#i don’t even know if it’s intentional

[roancowgirl]

I live in a deep red state, in a small, very red town. My gf and I are out and proud. We both work in blue collar jobs, in male dominated environments.

We’ve met some shitty people, but we’ve met SO many nice people as well. They may not be the most educated, but they’re genuine and they try hard to get along if you try to get along with them.

My favorite was a coworker, who called me a slur. It was a mild one, and there isn’t much one can say that would genuinely offend me. But I cracked a joke about this other guy being mad at me for existing(he can be a bit hot under the collar because the wind changed) and my buddy looked at me, so concerned, and said “do you think it’s because you’re a dyke?” He was so genuine and concerned that it didn’t register what he said until an hour later, and now it’s a running joke.

I would rather have someone like that, someone that’s uneducated but trying, than someone that knows all the terminology but doesn’t really give a shit about me. These people are genuine, and I can list off multiple people in my life like this.

I’ve had prior bosses and friends tell me that if anyone makes me uncomfortable or makes a comment, let them know and they’ll handle it. I can hold my own and never had to take them up on it, but they’re behind me if I need them. That goes for both as a queer person and as an afab person.

I think there’s a massive gap in outreach and fighting for rights, and that’s meeting people where they are. Obviously being called a slur shouldn’t be the expectation and that shouldn’t be the norm that we need to be ok with, but I think it’s important to acknowledge when someone is trying and gently educating goes a long way.

I know for me, with some people I run into I might be the only lesbian they’ve ever met. If they’re willing to work with me and treat me like a person and not make my day harder, I’ll meet them where they’re at and we can all get along. They leave more educated and with a worldview that’s a bit bigger than the town they’ve lived in for three generations, and I might have a new buddy or resource.

Media consumption is another thing that has an affect, most of these people don’t have access to a wide array of media, or even think to seek it out because why would you seek out something you’ve never seen or heard of? That’s been discussed in the democratic circles in my area, people were pro democrat and voting for Kamala but largely uneducated about other candidates on the ballot. Media consumption and the effect it has on worldviews, especially in places that are for all intents and purposes somewhat isolated is its own conversation though.

This is turning into an essay and there’s more I can add, but to try to sum this up I don’t think it’s as simple as city/educated folk are your friend, and rural/uneducated/blue collar folk are your enemy. It’s not that black and white. There’s allies and enemies in every community, and using the level of education or terminology someone uses shouldn’t be the bar. Their actions and their try should be,

"The trannies should be able to piss in whatever toilet they want and change their bodies however they want. Why is it my business if some chick has a dick or a guy has a pie? I'm not a trannie or a fag so I don't care, just give 'em the medicine they need."

"This is an LGBT safe space. Of COURSE I fully support individuals who identify as transgender and their right to self-determination! I just think that transitioning is a very serious choice and should be heavily regulated. And there could be a lot of harm in exposing cis children to such topics, so we should be really careful about when it is appropriate to mention trans issues or have too much trans visibility."

One of the above statements is Problematic and the other is slightly annoying. If we disagree on which is which then working together for a better future is going to get really fucking difficult.

[plutoslastwords]

I see lando as a single dad too and I was wondering if you’d ever write daughter!reader when she’s a teenager and is going through, well her first menstrual cycle and he’s so completely lost lol

shark week

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: lando has no idea how a woman's body works, baby norris doesn't listen in health class. the outcome? chaos.

warnings: your first period?

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: okay so i know that it may be unrealistic that a 12 year old would have never heard of a period but idc. it works in the story. sorry for being so mia!! school is terrible atm 😩😩 love you all!! promise i am working on the requests xx

~~~

Going to high school in Monaco was not fun at the best of times.

Everyone says that surely it must be great! It’s Monaco! But when you don’t speak the language fluently - though you have got quite good after living there for 12 years of your life - and have just transferred to a new secondary school where you know no one, life isn’t great. 

Everyone in Monaco has one or two parents who are rich and famous in some way, meaning you can’t even pull the famous dad card to get yourself some friends. You’re stuck sitting alone at lunch, and being picked last for every team.

Lando hates it. He hates it so so much. He doesn't think he can stand seeing his baby coming home sad every afternoon, and he hates how sometimes he can’t be there to comfort you when life is feeling especially tough. He’s debated many a time just sending you to a boarding school back in England, where at least you could speak the same language as the kids there, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with being apart from you for that much of the year.

Therefore, both you and your dad just have to cope with the unfortunate situations, hoping and wishing that soon enough you’ll find your own feet and make some friends. 

Back to the fact that school in Monaco isn’t great on the best days, school in Monaco is absolute hell on the worst days.

On this particular day, you were sitting in Maths class, your least favourite, how were you meant to be able to understand maths in French when you didn’t even understand it in English. It was whilst the teacher was going on about something to do with algebra that you decided that you’d had enough, you put your hand up and quickly asked to go to the bathroom, you weren’t bothered about this anymore.

You took your normal long route around school to get to the bathrooms, having no intention of going back to your maths class anytime soon. You finally get to the bathrooms and it is there that you learn that you’re going to die.

You know that it is not normal to have blood in your pants. It can’t be normal. You must be dying. You sit there in shock for a moment, before starting to hyperventilate and presume the worst. 

When looking back, Lando knows that it is probably his fault that you got yourself into this situation. You never really listened in your Health classes, as they were all in French, and so it was probably his responsibility to educate you on what was going to happen at a certain point, but he’s still just a young guy, that was not top of his list of what he wanted to talk to his preteen daughter about!

You sit in the bathroom stall sobbing and shaking, surely this is the end, you were practically waiting for the Grim Reaper himself to come and pluck you away. In your disorientated mind the only thing that you can think to do is call Lando.

“Daddy I’m dying!” You bawl into the phone, the words barely coming out through your intense sobs.

Immediately Lando drops everything he was doing, freezing at your distressed tone, his mind going straight to the worst. “Baby?!? What’s going on, are you okay?!?” He practically shouts down the phone.

“No!!” You sob, “I’m dying!!!! Daddy please pick me up I-” You don’t finish your sentence because enough intense sob comes in the way and you fall back into hysterically crying.

Lando doesn’t even think twice before leaping up from his desk and rushing to grab his car keys. “I’m on my way, my angel, you’re gonna be okay, daddy’s gonna look after you.” He tries to soothe, but the worry in his voice is evident. 

When he arrives you’re still a sobbing mess, but you have to drag your tear stained body out of the cubicle and to the front office in order to be dismissed. When you see Lando you immediately jump into his arms, sobs wracking your body.

“Oh darling…”  He says, brokenly, he hates seeing you like this, “What’s happened, my love?” 

You don’t respond, too distressed, he seems to get the message and manoeuvres you to the car, where he drives home as quick as he can, to get you someplace familiar, hoping that that will soothe you slightly.

It works, partially. By the time that you’re home your sobbing has lessened, but you’re still nowhere near stable, still almost shaking with the fear that you’re feeling. Lando sits you down on the sofa with a glass of water, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I’m dying!! I’m bleeding and I’m dying!” You sniffle.

Suddenly everything clicks for Lando and then his mind goes completely blank. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. He was not ready for this day, not ready whatsoever. 

“I-uhm-oh.” He stutters, not knowing what to say. “Y-you’re not dying, sweetheart, okay?”

“Yes I am!!! I’m dying!!!”

He has no idea what to do. He was hoping he had a year or two left before today came, but apparently luck was not on his side. He sits there, staring blankly at you, as you continue to cry. 

“Baby, I promise you you’re not dying, why don’t you go change your clothes and I’ll come up to your room in a sec and we’ll chat, okay?”

You shuffle to your room, still sobbing but if you’re dad seems so confident that you’re okay, then surely that means something…?

Lando paces around in a panic downstairs, waiting for his sister to answer the damn phone. There is no way that he can be doing this with no help.

After a horrible phone call, with a lot of him being laughed at by his sister for having a 12 year old daughter and still knowing fuck all about the menstrual cycle, he feels more prepared to actually talk to you.

You’re sitting in your bed, covered in blankets and watching a movie when he knocks at your door.

“Darling, can I come in?” 

You hum in response, tired from all of the sobbing and therefore not bothered to actually speak. He enters, with a shopping bag in his hand.

“How're you feeling, my angel?”

You shrug, curling up smaller in your blanket ball.

“Oh, baby, you’re okay, I promise, it’s all natural, okay?”

“Doesn’t feel natural…”

“It’s your period, angel. It’s your body getting ready for pregnancy”

You pull a face of absolute horror at that, “I’m pregnant?!??!”

His eyes widen and he backtracks immediately “No, no, no, no, you’re not pregnant, absolutely not.” He shudders at the thought, “It’s just so that maybe, at some point in the future, if you do get pregnant, your body is gonna be prepared…”

“So I’m gonna bleed until I get pregnant?”

“No, no, just for a couple days every month…”

“For how long?”

“Uhm, I’m not sure about that… like until your 40? I don’t know…”

“40?!??!?! I don’t want to bleed every month until I’m 40!!!!”

“I know, baby, but it’s just something that all women have to go through, it’s just a natural part of life, you’ll learn to cope with it…”

You pause, taking in his words, before eventually nodding in understanding, but that doesn’t mean that you’re done talking, much to Lando’s dismay, who’d quite like to get this conversation over and done with.

“So why do I need to bleed to be ready for pregnancy?” You question.

Lando knows this one, he practised it on the phone with his sister, “It’s the wall of your uterus shedding-”

“Ew.”

“Because your body got itself ready to be pregnant, and then obviously the egg was never fertilised.”

“So if I did get pregnant then I wouldn’t get my period?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Hm.”

“It’s all very normal, sweetheart, this just means that you’re healthy, okay?”

“Mhm…”

“Good..” He smiles, “You all good?”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What am I gonna do now..? With, you know, uhm- I don’t wanna ruin all my underwear…”

“Oh! Yes, that..” He reaches into his bag, “So, uh- these will stick on top of your underwear, and like uh- catch the blood, I guess.. And then you throw them away after wearing them for like 5 hours or so… That sound okay?”

You nod, slightly sceptical, but oh well.

Eventually, Lando leaves to go and do his own thing, and you stew in the knowledge of your new life. After getting yourself showered and cleaned up, as well as trying your new items, you shuffle downstairs, just needing a hug.

“Hey, baby…” Your dad smiles, as he sits on the tv, watching some nonsense reality show.

You don’t reply, just nestling yourself next to him, needing his comforting touch. He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“My baby… getting so big… daddy loves you, more than anything…”

~~~

a/n: fank you for reading!!11 send in any requests xx

[st7rnioioss]

could you maybe write a little fic about brothersbsf!matt looking in sweetheart!reader's diary and seeing what she wrote about him!!

(idk if i got the au name things right!)

❛❛DEAR DIARY❜❜

��� ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... sweetheart!reader x brothers bsf!matt

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... matt sneaks into sweetheart!readers room, expecting to find her, but to his surprise, she's not home. but something catches his eye immediately--her diary.

warnings... most suggestive stuff is all fiction!!! (literally lol), mentions of fingering, mentions of unprotected sex, mentions of kissing, implied masturbation (m)

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ the door to your room twisted open, the faint and high pitched creaking filling the empty room. you weren’t in there, the room was pitch black, and almost cold from the absence of your presence.

confusion settled in matt’s chest. huh? he’d snook away from your brother, telling him he just really quickly had to use the bathroom, but you weren’t there. he stepped inside when the confusion was replaced with curiosity, flicking on your bedside lamp to see where he was walking.

your room was pretty, but eerie when you weren’t there. matt’s eyes trailed over your decoration—the small trinkets, your bedsheets, the few posters you had up. god, it just screamed you. he chuckled to himself, his gaze finally landing upon the pretty little diary you always kept close to yourself.

oh, he knew it was wrong, very wrong. he didn’t have any sisters, but a diary was like.. a girl thing. but he took seat on the edge of your bed, your diary playing flat in his lap.

matt thought about it for a second, awkwardly flicking some hair out of his eyes. frightened to be caught, he listened intently for your brothers footsteps, but none could be heard. so, he continued to slowly turn the front, due to the lack of lock, seemingly one that used to be there but fell off.

matt’s eyes skimmed the front page where you had neatly written your name, along with a few doodles, and sweet words. he smiled to himself, before curiously flipping through the pages. some were filled with sketches and drawings, others going on for page after page about school drama, which he carefully read through, even gasping because some of the hidden information.

but one page caught his eyes, rather a page with his name caught his eyes. there wasn’t a certain title or description, just straight up words you had blurted out onto the paper. his heart started racing when he read through the page, his ears turning read.

