#and he's very secretive about what his pick was | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

munsonsmixtapes · 3 days ago

Text

I'm Not That Girl

Fiyero Tigelaar x shy!fem!reader

summary: you think Fiyero is only flirting you to be nice because you're not the kind of girl he usually goes for, but he's more than eager to set the record straight when confusion arises

This is based on a comment made on this post by @cultish-corner!

Nothing but anxiety courses through you the second you step foot on campus. You don’t know anyone and are nothing but nervous to be in a new place with new people. That’s your worst nightmare, you think, as you walk throughout the campus to the suite you were assigned, you can’t help but feel like everyone is staring at you, but absolutely no one is paying you any mind as you make your way down the hallway, repeatedly looking down at the sheet you’ve received to make sure you have the right room.

This is the first time you’ve ever been away from home for an extended period of time and you hate that you already miss it. But you’re excited for a new adventure. Even though you’re nervous, you’re still looking forward to what your time at Shiz will bring you. You’re looking forward to a change.

You’re so focused on looking at the sheet that you’re not even looking when you bump into something, or rather, someone. The collision causes your things to fall out of your hands and onto the floor, causing the stranger to drop to their knees, picking it all up rather quickly before holding your suitcase and papers out to you, a flirty smile on his pretty face that you only see out of the corner of your eyes because you’re afraid of making eye contact with him.

“Here,” he says, handing the paper to you, still holding onto your suitcase which confuses you.

“Oh,” you reply. “Thank you.”

He’s easily the prettiest man you’ve ever seen and you can’t help but be distracted by his striking blue eyes that definitely have a very flirty glint in them. You immediately recognize him as the prince you had seen in the newspaper not too long ago, seeing that he’d transferred here. You know all about his reputation, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to speak to him. In fact, it makes you want to do it even more.

“It’s my pleasure. I am so sorry for my clumsiness,” he apologizes even though it was very obviously you who ran into him. “I guess I was just so distracted by your beauty.” You don’t care if it’s a line, it works, causing your cheeks to heat as you tuck your chin to your chest, not wanting him to see you.

“My apologies,” he sticks his hand out and takes free one, causing you to finally look up at him and you’re captivated by his pretty, blue eyes. “Fiyero Tiglaar, Winkie Country,” he says as his lips press a soft kiss to the top of your hand.

“I-I’m y/n,” you introduce yourself, your voice still too soft for your liking.

“Y/n,” he repeats your name slowly, a flirty tone to it and you just know that he does this with everyone he comes across, but you hope, you pray that this is different. You want him to be flirting with you because he thinks you’re pretty, not because he can. “I think that might be my favorite name of all.”

“Now, shall we?” He asks, moving to stand beside you, offering you his arm and you loop your own arm through it before he reaches over and grabs hold of your luggage.

“Where are we going?” You ask, your voice so low that Fiyero is almost unable to hear you.

“I’m going to walk you to your room,” he says with a bright smile, leading you down the hallway, everyone who’s around whispering as the two of you walk together. It’s no secret that he’s popular, how could he not be with his looks and charm? And seeing him with you, the shy, new girl will definitely stir up some rumors.

Your room is just down the hall and even though he’s only just met you, Fiyero doesn’t want to leave you. He wants you to invite him inside where the two of you sit on your bed and get to know each other. He wants to know everything about you. He wants to know where you grew up, what your hobbies are, whatever you want to tell him because he likes the sound of your voice.

“We’ll, here we are,” he says, hesitantly removing his arms from yours as you step away before taking your suitcase back from him. “It was a pleasure.” He bows then stands there, almost like he’s waiting for something.

“Here we are,” you repeat, wondering what it is that he’s wanting. He should at least be halfway down the hall by now.

“Tomorrow, you should sit with me in the dining hall. I’d really enjoy your company,” he smiles and you nod in response.

“I’d really like that,” you tell him, still nodding, feeling a warmth creep on your cheeks as you do so. You don’t know why you take him so seriously. Guys like him don’t ever give you so much as a second glance let alone a lunch invitation. By tomorrow, Fiyero will forget all about you.

The hallway is quiet and empty when you sneak out of your room. You can’t sleep because of how nervous you are for your first day of classes. Especially since it’s a few months into the year and you’re the only new person. Everyone else has gotten the chance to know each other and you’re new.

It’s taking everything in you not to pack up your stuff and leave so you don’t have to face anyone tomorrow. You don’t care if it’s dramatic or that you’re overreacting, it’s not like anyone will miss you anyway. You always seem to fade into the background no matter what’s going on and that’s the way you like it. You hate being the center of attention and know that it will distract you from your first day if everyone is staring at you.

You close the door gently and turn around slowly, letting out a yelp as you see Fiyero leaning against the wall across from you. He’s in his pajamas so you’re led to believe that he can’t sleep either. And he can’t, but not for the same reason as you. He’s just not tired and that’s not uncommon for him. He often has trouble sleeping. But tonight, he’s hoping you’ll keep him company so he doesn’t have to go back to bed alone.

He pushes off of the wall and steps over to you, moving slowly because he can see that he’s startled you. You take a step forward and he can’t help but stare at you, wondering what you’re also doing up so late.

“What are you doing up?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing in both confusion and worry. He wants to reach for you, but he decides against it. If there’s going to be any touching, he wants you to be the one to initiate it.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shake your head and he nods in understanding. His face softens and that infectious smile spreads across it. You can’t help but mimic him and that’s definitely something he could get used to seeing more often.

“Me neither,” he replies then offers his hand out to you. “Would you like to go somewhere with me?” Go somewhere with him? You look this way and that to make sure there’s no one else he could possibly be talking to and he just laughs in response, a little too loudly for your liking.

You step closer and press the palm of your hand to his lips to muffle his laughs and you both widen your eyes at your boldness. His eyes soften before yours do, more laughs spilling from his mouth as he pulls your hand away, holding it in his.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” you whisper to him and his laughs slowly turn into chuckles as he gives your hand a squeeze.

“You need to relax,” he shakes his head. “And besides, trouble is my middle name.” You roll your eyes at his words and Fiyero really likes being able to more of your personality. “So,” he steps closer to you so that you’re toe to toe. “Are we going or what?”

You’re not sure why, but you’ve found yourself to be at ease with him. He’s one of the only people who hasn’t had any problem with how shy and soft-spoken you are. He even seems to like it, not minding in the slightest having to get closer to hear what you have to say. In fact, he seems to prefer it.

“Yes,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

“So you’re just going to blindly follow a man that you barely know to an unknown location where anything could happen to you?” He teases as he pulls you down the hallway and you never thought about it that way, and if it had been anyone else, maybe you would be worried, but not with Fiyero. “Well, y/n, I thought you knew better than that.”

“And the same goes to you, Tigelaar,” you retort. “I could just as easily be as dangerous.”

“Somehow, I just don’t think that’s true. You’re far too sweet.” You hate that he’s right. It wouldn’t even cross your mind to hurt someone unless they made the first move.

“You don’t even know me.” And he hates that he doesn’t. He hopes that in the coming weeks that you’ll be friends or maybe even more, but he knows the latter is probably just wishful thinking.

“And that’s exactly why I invited you to join me tonight. I want to get to know you. It’s also the reason why I invited you to eat with me in the dining hall.” You’re confused now. You thought he was just trying to be nice. And now you feel terrible for even thinking that he wasn’t being genuine.

“You were serious about that?” Fiyero is quick to turn around to face you, hurt flashing across his face. And seeing the pain expression on yours is making him feel even worse. He thought that his intentions were pretty clear, but apparently he had been wrong.

“O-of course I was serious. Why would I joke about that?” He’s leaning closer to you, taking your hands in his gently as he pulls you closer, wanting you to look him in the eyes when he speaks. “I invited you because I want to spend time with you, to get to know you. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different,” he says as he pushes some hair away from your face.

“I know it sounds silly since we’ve only just met, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since this morning.” The look in his eye is nothing but genuine and now you feel silly for thinking that he was anything but.

“I thought it was just me,” you reply, your eyes lighting up.

“No,” he shakes his head, leaning even closer to you as his hands move to rest in your hips, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort or hesitance. “Can I try something?” He asks in a whisper, his eyes shifting your lips and you think you know what he wants to try.

“Yes,” you reply as your eyes flutter shut, feeling his breath fanning your face as he leans down and presses his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck as he pulls you closer to him, responding to his kiss as your lips slot between his, moving with them as best as you can.

Fiyero pulls away before you’re ready and pulls you a few feet before spinning you into him, pressing another kiss to your lips. He then takes you to the gardens where you spend the rest of the night, talking about everything and nothing between sweet kisses until the sun comes up. You think it’s needless to say that you’re really going to like it at Shiz.

#wicked #fiyero tigelaar #fiyero tigelaar x reader #fiyero x you #fiyero x reader #fiyero x y/n #fiyero x fem!reader #fiyero x shy!reader

261 notes · View notes

ylangelegy · 2 days ago

Note

i’m actually obsessed with your jealousy prompts…. what’s better than the most jealous mf around???

seungcheol + “they did that on purpose”

★ seungcheol x celebrity!reader ┆ word count: 970 ┆ part of my closed jealousy drabble game.

ⓘ established relationship, secret relationship, pet name ['baby'], angst [if you squint]. combined with another prompt c/o anon: "i'm going to scream."

"I'm going to file a complaint."

Seungcheol is being dead serious, and yet you laugh at him. You laugh!

"Baby," you start to say, your tone edged with that familiar exasperation you take on whenever you think he's being silly. He's having none of it tonight, though. He knows his theory is one hundred percent correct.

And so he juts his lip out in a pout, crosses his arms over his chest, and whines out his next words like he's some teenager instead of a 29-year-old man. "They did that on purpose!"

That, being the recent announcement of who would be the special hosts of MBC's year-end music show. When Seungcheol first caught wind that a member of SEVENTEEN might have the chance to share a stage with you, he had been ecstatic. While your relationship wasn't public knowledge yet, he was ready to make it glaringly obvious should he be chosen to be your co-host.

He's had whole daydreams about the moment. The hand he'd casually rest on the small of your back. The smile he'd give you that would have Twitter speculating for weeks. Maybe he could even post something vague on Weverse afterwards, some cutesy message of I'm so happy~ ❤️

Alas, all his hopes were dashed when the memo about the hosts went out this morning.

"They put you with Jeonghan on purpose," Seungcheol grumbles.

Jeonghan— the one person Seungcheol wouldn't be able to openly go up against. The company must've known Seungcheol would throw his idol image out of the window, must've known that there was only one person who Seungcheol wouldn't pick a fight with.

The fact that Jeonghan is being extra annoying— relentlessly teasing, calling himself 'Mr. Steal-Yo-Girl'— has only added insult to injury.

You reach out to tug Seungcheol into your side. Even though he's technically supposed to be upset, he can't help himself; the leader leans into your touch, draping himself over you.

Your couch has always been way too small for the two of you, even though Seungcheol insist it's a 'perfect' fit. He considers it perfect because he can always pull you into his lap and bury himself in you, which is exactly what he does now despite his sullen mood.

When your fingers instinctively entangle in his hair, a part of him relaxes. That very part bristles just as quickly when you quip, "Well, Jeonghan is the pretty one in the group."

"I'm going to scream," Seungcheol threatens.

You know your boyfriend enough to understand that he's at least half serious. "Alright, alright," you huff, giving his hair a light, reprimanding tug.

Seungcheol hisses at the sensation. You appease him by pressing your lips to his cheek.

You shift in his hold so your gazes can meet. The look on your face only makes Seungcheol's frown deepen. You're enjoying this. You're amused. You're not taking his predicament seriously.

"If he's so pretty," Seungcheol starts, ignoring the way you begin to roll your eyes as you anticipate what's to come.

"If he's so pretty, why don't you date him, then?" he asks, punctuating his words with a dejected sniffle. Seungcheol looks the part of a wounded puppy.

Eyebrows furrowed? Check. Lips pursed? Check. Boba-like eyes, meant to tug at the heartstrings? Check, check, check.

Unfortunately for him, your long-term relationship has steeled you to his petulance. You take his attempt at moping in stride, opting to press another kiss, this time to the corner of his mouth.

"Because I don't want him," you say patiently. "I want you, baby."

The words still manage to make Seungcheol's heart soar. He tries not to let it show on his face. He's trying to prove a point here. He refuses to be won over by sweet nothings, even if you're so lovely as you say them.

"You're going to be on stage with him instead of me." Seungcheol's arms tighten around your waist, his expression darkening slightly. "People are going to ship you."

A surprised bark of laughter escapes you. "How do you know what shipping is, huh?"

"You're changing the subject."

"Baby—"

The words come out of Seungcheol in a rush, fueled by his gripe with management's decision. "I want people to ship us," he grouses. "I want them to look at us and think, 'They look like they'd be the perfect couple,' because we are!"

Something softens in your expression, then, and Seungcheol knows exactly why. Promises of going public have been made since the beginning, but now it's several years in and there's no relationship announcement in sight for either of you.

Seungcheol's voice is quieter, a little more even, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"I just want everybody to know that I love you," he says, the words muffled against your skin. "And that you love me, too."

You stroke Seungcheol's hair soothingly. He relaxes at the familiar ministration, letting his breaths even out.

"Soon," you mutter. "I promise, baby. We'll get that really soon."

Seungcheol bites back the urge to say that it's been soon for the past three years. This is something beyond both of your control. He's not about to make you feel guilty for something neither of you can change.

He settles for the next best thing. He tilts his head just so, allowing him to catch your lips in a kiss. It's sweet and unhurried. His favorite type.

It's the kind of kiss that makes the endless 'soon's worth it.

When you pull away for air, he wordlessly reaches for his phone. You're a bit out of breath as you watch him angle his screen away from you and type something out.

"What're you doing?" you ask, craning your neck to try and catch a glimpse.

"E-mailing the CEO of MBC," he says matter-of-factly. "To make me your co-host instead of Hannie."

"Choi Seungcheol!"

#୨ৎ game set play .ᐟ #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol drabble #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #seventeen drabble #svt drabble #seventeen imagines #୨ৎ penned by ylangelegy #daegutowns #( THIS TOOK FOREVERRRRR I'M SAWREE )#( first drabble of the year. it is what it is !!! )#( sulky csc u mean everything to me )#( looked @ so many pics of pouting cheol for htis. )

368 notes · View notes

wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 1 day ago

Note

do you have any new recs for sterek with size difference? (preferably with smaller stiles)

Sure.

The Hoodie by PersePhonesDreams

(1/1 I 1,988 I General)

Stiles didn’t mean to keep Derek’s hoodie—really, he didn’t. But the oversized, ridiculously soft thing quickly became his favorite comfort item, a piece of Derek he couldn’t quite let go of. It’s not like Derek would notice anyway... right?

When Derek unexpectedly shows up at Stiles’ window one quiet night, Stiles’ not-so-secret attachment to the hoodie is exposed, leading to a conversation that changes everything.

Cue awkward confessions, teasing smiles, and the realization that maybe Derek doesn’t mind Stiles keeping more than just his hoodie.

jacked and kind by LookWhatIHaveWaitingForMe

(4/4 I 3,288 I Mature)

Stiles forces Derek to participate in the "jacked and kind" TikTok trend and this time Derek doesn't need convincing.

