#series: sa

[graegrape-art]

diagnosis

[grendel-menz]

werewolves and country mice

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

The Back Hug - a sign of both trust and protection. As a recipient it means someone literally has your back. As a giver it means you are willing to protect them from anything.

Eien No Kinou

Unknown

Be My Favorite

Like In The Movies

My Tooth Your Love

A Boss And A Babe

Happy Merrry Ending

Cherry Magic The Movie

Love Mate

Moonlight Chicken

My favorite backhugs (Part 6/?) as part of my favorite bl-tropes-collection.

[dippedinmelancholy]

TW: Discussions of SA, consequences, and shit men interacting with women who have been sexually abused. I've been toying with this for a while, trying to find the answer for it on my own but I just can't seem to. Why does SJM treat SA so horrendously? All of her series have this underlying theme feminism, finding your strength, fighting back, ect. Which, on the surface, is amazing. Except multiple women have histories of either straight up SA'd or have endured something that is very much an allegory of SA. Lydia - CC3 Lydia is repeatedly SA'd by her partner, something she doesn't fight back against as it's part of her double agent business. This is an on screen example of very near martial rape. He's violent with her, only put off by her monthly cycle. Ruhn gets hints of it, but there's no denying his knowledge of her pain and her many years of abuse. The first time he and Lydia connect as a couple sexually, despite having this knowledge, he shows her no softness. Lydia herself has no issue with this. There's no sensual connection, no refutal that they don't need sex to care for one another, they don't need sex to seal their relationship. No character development for Ruhn who up to this point has been a borderline sex crazed frat boy. The sex is intense, and though it lacks hard violence, the undertones of ferocity are there. Nesta - ACOSF

Nesta is a victim of SA, something only Cassian has picked up clues on. First, she is assaulted by her fiance of the time. Then, she is violently assaulted by the Cauldron, because she fights back. If she had been a "good girl" and just taken the Cauldron's attention rather than fight back and try to escape, her abuse would not have been so bad, something that very easily and so very clearly translates to real world victims. Then, she is assaulted by the Kelpie. He wishes to make her his "bride", dragging her to a watery death where dozens of women before have died as well. It isn't spelled out for us, but any person with two brain cells can put it together. What do monstrous men do with their brides? What is the role and purpose of a bride? He too assaults her, and plans to rape her. Then, she encouters Lanthys who plans to make her his Queen to rule the world, and forces images into her mind, showing her exactly how he will take and taste her body. Four moments of sexual assault. Three from other worldly, mind breaking evil entities. The Cauldron is just as vile as the other two, corrupted by the Asteri and taking pleasure in hurting Nesta. Again, again, again, Cassian is confronted with instances of Nesta being violated. Again, again, again, he knows the way she has been sexually assaulted, sees how she tries to cope and fails horribly. And yet, how does every sexual encounter go? He is intense. He is borderline violent sexually, though he'd never raise a hand to her. He has no care to give her softness. He practically punishes her for calling it "just sex" despite her being a 20 something scared woman who's never had an impactful relationship where her body wasn't something to be traded and yielded like a fortune of gold, and him being a 500 yr old man who is supposedly supposed to understand women and be more emotionally mature/understanding than Rhysand or Azriel. The men, Fenris/Rhysand - ToG

Fenris and Rhysand too suffer from SA, both from the hands of powerful, cruel mistresses they are "serving" to protect someone they love. These two men are granted space to hurt, to cry, to not know what they want. The fandom in turn is soft with them. The text is sexually soft with Rhysand, though there's no sexual focus with Fenris (which is completely fine, his friendship with Aelin is powerful enough to me). Feyre is soft and understanding with Rhysand, as she should be, yet I can't help but notice this very obvious and stark difference. The Difference

Why are the women treated and written this way? Why are they given no softness, no space to not know what they want? Why are they not given partners who have the bare minimum sense to not rail them like a pornstar? As a victim of SA myself, I'm very much in favor of women reclaiming their sexuality and finding power in it. But there's no journey for these women, no healing. They simply are 'fine' in every sexual moment for their partners, because why would a woman be anything but a wet, willing hole for their partners? Moments after Cassian breaks Nesta wholly, when she was seconds away from jumping from the side of a cliff, he fucks her. She breaks down, sobbing and utterly alone, abused emotionally and physically by HIS HAND, and he fucks her. He tells her it will be fine because he suffered hundreds of years ago, and look, he's great! After all, half of the fandom collectively agrees Nesta should be grateful for being boiled alive, retorn and violated on every possible level. All because she happens to be cruel at times, she isn't a perfect victim, and why should she have any pain when Cassian is right there? All that matters is his wet cock.