“dear diary, i think i have a crush on my brother's friend matt. i’m not sure, but i think he’s really, really sweet, and sometimes he even says hi to me. i think it’s mainly because he’s trying to be kind to me. after all, my older brother is his friend, but i really hope it’s more than that. he’s really cute too. he’s got blue eyes, and this dark hair i really wish to run my fingers through every time he looks at me. and his lips are always pink, and they look so soft.”

and that was it. his heart drummed in his ribcage, nervously fiddling through your diary to find more.

and oh boy, did he find more. it was like your diary had taken this sharp turn, going from girl gossip, and rants about your favorite movies, to all being about him. matt couldn’t believe his eyes, his heart nearly beating out of his chest when his eyes picked up on the naughty sentences.

“dear diary, today matt came into my room to say hi. or at least that’s what happened, but i think he wanted to do more. i was just showing him around, when he suddenly stood so close to me, i swore he could hear my heart, and just as he was about to kiss me, my dumb brother walked in!!! gosh, i just wish he could’ve kissed me without any interruptions. i wonder how he’d kiss. if he would be gentle, and soft, or he would be rough, and fill the kiss with desire. maybe he’d do both. i don’t know. i dream about his fingers running down my waist, hooking under my shirt to pull it off, how he would run them through my hair. would he yank my hair, or carefully twirl it?? or maybe he’d wrap his fingers around my neck while kissing, i don't know. i dream about his tongue licking over mine, tasting and claiming me. anyways i gotta go.”

matt’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, groaning when he felt his cock harden from just the ink on paper, that you had written in the silence of your own room. in shock he dropped the diary between his legs, quickly picking it up again. he couldn’t stop, he wanted to read more. he needed to.

matt quickly flicked through the pages upon pages, searching for his name like before, but suddenly all he could seem to find was gossip. but he found another one, this one much more recent, seemingly the last one your written just the night prior.

“dear diary, gosh i need matt. like really bad. i don’t even understand how i’m writing right now, but i had to, i can’t tell anyone else. it’s so stupid. i think about him all the time, when i’m in school, when i’m in the shower, eating dinner or breakfast, when i’m in bed. i wish i didn’t. every time i touch myself, it’s like an image of him pops up, and i can’t make it stop. it’s so wrong, but it feels so right and good when i imagine him doing the stuff i do to myself. i get so wet thinking about it. how i wish he would just sneak in here one night, kiss me, and then take off my clothes without us feeling guilty about it, and anyone finding out. i can almost feel it, how he would push his fingers inside me while kissi”

it looks like you stopped right there, and matt could only imagine what was going on behind the diary, behind the pen on paper, what you were doing. he let out a low growl, an obvious tent forming in his pants from how vividly he was imagining you laying in bed, grasping your pen while ignoring the ache between your legs, before you’d give up and tug your panties down your pretty legs, easing your smaller and slender fingers inside your slick walls.

matt frantically searched for a pen, his mind going wild as he let his thoughts roam freely. the diary laid open on your bed when matt finally found a ballpoint pen, brushing the pages to the last one you had written on, before writing;

“i would kiss you down your chest, admire your body while i touch you after your sweet noises to get it right, my fingers sticky. then i would let go of you and take off my own clothes, leaning over you to push my dick into you, listen to you gasp and moan. i would take my time with you, wait until you allowed me to start fucking you, doing it gentle and slowly. i’d hold your hands, kiss you down your beautiful face and body, eventually going faster and harder. you have no idea how bad i wanna sneak into your room every time i’m hanging out here. i’m not even here for your brother anymore.”

matt let go of the pen, his hand nearly cramping from how concentrated and neatly he’d been with the filthy note, his cock aching hard and throbbing in his pants from imagining just how well you’d take him, and how adorable you’d look. “goddamn it,” he groaned, leaving the diary on your bedside table before turning off the lights, immediately heading to the bathroom.

more sweetheart!reader x brothers bsf!matt here!

˚𝜗𝜚 notes... #need that

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

❛❛ © 𝐒𝐓𝟕𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ❜❜

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ “Behave” — JJK Men

Synopsis:- They’re all gentlemen, at least they try to be, but then, just what can a man do when you’re literally, asking for it?

— A/n:- because chemistry sucks ass and rather than that, I’d rather get scolded by a man🤭+it is sorta rushed

— Word Count:- 0.9k

— Warnings:- smut!!MDNI!!Geto + Gojo + Nanami x reader (separately); brat taming; slight humiliation (just a bit mean sided); hints of oral (male receiving); spanking (very light?); hints of edging; idk rest just yea<3 (not proofread!!); sir kink with Geto; name calling; porn w/o plot lol

Suguru Geto:-

Suguru Geto holds the patience of a priest, quiet simply, and punishes like the God Complex he’s built himself around. Nothing ever truly goes unnoticed by him, watching intently as he counts each strike—it’s true, often he’ll punish you in spite of it—but more often than not (because you’re a decent brat too) he finds himself giving all that you perfectly deserve.

“How many do you deserve?” he murmured against your skin, hands bound with the pretty handcuff, the one he insisted upon buying—face shoved deep into the white sheets and ass up and facing him.

Fingers playing with the loose sheets, you smirked, “20?” You reply was short, almost sweet and innocent.

Suguru didn’t budge, he knew it—a smirk he adorned too, “I think that’s a lot doll let’s do a little less than half of it, ok?” A sharp slap landed on your rear—a rough squeeze.

You whined simply, in response—he knew however, spankings weren’t all so much a punishment for you as much as the pleasure it passed you.

And he wasn’t having it tonight, not when you were audacious enough to insult him in front of his friends.

“That’s very less su’- ah!” A squeal you let out when another sharp slap crashed upon—“Sir! That’s far too less sir,” your correction amused him still.

“You think 8’s less doll?” And just something about the edge in his voice alerted you, “Last time you were crying and writhing when I edged you 5 times—but if that’s what you want…”

A smirk and a whine let out together.

Satoru Gojo:-

Satoru Gojo is all by himself, the embodiment of a brat—so to seek out ways to thin his patience is almost stupid. But stupid is as stupid does— a challenge shouldn’t go wasted right? Satoru doesn’t need reasons to punish you, at least, that’s what he makes it seem like, but he remembers and he remembers well.

Back pressed against his chest, you nuzzled deeper—aware perfectly of the uncomfortable hard-on your almost bare ass, pressed against his crotch, caused him.

A whine he let out- hands groping your breasts roughly, kneading and pressed together, “Don’t fucking tease me,” he muttered against the sensitive skin of your neck, you grinned.

“Awh, poor Toru’ can’t take it?” And you were sure you almost head a purr at that, “don’t push it princess,”

Another whine, when you pushed your ass against his dick further, “Push what Toru?” The little pout your lips held drove him crazy as that.

“That’s it,” he growled right there—“you asked for the punishment,”

An amused look you offered, “Because you can’t control your dick? What are you 12?” You knew your words only tipped him more, but he was just always worse at the game than you ever could be, “For cumming and soiling those pretty panties I bought you, especially when I wasn’t home,” you eyes went wide, and his smirk—not one thought sprang your head, how did he know that?

“Or for those shorts you wore when Nanami was over, wanted him to check out this sweet ass angel?” You squealed as his hand pinched your ass.

“Maybe for the nudes you kept sending me during my missions hm? But the real question is, what should I even do hm?”

Before anything could even register inside your head, he had already manhandled you between his legs, kneeling on the bed as he sat legs wide.

“Go on,” he grinned, “Only I deserve the pleasure tonight yeah?”

Nanami Kento:-

Nanami Kento is a man of few words and perfect ideals—you almost knew what you were getting into, except, you didn’t. Kento wasn’t exactly strict, he let you as you pleased- he liked it feisty, but there were moments of his own. And sometimes, he just couldn’t help the sudden flare of anger bubbling up.

Your head bobbed along the length of his shaft- your mouth was getting sore for that was how he’d kept you for the past 15 minutes, kneeling under his table, your warm mouth keeping him occupied while he worked—all so because you couldn’t help your need for attention.

A glare he passed when you let out a whine, eyes flitting onto the door handle, making sure no one would enter and suddenly, he pulled out—making you whine all the louder.

“Just don’t fucking get it, do you?” His words were harsh, so contrasting to the usual Kento he offered in your gaze, “Just wanna be fucked in front of everyone like a slut,” his fingers gripped your jaw tight, “that’s what the slut wants hm? For everyone to see just how good your mouth takes me?”

You loved it, the intense gaze in his eyes, the rough embrace he offered and mean words—he knew you loved it.

“Tongue out,” he ordered, and you did as he pleased—an amused smile tugged at his lips.

Plap-plap-plap—he slapped the tip of dick against your tongue, it felt so filthy this way—“good pet,” he murmured, “gonna have you hold it 15 more minutes, this is the only way you’ll learn to hold your tongue yeah?”

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Reblogs and likes highly appreciated!

[buttonsgoblin]

I don’t remember where I heard it (probably something steph sterling said if I had to guess, thank god for her), but I’ve heard it said before that one of the things that’s allowed the video game industry to get as bad as it’s gotten is that most people primarily associate AAA games with their publishers, not with the teams or individuals who worked on them. Like, most people could probably name a couple of film directors, even if they’re not super into film, but how many AAA game directors or lead designers could someone name if they don’t closely follow the industry? A lot of people know Kojima, I guess? But besides him, it’s probably close to none. This is intentional. Game developers had to fight to even be credited for their work in the first place- the first known easter egg was a developer trying to put his name on his project despite his bosses at Atari telling him not to, and the founders of Activision left Atari partly out of frustration with this policy. Publishers love doing this sort of thing because it takes away bargaining power from creators and makes it easier to screw them over with IP law. More insidiously (and I think this is a big part of what Disney wants here), it makes for great reputation laundering. If you’re a ghoulish megacorp, but you publish something people really like— i.e. movies/video games— a very reliable way to get people to forget how ghoulish you are is to remind them how much they like the stuff you publish. If Disney succeeds in doing this, and they likely will, expect them to be a lot bolder with the bullshit they think they can get away with.

Great moments in corporate synergy: Disney released their Super Bowl ad imagining what the world would be like without Iconic Disney Moments and it included a single Disney animated film. Frozen obviously. Otherwise it's entirely films made by companies they bought and one live action remake. "Remember when Disney brought you Star Wars" and it's the original and no. Bc they very much did not bring us that one

[mapis-putellas]

𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒔/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Trying something a little different. Let me know if this is something you want to see more of <3

Alexia exhales slowly, rubbing her temple as Emilia lets out another frustrated huff.

It’s been a long day. From the moment she woke up, Emilia has been on edge. First, she didn’t want to wear the clothes Alexia picked out. Then, breakfast wasn’t right -her toast was too crispy, her juice too cold. Every little thing has been a battle, and Alexia’s patience is wearing thin.

Now, in the middle of the grocery store, apparently it was all coming to a head.

“Mami, I want it,” Emilia says, gripping the bright pink doll box with both hands.

Alexia shakes her head. “No, mi amor. Not today.” She had no problems buying Emilia the things she wants, and she often does anytime the little one asks, but she had no intentions of rewarding bad behaviour.

Emilia’s lower lip wobbles. “Pero, Mami…”

Alexia crouches down, steadying herself. “Listen, you have not been good today, chiquitina. Lots of tantrums, sí?”

Emilia drops the box and crosses her tiny arms. “No.”

Alexia sighs, reaching out to tuck a curl behind her ear. “You have, mi amor. And when we are not good, we don’t get treats.”

Emilia stares at her for a second, processing the words. Then, without warning, she stomps her foot. “I want it!”

Alexia’s jaw tightens. “Emilia-“

“I want it!” Emilia repeats, louder this time.

A few shoppers glance their way. Alexia feels her patience slip further, her fingers pressing against her temple.

“Emilia, enough,” she says, voice firm.

Emilia, however, is past the point of reasoning. “No! I want it, I want it, I want it!”

Then, to Alexia’s absolute horror, Emilia throws herself onto the floor, kicking her legs and wailing. Alexia closes her eyes briefly.

She knows this is normal -knows that kids have days like this, knows that Emilia is just overwhelmed, overtired, or maybe both. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier when her child is screaming in the middle of the grocery store. She takes a deep breath, then kneels beside her.

“Emilia,” she says, voice low but steady.

Emilia doesn’t respond, just cries harder.

“Mi amor,” Alexia tries again, resting a hand on her back. “You need to get up.”

Emilia shakes her head against the floor.

Alexia exhales, her patience thinning even further. “Emilia. Now.”

Still nothing.

Alright.

Alexia leans down, slipping her hands under Emilia’s arms and lifting her effortlessly. Emilia kicks, fists pounding weakly against Alexia’s shoulders, but Alexia doesn’t budge.

“Shhh,” she murmurs, rubbing slow circles against Emilia’s back, her free arm beneath Emilia’s behind to keep her supported. “Respira, chiquitina.”