Be Still, My (Beating) Heart by mznaughty01

(1/1 I 3,878 I Explicit)

The time for games was definitely over. Because now? Now it was time for Derek to breed Stiles’s sweet ass.

(K)Not Tonight by slimypaws

(1/1 I 4,961 I Explicit)

Stiles had the very clever idea to go to his favourite place while in heat and during a full moon on top of that, his brain clearly having melted into a useless puddle.

He had never picked up the scent of another person, werewolf or human, here after all, so why should he start to worry now? Until he did pick up another scent after all. Everything went downhill from there.

Teen Witch by AngieNoir

(2/? I 8086 I Explicit)

Derek knows that there's something strange about Stiles and that's stirring up trouble in Beacon Hills, drawing the attention of werewolf hunters. Driven to protect his own, he believes he must kill the young witch. Yet, as he watches him, Derek finds himself falling in love, torn between duty and desire. A werewolf. A witch. And a danger that’s impossible to resist.

Wrapped in a Dream by wolfcloaks

(8/8 I 34,577 I Explicit)

He finds him in the middle of the clearing, mouth grappling with a foreign tongue, alabaster skin damp with the remnants of prior rain.

He's absolutely beautiful, Derek thinks, this creature, this boy.

Matenapped by xcaellachx

(12/12 I 36,671 I Explicit)

Alpha Derek Hale has known Spark Stiles Stilinski was his mate for over six years. The traumatized Spark had killed the rogue alpha who tried to kill his friend so many years ago and was still scarred by the experience. Now, Stiles was settled in as a magic shop owner and Derek was ready to claim him for his own. The ritual of matenapping was an old but accepted tradition and Derek had his den ready to receive his mate. It was time.

Stiles Stilinski thought Lydia was insane for thinking the sexy alpha wanted to matenap him. He was damaged by his past and determined to stay single so he didn't harm anyone. He kept his magic tightly leashed and couldn't believe that anyone could want him. Not a murderer. Even when the wolf came to see him and touched him gently, winking at him and looking at him longingly, he just couldn't accept it.

Very soon, Stiles wouldn't have a choice but to believe it. Derek was taking his mate and bringing him to his mating den where he would court and woo him until he couldn't help but fall in love with him.

The Lighthouse Keeper by tugela54

(11/11 I 75,073 I Explicit)

On a rural island just off Alaska’s northern Inside Passage, stands a centuries old lighthouse - the perfect sanctuary for its keeper to hide when the moon is full, to burn and rage through its cycle with the townsfolk being none the wiser.

But then a new resident comes to Beacon Harbour – a bright-eyed young student chasing an elusive whale species – and all of a sudden those thick stone walls seem paper thin…

Delinquents for Hire, Won’t you Let us Conspire? by skayaks

(18/18 I 89.909 I Mature)

The Sheriff slams a gun on the dining table, “What are your intentions with my son?” Stiles violently spits his water out, coughing instantly from the sheer disbelief.

The one where a reluctant Stiles Stilinski goes to a very intimidating delinquent Derek Hale for help when he’s finally fed up with being picked on by Jackson’s shitty gang of wannabe jocks.

Naturally, as things tend to go for Stiles, he doesn’t have much of a fun time.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #size difference #anon

147 notes · View notes

actuallysaiyan · 3 days ago

Text

Kinky Business

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, somnophilia, exhibition, age play, marking, biting, oral sex(fem receiving), pain kink, power play, d/s dynamics, lewd content, kink exploration word count: 1.3k pairings: multi but separate MHA characters(Nana, Sorahiko, Shouta, Hizashi, Nemuri and Dabi) x Fem!Reader a/n: part two coming soon! Hope you enjoy my last post of 2024!

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @thissaintjessi. @cherryblossombankai, @thestarsystemsworld @pixelcafe-network

Nana is obsessed with power dynamics. She wants to feel like she’s in charge, but she won’t go overboard with her own strength.

She loves to make you feel safe and loved, all while pushing your limits in terms of pleasure and overstimulation.

If you cry and beg and squirm, it’ll only serve to turn her on even more than she was to begin with.

Nana Shimura…who’s obsessed with POWER PLAY kinks. She wants to feel like she’s the one in control. She presses her breasts in your face, making you suckle on her nipples. She wants to sit on your face, while holding your wrists down. Don’t worry, there’s always a safe word in place. Even while on a date, you can expect Nana to make the choices for you. She loves it when you wear something revealing so that she can show you off a bit. Call her “mommy” and she might actually lose it. She wants to manhandle you as much as possible, mark you up so you know who you belong to.

You wouldn’t guess it, but the man has a biting fetish. He loves to mark you up. He enjoys seeing the teeth marks embedded in your soft skin.

He’s one for hickies too. Deep, red marks…bordering on purple a lot of the time. It’s just something he can’t stop himself from doing sometimes.

Please let him mark you up in places only you and him will see. It’s like a little secret you two share. It turns him on like nothing else to strip you and to see those beautiful marks he left the last time.

Sorahiko Torino…who’s obsessed with MARKING you up. He revels in the fact that only HE can bite you. He loves nothing more than pounding into you and biting down on your breasts. He nibbles your tits a lot, biting and sucking on the supple flesh. If he’s in public with you, Torino enjoys pulling you close and leaving a fresh hickey on your neck. He wants to make sure everyone knows that you belong to him and only him. You’re regularly covered in dark, red spots. He likes to leave bruises too, where he can press soft kisses.

The man enjoys his down time and he enjoys being able to sleep. What’s better than just sleeping? Having a cuddlefuck session where he can be balls deep and just cuddle.

In his sleeping bag, you both fit and he’s able to make you feel so good while being comfortable with you. He usually loves to shove his hand down your pants and finger you while snuggling in the sleeping bag.

What gets him going is that sometimes you two do this while others could be around. Hizashi and Nemuri could be lurking about, but really they have no idea what’s going on.

Shouta Aizawa…who’s obsessed with CUDDLEFUCKING. He loves holding you close, pushing into you from behind. His warm breath on your neck as he pants and whimpers about how fucking good you feel. You’re always so damn tight and so warm. Sometimes it just lulls him back to sleep, especially if he’s doing this first thing after he wakes up. In fact, this is one of his favorite things to do to wake up. Being balls deep inside of you after consciousness returns and he shakes the dreams away is the best part of his day.

Hizashi knows how to use his quirk to his advantage whenever he goes down on you. It’s a little party trick he picked up while in his hook up phase and he’s never looked back since.

Your cunt just tastes so fucking good. Your clit is so easy to suckle on. And when he starts to hum and amplifies it to vibrate, it drives you crazy.

You’ve definitely squirted a lot this way. Hizashi was very happy to figure out that he could make you feel this way the first time it happened. Now you’ve always got towels ready to lay out on the bed.

Hizashi Yamada…who’s obsessed with ORAL SEX. He enjoys giving a little more than receiving, only because he knows what you like and he can use his quirk to his advantage. Talk about voice kink too, considering he can turn you on just with his dirty talk. And he’ll eagerly pull that out anytime and any place too. Think you’re going to have a normal, innocent day? Guess again! Hizashi’s in your ear, whispering about how he’s going to take you home, have you spread out on the sheets and to feast on you. His tongue is always so warm, so wet. And then when he suckles on your clit and pulls out that special move, it makes you go crazy.

Nemuri loves that you’ll indulge in her fantasies. She enjoys being able to use her quirk on you and that you completely trust her as well. It makes her happy that you two have such a wonderful love.

You play the sleeping beauty part so well too. That quirk of hers is powerful, but you two have found a way to make you just sleepy and not completely passed out. With this, she uses sensory play on you and makes you so unbelievably horny.

And of course, somnophilia is a very big kink in your relationship. You find it a lot of fun to just allow your lover to take over while you’re in such a vulnerable position.

Nemuri Kayama…who’s obsessed with SOMNOPHILIA. She enjoys putting you under her spell, making you fall asleep. Then she lovingly begins to kiss you all over. Her hands are always so soft as she takes off your clothes. Anything to make you feel comfortable. You two play around with sensory play too, especially whenever you’re in more of a sleepy state. She’s been able to figure out how to use her quirk just right so that you’re not completely asleep, and this is when she loves to tease you. Her warm breath on your wet pussy has you whimpering so cutely. Her fingers gently spread your folds as she leans in to savor your taste.

Dabi is very much into playing around with risks. He wants to have fun whenever and wherever he can. It doesn’t matter if there are others around, he’s going to love fooling around with you anyway.

The more risk involved, the hotter things are for Dabi. He gets excited to try new things. And with his pain tolerance being so high, he can have fun with you trying painful things on him.

Bite him, tug on his nipples, flick the head of his cock while hard. He’s gonna be so aroused to have you doing these things to him. But also, he’ll flip it around and test your pain tolerance as well.

Touya Todoroki/Dabi…who’s obsessed with RISKS. He loves to take risks when it comes to sex. He loves being able to make you feel good, even if someone is around and could spot you. It makes him hard whenever you give him that look, the one that says “please play with me”. He’s also big on anything with pain, considering his pain tolerance is very high and he basically can’t even feel pain. Dabi’s the kind of man who will pin you against a wall and shove his hands up your shirt to play with your tits while he makes out with you. Doesn’t matter who’s around. He desperately wants you to tug on his hair, or to bite his lower lip. And if you dare tug on his balls ever so slightly while sucking him off, he won’t last long. Just the thought of pain makes him aroused, but be prepared to take it as well.

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

84 notes · View notes

littlelamy · 20 hours ago

Text

𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓵𝔂!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

author's note: so excited to show introduce you guys to holly!reader. also HUGE credits to @rafesplaymate for inspiration. i read her glamourmodel AU and became obsessed to say the least.

holly!reader has everything the kook life offers—money, power, designer everything—but honestly? she can't stop thinking about the pogue life. it's messy, it's chaotic, and it's fucking free. she loves the way they don’t give a shit about all the fake crap she’s surrounded by. she craves the simplicity of living in the moment, without having to worry about her daddy’s expectations or some fancy-ass gala. the pogues are wild, and that's exactly what she wants. it's her dirty little secret, but she's obsessed with it.

whenever holly!reader’s old man is off doing his bullshit corporate stuff, she knows it’s her time to escape. she doesn’t need anyone else but jj. he's always ready to ditch whatever he's doing just to pick her up, and she loves that. no questions, no bullshit—just him, her, and a car ride to wherever the hell they feel like going. she doesn’t have to play the perfect kook when she’s with him. it’s just fun, no strings attached. and let’s be real, jj’s exactly the kind of guy she needs to get out of her head. sure, it’s john b’s beat-up van, and the thing probably smells like a mix of saltwater, beer, and whatever they dragged in from their latest adventure, but it’s still the best fucking ride. it doesn’t matter if it’s not a shiny sports car—whenever jj’s driving, everything else fades away. he’s the only one who can make her forget about her fake-ass world, even if it’s just for a little while.

though the kook is very popular on the island, she has a special place in her heart for the pogues. holly might be the golden girl in figure eight—always smiling, always looking flawless—but deep down? she's tired of the fake ass smiles and shallow conversations. yeah, she’s got a crowd, but it’s the pogues who really get her. they don't care about appearances or how much money she’s got. they just... live. no masks, no games. she’d trade all the glitz and glam for a night spent with them in a heartbeat. but of course, she'd never admit that to anyone, 'cause that’d be a hell of a confession.

holly!reader is a definite tease. let's be real—holly knows exactly what she’s doing. whether it’s that flirty little smile or the way she twirls her hair when she’s talking to someone, she’s always got people on edge. she’s got the looks, the charm, and the attitude that drives people insane. but she’s not dumb—she knows how to use it. keep them hanging, keep them wanting more, but never give them what they want. it's all a game to her, and she’s winning.

holly!reader gained the nickname ‘playmate.’ it didn’t take long for everyone to start calling her 'playmate.' it's that mix of innocence and sex appeal, that perfect balance between the girl next door and the one you wanna fuck. holly owns it. she’s got that glamour look down to an art, posting sultry shots of herself in the most random spots—like, by the marina, on the beach, or even in her daddy’s mansion, just looking effortlessly hot. people talk about it, but hell, she’s the one getting all the attention. it's not her fault they can’t stop staring.

holly!reader is known for her glamour photos. you know the deal—holly!reader is always posting something. she's the queen of Instagram on the island, with every photo making people want to drop everything and come meet her. she's got the glamour shots, the beach shots, the “casual” shots of her looking like a fucking goddess no matter what she’s doing. you know she’s not just posting for fun—each shot is her way of saying, "look at me, fuckers." and honestly? it works. the Cut’s her playground, and she's the star of it all.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @auroramadelyn

#credits (divider): anitalenia for the divider <3 #holly!reader #𖤣𖥧 lamy’s garden。 𖤣𖥧 #jj mayback x reader #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank #jj obx #jj obx imagine #jj obx fic #jj outer banks #jj one shot #jj #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx #jj x you #jj x y/n #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader

79 notes · View notes

cybrasigilism · 13 hours ago

Text

NSFW alphabet with Player 125 (Park Min-su)

warnings: smut and all things of the like ofc | these are my headcanons for this character, please be respectful even if my personal opinions for the character differ from yours :)

character: park min-su (player 125)

A/N: i know this isn’t the best gif but player 125 gifs are slim pickings apparently! if i could figure out how to make my own gifs i so would

MDNI! 18+ content ahead, reader discretion is advised

─────･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────

A= Aftercare what are they like after sex?

↳ he would definitely go for the standard cuddling post-sex, he especially loves being the little spoon so you can stroke his hair (that and he can nuzzle his face in your chest)

B= Body part their favourite body part of theirs + their partner’s

↳ he’s quite self conscious about his own body, but if he had to pick a favourite it would be his hands, because he can touch and hold you with them. as for a favourite body part on his partner? he would tell you he loves your lips, but deep down he’s a tits man through and through.

C= Cum anything to do with cum

↳ he will always warn you when he’s close, whether it be verbally or with a tap on the shoulder if he’s too far gone. he will also never cum inside unless his partner states it’s okay.

D= Dirty Secret self explanatory

↳ you know what they say, it’s always the quiet ones. and that is too true for our guy Min-su. he may seem meek and unassuming on the outside, but when it comes to sex he’s totally a freak, and that’s all apart of the appeal

E= Experience how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?

↳ he doesn’t have a ton of experience, but he isn’t completely in the dark. he understands the basics, and trust when i say he definitely knows what he wants. but, when it comes to his first time with someone new, he gets super nervous and prefers it when his partner shows them what they want and how to do it right

F= Favourite Position

↳ Cowgirl. he loves being able to see your face when you guys are fucking, but in that same breath he feels much more confident under you then on top. don’t think he’ll be letting you do all the work either, when he really gets into it he’ll grab your hips and fuck up into you

G= Goofy are they more serious in the moment or are they humorous?

