#and if that stuff’s important to you absolutely stick with it!

[artsekey]

Thinking about the time I lost a game of Overwatch and I was so mad about it that I genuinely considered getting into shit with the other team in chat and then realized that it was a colossal waste of my living breathing Human Time and uninstalled Overwatch instead because it was only making me angry.

And then thought about the OTHER time when I was on TikTok and realized I was Not Enjoying Myself and was, in fact, seeing so many sad videos and fake influencer ads that I felt Truly Despondent and then just…Deleted it.

Imo I want my social media /general media experience to be a pleasant break from real world and I get to decide what I get to cull to make that a reality for myself. I highly reccomended it! Life has improved considerably!

[everysongineverykey]

begging people to realize that the back warehouse of a grocery store is not a second, secret grocery store that has everything you need plus some extra secret items the first grocery store does not have

[thebrandonross]

just imagine thinking about me, when you already won.

[anantaru]

can i have some sunday headcanons, if you are okey with that?

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ synopsis. spicy sunday headcanons that live rent free in my head, cw. idk just horny, messy, pussy eating, all that stuff and i almost forgot: he has a fat cock, fem! reader // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡

sunday catches himself day dreaming a lot, and it's mostly poles apart from what he's usually preferring in the bedroom— by all means, it's nothing too out of the ordinary, but the man had developed a strong liking towards trying out new discovered kinks between you two.

to sunday, the most important entity of trying out new kinks was your comfort, he loves and respects you, and he wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable in any way. in fact, before you dabbled through those new twists, you both agreed on a safe word to keep you from crossing each others boundaries.

alas, exploring them along with how well he would fuck you only added to the arousing press inside your belly. sunday wants to taste you absolutely everywhere until his senses were occupied by nothing but your scent and flavor— to trace the flat of his tongue between your fat folds until your skin was hot and quivering, your hands clenching in his hair and you're begging, hoping he'd push you over the edge until you come and come and come against his wet muscle playing with your clit.

you should tug his hair more often too, or even better, stroke over his wings with your digits until sunday gets aroused by it.

to elaborate further, the moment you begin to subtly squeeze and tug on the feathers, he could never recover from the loss of your hands against them, it's as if the man had grown addicted to you battering your palms across his wings that he never wanted it to end.

he slurrs his words as he kisses your clit before silently licking across your belly, slow huffs and ragged groans along with the laps of his tongue crossing your entire body.

he assured you he's going to taste you everywhere, didn't he? after all, he'll give you anything you want— like the pleasure you deserve.

shortly after, he settles between your legs and slowly fills you to the brim, adding inch after inch until his erection was snugly compressed by your walls, the thickness of his shaft pressing down on your nerves and making you feel like you're flying rapidly without moving.

at last, sunday finds your lips and grinds himself into your warm core, your breasts crushed against his chest as he thrusts into you before bringing your knees up so he could press them against your chest.

the man was beginning to shift his weight to pin your hips with the weight of his body, before applying a brief kiss to the inside of your knee as you look at him in awe, head lolled to the side with your eyes glowing clear and wide.

you cannot stop yourself from admiring your boyfriend, and neither could your body get used to his erection crushing your insides— turning your skin hot, warm, cold, quivering, searing, until your bodies touch and stick together like burgeons of fire. your pussy lips swollen up and your eyes soused in a haze as sunday smiles at you lazily from above, lovingly patting your head;

"you're holding up great, my dearest,"

..."i'm so proud of you."

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[sitronsangbody]

"Oh so we should just eat anything we want??"

Well actually YES but also:

Restricting food Does Stuff To Your Brain. "Restricting" doesn't mean stopping when you're full. I feel like this is what gets misunderstood a lot. It means placing rules and limits on food that supercede what your body is signalling that it wants. Let's use cookies as an example. Restricting would be:

- I can only have cookies when I deserve them.

- I can only have cookies when I'm alone.

- I can only have two cookies.

- I can only have low-calorie cookies.

- I can only have cookies on set days, or so-called cheat days.

- I can't have cookies.

- I can't have cookies in the house.

- I'm bad when I eat cookies.

- Cookies are a bad food and I must compensate for having eaten them.

Whether or not you stick to the restrictions you set, your brain is learning to be an anxious mess around cookies. It might want to avoid anywhere that has cookies. It might feel shame for wanting or eating cookies. It might get exhausted from suppressing the craving and decide to binge. It might go into binge mode every time you eat cookies because you've taught your body that This Will Not Be Available Whenever. It might feel ridiculously important to eat all the cookies while you can.

I know we're all so used to constantly talking about food, diets, weight and bodies, and it's completely normalised to look at absolutely everything you eat and assign it the level of guilt you're gonna feel for eating it, and to brag about not eating this and that, and to announce that you know it's a Naughty Indulgence when you eat anything sweet.

But oh my god, it's such a huge weight off your shoulders to just let yourself eat cookies because you wanted cookies and stop when you feel satiated and know that the cookies will be available next time you want cookies because you don't need to earn them in any way. Because a brain that knows it can have cookies whenever it wants cookies, doesn't crave cookies all the time. Nor does it feel any self-loathing when it does crave cookies.

And I just wish everyone a very chill brain and some cookies

[danikamariewrites]

Sickly

Poly!Batboys x reader

Notes: I’m not sure why but a lot of my poly batboys stuff has been Cassian. At this point I should just make these ideas just Cassian x reader but I love including all the boys

Warnings: mentions of medicine and the flu

Kissing and hugging each of your mates goodbye never gets easier. Today was an exception though. You were excited to stay home alone for a few days—alone time is rare since your mates are always around.

Cassian feels the opposite. You saved his goodbye for last knowing how clingy he gets when he goes away.

“I’m gonna miss you so much, sweetheart.” Cassian groans into your neck as he squeezes you. Patting his shoulder you let out a small ‘aww’.

“I’m going to miss you too, baby.” You move to let go but Cassian tightens his hold on you. Rhys lets out a deep sigh. “Cassian, we have to go. Now.”

Cass groans louder, finally releasing you. He ruffles your hair and gives you a small pout. “Bye, sweetheart. We’ll be back in a few days.” He says genuinely sad. You smirk and raise a brow at him. “I know that, do you know that?”

Cassian messes your hair again as Az moves to pull him out the door. “Bye! I love you guys!” You yell after them. “Bye, sweetheart!” Azriel rolls his eyes, “She knows Cass. She will be fine.”

“But what if she isn’t-” before Cassian can get another word out Rhys winks at you, grabbing onto the males to winnow away.

Shutting the door you take the stairs two at a time to your personal chambers. Nuala and Cerridwin had set up a spa night for you and without the boys interrupting you it was sure to be a peaceful one.

Hours later with your hair brushed and braided the twins helped you settle into bed. While your mates would only be away for a few days you were going to revel in this short lived peace.

Your peace was, unfortunately, was shorter lived than you expected. When Nuala came to wake you for breakfast she found you absolutely miserable. Cough, runny nose, aches, and a fever that had her snatching her hand away from your forehead as if you burned her. You had tried to wave it off as nothing but a cold.

“Should I call for the High Lord to return?” Nuala asked carefully. You shook your head slowly so as not to aggravate your sinuses. “No. I’ll be fine, I just need to rest.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Nuala bowed before leaving you.

About halfway through day two you were wishing for your mates to come home and take care of you. You dreamed of Rhys using his powers to take your pain away so you could sleep peacefully. But you couldn’t find it in you to call them home knowing how important their work is.

But today they were finally on their way back. They promised you they’d be back in time for breakfast. All morning, every sound had you jolting to stay awake as you waited in bed.

Your eyes fluttered open as a large calloused hand cupped your cheek, tsking at how warm you felt.