Emilia sniffles, face pressed into Alexia’s neck, and Alexia sways gently, rocking her in the middle of the aisle.

“It’s okay, mi amor,” she whispers. “I know you’re upset.”

Emilia lets out a muffled sob.

Alexia sighs, kissing her temple. “But this is not how we ask for things, sí?”

There’s no response, but the kicking stops and Alexia takes that as progress. She walks them toward a quieter section of the store, away from the curious glances and whispered conversations. She finds a bench near the pharmacy and sits, keeping Emilia cradled in her arms.

For a while, neither of them speak. Alexia just holds her, rubbing her back in slow, soothing motions.

Eventually, Emilia’s sniffles quieten.

Alexia tilts her head slightly. “Better?”

A small nod.

Alexia brushes her curls back. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, chiquitina?”

Emilia shifts, her little fingers twisting into Alexia’s hoodie. “I don’t know.”

Alexia hums, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “That’s okay.”

Emilia sighs, rubbing her eyes. “I just feel yucky.”

Alexia’s heart softens instantly.

She cups Emilia’s cheek, tilting her face up slightly. “Mi amor, you can tell me anything. You know that, sí?”

Emilia nods. “Sí.”

Alexia kisses the tip of her nose. “Even when we feel bad, we have to try to be good, sí?”

Another nod, this one more hesitant.

Alexia smiles gently. “And when we are not good, we do not get treats.”

Emilia pouts. “I know.”

Alexia chuckles, squeezing her a little tighter. “Do you want to help me finish shopping?”

Emilia nods.

“Vale.” Alexia stands, settling Emilia on her hip. “Let’s go, chiquitina.”

Emilia rests her head against Alexia’s shoulder, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around her. From that moment forward, Emilia doesn’t cause any more trouble, but she doesn’t let go of Alexia either. She stays wrapped around her, her small arms slung around Alexia’s neck, her head tucked right under Alexia’s chin

Alexia doesn’t mind -not really. She’s used to Emilia being clingy on her bad days. It’s just, as strong as she is, shopping with a five-year-old stuck to her hip isn’t the easiest thing in the world.

“Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, adjusting her grip on Emilia as she reaches for a carton of milk. “I need both hands.”

Emilia shakes her head and clings tighter.

Alexia sighs, balancing the milk in one arm and maneuvering the cart with her foot so she could place the milk inside. It’s ridiculous, really, but she makes it work.

Emilia puffs out a tiny breath. “Mami.”

Alexia hums, absentmindedly scanning the cereal aisle for Emilia’s favourite. “Sí, chiquitina?”

“I’m sorry,” Emilia whispers.

Alexia shifts her hold, pressing a kiss to Emilia’s forehead as she pats her behind softly. “I know, mi amor.” She assures.

“I was naughty,” Emilia mumbles.

Alexia shakes her head. “You were upset. It happens.”

Emilia sniffles. “Still feel bad.”

Alexia cups the back of her head, rubbing her thumb in slow circles. “We all have bad days, chiquitina. Even me.”

Emilia lifts her head, looking at her with wide, serious eyes. “You do?”

Alexia nods, shifting the little one so she was settled on her front as opposed to her hip. “Sí. Sometimes I am grumpy too.”

Emilia frowns. “But you don’t cry on the floor.” She points out.

Alexia chuckles. “No, but sometimes I want to.”

Emilia giggles, a soft little thing that makes Alexia’s chest warm.

“You’re not mad at me?” Emilia asks, her voice small.

Alexia shakes her head. “Never, mi amor.”

Emilia exhales, nestling back against her. “Okay.”

Alexia runs her fingers through Emilia’s curls. “Almost done. Do you want to help me pick some fruit?”

Emilia nods but makes no move to get down, and Alexia smiles to herself as she grabs a few more things before finally heading to the checkout. Emilia still doesn’t let go, even when the cashier coos at her and tells her how cute she is. Emilia just burrows deeper into Alexia’s hoodie.

By the time they get to the car, Emilia has gone completely quiet.

Alexia buckles her into her car seat, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Tired?”

Emilia nods, rubbing at her eyes.

Alexia smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s go home, mi amor.”

The drive is quiet. Alexia keeps one hand on the wheel, the other stretched toward the back, letting Emilia hold onto her fingers. When they get home, Emilia doesn’t even have to ask Alexia to scoop her up again.

“Nap time,” Alexia whispers, carrying both Emilia and the groceries inside, setting the bags on the counter before making her way into the living room.

Emilia doesn’t argue, just curls into Alexia’s arms, clinging like a little koala.

Alexia sighs, settling them both onto the couch. Emilia shifts, making herself comfortable on Alexia’s chest, tiny legs straddling her hips with her head nestled under her chin.

“Mami?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Alexia’s heart melts instantly. She tightens her hold, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of Emilia’s curls. “I love you too, chiquitina. So much.”

And just like that, Emilia drifts off, safe and snug in her mami’s arms.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ʙᴀʙʏ

fluff, mutual pining, light angst, teasing, silly, idiots in love, friends to lovers, pet names, crush, shy matt, slightest hint of subbish matt

based off this request!

word count - 1.1k

Matt had never been one to outwardly express his feelings. Most of the time, he kept things to himself, especially when it came to his friends. But lately, there was one thing he couldn’t seem to shake. Your casual, silly use of a particular pet name. Baby.

It wasn’t intentional, he knew that. You’d been calling everyone in the group by silly, affectionate pet names for weeks now. To you, it was just a fun, harmless way of talking, but to Matt? Well, it was starting to mean something more than that.

And it wasn’t just Matt who had picked up on it, everyone else had too. You were the type to throw out affectionate terms for all your friends, but when it came to Matt, everyone knew there was something different, more intentional, careful, loving about the way you said it to him.

He’d tried to brush it off at first. After all, it was just a nickname, right? You called everyone “baby” or “sweetheart” or even “babe,” and no one thought anything of it. But there was something about the way you said it, so easily, so naturally, that made Matt’s heart do an involuntary flip every time you said it to him.

“Hey, baby, could you grab that for me?” you asked one day, tapping him lightly on the shoulder as you reached for the remote, your voice teasing and light.

Matt froze for a second, almost choking on air. His eyes flicked over to you, then down to the object you were pointing at, struggling to keep his cool. It was just a remote, but in that moment, it felt like his entire world had stopped moving.

“Uh, sure,” he muttered, trying not to show the way his chest fluttered at the nickname. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours just slightly, and his heart raced even faster. His brain kept short circuiting, imagining that the way you said “baby” to him was like a little secret only the two of you shared.

Later, you all sat in the living room, lounging on the couch as usual, when you leaned your head on his shoulder. “You’re so sweet, baby,” you whispered, and Matt swore he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it still sent his mind spinning every time.

It wasn’t lost on anyone else, though. Nick, watching from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with one of your other friends. You were completely unaware of the effect you were having on Matt, and Matt, well, he was just trying to keep it together.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Matt’s voice was quieter than usual, a bit more hesitant as he leaned in toward you. You glanced up at him, noticing the nervous edge to his expression.

“Sure, what’s up?” you asked, a kind smile on your lips as you expected him to say something about the movie, or the snacks, or anything else.

He glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention before leaning in a little closer. “Uh, just... please don’t call me ‘baby’ anymore,” he said, his voice low, but there was a little hint of something, was it discomfort? Maybe even... nerves?

You blinked at him, confused. “What do you mean? It’s just a nickname, Matt.”

He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck like he was working up the courage to say something. “I know, but...” He hesitated for a moment, looking over at you before his eyes dropped to the floor. “I just... I don’t want it to sound like I’m taking it seriously. It’s... it’s just... I don’t know, it feels like you’re saying it to everyone, and I don’t want it to lose meaning.”

His words made your heart race in a different way, but you were still a little confused. “But I’m just being silly with everyone,” you said, shrugging. “I mean, I call you ‘baby’ like I call the others. No harm in it.”

Matt bit his lip, his fingers twitching slightly as he looked up at you, his gaze more intense than usual. “It… it affects me,” he mumbled quietly. “It’s just... when you say it, it kind of... I don’t know... it makes me feel things. And I want it to mean more than just a joke. I... I want it to be something just between us.”

A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you realised what he was trying to say. Your heart fluttered at his admission, feeling the warm flush spread across your cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, he liked you more than you thought. Or maybe, just maybe, you liked him more than you realised.

You leaned in closer to him, your voice soft as you teased, “So... you want me to call you ‘baby,’ but only when it’s just the two of us, huh?”

Matt’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks turning pink as he looked away for a second, clearly flustered. “Yeah, I mean... if you want to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’d like that.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. “Well, in that case...” You leaned into him more, cuddling up to him with a playful smirk. “You’re the only one I want to call ‘baby.’”

Matt’s face broke into a shy grin, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. “You got it,” he whispered, a bit more confidently now.

From across the room, Chris leaned back with a grin, nudging the others. He exchanged a knowing look with the rest of the group before they all collectively sighed.

“Fucking finally!” someone muttered, their voice full of relief and amusement.

Matt froze, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of pink as he realised the others had been watching the whole time. You chuckled softly, looking between Matt and your friends, your heart fluttering with the knowledge that things were finally going somewhere between you two.

Matt shot a glare at the group, but his grin couldn’t hide the happiness bubbling up inside him. “Shut up,” he muttered, but the playful edge in his voice was unmistakable.

Feeling bold, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a second before pulling away with a teasing smile. “Love you, baby,” you whispered, that familiar nickname feeling even more intimate now.

Matt’s heart skipped a beat, his entire face flushing as he turned to you, his hand resting against his cheek where you’d kissed him. “Shut up,” he mumbled, but his smile couldn’t be contained.

creds to rose for the dividers !! @bernardsbendystraws <3

a/n: im kinda loving this kinda hating it

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @recordeeznuts @camzeecorner @sturniolo101 @courta13 @sweetshuga

till next time !!!

[specsthesecond]

🃏👑🃏

You were married off to the king as a young noble woman. The arrangement was rather rushed in your opinion, not that anyone asked for it. The king only needed a show wife, a quiet but present symbol for the kingdom and you suited well enough for that.

He didn’t need a wife for pleasure, he had plenty mistresses for that and he seemed to be in no rush for a successor. You suspected it was because he had no intent to hand over power to anyone else anytime soon. Although, that's just what you assumed, others never blamed him for it. You were always the target of the hushed whispers and silent accusations of infertility, unruliness or even infidelity when it came to the subject of an heir.

The people's gossip aside, it was an easy marriage. You didn’t have to share a bed with a man you didn’t love and you didn’t have to raise his children. Many more deserving women would kill for such a life, which only made you feel worse about the utter discontent you felt. It was the loneliness, mostly. Such a privileged life and yet not a single companion in the world to share it with.

The king and his advisers only speak to you when they need you to make an appearance as queen. Their orders always dripping with condescension and near mockery. They’ve made you smile and wave for hours, waltz until your feet blister and recite a holy text’s worth of pompous poetry but this most recent ploy was particularly concerning.

You sit on your throne next to your husband, hands in your lap, staring at the colourful figure in front of you. The bells on his ridiculous hat jingle as he bows his head so low they almost touch the marble floor. Quiet chuckles emit from the nobility crowding the massive ballroom and the unease in your stomach only builds.

When the jester picks his head back up, you can’t help fiddling even more with your dress, just like your husband's advisers have scolded you not to. The jester silently stares with a sheet white face, big red grin painted across his mouth. You want to shrink under the jesters stare, the blue diamonds painted over his eyes make his gaze feel piercing.

The king grins when he catches your nervous gaze.

“Do you like your surprise, my love? I thought you could use some cheering up lately. As did my advisers.”

He chuckles, looking over at the old men in the corner of the room. They smile back, amusing in a joke you're not a part of.

You just nod your head as politely as possible. You don’t know what's happening, but whatever they have planned can’t be good.

The jester skips up to where you and the king sit. He gives an exaggerated curtsy to the king, earning a laugh from him and the various nobility.

The bells jingle as he springs back up and steps closer to you. He stretches his hand out, you stare at it and then back to your husband.

“The fool wants a dance, my dear. Give him a dance.”

You try to hide the apprehension on your face and reach for the jesters white glove-covered hand. He doesn’t squeeze or pull you up like you expected, instead he holds it gently, waiting for your next move. You rise from your throne and cast one more glance at your husband, who only offers a self-satisfied grin in return. This whole time all they've wanted from you is a perfect queen and now they want you to dance with a fool?

The jester walks you to the middle of the room, encircled by leering nobility. He places your hand on his waist before dramatically correcting the mistake and placing it on his shoulder instead, looking bashfully to the audience who snicker at the joke. He takes your other hand in his and gives you a little nod before the musicians starts playing and he guides you into step.