↳ at first, he would be way too nervous to really say much of anything when you guys have sex, hell, he’ll even try to hold back his moans/whimpers because he’s so shy in the beginning. however, when you guys have been together for sometime and he gets more comfortable, he takes fucking you very seriously. he won’t goof off or be silly but if you crack a joke amidst the fucking™️, he’ll laugh

I= Intimacy how are they in the moment? the romantic aspect

↳ because he’s so nervous at first he always double checks that he’s doing something right and that you’re feeling good. he needs assurance before moving forward in any aspect of the sexual experience, he just wants to know that he’s making you feel as good as you’re making him feel

J= Jack off masturbation headcanon

↳ he’s very into mutual masturbation; the idea of you getting off on the idea of him while he’s jerking off to you is something he finds super hot. for solo time, he has a habit of edging himself, something unintentional at first but he quickly realized it made the climax feel 1000 times better

K= Kink one or more of their kinks

↳ slapping (being slapped). begging. overstimulation. blindfolding. i’ll leave it at that

L= Location favourite places to do the do

↳ while Min-su may be open to a bit in the bedroom, he would also like to keep it in the bedroom. no public sex of any kind for this guy, he gets too anxious with the constant looming risk of someone walking in on you two getting it on

M= Motivation what turns them on? what gets them going?

↳ as much as he’s lowkey embarrassed to admit it, he totally gets aroused whenever you boss him around. also, if you whisper anything suggestive in his ear, he will melt in your hands right then and there

N= No something they won’t do

↳ he doesn’t like to be the dominant one in bed, he finds it too daunting and again, feels more comfortable when his partner is the one in charge

O= Oral preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

↳ he would rather get head than give it, and that’s purely because he doesn’t feel like he’s good at giving oral. he’s not out of this world by any stretch of the imagination, but he does need to give himself more credit. he also is quite vocal when you give him head, and will grab your hair when he’s close

P= Pace are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

↳ he definitely starts out slower, not only for you to adjust to him but also for him to build up confidence, but he will pick up the pace either when he gets more into the groove of it or if you ask him to. he tries to be rough if you ask for it but he always feels really bad if you wince or cry out, he would much rather you be rough on him than the other way around

Q= Quickie their opinions on quickies, how often?

↳ he wouldn’t be opposed to a quickie now and then, but he prefers for you guys to take your time when it comes to fucking, generally

R= Risk are they game to experiment? do they take risks?

↳ while he gets anxious at the very idea of public sex, he is more than willing to experiment in other aspects. of course, you guys always have a safe word for when you do end up experimenting

S= Stamina how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

↳ min-su’s stamina is quite surprising, he can typically last for 3-4 minutes. however, as long as his partner is alright with it, he is always willing to go past the initial release, and at most will go 5 or so rounds

T= Toys do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?

↳ he 100% owns a fleshlight. nothing crazy, but it gets the job done. he is also game for his partner to use any toys they might have during the act

U= Unfair how much do they like to tease?

↳ he might try to tease you a bit, but it’s too adorable how flustered he gets when you turn the tables on him tenfold

V= Volume how loud are they? what sounds do they make, etc.

↳ the more comfortable he gets, the more vocal he becomes. he tends to just moan and whimper, usually getting more high pitched the closer he gets to release. if he does get a word out, he usually says something along the lines of “it feels too good” or “don’t stop. oh god please don’t stop”. he will call you mommy if you’re into that

W= Wild Card a random headcanon

↳ surprisingly good at fingering. he also loves it when you call him “good boy”

X= X-Ray what’s going on under the clothes?

↳ now i’m not saying he’s crazy jacked, he’s definitely a softer guy, but he’s slightly buff. he’s average sized, 5 1/2” when he’s hard

Y= Yearning how high is their sex drive?

↳ he doesn’t have a super high sex drive, like he isn’t chomping at the bit constantly to fuck you, but he certainly wouldn’t turn down the offer if you were DTF

Z= Zzz how fast do they fall asleep afterwards?

↳ this sweetheart would try to stay awake until you dozed off, but he just gets so comfortable in your arms that he falls asleep way before you do.

─────･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────

another reminder that all advice and constructive criticism for my writing is welcome and requested! i’m always looking to improve my skills. i hope you enjoyed :)

#player 125 #squid game x reader #squid game smut #alphabet #x reader smut

77 notes · View notes

thetomorrowshow · 3 days ago

Text

we'll always have each other

trust auuuuu

oki so the other week, oasis and i were playing a dare-based card game with my family. she dared me to let her post something on my tumblr, and i accepted. she decided to post that "trust au jimmy is pregnant". i immediately began to get comments and asks about it. unfortunately, every time i started a post meaning to refute it, i instead doubled down.

this is the closest i can offer to pregnant jimmy. however he is pregnant in my heart <3

There's the Clash of the Stags.

And there's Alinar, sword in hand.

And there's the Crystal of Rivendell.

Where's Jimmy's favorite?

Oh, just over there.

Scott breathes out slowly through his nose, eyes turned up to the heavens as he picks out familiar constellations from among the clusters of stars.

Jimmy's favorite constellation is one that Scott had never heard of before, and as far as he knows, isn't considered a constellation by any modern societies. It makes a large, five-sided rectangle, far off from common elven constellations. Below it are two oddly large, bright stars, stars that Scott used to think of as the wishing stars.

Maybe that should be his next study project. Finding some record of that constellation, so maybe they can finally figure out what it represents.

It’s likely Oceanic in origin, considering Jimmy’s history, but there are very few books that expand upon Ocean history, and even fewer that are actually from past times—and most of those are unreadable by all but Lizzie and Jimmy. Still, maybe in Gem’s secret library there’s some kind of ancient constellation record. He ought to send her a message, see if she has time to research it with him—or maybe one of her students can take it on as a project.

"Hey, baby," a tired voice comes from behind him, pulling him from his thoughts. A thrill runs through Scott's veins at the sleep-rumbly sound of his husband's voice. "What're you doing up?"

Scott doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he points up to Alinar's Sword. "Do you think that Alinar's constellation is holding the Rune Sword, or his famous golden one?"

A bit of shuffling, and out of the corner of his eye, Scott sees Jimmy come up next to him, lean on the deck railing.

In the light of the giant moon (somehow always so much larger in the Codlands rather than in Rivendell) his face is illuminated, washed almost white. His bangs hang down, nearly to cover his eyes—not near as long as they've been in the past, not since Jimmy sheared off most of his hair last year—and he huffs, blowing them up and out of his face.

He's beautiful, from his casually messy golden hair to the plane of his nose, to the sparkling scars on his cheeks. He’s beautiful down to the heaviness of his eyelids, the impression of his pillow still pressed into his forehead.

Jimmy catches his eye, his lips quirking up.

"Hey," he says playfully, voice still all gravelly with sleep in that delightful way Scott loves. "What are you really thinking about?"

Scott frowns. "You didn't answer my question."

"I forgot what it was."

"Probably the golden sword," Scott muses out loud. "The Rune Sword was lost from knowledge. Unless the constellations were identified before the historic legends."

"Scott," Jimmy prods gently.

Scott sighs. He casts his eyes around, looking for something else to occupy himself.

"I don't like that you're in alliance discussions with Sausage," he says bluntly, eyes lighting on the far-off city walls, the border of Mythland just beyond. "He can't be trusted."

"I know how you feel," Jimmy says after a moment. "I think it's what's right for my empire right now. But if you really think it's a bad idea, I can reconsider and we can talk about it."

"I do," says Scott instantly. "I know Pearl says he's trustworthy now, but it doesn't change what he did. How his people treated yours. It isn't safe."

Jimmy wasn’t there. Scott’s never told him about it, either, the wounds still too raw, but that horrible meeting with Lizzie and Gem and Sausage still dwells in a dark corner of his mind. He recalls all too well Sausage’s taunts, his total disdain for the treatment of Jimmy’s body.

He cannot possibly imagine that the man actually intends to do good.

Scott glances at Jimmy, then again, to gauge his reaction. Jimmy nods slowly, scratches at his stubbly beard.

"Thanks. So what are you really thinking about?"

Jimmy's too perceptive for his own good. He’s just as good at faking sleep as Scott is, if not better—he'd probably noticed that Scott hadn't ever fallen asleep; that he'd laid there, awake, trying to bat off the thought that keeps plaguing his mind.

He'd probably noticed when Scott slipped out of bed, padding through the living room and the kitchen in the dark, to the back door, out onto the deck constructed over the wide canal.

They've been married for almost three years, and Scott has no clue how to ask this of Jimmy.

Mostly because they've been married for almost three years, and dated for a year before that, and Scott still doesn't know what his own answer is.

Jimmy already can tell that something is bothering him, though. Maybe he should just dive in headfirst.

Or dive headfirst into the canal, which almost sounds preferable to broaching the subject.

It has to be brought up sometime, and better Scott than his advisors. He wouldn’t put it past his council to corner Jimmy sooner or later.

"What are your thoughts on . . . on children?" he asks, slowly, as if the question has been pulled painfully from between his molars.

Jimmy shifts his weight on the railing, leaning a bit heavier on his elbows.

"Children," he says, a smile in his voice. "They're nice. Small. A bit loud, sometimes. What do you think?"

Scott snorts. "Yeah. They're . . . definitely small. And snotty. And adorable."

"And a huge responsibility," Jimmy adds.

"And a huge responsibility," Scott echoes.

There's a long moment of silence, then, as Scott turns his eyes back to the starry skies, to the brilliant moon.

The stars, in opposition to the moon, seem so far away here. Not like Rivendell, when they seem almost close enough to touch.

These tiny pinpricks in the sky barely appear to be real.

"Did you mean to ask me if I want to have kids?" Jimmy bursts out. "Like, I figured—"

"Yes," Scott cuts in.

"Right, right, but I didn't want to assume, so—um, yeah. . . . Do I want kids?" Jimmy taps his fingers on the railing. "Imagine our kids," he says, something fondly wonderstruck in his tone. "Offspring of a legendary elven hero and a demigod."

"Jimmy, if you hadn't noticed, we're not exactly equipped to have children together," Scott points out drily. "Unless there's something I don't know about demigods?"

"I—no, no, you're right—well, maybe there's a spell somewhere, we should—"

"Jimmy."

"I . . . I don't know."

Scott waits. His wings flutter slightly as a breeze shifts across them.

"Lizzie and Joel decided to not have kids," Jimmy says after a moment. "Like, ever."

"We aren't Lizzie and Joel."

"No. No, we aren't."

Scott sighs, just slightly. "My council has been . . . lightly nudging," he says. "I am quite young to be married, let alone have children, but I think my parents' early death and my supposed even earlier death scared them. They want the throne to be secure."

"Right, but we can't have kids. Does adoption work with elf succession? Have they ever had this problem?"

"I'm not the first gay ruler, darling. Usually it involves a third elf—a surrogate who can bear children. But—"

"Do you want kids, Scott?" Jimmy asks.

Scott falters.

Does he?

It's not that he doesn't, necessarily.

But. . . .

"Not . . . not right now, I don't think," Scott says cautiously. "Unless you want to, in which case—"

"I'm in no hurry," Jimmy interrupts. "Don't worry. If you want to wait, I'm fine with that."

Scott chews on his lip.

"When do most elves have kids?" Jimmy asks curiously.

"Around—well, most elves don't get married until they're around three hundred. It's younger with royalty, of course."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jimmy says, turning suddenly. "You aren't a teenager, right? When do elves come of age?"

Despite himself, Scott laughs. "No, I'm an adult, you're fine. Elves come of age between the ages of seventy and one hundred, generally. I should have probably come of age when I was ninety or so, but I had the ceremony when I was eighty-two."

"Oh, thank goodness," Jimmy breathes, slumping a bit. "Why is the marriage age for royals younger, then?"

"Well, you want all the royals married off as soon as possible," Scott says reasonably. "Make sure alliances are secure, get the royal descendants occupied so that they aren't trying to betray each other, give them something to do other than laze around the palace. It's actually a popular practice to plan a royal wedding on their two hundredth birthday."

When Jimmy doesn't respond, Scott looks over at him. "It's very sensible," he defends. "If my parents had lived, Xornoth likely would have been betrothed to Katherine or Joey or someone while I would have married a random elven duke or lord. Keeps Xornoth away and out of most politics, and keeps me occupied and gets us royal heirs. It's the most sensible way to do things."

Jimmy stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head. "That's just weird," he says. "Is it not out of love?"

Scott shrugs. "Exceptions have been made. True love, prophecies, the whatnot. For me, it just meant that my dating pool was limited to the Seven Lords of Rivendell and the Thirteen Dukes, or outside royalty. So, lucky thing I met you—the lords have never really been my favorite of party guests."

"Lucky," Jimmy intones, before shaking himself. "Geez, we got off topic. Kids. We were talking about kids."

Right.

Children.

"So you don't want kids right now," Jimmy says, and Scott nods. He hadn’t properly thought about his own wants until Jimmy had asked him—he’s the king, after all. His country is meant to come first.

He doesn’t want a child, though. Not yet.

"Not right now. I'm only a hundred and twelve, for Aeor's sake."

"Wait, one second, back to the marriage thing—are there elves that get married that young? Or are you the first one?"

"No, no, there's always someone who got married exactly a year after their coming of age," Scott waves. "Younger weddings are becoming more and more common. It isn't an issue."

"Cool. Cool. Back to the other thing. Kids—in the future, then?"

Scott looks down at his hand, resting on the railing. Then past it, to his aching left arm, hanging at his side.

He doesn’t want children right now. That’s what he says, what he puts off, what he insists.

"If we want kids in the future, they won't be yours," he says, carefully keeping his voice neutral.

Jimmy moves a little, his nightshirt sliding against his skin in an intimately familiar sound. "Right. Because of the surrogacy thing."

"I don't want a child who isn't yours," Scott bursts out, and this is really the issue that had woken him up, isn't it?

He can't help but see himself in the future, stuck with a child that's half him and half some other elf, lacking Jimmy's beautiful golden hair and perfect brown eyes and little bundles of scales. All he can envision is resenting that child, not tied to any part of the beauty that he loves so much.

He doesn't want that. He wants a child with Jimmy, made up of the both of them.

Jimmy waits.

He's standing there, patiently, waiting for Scott to speak.

But Scott suddenly has a lump in his throat, built up of guilt and frustration and grief, because there will never be a little version of the two of them running around the palace and he feels terribly selfish for wanting that.

Someday, he will need to have a child. Preferably two.

And they have to be of his blood.

"You're my husband," he says, valiantly holding back the tears that blur the edges of his vision. "I want you to be the father of my child. I want—I want a child with you, Jimmy, not with anyone else."

Jimmy hums. "You know I wouldn't mind, right? Adopting isn't any different to me."

But it's not the same.

"I don't know," he whispers. "I want it to be you."

"Good thing is, we don't have to worry about it right now," Jimmy says gently.

"But my council—"

"Can wait. They've been waiting for hundreds of years anyway. What's another hundred or two?"

Scott nods. Jimmy's right. They have time. More time than most, honestly.

"And who knows?" Jimmy adds. "Maybe someone will discover a way to make it work."

Maybe.

A lot can change in a couple hundred years.

It's even possible that they can get the Crystal Cliffs Academy working on some sort of . . . baby-making charm?

Dear Aeor, the sound of that makes him want to shrivel up in embarrassment. He could never request such a thing.

But Gem would absolutely put everything she has into creating something of the sort. She's a good friend—and the idea of a baby would certainly entice her. He ought to consider it, at least.

They have time, though.