“Hi sweetheart,” Cassian whispered. You mumble an incoherent greeting thanks to your lips feeling too heavy and your tongue sticking to the roof of your dry mouth.

“Has she been sick since we left?” Cassian asked softly, but you could hear the restraint in his voice. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know his jaw was clenched. “Yes,” Nuala replied smoothly, “she didn’t want to call you all home, insisting she rests. Madja has seen her and left tonics.”

Cassian’s fist clenches in your hair, quickly releasing so he wouldn’t hurt you. “Thank you, for keeping an eye on her.” “Of course.” The wraith bows her head, turning on her heel to leave.

Cassian always hated leaving you in case something happened. Even if it was just a cold, Cass wanted to be there to save you from it. The fact that you��ve been suffering for three days without him makes his stomach tie in knots from guilt.

“Can I get you anything? Did you take any tonics yet?” He asks softly.

“No,” you mumble. “Will you get it for me, and some toast?” Cassian leaves a light kiss on your forehead. “Of course I can, I’ll be right back.”

In his absence Rhys and Azriel check on you. The pair dote on you, telling you about the snowfall in the Illyrian mountains. You were starting to wish you went with them, but winter would arrive in Velaris soon.

When Cassian returns he gives the two males a scowl reserved for his soldiers. “Cass, this is not an I-told-you-so moment.” Rhys tells him gently.

“Out, so I can take care of our mate.”

Rhys and Az hesitate, not wanting to leave you while you’re sick.

“You two should go. I don’t want to get all of you sick.” You pout at them, giving them sad eyes for good measure. The pair conceded and left you in Cassian’s care. Az gave you a quick peck on your forehead before Cassian shooed him away.

You watch as Cassian rips your toast up into bite sized pieces to feed to you. You smile at him with hearts in your eyes. Watching the General of the Night Court do something as mundane as angling the straw in your water cup so you don’t worry about spills just makes you fall in love all over again.

Cassian feeds you a few pieces of the ripped up toast before handing you the tonic. As he cuddles up to you Cass lays a cool cloth on your forehead, relieving your high temperature and the splitting headache he knows is coming. A satisfied hum leaves your lips as you snuggle closer to Cassian. “Thank you,” you say quietly. He lightly kisses the top of your head, “Of course, sweetheart.”

[jadeshifting]

— UNIQUELY CHARACTERIZING YOURSELF ( SMALL, IMPORTANT DETAILS )

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

GROUNDING THROUGH DETAILS OF THE SELF

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

justifiably, so much focus in scripting lies in who you’re friends with, who your s/o is and what experiences you have together, your house and your belongings—but what about you? not just superpowers or your vast ocean of clothes (way fun), but the littlest details of the self. let’s talk about grounding yourself in this new reality. are you glitter-dusted nail polish that catches the light, or someone with chipped black nails because it’s chic that way? does your laugh sound like a giggle, or is it that obnoxiously loud cackle everyone secretly loves?

in a similar vein to why there’s often a focus on scripting imperfections (realism, grounding, etc) these small, “whatever” details are just as valuable in the same way. you’re anchoring your energy into this version of you, “i’m here, I exist, and i know myself inside-out.” you’re not just some flat character with a Pinterest-worthy life; you’re layered, real, and unforgettable. these little things? they build your presence and make you magnetic in any reality (which you’d be anyway bffr)

HOW DO YOU SMELL? WHAT FLAVOR IS YOUR CHAPSTICK?

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

what’s your vibe in this reality? are you wafting off warm vanilla sugar with a hint of cinnamon, or are you giving off expensive oud and a mystery nobody can place? your scent is a defining extension of your personality, babe, and it sets the tone for everything

chapstick—don’t brush off the details. classic cherry, elegant honey pear, or something wild like coconut-lime mojito? it seems small, but trust—this stuff pulls you deeper into your desired reality because it’s so you. smelling like the softest cashmere or tasting your own minty-fresh lip balm is an everyday, arguably mundane thing that is absurdly easy as a tool to connect you to this version of yourself, and by extension the reality that version of yourself originates in

when you can feel how your lips taste or how your perfume clings to your skin in this new reality? you’re no longer daydreaming, you’re living it. besides, being the central character to your entire narrative doesn’t just come from looking the part—smell it, taste it, own it.

TRYING ON DIFFERENT IDENTITIES

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

(maybe a less compellingly whimsical reason, but something i’m championing for nonetheless.) switch it UP, babe—WHY NOT? one reality you’re in streetwear with an absolutely leveling glare, and in another you could be cottagecore princess snow white who bakes pies and writes love letters. you DON’T have to stick to one flavor when you can sample the whole menu! think of it like a cosmic dress-up game.

while it’s easy to find comfort in a familiar and ideal version of yourself (pick out a reality where i’m not violently off-putting in a very strange way but beautiful enough to excuse it. i’ll wait), EVERY version of you has something to teach, and a plethora of things you can learn from them.

it’s not about locking yourself into one box. it’s about experimenting, playing, and experiencing all the endless versions of you that you have access to (infinity, thanks)—whether that’s sipping matcha in Florence or running barefoot on a sandy beach. shifting isn’t just moving into a different reality; it’s stepping into endless versions of you.

THE SUM +/=

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

don’t gloss over the seemingly inconsequential details of the self. if you’re asked about someone you love and know intimately, you probably wouldn’t be like “they have tons of clothes and make so much money” (if they do, good for them tho), the first things that come to mind would be “smaller” (read: everyday things, as a result—MORE important.)

“they talk in their sleep, it’s so funny when we have sleepovers” “they always say yes when someone asks them for help” “they have this one necklace that they wear every day” “they love this one specific poet, they can practically quote her from memory” “they wear gold, not silver”

small things. it isn’t characteristics like bravery, sense of humor, and kindness that serve as the only three blocks to build a linear vertical tower of identity. it’s tiny qualities and characteristics and mannerisms, each seemingly the size of a grain of sand, that compound into the beach that is your identity. don’t gloss over them !! don’t be shy to envision the tiniest things about yourself.

much love !! xx :^)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[scarafi]

not proof read lol, inspired from a lounge quote!

rafayel was always doing something. art submission to thomas, supplies to restock, commissions to fulfill —oh and don't forget the piles of laundry he still has to fold.

currently, rafayel was brushing delicate strokes of paint onto a canvas. the vibrant hues coming to life with a flick of his wrist. the lines swimming together, creating his vision into a physical form. it all came to life with each passing second and his brain tingled in anticipation as—

knock knock knock

an exasperated sigh left him, his art tunnel vision interrupted.

but his spirits lifted when he heard a familiar voice calling from behind the front door.

"rafayellllllll! open up, the wind is ruining my hairrrr."

at this, he nearly teleported to the door in his haste to greet you. not even checking the peephole or security camera, he swung the door open.

just the sight of you made him absolutely giddy, yet his face stayed nonchalant.

"oh, its only you, miss bodyguard. thought someone important was waiting for me."

unfortunately for him, his eyes and actions betrayed him. revealing his overwhelming excitement to see his beloved bodyguard.

with a laugh, you pushed passed him. beelining it for the mirror he strategically hung near the entryway.

"yeah yeah, took you long enough," fidgeting with your bangs, as you sent a pout his way. one he returned by sticking his tongue out at you.

closing the door and walking towards you with light footsteps, he spoke, "what's the occasion for the surprise visit, cutie? need something from me?"

he wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind. staring at you through your reflection in the mirror. he drank in you beauty as you continued to meticulously fuss with your hair.

"nothing in particular. wanted to drop by. were you busy? i knowww, i should've texted first, but i just had to see you! i was going to get food, but i know you had stuff in your—"

slipping a hand over your mouth, he shut you up.