Now obviously you know very well how to dance, you enjoyed it quite a bit when you were little although, now it’s just become another part of your queenly duties. Did any of that even matter now? Now that it’s clear the king and his peers see you as just as much of a joke as the man you’re waltzing with.

Your deep thoughts are broken when said man unexpectedly twirls you in a dizzying circle. You flail slightly in your surprise but you’re brought back into his arms just as quickly to continue your steps. You fully focus on him now and you wonder what his features look like under that gaudy clown makeup. Even in the bright chandelier lights of the ball room, you can’t make out the colour of his irises. Earlier, you thought they were hazel but now it seems they're an impossibly dark brown.

The dark pools look as if they could swallow all the colour from his face and your own. Actually, has he blinked even once during this dance, or at all for that matter?

You’re not sure if it was your mistake or the jester’s but you step on his foot and he suddenly pulls away from you. He clutches his foot and jumps up and down in theatrical pain. The room bursts into laughter, bellows and cackles. These elite men and women delight in the humiliating performance you’re both putting on for them. It takes everything in you not to cave right there in the middle of it. Why are you being humiliated when you've done nothing wrong?

While the jeering continues, you try your best to steel yourself, replacing the need to cry with spiteful compliance. If they want a dance, they can have a dance.

You curtsy at the jester, offering an apology and hold your hand out to him. He looks around and then points to himself. You can’t help but smile and nod your head.

He takes your hand and when the music starts back up again, you step in time to the beautiful melody. You try and put your full attention on the jester, not anyone else in the large room, which proves to be quite easy as he is by far the most interesting person present. You can just make out the small smile under the red painted grin, his relaxed eyebrows under the bright blue diamonds, the crook of his pointy nose.

While moving in sync, you become almost lost in trying to map out his face under the make-up. You look for imperfections in the face paint but can’t seem to find a single smudge or brush streak, in fact the paint looks impressively even, like it’s a second skin.

It truly does feel like its only you two and the music, for the first time in a long time you feel wanted by someone else.

But when the king grows bored he demands new entertainment.

He motions for the musicians to stop their music and you’re brought back to reality. The jester bows for the crowd, he gestures to you and you offer a little curtsy before being escorted back to your throne. Form there, you watch the rest of the strange performers routine. He juggles an impressive amount of miscellaneous items, he folds himself into ridiculous positions, walks on his hands and generally makes a fool of himself for the crowd.

You watch in delight, though your husband doesn't seem as interested as he was before your little dance.

You think about the jester all the way back to your courters that night. You think about him as you slip on your night dress and slide into bed, and you think of him as you stare up at the ceiling for possibly hours. There is too much on your mind, the fun of watching the jesters performance has subsided and thoughts of what this means for your reputation and position in the court remain constant. A sigh leaves you as you lift yourself up and open the doors to your balcony.

You lean on the balcony ledge and stare out at the starry night sky, not even the strange jester can distract from the humiliation ritual you were just a part of. He could have been in on it for all you know and you're just naive enough to think he was being kind to you during the whole thing.

A shuffling sound from behind you makes you turn your head and it takes you just a split second to register the very colourful jester standing in the corner of your balcony.

The screech you let out is smothered by your own hand. You clutch the edge of the balcony, staring at the slender man who puts his hands up, waving apologies while moving his chest as if laughing, nothing comes out of his mouth. You clutch your heart, breathing quite heavily as you stare at him bewildered. You look around trying to discern where he could have come from, and how you only now hear his bells jingle as he waves his hands, still apologising.

He steps closer and stands tall in front of you, he’s much more imposing than you remember him being. He holds up one finger and then mimics a waltz. His head bows low and he holds his hand out for you to take. He’s asking for another dance but is there really much of a choice at all? Has this also been planned? If you say no, will he just leave? Do you want him to leave? The dance you shared was the most delightful time you've had in so, so long

You stare at him for a good while, he stays with his hand outstretched, bent over at a near 90 degree angle, not straining even a little. The longer you wait, the more uncomfortable you feel in his unwavering presence.

Against your better judgement, you reach out and touch his gloved hand. He curls his fingers around yours and stands upright. You let him bring your hand to his shoulder, place his hand on your waist and step closer. This time is different from the last time. Now it really does feel like his attention is only on you, not with the other guests, not with the performance. It should be frightening, but you find no malice in his eyes, no ridicule in his demeanor.

As he steps into motion, you begin a slow waltz in the small space of your balcony. It's slower than in the ballroom, it's more intimate. While you dance with this complete stranger, your thoughts run rampant, you second guess your judgement again and again. Maybe the kindness you sense from him is a ruse. Maybe he is here on behalf of the king, setting up another degrading show. He could even be an assassin, come to rid you quietly in the middle of the night.

You would deserve such a fate for giving in so easily. You slowly spin in his arms and this time you don't hear the snide laughs of the nobility, just the sounds of the night. Both of you step in time and you let him guide you to the edge of your balcony. You hold your breath as he dips you over the ledge. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out what could be your last breath ready for him to let go and let you fall.

But he doesn't let go, your grip on his shoulders never slips. You open your eyes, a bit blurry from wetness but you can make out his face, because it's right in front of you even though you're bent over the balcony far enough that your feet have left the ground. You stare back at his unrelenting gaze. In the dim light of the moon his eyes look even darker than before and something new swims in the deep black of his pupils, something sad.

They are lidded as they examine your face, your entire being. His hand on your back presses your chest further into his until you're sure he can feel your rapid heartbeat through your very flesh.

He lifts you upright again, turning you away from the ledge and out of harms way. You’re still chest to chest, he’s so close but you can’t feel him breathe. Your wide eyes stare up at him, trying to discern his expression. Your breaths are short and your grip on him hasn’t let up a bit.

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, the warm fabric of his gloves on your cold cheeks has you easing into them far too easily. His eyes examine every inch of your face while his thumbs stroke your cheeks, you can just barely see the frown on his lips behind the painted smile. He brings your face closer to his, slow and methodical, making it very clear what his next move is. You’re not sure if this was due to his own hesitation or to give you time to pull away, regardless you let him inch closer and closer until his lips grazed yours and you finally feel him breathe out one long breath.

The kiss is deep. Despite being slow and gentle, it still forces a struggled breath from you. You would’ve thought he tasted like paint but he doesn’t, he’s warm and inviting. It’s nice.

Your eyes close, surrendering all hesitation to the stranger in your arms. Fingers dig into the fabric of his puffy striped sleeves as your body melts further into his. You quickly learn to breathe through your nose, out of necessity and unwillingness to part from his affections.

You let him work your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. The feeling is so foreign, you can’t help but whine. The backs of his fingers flutter over your throat and you shiver.

His tongue fills your mouth, sliding along yours and savouring your taste. The wet muscle reaches far into your mouth, farther than you thought normal but your experience is slim and you don’t have the awareness to fully question it. It’s overwhelming. Your knees tremble and he lowers you both to the cold stone floor. His tongue reaches into your throat, a feat you know is impossible.

You’re too lost to even think of the implications of this, as you gag and convulse around the thick muscle in your throat that no longer feels like a normal tongue. He reaches so far, your eyes roll back, your lower region warms uncomfortably and you forget how to breathe. You tap his shoulders quickly, a plea for air, and he retreats from your throat. He holds you as you cough and heave, wiping the spit from your chin.

You look at him with the an expression full of shock and fear and bewilderment and every other emotion shooting through your fuzzy mind. His expression is hard to discern but he seems both amused and sad.

He stands and brings you up on shaky legs. When he starts to back away, you panic and clutch his hands tighter. You don’t know what you were hoping for. That he would stay? That he would spend the night with you?

His face is full of what you hope is longing and not pity, you know what pity looks like. He holds you close in what you know is a goodbye embrace. He presses his forehead to yours and he places one last short kiss on your lips. Its playfull and very much not what you’d consider a proper good bye kiss. You search his gaze and you’re met with rather boyish mirth, lifting your spirits slightly. Maybe this isn't goodbye then?

He winks at you and takes your hand, spinning you around once, twice and three times before he lets go. When you rebalance yourself and look around the balcony, there is no sight of the jester. It's just the pitying sounds of the night and your only other witness, the moon. Like he was never there at all.

[writingwithgeoffrey]

You stared down at the crisp twenty-dollar bill. It was the nicest one you’d ever seen, and you’d seen plenty of them in your time on this earth. Why, just looking at this one, you could remember them all.

The old lady who gave you twenty dollars to save her cat. You recalled fondly how it gave you the power of flight—even if temporary.

The young man who gave you twenty dollars to hang a proposal sign off the side of a building. Learning how to stick to walls and climb them was exhilarating.

Then there was that time the government gave you twenty bucks just to fix a water treatment plant. Swimming around in waste was disgusting, but the money had given you the ability to breathe underwater and resist the horrid stench.

You didn’t know how your power worked, but you didn’t really care. Twenty bucks was twenty bucks, and you honestly liked helping people out. The smiles on their faces, the joyful reunions between owners and pets, the ability to bring fun … That was why you were a hero. Sure, you could’ve been doing multiple smaller odd jobs for the money, but why bother?

This job, however, was the literal definition of getting the most bang for your buck.

“I’m sorry, what?” You’d been so distracted by the newness of the bill that you hadn’t been paying attention. The government guy across from you seemed on edge. As he should’ve been, you thought. They’re always desperate when they come to me.

“There’s an asteroid coming right for us. We’ve tried everything in our power to stop it.”

“Nukes?”

The guy nodded.

“How about a team of drillers trained to fly in space so they can plant a bomb?”

The guy scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, we tried that.”

“What about taking the problem and pushing it somewhere else?”

“Tried that, too.” The guy got upset. “Look, are you gonna take the money and do your job, or do I have to take that back?”

If there was one thing you were defensive about, it was someone taking away your twenties. You’d grown quite a varied collection over the years, and this one would’ve made a great centerpiece.

“No,” you said as you pocketed the bill. “So, what? You just need me to stop the asteroid?” Already, you were excited to find out what powers you’d get. What would possibly help you stop an asteroid?

“Preferably destroy it so that it doesn’t return on a destructive arc.”

“Right. Destroy it. You looked up toward the night sky, where a faint glow was visible far off in the distance. You pointed at it. “That it?”

“Do your thing, sir.”

You took in a deep breath, moved a few steps away on the off chance your powers developed poorly, and leaped into the sky. Your vertical jump had always been horrible without powers, and this time was no different. You hardly made it a foot off the ground!

“Okay. No flight. How about …”

You stared intently in the direction of the asteroid, remembering that one time you’d gotten laser eyes to help someone slice up a watermelon. You just ended up looking like a fool with constipation.

“Okay.” You began to grow nervous. This was the longest it’d taken for your powers to develop. “Maybe this?”

You held your fist out front, hoping you’d gotten some kind of light-projection powers, like that one time when you’d used them as an umbrella and someone had called you Green Lantern. Nothing came out.

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s wrong?”

You glanced at the government guy, trying to hide your lack-of-powers. “N-nothing! Just, you know, building up suspense.” You let out a nervous laugh, then hunched over your balled up fists. “Come on,” you hissed at them. “Work.”

You clenched, focused all the energy in your body, felt it build up, and then you farted.

“Oh, come on!”

By this point, the asteroid was close enough that it was beginning to illuminate the world like the moon would.

“Anytime now, sir!” the government guy said.

You whirled on him. “It’s not my fault! You gave me twenty dollars! It should be easy for me! I should be able to solve this problem with a snap of my fingers!”

You snapped your fingers for effect. The sound of a bell tolling rang out across the world. It echoed in your skull, reverberated through your entire body, treated you like an amplifier for the universe’s will.

Then, the light cut out. You glanced over your shoulder, but there was no asteroid to see. The world was normal, too. There was nothing wrong with the city or the people who lived in it.

“Did … did you do it?”

You gawked as you stared up at the empty night sky. Well, not empty, there were still stars and the moon, but the threat was gone.

“Um … I guess.”

The government guy stood beside you, similarly shocked by the revelation, then pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Well.” He gulped and turned to face you. “On behalf of the world’s governments, this is for you.”

You took the envelope, broke the seal, and looked inside. “Aw, sick. Twenty bucks!”

You're a hero with a weird name: "Anything for $20." You gain the ability to do anything, as long as you're offered $20. Everyone takes it as a joke, until one day there's a cataclysm, and someone offers you $20 to end it.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Don’t Choke

Label Mature 18+

Summary You want to satisfy Austin by going down on him so badly —there’s just one thing…he’s huge.