There is a constant underlying theme here, across all of the series, all focused on the women, and an obvious opinion and writing habit. If you brush this off as 'it's just a book', I would like to remind you that most of the ACOTAR fanbase are women, young women who are often in their first or second relationship and just now understanding what they should accept in their relationships. It makes me very concerned for Gwyn, who has the most violent and tragic SA history. It makes me concerned for all women who don't see the underlying issues here. At it's core though, it just makes me sad.

[blob-monster]

[creamecafe]

2 years since the first season of Wednesday has come out and I will defend Tyler with my heart. He was groomed, tortured, enslaved by Thornhill and neglected by his father. Everybody always overlooks that he was most possibly sexually assaulted by Thornhill and y'all still find a reason to hate him. BOTH female and male SA representation should be taken seriously and equally, not just one.

[retromotherfuckers]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[shey-pancake]

TW: S/A topics ⚠️

so, I wanted to make a self-insert oc as this is my new comfort story, and that I feel represented, I had to !! I did two versions, a normal one and a "at work" one

meet: Yellow 💛

he is a friend of blue, and has also suffered from S/A.

Victaton has already clarified that blue is the only one man in the company, but this is just a silly self insert of mine for my own comfort, so it doesn't matter, both mutually support each other <3

[gabrielokun]

[extremely-judgemental]

Someone just said Outlander, which I remember mentioned somewhere as SJM's favourite book, is a perfect example for 'SA used for aesthetics'. It's all starting to make sense now.

[shorlinesorrows]

okay, a couple things on alien stage/ivantill that I think some folks maybe need to consider and internalize.

Till does not "need" to return Ivan's feelings in the slightest if he doesn't feel that way. It's heart wrenching to see Ivan love him and have those feelings unreturned, but please remember that no one is required to return romantic feelings for someone else. You can't make yourself love someone, and you shouldn't. Especially out of guilt or obligation. That's Unhealthy 101, and would only set a relationship up for failure. (I do think Till cared about Ivan, and that he's going to have a Guilt Complex based on the fact that he didn't fully notice Ivan's feelings/care toward him until the guy died, but I've seen a couple of people tear into Till for not noticing/reciprocating Ivan's feelings??? Don't do that??? their situation is shitty, the fact that they didn't get to talk is shitty, but please don't blame Till for things he Can't Control.)

The kiss was not consensual. It wasn't meant to be portrayed as such. It wasn't even really romantic, it was a desperate, selfish act that Ivan used to get Till's attention (in more ways than one) and to give himself some sense of closure before he died. It was him saying everything that he felt at once, with no chance for Till to reciprocate or deny the affection. In a perfect world, they could have talked instead of this, maybe kissed knowing both wanted it, or given Till a chance to refuse. But they're both in the middle of an essential death tournament and one of them is going to be murdered sometime in the next few minutes. Neither of them really wants to live, but Ivan feels he has unfinished business before his sacrifice, so he finishes it. Their situation sucks. That doesn't mean the kiss was consensual. (especially considering the theory/implication that Till was/is being sexually assaulted by aliens, I wouldn't be surprised if this affects him badly in the future, for multiple reasons. Everyone should always get the chance to say "no" and have that fully respected. This also extends to the fact that Ivan died for Till without giving him a chance to stop it, which is probably going to mess with Till's head a lot. Then again, Ivan likely didn't think it would affect Till much because as far as he/we know, the feelings aren't reciprocated in this moment in canon, or are extremely repressed. Ivan might believe that Till simply hates him, or the kiss/subsequent "choking" may have been a way of trying to make Till hate him so that his death wouldn't hurt as much. Of course that thinking is flawed, because it would hurt Till no matter what, but still, it makes me sad)

Ivan... is kinda messed up. I adore him, but we've got to acknowledge that he has little to no emotional and relationship maturity due to the fact that he was quite literally raised as a pet and learned at a young age to do whatever his masters said to keep himself safe and pain-free. His fascination with Till appears to largely stem from Till's sense of rebellion. Ivan's examples of relationship dynamics and what constitutes as "love" is dangerously unbalanced, and he does not know how to build a healthy relationship. (Neither of them do.) This is also built onto the fact that the person he became dependent on only paid attention to him when they were fighting or Ivan was annoying him. Ivan cares about Till desperately, but he is also dangerously reliant on him to the point of self-detriment. Again, in an ideal world, they would be able to get out of this situation and gradually make a healthy relationship/friendship (depending on Till's feelings) over time while starting to undo the dangerous relationship patterns that they fell into when they didn't have any way to know better. But they're in a terrible situation, and Ivan really just doesn't get the chance to grow as a person and realize that his sense of possessiveness and reliance on Till's attention isn't healthy.