"you talk too much, cutie."

a scoff left your lips, but before you could whine out an apology he spun you around to face him. a chaste kiss was placed on your lips before he mumbled, "yes i'm busy, but you're more important."

[kawoala]

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES . . . !? suna rintarou ; 1.

╰ ⨳ word count ; .4k ( 498 )

╰ ⨳ content warning ; miscommunication 、 smau 、 profanity 、 kind of short 、 just like an introduction type thing.

previous ; masterlist ; next.

11:12 AM, new apartment building.

okay, so maybe you had overestimated yourself.

when you told rin you didn’t need help carrying your stuff up to the new apartment, you had been under the impression that kitchen utensils wouldn’t weigh that much when they were all put in the same box. but now, as you’re standing outside the building, hands on your hips, staring down at the pile of spilled kitchen utensils, you fear you might have overestimated yourself.

you gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, glancing around quickly to make sure nobody is around to see your embarrassing mishap. you’re actually quite surprised to see absolutely nobody - much different compared to how busy your dorm building was.

you squat down, gathering as many utensils in your hands before dumping them into the backseat of your car. how are you going to get them up there? no idea. surely rin has silverware, right?

“uh, d’ya need help?”

you look up to the owner of voice and briefly think that the gods have rewarded you for your good deeds by sending an angel down to earth. his hair is a little too long for your usual type, but god damn does he make it work. everything about him is sharp; jawline, eyes, nose.

“what?” you ask dumbly, brows furrowing faintly. your brain catches up, finally, and you stand up with an awkward laugh. “oh, um, no. i mean- i just spilled my things. thank you, though, that’s very kind of you.” you give him a smile and stick out your hand for him to shake. “i’m y/n. i’m your new… neighbor? building-mate?” you shake your head. “i’m moving into this building, is what i’m trying to say.”

he hesitates in taking your hand. at first, you think it’s because you stumbled over your words too much and now he thinks you're weird, but then he says, “yeah, i know.”

your brain seems to stutter at his words. the smile is still on your face, but you’re sure the look in your eyes reads confused. “i’m sorry?” you ask, leaning forward a bit - just in case you didn’t quite hear him correctly.

“you’re y/n,” he repeats slowly. “i’m rin.” there’s a moment of silence - a moment too long, because then he continues like you don’t understand. “rintarou? runa’s cousin? your new roommate?”

oh. suddenly, everything you thought was weird makes sense. runa using “he” instead of “she” - though that might have been your fault; you thought she just made a mistake. the dryness of the texts you were receiving for the past few weeks.

rin - rintarou - is a guy.

“oh.”

“what, did runa not show you a picture of me or something?” he laughs, a sort of snorting sound, but the silence you return is the only answer he needs. “oh, she didn’t? shit, sorry. she has a habit of leaving out important details.”

you scoff, though it sounds more like a laugh. “yeah, tell me about it.”

╰ ⨳ taglist ; @miiyas , @heartmaddie , @cherrysurf , @pookalicious-hq , @grassbutneo

@akaashislovee , @cvddlebug , @pardoffel , @ssabvln , @smiithys .

[mxtantrights]

I heard your pleas, and am therefore requesting your take on boxer jason ( i swear he lives in my mind rent free, such a gentle giant with the ability to pummel anyone who wrongs you into the ground? Amazing). Maybe he uses scary dog privileges to get someone to back off while they are giving you trouble?

Boxer!Jason x reader

gravitates towards you even though the two of you look like opposites. he's tall and big and sometimes his face doesn't look like it can hold a smile

you're the one person in the world that can prove that he can smile. the first time you met, you threw him a joke and made him smile a tiny bit. Just the tiniest bit but it was enough.

when you find out what he does for a living, you figure it makes sense. All that muscle and size has got to go towards something. him telling you he's a boxer also helps you understand why you'll see him with a black eye or a busted lip.

doesn't invite you to watch him fight at first. even before you start dating because he's scared that you'll see him in action and get nervous. Which you aren't, you actually quite like seeing him in his element.

sometimes he'd go a few days between a fight and seeing you just to not freak you out. seeing Jason with a bruised rib or moving tensely is not something you wish for.

you have to be the one to make the first move. Jason isn't going to do it. He's going to leave it up to you for the first few months of the relationship. He figures you have to get to know him and he has to get to know you.

he flushes when you the two of you first kiss. Yeah. It knocks him off his feet. No one is able to actually get a knockout against him except you!

maybe six months into dating he lets you come over after a fight. You offer to salve and stick anything but he tells you he's got it covered. He just wants you with him.

It's fun going out with Jason because he gets you in anywhere. Clubs, concerts, etc. He's got a lot of pull and if that doesn't work he just stands behind you menacingly as you talk your way in. Works like a charm every time.

Jason doesn't like putting his hands on people outside of a fight or training. He vows against it unless the situation calls for it. And even if it does it's really the last resort.

So when some random sleazily walks up to you and initiates contact with you, he waits. He waits for you to handle it. Which you do, because Jason teaches you a few tricks to get yourself out of a tough spot.

But when things take a turn and Jason knows you need help, he's right there. Like out of no where that rando is down on the floor or high tailing it out of your vicinity.

maybe about eight or nine months into the relationship, Jason asks if you wanna come see his upcoming match. Of course he's pretty nonchalant about it, so you agree. Thinking it's some underground type of stuff.

Yeah, and then the following weekend you're on a plan to Vegas because he's fighting in some big arena and it's being televised.

Jason thinks the only thing in his life worth making a big deal out of is you, so no he doesn't find the cameras and the hype around the fight more important than you.

he wins the fight -of course! and spends the rest of the weekend treating you around Vegas, amongst other things...

a/n: I absolutely love this request! and if you want more you can ask for it in my inbox <333 this was so fun to write and think out!! thank you again for sending this!!

[annadiplosis]

A few months ago I posted a couple photos of my index cards, saying I still didn’t know how and where I’d keep them, and I’ve since developed an Archiving System that combines the cards with a digital spreadsheet and has taken more hours than I will ever admit.

So, since I don’t have a “notebook system” to speak of, I'd like to share the way I archive my journals / sketchbooks / whatever you wanna call them, because I’m very proud of it, and who knows, someone might find it helpful :)

WHY I NEED AN ARCHIVING SYSTEM

The reason I don’t have a notebook system is because I use my books for absolutely everything, from sketches to grocery lists and journaling. It is crucial to me to not have any restrictions or expectations when it comes to my books, and that’s how I’ve managed to fill 43 of them over the years.

But of course, when you’ve been using notebooks without a system for most of your life and you want to read a specific entry, you can easily spend a full hour flipping through a sea of paper until you stumble upon those notes on the Bubonic Plague you took in 2011 or whatever you were trying to find.

SO HERE’S WHAT I DO

When I finish a notebook, I try to determine what its most important contents are: stuff I might want to reference in the future (project ideas, meeting notes) or is very characteristic of a period in my life (friends' drawings, travel logs). Every single page contributes to making the notebook what it is and gives it a unique personality, but not all of them are gonna be keepers, and that's fine (I'd even say fundamental, at least in my case).

These are the extremely generic categories I sort my Chosen Entries into. It's similar to the dot system so many people use, just applied retroactively:

🟣 Study notes 🔵 Work 🟢 Personal 🟡 Projects 🔴 Misc

And here's where the real archiving begins. This info goes into:

1. THE INDEX CARDS

(I always write them in Catalan; this one's a mockup and most of these are not real entries)

A little piece of cardboard with the notebook number, its start and end dates, and most important contents. I keep each index card inside its corresponding notebook, either in its own backpocket or an adhesive one I stick there myself.

