ME INSANE TOO oh my god oh my godddd OOOOHHHHH MY GODDDD GFRRRGAVBNCJJSJKDKDOAODOOAKAKNFNHCHUEOROGLKSJSJHFJDODOAODI

wouldn’t it be so funny to imagine if crybaby yan and masochist yan had to fight over you somehow?? maybe a 3 roommate situation HAHA like masochist yan is so confident at flirting but you’re easily annoyed by him versus crybaby who struggles asserting himself but you have a soft spot for…. IM GOING CRAZYYUYYYYUSUDIAJOAOO

They would not get along.

Masochist yandere is mean to anyone who isn't you. He wants to isolate you as much as possible so he can have all your attention for himself and himself only. He wants to get rid of Crybaby yan as fast as possible. Get him evicted and then turn his room into a "game" room. But he can't. You actually like that pathetic mess for some reason he can't understand.

His go-to manipulation tactic is making you exhausted to resist. Constantly pleading. Talking your ear off so you have to agree with what he says. Still, you somehow remain resilient in your decision. No matter how much he tries to sugarcoat his words like always, or argue how Crybaby yan is literally a useless waste of space. You don't budge. Much to his demise, you threaten to kick him out instead.

Anytime Masochist yan did something that bothered his sensitive roommate, he'd get a scolding. Crybaby yan would aggregate his actions, just to get more of your pity. Burying his face into your neck and putting his legs around your waist. You'd shush him and pet his head, glaring at the guy who made him cry. He glares at you like, "Seriously, you're gonna take his side?"

If you start to doubt Crybaby yan, he knew exactly how to guilt-trip you. Puppy eyes. Pouty lips. Tears easily rolling down his cheeks. The perfect victim with his helplessness act.

As much as Masochist yan actually loves when you yell at him and get all angry, he doesn't like how the other boy was getting most of your time. He doesn't want to be just an annoying shit you bicker with. He also wants your affection— your hugs and headpats— his jealousy really obvious.

"So when I ask to cuddle, it's annoying. When he does it, it's adorable? That's not fair.... Augh! Look what you did. You made me cry! Is that what you wanted? Huh? Is that what you're into, you perv?"

He'd plop down beside you on your shared couch and grumpily look to the side. His whines stopping. You slowly thread your fingers through his hair like the other yandere lying on your lap. And just like that, he melts into you like a pudding. Shamelessly whimpering with his eyes closed. Brows furrow as he hugs your side tight. Eventually, they both learn to get along.

Unlike Crybaby yan—who doesn't openly talk about his feelings (unless it's saying how he doesn't want you to ever leave)—Masochist yan tells you exactly what he thinks. Even if not appropriate. He values honesty, so to him, being a tattletale is justified.

When you come home from a long day, Masochist yan is quick to give you a report of what you missed before you could even step inside.

Standing on his tippy toes to look taller and crossing his arms while he loudly began to speak. "The little creep you love so much sneaks into your room and smells your dirty laundry! Isn't he so gross? You're disgusted, right?"

Poor Crybaby yan looks paler than usual as he looks away from you with teary eyes. Unable to face you, dreading your reaction. Anger causes him to finally speak back against his irritating peer. "W-well, at least I don't s-steal the clothes like you."

"I don't steal, I burrow!" Masochist yan argues back, knowing well he doesn't have an actual point. "And I asked before I took something."

"A-are you serious? You ran away with it before you could get denied—"

"—Boys, boys, boys. That's enough!" You walk to stand between them abruptly. Arms on either shoulders, feeling their muscles tense up. "You're both in a lot of trouble, y'know..."

They glance at each other for a moment, then at you. Your playful words rousing sinful thoughts for one and petrified ideas for another. Different kind of scenerios of how you could punish them rushing in their mind. A playful hum and a scared squeak when you tug their arms and push them inside.

-----‐-------------------------------------------------------------

I WAS LITERALLY IMAGINING THE SAME THING!!!! LIKE THE EXACT. SAME. THOUGHT. Thank you for pulling this idea out of its dark bottomless pit~

Now, let's turn it into smut.