Basically, their situation makes me want to sob and its heart wrenching. Their circumstances have set them up for failure. Both of them are in the midst of attempting to survive an abusive situation and massive amounts of dehumanization. I beg, please try not to sanitize their complicated relationship or blame either of them for the pain the other is going through. I've seen some of that going around, and it's making me sad :(

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Things Learned and Unlearned Ch. 10

Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)

Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁

Chapter Warnings: Implied smut, angst. Read the tags if you're especially sensitive to certain triggers. I don't want to put them here because they're sort of spoilers.

Word Count: 4,698

A/N: Here's Ch. 10. I so appreciate all the love and support you're all giving this series. Hope you enjoy the latest installment. ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Soft snow drifted slowly past the window, white lace against an inky black sky. The world was muffled, and it felt like there was only the two of them in all existence. 

Y/N loved these moments. She wished they could last longer.

But their first week together was almost over and she could feel the vice-like grip that time had on her life. 

They'd been out and about, all over New York and she loved it. But these were still her favorite moments - when the world slept, and time slowed. 

She laid on her side, stretched out and naked beside Dean. She was propped up on her elbow, her cheek resting in her palm. 

Dean dozed lightly as she ran her free hand up and down his torso. He was covered to his waist with the blanket, leaving the wide expanse of his chest and the flat of his stomach exposed for her to run her fingers over.

As she brought her fingertip up to trace over his lips, Dean's breathing changed and his eyes fluttered open. When he saw her staring down at him, his eyes closed again and a sleepy smile pulled up the corners of his mouth.

“Why are you staring at me?” He asked in a voice rough with sleep.

Y/N shrugged and ran the tips of her fingers over his cheekbone and down his jaw. “I don't know, you're just pretty, I guess.”

Dean's smile grew wider and he turned his head slightly so he could kiss her knuckles as she slid them across his scruffy cheeks.

“Well, then by all means, continue.” His words were slightly muffled against her fingers.

His eyelids fluttered open again and Y/N sighed deeply at the site of his stunning emerald gaze. He wasn't pretty, he was beautiful - the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, easily.

Dean quirked an eyebrow. “What's going on inside that mysterious mind of yours?” He asked softly.

Not wanting to admit that she'd simply been swooning over him, she smiled teasingly. 

“I was just thinking that there's an awful lot I still don't know about you. I have questions.”

Dean rolled his eyes playfully. “And you've decided the best time to ask me these questions is at,” he looked at the clock on the wall, but couldn't make out the numbers in the darkened room, “at this ungodly hour of the night? When I'm exhausted?” He finished.

Y/N grinned. “Yep.”

When Dean just shook his head with an indulgent smile, Y/N launched into her questions.

“When is your birthday?”

“January 24th.”

“Ooh, it's coming up.” 

Dean shrugged and nodded. “Soon enough.”

Y/N put a finger to her lips, thinking. “Mmm…what's your favorite meal?”

Dean thought for a moment. “Steak and potatoes. Medium rare.” He held up a finger. “Uh, the steak, not the potatoes.” He clarified.

Y/N chuckled. “Good choice.” She paused for a second. “Have you ever been in love?”

Dean's surprise showed on his face before his expression darkened and he pulled away from her, sitting up against the headboard. He shook his head and his tone attempted to be teasing, but didn't quite make it. 

“You went from steak and potatoes to love?” He said the word with a hint of a sneer and shook his head again. 

“No.”

“How do you know?” Y/N asked, aware by his expression that she was on thin ice, but desperately wanting an answer.

“I know because I know.” When Y/N opened her mouth again, he cut her off. “Next question.” He said firmly.

Disappointed, but realizing that was all the answer she was going to get, she moved on, sitting up as well, and tucking the blanket around her nakedness to guard from the chill. Without Dean's warmth, she got cold quickly.

“Um…what kind of student were you?”

Dean's tightly stretched smile softened a little and he shrugged. 

“An unruly one. Sammy was the good student; he was the one who loved school.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I left school when I was thirteen to work.”

Y/N frowned. “That's awfully young.”

He shrugged and his tone was a little too nonchalant. “I like my work.”

