#it's just really deftly done i think idk

[gayvecchio]

Ray Vecchio in due South: 1.10 - "The Gift of the Wheelman"

[doumadono]

(Sinful Sunday🙇‍♀️)

Okay first I want to say thank you for writing my last thoughts about Hawks giving him a bj and remote controlled toys. Those were both delicious goddamn~ 😩❤️

Also Hawks and his wings... his feathers. Thinking of him spreading them wide while trying to act more intimidating for both of your fun. Getting you of guard by using his feathers to pin you down.. whether on the wall or bed etc. Using his feathers to just tease you in different ways and making show if his wings to let out some steam together....

Aaa idk just idea of him using his wings different ways is fun and exciting 🙇‍♀️ I hope you have a good day! <3

SINFUL SUNDAY

The evening sun cast a warm glow through the windows as Hawks returned from the patrol, his wings stretching languidly behind him. A playful glint sparkled in his eyes as he caught your attention, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. "Hey, babe," he purred, his wings unfurling with a deliberate grace. The feathers ruffled and shimmered, catching the light in a mesmerizing display. "How about a little fun instead of cleaning?"

In an instant, his wings spread wide, sending some of the feathers off, creating an impressive display of feathers that seemed to engulf the room. It was a sight that never failed to captivate you, a reminder of the extraordinary creature he was.

"Tiger…" You whispered, instinctively rubbing your thighs together as you stood in the middle of the living room, attempting to vacuum.

His eyes locked onto yours as he got up. Hawks approached with a confident swagger. As he drew near, some of his feathers gently brushed against your cheek, eliciting a shiver down your spine.

"Thought we could spice things up," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper.

Without warning, some of his red feathers delicately wrapped around your wrists, pulling you backwards and pinning you to the nearest wall. It was a move that left you pleasantly surprised, his smirk widening at your reaction.

But Hawks wasn't done yet. His feathers, like skilled dancers, continued their teasing performance. Two of them trailed along your skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

He got closer and leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "You like that?"

The sensation of his feathers against your skin was both exhilarating and soothing, a unique blend that only he could provide.

"Keigo," you whispered where some of the feathers tugged on your shorts, easily pulling them down your legs, leaing you in your cotton panties while the two more of them slipped under your tank top, teasing your already erect buds.

"I've got more tricks up my sleeve," Hawks warned. Hawks pressed you firmly against the wall, his hand skillfully finding its way between your thighs and into your panties, delicately tracing small circles over your sensitive clit.

A whimper escaped your lips as one of his distinctive red feathers effortlessly sliced through the fabric of your tank top, causing it to cascade down to the ground, forming a pool at your ankles. "Keigo, I really liked this top!" you protested, but he responded with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Hawks engaged in a passionate kiss, delving deeply as his fervent tongue explored the contours of your mouth, emitting a soft hum of appreciation for your unique flavor. Eager and impatient, his hands skillfully tugged at the fabric of your panties, sliding them down your legs. Simultaneously, as he resumed the fervent make-out session, the gentle caress of his feathers traced over the sensitive regions of your slit and clitoris. The exquisite sensation prompted an involuntary response, causing your hips to instinctively buck in an attempt to fully embrace and reciprocate the delightful touches bestowed upon you as you moaned into Hawks' mouth.

Hawks deftly undid his fly and belt, revealing his aroused state as he freed his dick. Already adorned with glistening precum, he took a moment to give himself a few purposeful pumps. With deliberate intent, he aligned his engorged tip with your entrance, gradually pressing forward. A symphony of moans escaped his lips. "Holy shit, dove, you're so goddamn tight." His feathers persisted in their tantalizing motions, caressing your aroused clitoris and nipples, eliciting unabashed moans from you that echoed in the air.

Keigo effortlessly lifted you up, enveloping your legs around his hips, and plunged his cock deeply into your velvety core. His voice was nothing but a sultry whisper. "Do you like this, dove, hmm? Does the way I'm taking you ignite your filthy desires?"

You breathed out a breathy "yes," accompanied by a gasp, tilting your head backward to expose the vulnerable expanse of your neck to Keigo.

Without hesitation, Takami sealed his lips against the sensitive column of your neck, his tongue tracing the line of your pulse point. Simultaneously, his hips moved with a purpose, snapping into yours, the tip of his cock tenderly caressing the intimate depth of your cervix. "Yeah, babybird, sing a song for me," he encouraged.

He elevated his tempo, the rhythmic slapping of his balls against the curve of your ass synchronized with each forceful thrust of his. The pulsating intensity of his member within you signaled the impending release, a prelude to the culmination of pleasure. His wings expanded behind him, their feathery expanse amplifying the sensory experience. As he fervently fucked your pussy, the feathers intensified their caress, grazing over your clitoris and nipples, with one audaciously slipping down to delicately stroke the sensitive area around your asshole, adding an electrifying dimension to the passionate encounter that left you breathless.

"K-Keigo, oh God, I'm cummin'!" A low whine escaped your lips, and before you could exert control over your body's reactions, the knot coiling in your stomach abruptly unraveled. Your luscious, viscous juices enveloped his member, drenching him completely; simultaneously, an unexpected surge of pleasure caused you to squirt, unaccustomed to the intense stimulation his feathers delivered. Flustered, cheeks tinged with a rosy hue, you reluctantly lifted your gaze to meet his. "Keigo… I'm sorry…"

After emitting a deep, guttural grunt, Keigo reached the peak within the confines of your intimacy - his runny cum erupted in your pussy. A fusion of his cum and your own juices trickled out of you, even though you were still stuffed with his dick. With a hint of satisfaction, he responded, "Well, well, I didn't know you harbored such a lascivious side, my little dove, squirting just for me. Delicious."

Concern crept into your voice as you whispered, "Aren't you mad?"

He leisurely withdrew his dick, the amalgam of your releases tracing a sinuous path down your thighs, while the feathers that had earlier ventured to caress you returned to their places on his wings. "No, my sweet bird," he murmured, "In fact, I hope you'll treat me to a full-fledged spectacle of your squirting prowess later this evening. I'm far from finished with you."

[clunelover]

Okay book rec - I’m obsessed with this series, Rivers of London, about a young London police officer who meets a ghost and then ends up being inducted into the magic arm of the police. Then the books are sort of combination crime and sci fi/fantasy? I’m always hesitant to tell people about them cause they’re not Literary Fiction (🙄) but - they’re funny and interesting and exciting and unique…I can’t speak to what it’s like to just read them, because I do them as audiobooks, which I really really recommend - they’re read by a Ghanaian-British man with the most amaaaazing voice that IMO is essential to the books as I’ve experienced them. Anyway, without giving too much away, some of the things that make them unique:

- the protagonist is biracial, his dad is a white British guy and his mom is from Sierra Leone. The author is himself a white guy married to an African woman, and they have a biracial son, so I think he draws from that, in a way that feels…idk, like, smart about race, but in a casual way that sometimes comes close to skirting the lines of what is PC, but always stays on the right side of that, and seems true to the character, and nobody is a stereotype? Very deftly done.

- the protagonist has an interest in architecture so there’s random sprinklings about architectural styles and history of London that again feels true to the character and not forced, but also very unique and interesting

- the supernatural elements are very well realized and not hokey

- Like the pitch perfect way race and class are handled, there’s a similarly deft touch to addiction, sexuality, gender identity, etc. (but again not in that heavy handed “there are Diverse Characters in this book!” way). Like…okay I am going to spoil one little moment from like the 8th book in the series because I keep coming back to it as a great example:

The detective is meeting a group of people and identifies one as “a white woman with short brown hair” and then when the introductions are made (paraphrasing this to the best of my memory):

“She said, ‘my name’s Victor,’ with a particular emphasis on the name, as if to say ‘here’s a clue, let’s see if you get one.’ I shook his hand and said I was pleased to meet him.” Like - it just felt so real, he thought it was a woman, he found out he was wrong, he switched pronouns in his mind.