[doodle-pops]

Lords of Gondolin | When You Kabedon Them vs When They Kabedon You

Request: For the house gondolin would you be willing to do a group headcanon for kabedoning their s/o vs getting kabedoned by their s/o? 👉👈 Have a great December!

A/N: Oh anon, I hope this was done to your liking, and what you were expecting. Enjoy!

Synopsis: How the elves react when you corner them compared to when they corner you.

Masterlist | Navigation

.𑁍༊˚ Galdor

Galdor had never really considered himself the sort to be easily flustered. He was a warrior, a leader, someone who had seen battle and withstood its horrors without so much as a tremor. But then, of course, you had to go and press him up against the nearest wall, one hand braced beside his head, your expression positively devious.

He blinked at you as he tried to make sense of what was happening. “Are you trying to intimidate me?” His tone was dubious, a little amused even, but there was the faintest pink creeping up his ears.

The moment you leaned in, his composure wavered. He cleared his throat, but his voice had a rough edge when he spoke again. “This seems unfair. I am entirely unarmed.”

If you stole a kiss, he would recover quickly, cupping your face in his hands and pulling you in for another, deeper one—one that was far more calculated than your spontaneous attempt.

You did, however, manage to fully catch him off guard one evening after training when he was weary and unsuspecting. He had barely unbuckled his sword belt when you cornered him in the hallway. He actually took a step back before realising what you were doing. “...Must you do this while I am defenceless?”

If you ever caught him in a moment of deep contemplation and suddenly kabedon’d him, he would take an obnoxiously long pause before looking at you and saying, “Ah. You have finally lost your senses.”

When Galdor kabedons you:

He is not usually the sort to try and fluster you just for the fun of it, but if you had been provoking him all day, he had no qualms about giving you a taste of your own medicine.

He did not do it gently, nor did he do it lightly. One moment you were standing with him in the corridor, and the next your back was against stone, his arm braced above your head. He leaned down slightly, his voice low. “Let us see how you like it, hm?”

He would be very, very close. Not close enough to kiss you—no, that would be too easy—but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, could see the sharp amusement in his eyes.

If you tried to lean away, he would follow, not letting you escape quite so easily. His lips would quirk in amusement. “Is this not what you wanted?”

When he did kiss you, it was slow and deliberate, his free hand settling against your hip as if to keep you in place. “I think,” he murmured, “that you rather like this.”

.𑁍༊˚ Ecthelion

Ecthelion was entirely unreadable when you kabedon’d him. He merely arched a brow, his arms crossed over his chest as he regarded you with mild amusement.

“An interesting tactic,” he mused, as if you were in the middle of some military strategy discussion. “And what is your next move?”

You were prepared for teasing, for flustering him, but not for the way he subtly leaned into you, just enough that your breath caught. “Do you intend to keep me here all day, or shall we get to the part where you lose your nerve?”

You did not lose your nerve. You kissed him instead, triumphant, only to realise he had caught your wrist in his grasp, his smirk widening slightly. “Predictable,” he murmured, before reversing the situation entirely.

You were the one against the wall before you could even react, and now he was the one looking down at you, all dark eyes and silent laughter. “You will have to do better than that, meleth.”

You once tried to do this after he had been drinking, assuming his reactions would be slower. The plan backfired. Instead of looking surprised, he merely sighed and reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You are determined to test me, aren’t you?”

If you ever did this in front of others, he would react with the same composure, but there would be the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips, like he was trying not to smirk. The moment you were alone, he would absolutely pay you back for it.

When Ecthelion kabedons you:

It was always precise, calculated. He never wasted movement. One moment you were standing comfortably, and the next his arm was caging you in, his gaze sharp with amusement.

“I do wonder,” he murmured, “if you ever consider the consequences of your actions before you enact them.”

The problem with Ecthelion was that he was utterly unreadable. You could not tell if he was teasing or if he genuinely intended to keep you there.

He leaned down, close enough that his nose nearly brushed yours. “You do this often enough. I felt it was only fair to return the favour.”