He knows that this may not get any easier with time. His advisors will continue to bother him, and there will be the constant question posed of when is the right time if not now.

He doesn’t want a child right now. All he wants is Jimmy.

Scott takes in a deep breath of the cool night air, before scooting over until he's right next to Jimmy. He lays his head on his husband's shoulder, then his right hand over his husband's left.

Jimmy leans into him, rubs his hair with his cheek for a moment. "I love you," Jimmy says softly.

Even after three years of marriage, those words make Scott's heart want to burst.

"I love you, too."

28 notes · View notes

minyards-pipedream · 17 hours ago

Text

Cunt or Cryptid?

Welcome to the post where I tell you which of the Foxes serve Cunt and which are just Cryptids.

(The term cryptid is being used because it sounds cute with the title. This post may also contain things that are considered to be on the side of folklore.)

Dan Wilds

Cunt, obviously. She is their fearless leader and not afraid to absolutely annihilate a man’s chances of fathering children with her heels.

Kevin Day

Cunty Cryptid. He’s giving Loch Ness Monster. Everyone knows him, everyone wants to see him, but he knows what he’s good at and stays in his lane. I also think Kevin would enjoy that Nessie has such a long history behind her - the first recorded sighting being written in a biography from the 7th Century.

Andrew Minyard

Now don’t lose me here but CUNT. This is wholly an Autistic Gay Man and he knows what he’s doing to get people wrapped around his fucking finger. He may be the fearless leader of the monsters, but the only monster he’s serving is-

Matt Boyd

Cunt, but Cryptid-adjacent. He obviously serves in both his attitude and choice of girlfriend. However, he is a certified cryptid wrangler as seen with his relationship with both Neil and Seth. He is very close to making the transition from Deer to Not Deer. (A cryptid we will very much be covering later.)

Aaron Minyard

Cryptid. I would make a point about how he’s a collegiate athlete and pre-med student that parties almost every weekend and still manages to hold down a secret girlfriend, buttttt - let’s talk Banshees. Banshees are seen as an omen of death, their wailing cries foretelling of death to come. Aaron Minyard’s actions and words directly lead to the deaths of both Tilda Minyard (he was the one desperate to connect with Andrew and the abuse he received was the reason Andrew killed their mother) and Drake (see above, so they all go to visit, we know Aaron kills Drake). BUT what we don’t talk about is that Andrew went to college FOR Aaron to become a doctor, which means Aaron’s wishes were why Andrew eventually came to pick up his two strays. Neil gets caught by his father’s people because he stays at Palmetto with Andrew’s promise. Stuart and his men kill Nathan and his people saving Neil. Butterfly effect - Aaron also got *all* of those people killed. Banshee. Rant over lol.

Seth Gordon

Serving a secret third option : Corpse

Allison Reynolds

Cunt. She invented Cunt.

Nicky Hemmick

Cryptid. Huan Cat. Chinese folklore states that they’d be kept around the house to ward off evil spirits - like how Nicky came home to protect the twins from his parents. To give them a home where they’d be safe and loved. Huan Cats are also known for their mimicry, which reminds me of how Nicky can slot in with either the monsters or the rest of the team depending on need.

Renee Walker

Cryptid, Renee is our lovely Not Deer. Not Deer are said to appear like normal deer until you get a little closer, and look a little harder. They move differently, limbs appearing to be double jointed, and their faces and antlers contorted - which I think is a great way to allude to Renee’s inner demons that she’s working to grow past. Not Deer are also said to be entirely unafraid of humans, often approaching them when they’re alone and in the dark. This harkens to her relationship she cultivated with Andrew. She may appear normal at first, but upon further inspection, she may have more in common with the monsters than most.

Neil Josten

Cryptid, obviously. I’d like to give him Fresno Nightcrawler. He gives off their strange little man vibes, and no one can quite decide who he is or what they are. (Aliens? A pair of pants blowing on a loose clothes line? A new species of armless primate? It’s giving Alex? Stefan? Chris?) They’ve also been sighted all over the world, often running away from people. (Fresno, Yosemite, Poland.) And for these reasons, Neil Josten is being assigned as a creepy lil’ dude.

#aftg #neil josten #kevin day #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #dan wilds #matt boyd #seth gordon #allison reynolds #renee walker #nicky hemmick #palmetto state foxes

27 notes · View notes

yansurnummu · 3 days ago

Text

WIP whenever

tagged by @captain-of-silvenar and @pocket-vvardvark (i think last week sorry LOL)

tagging @caliblorn @varlaisvea @xangrr and whoever wants to!

here's a silly little sketch I started of zerith carrying azandar like the pretty prince he is. I thought about him picking up drals too but the only image I have of that in my mind is "over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes" which is not quite as romantic.

also here is a little piece of the old man polycule fic I've started working on. which is very rough currently but here's the direction it's heading in (nothing explicit yet, just mildly suggestive):

Drals paused in the doorway as two sets of eyes turned towards him. His gaze flicked from one to the other, suddenly nervous. He knew both of them well enough to catch the glimmers of impending mischief, the scheming smile on Azandar's lips and the twitch of Zerith-var’s tail.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, cautiously approaching where the two of them sat together.

“Not at all,” Azandar said, raising his eyebrows, as if he indeed had a secret to keep.

“We were just talking about you,” Zerith-var added, eyeing Drals as he approached.

“Me? What—”

Drals wasn't given the chance to finish his thought, as strong hands wrapped around his waist and pulled him down to sit in Zerith-var’s lap. He put an arm over Zerith-var’s shoulder as one hand moved to rest on his thigh. Flustered, he looked to Azandar, his eyes wide and his skin prickling with heat.

“Oh,” he breathed, recognising the look of want on Azandar's face as Zerith-var nuzzled against him.

“We were just discussing our mutual appreciation of you,” Azandar said, raising his hand to caress Drals’ jaw. “And, I'll admit, we've come up with a pleasant little plot. You'd like that, wouldn't you, my handsome pet?”

The pet name caused him to shudder. His eyes darted between the two of them, the implications of it all beginning to dawn on him.

What exactly they had planned, Drals was unsure. But the idea of being in between them both was very appealing. He imagined two sets of hands, one soft and one clawed, wrapping around him and pressing into his skin. One pair of lips on his and another on his neck, surrounded entirely by the two men he cared so deeply for.

#yans stuff #gee drals how come you get TWO service tops #maybe i will still draw zerith with drals thrown over his shoulder bc it's funney. we will see

27 notes · View notes

bellatrixnightshade · 23 hours ago

Text

@multifandom-carnage

Hi! This was originally for the gift exchange and while it isn't really Christmas anymore, I still wanted to give something.

This is incomplete and very much unedited. So I believe you may be the only person or one of the only people to ever see a whole lot of writing at my rawest. Even my experimental chapters were edited as usual. All the parts had a traditional holiday song in it that matched the theme or the vibe.

Secret Santa SGE Crackfic (Imcomplete)

Winter Wonderland–

Secret Santa shopping

Agatha sighed in annoyance as she walked inside the mall. She never should have participated. She wouldn’t have, if Tedros didn’t convince her. All she wanted was a peaceful holiday season spent with family. A Christmas with buttery turkey, hot chocolate, and sugary cookies, with nobody else to disturb her.

But now, after sticking her hand in that stupid black hat, she was stuck having to find a gift for an arrogant, entitled, and spoiled man that acted more like a child at times. And with being married to Tedros, that was saying a lot.

She scanned the photocopied list of everyone’s top five interests, and to her dismay, the man she had to play Santa Claus to was one of the vaguest there was.

Your Choice

Whatever you want

I don’t care

Whatever you have

Sophie’s list was cluttered with way more than five; Rufius’ simple but clear enough. Hester and Anadil openly declared they wouldn’t participate, and now Agatha saw it was with good reason.

“I’m not the only one,” Agatha grumbled under her breath as she saw a completely despondent acquaintance of hers exit a store empty-handed.

Midas had her draw’s brother for himself. Unfortunately, Midas hated said brother and may or may not be a teensy bit resentful of Agatha’s draw. He and another one of her draw’s friends, or acquaintances, or frenemies– whatever he considered them as– were about to perform for him. Agatha had a feeling it was more on the teasing side than a genuine act of gift-giving.

Agatha stepped aside from the crowds as she picked up her phone. It was Sophie calling, as usual.

“Hello?” Agatha snapped. “You know I’m pressed for time, trying to find something for that horrible man! Is this anything urgent?”

“Our party is tomorrow, Aggie, and Hort didn’t bring me the correct decorations! So, while you’re out, would you mind buying me some wreaths that have a better sense of festivity in them? Red is our dominant color, so some touches of berries would be lovely.”

“I am the last person to ask about this, Sophie, and you know it,” Agatha argued. “Can’t you find anyone else? Maybe Dot is willing to help, considering she and Rufius are doing so much already, aesthetically.”

“She’s making things like brownies, Agatha. Decorating cakes and a home are not the same things or skills. “

“Well, I can’t help you, because I’ll only end up getting something you don’t like. Besides, you have done much already, I don’t think the whole party will fall apart just because Hort made a couple of shopping mistakes. I’ve seen it and it looks perfect to me.”

“And this James man keeps playing that song on repeat!” Sophie whined, causing Agatha to flinch. “Not to mention, Aric will be there and Hester isn’t so happy about that, Japeth will infect the party with his presence, and Rhian and his sourpuss brother will attend as well. And I have Teddy as my draw for Secret Santa!”

“You aren’t the only one who has an unfortunate choice,” Agatha muttered. “What I can do is help out by buying some eggnog and some form of alcohol to go with that. For the game. By the way, you should remind people to either bring a sober driver with them to take them home or go in an Uber.”

“Pfft. I don’t think anyone will become intoxicated during the holidays! Let’s save that for a late night party at the club. Rhian– the father, not the son– says vodka should be there because his brother won’t drink anything else when it comes to alcohol. Which is silly because vodka seems a bit too strong for a stick-in-the-mud like Rafal.”

“He’s my person,” Agatha said. “Maybe I should buy him a bottle just so he can drink his assholery away. Maybe cirrhosis will make him more of one, though. You did get gifts for more than just Tedros, right? We have White Elephant and a regular gift exchange as well.”

“Aggie, why do you think I’m in need of financial assistance? I’ve obliterated my bank account for my generosity. Though, to be fair, most of the stuff I got were for my needs, and self-care is just as important as anyone else’s during the holidays. Rafal was one of the only people who couldn’t help me. He’s paying for Rhian’s credit card bill. But Rhian and I were on the same page. Such a pity his sons are loons! Though Rhian Jr. certainly inherited more of that charisma than his twin.”

“Yes, well, I have to get going,” Agatha said quickly, hanging up. She managed to buy several ugly sweaters, and even found one for cats. (Personally, they were cute rather than ugly.) She also purchased gift cards, chocolates, knick knacks and so forth. But it took her another couple of hours to finally find something for Rafal Mistral, and it wasn’t even in the same location.

As she fell asleep after she wrapped and bagged everything for the next day, she made a silent wish that everything would go well at the party. Things just did not seem right for her. So many people, with so many conflicts and differences, and so many pranks and jokes being planned did not sit right with her.

We Wish You a Merry Christmas and a Sappy New Year

At first, things seemed to take a normal course. Guests were greeted with a joyful “Merry Christmas!” and were assaulted with smells of melted marshmallows, buttery turkey, and freshly baked cookies. The more artistic kinds were whisked off to decorate plain sugar cookies– Rafal surprisingly included in the mix. Agatha noted he liked making little designs of swans on the cookies and some other birds. There was one where he did a holly plant, but that was due to Rhian’s insistence. He gave most to his nephews and he seemed more invested in them than their own father, who appeared as if he forgot they existed every five seconds.

Hester and Anadil looked more fit for a Halloween party, wearing sweaters that had belladonna berries instead of hollies. Aric had anything but holiday cheer, and Tedros was trying way too hard to get along with everybody, annoying more than one person. The only person who seemed really engaged for more than fifteen minutes was James, who was interested in developing more muscle.

Sophie did not follow the pajama theme, wearing heavy makeup, and a strapped black dress with a white fur coat. Her jewelry consisted of snowflake earrings and a candy cane choker. But then, the Mistral brothers were also not in theme.

“I have no reason to wear what I sleep in to a party,” Rafal hissed. “And no, Rhian, I am not dressing as Santa. May as well have Agatha be the Grinch.” This earned him a glare from Agatha. So much for spending money on him.

Hort knocked over some stockings that fell into the fire, earning screams and harsh reprimands from Sophie.

“And I paid good money for those!” Tedros said with regret.

“I helped,” Midas bit back. “I’m paying for half of these people’s debts.” He eyed Rhian. “He’s on his own, though. I don’t help creeps.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Rhian yelled.

“I think it’s a fair judgment. Aren’t your children from a relationship with your employee–”

“On other matters,” Rufius broke in, “why don’t we begin our gift exchange?”

“Gifts are for babies,” Aric mocked. “Why don’t we get to the drinks?” He turned to Rhian Jr. and Kei. "Unless some people are too baby for it?”

“They aren’t twenty one yet–” Rafal started. Rhian interrupted him, obviously eager for the alcohol. “Oh, I’m sure a few shots of something won’t hurt them. They’ve had my Stella Rosa wine before, after all. Didn’t do a thing to them.”

“Yeah!” Aric shouted. “Even your dad thinks it’s a good idea. Unless you’re all a bunch of crybabies? Wanna meet me outside? I didn’t like that little trick with the mistletoe by the way. Having Japeth and I kiss. We never kiss. That stuff is for softies.”

“We didn’t plan that out,” Rhian the younger replied hastily. “I don’t like you around my brother, and I think Kei would have the same opinion. Maybe Japeth planned it himself, since he’s so obsessed with you!”

Japeth got up. “That’s not a fair assessment to make! I don’t even want to be in this stupid party with songs and cookies and mushy gushy nonsense! I wanted to be alone with my best friend. I didn’t need mistletoe for that or anyone here. Besides, stop hating on Aric, because he’s more loyal to me than you ever have been to me!”

“That’s enough,” Rafal said. “Nobody here under twenty one will drink any drop of alcohol and I hope I made myself clear.”

“Gift exchanges sound really lovely,” Agatha broke in. “Who knows? Maybe we all find something we really enjoy? Tedros, why on earth are you constantly moving in and out of that room?”

He only grinned at her. Sophie rolled her eyes. “I peeked at his gift for James and already, I am despairing of his taste…”

“You wanna fight?” Aric threatened Rafal. Rafal didn't seem to care much. “I won't have the police over, catching me beating up a kid. Didn't go so well when you were trying to battle Hester, I heard.”

“I have a better alternative,” Tedros broke in.”Something that may appeal to their competitive spirit. Why not have us represent them in two teams and they bet who wins? Maybe they can use Christmas cookies or brownies instead of money.”

“I'm not participating,” Hort muttered. “Have a feeling I may have to take someone home.” He looked towards Sophie.

“God, I hope she doesn't drink to her death,” Agatha said under her breath. “While we are still sober, can we exchange gifts? Secret Santa at least?”

“And we haven't even watched Christmas movies with hot chocolate,” Dot added mournfully.

“Or sing Christmas carols and give some of our food to the poor children in the neighborhood,” Rufius said.