“Still, it's a shame you didn't have more time.”

Dean’s brow wrinkled. “Time for what?”

“To be young.” Y/N said, her tone sympathetic.

Dean shook his head. “I'm good.”

Y/N was going to ask more questions, but suddenly Dean pushed up to his knees and used his weight to shove Y/N backwards onto the mattress. 

He reached between them to yank away her blanket, but it didn't matter; she didn't need it with his warm skin and searching fingers back to heat her up.

As he pressed hot kisses down her body, Y/N gasped. “I thought you were exhausted.”

He smiled wolfishly as he moved back up to claim her mouth. He slid his fingers up through the slick wetness that was pooling between her legs, making her suck in a breath as he ended the kiss.

“I'll sleep when I'm dead.”

***

The next morning, they were both exhausted. Dean slept later than he'd meant to and woke up running. 

He came out of the washroom as he tied his red and blue striped tie around his throat.

“Oh, there's a friendly poker game this evening that I'd like us to attend. It's being held in the private back room at Gladwell's Gaming Hall. It's being organized by the group at Northern Freight, but men from Clearwater will be there too along with others. There's going to be a lot of business happening amongst us, so I probably won't be much company.”

He finished tying his tie and darted back into the bathroom, his voice rising so he could still be heard.

“But I think it's important you come, so we can keep up the facade of a social gathering anyway. Other women will come with some of the men, I'm sure.”

“But not wives.” The words were out of Y/N's mouth before she could stop them, but she wished she could take them back immediately. 

Of course not, you fool. Y/N thought angrily at herself. You think these men are going to invite their wives to a gaming hall?

There was silence from the bathroom for a moment and then Dean came out, brushing something from the sleeve of his perfectly tailored dark blue suit.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not wives.”

Y/N shook her head and smiled widely, trying to dispel the awkwardness surrounding them.

“Alright, I'll be ready for seven?”

Dean nodded, walking towards her and bending to kiss her lips briefly. “Good.” He cleared his throat. “See ya.”

He left the room and Y/N felt her stomach sink. The prospect of the gathering didn't fill her with excitement, but she tried to put it out of her mind, reassuring herself with the words she'd been using a lot recently.

It will be fine.

***

By ten o’clock Y/N felt sick to her stomach, and all she wanted was to escape back to the night before, and the soft peace to be found in the dark.

The evening had started well enough. She'd worn a pale pink gown, with a pink and cream striped bodice that was cut in a way that complimented her figure well. The gown had short sleeves which Y/N paired with a pair of long, cream-colored evening gloves.

Dean's eyes glowed when he saw her, and that was enough to make Y/N very pleased with her choice.

Dean had said the party was taking place in a “back room”, which led Y/N to imagine a small, smoke-filled parlor with dingy lighting and yellow walls. She should have known better.

Instead, the “backroom" was the size of a small ballroom. There were seven or eight poker tables set up at one end of the room, and a light buffet and bar at the other. Throughout the evening, food and drinks were served liberally. 

All over the room were pockets of couches, chairs and settees for the women, and occasionally the men, to recline on. They were welcomed into the room by George Taskett, the president of Northern Rail and Freight. 

Y/N knew this was the man Dean was hoping to win over and that it would mean a lot for his business (and by extension, his employees) if he could impress the white-haired gentleman. So, she worked hard to be as friendly and charming as possible when she met him. 

He was a lively older man, easily in his late sixties, but still sharp and engaging. His bright blue eyes twinkled as he gave a slight bow over the hand Y/N held out to him.

“What a charming companion, Mr. Winchester, a lovely addition to our party.” He said smoothly.

Y/N blushed at the compliment which only seemed to delight the gentleman further.

Their conversation was interrupted, however, by Byron Temple, the vice-president of the company. Unlike George Taskett, Y/N knew this man frustrated Dean completely, and she immediately understood why. The man gave off a very unsettling quality. His stare was too intense as he raked it up and down her form. His smile seemed oily when he shared it.

“Indeed, Winchester,” Temple said, picking up the thread of Taskett’s comment, “where have you been hiding such a beautiful bloom?”

Where Taskett's compliment had felt genuine and kind, Temple's was cloaked in something dark that made Y/N step slightly closer to Dean.

The man continued to stare at her, licking his lips before addressing Dean again. “I believe I know what you were doing when you thrice canceled our meetings. Who would want to talk about boring business matters with something so delectable just waiting for them to get home?”

Y/N felt Dean stiffen beside her and take a step towards Temple. But George Taskett spoke before he could.