He always left you thoroughly flustered, if only because he had an uncanny ability to anticipate your every reaction.

.𑁍༊˚ Glorfindel

Glorfindel was not prepared. At all.

One moment, he was talking, all confidence and charm, and the next—bam—your hand was beside his head, your gaze sharp and unwavering.

He blinked at you, utterly confused. “Meleth, are you feeling well?” Unlike Ecthelion, who would lean into the game, or Galdor, who would remain infuriatingly calm, Glorfindel simply did not know how to react.

You had to explain why you were doing it. That only resulted in him grinning at you in a way that made your heart race. “Ah. So this is meant to be intimidating?”

He made it impossible. He leaned against the wall like he was comfortable, like you had not just cornered him. “Oh no,” he said, grinning. “I am at your mercy. Whatever shall I do?”

When you kissed him, he hummed into it, pleased. “I should let you pin me against walls more often.” If you held your ground, he would try very hard to keep his composure, but the faint pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him.

Once, you caught him off guard—he had been mid-sentence when you abruptly pressed him against the wall. He actually stammered for a moment before laughing. “Alright, alright. That was well played.”

When Glorfindel kabedons you:

Oh, you were in trouble.

Glorfindel did not hesitate. The moment he decided to turn the tables, he moved—quick, effortless, and before you knew it, you were against the wall, his body caging you in.

He never did it seriously. It was always playful, always teasing. One arm braced above your head, his other hand catching your chin. “I wonder,” he murmured, “if this is how you feel when you do it to me.”

He made everything ten times worse by smiling through it, utterly delighted by your reaction.

“You look rather lovely when you are trying not to blush.”

If you tried to escape, he would just chuckle and lean in further, trapping you even more effectively. “No, no. I worked hard for this. Let me have my moment.”

The worst part? He would always kiss you after, slow and deep, as if he had won whatever game you were playing.

.𑁍༊˚ Egalmoth

Egalmoth was far too confident for his own good, so when you kabedon’d him, he did not look the least bit intimidated. If anything, his lips quirked in amusement as he tilted his head. “Ah, so this is how we’re playing today?”

He was annoyingly comfortable with it, even bracing one hand over yours as if he were the one trapping you. “How daring. What do you intend to do now?”

The moment you leaned in, he smirked and closed the distance for you, catching your lips before you could even tease him properly.

He was the worst person to try this on because he would never let you win. If you thought you had the upper hand, he would simply turn the tables on you before you even realised it.

You once caught him off guard—truly off guard—while he was reading. He nearly dropped the book, his eyes flicking up to yours with uncharacteristic surprise. That was a victory.

“Is this some new form of strategy?” he mused. “Because if so, I must say, I quite enjoy it.”

If you really wanted to fluster him, you had to get creative. One evening, you cornered him when he had just finished bathing, his hair still damp, his robe loosely tied. That was when he let out a sharp breath and actually hesitated.

When Egalmoth kabedons you:

Oh, he lived for this. You had done it to him once, so naturally, he had to return the favour—dramatically.

It was never just a simple kabedon. No, he had to lean in, let his fingers ghost over your jaw, tilt your chin just so—all while wearing that insufferable smirk.

“Caught you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement.

If you tried to look away, he would chuckle, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Now, now. You started this game, meleth. Do not falter now.”

He would always steal a kiss at the end of it, just to make sure he walked away victorious.

.𑁍༊˚ Rog

Rog was not easily flustered, but he was a bit too straightforward for these kinds of games. When you kabedon’d him, he just stared at you like you had lost your mind.

“Are you trying to threaten me?” His tone was dubious, but there was an amused spark in his eyes.

You leaned in closer, trying to keep up the act, and that was when you saw his reaction—his hands twitched like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. His ears went slightly pink.

“You are playing a dangerous game,” he muttered, his voice lower than before.

The moment you actually kissed him, he melted into it before realising what had happened. Then, with a scoff, he pulled you into a proper kiss, one that left you breathless. “Next time, you will have to do better than that.”

You tried it once while he was in the middle of explaining battle formations to his men. The reaction was instant. He just stopped, his mouth slightly open, his soldiers staring.