- And then the intrigue and suspense and all that across the books is great too

So, I’ve listened to all 9 of these books (and am DYING for the next one) multiple times, just like any time I’m doing something and need something to listen to, I re-listen to one of them because repetition is so soothing to me. I strongly recommend them AS AUDIOBOOKS

Oh also I think they’re being developed into a tv show, so get on it now so you can say you liked the books better!!

[ebitachy]

ok i have some real thoughts on the teal mask dlc that are more related to ogerpon + the "loyal three" + carmine so i'm just gonna talk abt those now

so like to be clear i've already been ruminating this for a couple days and after finishing the dlc and peaking a little bit at other people's thoughts so far there's a couple things i want to add

if you don't know what i'm talking about here the momotaro story has historically been used quite prolifically by japan as a form of imperial propaganda; the oni/ogres being the 'savages' of other nations who need to be punished, persecuted, plundered-- controlled by japan and it's allies.

that's why i found it specifically interesting that it wasn't just ogerpon, but ogerpon and a human, who were feared and hated as outsiders in the story and the beasts driven purely by greed were praised for driving them out-- with the human's death being totally written out of history

of course this is still a children's game, and i think it was handled quite well that while the humans praised the "loyal three" for terrible reasons that they apologize for, and the beasts had done something selfish, greedy, and malicious-- they're kind of just like, bandits, on their own, lol? they killed ogerpon's trainer and ogerpon killed them in both retaliation and self-defense with some bonks on the head, which is almost cartoonish when described like that. the tragedy here is that the people's xenophobia (actually more implicitly racism here, with what the human and ogerpon having to hide their faces implies) got a person killed (if they hadn't needed those masks, would they have lived peacefully?) and decided the monster in this situation was ogerpon. but of course, in the future, this eventually all gets cleared up, because again, it's not too entrenched and this is a children's game.

it also makes it more interesting that they use carmine as the voice to make repeated references to the idea of outsiders being unwelcome, because she doesn't really represent the ideology ogerpon's story is meant to push against more that she exists to keep that theme at the forefront of your mind

like, she does get a line about not wanting her home to become a tourist's playground at the end which, relatable. but it's also clear throughout the story that she doesn't actually hate outsiders before she says that-- she obviously cares a lot about her home and doesn't want it to be looked down on, rather than actually looking down on or hating people for being from outside the village. i mean, she does think everyone else is a chump, but that's more related to her personal ego lmao

idk it's just very interesting as a Take. like there's a lot that's juicy there. the teal mask was short and it's not really pushing any new boundaries here, BUT. it was deftly written, much to say about it!

also obviously i named ogerpon ponpon. becos of... rhythm tengoku gba...

[raviposting]

One last thing about Goncharov and then I’ll shut up but I can’t stop thinking about Katya & Andrei’s dance. I think people overlook the dialogue a bit because it’s admittedly very clunky at times (or maybe it’s a deleted scene?? Idk it felt Long but I still loved it) BUT these lines:

Andrei: You know he is my partner-

Katya, sharply: As he is mine.

And:

Andrei: Loving him is a freedom.

Katya: Loving him is a prison.

Then when they go

Andrei, with an uncertain hopefulness: Caged birds can still sing a beautiful tune.

Katya, resigned: But they still aren’t allowed to fly.

These lines are WONDERFUL. Their back and forth during this conversation is almost like a dance itself. Where Andrei takes a step, Katya swiftly and effortlessly take another. Their conversation is a performance just as much as their dance is - Andrei can say that Goncharov is his partner, and he is, but not in the way Andrei wants to say it. Katya is quick to say she’s Goncharov’s partner, because she knows what Andrei is actually saying. And it feels almost like a misstep in their dance, but as they talk more about him we see their shared love and how much they get both joy and pain from this love.

Andrei can never say how he truly loves Goncharov, he can only ever sidestep it and speak in veiled sentences. But it’s still a freedom for him, it’s the truest love he’s ever felt and he has it, and that’s enough for him, for now. Katya does love Goncharov, she does, but she’s so stuck between her so-called duty as a wife and what she wants. And in a perfect world, they could explore all these feelings outright (because they acknowledged SO much of it - these so called missteps were quickly righted and they acknowledged each other’s feelings and validated if). But they’re trapped in a society where they’re a queer man and a (queer) woman in love with the same man.

And with that last moment, with their analogy about the birds. They know they’re stuck, but Andrei wants so desperately to believe that it’s still beautiful while Katya knows she’s still trapped. They both have that very real love but Andrei’s love is an escape from the pressures of their society while Katya’s is yet another reminder of their expectations, but they so deftly acknowledge it in that scene. It’s ironic, really, that by the end of the movie we see that Katya is the one who breaks the cycle while Andrei continues on with the violence, despite their initial view on their future. It’s tragic and beautiful all at the same time, but that conversation really gets to me. It’s like a final, real acknowledgment before everything goes to hell in the final act and it’s just SO expertly done!

[raisinchallah]

sacrifice is a weird episode it feels like they have kinda played their whole hand in maternal instincts/bitter suite and it doesnt really have much to do its def an attempt at whats growing to become a more traditional genre tv finale format with like a big team up and pieces moving around on the table and vaguely unclear plans in general the second half of season 3 feels it lacks some focus and the episodes feel more clearly delineated between comedy episodes and dramatic episodes to the detriment of some of the more episodic fare like not really getting anything on the level of greater good or been there done that (which was made during season 2 and held over to broadcast in season 3 when the season got shortened so stylistically i am counting as a season 2 episode) that manage to deftly weave the comedy and serious elements together to the great benefit of both in season 3 the comedy episodes feel very thematically disconnected from the show like theyre for the most part not bad (king of assassins and fins femmes and gems are all timers) but i do feel like something is being lost in the shows style by sealing these ideas off from each other i really do think a semi comedic episode that dealt with the rift would be a really nice way to continue some of the plot points and character growth that have felt very unfocused and lacking purpose in the second half of season 3 whereas even a fairly innocuous season 1 or 2 episode felt like it would often find something unique to say about one of the characters or offer some change in their relationship... idk if its also just that the first half of season 3 is so good the second half feels unsteady on its feet but its definitely part of the growing pains of serialization though for the most part i honestly wildly prefer the xena style of serialization compared to the more widely adopted buffy style where its all just you know hints dropped in episodes building up to a big bad at the end that feels it drags everything to a stop the far more natural style of xena season 3 where they drop a lot of interesting thematically linked 2 parters and sorta 2 parters that flow as they want and there is not really the need to backload the season or anything like in many ways most shows would approach season 3 in the opposite direction with all the episodic diversions of the second half leading to like the deliverer -> the debt -> maternal instincts but also eschewing that more classic style but still attempting a big baddie two parter team up in sacrifice is a weird weird middle ground tbh sacrifice feels more of a sequel to armageddon now than most of whats been going on on xena....

[eskawrites]

I’ve been thinking about a ronance Wynonna Earp au ever since @valentinojoni​ said something about it

like okay

Nancy Wheeler + guns is everybody’s favorite ship, put peacemaker in her hands and idk about you but i’m a goner

but also also Nancy Wheeler having to take on too much responsibility from a young age, Nancy Wheeler being a fighter because it’s all she’s ever known, Nancy Wheeler facing everyday misogyny, unfair expectations, and actual literal demons with the same level of fire and steel every single time

Nancy Wheeler as the cursed heir, dragged into protecting a town that has only screwed her over, unable to ever really leave and be her own person, because how can she leave Hawkins after everything that’s happened?

and oh man gimme that Wheeler sibling drama. Mike grew up on fantasy and sci-fi, he’s spent hours and hours telling stories where he and his friends get to be heroes, and he wishes so badly that he was the heir because he just wants to be that hero in real life.