“You forget yourself, Byron.”

It was clear who was the real power at Northern Freight because Byron was instantly full of apologies.

“No disrespect meant. I just think you'd be a hard woman to ignore.”

Taskett smoothed things over by introducing Y/N to some of the other women, including a beautiful woman with chestnut hair and pale blue eyes that he introduced as his “dear friend”, Viola.

“They'll keep you company while we men gamble away our good fortune and sense.”

Viola patted Taskett’s arm. “Win big, Georgie.”

Taskett seemed slightly embarrassed to be addressed like a six year old schoolboy in short pants. But nevertheless he kissed his companion’s hand and moved over to the poker tables. 

Dean kissed Y/N's cheek and gave her a wink before he followed.

Unfortunately, Y/N’s shy nature didn’t serve her well when it came to getting acquainted with the women she went to sit with. Most of them seemed to know each other already and chatted easily together. The conversation began innocently enough - what they thought the new fashions were going to look like in 1901, where they thought the hemlines and waistlines were bound to fall.

They discussed the latest issue of Harper's Bazaar and exchanged some stories and anecdotes about acquaintances known to them all. Though she wasn’t joining in, it was an interesting enough conversation to keep Y/N invested and listening, nodding along quietly.

However, as the evening wore on and the wine, champagne, and sherry kept flowing, the women began to loosen their tongues and things soon became a little crass and then a lot carnal.

The women's voices fell as they began discussing some of the men in the room, as well as others they'd known that weren't present. Eventually nothing seemed off limits. The women began comparing their lovers’ techniques and stamina as well as the size of their bank accounts and…other things. 

Y/N was trying desperately to fade into the background, but she knew her face was turning bright red as she listened. She now knew more about the men sitting around the tables than she ever wanted to.

Amanda, a blonde woman with small gray eyes which she rolled in annoyance, explained her lover's biggest flaws. “Grant farts every time he comes. It's completely disgusting and will rip me away from anything close to a climax.”

The women all laughed. “But,” she added, “I've never had a man demand so little of me. You know, he's perfectly content to just let me lay there while he enjoys himself. So, I can't complain.”

“Thomas really spoils me.” A woman named Celia boasted loudly over the end of Amanda's sentence. “When I saw this simply exquisite cameo in the window of Francois’, he insisted on buying it for me.”

A dark haired woman named Doris scoffed. “Of course he spoils you. It's the only way to combat his fat stomach and bald head.”

The circle of women laughed again, though Celia was unimpressed. Y/N tried to smile, hoping to stay out of things, happy to be ignored. But Doris quickly turned her flashing black eyes in her direction.

“This one on the other hand,” she said, pointing a long skinny finger at Y/N, “has landed the cream of the crop!” 

Y/N just smiled and nodded again, hoping someone else would pick up the conversation. But all eyes turned to her.

Viola spoke up. “Yes, how did you hook him? Doris has been after him for years without a nibble.” 

It was Doris’ turn to frown as the women chuckled. She scowled at Y/N and then lifted her nose. “Doesn’t matter. I'll get another chance soon enough. We all know Dean Winchester changes women like he changes his socks. Isn't that right, Faye?”

She caught the eye of a plump woman whose curly blonde hair couldn't possibly be her own. Faye smiled wickedly. “Best month of my life! I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” She sighed dramatically. “But he never goes back to his previous women.” She looked at Y/N and wagged a finger. “So, take my advice, darling, enjoy every minute.”

The women all nodded knowingly and began pestering her and Faye for details about Dean. Coming to her rescue, Viola cut them off. 

“Yep, gotta hold onto those good ones that’s for sure.”

She launched into a story about the first man to take her in; she explained that she’d been a stage actress when she was young and he’d discovered her there. 

Most of the other women seemed to know the story well, because they broke off into other conversations amongst themselves. But Y/N was transfixed by Viola's words; they made her stomach tighten in a very unpleasant way.

“He just plucked me from the stage. He said I was too beautiful to be ‘hoofing it for the masses’, as he put it. Swept me away to his country estate.”

She shrugged. “It may have been a little boring out in the country, but it was rich and lush. It was heaven. Then wouldn't you know it - wife shows up, screeching like a mad woman and chucks me out of the house, not a cent in my pocket.”

The women listening along with Y/N, commiserated as Viola shook her head. “Don't be fooled by pretty words girls,” she said wisely, “get those rocks up front.”