This way, whenever I want to take a quick look through the book, I get a general idea of its contents at first glance. Sometimes, just holding it in my hand and reading the index card brings me back to the time when I was keeping it, and that time-travel feeling gives me a rush like no other. I don't know if you can tell, but I'm crazy about my notebooks.

2. THE SPREADSHEET

Same as before, just a couple more pieces of info (number of months, physical description) added to a file with the rest of my notebooks' data. Again, these are not real entries for privacy and language reasons, but they're very similar to the kind of stuff I do keep. The spreadsheet helps me find specific entries with a simple ctrl+f, and it's also a bird's-eye view of my progress through the years as a notebook keeper. I can see when my interests shift, how long some of my most important projects took to come to fruition, and even similar types of entries that repeat every few years which I wasn't even aware of before putting it all together. Absolutely fascinating stuff.

I hope this was useful, or interesting at the very least! If you’re a notebook keeper trying to find their own archiving system, my main advice would be to start early so you don’t have to deal with almost two decades of material like I did :’)

If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask.

Good luck 🖤

[micahulrichdraws]

i was saving up for a tattoo but ur answer to that ask where u mention the stuff that goes into ink made me go down a rabbit hole and now i think i wont be getting a tattoo until ink is regulated... aside from the ink being full of stuff i know im allergic to my family is very cancer prone and im reading that tattoo ink may have a correlation with increased skin cancer risk. i feel like this should be talked about more. feeling sad about it but im glad u mentioned something about it otherwise i wouldnt have known

Yeah, as someone who's allergic to everything, has eczema, and a family history of cancer, I feel that. If you have a good artist whom is open to using inks that are either carcinogen-free or at least better tolerated it's not the end of the world, and I never want to discourage someone from doing something they want to do, especially art-related! That being said, I had some similar asks so I'm gonna use yours as a quick info-dump, so I apologize in advance!

I do want to be VERY clear: this is NOT a 'tattoos bad' wall of text, it's a 'art good but hold businesses and individuals accountable because right now everything is a trust system' wall of text. Everyone I know and love has tattoos, I just happen to be an artist who was pulled into the industry fairly out-of-the-blue 8 years ago, and have gotten to learn the intimate ins-and-outs of it because of that. This isn't ragebait, and it is strictly my reasons as to why I feel that the industry could benefit from some regulation and standardized education now that it is a very, very mainstream industry that the majority of individuals in my age range engage with but aren't privy to the details on. If you love tattoos, great! If you don't love tattoos, great! If you're an experienced professional in the industry, this is all stuff you've probably bounced off of once or twice, and can understand why it's frustrating.

The tattoo industry sorta has had one foot in the super lax, counterculture boat while also having the other one solidly in the corporate, capitalist yacht. While the studies that come out of the industry relating cancer risk to the ink content always stick strictly to skin cancer risk being 'negligible', it's important to note that the ink isn't going into your skin - it's going into the fatty tissue below the skin. The ink breaks down in that tissue over time, and gets filtered out by your body - the contents of the ink aren't on the top of the skin, they're being filtered through your other organs or pushed up to your skin. (I know this is an ultra-super-simplified version of what happens, but I don't want to give everyone a migraine with details.) I work with a ton of inks, paints, and pigments, and the pigments that are used in some inks aren't stuff I'd willingly handle with my bare hands, but I'm paranoid about that stuff. However,I absolutely wouldn't eat any of the pigments that are used in the creation of the ink used for tattoos, and none of it is stuff that I'd want in my liver or kidneys. I have a parent who's had cancer for 10+ years, so it's a pet topic of mine that I've had the opportunity to discuss with professionals whom work in the industry. The few times I've gotten to chat about inks used in tattoos, the response is the same as the public PR team's response. The standard on-record response is to cite skin cancer risks, and when asked about other types of cancer, specifically liver/kidney/reproductive, often it is deflected to some version of 'our customers are risk takers who live life on the edge, and don't conform to societal norms, and that demographic always has a higher rate of cancer.' The reality is that they intentionally don't test for that, because best case is the optics that they were selling something that they weren't that confident in, and the worst case response is a wall of lawsuits. Obviously, all that sounds ominous and shit, and while I doubt there's anything massive hidden there, my problem is that the corporate side regulates itself, which in the history of everything has never ended in ethical decisions and only ones that increase profit margins. When pressured, however, companies will lean into the 'it's tattoos man, don't be a downer' - but these are large, industrial corporations, not the dude down the street making art out of their garage. They have the money to test their own products and choose not to.

The other half of the problem is that foot in the pseudo-counterculture, lax, independent artist culture. There's no barriers to entry, minimal qualifications required, and so you can have people who have no business putting permanent ink on folks doing just that, en masse. Tattoos became a major fashion thing in the last 10 years, so we saw an explosion of tattoo studios with literally no experience in the industry kicking out tattoos. These same folks don't have experience in the arts (in a lot of cases) so they'll lift someone else's work as theirs to get a sale, which leads to someone having a design that may be associated with a group they do not wish to be associated with (IE: ultra-nationalist found out that his reaper design was from some ACAB shit I made, and he was not thrilled, even though I thought it was hilarious.) Additionally, a lot of the more questionable studios engage in super controversial sales tactics pressuring clients to move forward on projects when they aren't 100% comfortable (ie: you don't get to see the tattoo until you're in the chair, strictly to save time as to maximize profit on a permanent work of art, and to avoid your client changing their mind.) Back when I was starting out, a lot of the freelance work I received was coming up with designs to help fix those botched jobs, while sending folks to a credible artist, so I had the unfortunate experience of hearing every nightmare story ever. However, like any market that was opening up to big mainstream cashflow, the market ended up flooded so the skill of the average tattoo artist fell like a brick. Only in the last 6 months has the bubble popped with a ton of studios have had trouble staying afloat because the industry reached critical mass. I literally have more options in tattoo studio within a 10 block radius than grocery stores. Mind you, I'm talking about the large group of studios that engage with these practices, and that does in no way mean that I am specifically talking about your studio or your artist. If you work in the industry, you know the folks I'm talking about, and I'm so sorry they make your job so much harder.

This all comes together into a major shitstorm: under-qualified individuals offering a subpar product driving down prices, shoving out the actual qualified professionals, while operating in a legal gray area. Combined with the industrial ink companies that aren't keen on giving straight answers about the contents of their product leaves the entire industry in an absolutely dogwater spot, getting the worst of both worlds. This is not touching on the disgusting potential abuse of power that some individuals choose to take advantage of within these situations. With literally any small amount of regulation, the entire art form would be infinitely easier to get for individuals without having to do a background check on the entire operation. I hope that answers some questions, and I apologize for any typos in my incomprehensible wall of text!

[aynavaano]

Babygirl

Kinktober ‘24 - domination/choking/overstimulation

Crosshair × F!reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3.5k whoops this was meant to be short

Summary: You're in a relationship with Crosshair and sometimes you like it a little bit risky. When you’re out at 79’s with the squad the evening ends earlier than anticipated.

Notes: This is one of a few shorter fics I wrote for Kinktober. If you have any special kink and clone you would love to see, my request are open. This one is absolutely self indulgent and I have no excuse. I was giggling when I wrote the tag list, this was supposed to be short but what can I say, I have a soft spot for dom!Crosshair. Tags: Established relationship (important, don’t do stuff like that with people you don’t know), Semi-public unprotected sex, fully clothed (armored) male, almost naked female, spitting, slight choking, overstimulation, orgasm so good you start crying, subspace, brief mention of going non-verbal but lots of aftercare too, Hunter doesn’t like his little brothers escapades

The neon lights of 79's flickered as you leaned against the bar, the room buzzing with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of conversations.

Tech had stayed on the Marauder like most nights, spending his time tinkering with modifications on the ship and enjoying the silence when everyone was gone. Wrecker was on the dancefloor easy to spot as always, towering all the other clones and Hunter and Echo had ventured towards the back of the room to secure a booth for the squad before it got too crowded.