🔗 Masterlist

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Austin guiding you through a new experience• sweet talk • dirty talk• edging •stubborn reader •inexperienced reader • he talks you though it • mild angst• size kink •sloppy BJ • Austin’s praises •climax denial• p in v on a couch • orgasms•cream pie•aftercare

Don’t Choke

It’s late at night, and you’re laying up on Austin’s chest in the living room.

The decor is sleek yet warm, his furniture in deep hues, as a floor-to-ceiling screen flashes from the movie he’s chosen for the night.

But none of it matters—not the luxurious space, not even East of Eden playing on screen.

All you can focus on is Austin laying beneath you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles along your back.

He’s utterly transfixed on the film, his full lips parting slightly as he rests a hand lazily behind his head, his shirt riding up just enough to tease you.

You know you should focus on the movie—he’s obsessed with it after all—but you can’t help yourself.

Looking at him has become far more interesting.

Every detail of him is magnetic, the intensity of his blue eyes locked on the screen, the softness of his lips with each breath, the way his chest rises and falls steadily beneath you.

He’s irresistible, and your thoughts drift away feeling the warmth of your body rising as you lay against him.

Your fingers trail down his chest, brushing over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of him underneath.

You shift slightly, parting your leg over his waist, caressing your foot along his calf in a slow testing way.

His breath catches for a fraction of a second, a tiny shift in his focus, but his eyes remain locked on the screen.

Encouraged, you let your fingers trail lower, grazing the edge of his waistband.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he finally glances down at you.

The slight smirk on his lips telling you he’s been aware of your intentions all along.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think.” He grins.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper innocently, sliding your hand under his shirt.

His skin is warm and smooth beneath your touch, and as you lower down, pressing soft kisses across along his chest, you push his shirt higher.

He doesn’t stop you, instead, his hand moves to join the other behind his head, his muscles flexing slightly as you trail kisses down his stomach.

“Baby…” he says again his voice a soft warning as you kiss along his waistline, but there’s no denying the way his body responds—his arousal pressing hard against his jeans.

“I just want to make you feel good,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his V-line, fingers tracing the edge of his hips.

He hums softly, his hand descending to stroke your hair as he leans back against the couch, his breathing growing heavier. “You always do, sweetheart,” he praises, his voice softening as he surrender to your touch.

For weeks, you’ve been fixated on this—finally sucking his cock—but every time you try, he stops you, shaking his head with that teasing smirk before kissing you senseless.

He’s always insistent on satisfying you first, his tongue a masterwork of precision and heat, flicking against you with teasing strokes, tracing every fold before dipping inside, coaxing shuddering gasps from your lips.

He’s amazing at it—relentless even—his lips sucking at your clit, pulling harder as his tongue swirls in tight, deliberate circles, unraveling you bit by bit. His hands always pin your thighs wide, holding you open as he works you over until your mind’s too clouded to hold a single thought.

He worships eating your pussy —But tonight… you’re not letting him stop you from going down on him in return.

You tug down his waistband, lips brushing along his pubic line as your hand glides to his zipper, your heart pounding in anticipation for what you really want.

The moment you slide the zipper down, he snaps back to awareness, sucking in a sharp breath, his body tensing beneath you as he sits up.

“Baby come here,” he smirks, his hands catching your wrists before you can go further. “What are you doing hm?” he smiles, releasing your wrists pulling you to him as his lips find yours.

He kisses you deeply your thoughts scattering, but with your wrists free, you slide your hand back to his boxers, feeling his hardness straining against the thin fabric.

You pull back, your eyes locking onto his, brimming with determination. “I want to take care of you tonight,” you confess, fingers curling around his cock through the fabric, giving it a light, teasing squeeze.

“Baby,” he exhales, his entire body stiffening as he fights to stay in control. “It’s not that I don’t want it,” he mutters under his breath, teetering on the edge of surrender. Then, more firmly he switches back, “No let me take care of you ,” he whispers, kissing you again, deeper this time.

But he’s already too hard beneath your touch to betray himself, and you’re not about to let him distract his way out of this time.

Your fingers slide into his waistband, tugging his boxers down just enough to release his hard cock as it springs out thick and heavy in his lap.

He pulls back from the kiss, his eyes flickering between your face and your hands.

“Baby,” he swallows hard, his voice low and strained as he sees you’re not giving up. “It’s gonna be different when it’s in your mouth,” he explains, his gaze filled with a mix of lust and concern.

“Let me try,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss along his jaw, your lips lingering there. “I want to try, Austin.” You request, your tone laced with unyielding stubbornness in every word.

He exhales shakily, his jaw flexing under your lips. Fighting it hard, but when you wrap your hand around his cock, sliding up and down, squeezing the tip, his whole body jerks.

He locks eyes with yours, the depths of his blue gaze piercing as he lets out a shuddering breath.

Pleased, you grin, stroking him harder, slower, teasing him as you watch him unravel. “You still want to stop me?” you grin.

He groans, his grip tightening on your hips. “Your impossible,” he pants, and you smile, kissing down his neck as you ease yourself off his lap.

He shifts as you sink to your knees between his legs, his breath quickening, torn between stopping you and pulling you closer.

His fingers brush through your hair, gentle yet firm, cradling the back of your head, his breathing slow and measured as he looks down at you.

“You’ve never done this before, baby?” he asks softly, his voice thick with something deeper than lust.

You shake your head, smiling under his gaze, thrilled your first time will be with him.

He exhales through his mouth, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair. “You still don’t have to, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

“I want to,” you whisper, your fingers caressing his thighs. “With you.”

Austin groans low in his throat, his jaw flexing as he fights to hold himself together. “Fuck, baby… you’re gonna kill me,” he confesses, his voice rough with need.

He shifts, spreading his legs wider to give you more space, one hand threading into your hair while the other wraps around the base of his cock, thick and hard in his grip as he holds it steady for you.

“Start slow,” he instructs, his voice dropping lower, raspier. “Kiss the tip…get used to the feel of it.”

You nod, a thrill surging through you as you lean in, pressing soft, slow kisses on the swollen tip. It twitches against your lips, precum smearing across them, as his breath catches, his fingers tightening in your hair.

“That’s so good..,” he breathes, his voice tight and strained. “Now… open your mouth for me, sweetheart.”

You part your lips, letting his cock slide inside, warm and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of him flooding your senses. Austin groans, his head tilting back slightly, his grip in your hair tightening.

“Yeah.. like that,” he rasps, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “Now, use your tongue… swirl it around the tip—fuck—yeah…just like that, baby.” He softly praises.

His reactions ignite a rush of heat in you, spurring you on as you hollow your cheeks, sucking lightly as you feel the way he throbs against your tongue, his whole body jerking as his breath stutters in his chest.

“Such a… fast learner baby,” he praises, his voice breaking with raw desire.

You hum around him with pride, and the vibration make him twitch in your mouth, his thighs tensing under your hands. You take more, inch by inch, feeling the stretch, feeling the weight of his cock filling your mouth.

Austin lets out a deep, shuddering breath, his fingers tightening in your hair, his other hand squeezing the base of his cock, veins bulging under his grip.

“Slower, baby,” he warns, his voice wrecked hearing your whimpering sounds. “Don’t push too fast—just—fuck—baby just breathe through your nose.” He encourages as you begin to struggle.

You try, you really do, but as he hits the back of your throat repeatedly your reflexes kick in. Your throat spasms, a wet, choked gag escaping as spit floods your mouth, dripping past your lips and onto his fingers, coating them in a slick mess.

You pull back a little, gasping for air, a thick string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock and when you look up his blue eyes are blown wide and dark.

“Fuck,” he curses sharply, taking in your messy face—lips swollen and red, spit-smeared with tears streaking down your cheeks. “Baby,” he groans, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb wiping at the tears and drool. “You wanna stop?” His asks his voice strained, like it’s causing him pain to even ask.

You shake your head, determination blazing in your eyes. “No,” you rasp, voice hoarse and raw. “Tell me what to do.”

Austin groans, tipping his head back, chest heaving. “Fuck, baby… okay. Take a deep breath, relax your throat for me….”

His hands cradle your face now, thumbs stroking your wet cheeks as he gazes down at you, his eyes heavily lidded in a haze of lust.

He feeds his cock back into your mouth slowly, the head slick and hot against your tongue as you moan loving the feeling.

You take him as deep as you can, forcing your jaw to relax, forcing your throat to soften, letting his voice guide you. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers, his tone gentle but filled with need.

“Just like that—open up for me, let me feel you.” He says, pressing his thumbs lightly against your cheeks, guiding you as you ease him deeper in your mouth, the size of his cock stretching your lips apart.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he coaxes, his own breath catching as you obey, drawing air through your nose, steadying yourself. “Good girl—fuck, you’re so perfect. Take it slow.” He says and you do as he says, holding him deep, your tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock, feeling it throb.

You start sucking slow and steady, lips sealed tight around him as you slide up his length, then ease back down, taking him in a slow rhythm.

Your mouth works him gently, tongue tracing the thick vein pulsing beneath his skin, swirling softly around the sensitive tip before sinking down again.

The wet heat of your mouth overtakes him, each measured pull drawing a slick, obscene sound that mingles with his ragged breathing.

Your hands grip his thighs, nails digging in slightly as you focus on pleasing him, spurred by the way his voice trembles.

“Need you to …go faster for me baby,” he rasps, his fingers tightening in your hair. “Up and down—nice and…easy ” he urges and your lips slide along his length, sucking harder as you pull back and sink down, following his rhythm.

Austin groans, a soft, guttural sound, and you feel the tension coiling in his body, his thighs flexing under your palms.

“Fuck, yes—just like that,” he praises, his voice dropping lower, rougher, as you bob your head, taking him deeper each time.

“Look at me, baby,” he urges, and you flick your eyes up to meet his, locking onto his stormy blue gaze wild and desperate.

“So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he praises, and the raw edge in his words makes your core clench as you moan.

You let his filthy praise wash over you, pushing yourself to take him even further until your throat tightens around him.

His sounds change—higher, softer, more needy—your core throbbing hearing the whimpers and broken moans falling from his lips— sounds you’ve never heard from him before.

“Baby—fuck, don’t stop,” he chokes out, his hips twitching as he fights to stay in control, his sounds changing into something primal and unrestrained as he teeters on the edge.

His eyes never leave yours, his grip in your hair firm, guiding you, urging you deeper, completely lost in the way you’re taking him.

Your eyes flutter closed as they start to water, the sensation overwhelming you, taking you under.

“Look at me, baby,” he pants, his voice barely a whisper, rough with desperation. “Don’t look away… I want to see those pretty eyes while you do this for me.”

You force your gaze up to meet his, your eyes glassy and brimming, tears spilling over in streaks down your cheeks. The instant he sees them his cock twitches hard in your mouth sending a pulse of heat through you.

Drool spills past your lips as you moan, coating your chin and dripping down onto his thighs, but Austin doesn’t even care, his stare is dark and reverent taking in every detail of you.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he groans, his voice cracking as he watches you whimper around him. “So pretty like this… making such a fucking mess on me.”

His thighs tense beneath your palms, his stomach flexing every time you take him deeper, your throat squeezing around him just right.

“Fuck, baby, you’re… shit, you’re gonna make me come,” he gasps, his voice shaking. “So warm—so good—don’t stop, sweetheart, please don’t stop—”

The sounds as he begins thrusting back into your mouth are obscene—wet and slick, every motion creating a sinful sloshing noise that only makes the throbbing pressure between your legs worse.

You clench around nothing, body flushed, needing more than just the heat of him in your mouth.

He loses control his hips jerking, his grip tightening in your hair guiding you as he moves faster—sliding deeper, making you gag, making your throat tighten hard as you retch around him eyes rolling up.

“Baby, fuck—”

Austin pulls you off of him as you gasp for air, your chest heaving as you see his cock throbbing, slick and angry red from your efforts.

You shudder holding his thighs your whole body trembling from the strain as spit drips from your swollen lips, your breaths tearing out in harsh, ragged gasps.

“Oh, baby…” Austin says, soothing you as he tilts your chin up with his fingers. “You okay? Let me see you, sweetheart.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you blink up at him, your swollen lips parted, eyes dazed out of your mind wrecked from the intensity of it all.

“Shh, I got you,” he coos, ripping his shirt over his head in one swift motion. He uses it to clean the mess on your face—clearing the spit and tears on your flushed skin. “I made you work too hard—Damn, baby, you’re shaking…” he says with concern.

His hands stay on you, steady and warm, as he gently lifts you onto the couch. His touch is careful, almost worshipful, like you’re something fragile and priceless in his grip.

You’re still trembling, limbs loose and heavy, completely undone—your throat raw, your core pulsing with the aftershocks of effort.

His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, brushing away fresh tears as he presses soft, lingering kisses to your forehead. “You did so well, baby,” he praises, his voice thick and hushed, laced with something deep and aching. “Did so fucking good for me…”

He eases you back against the leather, hovering over you, his fingers threading through your hair, tucking damp, sweaty strands behind your ears.