A few minutes later, some of the women began pairing off with their men, most of whom needed cheering up, having had poor luck at the tables. Y/N looked over to see Dean still sitting casually in his chair, a fat pile of chips in front of him. It would be some time before he left the table.

For a little while, she sat on her own, trying to digest everything she'd heard, and slipping what she hoped were discreet looks in Faye’s direction. 

What had her relationship been like with Dean? What had she done with him? 

A sarcastic voice popped into her mind. 

Well, I bet she wasn't denying him access to anything; and very likely, she wasn't trying to hang on to her virginity by not letting him bed her properly.

Y/N felt her cheeks burn, partly from embarrassment at her thoughts and partly in a completely irrational, jealous rage at Faye-the-fake-blonde. Y/N tried to stop, reminding herself that Faye had been perfectly cordial to her and that she was being uncharitable. But logic and rationality weren't readily available to her at that moment.

Eventually, Y/N gained some company when Viola crossed the room and grabbed up her hand, pulling her over to sit on a small settee in the corner. She patted Y/N's hand as she let it go. 

“I just wanted to make sure that you weren't upset or bothered by what Doris or Faye had to say; Faye is old news to Dean, I'm sure, and Doris is just jealous.”

Y/N shook her head; she didn't want to talk about any of it. “No, it's fine.”

Viola smiled knowingly. “You have to understand where they’re coming from; you scored the prize bull your first time at the rodeo.” She arched a brow. “This is your first time at the rodeo, isn’t it?”

Y/N shrugged, not sure how to answer that. But Viola nodded, coming to her own conclusions. “Being new to the life can be exciting and a little scary, I know. But I meant what I said earlier. Be cautious. From everything I've heard, Dean is incredibly generous. Take advantage of that, because you don't know what the next one will be like.”

She lifted her hand. “Not that I'm saying you shouldn't enjoy yourself.” She reassured her, sighing in much the same way Faye had, very wistfully.

“I suppose we're all a little jealous of you, even me.” She shook her head. “I don't think there's a girl in here who wouldn't happily drop to her knees and give that man anything he wanted if he said he'd take her.”

When Y/N just stared at her, Viola put a hand over her mouth and giggled lightly.

“Gosh, you really are new, aren't you? Don't worry, you'll fit in soon enough.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper and she spoke behind her hand. “But you've just got to tell me. Is he as good in bed as everyone says?”

“I…uh - I don't…” Y/N stuttered, completely at a loss for how to answer that.

Viola gave Y/N a conspiratorial look. “Making him wait a bit, are you?” 

Y/N just sputtered some more, but Viola wasn’t paying attention. “Word to the wise when it comes to that tactic. It can work really well. Men love the ‘innocent flower’ act, and you can string them along for quite a while that way, and reap all the benefits.” 

She held up a finger in warning. “But you can't deny them too often, can't do it for too long, or they get angry and lose interest. Make sure you're timing things right.”

For another thirty minutes Viola went on, giving Y/N tricks of the trade and unsolicited advice. Y/N appreciated the sentiment, but it wasn’t helping her nausea.

“Take my Georgie,” Viola said with an affectionate look in his direction, “he can't get it up anymore which is a shame, but he spoils me a lot to make up for it. And you've gotta play the hand you’ve been given. My apartment on Bleeker is an awful lot nicer than what Celia has. Thomas can barely manage to put her up in a one room flat on 78th Street.”

She shrugged delicately. “But, she too is playing the hand she was dealt, because it's still a big step up from where she was when he found her.” She shook her head. “Some leaky mess on Channing.”

Viola gave Celia a pitying look. “I hope she's smarter this time around when Thomas goes looking again. Hope she watches her money and finds a good buyer for that cameo he bought for her, so it lasts her till the next man comes along.”

Throughout all of Viola's advice, Y/N couldn't seem to come up with appropriate reactions or facial expressions. In the end she just felt herself go blank and numb.

She knew Viola was trying to be kind, trying to give her advice, help her fit in, as she said. But Y/N felt sick at the way she talked about jumping from man to man like it was nothing.

No, Y/N thought to herself, it's not nothing. 

According to Viola, it was everything - the ability to find a new man when this one dropped you.

Finally seeming to catch on to some of Y/N's upset, Viola patted her arm.

“Oh, sweetie, don't worry. Like I said, Dean is incredibly generous to his women. And a pretty little, innocent looking thing like you,” she shook her head, “you'll get snatched up quick when Dean is done.”

Y/N had no response; she just nodded. “Thank you.” She said huskily, praying this conversation was over. 