But your attention wasn't on the lively atmosphere around you - it was fixed entirely on the man sitting beside you. Crosshair, in his usual armor, minus the helmet, was lounging back with his characteristic smirk, a glass of amber whiskey swirling in his hand.

He hadn't said much since you had sat down together, but his presence and his hand resting on your thigh was all you needed to make your pulse quicken. There was something about him, the confidence, the sharp edge to everything he did, that had always drawn you in.

Over time, you had come to understand the language of his quiet affection—the subtle gestures that spoke volumes. You’d spent countless nights wrapped up in his arms, and still, every glance, every small touch, set off sparks that made your stomach flip. There was something addictive about how easily he could make you melt, even after so long and you’ve never felt so safe with someone like with him.

Your eyes flicked to the glass in his hand.

"What does it taste like?" you asked.

Crosshair's eyes slid toward you, and for a moment, he didn't respond. He simply took a slow sip of the whiskey, his lips curling around the rim of the glass as he drank. When he finally set the glass down, his smirk widened, clearly enjoying the game.

"Want to find out?"

You nodded, swallowing as his sharp gaze pinned you in place.

Crosshair stood slowly, his glass in hand, and stopped just inches in front of you. You could feel the soft brush of his breath on your skin, he loomed over you, his dark eyes locking onto yours, the sudden closeness making your pulse race.

"Open your mouth," he ordered, his voice low and commanding, his lips brushing your ear. There was no room for argument and the way he looked at you made you feel fuzzy.

Your breath caught, but you obeyed, parting your lips for him and slightly sticking your tongue out. Without breaking eye contact, Crosshair took a slow sip of his whiskey, letting the liquid sit on his tongue before leaning in closer. The anticipation made your pulse pound in your ears as he tilted your chin up slightly with his free hand.

Then, he let the whiskey drip from his lips into your open mouth.

The sensation of the warm liquid, the slight burn of the whiskey mixed with something undeniably him, sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could react, his lips were on yours, his tongue pushing the whiskey deeper into your mouth as he kissed you. The kiss was rough, demanding, and it made your entire body heat up. You whimpered against him, your hands instinctively reaching for his chest plate, trying to find something to hold on to.

When he finally pulled back, his lips hovering just inches from yours, you were breathless.

"You like it?" he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement as his thumb swiped across your bottom lip.

"Yeah," you breathed, your head spinning from the mix of the whiskey and the taste of him.

"Good," he said simply, his eyes darkening with lust that mirrored your own.

"You want more?" he whispered low and raspy letting his hand drop to your neck.

You could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t talking about the whiskey.

You felt your pulse pound beneath his fingertips, each second stretching longer as the air between you thickened.

"You know that I always want more," you whispered, trying to hold your voice steady despite the fluttering inside you.

His grip on your neck tightened just enough to make you feel a bit lightheaded, and his smirk widened, dark and possessive.

“And you know that I can never deny you anything,” he rasped.

Before you knew it, Crosshair's hand was on your wrist, pulling you off the barstool and guiding you through the crowded bar with a single purpose in his stride. You didn't ask where he was taking you, it wasn’t the first time you snuck out to fuck somewhere and your body was already responding to the low, steady burn of arousal that had settled deep in your core.

He led you outside into a dark alley behind 79's, the sounds of the bar fading into the background as the cool night air hit your skin. The alley was dimly lit, tucked away from prying eyes, and the moment you were far enough from the crowd, Crosshair pushed you up against the brick wall, his body pressing close against yours.

The cold, hard edges of his armor dug into your skin, but it only added to the thrill, making your heart race even faster. He slipped the straps of your top over your shoulders exposing your chest, your nipples hardened immediately in the cold air.

“So beautiful” he whispered letting his thumbs brush over your tits.

Then his hands slid down your sides, rough and unyielding as they found the hem of your skirt.

With a swift, deliberate motion, he bunched the fabric up around your waist, exposing your legs to the cool air.

"Crosshair," you whispered, your voice a mix of need and anticipation.

He didn't say a word, his fingers hooking into the front of your panties, pushing them aside and sliding through your folds without a warning.

The sudden touch made you gasp, your back arching against the wall as you felt the heat of him between your thighs.

“Mesh’la, you’re soaked and I’ve barely touched you” he rasped hooking and arm under your knee, pinning it against the wall and spreading you open.

You squirmed in his grasp when he began circling your clit and gave it a soft experimental pinch.

"Don't move," he ordered, his voice low and rough as his lips grazed the shell of your ear. The command sent a wave of heat through you, and you nodded, gripping the edges of his chest plate for support.

With one quick motion, Crosshair removed his codpiece and freed his cock, the thick length of him hard and ready as he pressed it against your slick entrance. You barely had time to register the feeling before he thrust into you, hard and fast, burying himself deep inside.

A sharp cry escaped your lips at the sudden fullness, the pressure of his cock combined with the hard edges of his armor pressing into your soft skin was overwhelming. Every inch of him stretched you in the best possible way, and the hard plastoid biting into your sensitive inner thighs only heightened the intensity.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice low and strained as he started to move, his hips snapping against yours with each thrust. "You're so tight.”

The words, his breath hot against your neck, made you moan as your body responded to every movement, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. You clenched around him, your hands gripping his armor tighter as you gasped for air.

"You like that, don't you?" Crosshair rasped, his voice barely above a whisper as he continued to fuck you, each thrust harder than the last.

"You like being fucked like this, against a wall where anyone can see how good I make you feel."

His words were filthy, but they only made you want him more. You nodded frantically, unable to form a coherent sentence as the pleasure built in your core.

“Use your words babygirl”

"Yes," you finally managed to gasp, your voice breathless and desperate.

"Good," he growled, his hand slipping down to grip your ass, pulling you even closer to him.

The rhythm of his thrusts grew faster, harder, each one hitting deeper inside you, sending you spiraling closer and closer to the edge. The sensation of his cock filling you, the hard edges of his armor pressing against your skin, the raw, primal need in his voice - it was all too much.

You were close, so close, your body trembling as you clung to him, your hands hurting from how hard you were gripping his chestplate. His hand came up cupping your jaw and you eagerly parted your lips letting him slip two fingers into your mouth.

"Come for me," he growled in your ear, his voice commanding and rough. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

The words sent you over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through you, your body convulsing as the pleasure crashed over you in waves. Your walls clenched tight around him, squeezing every inch of his cock as he groaned low in his throat.

Before your cries could grow too loud, Crosshair's mouth was on yours again, kissing you hard, his tongue sliding against yours as he swallowed your moans. His other hand stayed firm on your hip, holding you in place as he continued to fuck you through your release, his pace relentless.

For a few moments, the only sounds in the alley was your combined heavy breathing and the slapping of his armor against your skin, your bodies pressed tightly together, Crosshair's lips left yours, his forehead resting against yours.

“You want me to fill you up, make a mess of you?"

You nodded frantically unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Then be a good girl and come for me again” he whispered softly biting your lower lip.

“I…I can’t”

“Yes, you can.”

You immediately started to squirm and whimper when his fingers made contact with your oversensitive clit and his other hand came up to wrap around your throat.

“Cross…no”

“Safeword?”

You shook your head.

“Good.” he growled.

Crosshairs grip on your throat tightened just a bit, the hard plastoid of his vambrace pressing against your overheated skin as his fingers worked between your legs, relentless and precise, his cock still buried to the hilt.

The sound of your ragged breathing echoed in the alley, drowned only by the occasional muffled noise from the club when the doors swung open. You were already so sensitive, your first orgasm having left you shaking, but he wasn't done.