“I—” He blinked down at you, utterly baffled. “...Now?”

If you ever pinned him properly, using all your strength, he would let you, just to humour you. But the moment you got too smug, he would effortlessly reverse it, his grin sharp. “Nice try.”

When Rog kabedons you:

He was fast. One moment you were standing there, and the next your back was against the wall, his arm braced above you, his other hand resting on his hip.

“So,” he drawled, entirely too amused. “How does it feel to be on the other side?”

He did not tease like the others—he was too confident for that. Instead, he just watched your reaction, his sharp gaze taking in every flicker of emotion.

If you blushed, he smirked. If you tried to act unaffected, he would leanin, just close enough to test your resolve.

“You do this too often,” he murmured. “Perhaps I should start returning the favour more.”

He always kissed you at the end, but his were deep, possessive things, leaving you breathless and very aware of how easily he could overwhelm you.

.𑁍༊˚ Maeglin

Maeglin had spent his whole life controlling his emotions, keeping his expressions carefully neutral. But when you kabedon’d him?

He froze. Not visibly, not obviously—but you saw the sharp intake of breath, the slight tension in his jaw.

“What,” he said slowly, “are you doing?”

His voice was too steady, too controlled. You could feel the way his pulse had quickened slightly beneath that carefully crafted mask.

You leaned in, tilting your head, watching for any sign of weakness. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to react but refused to.

“This is—” He cut himself off when your breath ghosted over his skin, his grip tightening. He knew he was losing.

The second you kissed him, his entire frame went tense—but then his hands shot up, gripping your waist with sudden force, pulling you in.

“You like doing this to me, don’t you?” His voice was low, almost a growl.

He let you win for exactly five seconds before flipping the situation entirely. Now you were the one caged against the wall, and he was far too close. “Let us see how you like it.”

When Maeglin kabedons you:

He was silent about it. No teasing, no warning. One moment you were standing, and the next you were trapped.

His hand was braced firmly against the wall, his eyes dark as they flicked over your face, taking in every tiny reaction.

He didn’t need words. He just let the tension sit between you, watching as your confidence wavered.

And then slowly he leaned in.

“You do not look so smug now,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You were the one flustered now, and he relished every second of it.

He would wait before kissing you, just to see you squirm, just to make sure you felt the anticipation. And when he did kiss you? It was deep, slow, utterly consuming.

“You thought this would be a game,” he murmured afterwards, his lips brushing your ear. “You should have known better.”

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[gensideas]

I’M JUST ONE CLICK AWAY .

summary . rafe is always available for y/n.

content * advisory . Body shaming, a little angst, but most of all fluff¡

It started off simple, only calling rafe when you needed your pipes fixed, something was too heavy, hanging up the TV, etc.

then, it got more frequent. asking him if he was ever free, or he would call you to see if you wanted to be his plus one to an event. Of course you never denied him. If anything, you loved accompanying him whenever he asked. It was sweet really, always having time to talk to each other or just simply hanging out no matter the time.

This time, it was a little different. instead, you both were getting ready together. You never knew where or how it started but, it just did. It was comforting, and relaxing.

“rafey” you spoke as you finished the finishing touches to your make up. “Yes, sweetheart?” he replied, leaning on the doorframe. “Which dress do you think i should wear? the red one or the navy blue one?” you asked, holding both dresses up. “hmmm…” he hummed, walking up to you. “I think the navy blue will look amazing on you.” “Well then, navy blue it is.” you responded, placing the red one down, smiling at rafe. “i’ll be right back!” “I'll be waiting baby.”

“Alright, how do I look?” you asked, stepping out of the bathroom. “You look sexy always baby.” Rafe replied, placing his hands on your waist. you looked up at him, placing a peck on his lips. He held your face, deepening the kiss. you pulled apart, earning a groan from him. “hey hey, don’t get so grumpy, we’re gonna be late if we don’t hurry.” you smiled, walking up to your vanity. “yeah yeah” rafe replied, clearly staring at your ass but, he couldn’t think about too much right now. you had placed to be.