Very thankfully, she saw Dean making his way over to her. Viola patted her hand again and rose, smiling coquettishly at Dean as she passed him. Dean's face was content and happy as he approached Y/N. 

“All in all, I'd say this was a very productive evening. Managed some good talks with Taskett, all while emptying Temple’s pockets.” He said with a wide grin.

Y/N smiled lightly. “That's good.” 

Dean frowned a little. “Is everything alright?”

Y/N nodded, not wanting to burst the bubble of his evening, and really not wanting to describe hers. 

“Oh, yes, just tired. Late night, long day.”

Dean lost his frown and smiled. “Yes, absolutely. Would you like to go now?”

Y/N hoped her frantic nod didn't seem too eager.

“Alright, I'll ask for our coats.” He strode away to speak with someone, but as he walked out of ear shot, she felt a presence come up behind her. 

She turned and started slightly as Byron Temple appeared at her elbow.

He snickered lightly. “I'm sorry, Miss - Taylor, was it? I didn't mean to frighten you.”

She wanted to tell him that he was a liar; everything about him said he was there to put her on edge. He stood too close and he dipped his head too low when he spoke. She could smell the brandy on his breath and wanted to step back, but that would mean falling onto the settee.

So, she merely smiled and shook her head. “No, it's fine, sir, you didn't frighten me.”

His eyes lit up. “I like the way you say sir.” Again he raked her up and down with his gaze. He leaned imperceptibly closer and spoke very low. 

“You can call me that again, as soon as Winchester sets you aside. Then you’ll come stay with me and learn what it's like to be fucked by a real man.” His breath was hot against her neck as he lingered a moment before he slithered back the way he came. 

Y/N felt dizzy, like she might pass out. 

Or scream. Or run at the disgusting man and scratch his eyes out.

But Dean showed up at her side to help her into her coat, and she remembered that Temple was someone he was supposed to do business with; she couldn't cause a scene.

So for the hundredth time that night, she smiled when she wanted to cry and let Dean escort her away from it all. 

***

She knew she was too quiet on the carriage ride home. Dean asked her twice if everything was alright. Both times, she answered that she was just tired.

She knew he didn't fully believe her. When they got back to the hotel, he helped her out of her dress and corset, but before he could do anything more, she moved into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

She splashed cold water on her face, but she emerged still feeling ill. She'd changed into one of her new nightgowns, a long, lace and silk garment with a dressing gown to match. She tied the glossy belt around her waist as she entered the room, and Dean paused as he was removing his tie to give her a low whistle. 

“Huh. I think I get you naked too quickly when we get home every evening. Need to let you put on these beautiful things so I can take them off you.”

He came up behind her as she tucked away her evening gloves in the wardrobe drawers. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her cheek, placing soft kisses along her neck.

Her body responded immediately; her stomach fluttered, and she could feel her nipples harden against the silk of her nightgown.

But she still felt sick from her evening - heartsick and unsure of everything, and it stopped her from melting into him completely. Dean noticed quickly and turned her gently in his arms. 

He cupped her cheeks and let his thumbs sweep across her cheekbones. “Do you just want to sleep?”

Viola's voice came back into her mind.

“...But you can't deny them too often, can't do it for too long, or they get angry and lose interest…”

What rules came along with the role of mistress? Could she just go to sleep? Her thoughts were a whirling mess as she looked up at Dean, questioning. 

“Is that allowed?”

He pulled back from her slightly. “Allowed?” He asked a little hesitantly.

“I don't know the rules.”

Dean frowned. “The rules about sleeping?” 

Y/N paused for a breath. “About saying no.”

Dean's eyes widened and he stepped away from her completely. His expression was incredulous. 

He raised his hand and pointed a finger at her. “You wanna know the rules…” He paused briefly. “... about saying no to…me.”

Y/N shrugged; her head was aching. “I'm just curious.”

Dean's jaw ticked. “Curious. About whether or not you're allowed to refuse me.”

Y/N folded her arms across her chest. Anger she couldn't explain began rising in her chest.

“Well, strictly speaking…I mean, you're paying for everything, paying for me, so doesn't that make me an employee? Don't I have to do what I'm paid for?”

For a flash Dean looked like she'd slapped him. “Jesus Christ.” He said, hoarsely. 

After a beat, the hurt in his eyes melted away to be replaced by anger. 

“You really need to ask me whether you're ALLOWED to say no, or whether I'll just say ‘too bad’ and force you?”