He never was until he had pulled every last ounce of pleasure from you.

He growled against your ear, his hot breath a sharp contrast to the cool night air. His voice was dark and commanding, a tone that left no room for protest.

"You'll come again for me. I want to feel you."

His thumb pressed down on your clit, drawing tight circles that sent white-hot shocks of pleasure straight through your core. You moaned, sliding your arms around his neck for support as the wave of heat began building again, higher and more intense than before. Your body trembled, overwhelmed by sensation, and you couldn't hold back the desperate whimpers spilling from your lips.

"I can feel how close you are. Don't fight it, mesh'la. Let go." he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Your head lolled back against the wall, and you tried to ground yourself, but Crosshair was relentless. His fingers moved faster, harder, and the world around you started to blur. The pleasure was too much, too sharp, and your body began to float, losing all sense of time and space as the sensations overtook you.

His grip on your throat tightened just enough to remind you that he was there, in control, guiding you through it. You tried to push against the intensity, your legs shaking, but Crosshair didn't let up.

"That's it," he cooed, pulling out almost completely an thrusting back in hard, hitting deeper than before.

"You're doing so well for me."

A soft whimper escaped your lips as his fingers worked faster, your body betraying you as the overwhelming pressure built up inside you again. The pleasure was blinding, almost too much, but Crosshair knew exactly how to push you past your limits.

"That's my girl. Come for me," he rasped, his voice pulling you under completely, the pressure of his cock against your cervix and his thumb pressing against your clit, just right, sending you over the edge and the world went white.

You came with a shattered moan, your body convulsing so hard you would have collapsed if he hadn't been holding you up and tears pricked the corners of your eyes as the pleasure ripped through you so intensely it felt like you might break. You gasped for breath, your body a shaking, overstimulated mess as the tears started falling.

The orgasm seemed to last forever, waves of pleasure rolling through you as you drifted, weightless, completely submerged in the intense euphoria.

For a moment, everything was hazy, the world around you distant, muffled by the overwhelming pleasure. Your body felt light, like you were floating somewhere far away, lost in the aftershocks of your release.

You barely registered the soft groan Crosshair let out as he came with you, his body shuddering as he pressed into you one final time, your still clenching pussy milking him for every last drop. You weren’t responsive for a few moments and didn’t notice he was talking to you, then, slowly, you began to come back to yourself. His strong arms were still holding you up, his chest rising and falling against you. His grip on your throat loosened, replaced by the gentle touch of his fingers on your jaw, guiding your face to his.

"Shh, l've got you," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle contrast to the harshness of before. His lips brushed against your temple, his breath warm and reassuring.

"You're safe. I'm here."

You blinked, still dazed, as he kissed away the tears you hadn't realized were still falling. His hands cradled your face, soft and tender now, as he pressed kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips.

"You did so well for me," he whispered, his voice thick with praise. "So perfect."

Your body was still trembling, the aftershocks of pleasure making your limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated, but Crosshair was there, steady and unwavering.

He pulled you into his chest, holding you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He rocked you gently, his chin resting on the top of your head as he whispered soft reassurances.

"You're okay," he said softly, his voice grounding you, pulling you back from the floaty haze you had drifted into.

"I've got you, mesh'la. Just breathe for me.”

You buried your face in his neck, inhaling his familiar scent as you slowly came back down, your mind still foggy but beginning to clear. His hand moved up and down your back in soothing strokes, his other hand brushing through your hair as he slowly and carefully pulled out of you.

You felt his spend trickling down your legs and the feeling made you shudder but after a while, your breathing steadied, the weight of reality slowly settling back in as you clung to him. He quickly tugged himself into his blacks, securing his codpiece back in place before he pulled you back against his chest again.

Crosshair didn't rush you, just held you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your hairline, his hands never stopping their soft caresses.

"Crosshair..." you whispered, your voice barely audible, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his sharp features softened with concern.

"I'm right here," he said, his thumb brushing away the last of the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes. "You with me?"

His other hand gently cupped your face, guiding you to meet his gaze.

You blinked, still hazy but slowly coming out of the fog.

"Yeah... I'm here."

You nodded weakly, still feeling the warmth of his arms around you, his presence calming the last of the aftershocks. He smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made your heart swell.

"There's my girl," he said softly, and the tenderness in his voice nearly undid you all over again. He kissed you then, slow and sweet, his lips lingering against yours.

"You did so well, mesh'la. So good for me." His eyes searched yours, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Didn't mean to push you that far, out here," he admitted softly.

He pulled you tighter against his chest, holding you like you were the most important thing in the galaxy.

You leaned into him, nuzzling into his neck, feeling the warmth of his chest and the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. His scent was grounding and he held you like that for a while, not saying a word, just keeping you close, letting you find your footing again. Every time you shifted or trembled, he would murmur soft reassurances, his hands never leaving your skin.

When you finally felt steady again, you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a small, tired smile.

Crosshair's eyes were soft, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if he couldn't bear to let you go.

"I love you, mesh'la." he whispered, his hand cupping your cheek.

“Love you too Cross”

He gently pulled away from you, giving you one last soft kiss on the lips before he reached into one of the pockets of his belt. He pulled out a small cloth, using it to carefully clean you up, his touch still gentle and attentive. His fingers brushed your thighs, your skin still sensitive from the intense pleasure, but he was nothing but tender, making sure you were comfortable.

"Didn't mean to end our night out like this," he murmured apologetically as he wiped away the mess between your legs. "But I think it's better we head back to the Marauder. Don't want to take you back into 79's like this."

You gave him a small, tired smile.

"It's okay. I wanted it. But you’re right, I would prefer a cozy blanket and some cuddles over 79’s"

"Let's get you home," he said, his voice firm but soft as he helped you adjust your clothes.

Once everything was back in place, he reached for his comm and activated the link to Hunter.

It didn't take long before Hunter's voice came through, crackling with the background noise of the bar.

"Crosshair, where are you two? What's going on? We’ve been waiting for you."

Crosshair hesitated for a split second, glancing down at you in his arm. His worry was still there, but he tried to keep his tone calm.

"We're outside, we’re heading back to the Marauder.”

Hunter's voice grew a little sharper.

"Karkin’ hell Crosshair, what did you do?"

Crosshair let out a soft huff, but it wasn't his usual cocky attitude. He was still holding you, his hand stroking your arm soothingly.

"Everything is fine. Just... need to take care of her. I'm bringing her back home."

There was a pause on the other end before Hunter's voice came back, more insistent this time.

"You better let me hear that from her."

Crosshair glanced at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek reassuringly. You leaned closer to the comm, your voice still a little soft but steady.

"I'm okay, Hunter. I just... I need some rest. Crosshair is taking good care of me."

Hunter sighed, but he sounded satisfied.

"All right then. See you later, we’ll bring some food for you."

“Thank you Hunter.”

With the comm off, Crosshair turned his attention fully back to you. He gently brushed his fingers through your hair again, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Think you can walk?"

You nodded and tried to stand on your own, but your legs were wobbly beneath you, after a few small steps they gave in.

Crosshair caught you, holding you tightly against his chest and before you could protest he was back on the com.

“Tech…” the com crackled.

“Yes?”

“No questions, just pick us up outside 79’s”

“Affirmative. Hunter already let me know you’d be coming back. I think I don’t even want to know what you did this time. I”ll be there in 5 minutes.”

You giggled glancing up at Crosshair who was smiling too.

He gave you a soft kiss filled with all the love he held for you.

“Hot shower and cuddles?” he asked scooping you up to carry you to the pickup point.

“Sounds good” you sighed happily and still a bit floaty.

No one has ever made you feel the way he did.

[k2ntoss]

“Is this ok?” As they stare up at you from in between your legs. (Consent is so fucking hot and important)

“Please mark me, I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

“Spread your legs baby, that’s it… Wider.”