He incorporates the family history and peacemaker and the revenants into his D&D campaigns (and yes revenants are in the monster manual and yes that page is covered in Mike’s notes about what’s accurate and what isn’t) and he knows so much about it and constantly tells Nancy stuff she already knows about the curse (because come on, she’s done her own research)

And while Mike is annoying there’s a part of Nancy that wonders if he’s right. Mike who has this support system of incredible friends who are willing and eager to fight for each other, who will do anything to help save the world, who jump headfirst into danger with boundless energy and backpacks full of makeshift weapons. Being the heir is a haunting, lonely job, but for Mike it wouldn’t have to be

(Not to mention the fact that, when Mike loses his friends, he gets them back. He could save Will. Nancy couldn’t save Barb.)

Robin as Doc!! She shows up seemingly out of nowhere, working at the local bar with Steve (Robin as a bartender, Robin pouring Nancy a double shot when she first returns to town and feels like an outsider and has nowhere to go but the bar, Robin subtly keeping tabs on the Wheelers until one of the kids finally susses her out)

Robin’s awkwardness and struggle with social cues stemming from the fact that she’s from an entirely different time period. Her clumsiness being a way to fly under the radar. Nancy figures out it’s a front when she watches Robin spin a cocktail shaker and deftly pour a line of drinks without spilling a drop. (Later Nancy will watch her spin her gun from its holster and shoot three cans without looking, and she’ll wonder how many other secrets Robin Buckley is keeping)(spoiler: a lot)

is this just a way for me to scratch the ‘robin is a russian spy’ itch? maybe idk but the vibes are there and i love them

Everyone thought Robin Buckley, fastest shot in the West, was in love with the original Wheeler gunslinger. She wasn’t for obvious reasons, but they went along with the story because being a lesbian in the late 1800s/early 1900s is even more dangerous than it is in the 80s

(someone found out about Robin’s sexuality and they chased her out of town, which is why she wasn’t there the day the curse happened. it might also be why she makes the deal for eternal life, becoming one of the demons she and the Wheeler ancestor had once sworn to destroy)

No Upside Down but the Hawkins lab is investigating revenants and other paranormal entities. When El escapes no one really knows what she is (Lucas worries she might be a revenant, Mike swears up and down that she can’t be, he even steals Peacemaker once to prove it, but while he has it an actual revenant comes to steal it and El has to save them all. The boys are all impressed, Nancy shows up and is Not Happy. She makes Mike promise to never take the gun again. He does but we all know he doesn’t keep that promise)

Brenner and Owens monitoring everything Nancy does and even interfering for their own various reasons. After they put the kids in danger on a mission—in the name of research or something similar—she decides she’s going to get rid of Hawkins lab once and for all.

Hopper as Nedley, he knows there’s some Weird Shit going on around Hawkins but until it starts hurting his people (and he considers so very few people his these days) he doesn’t give a fuck. But he gradually gets sucked in, ends up taking El in, even gains a grudging respect for Nancy Wheeler when she rolls back into town. Her shooting the revenant who runs the arcade means a lot of paperwork for him, but at least he doesn’t have to worry about the kids every time he drops El off there for the afternoon anymore

Something-something Henry Creel cursed the family generations ago and no one knows why, and they definitely don’t know why monsters and revenants are suddenly pouring into Hawkins, more active than they’ve been in decades.

Eddie is a revenant, he and Robin were friends back in the good old days. The kids befriend him without knowing who he is. He ends up helping Nancy even though he knows she’s going to have to kill him eventually. They become really good friends and it’s angsty as hell

Something-something the theory that Karen is connected to the Creel family somehow, Karen and Ted are both supposedly dead (Mike was raised by the Byers) but Nancy knows she’s alive

Barb as Willa, kinda. Everyone thinks Barb died but she comes back, and she comes back Wrong, and suddenly all the care and concern she showed Nancy as kids (is this really you? Are you doing this for you or for your family’s legacy?) turns into bitter scorn that directly targets all of Nancy’s guilt and trauma (who do you think you are? you only end up hurting people the way you hurt me)

anyway back to ronance. Nancy doesn’t trust anyone and she absolutely does not trust the hot bartender who just appeared in town one day, even though Steve and the kids all think she’s cool. Robin hates the Wheeler family because where was her best friend when she was run out of town? cue enemies to friends to lovers with a shit ton of shoot outs and hurt/comfort along the way

Robin staying in the Wheeler barn, keeping her careful distance, because  Nancy and the gang have figured out who she is, but they still don’t know she’s a lesbian. Robin being so afraid of them finding out and the past repeating itself--her being separated from Nancy when Nancy needs her the most. Robin blaming herself for the Wheeler family curse

One of Robin’s rings holding the key to her pseudo-immortality. She fidgets with it constantly and everyone knows it’s a nervous habit but no one knows the story behind it

also...Nancy in a leather jacket riding a motorcycle. that is all.

[thispatternismine]

New ATLA Fic Preview

Here’s a preview of a fic I've been working on. Based on this AU idea by @electronswrites, where Aang is found much earlier & the Gaang is formed of characters from the generation up (I tried posting this yesterday, but I think Tumblr was glitching or something? idk?). Tagging various people from the post’s notes that seemed interested: @professionalranter31, @muffinlance @gaymedievaldruid @girl-loves-travel45 @kacievvbbbb @beastlybeauty1 @shorteeby40. Lemme know if any of you want to be removed.

This AU involves some changes to canon, because somebody needs to teach Aang waterbending, so Hakoda is a bender here. (If you're wondering, 'Wait, so who is going to take on Sokka's role of non-bender warrior?': Kya. It's Kya. Kya is here to chew bubblegum & kick ass & there is no bubblegum in the world of ATLA so that really simplifies her 'to do' list.)

Ages have also been adjusted. I've decided that everyone is the same age as their show equivalents (where available). Hakoda is 15 (same for Bato), Kya is 14 (I might switch them idk), Ozai is 16, Ursa is 15, etc. I've decided on 24 for Zhao's age - still young, but old enough that he'd be super resentful being bossed around by a teenager. Zuko is already around, as per the og post, & is 1.

A few small tweaks to the ideas posted: Zhao & Ozai are bitter rivals, rather than friends. Ozai & Ursa weren't betrothed (because I figure in that case Azulon would just move the wedding date). And Ursa escaped the 'school' she was sent to while still pregnant & went on the run.

I haven't really planned this fic out too well, beyond this first chapter, a vague outline, & a few random ideas, & ngl it'll be a while before I do any proper work on it (which is why I'm just posting this preview on tumblr rather than Ao3), because I have a current WIP that I'm nearly done with, another that I want to at least update, & a third I would like to start posting. I don't even have a title.

But for now, here's the first chapter: Hakoda Tries to Impress A Girl

Hakoda scanned their surroundings as Bato steered their boat deftly between icebergs. They didn’t really need to be out here – the village had enough provisions stored away that they’d be okay unless their hunters had a real nasty bout of bad luck. But bad luck did happen (often in the form of Fire Nation raids) & nobody would say no if they caught anything extra.

And it got them out of shoring up the snow wall around the village, which was tedious work.

Kya wouldn’t be called upon to help with the building work, but she had jumped at Hakoda’s invitation, keen to get out of the village for a while.

The men wouldn’t let her train with them anymore. Nobody minded a woman having some kind of basic training, at least enough to know how to wield a club without knocking herself out instead of her opponent. That was just common sense. If any Fire Nation soldiers got through the warriors’ defences, then it was useful to have some of the woman be able to hold them off from burning people’s homes (or worse) until the real warriors were able to step in

But when Kya had started beating some of the men, the Chief had put his foot down. He couldn’t stop her watching though; he couldn’t stop her practicing the moves she’d seen on any man who bothered her either.

“Kya,” Bato was saying, carefully. “If you hit a man in that spot, it really hurts.”

She rolled her eyes, continuing to swing her club. “I know. That’s why I did it.”

“But it’s dishonourable! That’s not how you win a proper fight!”

That got a snort. “Like the Fire Nation cares about honour.”

Bato looked pleadingly at Hakoda for help, but he kept his eyes on the water, pretending not to notice. He understood that, as the Chief’s son, Bato felt he had to take his side. But she’d been in the right & Sunoq had had it coming. Maybe he’d learn to keep his hands to himself in future. (He also didn’t want to risk being on Kya’s bad side, even a little.)