“You okay?” he asks, and you smile as you nod. His hand slides down, tracing the curve of your waist, fingers digging into your skin just enough to ground you as your body shivers beneath him.

Your eyes drift to his cock—still hard, glistening with your saliva, the tip flushed a deep, needy red, a bead of precum leaking out.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he breathes, drawing your gaze back to his and he kisses you slowly, softly, whispering against your lips, “Made such a mess, didn’t you?”

You nod smiling as he cups your cheek, his thumb dragging over your puffy lips before pressing another tender kiss there.

“Did you like letting me hear those pretty little sounds while you made a mess on my cock?” he murmurs, his fingers trailing down your throat, grazing your collarbone.

“..I liked it,” you finally speak, your voice a soft, shaky whisper, breaking the haze with quiet certainty.

“Bet you’re soaked, huh?” he whispers, smooth and knowing, as his fingertips tease the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your hips.

“Mm—hm,” he hums in approval, sliding your panties down, revealing the slick, glistening heat between your thighs.

His hands move to your shirt sliding it off with a slow, deliberate pull. Then he shifts slightly, tugging his jeans down his thighs, revealing his boxers —soaked through the crotch from your messy attempt, his cock thick and heavy, still flushed a deep angry red, slicked with saliva from your earlier efforts.

“I told you it was gonna be too much, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a husky blend of teasing and amusement as he glances back at you. “But you’re just so stubborn.” He grins, his expression mirroring the defiant smile on your own.

“I wanted to try,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm.

“I know,” he smiles, a warm edge to his tone as he shifts closer settling on top of you, his weight holding you in place, your eyes fluttering as he lines himself up.

“So pretty like this,” he praises, his cock brushing your entrance, teasing the slick sensitive wetness. “All soft and sweet, finally letting me take care of you…”

A quiet whimper slips from your lips as he pushes in slowly, your walls tightening around his cock as your thighs clench instinctively around his hips.

His cock stretches you open, filling you deep as it settles heavy inside, a delicious pressure that draws a moan of pleasure from your lips.

His weight presses down over you, grounding you as he places soft, lingering kisses along your jaw.

“Let me feel how much you need me,” he whispers softly, his hand sliding lower, fingers splaying across your hips as his lips brush yours.

He starts moving, hips rolling with a steady, deep rhythm, each thrust dragging his cock along your walls. You feel the heat of him, the way he fits so perfectly, the slick slide of him pulling out only to sink back in deeper.

Your hands find his back, nails grazing into his skin as the pleasure coiling low and tight in your core as you begin to moan.

Austin’s eyes stay locked on yours—watching you, taking in every reaction of your pleasure. His thrusts deepen, hips snapping with force, the wet, rhythmic slap of him driving into you filling the room.

Your back arches, as your mind scatters under the intensity. Your breaths turn ragged, chest heaving, your eyes hazy, half-lidded with ecstasy as whimpers escape your lips.

“So wrecked for me,” he praises, his voice rough with adoration, watching you completely undone beneath him.

You can’t form words, just soft, broken sounds escaping in a daze—lost in the way he’s unraveling you.

His hips shift, angling just right, and suddenly he’s hitting that spot inside, the one that makes your whole body jolt. Your nails dig into his back, clawing harder, leaving red trails as you arch beneath him, whimpering helplessly.

He groans at the sting, the sound vibrating against your lips as he presses his forehead to yours. “Fuck, I love you,” he rasps, his voice filled with pure devotion, his breaths mingling with your own.

He thrusts faster, relentless now, chasing the edge for you, his cock slamming into that sweet spot over and over. The pressure coils fighter and tighter, your walls fluttering around him, clenching down as the heat surges to a breaking point.

Your orgasm hits sudden and blinding, a sharp, desperate cry tearing from your throat as your body seizes, thighs trembling violently.

Your inner walls grip him tight, pulsing in waves as the pleasure ripples through you, soaking him in your release. He feels the wet heat flooding around his cock and it shatters his restraint completely.

“Fuck, baby—” he breathes, driving into you harder, faster, his hips thrusting with a primal edge. Each thrust slams into that spot, drawing out your climax, your body shaking beneath him as you claw at his shoulders.

You hold him tighter, his eyes finally squeezing shut as he lets out a guttural groan. He comes inside you—spilling in thick hot streams flooding your core, his cock pulsing as he empties himself deep inside.

The wet heat of his release mixes with your own, slicking your walls, seeping out around him with every relentless thrust.

Your whimpers turn to gasps, feeling your release, dripping down your thighs in sticky trails as he pushes you through it, unyielding, until you’re nothing but a trembling, mess beneath him.

He slows only when your shudders fade, his lips brushing yours in a soft reverent kiss, his chest heaving as he watches you come down, his eyes still locked on your wrecked, blissful face.

He shifts closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against your skin. “Fuck, baby, that was the hottest, messiest thing I’ve ever experienced,” he says, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

You let out a breathless laugh, still hazy from the high, shaking your head. “Austin, I was terrible,” you admit, your voice hoarse from exertion as your fingers trail affectionately through his hair.

He slowly pulls back just enough to look at you, his grin turning mischievous. “Terrible? Baby, that was perfect,” he says trailing his fingers through your hair in return, then he leans placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“Give me five minutes, and I’ll have you making a perfect mess all over me again,” he smiles again, his voice a low, teasing promise.

END 👄

🔗 Masterlist

🏷️ Always Tag Me list

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @psycheetamore @soft-mama-reads @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @unicoo @gyratingpresley @thejoywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @stars-remain2 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @missjadesticsreblog @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @skulliecadaver-blog @jjubilee-fluff

[artemisiasmuse]

always known | CH.4

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem! kook reader

CW: 18+ mdni, smut eventually, angst, mean rafe, jealousy, possessive rafe, kook typical classism (not from y/n tho), abusive family dynamics, not really canon/au, swearing, drinking, no coke tho, ward cameron

SUMMARY: rafe’s childhood best friend y/n returns to figure eight by herself and finds rafe hates her for some reason, their friendship has gone down the drain and they can hardly remain cordial, and there’s one thing causing all of it: why can’t rafe just move on?

TROPE: childhood best friends to enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

< previous next >

there was no ignoring your festering affection to rafe cameron when a girl is in his face, very obviously flirting. you’d stepped away for a few moments to greet your college friends when she took your place, well much more than just your place. jealousy flares in you hot and omnipresent and you can’t pretend you don’t recognize it so instead you try to dull it. you drink more than you should and none of the boys at the party look anywhere near attractive compared to him. even at school you had staved off the advances of anyone approaching you because no one seemed to cut it. not when your best friend was becoming your ideal man, he always had been if you were honest. if anyone looked at your ex’s next to him they would’ve realized it before you did. You hated how easy it was for her to make her intentions known, how he seemed to be enjoying the attention, when you couldn't even own up to your own feelings. topper noticed your continued return to the kitchen and eventually cut you off in your warpath.

“hey easy there, ‘can’t have you drinking us all under the table.” you stumbled into him, not really watching your steps and his hands steadied your shoulders, retreating like it burned him, in case rafe saw of course. the thought made your frown grow deeper, even if rafe shared an inkling of your feelings you couldn't make him jealous, you’d been off limits for as long as you or anyone else in figure 8 could remember.

“move topper, i flunked an exam okay?” it was a lame excuse, one that would’ve worked had you not known topper for the majority of your life. you’d never failed an exam, that still hadn’t changed. clearly your excuse didn’t work because rafe found you in the kitchen moments later, you relished slightly in the absence of the girl on his arm.

“hey kid, how much ‘you drink?” it was a nickname from your childhood, that and “baby” which now was also tarnished by your desire. you had constantly reminded him he was only five months older but in elementary school that meant a world of difference. you stopped correcting him, you would never admit it but the nicknames rolling off his tongue in that earth-shattering deep voice of his made your brain a bit foggy. he would never admit that he had long since learned the implications of calling you “baby” in public and it only spurred him on more. standing across the island from him, you took a few seconds to respond, walking yourself down from the jolt of need in your core. at least you could blame your slow reaction on the alcohol.

“i lost count.” rafe made his way around to you, an eyebrow raised at your response. by the looks of it you were already drunk. unfortunately you weren’t drunk enough to black out and ignore the eventuality of him leaving with the pretty blonde, not yet at least.

“let’s stop hmm? i know you’ll be mad at me tomorrow otherwise.” he took the cup from your small hands, fingers grazing against yours and it jolted you. his voice was low and smooth against your senses, lulling you into submission, you were sure you’d do anything he asked if he said it like that. you looked up at him with crossed arms, rafe did his absolute best to ignore how your breasts propped up from the action, but really he couldn’t. you were too drunk to notice. you hoped you weren’t obvious when you looked at how his fingers wrapped around the plastic effortlessly, so much bigger and thicker than yours. he was too distracted to notice.

“it’s fine, go back to blondie.” your words slurred off at the end, you shouldn’t have said that out loud. again you could blame it on the alcohol.

“you jealous?” rafe found himself smiling at the notion, despite the glare you were fixing him with, he couldn’t pretend to be even slightly upset with you drinking yourself into a stupor if it was over him. he was sure that was unhealthy, whatever, you could lecture him later. you were always so good at telling him off, and he’d listen.

“what? no.” your immediate denial gave you away easily and rafe smiled wider, he felt too close all of a sudden and you stepped back, your back hitting a counter. rafe watched you try to make a distance between you two, adorably failing. he scanned your body for any sign that it actually hurt but from the way you were still trying to avoid his eyes he could see you were too preoccupied.

“it’s okay baby, i was jealous when you were hanging with top and kelc without me.” he practically purred the nickname, your hand clenching by your side. rafe wouldn’t tell you that he had purposefully been stringing along ‘blondie’ to make you jealous. your glares weren’t exactly subtle after a certain point. your heartbeat picks up at the pet name, at his honeyed voice lowering just for you. your fingers twitch at the urge to pull him close, as close as she had him, maybe even closer.

“okay yeah i am, but it’s not the same.” you huffed out, proud of yourself for sounding coherent. you really should be better at holding your tongue but rafe looked too good today and you burned with jealousy that another girl had been able to ogle him all night. not to mention he was wearing the cologne he knew was your favorite, you’d even said so when he hugged you goodbye before class. the scent alone was making your frown deepen.

“what?” rafe couldn’t believe how transparent you were, he hoped you’d remember this tomorrow or at the very least you’d feel the same tomorrow. there was no way you were being serious though, you were just fucking with him. either way he really hoped he was understanding you right because he couldn’t let this go.

“forget i said that i’m drunk.” you looked away, embarrassed by how little rafe was reciprocating.

“no no, what do you mean?” he stepped closer, an inch away from you, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. you had to look at him, your expression cracking, you couldn’t pretend much longer, your eyebrows pinched and rafe recognized that you might be about to cry.

“rafe please-“ a plea whispered into the space between you two and rafe’s heart skipped a beat. the sound of you so desperately calling his name would haunt him forever but despite his mind fracturing into a million pieces, he still had to know.

“it is the same, it’s the exact fucking same, baby.” he leaned down to your height, his palms flat on the counter on either side of you, blue eyes bore into yours, commanding you to listen. he wasn’t teasing you. he was being sincere and you couldn’t believe it.

“are you sure?” there was barely any space between you two and the way he was looking at you should’ve been your answer but your vision was hazy.

“of course i’m fucking sure, did you think i cut contact with you cause i was tired of you? i did it cause you got a boyfriend.” he looked upset, you almost cupped his face with your hands, your fingers itched to press down the crease forming on his forehead from frowning. he watches the words sink into your pretty little head, how can you be so insanely adorable even now? he didn't plan for them to come out like this, in fact he had rather assumed it would be better if you didn't know the reason but it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“that’s fucking stupid rafe,” you say without any malice, your lip is jutted out in a pout and your eyebrows pinch together, god he wants to kiss you so badly. he’s a bit tipsy but not enough to think your first kiss should be at a party where anywhere can walk in while you’re struggling to stand.

“i know sweetheart, just-let’s do this when you’re sober yeah?” rafe worries you might not even remember this tomorrow.

“yeah…can you take me home?” he knows you mean tannyhill, you’d been staying there ever since your place flooded and he wonders sometimes why you don’t just move in. one time out of sheer curiosity, and maybe the fact that you were passed out on his bed, he looked up how much rent you’d get for your place.