“Fine,” Tedros snapped. “Have it your way. My gift to you, Agatha, comes last.”

“And Midas and I have our own little present for a friend,” James said with a smile, Midas eyeing him knowingly. Rafal looked their way, suspicious. Agatha swallowed. Hester burst out laughing. Watching some man be publicly humiliated was one bonus for them today.

“Can I keep the Baby Jesus?” Dot asked as she turned to her friends. “He seems so cute and sweet in his manger…”

“Why am I not surprised she would ask that,” Anadil hissed. “Since it's the holidays, we'll let you as long as you keep it far away from us.”

Agatha smiled until she felt a bag smack her arm. “Ow!” she hissed, rubbing her arm. “What was that for?”

“I got you,” Rafal answered crisply. “For that little gift exchange thing Rhian dragged me into. Believe me, you are the last person I wanted. But I couldn't exactly back out.”

Agatha removed the gift paper from the bag only to find a $30 Amazon gift card inside. He didn't even try.

“To think I spent more than this for you,” Agatha whispered, trying to keep her voice down. “I'm sure everyone else gets the same. Am I correct?”

“Except in White Elephant. My old deck of cards. Some suits were missing so they are useless to me. And you got me?”

“Yes.” She walked to a table, tipping over someone's glass of eggnog in the process and brought out a wooden case with a pile of sketchbooks.

“I thought that you enjoyed drawing as a hobby. There's many different things for art inside. It was costly but I wanted my gift to mean something– even if we didn't necessarily start out on the right note.”

“What a waste,” he responded dryly. Suddenly, music started playing in the background, with James loudly dedicating it to him.

“Wham’s “Last Christmas”?” he hissed. “What on earth–”

“It’s supposed to match the way you’ve treated them,” Rufius said cheerfully. “Last Christamas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away…”

“Never pegged you as the heartbreaker type, but then again, it’s always the prudes,” Agatha whispered, grinning despite herself. “Merry Christmas, Rafal. Wish you luck for the game next!”

“What game?”

“You’ll see.”

#mara posts #rise of the school for good and evil #fall of the school for good and evil #sge #school for good and evil #fotsge #rotsge #the school for good and evil #gift exchange #2025 #imcomplete #won't add that much tags like characters

30 notes · View notes

leifygreeens · 2 days ago

Text

🎄 Secret Santa Fic Exchange 🎄

@nebraskashouse I hope you enjoy this, as belated as it is—and don't fret, the second part of this lovely little fic is on its way.

@loverboykirstein and @snailmail444 also posted some very delicious fics of their own for the season, you can find them here and here. Minors, do not interact with either of them, thank you. And as always, thanks to @lendelleaves for being my best friend and editor in chief. Would not be nearly as in love with this if it weren't for him.

2300~ words, Harvey/Fem!Farmer, SoftDom!Harvey, praise kink

Enjoy <3

The Farmer stands just a few feet away, readjusting the ornaments and tucking garlands higher or lower within the branches of their tree. She steps away with a sigh, clearly frustrated, and props her hands on her hips.

Harvey watches quietly for a moment, admiring the soft slope of the Farmer’s back beneath the hideous Christmas sweater she’d picked out for herself. It's a prickly woolen fabric, with the word ‘Naughty’ sprawled across the chest in an even pricklier red tinsel, made to match his much softer and more pleasant sweater, which reads ‘Nice’ in a perfectly comfortable embroidery thread. Then he sets his #1 Doctor mug on the coffee table with a soft thunk.

He gets up from the couch with a grunt, too quiet to catch her attention when she’s so preoccupied, and he takes advantage of her focus being elsewhere to slip his arms around her waist.

She sinks into him immediately, and he presses a kiss against her head, just behind her ear. The wool scratches against Harvey's wrists, but he doesn’t move.

“Dear, if you keep glaring at the tree like that you’re going to set it on fire,” he whispers.

“Sorry,” she mutters, curling her warm palms over his forearms and squeezing. He shakes his head and pulls her closer.

“Talk to me.” He bumps his nose against the curve of her jaw, just above her pulse point, and smiles when she shivers at the brush of his facial hair against her skin. “Tell me what's bothering you.”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, and Harvey frowns. “It’s just—it’s dumb.”

He watches the side of her face intently, studying the curve of her cheek, the swoop of her eyelashes, and the downturn of her mouth. He knows she knows that he’s watching, but she won’t meet his eyes. Harvey thinks that’s probably okay. He can still work with that.

He pulls back and presses a lingering kiss to her shoulder, just above the collar of her sweater. “You know I’ll never get tired of listening to you.”

“Careful… too much encouragement and I might start waxing poetic about the fermentation process for wine,” she jokes, and Harvey laughs, because he is a weak, weak man.

He hums, his smile turning soft. “Don’t go threatening me with a good time.”

“Well, if you insist,” she starts, taking a big breath, and Harvey spins her around before she can launch into a lecture on the intricacies of sugar and its effect on alcohol content.

The Farmer tastes like gingerbread and espresso.

Kissing her is easy, is comfortable. It always has been, even the first time when he was five hundred feet in the air and his heart was threatening to jump out of his chest and crash back to earth without him. She makes him feel brave, and his feet are on the ground right now, but he might as well be floating among the stars with how light his chest feels.

The Farmer wraps her arms over his shoulders with a contented sigh, and he follows her lead easily, dropping his hands down to her waist. The fabric is rough against his palms, and he wrinkles his nose.

“You really don’t like the sweater, huh?” she asks, grinning—and forcing him to pull away, lest he kiss her teeth.

“Of course I do.” Harvey bunches the horrendous fabric in his fists, and yanks her right up against him. His smile turns wolfish at her gentle yelp. “I love everything you wear.”

“Oh, you’re so full of shit.” She smirks as he shoves his hands under the fabric to grab at her waist properly.

“Language, dear,” Harvey whispers, and then he kisses her deeply. The warmth of her skin burns him alive. She makes a tiny sound, barely perceptible in the depth of her chest, and Harvey breathes in harshly through his nose before pulling a hair’s breadth away. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“Funny,” she says, carding her fingertips through the baby hairs on his nape. “I thought that was what you were trying to do.”

She tugs him down for another kiss, and Harvey groans, squeezing the Farmer’s sweet waist and—focus, damn it.

“Tell me what’s bothering you, honey. Please.” Harvey tugs himself away only to press their foreheads back together. She frowns through half-lidded eyes, and then sighs heavily.

“It feels like something is missing,” she mumbles, turning to face the tree. He follows her gaze to it.

Glittering garlands swoop through the branches, and sparkly plastic ornaments peek through the pine needles, flickering with the reflections of warm white lights. The tree skirt is a deep red velvet flecked with gold embroidery—a gift from Emily. It’s a good height, and the branches are full and green, green, green.

By all standards, it’s the perfect Christmas tree.

Harvey’s eyes flick to the very top, and—ah.

Harvey smiles fondly, amusement coloring his voice as he whispers against the shell of her ear: “I think I might know what’s missing.”

“Are you laughing at me? In my time of need?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at him and doing a very good job of pretending to be outraged. Harvey chuckles low in his chest and kisses her cheek.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harvey promises, gently lifting her chin upward with the first knuckle of his index finger. “I was just thinking of how silly Santa would look without his hat.”

She goes still as she takes in the top of the Christmas tree.

It is perfectly barren—not a star in sight—and Harvey grins as she drops her head back against his shoulder with a groan. “I knew I forgot something!”

Harvey chuckles heartily, and turns her face toward him so he can kiss the disappointed pout off of her lips.

“It’s a lovely tree nonetheless, honey,” Harvey says. “But I’m sure there’s something in the house that you could use instead of a star, if you wanted.”

“Will you help me look?” She asks, blinking her pretty eyes up at him, and his chest floods with warmth.

“Anything for you,” he promises, leaning down to press a long kiss to her cheek. “I’ll check the bedroom.”

Then he steps away, (albeit regretfully,) and makes his way down the hall.

The smell of cinnamon and sugar are thick even in here, and Harvey takes a deep breath in before crossing their plush rug and tugging open their closet. They may not have stars, but he has bow-ties and regular ties and he knows for certain that there’s ribbon leftover from when they were wrapping presents earlier that week.

Lo and behold, it doesn’t take him more than a minute before he’s walking back with several different options in his hands, all just as festive as the tree itself. He almost cringes at the patterns, actually. It’s a miracle the Farmer thought he was attractive when he was wearing such goofy-looking ties all the time.

“Honey, I think I found a couple things that could work!” He calls down the hall. He stops in the threshold a moment later to find her dragging the kitchen stool in front of the tree.

“So did I,” she says, holding up a pair of reindeer antler clips. “What do you think?”

“A reindeer tree?” He drops the ribbons and ties on the coffee table as he crosses the room. “Sure, why not?”

“Is that okay?” Her voice turns small, and Harvey presses a reassuring kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s adorable, and I love it. Do you want help putting them on?”

“Could you hold me?” She steps up onto the stool. “I don’t know how sturdy this thing is.”

Harvey settles his hands low on her hips.

She carefully clips one antler around a branch, making sure it sits upright, and then attaches the second one on the opposite side. The antlers are a good size, not too heavy but not too small, and she pulls her hands away to admire her handiwork.

Then her smile turns sharp.

“What are you scheming now, you little devil?” Harvey asks, fond, but maybe scared, maybe just a little. He'd count himself a fool if he wasn't.

She peers down at the tree, and he pays her rapt attention as she points at the lower branches. “Could you give me that ornament, down there? The bright red one?”

He nods and reaches for the glittering bauble.

Harvey pauses. Looks up at her.

“You’re not.”

Her grin widens. “Give it to me and find out.”

He shakes his head and slides the ornament off of the branch, careful not to break any needles with the metal hook, and places it in her waiting palm. She gives him a satisfied nod, and then hooks it around the tree, just under the antlers.

“Perfect.” She adjusts the ornament again, though he can't see why. “What do you think?”

“Rudolph the red-nosed Christmas tree.” Harvey squeezes her hip. “Cute.”

The reflections of the lights dance in her eyes, smoldering, like embers in a fireplace. Harvey licks his lips; he doesn’t fight the smile that spreads over his face, when she tracks the movement with catlike attention.

“Well,” she says, barely more than a breath. “As long as you like it.”

Foolish of her to think he could do anything else. He’s obsessed: every thought, every movement, every word out of her mouth is like a gentle caress against his soul.

He reminds her of this quietly. “I love everything you do.”

“Do you, now?” she asks, and the words are teasing while her tone is anything but. Harvey’s fingers twitch against the waistline of her plush pajama pants. The soft white fabric would look so lovely crumpled on the floor…or dangling from her ankles. He’s not picky.

“You don’t believe me?” Harvey drags one palm down her thigh, and squeezes the muscle there. It's a question, too.

The Farmer steadies herself on his shoulder and bends down to press a long kiss against his brow bone. The hunger in him simmers, and he closes his eyes to lean into the warmth.

“I believe you,” the Farmer’s lips brush against his skin, featherlight and tickling his hairline as she moves to whisper in his ear: “But could you prove it to me again?”

Gladly.

She huffs a laugh, and he wonders if he’d said it out loud.

“Go to the bedroom,” Harvey says, pitching his voice low, and gravelly, just the way she likes it.

Her breath catches, shivering against the shell of his ear and making his hair stand on end. She listens, pulling away slowly and stepping down from the stool. Only when her feet meet the carpet does she look up at him again, her eyes desperate and eager and not at all like those she fixed on him a mere two minutes ago.

He knows that look.

“Meet me on the bed. Keep everything on.” Harvey curls his hand over the back of her neck and drags her up into a heated kiss. He pulls away, sooner than he'd like to, feeling hungry, almost starving.

She swallows harshly, the blush on her cheeks sending jolts through him. “Am I allowed to touch myself?”

Fuck, what a question. “Do you think you could last that long?”

A pause.

“No,” she whispers, and Harvey brushes his thumb over the swell of her bottom lip.

“Would you rather come on your own fingers? Do you think that would satisfy you?”

“No,” she hisses, her hands flying up to grab his wrist. Her voice is just as firm when she repeats, “No.”

Harvey chuckles and pats her ass, encouraging. “Go, then. I’ll be quick.”

She disappears down the hall in a blur of color and quick footsteps, and Harvey gets to work immediately. He doesn’t want to keep her waiting, lest she actually shove a hand down the front of her panties to find some semblance of relief.

Or maybe she would just rub her pretty little thighs together, and she would never get enough of anything for it to matter—

His mouth goes bone dry, and he sets off for the kitchen with their empty mugs hooked on his fingers. He doesn’t bother washing them, just fills them both to the brim with scalding water to soak, and returns to the living area. The throw pillows on the couches are deflated, but he doesn’t bother fluffing them back up like he ordinarily would. He yanks the plug for the tree lights out of the socket, plunging the room into near darkness, and then marches down the hall.

The Farmer is at the edge of their bed, still fully clothed and white-knuckling the sheets on either side of her hips like a lifeline. So much restraint in those lovely eyes of hers, trying so hard to be good, to be patient. Harvey bites down on a noise that would have come out pained, and closes the door behind him.

“Beautiful,” he says, loud enough for her to hear. She shivers, a tempting blush blazing over her cheeks and the tips of her ears. The effect is near-instant, and Harvey almost laughs. He already knows the answer, but: “You didn’t touch yourself.”

She shakes her head quickly. “I didn’t want to… not without you.”

Harvey pushes off the door, and he thinks he must be going a little mad. He stops in front of her, right between the V of her legs where she’d spread them in anticipation. She cranes her neck back to look him in the eye, and Harvey cups her jaw. “Safe word?”

She sighs into his skin, and turns to kiss the heel of his palm. “Espresso.”

They’ve never needed it before, but he asks—reminds—her every time. Just in case.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, and leans down to give her what she's asked for.

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew harvey #sdv harvey #stardew farmer #sdv farmer #stardew fic #sdv fic #fic exchange #moots <3 #been a fucking minute since i posted anything worthwhile but here it is!!#I hope you like it!! <3

31 notes · View notes

f4ggydog · 2 days ago

Note

Sub Doggy/werewolf nat.... Just throwing it out there... And maybe projecting a little -🐶🪓 (taking this if it isnt taken already)

nat’s tail wags instantly when he lays eyes on you. it’s incredibly pathetic, but you’re such a benign individual that you decide not to be cruel right now. just for now. maybe later, you’ll bully the shit out of him because he looks so cute when he’s getting picked on. but, you have to take care of your subs sometimes. don’t want too much of the degradation to get to their heads and discourage them, do you?

nat faces the other way when you sit next to him. nat knows for a fact that he blushes easily, since you’ve 100% pointed it out to him before. it gets him shy when you make those comments. and unfortunately, nat is still unnerved by the idea of removing his tough persona.

he can’t disguise himself for long, though. one poke at his side and he’s already giggling, lightly swatting your hands away and telling you to stop. his wolf teeth look even more adorable when he’s got a smile on his delightful face.

you squeeze both of his cheeks, wanting to completely strangle him with love. you could squeeze for eternity or until you cause him to explode. sometimes you wish you could see his little head pop when you hugged too hard.

“sweet boy,” you coo as nat crawls into your lap. “you smell so good. is that your pheromones or some cologne you bought for me?”