This with Jaybird plsss

well, here we are with more smutty posts for my people <3 thanks for your request, dear anon !! and yeah, get used to long writing bc i can't put my ideas in short stuff :3 sooooo consent king jaybird here!

"is this okay?" as they stare up at you from in between your legs + "please mark me, i want everyone to know i'm yours" + "spread your legs baby, that's it... wider"

it's been a year since jason asked you out for the first time and he's always been sweet with you, it took him a little to open up to you but there wasn't a time where he would actually done something bad to you. always giving you your space and thinking on your comfort, going at your pace with anything about your relationship. it's been a year full of soft kisses, cute dates and sweet cuddling until this night.

"are you really sure you want this, sweetheart?" jason asks you, he's sitting by your side in the couch, his arm drapped around your shoulder but he looks at you with his eyes slightly widened as you nod with a small smile, he doesn't know how your conversation went from your last movie night to talking about the things you liked to do in bed.

"i mean, i want it but it's okay if you don't, jay." you'd say with a cute smile, jason has been so respectful of your boundaries you wanted to do the same for him and you knew that for him all kinds of physical touch meant absolute trust on your partner and even more when it was something so intimate as making love.

"i want it too, but just promise me you'll tell me if it gets too much or if you feel uncomfortable, okay?" the way jason looks into your eyes and sticks his pinkie out for you to promise him that just melts your heart. when you hook your finger with his he leans in, taking your lips in a slow and sweet kiss, his hand running slowly to get to your waist before pulling you close.

at that point words die on your mouth, his lips devouring yours as the kiss grows deeper and his tongue trails your bottom lip, a soft sigh leaving your longs when jason sits you on his lap for a brief moment before he stands up with you into his arms to walk to the room you share with him. jason holds you as if you could break at the smallest movement so he lays you carefully on the bed, your back pressed softly against the matress when he breaks the kiss.

his forehead is pressed against yours as his hands slide under your shirt, the way your arms wrap around his shoulders while showering his face in sweet kisses makes him feel more sure of what he's doing and that's how it goes at first; jason takes off your clothes swiftly and without rushing it, his lips glued to your neck and collarbone as he leaves sweet pecks on your skin without biting or sucking on your skin even if he's dying to, because jason loves a little ownership and you notice it whenever he calls you his girl or when he pulls you by the waist when someone is being too friendly with you.

"please mark me," your voice comes out soft but a little breathless when he kisses his way between your breasts as he takes off your bra and he stops to look at you with a raised eyebrow "i want everyone to know i'm yours." and that's all jason needs because the conviction in your eyes tells him you want it.

"you want everyone to know you're mine, princess? want everyone to know how good i make you feel?" he asks in a low voice, a grunt escapes his lips when he first sinks his teeth on your neck and the moan you let out sounds just heavenly for him, they keep comming out when his hands travel from your back to your tits, groping and squeezing them as he sucks a few hickeys on the side of your throat, fingers rolling your nipples before he pinches them and smirks against your skin.

"yes, jay please" you nod and it just gets better when he kisses a trail down to your stomach, fingers toying with the edge of your panties before pulling them down at a torturing pace just to feel your goosebumps and he seems so playful for someone that was sweetly kissing your neck a few minutes ago it just works to turn you on even more.

his lips travel to your hips, kissing your side once he gets rid of your underwear as his hands pull your legs up and spreads them just to make room for his body between them but before he moves he needs to make you feel comfortable, he thinks as he sees your cheeks flushed and notices how you find it hard to look at him.

jason is a big guy so he knows he won't just fit really comfortably between your legs without having you to be completely spread for him. he kisses your knee lovingly, trying to ease your shyness a bit before he coos you.

"spread your legs baby," he speaks softly, a few more kisses on your calf as he soothingly caresses your thigh and it makes you feel less nervous as you spread your legs a bit more "that's it... wider" he guides you and once he sees your legs spread open for him he kisses his way down your thighs, kissing them both as he hears your moans and feels your heat growing.

suddenly the sight is just too good to miss it and the low moan that comes out of his lungs when he first kisses your cunt makes your breath catch. jason looks way too good with his eyes closed as he hums in satisfaction when he licks between your folds, arousal pooling on his tongue as your hand dives into his black hair, back arching and the high pitched moan that you let out when he sucks on your clit makes him look up at you.

"is this okay?" jason asks in a raspy voice, his eyes look glazed over but they still hold the same care and love he's shown since the very first day for you and his actions only make you feel more turned on as if he wasn't already all perfect he had to hit you with the careful prince behavior, always seeking for your comfort and pleasure before his own.

you nod, eyes fixed on his green ones and the smile he gifts you adds to all the feelings that swirl into your body because as soon as he goes back to your pussy you can only moan his name, fingers gently tugging his hair "god jason," you pull his hair a bit harder when his teeth graze your nub and he growls in a way that sends shivers down your spine "keep going, please."

and he does, jason licks and sucks like he was starving and before you get to call his name again he has two fingers teasing your entrace. he pulls away for a bit, one arm holding your hips still as he looks up at you "you just taste so good, love... and you sound so needy" he starts, there's a need on him to call you names because you told him you liked it but he doesn't want to push his luck already.

"mhm how do i sound?" you ask him, you know him too well to know he's holding back and the hunger on his gaze tells you you're damn right. he pushes his fingers into you, curling them as soon as your wet, warm walls embrace his digits and he finds that puffy spot that makes you moan loudly.

"like a pretty needy slut" he growls before biting a red mark on your thigh, moving his fingers in slow and deep strokes that grow a bit faster when he goes back to suck and flick his tongue on your sensitive clit, playing with you as much as you allow him because he loves the way you give in to him, how much you trust him to give you so much pleasure and how much you trust him to let you find his own pleasure on your body.

[jaempanini]

☆ I fucking hate pasta

Jeno x Reader

Notes: established relationship and stuff whatever whatever I made this in like an hour please don't execute me from tumblr

Synopsis: You make pasta often, because you know that it's one of Jeno's favourite foods. Jeno never complains when you make him pasta, because he knows you love it. Plot twist: you both hate that shit 😔

Word count: 1.2k

You gently cut up the basil for the pasta sauce as a pot with water slowly begins to boil. You aren't sure when exactly you'd started cooking for Jeno, but what you do know is that you absolutely adore doing it. Jeno is always super appreciative, and nothing makes you happier than seeing his excitement whenever you place a plate of food down in front of him.

In fact, cooking for Jeno might be one of your favourite activities.

The only part that you can confidently say you despise about it, is that Jeno loves pasta. Not only does he love it, he is obsessed with it. Now, any other food would be okay, you aren't that picky. But pasta? Oh, you hate pasta. And it's heartbreaking, because you want to like it, you want to enjoy it with Jeno, but you just can't. You've tried, oh you've fucking tried alright, and you've concluded that pasta might be the worst food to ever grace this earth.

So almost every other evening you have to sit across from Jeno and miserably stuff your mouth with pasta and pretend that you aren't on the verge of tears. Romantic!

The water starts to boil, and your heart sits heavy in your chest as you salt it and then pour the pasta in, mixing it so that it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pot.

Just as you put the spoon down, you hear your front door unlock, and your brain reminds you that Jeno just came back from the gym, so it's most likely that he'll be extra hungry.

You turn around just as he stops in front of the kitchen entrance. He smiles at you and then his eyes briefly flit to the pot behind you. An unreadable expression settles on his face. "Pasta again?" he asks, looking at you curiously.

You nod, giggle and walk over to him, throwing your arms around his neck, leaning up to kiss him. Jeno's hands instinctively find your waist, and he gently presses you closer to him. As you break apart, you move one of your hands to cup his cheek. Then, with all the sweetness in the world, you say, "You smell terrible. Please take a shower."