His anger bolstered her own. Everything was confusing and she was exhausted and all she wanted was to cry on Dean's shoulder. But instead she balled her hands into fists and gritted her teeth before speaking. 

“That's a little dramatic, I'm not talking about you forcing me.”

Dean spoke loudly over the end of her sentence. “That's exactly what you're talking about, Y/N. If I try to bed you and you say no, and I just take you against your will?” He threw up his hands. “Y/N, that's the goddamn definition of rape!” He ended on a shout and Y/N felt tears prick the backs of her eyes.

Dean spun away from her and swiped his hand down his face. When he slowly turned back to face her his voice and his expression were cold. 

“Fine then, the rule is as follows; in the future, when you're not interested in having me touch you, all you have to do is say no. And trust in the fact that I'm not going to just ignore your wishes and molest you.”

He grabbed up his coat from where he'd tossed it on the green chair. “You’re tired. So I'll leave and let you sleep.” His green eyes were as hard as jade as he stared at her a moment, before looking at the ground. “Goodnight.”

He walked out the door, and Y/N half expected him to slam it. But he closed it quietly, taking away her anger and leaving her with nothing but a ticking clock and a battered heart.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused

@evznackles

@jackles010378

@impala67rollingthroughtown

@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

@luvr4miya

@arcannaa

@viviwatchestv

@winharry

@ladysparkles78

Dean Fics Only:

@roonthelittlespoon920

@slamminmine

@zepskies

@safiyas-world

@aylacavebear

@waywardcheshire

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

@hobby27

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

@leigh70

@eevvvaa

@kickingitwithkirk

@foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50

@roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@deangirl96

@stoneyggirl2

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

“It was an intense embrace, no awkwardness, no holding back, the kind of hug two people can only achieve after long intimacy, but anyone can give in an instant to a stuffed bear.” ― Ada Palmer, Seven Surrenders

To My Star 2

A Boss And A Babe

Minato Shouji Coin Laundry

You're My Sky

My School President

Don't Say No

Semantic Error

The New Employee

History 2: Crossing The Line

Gaya Sa Pelikula / Like In The Movies

Favorite hugs (Part 3/?) as part of my favorite bl-tropes collection, as always in no particular order.

[haveyouseenthisseries-poll]

[blmpff]

✨ Various Tropes: Touching Foreheads (1/?) ✨

TITLES IN ORDER: 1. No Regret (2006) 2. History 2: Crossing the Line (2018) 3. Gaya sa Pelikula (2020) 4. His (2020) 5. Light (2021) 6. Dear Doctor I'm Coming For Soul (2022) 7. The Eighth Sense (2023) 8. I Feel You Linger In The Air (2023) 9. Kiseki: Dear To Me (2023) 10. Playboyy (2023) 11. The Sign (2023) 12. Love is Better the Second Time Around (2024)

[lady-embers]

Trigger Warning: SA

Some people think because Gwyn was SA, she can't ever have sex again, she can't be partnered with Azriel because Sarah said he was a "freak" in bed, Sarah won't have time to have Gwyn heal and also included "kinky sex scenes", etc.

As a SA survivor myself, I will tell you your takes are wrong as fuck. A lot of SA survivors heal from their trauma and have a lot of kinks themselves when it comes to sex. BDSM in particular can be freeing for some given its all about the WOMAN having control of when to continue or stop whatever is happening.

Just because Gwyn was SA does not mean she has to abstain from sex forever or that she can't be kinky herself with Azriel.

&

Sarah can certainly write a story in which Gwyn heals, explores, and be kinky as heck with sex. Azriel would be the perfect partner for her to given he saved her and wouldn't want to do anything to trigger her. He'd wait for her consent. His scars on his hands would give Gwyn piece of mine that it's HIM and not anyone else. He'd more than likely let her have control and tie him up before doing anything like that with her. He could use his shadows before placing his hands on her to bring her pleasure. Besides, we don't even know what type of "freak" Azriel is in the bedroom.

Also, where is this outrage when it comes to Rhysand or Lucien? Because they were SA too but no one has an issue with them having sex or being with someone else after their ordeals. It seems to only be an issue with Gwyn and that's because of a ship war. Which is honestly sickening in itself that it's only an issue with her.

So who are you to say Gwyn couldn't be comfortable with Azriel and explore sex again? Who are you to say Sarah couldn't write a book with Gwyn and Azriel together because of her SA?

WHO ARE YOU TO SAY IT IS WRONG OR SICK FOR THIS TO HAPPEN? Because I will tell you point blank it's NOT you.