Besides, he had another reason for inviting her along; he was hoping to show her a waterbending move he’d just learned.

Learning to bend had been a struggle. The only teacher available to him had been an infirm old man who’d been missed in the raids. Before he’d died, he was able to teach Hakoda some healing, & a few simple moves that didn’t require much, well, movement. But any actual attacks that would be useful in fighting the Fire Nation, or anything big or powerful, were beyond his ability to demonstrate. And that was the exact sort of thing that would be of interest to Kya.

He’d done his best to figure out moves based on the man’s descriptions, but it was difficult, especially as his mind had been wandering as his life drew to a close, & some of those descriptions had been confusing.

But today he thought he had something. Something that might impress Kya. And he really wanted to impress her.

They’d known each other pretty much their whole lives (it wasn’t that big a village) & the three of them had always been friends. But recently he thought he’d like to be something more than friends with her. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to just come right out & ask her though. She was scary when she was mad, & he knew from training that she did not pull her punches at all.

They found what they felt was a promising spot, & Hakoda & Bato cast their lines & sat back to wait, but hours passed & nothing was biting. And Kya, who’d been crouched with a spear, staring intently into the water, swore she hadn’t seen a single fish.

It was as if they were avoiding the area. But there was no sign of any predators, & if that was what it had been, then whatever it was should have moved on by now in the absence of prey.

Weird.

Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about scaring fish away.

He began swooshing water to & fro, slow at first, but gradually getting faster, before pulling upwards, making large waves that pushed the boat closer to the large iceberg in their vicinity.

The next step – which he hadn’t quite consistently managed yet – was to turn the waves into ice. If he could figure that out, it would be immensely useful to the tribe – he could quickly erect defensive barriers or build bridges.

Maybe then the Chief would stop looking at him like he didn’t belong.

He did his best to follow the movements the old man had described, which had worked a little in his experiments, but the water stubbornly remained water.

And Kya was watching…

“Damnit!” he muttered, shoving the water hard in frustration. Why wouldn’t it work?

A crack appeared in the iceberg in front of them.

“Ooh ooh ooh! Yes! Crack it open!” Kya was practically bouncing with delight.

Well, who was he to deny a lady’s request?

Channelling all his frustration (& his desire to impress) into his movements, he attacked the ice like it was a Fire Navy ship with the Firelord himself on board. Slowly, more & more cracks began to appear.

And then finally, with a roar of effort, he managed it, & the iceberg spilt, falling apart. He stood for a moment in triumph…

Before falling over (fortunately landing in the boat & not the freezing water) as the water displaced by the falling ice washed past them. Bato paddled frantically to stop them being flung away & smashed against the ice, while Kya & Hakoda did their best to shift their weight to keep the boat balanced.

Once it passed, they cautiously sat up & looked around.

“Well, that was certainly impressive,” said Bato, drily. “Though I don’t think this is going to help us catch any fish.”

He turned to Kya, hoping that she was impressed at least, but she was staring past him, at where the iceberg had been. At first, he was disappointed, but when he followed her gaze, he saw the water was glowing.

“What the-”

A new iceberg rose out of the water, & it was definitely unusual, for several reasons.

Firstly, it was glowing. Secondly, it was spherical. Thirdly, there was a person inside it, a boy a few years younger than them. That last one wasn’t necessarily unusual on its own, but the fact that he was sitting in a meditative pose rather than suspended limp in the position that he’d drowned in, or curled in on himself in a vain effort to fight off the freezing cold. The glowing arrows on him were a bit odd too.

The things got even weirder still as the boy opened glowing eyes.

“He’s alive!” Kya scrambled to her feet & leapt over the distance between the boat & the new iceberg, using pieces of broken ice as stepping stones as she pulled her club off her back. “We have to do something.”

Hakoda scrambled after her, not sure what to do, but not wanting her to do this alone. And maybe he was being overly cautious, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to let mysterious glowing people out of ice prisons.

By the time he reached the iceberg, Kya had already struck the ice several times, & as he reached out to try & stop her, the ice finally submitted to her will & the iceberg broke apart.

They were both knocked down by powerful gusts of wind as the light exploded outwards. Hakoda curled around Kya protectively, even though she’d never needed anyone’s protection, & certainly didn’t want it.

Eventually the light & the sudden wind subsides, & Kya elbowed him to make him let her go.

They scrambled to their feet & stared at the jagged remains of the still-glowing iceberg, not sure what to expect. Kya brandished her club & Hakoda attempted a waterbending stance as a figure emerged from the crater, arrow & eyes still glowing as it seemed to survey them.

And then the glow faded & the boy collapsed. Kya dropped her club & jumped forward to catch him. Hakoda, still wary, picked up the club & approached more cautiously.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bato paddling the boat closer.

The boy opened his eyes (a weird shade of grey, but at least they weren’t glowing anymore) & gasped. He stared at Kya for a long moment.

“I need… I need to ask you something…” he said, weakly & Hakoda wondered if he wasn’t about to die even after all that.

Kya looked worried, probably wondering what ominous last words the boy might come out with. “What?”

“Please… Come closer…”

Kya leaned in as Hakoda tightened his grip on the club.

“What is it?”

“Will you go penguin-sledding with me?” he asked, in a much brighter voice.

Wait, what?

⁂

Prince Ozai stood at the railing of his ship, staring out at the ocean, deep in thought. Icebergs towered around them, & the non-benders in the crew shivered & rubbed their hands together when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Almost two years he’d been on this hunt. His mission was monumental, & would be daunting to someone more easily intimidated, but up until now, his investigations had been straightforward.

His first task had been to search each Air Stronghold in the hope of finding clues, or at least understanding his quarry, but the buildings were empty shells full of nothing but bones. (Some of the bones were… rather small. But of course the Avatar himself had been a child at the time, so it had been necessary. Absolutely necessary. But he had avoided lingering in some rooms…) Any scrolls & trinkets that hadn’t been burned would have been carried off back to the Fire Nation, from which he was banished.

From there he had turned to the Earth Kingdom, moving from port to port, questioning sages, digging through dusty archives, & chasing rumours of spirit sightings. It had been tedious & frustrating – and so far fruitless – but at least he had known how to proceed.

Now though…?

What little he had managed to gather about the Avatar’s life before his grandfather’s heroic pre-emptive strike on the Air Nation & its armies, said that the Avatar had resided at their Southern Stronghold, though a letter found in the possession of a dissident Air Nation supporter a few decades ago mentioned plans to send him away.

If it was true that he’d lived in the south, perhaps that would be his preferred hiding place. Hence, his order to turn south to investigate the Southern Water Tribe.

But they had no strongholds to search, merely scattered settlements clinging to the harsh tundra & at the mercy of whatever the climate threw at them. Paper was scarce & the preferred method of conveying information was oral, so he doubted there were any archives or libraries. And they had limited contact with the rest of the world, so no bustling ports where visitors could mingle with crowds of people who were so eager to share gossip that they didn’t care what nation their audience was from.

Was he to be reduced to sailing around the whole Agni-forsaken place, stopping at each & every single village, no matter how small, & searching each one for the Avatar? Not only was that tedious, but inevitably after he showed up at the first village, warnings would go out to the others, & word would spread. If the Avatar was hiding here, then he would flee.

He had also underestimated just how big icebergs could be. Navigating would be… something of a challenge.

Staring out at the cold blue waters, he felt the enormity of his task threatening to overwhelm him. What was he supposed to do? How could he succeed in pleasing his father? How could he restore his honour?

He involuntarily reached to touch the top of his head, quickly turning the gesture into a scratch. The chopped strands had grown out now, enough that he was able to tie them back to keep them from falling in his eyes as they had kept doing after his haircut, constantly reminding him of all that he had lost. Probably long enough to form into a topknot again, especially if he used some of the longer strands that had been left untouched to bolster it. But he didn’t dare attempt it, even in the privacy of his cabin. Lieutenant Zhao didn’t want to be here, saw this mission as him being sidelined from a promising military career (which it wasn’t; it would be the making of his career if – no, when – Ozai found the Avatar), & would sell him out for a packet of fire flakes given half the chance. And he didn’t even like fire flakes.