Jeno gasps in mock-offense and pulls you closer to him, to which you whine and playfully hit his chest. "Come oooon, you know damn well you don't smell like fresh flowers after the gym, go and shower!"

Jeno finally lets go of you and steps away. You immediately miss his touch, but you decide that this is for the greater good. The gym scent lowkey gives you toxic gas vibes.

"Fine," Jeno sulks, "but don't start eating dinner without me!"

"Wouldn't dream of it." You reply, and you know it's true, because if you were alone there'd be no way you would ever even think of putting pasta in your mouth.

Jeno kisses you on the cheek, before finally leaving to go take a shower.

You sigh, look back at the pot of pasta, and understand that you have to face your biggest enemy once again. For the sake of Jeno.

Jeno stands in the bathroom, leaning against the sink. The mirror is fogged up from the steam, and Jeno fights the urge to wipe it with his hand. He knows you hate the marks it leaves.

His phone is laying on the counter and his messages with Renjun are on the screen. Jeno reads over them at least ten times, particularly over Renjuns last text. "Jeno, you KNOW you don't like pasta, and you KNOW that Yn loves you. She would drop the pasta in a second if you told her you don't like it. Communication is important in these situations."

Jeno thinks about it. He's never really liked pasta. In fact, if he had to choose his least favourite food, it would probably be pasta. But he'd also hate seeing your upset expression if he told you he doesn't like it.

But Renjun is right. Communication is important, and Jeno knows you love him. Plus, if you get upset, he can always just say that it's a joke. Even if that'd mean eating pasta for the rest of his life.

When Jeno comes back to the kitchen, you've already set the table. Both of you sit down.

You nervously start to pick at your food, occasionally picking a piece of pasta up and putting it in your mouth. Every time you do, it feels like you're somehow demeaning yourself.

Jeno, across from you, also slowly starts to eat the pasta, washing each bite down with water.

Approximately five minutes pass before Jeno clears his throat. You look up at him, and he starts rambling.

"Yn... I- listen, I know that you really, really like pasta, and I'm grateful that you cook it for me so much, but I have to be honest... I don't really like it? By it I mean the pasta— I'm sorry, I didn't want to lie, but I knew how much you liked it, and I just didn't want you to be sad, because I know that you really like sharing your favourite things with me, and what sort of boyfriend would I be if I didn't like it too? A terrible one! Yn, I'm sorry, please don't break up with me, I love you, and I love your cooking— it's not you, it's the pasta. The pasta is torturing me every evening. I love being with you so much, but then I look down at my plate, and the fucking pasta is looking back at me."

You stare at him. Jeno visibly panics.

"I swear, you're the best thing to happen to me, but that pasta is the worst thing to happen to me. Every time I put pasta in my mouth an angel loses its wings. Every time it enters my digestive tract I feel my soul die a little. Also, pasta causes constipation!" Jeno finishes his ramble loudly.

You slowly put your fork down and sit up straight. Jeno prepares for the worst.

"So you're telling me..." You start, "... that you don't even like pasta?"

"I-I'm sorry... I... I don't..." Jeno hangs his head in shame.

"So you're telling me..." You continue, "... that I've been cooking pasta for nothing?"

Jeno immediately looks up at you and furrows his eyebrows. "What? No! You like pasta. You cook it because it's your favourite dish!"

You shake your head at him. "Nuh uh it's not! I cook it because it's YOUR favourite dish!"

Jeno stands up. "No! You LOVE pasta!"

You point at him and also stand up. "No, YOU love pasta!"

You both stare at each other before realisation dawns on you. Oh, fuck.

"Jeno... did you think I was making pasta because I like it?"

Jeno slowly shrugs and then asks, "Did... did you think I was eating it because I like it?"

"Yeah... I thought you loved pasta..."

"I don't really like pasta at all... Do you love pasta?"

"I fucking hate pasta."

"So, you're telling me that we've been eating pasta this whole time, thinking that the other one likes it?"

You sit down and whine, covering your face with your hands. "We are such dumbasses." You groan.

You hear Jeno giggle, and all of a sudden he's giving the top of your head a kiss. As you look up, you see him leaning back and also sitting down. "Do you wanna order Chinese?" He asks, looking up at you expectedly. You nod, and give a sigh of relief.

Pasta may have won the battle, but you've won the war.

Notes: I pooped this outta my ass😍 if it sucks dont come for me im a poor village boy trying to feed my 15 siblings by selling hay at the farmers market and cleaning shoes... writing is just this poor village boys hobby 😔 LISTEN IM FALLING OFF MY GAME I DONT EVEN KNOW ENGLISH!!!! THIS POOR VILLAGE BOY LIVES IN AN ABANDONED SHACK IN SIBERA!!!! I MINE COAL EVERY OTHER DAY AND SELL IT FOR PENNIES!!!!!!!!

[somewhat-insane]

~Shadowpeach Headcanons (I'm Delusional)~

I did this because I was bored... so if you happen to like this... uh... feel free to suggest other things you would want to see headcanons for (I also take art and one-shot requests too -3- (pleaseee, I need ideassss))

Neither of them bothers labeling their relationship (Macaque is more aware of identities and labels and identifies as bisexual. On the other hand, if you ask Wukong about his pronouns, he'll just stare at you silently before completely changing the subject.)

Wukong may be a jerk, but one thing he absolutely WON'T do is make fun of Macaque's art. (He was always happy when Macaque would express himself when they were younger and still has a similar mentality about it. Definitely would diss anyone else's art though.)

Both are subconsciously protective of the other's boundaries (Macaque steers clear of subjects that might trigger memories of Wukong's past, and Wukong makes sure others don't get too loud around Macaque (while still forgetting to check his own volume.) If you were to ask them, they'd say it's because they're the only ones who get to antagonize each other.)

Wukong is surprisingly good at dancing; Macaque is salty about it.

They fall asleep facing away from each other and then wake up cuddling

At first, they would stick around each other just to be annoying, but it slowly turned into them genuinely hanging out, and now they have regular "dates."

Macaque writes notes to remind Wukong of things when he can't be there to remind him himself, and Wukong doodles on them (and then forgets what he was supposed to do anyway)

Wukong likes to draw Macaque smiling (both genuine smiles and that bastard smile he does)

Macaque is surprisingly cuddly in the morning.

They are groggy after waking up, but sometimes Wukong will be up all night and super energetic when Mac wakes up.

Macaque constantly rearranges the furniture, and Wukong runs into stuff because he moves through rooms on muscle memory

Macaque tries flirting with Wukong, but it all goes over his head. Meanwhile, Wukong says things that fluster Macaque without even knowing it.

Macaque laughs so hard at Wukong that he snorts, and Wukong teases him for it.

They have so many inside jokes that their conversations have become incomprehensible to people who don't know them.

They don't like beds and will shove a bunch of blankets in a corner and curl up there if they can't sleep outside because it's raining.

They have serious talks late at night that they both pretend never happened in the morning.

Both of them get really excited about random things and will info dump on each other

Macaque is scared of his food/drinks being contaminated and won't eat/drink something that is out of his sight for too long; sometimes, he trusts Wukong to watch his food, and other times doesn't

Wukong loves eating peaches and playing in the dirt but hates the feeling of his skin being sticky or dirt under his claws; Macaque will grumble and huff but will eventually clean him up

They make weird noises at each other.

Wukong still doesn't understand tech and constantly has to ask Macaque for help. Macaque is more knowledgeable than Wukong but still has to ask MK for help helping Wukong sometimes.

Wukong doesn't save his drawings because he doesn't think they're that important, but Macaque always keeps them. The same can be said vice versa.