“you know i don’t really fuck with cologne,” nat mumbles, head resting on your legs. “are you saying i don’t smell good?”

“of course not.” you pat nat’s head and scratch behind his ears. he still remains pretty ticklish by that part of his body and he wiggles in response like a little worm.

“t-tickles,” nat whines, pawing at your chest. “baby….”

“are you getting all soft on me?” you speak in a tender voice. “being such a needy baby boy right now.”

you poke nat on the nose and he scrunches it.

“don’t give me that face. you know you would’ve bit me already if anybody else did this to you.”

oh, nat’s been caught red-handed. he’s got a soft spot for you. he feels less of the need to treat you with talons and claws and thorns when you stick by his side. nat’s not a morally corrupt person. he’s just selective with who he believes he can trust. but thankfully, you make it to the top of his list. and you surely take full of advantage of how quick that boy is to drop onto his knees for you.

you drop your hand into nat’s jeans, making him grind against your palm in an instant. your hand slithers around until you can push past his boxers and locate his tdick. and of course it’s already throbbing. what a little slut.

“baby,” nat whines, frowning. “w-what are you doing?”

“don’t worry about it. don’t you want me to take care of you?”

“but baby…”

“natty,” you say more sharply. “remind me again what happens to pups when they go into heat. what becomes my responsibility?”

“y-you can’t tell that im in heat though,” nat pouts, stuck in a massive stage of denial.

“who do you think you’re fooling?” you shake your head, fondling nat’s erect tdick. “you’re not a very good liar, baby boy. don’t play those games with me.”

“n-not trying to play games,” natty mewls. “just want you to take care of me. just need you to h-help me.”

“i knew you did,” you grin pridefully. “now, don’t act so bashful when i call you out. your little submissive nature is our little secret baby, right? unless you want the others at camp to know how it only takes one touch for you to melt into a giant puddle.”

#natalie scatorccio #natalie yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #asks #blurb

21 notes · View notes

mister-eames · 3 days ago

Text

Secret Saito 2024

Happy Secret Saito to you all, I hope you're having a great holiday season x

This is my @secretsaito gift for @motionalocean, whose prompt was lurid. I hope you enjoy this darling <3 thank you for the prompt!

Prompt: lurid Pairing: Arthur/Eames Word Count: 5.4k Warnings: Alcohol, post-break-up, make-up, miscommunication, some angst but with a happy ending, mild drunkenness and anxiety, blink-and-you'll-miss characters and references from dated 90's movies, trust me they live happily ever after.

----

Eames tugs the lapels of his jacket and squares his shoulders, projecting an air of confidence that he isn't quite sure he really feels. Knows he doesn't, in honesty, otherwise he wouldn't be trying it on.

But it doesn’t matter, really; he can fake anything for long enough to fool who counts. Eames once convinced the Prime Minister of Australia that he was raised by a red kangaroo in the red soils of the outback after being abandoned by his mother. He once convinced a travelling group of tourists that he was the next in line for the throne. No doubt about it, if he's assured of anything, it's that Eames can convince a bunch of people he doesn't even know that he is a confident, wealthy, self-made man.

Two out of three isn't bad.

He pushes the door to the ballroom open and feels his mouth stretch into the genial smile of a man with his shit together.

---

The noise around Arthur is near deafening. A live band plays a rotation of top forty hits from the last several decades and the countless surrounding conversations of too-loud family make for an incomprehensible cacophony. He’s only been here for an hour but his head is already pounding like a pick into an ice-shelf.

The venue is noisy. The decorations are showy, a riot on the senses. It's all very gauche. Very Cohen family. Very Aunt Edith, who he must lovingly admit this is very fitting.

By means of having attended here alone Arthur has found himself in the orbit of some group of people he only vaguely recognises, three drinks in already, trying to politely refrain from checking his watch for the right time to excuse himself. Although he’s long tuned out, he’s still nodding at all the right places, interjecting with the odd "Oh, really?"

Hand to god he's not normally such a drinker in social settings, especially not the bottom-shelf spirits and wine that this bar is serving, but—well. He tips his drink back, emptying the flute in a single gulp. It doesn't bear thinking about.

"And what do you do for work?" a young woman holding a full flute of champagne asks Arthur.

"I'm a freelance consultant."

"Nice," she says, eyeing him up and down with interest. "In what industry?"

The reply rolls practiced off his tongue. "Quantum technology."

Arthur doesn't even know who he's talking to anymore. His third cousin's second born partner, maybe. Could be. Aside from his immediate family Arthur couldn't name most of the people here. It’s sloppy of him, perhaps. At least from a security standpoint, maybe. But Arthur isn’t on the job anymore, and he’s grown weary of watching all the exits and having eyes in the back of his head for events like family birthdays all the damn time. His nerves are so burned out they're beyond resurrection.

"Who's that?" someone asks.

He looks to the entrance. His stomach drops to his feet.

"What the hell is he doing here," Arthur mutters under his breath, feeling his face heat up. Someone grabs his arm and shakes it.

"Eames is here," his Uncle Sandy says excitedly. "I thought you said he wasn't coming!"

"He said he couldn't make it," Arthur says through his teeth. He said he wasn't going to be here.

He watches as Eames takes an offered glass of an amber drink, smiling widely as he is greeted by relatives and their partners, people who Arthur, still, can hardly name. He looks hale and healthy and whole, shoulders relaxed, making easy conversation like it's his own party.

By the time he's noticed, Eames has already looked up and met his gaze.

Eames raises a toast to him.

He barely refrains from raising his middle finger in return.

Arthur is going to kill him, that little fucking liar. Arthur is going to kill him in front of everyone here. There will be so many witnesses and Arthur will go to jail but it will be so worth it. That smarmy, little prick, look at him. Schmoozing and disrupting Arthur’s entire night like the little liar he is.

He tosses back his own drink, finding it somehow already empty.

Easy fix, Arthur thinks, unlike everything else. He abandons whoever is speaking to him to march over to the bar and orders a martini.

---

It takes all of five minutes for Eames to lazily wander over and side up next to Arthur, gesturing to the bartender for a second drink. He is wearing a suit Arthur has never seen him in; something so immaculately tailored and well-made that it can't be new.

"You said you weren't coming."

"Actually what I said was that I'd rather masturbate into a cheese grater than show up, but as you would know," Eames affects an air of disinterest, "changes of heart are just so common."

“You really should have done yourself a favor and gone with the first idea.”

“Yes, well. After very little deliberation I came to the realisation that I have as much right to be here as you do."

"It's my family."

"Funny," says Eames humourlessly. "I thought I was family too."

Arthur clenches jaw, retort dying in the back of his throat. Eames isn't wrong. Eames is practically part of the furniture at his family functions, and has been for over ten years. Up until---

"Besides," says Eames. "Aunty Edith likes me best. And I have her gift."

"Whatever," Arthur pulls the lapels of his jacket, squaring his shoulders. "Just stay out of my way."

"I intend to," Eames replies.

"You better."

"I will."

"Good."

"Great."

Arthur turns his body away, his skin crawling like a horde of ants were underneath it. "You can go back to your corner of the room now."

"Ta ta," Eames says, easily plucking the olive from Arthur's martini glass. "Pleasure seeing you, Arthur. Parting is such sweet sorrow, etcetera."

"Go find yourself that cheese grater."

Eames leaves with a satisfied glint in his eyes. Arthur sips his oliveless martini, uncaring. He hates olives, anyway.

---

“Why aren’t you here with Arthur?”

A fabulous question, really, considering no one here is a blood relative of his, or even a friend, besides the birthday girl.

"Well," Eames tells Arthur's drunk cousin, Barry, perhaps a little drunk himself. He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "But we had a falling out recently, see. We're not together anymore."

"Really?"

Eames nods. "Over post-it's, if you'd believe."

The crowd of four he's speaking with pause in unison, aghast, as they no longer pretend they're not eavesdropping.

"Post-it's?" Someone repeats, incredulous.

Emerging from the bathrooms, draped in a fabulous red feather boa is the birthday woman of the hour. Arthur’s Great Aunt Edith. She is resplendent amongst pomp and circumstance, a withering cigarette in one hand, wine in the other. She spots Eames and waves him over.

"Long story," Eames says, downing his drink. "Anyway, nice seeing you." He waves back to Edith and heads over.

"Eames, my dear," Edith embraces him. "So good to see you."

"And you, my lovely lady," he kisses her flushed cheeks, feeling a knot in his upper back come loose. "I hear it's your eightieth birthday," he pulls back, assessing her. "You don't look a day over fifty."

"Oh, stop," she swats him away. "Where's Arthur? I've hardly seen him all night."

"Ah...I'm sure he's about," Eames smiles mildly, immediately feeling the knot coming back. "You know how he is. Can't sit still, that one. Anyway, tell me what you've been up to."

As he eagerly anticipated, she puts on a show, eyes widening with all of her witnessed tales: The headliner: Distress, despair, drama. She clutches his arm, steering him away from the crowd.

"Oh, Eamsie, darling, where do I even begin."

---

It's been two whole hours. Arthur hasn’t stuck around a family function this long since his youngest cousin’s Bar Mitzvah in ‘02.

"I haven't seen you since you were this high," his aunt Michele exclaims, gesturing to her bra-line. "Still, you barely look a day over twenty, you Cohens and your genes. I'm so jealous. Who are you wearing, Armani?"

"Tom Ford," he blinks.

"And what are you doing here all by your lonesome, hmm? Where's your beau?"

"My ex, you mean" he says, a little more drunkenly than he intends to, wiping his sweaty palm down his tie. He turns around on his stool and picks Eames out by the far end of the room and points to him. Luckily, Eames doesn't notice, or doesn't acknowledge this.

"No. When did you break up?" She looks genuinely sad.

"Like, yesterday."

"Oh my god."

"Yep."

"You two were, like, so cute together. What happened?"

"Post-it's,” Arthur mutters murderously. “Post-it's happened."

"Huh?"

"Pretty ballsy of Eames to show up here at a family function like that if you’re not together," Barry says, cutting in. “Y’know. Considering.”

"...He is family," Arthur says quietly, eyes sliding to the small crowd Eames has amassed, each lured and falling to his natural charm. He fits right in, he always has. Like a missing piece of a prevailingly incomplete puzzle; he's as much a branch of the family tree as Arthur is. "...Even if he and I are not... anyway. Leave him be."

He lets that hang in the air and slides off his stool, and heads to the bathroom. Eames seems to have wandered off elsewhere, Arthur notes. Not that he was looking or anything.

---

Eames has just received a dollop of fancy-smelling soap in the palm of his left-hand when the bathroom door swings open. He's lathering it over his fingers when he looks up at the mirror and meets Arthurs gaze.

A thunderous look overtakes Arthur's features as he stalks to the urinals at the far wall, looking pale and unsteady despite his visible agitation.

Well, whatever. Ignoring him, Eames waves his hand uselessly in front of the sensor tap, failing to elicit a stream of water, Eames can't help himself, Arthur is fucking swaying on the spot. "Had a bit much, have you?"

The reply is instant.

"Fuck off."

He fucking hates these things. By the time Arthur has finished taking the world's longest piss Eames is still wriggling his soapy fingers towards the sensor without success.

It prompts a huff and a bitchy "Jesus christ," before Arthur is leaning over and waving his hand under the stupid handlebar structure that Eames thought was decorative, eliciting a stream of cold water.

"Stupid fucking things," Eames mutters, dipping his hands under the spray.

There's an awkward moment where they finish washing their hands at the same moment and reach for the same paper towel dispenser.

"New suit?" Arthur gruffs, wiping his hands roughly.

"It is actually," Eames mutters, heart drooping like a forsaken house plant. He'd bought it six months ago, intended for their anniversary next month. He'd been hoping to surprise Arthur with it.

In a way, he supposes he has. Just not the way he'd envisioned.

He checks the state of his hair in the reflection. "Not up to your high standards, Arthur?"

In the mirror Arthur rolls his eyes as he bunches up his paper towel. "I just didn't take you for a bow-tie man, is all."

Arthurs hair is down; long and curly, just the way Eames likes it. Used to like it. Compliments and insults gather and tangle amongst themselves on the tip of his tongue. He wants to say something between fuck you and you look unfairly lovely in that suit. He wants to say he's sorry, that he wishes more than anything he could reach his hands into time and reverse the clock, to go back and not say the things he did.

"You always did profess to know me better than you do," is what he says instead.

Ten years down the fucking drain. He turns then and, much like he did not so long ago, leaves.

---

Arthur thinks his suit might be too tight.

Or maybe his tie is too close to his throat. Maybe someone has sucked all of the air out of the room, there's too many people. It's hot in here, too hot. In any case, Arthur is finding it harder to breathe than he did twenty minutes ago.

Trembling fingers worry with the knot of his tie for the nth time as he attempts to draw in a deep, heaving breath but finds his lungs refusing to expand to capacity. And it's as if someone has turned his hearing up to a hundred; the ballroom both quiet and deafening at once, he's sure everyone here can hear his galloping heartbeat, they all seem to be looking at him. Maybe he's making all the noise. He can't remember.

Maybe he has had too much to drink.

Arthur has always been a bit of an outlier in his family. Never like his cousins. Too trapped in his own head. And now he's turned up to this party and everyone knows he's been unable to save his marriage, that it's back to baseline at his age when all of his cousins are having kids. Arthur is at one of these things alone again even with Eames swanning about, avoiding each other like they are strangers.

Intimacy has a fatal backlash, and this is it.

He has to get out of here.

Pasting on a smile, he finds Edith by the bar. She's graciously shared half of her feather boa with Aunt Michele as they speak.

"I'm heading out," he interrupts them, embracing Edith. "Happy Birthday, again. Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh, Arthur dearest," she says, her hands finding his shoulders, her rouged lips sloping into a frown. "So soon?"

"I have an early morning," he lies. "A work thing."

She shares a look with Michele. "Could you please do one thing for me before you leave?"

"Sure."

"I'm feeling a bit of a chill. Would you be able to retrieve my coat from the cloak room?"

It's the least he could do dipping out early on her special day. "Of course."

"Number sixteen,” she passes him a paper ticket. “Lime leopard print, you can't miss it."

The cloak room, if he recalls correctly, was in the grand hall, out of the ballroom, towards the entrance.

So close, but so far, he thinks wryly, heading in.

---

It's quite stuffy in here, generously sized for a glorified closet, he has less room than he'd like, but it's hot work, rummaging around the large coats and jackets.

It's as he's spotted the lime leopard print monstrosity, way at the back, when he hears a tell-tale snick.

He drops the item and lunges for the door handle. It doesn't open.

“No, no, no…” He jigs the handle, twisting it this way and that, bile rising up his throat. It's locked. He can't open it. Either this is a huge mistake or some fucker has just locked him in here. "Is anyone there?"

He calls out again, louder. No one answers him.

Then he kicks the door.

It doesn't budge. He pulls his phone out with nervous, shaking hands, desperate enough to call Eames to get him the fuck out of here. Not even Eames is petty enough to leave him in the lurch in a situation like this. He tries, but it goes to voicemail for each time Arthur tries.

No service. Of fucking course. Why would anything go right for him.

His eyes slip shut briefly and suddenly he is in an elevator; a tiny, cramped elevator that is going to descend and crash at any moment. A wave of vertigo washes over him so suddenly that his knees buckle, taking him to the floor.