He took a deep breath, some flames escaping his mouth on the exhale. No, he could do this. He had always risen to meet every challenge set to him, even if he had never seemed to surpass his brother (at least in their father’s eyes). He could manage this one too. Who cared that everyone sneered that it was impossible? Ozai would show them!

Even if his last challenge had been what had got him here.

It had been a glimpse at a party of some noble or other. A girl he had never seen before, perhaps a year younger than him. He had thought he knew of everybody who was worth knowing at court, but he didn’t know her.

When he had pointed her out to Ukano, the other boy had sneered. “Oh, her? Don’t you know? That’s Roku’s granddaughter.” He shook his head, a disgusted look on his face. “I know your grandfather allowed the family to keep their house in the capital, but I don’t understand why people invite them to things.” He snorted in derision. “Pity, I think.”

He should stay away, but… well, a girl from a family of traitors on the fringes of noble society. Her prospects were slim. She would be easy.

He had promised her so much, things he could not offer, because his father would not allow a marriage to someone like that. But she had been swept off her feet, convinced he was just like a prince from one of those insipid romance plays she liked. And he had played that role perfectly.

It had surprised him to find she was actually good company (aside from her taste in theatre). She was intelligent, & creative, & beautiful. But, of course, none of those things mattered; her tainted bloodline made them totally unsuitable for each other.

She hadn’t been as easy as he’d expected, but he’d been persuasive & charming, & in the end had claimed his prize.

There had been consequences, but he had ignored her tearful, terrified letters; what could he even do for her? Even if father had been willing for them to marry, he certainly wouldn’t now; she was damaged goods. (Even if Ozai had been the one to inflict the damage.)

She had swiftly disappeared from court, ‘sent away to stay with a family friend in the colonies’ (ridiculous, as that family had no friends), & he assumed it was over.

And it had, but not in the way he’d expected.

In the event his father had even found out about his actions, he had expected to face criticism – somehow, he had never been able to measure up to the example sent by his brother, already a war hero before Ozai could even write his own name, & scathing rebukes for the smallest mistake or flaw had been a constant fact of life. But he hadn’t expected anger. Or punishment.

He had brought shame on his family, dishonoured them, & himself. He was to leave the Fire Nation, never to return unless he found the Avatar, missing for 64 years.

He reached up to touch the top of his head again… only to quickly snatch his hand back as a door opened behind him.

“Enjoying the view?” came Zhao’s voice. As always, he was careful to keep the mocking tone just subtle enough that if Ozai took issue with it, he appeared irrational & unreasonable. “See the Avatar at all?”

Ozai wanted to blast the man with lightning, but he was well-connected & popular amongst the officers – certainly more popular than Ozai was, even though he was their prince! – & often those connections had helped them obtain adequate supplies to keep the ship running on the meagre budget his father had allotted him (he was teaching Ozai frugality & proper supply management, obviously), so he did his best to rein in his temper.

Once he felt he had his rage enough under control that words would come out when he opened his mouth, instead of flames, he took a breath to answer…

And a pillar of light shot into the sky in front of him.

[beetlebethwrites]

idk how this could fit but for the prompts: [ KISS ] for Matt?

[ KISS ]: sender kisses receiver in order to protect their identities, but is the kiss completely professional? or is there something else...?

Anything can fit if you try hard enough! *eyes emoji* It’s a fake dating (married) scenario my dudes!

“You told them what?” you hiss at Matt, arms folded and entirely unimpressed at what he was telling you.

“I said I’d gotten married.”

“Why would you have told them that?” you asked, still feeling thoroughly unsympathetic to Matt’s plight right now, even as he’s looking at you with big blue eyes which are clearly pleading. A part of you wants to help him, but the rest of you wants to see him fail for lying.

“Please just help me, I’ll owe you one. Whatever you need,” he begs, voice toned down to sound way more pathetic than he usually sounded.

“Fine.”

--

That was how you found yourself on what could only be called a double date with two of Matt’s friends, who were also married. Not that you were sure they could be called friends when he felt like he had to lie about getting married to them. You found it really quite strange that they didn’t question the fact that they hadn’t been invited to said wedding, or that they hadn’t seen photos about it either, but after spending half an hour with them you’d realised they weren’t the brightest stars in the sky. The friends in question had spent what felt like hours taking photos of themselves as a couple, of which Matt helped with a few before he returned to your side.

“Oh, we could get cute photos of you. One of you kissing in front of the lights would be really sweet,” they insist, and you dare a side long glance to Matt who is looking more awkward by the second. Somehow he hadn’t prepared for this and you were going to have to take the lead.

You position yourself in front of the lights and grab Matt’s hand, pulling him along with you into the frame of the photo. You deftly set your hands onto his broad shoulders before pulling him in for a soft kiss. You try not to think about the way that his strong jaw feels cupped in your hand, or the way that your faces slot together pretty perfectly, the two of you somehow knowing exactly which way to tilt your noses like you’d done it a thousand times before. 

When the flash goes off you pull away from him and try not to look at the way a blush has settled across his tan cheeks and the way that you feel a little bit flustered as well. You definitely don’t think about the heat of his large hand, which is placed carefully on your waist like it belongs there.

He coughs, a little awkwardly, and flashes you a thankful smile. You’ve gotten away with it.

“Look how cute the Atkinsons are,” his friend teases, showing you the photo as you try desperately not to notice the way your heart jumps at that, or the way Matt swallows awkwardly. The two of you look like a couple, whether you want to or not and there’s no way to see around that fact.

It’s just an act, you remind yourself as you notice Matt’s hand is still surrounding your own. Just an act.

[paranoid-throwaway]

still want to do a fifthist jerma scp. needs a really good twist though to keep it from being a generic ive streaming cognitohazards thing thats been done before. you know, something really absurd and surreal. i suppose something fourth wall breaking could work but i kind of feel that detracts from the horror.

i think like the greatest example of a professional production that captures a fifthist feel is being john malkovich. not overtly horror, but still deeply weird and unsettling when you consider the implications. and of course celebrity status is also an important theme of that movie. hmmmm, maybe the scp could something of a report on this like fifthist attempt to convert jerma. i mean they have to get all these celebrities to join somehow. although of course the much better and creepier interpretation is rather fifthists become celebrities, not the other way around. but yeah, something that sort of starts off showing these weird fifthist attempts to convert him that eventually culminate in the artifact or phenomena the scp is for. actually, it might even be good to have it be just like normal fans(or rather, non famous fifthists), trying to convert him. you know, something something parasocial obsession. ending would definitely leave it ambigous as to whether or not jerma really was converted and if hes plotting something right now, although that is a rather generic twist as scps go. 

still cant really think of a proper story arc, but i can already see how a lot of things can be tied to it; sus face, psycho streamer, catboy, heck you could probably involve the debt. another thing id like to involve is how often when he turns his webcam on theres a weird freezeframe cause he always forgets to clear obs.