“sure.” you lean into his side, his arm curling protectively around you as he moves you through the party, your eyes flutter closed cause as stupid as it is you trust him to get you out safely. the room spins around you but even if you stumble he holds you upright. you must have fallen asleep at some point cause the next thing you remember is being coaxed out of rafe’s car to get inside. the next twenty minutes or so are a blur as the sequence of shots hit you at once, you remember relaxing into rafe’s bed, the scent of him and his cologne lingering on the sheets and it soothes you enough to sleep.

your headache is the first thing that you feel before you can even open your eyes, you groan as you shoot up and see that you’re for some reason in rafe’s room, with him nowhere to be seen, in his shirt with no pants on. you’re greeted by the framed picture of you two in middle school, pimply and greasy but somehow still adorable.

you pray to god that you didn’t embarrass yourself too much with him as you pull on a pair of sweats you find in his closet. there’s a glass of water and a bottle of pills next to you and you know who left it there for you. you text him asking if he’s awake, you can’t wait to see him, can’t wait to confirm if you dreamt your conversation in the kitchen. rafe knocks at his door before entering and you’re still sat up on his bed, he still can't get used to the sight. he’s wearing a plain white shirt and sweats, his chain peeking under the collar and you think he might be the hottest man alive. he sits down across you on his desk chair swiveling it to face you, adjusting his hips as he does it. you might just pass out.

“i didn’t do anything too embarrassing right?” you ask while trying to ignore how good he looks. rafe looks up at you with a grimace and you groan.

“you really wanna know?” he asks with a glimmer in his eyes and you massage your temples in anticipation for the oncoming headache.

“oh god…kill me now.” rafe laughs at your expression, your eyes are closed and he can’t help but appreciate how you drown in his clothes. that coupled with you sleeping in his bed makes his hands itch to take a picture. he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be this fortunate again.

“i’m messing with you, you were pretty sweet actually, makes me kinda miss it now.” your pretty eyes snap open to meet his and you grown at the vague comment. sweet could mean a lot of things and most of them would be embarrassing.

“fuck off, you gotta give me more than that rafey, im going crazy.”

“how much do you remember?” he’s giving you an out, one that you won’t take. rafe holds his breath, there’s no going back from your answer.

“i remember getting out of the car after we left the party and then it’s kinda fuzzy.” he breathes out in relief, nodding at your words and blushing at the realization that you were actually owning up to the conversation. he can’t meet your eyes for a few seconds as he responds.

“okay so you insisted on sleeping in my room, you actually kicked me out.” he said and you winced, forcing his gaze to yours.

“sorry-“ you start but he waves you off.

“something about you always sleep better there, but i made sure you washed your face and stuff before sleeping.” you already feel hot from embarrassment but this can’t be the worst of it, you’d told this to rafe sober.

“i can tell you’re holding back.” rafe should realize that you know him as well as he knows you. you’re too observant for your own good.

“fine okay, you may have been repeatedly telling me i’m pretty.”

“yeah okay so i’ll see you in a week.” he couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction. you got off his bed to leave, far too embarrassed to hear the rest, but he caught your wrist from where he sat near the door. he looked good looking up at you, you could get used to the angle.

“hey come on, i didn’t finish, i'm the one who started it for what it’s worth.” the hand around your wrist smoothly drifted to your hand, fingers intertwined with yours. you start to think crazy things like why was he was smooth? how many girls had he-rafe short circuits your brain as he brings your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your ring finger. you like to think it’s an accident for your sanity, it’s not.

“really?” your voice comes out small, nearly a squeak. you hardly notice it because you’re so entranced with his actions, by how small your hand feels and looks in his, how large his fingers are and the cold press of his signet ring against you. all the embarrassment flushed out of your system by a thrumming of need, of adoration, of-

“uh huh you look pretty right now too.” your gaze snaps to his, narrowing at his words, rafe hasn’t stopped smiling since he’s seen you today. how can he? he’s finally getting everything he’s ever wanted. you look so stunned by his words, mouth slightly agape and he’s relishing in the fact that for the first time in your lives he has the upper hand. he lightly tugs you closer by your hands and there’s zero resistance in your steps, you think you might be under a spell. it’s a miracle you can even respond.

“i definitely do not, i'm a hungover hot mess.” you know you look bad, you’re not fishing for compliments. you’re pretty sure you still have mascara smudged under your eyes and your hair is a whole other entity. but rafe doesn’t see any of that, he sees the girl he fell in love.

“nah you’re the prettiest girl i know.” he’s practically grinning up at you and the blue in his eyes is just right. he’s not lying to you and there’s a thick haze of feelings and unspoken words between you two. you know it’ll take a few words to change everything forever, the thought scares you, and you can’t handle the label you know you’re avoiding. the word that perfectly encapsulates what you already should’ve known for twenty years.

“can i shower and then maybe i’ll agree with you?” rafe lets you pull back, he knows he has you, and you know you have him. you just need a bit of space to catch your breath. he imagines these feelings sprouting up after so long can be overwhelming, they’re still overwhelming for him but he’s gotten used to relinquishing any rational thought when it comes to you. you just need time to get used to it too. you return to the guest room and hop in the shower. rafe put a set of his clothes next to yours and you don't even hesitate, they feel comfier on your skin and they smell like him, you wear his clothes and dry your hair before seeking him out. you feel more like a human, the sins of last night washed off you, and now you can finally give in.

you lean against his doorframe, his eyes already on you, as you say, “you’re gonna make me say it first aren’t you?”

a/n: i was geeking writing this (don’t hate me for the cliffhanger)

taglist: @clar2aa @ggraycelynn @rafestoothbrush @woweewoowa @mattyskies @always4tuesdayss @ashy-kit @chalahyung01 @rafeysslut @beabogsims @someoneisreading @rlalliehayes @artbymin @pogueprincesa @crvcified-kinx @ltristessedureratoujours @lilithblackkk @pluviophilis

[neeeooon]

hi !!

could you do headcanons for blue lock characters in a relationship with someone whos really really pretty and she models, like she could just be walking past and people wouldn’t be able to take their eyes off her.

characters could you include karasu, bachira, barou and whoever else idm!!

you can ignore if you’re not interested! thank you!!!

thank you for the request!! i hope you like it <3

when you’re a model ;

bf bllk x fem!model!reader

karasu tabito

-> oh my god karasu is so in love with you. like he’s the boyfriend that worships the ground you walk on and isn’t embarrassed to show it

-> gets doors for you, pulls your chair out so you can sit, blocks you from cameras and prying eyes when you get overwhelmed, always tells you when you have lipstick on your teeth. yep, he’s a keeper

-> he willingly takes a step back and lets you make your own decisions. since your careers are both so fast paced, you’re often traveling. that just means when karasu sees you again, he’s all yours

-> “what’s the plan for today?” “i don’t know. can we just stay in bed and watch cringe tv?” “of course, pretty.”

bachira meguru

-> bachira doesn’t care that you’re a model, the same way you don’t care that he’s a soccer player. you’re proud of and support each other, but those occupations aren’t the reason you’re together

-> one thing he does love about your job, though, is the unlimited (and free) supply of sponsorship handouts

-> the deals that come with soccer are boring. energy drinks? shoes? no. bachira much prefers your calming face masks and cleansers

-> “you’re only dating me for the free facials, aren’t you.” “hey! you get to keep the energy drinks. it’s a fair trade!” “sure. i love you.” “i love you too~”

barou shouei

-> barou knows you’re beautiful. you’re a model, for goodness sakes. it’s never a surprise when people’s eyes follow you when you’re in public, but he can’t not keep a hand on your back or around your waist

-> that said, he isn’t the type to crowd or control you. if you want to go out late with your model friends, he comes with but only to keep an eye on you. doesn’t ruin your fun and even gives in when you drag him onto the dance floor with you

-> one thing he won’t stand for, though, are any of his teammates making comments about you. innocent or not, your name is banned from the locker room

-> “if i hear her name leave your lips one more time, i’m gonna stick my fist so far up your—“ “okay! i’m sorry!”

yukimiya kenyu

-> yukimiya is also a model, not to the level that you are, but he understands a bit of what it’s like for you

-> one thing he does do is push the healthiest diet and exercise plans in your direction. healthiest as in ones that still require you to eat three full meals a day and not work yourself to exhaustion

-> your modeling career is still new, so you don’t know what you’d do without your supportive boyfriend. his only intentions have been to love and support you since day 1, not use you

-> “y/n, love, do you need anything while i’m out?” “hmm, do we have enough protein powder—“ “dark chocolate and blueberries, got it.” “yuki :’)”

[starsinthesky5]

what about joe? is he mr. possessive too?

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

oh, absolutely. joe is just as possessive, if not more. i mean, look at who he's with? millions of men and women had their hearts broken the moment the first photo of joe and her surfaced. plenty of people want her, but they just can’t have her…and joe makes sure of that ;)

the difference is that while she wears her possessiveness and jealousy like a statement piece--subtle but unmistakable--joe’s possessiveness is quieter, more controlled. but don’t get me wrong, it’s there, bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to show itself. he was always, and i mean always calm, cool, and collected. on and off the field.

like when some random guy gets a little too comfortable in her space, touching her arm when he laughs at something she said, or leaning in just a little too close. joe doesn’t make a scene, doesn’t immediately pull her away, but his hand finds the small of her back, fingers spreading wide across her skin. he does that to not only calm himself, but calm her in case she ever felt uncomfortable from any of the attention she received, and sometimes she did. sometimes the looks would linger a second longer than they were meant to, sometimes a touch felt more forceful than playful, and sometimes she could sense the unspoken intentions behind a seemingly harmless gesture.

and when joe noticed (which was always) his eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and anyone paying attention would know--he was warning them.

nobody is about to mess with his girl while he’s right there. nope. not happening. her comfort, safety, and happiness was his number 1 priority at any given time.

but he wouldn't always become possessive because he felt the need to protect her, there were some moments when she wore something that makes her look so good it physically hurt, and he believed that only he was meant to see her looking like this. he won’t tell her to change--he loves when she looks good, loves when she feels confident--but his hand stays on her, a silent reminder to everyone else that she’s his.

doesn't matter where, her hip, her thigh, her back, her arm...his hand is there.

and then there are moments when it’s just them--when the world fades away and all that’s left is heat and hunger and him. when he’s pressing her into the mattress, hands everywhere, touch burning and possessive. his breath is hot against her skin, sending shivers down her spine as he murmurs, "mine. say it."

but it’s not just a request--it’s a demand.

his fingers tighten on her hips, holding her there, keeping her exactly where he wants her. his lips trace a slow path down her neck, his teeth grazing over sensitive skin, making her whimper. he knows exactly what he’s doing, how to push her to the edge before he’s even inside her. she’s breathless, dizzy with need, but he won’t move until he hears it.

"joe--,".

his grip tightens. "baby, say it,".

his voice is rough, wrecked, on the edge of losing control. she arches into him, nails raking down his back, eyes hazy with desire as she gasps, "yours. i’m yours, i promise,".

and that’s all it takes.

—

so, yes--mr. possessive is very much alive and breathing. and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

he never took it too far, never made it feel intimidating or aggressive. he was protective over her, and she was extremely grateful for that (mostly because her exes could never come close to how joe was so...man. does that even make sense? like 6'4, muscles for days, piercing blue eyes, and a smile that shined brighter than the rarest jewels in the world. like he was so man. so knight-in-shining armor coded). you know those tweets asking if a celebrities ex could fight because their significant other looked so damn gorgeous and the fans want a piece of that? well, prior to joe, her exes, no matter which one, would easily be mauled by the heard of fans that rode for her. they didn’t stand a chance.

but joe? oh, joey b knew how to fight.

oh, and he knew how exactly lucky he was to have stolen her heart, and she loved knowing that he never took that for granted. he was honestly wrapped around her pretty little finger, but in the best, most precious way possible.

his possessiveness came solely from a place of love, because joe burrow was not keen on the idea of sharing the best thing that quite literally had ever happened to him, with the entire world.

for example:

mr. possessive™ at paris fashion week.