The tie is loosened, and wrested from his person and thrown to the ground.

"Fuck," he says to himself. He buries his head in his hands and laughs, eyes burning, suddenly very, very sober.

---

If asked, Eames would generously say he is mostly a fan of Arthur's family. His mom, bless her memory, was a darling. Sandy, Michele, Edith, all gold star members of the Cohen clan, whether outsourced or made in-house. But some of them, however, are insufferable.

A dominant Cohen trait, it would seem.

He's been stuck speaking to some old fart who is drunkenly admitting to having a mistress while some other, older fart next to him nods and openly shares stories of sneaking gropes of the younger women who work in his office.

"Well, that's depressing," he mutters, downing the rest of his champagne, skin feeling greasy simply by proximity. "Nice talk, chaps."

He leaves that circle of degeneracy to find someone more up to his speed. But as he turns, and turns, and turns, there doesn't seem to be anyone to fit that brief. He can't even see Arthur. Perhaps he left already. Without saying goodbye, or even a middle finger, that scoundrel. Not that Eames cares.

He smooths a hand down the front of his shirt and considers that it is perhaps time to leave.

The birthday girl finds him before he finds her.

"Oh, Eamesie," she kisses his cheeks again. "You heading out, are you?"

"I am," he takes her hands in his, pressing a kiss to the back of each one. "Early morning, see."

"Worst news of the night! You'll come visit me soon, won't you?"

"Of course. We have to do happy hour."

"Of course! Can you do one thing for me before you leave?"

He smiles, fond, a happiness to indulge her blooming brightly in the cracks inside of him. "Of course."

Her shoulders shake with a theatrical shiver. "I'm feeling a bit of a chill... would you be able to retrieve my coat from the cloak room? Number sixteen."

---

Arthur estimates that he's been sat on the floor, staring into nothingness, for at least twenty minutes when the door to the cloak room opens.

He's instantly on his feet, a thank god on his lips, when he sees that it's Eames who's come to his rescue.

Eames is staring at him, dumbly. "What are you doing in here?" he asks, the yellow light of the bulb above his head giving him a halo. “Did you pass out or something?”

“What?” Arthur pauses. "What are you doing here? Then it occurs to him exactly what Eames is doing in here. The blood rushes out of his upper body. Then he says, "Fuck."

Snick.

“Did—?”

Hysteria wells up where hope has vacated as he watches Eames whirl around and re-enact the same thing that Arthur had done earlier in trying to get the door open.

"It's locked," Arthur informs him.

"It's locked," Eames exclaims as if he hasn't heard him, roughly shaking the door handle. "Arthur, it's fucking locked. We're locked in." He pounds on the door and calls out, but no one comes, even when Eames resorts to bellowing for help.

Arthur sighs, head pounding.

Eames whirls around, anger writ over his face. "Are you going to fucking help or what, Arthur?" He takes his phone out of pocket, "Useless. I'll just fucking---" he taps the screen roughly. "No service? How is there no fucking service?"

"I've already tried that."

Eames rummages through the racks of coats, trying to look for something. "Surely there is something to jimmy that fucking door open." He pats himself down in a panic. "I don't have my fucking kit with me. The one day I don't have my goddamn kit."

Arthur knows. He left his lockpicking kit at their house, along with all of his other possessions.

"Did Edith ask you to get her coat?"

Pausing his assault on the door Eames sends a suspicious, caged look. "How did you know? Did you fucking plan this?"

"What the fuck?" Arthur blinks, taken aback. "Why would I plan this? Do you think I want to be stuck here with you?"

"I don't know, do you?"

"I don't want to be anywhere fucking near you," he snaps. Unbelievable. “This is the last place I want to be in." He punctuates this by pressing himself to the furthest wall, a whole four feet away from Eames. "Edith asked me the same thing," he swears. "What did you tell her?"

"I didn't fucking tell her anything, just that we split up."

"And what else?"

"I didn't tell her to lock me in a fucking closet with you if that's what you're asking," Eames snaps. "No doubt this is her idea of a joke."

More like her idea of a daytime soap. "I'm not laughing," Arthur mutters darkly.

"I suppose you wouldn't be," Eames says, mouth twisted in a facsimile of amusement. "Can't run away when someone's got you locked in."

Arthur strips his jacket off in angry motions, suddenly very warm, and drops it to the floor beside his tie. Beads of sweat roll down his back as the walls seem to close in with every verbal jab.

"Rich coming from you. I'm not the one who ran away."

"I left after you left me." Eames adds.

"I didn't fucking leave you!" Arthur snaps, wishing he were anywhere else, that the floor would open and swallow him whole. He's so sick of talking about this. "God, you're so self-absorbed! You can't ever be wrong, can you?"

“Oh, are we doing this now?” Eames' arms cross over his chest. "What part am I wrong about—"

"—All of it—"

"—was it the note you left on the PASV that said 'I can't do this anymore'? Or was it the second that said 'I'm leaving?'".

"Leaving for a job for fucks' sake!" Arthur frustratedly wipes his hands down his face. "You weren't back from Berlin yet!"

"You'd been ignoring my calls for an entire week," Eames says. “If that’s not precisely what you meant, what was I supposed to think? That you’d announced your departure for milk and eggs down the shops?"

"You were supposed to ask me! Like, 'Hey, Arthur, what's this about?'"

"So you could break up with me to my face?"

Arthur shakes his head. "You always do this. You always cut the goddamn cord when you think someone is going to let the other end go first. I wasn't breaking up with you, asshole. You misunderstood."

"Yes, well," Eames huffs defensively, "it was only a matter of time, wasn't it? It was always going to end this way. It always does."

Arthur doesn't think so, but is too angry to bother refuting him. His fingers, slippery with sweat, struggle to unbutton his cuffs. He gets there and pushes his sleeves up messily, then works on the first few buttons of his shirt. He takes hold of the fabric and pulls it away from his chest, using it to fan himself.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm--" he wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "It's too hot. I can't breathe." The room is too small. The room is too fucking small, there isn’t enough air—the elevator is falling—

"...sit down." Eames voice is muffled. "...sit down, Arthur."

His legs abruptly collapse beneath him at the command, knees buckling like a puppet that had its strings cut. Curling in on himself Arthur buries his head in his shaking hands again so he doesn't have to see.

Several long, quiet moments pass before he hears Eames shuffle and sit in front of him, clothes shifting noisily before him.

"Do you remember when we broke up over stamps that one time?" Arthur says into his hands when it feels like he’s not going to fall anymore, when there is a little more oxygen in the room.

“Yeah.”

"I thought that was the dumbest reason for anyone to break up and nothing could ever top it.” He huffs darkly, laughing a little. “I was wrong."

"To be fair, they were my Uncle Micks' stamps."

"Your Uncle Mick was an asshole."

"Yeah but his collection was worth a mint. Until you threw them out."

"I didn't realize what it was,” he says sadly. “I thought it was trash."

"You misunderstood."

He presses his fingernails into his hairline until it hurts. "Yeah, I guess I did."

---

Every second that it takes for Arthur’s breathing to even out Eames counts out. Each of those seconds he wishes the closet door would magically open and give them both what he can’t, a solution to everything wrong between them.

"You're never going to forgive me about following Dom, are you?" Arthur says after a long time.

"It's not that I haven't forgiven..." Eames swallows, tracing a line over the curve of his thumbnail. "There was never... I've forgiven you. Long ago."

“Then why did you say—? Yesterday. Why did you...”

Maybe Arthur was right, that it was Eames looking for an out this entire time. Maybe he wants some benevolent force to open that door so Eames can flee for good, unable to stand this peeling back of his skin, the under surface exploration that has never become easier, even after all this time.

Finding the right words is like digging for gold in a bargain bin at a discount store. In all of the white noise he tries to find the words; but they come out clumsy; insufficient. "When you left that time. It was...it felt..." He feels stupid even saying it, "...it hurt so tremendously that I think it took out a part of me."

"Eames."

"And the only way I could cope with that was to shut off that part of myself that cares with the same ferocity. To just turn it all off. I think I never put myself back together quite right. And every time I start thinking you're going to leave again..."

"You do what you think you need to to protect yourself. "

He shrugs, profound shame heating his face. "I do it before I know I've done it. I can't feel left behind if I convince myself I don't love you anymore."

"And you don't?"

"I only convince myself long enough to get out the door," Eames admits for the first time out loud. "It's pride that he keeps me from walking back in. I don't know if I can fix it."

"I wasn't going to leave."

It’s been forty hours of the same argument. Eames is beyond tired of this. "Then what the fuck does 'I can't do this anymore' and 'I'm leaving' mean, Arthur?"

Out of the corner of his eye Arthur looks awful, more awful than he did when Eames walked in. Ten years older and barren of any human vitality; smaller. "I was leaving for another job. It was going to be my last because I'm quitting."

Eames blinks. "You are not."

"I'm done. No more dreaming, no more consulting. None of it."

"You wouldn't last five minutes without it."

"I knew that's what you would say," Arthur fiddles with his hands, not meeting his eyes. "But I am. I mean, aren't you tired of it?"

"I was tired of it five years ago, Arthur. Remember, before you pulled me back in for the Fischer job?"

"I wish I'd quit then. Right after Mal." He laughs, darkly. "I wasted so much time. I fucking regret it. We could have had more time; now look at us."

"I can't believe you wrote that on fucking post-its," Eames wipes a hand down his face. "Why didn't you write 'let's quit dreamshare', you stupid idiot."

"It was only a first draft. You were home earlier than I expected. You weren’t meant to find them."

A long silence passes between them, taking up all of the available space in the tiny cloak room.

"You're right," Eames nudges their knees together, heart breaking a little. "This is way more stupid than the stamps break-up. Or the time with the bagel."

"I hadn't eaten in three days," Arthur says, ire momentarily flaring like a stoked fire as Eames knew it would, bringing a bit of life back to him. "Fuck. I was so mad when you ate that. I was so hungry."

"It was a stale bagel, for what it's worth."

"...I'm sorry you found the notes like that. I didn't think-- I didn't think. I was just trying to plan what to say. I was scared it was going to be a deal breaker."

"I suppose it was, in a way."

"Yeah."

An uncomfortable silence passes between them. In the far distance the can hear echoes of the ballroom music, but no voices, or footsteps.

"Eames?"

"Mm?"

"I..." Arthur visibly appears to take a moment to measure his words. "When you said yesterday that I was a flake looking for the next out... I'm not a flake."

Regret slides down Eames throat in a hard, solid lump. "I shouldn't have said that. I know you're not."

"And I shouldn't have said that you weren't in this to begin with."

"I was, you know," he says.

"Yeah."

"But this up and down thing," Eames says, finally loosening his bow-tie, the old aches in his knees and the small of his back making themselves known. "I had it wrong, but I had it right. We can't keep doing this.”

“No.”

An air of sadness and finality permeates the room so thickly that Eames can't take it. He isn't going to let post-its of all damn things be their end. So he does what he does best, and takes a gamble.

“...We'd need to do something different."

The dividends are paid out in Arthur blinking at him in surprise, the ghost of a hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah,” he agrees. “Like... not working in an industry we resent?"

"Or not getting mad over stamps."

"Or bagels."

"Or not seeing family you like often enough."

"Not explaining things clearly," Arthur concedes, inching closer. "I was wrong, Eames. I messed up, big time. I am an idiot."

"Will you write that on a post-it?"

"A hundred times over."

"I do love you, very much, for what it's worth." Eames tells him. "I can't unlove you. I've tried. It doesn't stick."

Eames did try. But in a rush of blinding colour Eames can see at once the worth of the immaterial; the cost of his own self-preservation, or the risk of further turbulence with Arthur. A lifetime of missing the shape of him, of waking up beside him. Of being known by him. No part of Eames has known or longed for another since Arthur; and he feels it still, at this moment, pressed thigh to thigh, alone together, two inches and two thousand miles apart. Eames would be okay without Arthur, but he's so much better with him.

"Me too." Fingers thread through his. Arthur’s palm is slick and his fingers faintly tremble with lingering adrenaline.

Despite all of it, this simple point of contact threads some part of Eames back together.

"Fourth time has to be the charm, don't you think?"

"I'll do it as many times as needed," Arthur says, his other hand coming up to cup Eames cheek.

A chaste kiss is pressed to his mouth.

"Which coat is the best to shag on, do you think?" he mumbles against Arthur's lips after a moment, dirtying up the kiss with a swipe of his tongue.

"There should be some genuine mink in here, I think," Arthur tugs on Eames' bow-tie. "It's a shame we're going to crumple this suit. It's gorgeous."

Eames doesn't think it's a shame at all. It was the purpose of him buying it in the first place, after all. It was always intended to end up in a rumpled, crinkled pile on the floor.

And it does.

---

One year later.

"Oh, don't you two look cute," is the first thing his Aunt Michele says at Edith's 81st birthday party.

"I'd prefer devastatingly handsome," says Eames, linking his arm with Arthurs.

Michele blinks. "Okay. Nice seeing you!" Then she's off, chasing another woman calling her name.

"I prefer dapper," says Arthur, looking at Eames, seemingly somewhat offended. He gestures to their suits. "This is not cute."

"Au contraire, my dear," Eames begins walking them forward, waving across the room to some of Arthur's cousins, "we are the cutest. I could pinch our cheeks."

Arthur fixes him a look that halts a hand wandering downwards that intends to do just so. Recovering, Eames only smiles placidly at him as they approach the bar, where Edith is already flirting with the bartender. This year she's in a studded leather jacket and a red sequinned dress with a dramatic, sultry slit up the side. It’s tacky. It’s as lurid as the rest of the venue. It’s perfect.

"Didn't think either of you would show up," Barry mutters into his drink, face scrunching up as if he'd just tasted something sour.

"Oh honestly, how many times must we apologise for that little incident," Eames waves him off, referring to the previous room when Barry was the one to find them in the cloak room, post-coitus, having thoroughly defiled the gaudiest of outerwear.

"You haven't even apologized once."

"Well, if we're honest, nothing about that incident was little," says Arthur.

"Right you are," says Eames.

"I'm leaving," says Barry.

"Oh, how I missed you two," Edith smiles brightly welcoming them into her embrace as Barry departs. She kisses both of their cheeks. “Tell me, darlings, what’s news?”

Arthur shares a look with Eames.

It hasn’t been a year without setbacks; to be expected, of course, when quitting dreamshare and recharting the trajectory of their lives. Not without quibbles and slammed doors, sneers and snarls and fucking spectacular make-up sex. But it’s been the best year of Eames’ life, so far, he would put good money on saying, full of making up things as they go and plain old making up and out, over and over. Growing up and older together, more stable than they’ve ever been before.

Arthur squeezes his fingers.

Eames slips his other hand into his pocket, feeling for the folded up piece of paper he knows is in there. A post-it that simply reads I love you.

“We’re thinking of relocating nearby,” he announces. “A change of pace.”

Edith's gasp is genuine in its delight. “Oh, that is the best news of the night!”

Arthur’s voice is soft. “Yeah,” he catches Eames gaze, smiles fondly. “We’re pretty damn happy.”

They are.