i do really like the antimemetic-fifthist connection as described in 3125 and five five five five, but i don;t think its been directly addressed in the clearly fifthist scps. i guess the scp even could just straight up be a meme, or maybe even one of the meme characters. as far as this idea goes, like all good fifthist scps, the meme/character can be barely be described. a really complex thing would be somehow having or just implying the meme was just like your cliche ‘purple starfish jerma’ edit but its deftly intimated that the real thing was much worse and thats just a smokescreen. have no idea how you’d effectively convey this though. i’m still not really in love with this idea, but while im brainstorming maybe it’d be something like _______ jerma or [REDACTED] jerma. i want to keep the tone of this scp as spooky

actually, a fifthist scp that really examines just how soulless celebrity is could really work. of course, there’d be a lot of my personal biases involved though, i guess i’d have to be careful to keep that from showing to strongly. but where exactly will the horror stem from. i think a good theme is the artificiality of celebrity and obsession but how to work it in? i guess a personal example of an inspiration would be these really weird posts you see obsessing over a character or whatever and making all these very strange and virtually pornographic comparisons. though obviously thats not weird or unnerving to everyone. oh man, you could even have like a series of posts or whatever from one of the fifthist jerma fans detailing their obsession and descent into madness. yeah, i think the base concept is like these obsessed fans trying to turn their idol into the godhead(this might have been done before).”hes my little purple starfish” buried in poor little meowmeow word salad. idk. on a deep level i do think watching jerma is kind of pathetic, and i say this as a fan. on some level it is afterall mimicking a level of companionship. I am reminded of this most clearly when jerma is like “did i ever tell you guys about”... or stuff like that. and Jerma isn;t even leaning into and taking advantage of the parasocial stuff like a lot of other streamers. i still cant think of a really good hook and plot arc though! i want to avoid this just being like a series of jerma references in an scp. where does the scary come from! that sick feeling of seeing deeply misguided perversion and being powerless to stop it? i need to keep the whole scp from revolving too strongly around him. the creepiness of five five five comes from the idea of this omnipotent evil. the part of it i love the most is the description of what happens after 3125 manifests. so creepy, this shift into a universe that is somehow even harsher and uncaring than this one. the way it turns everything into something horrible and alien and the dread of its omnipresence. the fact that it can instantly corrupt, or retroactively erase all knowledge of a person. hmmm perhaps a fifthist entity attempting to manifest through jerma?(though this would only be the surface interpretation. it would hint at something much deeper and vague)

hmmm. i suppose one of the fundamentals of parasocial as relating to horror is the crazed fan. this could be related to the aforemention fifthist themes by having a person obsessed with jerma be convinced that hes their SO and doesn;t understand how all of a sudden he isn;t. the scp could imply that they’re from some sort of alternate dimension where fifthist practices are mainstream

 actually another idea i just had is a vtuber scp. that’d really be taking the streaming cognitohazard concept and running with it.

the designation would absolutely have to be scp-#985. can be any series number but the last three digits would have to be 985

going to try to remember to come back to this

[iggyfing]

man.. idk how to explain this. i have a full party of ocs (that is, eight), but only laughing hare is really developed at this point. i started writing this before i’d decided to integrate the dark knight class into her story, so there’s no reference to it when there by all rights should be, but this is still roughly how it plays out after the final steps of faith.

i feel like i could be here all day explaining things. just know laughing hare is a hellsguard ninja who’s really only part of the party bc she came as a package deal with her best friend and sister in violence, dunesfolk marauder haharo haro. she thinks estinien is cool and alphinaud is little-brother-shaped.

completely under the cut bc spoilers for heavensward, the dragonsong war, and reference to spoiler for the ninja class story.

------------------------------------------

“Dost thou and thine companions dream to save this man? Make mark of mine eyes and by all powers his life shall be forf—“ a strangled gasp and groan, hand taut at his own throat. “What are you waiting for?” Desperate and ragged, pleading. He leans his weight against the blade at his neck.

Something sick and wild with fury churns in Laughing Hare’s gut to hear him reduced to this. He’d been so bold, fearless, focused. He’d said he looked forward to the day he could fight at her side. She had as well, with a keen ferocity she’d scarce felt since Karasu had taken his own path into obscurity.

Now here he is, swallowed whole by dragonwrath and begging for death. It curls her lip in a sneer. She wants to slap him hard across the face. Make him spit the blood that ruddies his teeth. But she has to hold her dagger steady at his throat, fit between his hand and his jaw, as her compatriots wrestle with the eyes bulging from each of his arms. Fiery veins flicker on the visible lower half of his face as the wyrm’s influence wavers.

On her left, Cillien and Dagasi work on the eye embedded in his vambrace. On her right, Kuzhuk and Alphinaud do the same for the eye on his pauldron. The mages stand ready to cast, and Haharo stands behind him, axe raised to strike a fatal blow should things go awry. She herself is knelt before him, face to face.

Cries of strain, of pain come from those prying the eyes. The dragonwrath swells and roils its hateful presence, lashing as a whip and gouging as talons against the mind and soul. Estinien is screaming. “End it!” he cries. “I beg of you!”

“Shut up!” she and Kuzhuk snap in unison.

“You don’t understand! He must be stopped!”

“I won’t let you die like this!” Alphinaud, clawing at the eye with all his meager strength.

This was enough. Too much. No fun.

She flips her other blade in hand and turns the one from his throat, deftly stabbing between hands and fingers, piercing deep into the eyes. For a moment, all seems frozen in shock. Then she leverages all her strength against the infernal bond enslaving him. He screams again, voice mingled with the wyrm’s, and she adds her own to the chorus.

Her arms burn and throb and at last the deed is done. She staggers up and back before falling into a vision.

The mandala of Hydaelyn’s blessing beams under her, crystals refracting from their places encircling her.

Something is wrong. There is movement and danger in the dark beyond this sanctum. She draws her weapons and assumes a ready stance. “Show yourself!” she barks even as terrible, bellowing laughter shakes the void, causing the crystals to hum and keen in distress.

“Thy Mother cannot keep you!” booms the great wyrm’s voice from all around her.

She finally makes sense of the movement outside the blessing: Nidhogg’s jaws, arcing up to either side, preparing to snap closed should Hydaelyn not intervene.

Hare realizes suddenly that She won’t. She’s yet too weak. Hare had had to reforge the blessing herself by her own will after Midgardsormr had shattered it at the first. Should his brood do the same it will be her naked will against his. She grins wild and vicious, and laughs, straightening.

“Come on, then,” she jeers. “If Estinien could match you, I favor my chances!”

There is a deafening roar and the mandala shatters.

Her breath leaves her in a sudden gasp and she feels her body convulse around her even as the thought of it warps under the dragon’s mind. That thing she calls herself with arms and legs and an upright posture seems suddenly distant and vague like a dream forgotten in the waking.

Nidhogg’s wrath is as ancient as it is unquenchable, a crashing, foaming torrent and she’d leapt right in. The current’s caught her up and sucked her under. She flails and thrashes but she is yet worn from the fight — as is he.

Estinien had borne this?

Her blades are no longer in her hands, the eyes having shifted and fused onto the back of one and the palm of the other. The others are here too, aren’t they? Is everything frozen or just the blood in her veins?

Every thought of herself as a roegadyn is a vicious struggle. Her footing slips and she can feel jaws and wings and scales and claws, see horns arcing out on either side of her face. Smell the heady stench of carnage and gore.

Her head is pounding. Or something like it. She can see her claws raking the entrails from those who dare oppose her. Feel their bones crack and splinter in her jaws. Hear their screams, shrill and howling.

“Blood for blood!” roar her thoughts. “Life for life!”

Life for life?

Life for life….

Of course he’d turn up again. She’d thought she’d settled it. Conquered all that guilt and shame. But here his specter gleams, grasping her mangled, swollen hands, heedless of dragonwrath or dragon eyes, and it all comes crashing back down. He looks at her with a strange sad smile she doesn’t understand.

It strikes her suddenly how quiet everything’s fallen.

“Life for lives,” he says simply, and then he is gone.

The cacophony resumes, raucous battle and ancient, insatiable vengeance. She screams but it’s only to hear the wyrm’s roar.

A sharp pain in her shoulder. An arrow. She grasps the pain like a lifeline, dragging herself towards awareness.

Indignation and rage whorl in her mind, alien in source but ever so familiar in effect. It tears the thread of grounding pain from her, and she is lost tumbling in the swell again.

He dares to strike me? The impulse boils up like fire in her breast, to lash out, to see Kuzhuk flung through the air, into the abyss below.

No… no, that’s not right….

Grisly ends for the others in her party parade one after another through her imagination. Throats torn out, skulls dashed against the stone, burned alive in dragon fire. Finally, Haharo’s head torn from her body and set to roll across the cobbles. Alphinaud, so mangled and bloodied that nothing but the shreds of his jacket remain to identify him.

This isn’t right….

Estinien had borne this.