Soon enough, you made it to the party he invited you to. you both walked up and got greeted by a tipsy barry, “country club, i'm glad you two could make it.” Barry spoke, slightly slurring his words. “yeah, you know i couldn’t by myself.” Rafe replied, smiling down at you. Barry stepped aside, letting the both of you step inside. it was quite honestly, you didn’t think Barry would be the type to decorate.

“I'm gonna go get a drink baby, do you want anything?” Rafe asked, holding your waist. “no rafey, im okay. thank you.” you smiled. He nodded, walking towards the bar. “y/n!” you heard someone shouting your name. as soon as you turned around one of your friends ran up to hug you. it caught you by surprise, a little overwhelmed by it, but at last you hug her back. “Hi! how are you?” you asked, walking with her towards the couch. “I’m good, thank you for asking.”

meanwhile, in the bar.

“so, how’s it goin’ with little miss y/n?” kelce asked, taking a sip of his drank. “it’s going really good actually. a lot better than i hoped.” rafe smiled, thinking of you. “aye, im glad it’s goin’ for you man. you deserve it.” Topper spoke up. “yeah man, i mean after the shit with sofia, it was well deserved.” kelce laughed. rafe didn’t like the thought of thinking about sofia. not after everything that happened with groff. Ignoring the question, rafe just takes a sip of his drink. He turned around trying to look for you, but he couldn’t find you. he’d figure you’d be with your friends like you are in the beginning of these types of events. So, he returned to talking to his friends.

“so you and rafe huh?” a girl sitting in front of you spoke. “yeah, we’re a thing, why?” you smiled, questioning why she’d said that. “it’s just, i didn’t expect him to be with someone so..” she stop mid way. “so what?” you asked, giving her a confused look. “so..big.” she finished, trying to hold in her laugh. you just stared at her, questioning why she would say that. Without saying a word, you got up and walk towards the balcony. You could hear her along with her friends laughing as you walked away. “Y/n wait!” your friend yelled after you. “dont. just let her go, she needed to hear it anyway.”

you tried not to cry, the whole time you’d looked good then, someone had to go and ruin it for you. In the process of trying to calm down, you started to feel a lump in your throat form. Causing you to feel like you can’t breathe. Rafe wasn’t there to help you so, you were scared you’d have to do it all by yourself.

you didn’t know but, rafe had already been looking for you but, he couldn’t find you. That’s when he heard his phone ring. “yeah guys hold on.” rafe stopped, and moved to a quieter spot to pick the phone. “Y/n baby, what’s going on?” rafe worried, wondering why you sounded so distressed. “rafe, i cant breathe. i-i don't know what to do and i don't know where you are.” you said, holding onto your chest. “okay baby, slow down. where are you right now?” Rafe asked, trying to search for you. “I'm at the balcony please, i c-cant breathe.” “you cried, feeling the panic attack get worse. “alright baby, stay right there. im walking towards you.” he hung up, running towards you.

“hey hey hey, it’s okay. take a deep breath, i’ll do it with you, ready?” he spoke, leaning down towards you. you nodded, following him, trying to stimulate your breathing. “you’re okay baby, shh” he held you tight, feeling his heart tear while listening to you struggle slightly. “you all better?” rafe asked, kissing your forehead. “yeah, I'm okay now.” you smiled, following up with another question, “can we go home?” you asked, getting up. “yeah of course we can.” rafe responded, placing his hand on your lower back.

as you walked towards his car you spoke up.“thank you for being there. I couldn't find you, so I called you.”

“it’s okay baby, no need to apologize. you needed my help.” rafe replied, opening the side door for you. you waited for him go hop in the driver side to continue speaking. “i know but, you were conversating with your friends. i didnt mean to-“

You were caught off guard when rafe kissed you. you slightly whimpered when he pulled apart from you. “baby, like i said you needed me when you were having a panic attack. i’d stop anything for you.” he smiled when he watched you giggle. “never forget what I told you baby.” you looked confused as he started the car, backing out the driveway.

“I’m just a click away.”

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