—

she looks stunning. like, jaw-droppingly, heart-stoppingly, paris-just-declared-her-a-national-treasure stunning.

joe knew she would, duh. he’s seen her in everything, and more importantly, in nothing, but there’s something about the way she carries herself tonight--graceful, confident, walking beside him like she belongs on the cover of vogue--that has him feeling some type of way.

or maybe it’s the way everyone is looking at her that's affecting him--because everyone is looking at her.

the event is a who’s who of the fashion world, and they’re here as guests, dressed to the nines, mingling with designers, models, and celebrities. but no matter where they go, no matter who they talk to, joe can feel eyes on her. the cameras flashed like crazy when they arrived, the crowd buzzing with excitement as they made their way inside. she’s a star in her own right, and joe loves that. loves that she’s not just known as his girlfriend--she’s her.

multi-platinum, award-winning singer-songwriter. the pop princess herself.

like, hell yeah. he's her boyfriend if anything.

but with that title and prestige, those looks and eyes came naturally. one guy in particular--some too-pretty-for-his-own-good european actor type--has been looking at her a little too long.

joe notices it when they first arrive. then again during cocktail hour. and now, as they make their way to their seats for the show, pretty boy is back, standing just a few feet away, sipping his champagne and watching.

joe clenches his jaw, his fingers flexing slightly where they rest against her lower back.

she hasn’t noticed yet, too busy talking with the designer of the show they’re about to watch, laughing softly at something she says. joe loves her laugh, loves that she’s having fun, but it’s hard to focus when this guy is still looking at her like she’s up for auction.

and then--get this--he actually makes his move.

what a stupid, stupid mistake.

the guy steps forward, a confident smile on his lips as he says something to her in french--because of course he does.

joe doesn’t even give her a chance to respond. before she can turn to acknowledge him, joe is there.

his arm loops around her waist, pulling her close against his side, his hand splaying possessively across her hipbone. the move is effortless, smooth, like it was always meant to happen, but it’s intentional as hell.

she tenses slightly, finally catching on, and oh, she loves this. she doesn’t get to see jealous, possessive joe be so bold like this, but when she does?

it’s hot.

the actor’s smirk doesn’t falter, so either he was oblivious as hell or he had a death wish. "i was just telling her she looked stunning tonight,".

joe lifts a brow, expression unreadable but voice smooth. "yeah? you and half of pairs,".

the guy chuckles, clearly unbothered by the comment. "can you blame us?".

joe doesn’t answer him, because he's still seething about his smooth, buttery, alluring french accent (even though it did bother joe a teeny bit because of how he remembered her saying she thought accents were cute).

instead, he tilts her chin up and kisses her.

not just a quick kiss--a statement.

it’s sluggish, deep, possessive. a conscious show of who she belongs to. his hands slid up and down her sides, his lips mashed closer to hers, the soft sighs started coming from her mouth. damn.

when he pulls away, the actor is just...gone.

and she? she’s breathless.

joe smirks, brushing his thumb over her lips before murmuring, "you’re mine, baby. and i don’t share,".

she hums, pressing a teasing kiss to his jaw. "mmm. you like when they want me, don’t you?".

he exhales sharply, because she’s not wrong. "i like reminding them they can’t have you,".

[hedwig221b]

Do you have anymore accidental knotting fics like The Moon Gave Me Permission? Like, stiles doesn't even know werewolves exist until oops, I knotted?

I admit, this is a bit too specific, but maybe you'll like these fics

only one thing left by Marishna

"Anyway, you’ve been requested.” Stiles blinked. “Requested? What does that mean? For what?” “A dance,” Erica told him. “Is it baby’s first time?”

Theia Mania by aprettysmalldose

'that one classy-ass fic where stiles gives it up to derek in a grocery store'

Eclipsim by xxjinchuurikixx

A howl far in the distance splits the air, and Stiles’ eyes fly open as he shoots back up into a sitting position. The howl is followed by another, and another, and Stiles is left to wonder how many of the howls are wolves and how many are mythic beasts that he knows by name. The forest is in an uproar in a manner of minutes, and Stiles looks up at the bloody red moon gleaming, almost completely taken over by the fire of the eclipse. Red moons are apparently not a good time for alphas. Derek shows Stiles what a feral, aroused werewolf looks like up close.

That Frothing Knob

Stiles was wiping down the spout of a machine with a cloth, and Derek almost popped a stiffy right there in the café. It was completely embarrassing that after so many years of control over both his human and wolf side Derek would find himself so… enamoured by this random. Regardless, the wolf wants what the wolf wants, and Derek found himself trying his darnedest to get some sort of a rise out of Stiles, “You sure know how to handle that frothing knob.” Needless to say, Derek got to see that beautiful blush colouring the barista’s face once again. -- AKA Derek is a rich CEO and Stiles is a poor barista. They laugh, they love, and they live.

Watching Your Back(side) by echo_inside

Derek shows up everywhere Stiles goes when he's working on something for the pack. He's positive it's because Derek doesn't trust a human to get the job done. Derek is just watching Stiles back to make sure he's not putting himself into too much danger. Getting to watch Stiles is just a perk. Stiles finally confronts Derek about it and feelings get mentioned and there's a slight case of accidental knotting.

Things Accidental and (K)not by LadyDrace

Derek could have maybe warned him or something, but, all in all, Stiles is pretty damn happy.

the real meaning of derek's evolution by allhalethekings

"Derek, why can’t I move?” They both look between them to where Derek’s dick is still snug inside Stiles’s ass, with no intentions of wanting to slide out. Stiles tries to wriggle but stops at the pain that shoots up his spine. Derek’s still blinking at him, trying to figure out what’s happening to his dick and finally, finally, it clicks in Stiles’s head. He may or may not have spent hours reading werewolf erotica – which, who even knew that was an actual thing that happened – after he and Derek became a thing and he knew what this was. Stiles sighs, closing his eyes. “Derek, I’m really happy you managed to evolve but seriously, did your dick have to evolve too?” “Um.”

(K)not A Joke by milkysterek

If there’s one thing you don’t want to hear during sex, it’s ‘Oh no’.

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo

[starneteyam]

CRY ★

🖇️ char. Neteyam x Omaticayan! Fem! Reader

🖇️ warn. None, but Neteyam’s a little mean :(

🎥 Neteyam makes you cry during a fight, and instantly regrets it. That’s it. That’s the whole story.

A/N He comes off a little manipulative in this but TRUST he’s not

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

FIGHTS WITH NETEYAM were rare. They barely happened. Since the day you had met him, you a were convinced that you were joined together by Eywa. Truly, you believed that in your soul.

He understood what you were thinking without you having to voice it, and there were strange moments where you would have whole conversations just through the eyes. It was like your hearts were synced to one another’s.

And because of this, fights were rare. But still, there were days when mild annoyance turned into anger, and anger turned into words that were said with the intent to harm.

Today was one of those days.

Neteyam had already been having a bad day. Ao’nung had been spewing subtle mean comments towards him and his siblings, he had gotten thrown off his Ilu three times now, and Loak had gotten himself into trouble again, which meant that Neteyam would also get a lecture from Jake as well.

His body was buzzing with irritation, tail accidentally knocking things over in the hut. You had followed after him, knowing that your duty as his mate was to stay by his side at times of hardship.

Neteyam was crouched down, elbows on his knees and head hanging low. You frowned, your heart squeezing and wishing you could take this irritation and make it disappear for him.

“Ma Neteyam.” You softly sighed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder from behind. You hadn’t expected him to abruptly get up, turning and looking at your with eyes of fury. “What, (Name)? What? What now?” He huffed, the wounds of the words of his father still fresh.

You felt as if you had stepped on a land mine, standing still as you looked at him with wide eyes. Your ears were flat against your head, surprised at his anger, at first. But that surprise quickly morphed into annoyance. He was not about to direct his anger towards you.

“I’ve heard it a hundred times. ‘You should listen to your father more’, ‘Lo’ak is just not mature yet’.” He mocked, causing your brows to furrow. “I was just trying to help, Neteyam.” You huffed, frowning. He scoffed, tail flinging wildly.

“And how were you going to do that? Tell me. Go on.” His arms were crossed across his chest, and he shifted his weight onto one leg. You opened your mouth, but the words were stuck onto your tongue like honey. Your mind was in a maze, not sure what he was so mad at anymore.

Was he mad at you? For what?

“Tell me!” He repeated, raising his voice this time. A small gasp left your mouth. He had never yelled at you before. The anger and annoyance that was frying inside of you disappeared and hurt filled that new void.

“You always take my father’s side, and always defend my brother! You don’t even care about how I feel!” His breaths were rough and heavy, obviously distressed. But still, his words were like knives. ‘That’s not true’, you wanted to say, but your words were stuck in your throat in the form of a lump.

“Ma Netey-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” He cut you off, and you found your eyes watering. He was… he was just mad and frustrated. He didn’t mean these things. Deep down, in your heart, you knew that. And still, your mind didn’t know it. The words were oddly confronting, like a chisel that was breaking away the rock around your insecurities that you had buried inside.

You could see the words on the tip of his tongue, and you prayed to Eywa that he wouldn’t say it. Even if he didn’t mean it, you didn’t want him to say it. But Neteyam’s mind was clouded with rage and deep frustration, that the words he hadn’t meant slipped out.

“You are not fit to be my mate.”

The words were like the edges of shattered glass pricking your skin, your chest hurting from the pain of the words. You stepped back, as if it had physically hurt you. A sob had left your mouth, and a hand flew up to cover it.

It was then that the cloud of red finally faded. The sob was like a slap to his face, and he hadn’t realized what he said until it was too late. Your cheeks were wet, and you couldn’t stand looking at him.

You covered your face with both hands, muffling your sobs into your palms.

Neteyam’s shoulders lowered, and his mouth parted open, like he couldn’t believe he had said what he had said. “No, I- I did not mean that.” He breathed slowly, but when you hadn’t moved, when you hadn’t stopped crying, he felt more desperate.

“I’m sorry. Oh, Ma (Name), I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.” He stepped forward, immediately cradling your face in his hands. Your hands lowered to his wrists, to try to pull them away, but when his thumbs started swiping at your tears, you couldn’t find the strength to push him away.

You damned your heart for being so in love with him, for needing his comfort despite the fact that he was the one who made you this way. “I see you, Ma (Name). And- And I will spend the rest of my life proving that you are more than worthy to be my mate.” He huffed, and you could hear the desperation in his voice.

“I don’t deserve you, and Eywa knows that. Please, forgive me, (Name). I did not mean it. I was just- I was just mad and frustrated and- And it does not make it okay but please know I did not- I would never-” He rambled, stumbling over his words.

Your crying had calmed down, only occasional sniffles and stray tears falling, but your eyes were still closed, finding comfort in the darkness.

“Please, look at me.” He begged, whispering the words like a prayer to Eywa. Your eyes fluttered open, hesitating to look into his eyes, but when you finally met them, you could see that the words hurt him more than they hurt you.

He hated himself for saying it, and you could feel it in the way he held your face like it was the most delicate flower. You could see it, in the way his eyes searched your expression for any hint of what you might’ve been thinking.

His shoulders relaxed in just the slightest when your eyes met his. He placed a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, and then finally, pressed a deep, loving one to your lips. It was soft and held meaning.

When he pulled away, he placed his forehead on yours, an intimate and deep gesture of an apology, one that was rare and not often done unless you were begging for forgiveness, not only from the person you were apologizing to, but from Eywa herself.

“Neteyam.” You finally spoke, voice hoarse and quiet. Your hands took his that were on yours face, bring them down and holding them. “You better keep your word. About spending the rest of your life proving that what you said- That it was a lie.” Your eyes averted to the side, just thinking about the words clenching your heart.

There was a silent sigh of relief from your mate, hands holding yours tightly as if you would slip away if he didn’t. “I promise, Ma (Name). I see you.” He whispered the last part, closing his eyes and placing his forehead against yours once more.

You closed your eyes, accepting his apology by pressing back. “I see you.”

[spirkbitch]

i’ve always made my distaste for that relationship clear.

but your response specifically highlights one of the things i dislike the most, not only about the relationship but about Chapels characterization in snw.

i can see that the dynamic is well written enough to be enjoyable for a lot of people. but (attempting to set aside my clear bias for spirk) i can never get past how it disregards existing canon, like spock (seemingly) not knowing her first name in tos, or calling her feelings “illogical fantasies” in tmp, and how it confuses later plot lines, like her long lost fiancé (of course their relationship in snw isn’t the only thing that causes those problems, there is no lack of continuity errors in the star trek universe but i know a lot of people don’t care as much as i do so i won’t go further into it)

they completely changed her personality, made her more ‘girl boss’ for lack of a better term, but with this being a prequel, and her being nothing like that in tos, it kinda makes it seem like someone broke her spirit at some point.

if she’s so cool and badass in snw for then why is she so different in tos. she’s rarely seen in tense situations, usually just taking orders and flirting with Spock. this establishes that she’s hung onto these feelings for years, and throughout tos she always makes her feelings clear, even though he shows no interest and even clear distaste at times, this makes her seem pathetic at best (and kinda creepy imo).

and i don’t think that was the intention in tos, at least i don’t want to see it that way. without previous background given by snw she seems usually calm and kind of snarky at times, she has a crush on Spock that she’s clearly forward about but not in a creepy way. but with the context from snw, them having a previous relationship and her being so much cooler than she is in tos, it makes it seem like one breakup ruined her entire personality and now she’s doomed to a life of creepily pining over a man who doesn’t want her anymore.

that was a really long response i’m sorry i have a lot of feelings on this

star trek used to be about gays in space

now they just make Spock kiss women