Estinien had begged for death.

Fire and ruin, carnage and war. Unless the wyrm— unless she was stopped, this would never end. Her companions and the one true friend she had in all the world would die for nothing.

Life for lives. She understands at last.

A terrible, hysterical laughter tears out of her as the revelation tears an eye in the dragonwrath storm for her to stand in.

She can barely move her hands to make the necessary gestures.

Tēn

Nidhogg senses something is amiss and the fiery veins pulse with a sharp wave of agony that leaves her fighting to stay conscious.

Chi

Someone’s screaming her name. The final gesture is hampered by a tugging at her hand. She looks and really sees for the first time since she’d touched the eyes. Alphinaud, frantic. Dagasi, pulling him back. Haharo thrashing as Cillien and Kuzhuk restrain her. They all look so grim.

Gods, she’ll miss them.

She grins wide and wild, and recalls Karasu’s “final” words: “Leave dying to those of us who can do it with style.”

Raiton

Lightning strikes the arrowhead in her shoulder, and everything goes white.

[kokkoro]

Okay I have a funny prompt for you: Clarke gets a flat tire and doesn’t know how to change it and doesn’t have a ton of money to call someone. She orders a pizza and in the special instructions says she’ll tip $20 if they help her change her flat. Two workers arrive and she thinks it’s gonna be the tall muscled dude (Lincoln) but he’s like oh no, idk I’m not into cars, she’s gonna do it, and out comes Lexa. Clarke is gay the whole time watching her biceps as she works

“Absolutely not.”

“And why the heck not?” Raven asks. “Do you really want to sit on your butt until my 4 o’clock class gets out and I can come save your ass?”

“No,” Clarke says dejectedly, watching cars fly by on the highway.

“Then what’ve you got to lose? The worst that can happen is you're stuck there for another three hours with some pizza.”

“I guess,” Clarke mutters, glancing over her shoulder. She stares at the deflated shape of her rear passenger side tire and exhales a pitiful sigh, bringing up her right hand to rub her forehead.

“Alright, then. Keep me posted, ‘kay?” Raven says. “I’ll check in on you during break.”

“Please,” Clarke replies, but it’s quiet and lost to the wind the second Raven hangs up the line. And with nothing but the highway and her thoughts, it only takes a minute for Clarke to google the nearest pizza place.

Polis Pizzeria. Just fifteen minutes away despite being in the next town over, and Clarke’s pleasantly surprised to find there’s even a deal for a five dollar small two topping pizza when purchased in pairs. It’s easy enough to pay for with the little bit of money still left in her checking and altogether manages to scrounge up 20 and change from various nooks of her car. A couple of ones under the seat, one ten and a five in the glove compartment, and then another random dollar bill in between the center console and the passenger seat. Combined with what was left in her wallet, it gives her the necessary courage to press the order button, this short note in the comments section stating a nice tip for anyone willing and able to change a tire. 

Two small pizzas and a Pepsi later, Clarke opens up the passenger door of her beat up sedan and waits, scrolling through various feeds on her phone and ignoring the way her car rattles as cars fly by on the highway. A little bit of a breeze filters through the open windows, cooling the otherwise warm interior as the sun overhead finally begins its descent. Autumn could not come fast enough.

Clarke catches sight of the red hatchback in her rearview mirror what feels like a second too late. Taken off guard, she scrambles to right herself from her recline with her feet kicked up onto the dash and loses her phone somewhere in between the seats. She hears a door behind her close, and manages to pull herself upright onto solid ground just in time to see a tall muscular man most likely only a year or two older than herself, round the corner of her car holding two boxes of pizza. His smile is warm, his shaved head hidden under a black and red baseball cap sporting a now familiar looking letter P.

“Hey,” Clarke manages, clearing her throat.

“I’m guessing you’re the one with car trouble, huh?” he says, not even bothering to hide the amused quirk to his lips.

“Is it that obvious?” Clarke says, giving an awkward half shrug as the embarrassment takes hold.

He chuckles, handing over the pizza. “We’ve all been there, trust me.”

Clarke cracks a smile, the boxes warm under her arms. “Is this something you do often, then?”

He raises a confused eyebrow, and Clarke's stomach drops. It’s at this point that, if she had been paying more attention, Clarke would have heard the sound of the hatchback trunk as it swings shut. “Do what?”

“Change people’s tires?” Clarke says, voice a pitch high as her heart drops.

The man laughs, reaching up to scratch the back of his head underneath the hat. “I don’t know anything about cars, sorry. I’m not into that kind of thing.” He pulls his hand away, pointing back over his shoulder with his thumb. “That’s why Lexa is here.”

“Lexa?” Clarke repeats, eyes narrowed. She leans to the left to peer around the tall bulky form in front of her, and feels her jaw drop. Just for a second at least, as Clarke takes in the sight of the woman with a hat between her teeth as she deftly gathers up the thick mane of her hair using the reflection in the window.

The heat of the day is already curling the hair near her temples and the woman named Lexa tries unsuccessfully to tuck the pesky strands behind her ears with little success. She gives up, taking the hat from between her teeth and tugging her hair through the back, adjusting the bill until it sits comfortably on her head, shading her eyes. When she turns toward them, picking up the duffel bag near her feet, Clarke scrapes her jaw off the ground, catching a hint of green as Lexa’s eyes dart in her direction.

“Need any help?” the man asks. Lexa snorts, quiet, shaking her head, and Clarke's stomach swoops.

“You’ll just get in the way,” Lexa says as she comes to stand by her coworker. “No offense.”

“None taken.” He waits a second and then, “You two okay if I hang out in the car? I brought a book.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m not--” Clarke says, fully aware that the end of this sentence is just as much a mystery to herself as it is to everyone else. Coherency lost somewhere between flustered and too bi to function.

Lexa sets down her bag of tools and they clamber against the pavement near the flat tire. The man nudges her in the shoulder. “I’ll be back at the car then.”

“Sure,” Lexa replies, bending down to pick up the wrench. She squats, and Clarke watches her pop off the five plastic caps covering these large bolts with her free hand. Once they’re all off, she looks right, and Clarke straightens under the stare. “Do you have the car in park?”

Clarke nods.

“Good.” Lexa looks away, lining up the wrench with one of the large bolts. There’s a little bit of force required with the initial twist as Lexa leans into the wrench with her weight and Clarke isn’t blind to the way the veins in her hands and wrist become subtly more pronounced, the muscles in her forearms flexing.

Clarke clears her throat. “You, uh, do this often?”

“You could say that,” Lexa grunts, putting her weight into the next bolt. It loosens and she turns the wrench a couple full rotations before moving on to the next.

The sun seems warmer now, mid afternoon and the breeze all but gone save for the passing cars along the highway. A little bit of shine catches Lexa’s upper lip as she continues to work and she turns her head to wipe it off against her sleeve, the bill of her hat blocking her eyes from view.

“I take it you’ve never done this before?” Lexa asks, her focus elsewhere as she rummages through the bag at her feet.

“Uh, no, not really,” Clarke says, watching as Lexa pulls out a brick from the bag. Satisfied, she gets up to place it diagonally opposite the flat tire before returning to her spot. Squatting down, Lexa rolls up the sleeves of her work shirt, in preparation for what Clarke isn’t sure, but she isn’t going to say no to the view. Especially when the black ink of a tattoo pokes out beneath the sleeve.

“Do you want to learn?”

Clarke blinks, eyes darting up to find Lexa watching, arms draped over her thighs.

“It might save you some money in the future,” Lexa adds, the slightest of smiles at the corner of her lips.

“Sure,” Clarke says, a little breathless. “Yeah, I guess.”

The smile spreads just barely. “You might want to put the pizza down then.”

Clarke looks down at her hands, the warmth from the underside of the boxes seeping into her skin. A blush rushes to her cheeks. “Right.” Clarke turns towards the front passenger seat and the still open door and sets the box inside.

“All set?” Lexa asks once she returns, watching as Clarke crouches down beside her.

Clarke pushes the hair back from her face, brows pulled together. “I’m ready.”