#secret saito #seccret saito 2024 #arthur x eames #thank you to the lovely mods who make this happen <3 #mandz i hope you like your gift thank you for the prompt!

26 notes · View notes

markleessodalite · 3 days ago

Text

There's No Dignity in Love: z.cl

content: Chenle is in love with you, he can't deny it. And he's mortified. A little bit angsty, a teeny bit of fluff, mostly just Chenle being difficult. No warnings i can think of

a/n: i find it so much easier to write for Chenle than for Jeno or Haechan, my actual biases lol

Its not that Chenle didn’t like you. Actually, the reality is the furthest thing from. Chenle is stubborn as a mule and hates to lose, even if its to himself. And for some reason, Chenle accepting that he might, in fact, have a little crush on you, feels like losing. It feels like he might as well tell you every other embarrassing secret he has, because what’s the point in trying to maintain his dignity now? You two were friends, have been for such a long time, and you know all the right ways to pick at him, get under his skin, tease him relentlessly and encourage his other friends to join in on the fun. He has no problem teasing you right back though. Or he used to not have a problem with it, but for some reason it was getting harder and harder to come up with clever quips on the spot, and he’d spent more and more nights wondering if he went too far and if you actually were hurt by something he said. With each day Chenle was getting more shy and less cocky, and you picked up on it so easily, and teased him even more, and he hated it. So why shouldn’t he just tell you about every mistake he’s made, every time he’s embarrassed himself in front of someone important, every time he’s been confused about something everyone else in the room seems to have the upper-hand on so that you have all the ammunition you need to make him feel like a loser?

He already feels like a loser anyway, just all of a sudden having a crush on someone he’s been bickering with for years. He’s such a loser for being so obvious about it, the way that his talkative self immediately shuts up when your attention is on him. He’s such a loser for laying awake at night thinking about all this and trying to talk himself out of this rut. Maybe he’ll eventually convince himself that it’s not a crush– he is Zhong Chenle, after all. Stubborn as a mule.

At least he was gonna try to talk himself out of it until a certain someone (very likely Haechan no matter how much he denies it) got tired of a clearly lovesick Chenle and decided to take matters into his own hands. You were completely caught off guard by the sudden anonymous private message, but not too surprised at what it said. So you gave Chenle a call later that day.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

“Because its not true.” He chuckles, but you can hear the wavering in his voice. “Do you really think that highly of yourself?”

"Chenle..."

“Y/N” he torts, mocking your tone of voice. “Seriously, I don’t know where you got this idea that-”

"I see how you've changed, Chenle."

"...what?"

“I’ve just… I’ve noticed things. You got quieter. You don’t argue with me as much. You’ve just kind of… pulled away. I was worried that I did something to offend you, I didn’t know, I just…”

There’s a silence so loud you think your eardrums are gonna blow out, until you realize you’re just hearing your own heartbeat in your head. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding. Whoever sent you that message was probably just messing with you, but now you’ve crossed a line and made things awkward.

"I do like you."

"Really?!"

“Just shut up and let me get this out okay?" Chenle sighs, a mix of annoyance and anxiety evident in his breath. "I do like you, and I don’t really know why, because we’ve been friends for years at this point and I haven't started liking you until recently. Or maybe I just didn’t realize it until recently– whatever. And I guess that I've changed but that’s just because my thinking has changed I guess? Like sometimes I can’t sleep because i’m thinking about you and I’m flipping between convincing myself I don’t like you and wishing that you were lying awake with me, which would just frustrate me even more because you know how I am with this kind of stuff and admitting things that I don’t want to, and, just… yeah. I don’t know. I’ve got my own issues with my pride and stuff, I guess.”

You tried to think very carefully before responding, although Chenle’s shaky breath on the other end of the line was thoroughly distracting. “Sometimes a little humility can go a long way, Lele.”

"... I know."

“I wouldn’t have thought anything bad about you if you told me.”

"I know."

“What I do think is that I like you too, Chenle. Even if you’re a loser.”

Chenle doesn’t say anything, but you just know he’s rolling his eyes while biting back a smile. There’s no way you won’t tease him about this later.

40 notes · View notes

nausicaamusiclover20 · 3 days ago

Note

Hi Nausicaa))

So, it seems like a lot of people on this app, not just me, do think that James got hard wolf/werewolf vibes. So I had an idea. Medieval-ish times, a town inside the forest, where it’s a custom to offer a young beautiful maiden (and of course a virgin) as a wife to the forest beast (werewolf) to please him and for a guarantee that he will protect the village. While it’s an honor, a lot of girls are excited to be chosen because according to legends being the werewolf wife allows a worry-free life plus there are very exciting rumors about werewolf’s stamina (yup, the bedroom stamina).

Reader is the only one who doesn’t care about being chosen, she has no interest in this whatsoever, plus she thinks that the stamina rumors are ridiculous, and as a male he’ll only chase his own pleasure. However, of course she gets picked, personally, by James, because he overheard her saying that hirs a stupid tradition, etc. So they get married and the first night James proves her how true this rumors were true but he’s also very considerate because it’s her first time?

I hope you like it!❤

Warnings: mature content, light tender and rough smut, mature language, smut

________

The beast's bride

The village’s tradition has always been clear: one maiden, chosen to be the bride of the forest beast. The stories I grew up with told me of his power, his wildness, the way the town would offer up a girl to keep the peace. The rumors that followed him were as thick as the forest he roamed. They spoke of his endless stamina, his insatiable desires, his wild, animalistic nature. And the women? They whispered that to be chosen was the highest honor—the chance to be married to a creature of legend.

But I never bought into those stories.

I’ve heard it all before. The girls sigh over the rumors, the older women smirk knowingly about the things they never tell you. But none of it fazes me. I didn’t care about the so-called protection the beast offered the village, nor the supposed pleasures of being his wife. Those whispers? They seemed ridiculous to me. If he was a man at all, he was only driven by his own instincts, not by any idea of affection or connection. It was a story made to scare us, to keep us in line.

So imagine my surprise when, on the day the elders called for the selection, I—of all people—was chosen.

It wasn’t supposed to be me. Not Y/N, the girl who rolled her eyes at every mention of the werewolf, who scoffed at the idea of marriage being some form of fate, who had always felt her future was her own to decide. But there I was, standing before James, the werewolf himself, as the villagers murmured and stared.

The moment he laid eyes on me, I knew something was different. He had heard my words—the ones I had said in jest to my friends. "The rumors about his stamina are ridiculous. Just a way to make girls swoon," I had said, laughing it off. "As if a man’s pleasure should matter more than anything else."

It was no secret I didn’t believe in the so-called allure of the beast. And when James heard me, he made his decision: I was the one he wanted. Not because of some twisted destiny, but because he wanted to show me.

He wanted me to see that the rumors were not just tales told around fires, that there was truth in them. And that truth would be shown to me, personally.

The wedding was quick, as expected. No grand feast, no dancing. The ceremony was just the two of us, a quiet exchange of vows in front of the village elder, and then we were bound. I didn’t even have time to protest, to question the strange pull I felt towards him despite my resistance. It was all happening too fast. Before I knew it, James was my husband, and the villagers were watching, waiting to see what would unfold.

When we’re finally alone, I feel the weight of the night bear down on me. The tension in the air is thick, the room strangely silent, save for the sound of my heartbeat.

James stands by the window, looking out at the forest, his silhouette casting a shadow that seems almost… predatory. His eyes flick to me, and the intensity in his gaze is enough to make me shiver.

“You’re quiet,” he says, his voice low and controlled. It’s not an accusation, but more of an observation, one that makes the room feel even smaller, as if the space between us is electric.

I swallow, trying to gather my thoughts. "I don’t understand why you chose me," I confess, my voice shaky. "There are others who wanted this. Who believed in all the stories about you, about what you could do. But I…" I hesitate. "I never believed them."

A brief smile tugs at his lips. It’s almost knowing, as if he’s been waiting for me to say this. He walks toward me slowly, like he’s taking his time, considering every step.

"I overheard you," he admits, his voice calm. "You called it ridiculous, the idea that I could satisfy a woman the way the rumors say I do."

I’m caught off guard by his frankness, but I don’t back down. "I don’t believe in them. I think it’s just a story. A way to keep people in their place."

His gaze softens just slightly. "Maybe it’s a story. Or maybe it’s more than that." He steps closer, his presence overwhelming in a way I can’t explain. "But I want you to know, Y/N, that there is truth to the things they say. And tonight, I’ll show you that."

A shiver runs down my spine, though I’m not sure whether it’s from fear or something else—something more confusing.

He notices, and his hand reaches out, fingers brushing against my cheek. His touch is warmer than I expected, his hand steady, as if he’s trying to comfort me. "I know this is new for you," he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with something I can’t quite place. "I won’t rush you, I won’t force anything. I know what I am, but I’ll be gentle. Because I know it’s your first time."

I freeze. His words hit me harder than anything. The werewolf, the beast everyone feared, is offering me kindness—patience. It feels so strange, so foreign to what I had expected. His touch is tender, his fingers brushing along my skin like he’s waiting for permission.

"I… I don’t know what to expect," I admit, feeling my vulnerability rise like a tide I can’t stop.

James looks at me, really looks at me, and then, without a word, he leans in. His lips meet mine—slowly, carefully, like he’s testing the waters. I don’t pull away. Instead, something shifts in me, something I can’t control. I respond to him, hesitant but curious, feeling the tension in his body that contrasts with his gentleness.

When he pulls away, his eyes search mine, his brow furrowed in understanding. "We can stop, if you want to. But I need you to understand—this is not about taking from you. It’s about showing you the truth. The truth about me, about the rumors you think are lies."

I nod, my breath coming quicker than I expect. There’s no more joking, no more sarcasm. This moment feels too real. And for the first time, I’m unsure of what I want.

He pulls me closer, and I can feel the heat of his body against mine. He’s not rushing, not demanding. His touch is patient, soothing, as he undresses me slowly, making sure I’m comfortable, making sure I’m ready. His lips press to my neck, soft and lingering, as his hands move with care.

My body responded instinctively, melting into him as I parted my lips, opening up to him.

His hands moved to frame my face, deepening the kiss, and I leaned into him, craving more. There was an urgency that surged within me as he pulled me closer. My hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt, wishing to peel away the distance between us.

With deliberate finesse, he pulled away from my lips, leaving a trail of shivers across my skin. His gaze was intense, searching mine, as if trying to read every thought flitting through my mind. "You're stunning," he whispered, and I felt a blush creeping across my cheeks.

Before I could respond, he stepped back just enough to grasp the hem of my dress, his eyes locked onto mine—seeking permission. I nodded, a rush of anticipation coursing through me as he pulled the fabric gently over my head, letting it flutter to the floor, revealing my bare skin beneath the dim lantern light.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured, his gaze appreciative and warm as he traced his fingertips along my arms, sending shivers dancing across my body. I fought the urge to cover myself, feeling vulnerable yet strangely empowered under his gaze.

With deliberate finesse, he undid the laces of his own clothing, shedding his layers until he stood before me, gloriously unguarded. The sight of his sculpted body made my breath hitch—he was everything the rumors depicted and more, an exquisite blend of strength and wildness.

Then, he closed the distance once more, capturing my lips in another searing kiss, but this time more demanding. His hands roamed over my body, exploring every curve and contour as if memorizing how I felt beneath his touch. I melted into the kiss, gasping softly as he pressed me against the wall.

When his lips trailed down to my neck, I couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped my lips. The sound surprised me, tinged with both pleasure and a hint of shame. “I didn’t mean…” I began, but he caught me off guard when he pulled back slightly to look into my eyes.

“Let me hear you, Y/N. Let me hear how much I make you feel,” he urged softly, coaxing me with his words.

There was something intoxicating about his invitation—an encouragement that stripped away my hesitation. I nodded, giving into the sensation coursing through me as he positioned himself at my entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a mixture of strength and gentleness.

I inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the moment. “Yes... please.”

With that, he entered me in a single smooth motion, both of us gasping at the sensation. It felt overwhelming yet blissful, as if all the tension in the world found its release in that moment.

“God, you’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. I could barely reply as he began to move, setting a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust filled me completely, sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body, igniting an exquisite tension that coiled tightly within.

When the first wave of pleasure surged through me, a soft moan slipped past my lips, and I instinctively covered my mouth, a flicker of embarrassment washing over me. James paused for a moment, his eyes darkening with a predatory yet gentle glint.

“Don’t cover your mouth. Let me hear you,” he urged, his voice low and commanding. “Let me hear what I make you feel.”

I hesitated but then surrendered to the pleasure building within me. I uncovered my mouth, letting my moans flow freely. “James… please,” I gasped, craving more of him, wanting to share the pleasure he evoked in me.

With a teasing smirk, he quickened his pace, thrusting deeper into me, eliciting a chorus of moans that spilled from my lips, unrestrained now. “That’s it,” he encouraged, his thrusts growing more urgent and passionate, the sounds of our bodies meeting filling the room with an exhilarating rhythm.

“Faster,” I breathed, unable to contain the urgency rising within me. The intensity made my heart race, and to my delight, he obliged, his movements becoming more frantic and wild yet still holding that delicious control. With each thrust, I felt the delicious friction drawing me closer and closer to the edge.

The overwhelming sensations consumed me—the combination of his strength and the size of him filling me completely sent shivers down my spine. I gasped and moaned freely now, each sound echoing the ecstasy unfurling within me.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his breaths coming in ragged bursts, every thrust punctuated by the raw connection between us. He leaned down to capture my lips again, the kiss igniting even more flames of passion as we lost ourselves in the moment.

“Please, James,” I begged, feeling myself teetering on the brink of culmination. “I’m so close.”

“Let go for me, Y/N,” his voice was a low growl against my ear, urging me on. “I want to feel you come around me.”

As his rhythm quickened, I felt every nerve in my body pulse with the urgency of release. The overwhelming pleasure built like a tidal wave, crashing over me, and I cried out his name as another wave of ecstasy took hold.

“James!” I screamed, the intensity rattling my very core as I let go, my body tightening around him, squeezing him deliciously as I reached my peak.

“Y/N!” he shouted, and I felt him shudder and tense against me as he found his own release, filling me with warmth.

We clung to one another, breathless as the world faded around us, suspended in that moment of shared bliss. Slowly, he lowered himself over me, our bodies still intertwined, a protective embrace that held me close.

He gazed down at me, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Now, do you believe the rumors?” he asked, the teasing glint in his eyes inviting.

I chuckled softly, still basking in the afterglow of what we’d just shared. “Yes, now I believe,” I replied, watching the way his smirk broadened.

James looked down at me, his expression softening. “But I didn’t choose you just for the rumors,” he confessed, his voice dropping to a serious note. “I chose you because you are truly beautiful—inside and out.”

His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket, igniting a sweet warmth in my chest.

As we settled into the quiet aftermath, he pulled me close, my head tucked against his chest, where I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It felt safe and right, our bodies melding together as I drifted into a peaceful slumber, comforted by the closeness of the man who had just changed everything I thought I understood about the forest beast and myself.

#metallica #metallica oneshot #jameshetfield #jameshetfieldxreader #james hetfield one shot #metallica x you #reqs open #metallica smut #james hetfield smut #metallica x reader #james hetfield x you #smut #nausicaamusiclover20

34 notes · View notes