Their knees bump as Lexa shifts, tugging off a hair tie from around her wrist. She offers it wordlessly, and after a second of thought, Clarke holds out her hand. Lexa drops the elastic into her palm.

“Thanks,” Clarke says, reaching back and gathering her hair in a loose bun.

“Don’t mention it.”

Lexa starts off by naming the little bits and pieces, gesturing to each of the tools in her duffel bag and explaining their intended use. She helps Clarke find the appropriate spot underneath the car for the jack using the user’s manual Clarke never thought she’d actually use, and from there, it's relatively simple.

The tire comes off easily once the car is jacked and the rest of the lugnuts are removed, set in a neat little pile by the bag. Lexa does most of the heavy lifting, removing the now flat tire while Clarke attempts to wrangle the spare from the trunk.

She doesn’t get far before Lexa appears in her peripheral.

“I can grab it,” Lexa says, stepping close. A pleasant scent fills Clarke’s nose, their shoulders touching, and it feels far too warm.

Clarke pulls away, and Lexa steps into the now unoccupied space at the back of the car. “All yours,” Clarke replies, but Lexa is already finishing the job, hefting the spare tire from where Clarke had managed to prop it onto the lip of the trunk and up under her arm with a grunt.

Clarke follows without anything else to do, standing by as Lexa fits the new tire into place. “See this?” she says, pointing to a nub along the rim once the tire is fitted back onto the axle. “It’s the air valve. This should always face out.”

Lexa reaches down beside the nearby bag, picking up the lugnuts. She double counts them in her palm and then looks up. “Would you like the honors?”

“Okay,” Clarke says. She takes her place down by Lexa's side, holding out her hands for the bolts. Lexa carefully deposits them into her hands before reaching down for the wrench and with her help, the spare is secured and stable and the car is back on four wheels in no time. Lexa stores her tools back where they belong in her bag, slinging the strap over her shoulder as she stands. She reaches up to tug off the hat, and Clarke has the misfortune (pleasure) of seeing Lexa run her hand through it, scratching at her scalp, before pushing it all over her left shoulder in one curly wave.

“Hey,” Clarke says, the word stumbling from her lips. Lexa looks in her direction and for a second her heart stops. Clarke clears her throat. “Thanks.”

Lexa’s lips tilt upward. “Anytime.”

When she turns to leave, Clarke acts on instinct. “Wait--” She reaches for the first thing within range. Which just so happens to be Lexa’s shirt. There’s a specific kind of mortification that seizes the air in lungs, but she pushes through it. “Wait,” she says more firmly before letting go and bolting back over to the passenger side door. She leans in over the seat, scrounging up the pile of money left in the center console.

She scrambles back outside in a rush, almost knocking her head on the door frame, but Lexa patiently remains where Clarke saw her last. Her shoulders are relaxed and she looks almost bored. It’s the sparkle in her eyes when she catches Clarke's stare that convinces her otherwise.

“Thanks for saving my butt,” Clarke says, handing over the money.

“You don’t need to,” Lexa says, her eyes not leaving Clarke's.

A blush burns gently under her cheeks, pleasant and warm all the way down to her neck. “Uh, yeah I do.”

Lexa’s fingers close around the money, folding the bills in half and then fitting them into the back pocket of her jeans. “Thank you…?”

“Clarke,” she answers.

Lexa’s smile is small but infinitely soft. “Drive safe, Clarke,” she says, and turns around toward the red hatchback idling behind her car.

“Bye,” Clarke replies. It's barely an exhale, lost completely beneath the wind.

--

“You have some explaining to do,” Raven says, startling Clarke where she’s sat at the kitchen table, her phone slipping from her fingers and hitting the table with a loud thunk.

Clarke scoops it back up, quick to close out of the recent calls section of her phone app. “I already told you what happened.”

Raven hums, looking wholly unconvinced as she sets down her laptop bag and various books onto their already crowded table. “And I’ve known you long enough to realize when you’re withholding juicy information.” She takes a seat across from Clarke, and waits what seems like minutes before continuing. “You can’t just mention that a pretty girl showed up to help you change your tire and expect me to leave it at that.”

“Yeah I kinda am.”

“Did you get her number?”

“What?” Clarke blinks. “No, of course not. She was working, I’m not going to do that to her. Besides she’s probably not even gay.”

“She showed up to change your tire, Clarke. And not to stereotype but that’s pretty lesbian of her.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, busying herself by checking through her emails. Nothing holds her attention long enough and she soon finds herself back where started. The Polis Pizzeria number stares back at her and for once in her life Clarke decides not to think.

It’s probably the worst decision of her life.

Even without the phone pressed to her ear, the ringing is undeniable and Raven’s eyebrows shoot up as her eyes dart between the phone and Clarke’s equally surprised face. A second and then two pass and Raven stands up from the table just as Clarke raises the phone up to her ear in time to hear:

“Polis Pizzeria, how can I help you?”

“Yeah, hi, uh...” Clarke swallows, her cheeks burning. A feeling she thought she had long since abandoned back in high school. “I’m looking for Lexa. Is she there? This is Clarke.”

“Speaking.”

It’s like a shot. The sudden nerves that come hurtling back and her palms go clammy with sweat, tongue thick and sticking to the roof of her mouth, and all rational thought decides to leave her in an instant. On the other side of the room Raven falls into an insistent fit of giggles.

“More car trouble?” Lexa says, breaking the awkward, drawn out silence.

“No. I mean, yeah, I--” Clarke swallows around the lump in her throat. Raven wheezes. “Maybe? I don’t know, I--”

Raven lets out a squeak of laughter, and Clarke picks up the closest pen and chucks it in her direction. It unfortunately misses by a wide margin.

“Clarke?” comes Lexa’s voice over the line.

Her attention returns immediately. “Look, I’m...I’m sorry, I don’t know why I called you.” Clarke stops, dropping her head into her hand. “Do you want your hair tie back?”

Lexa chuckles and somewhere in the background Clarke thinks she hears someone call Lexa’s name.

“How about this,” Lexa says softly, and the sound of that voice in her ear nearly makes Clarke melt. “I’ll give you my number. Feel free to text me if you have any car questions.”

Clarke picks up her head, staring out across the kitchen. “Really?”

“Yes,” Lexa answers, and for some reason Clarke can picture her smiling. “Really.”

[vhsrights]

so idk how to do this or if you have already done this but......jemily at the beach? btw idk how asks work so ❤️❤️❤️

i haven’t but i think this idea is really cute :) i really like this one! THANK YOU

Maybe The Heat Isn’t So Bad

WC: 916

Heat was not Emily Prentiss’ thing. Despite having lived in some of the hottest countries in the world, she preferred the chilling breeze of AC any day. 

Heat was not Emily Prentiss’ thing. Despite having lived in some of the hottest countries in the world, she preferred the chilling breeze of AC any day. She learned from a young age that she wasn’t inclined towards outdoorsy activities, or at least that she wasn’t allowed to be, where some of her less fond memories had been made. Emily pushed aside those thoughts. She found herself sinking further into the burning sand with each step, hoping to get close to the water before she set their stuff down. JJ had convinced her that going to the beach on their trip down to Myrtle, South Carolina was a good idea.

The blonde was several steps ahead of her, already standing by the tide line. Her two-piece was a baby blue bikini with little doodled butterflies on it. Her hair blew back slightly with the wind, the wavy, blonde locks framing her angular face well.

Emily finally reached where JJ had put the rest of their things. She sighed and took in the sight in front of her. The sand faded into the water only a few feet in front of her. The sun sat high in the sky, proudly engulfing them in its light. JJ was only a little way in front of her and Emily’s world felt complete. Her toes pushed the sand around her feet away and she was starting to understand why her wife loved the beach so much. Realizing that she had the opportunity to scare JJ, the brunette deftly tip-toed up behind her.

She grabbed JJ into a tight hug from behind and startled the woman. JJ had been lost in the motion of the waves and forgotten that her wife was there. Since she was a child, water had always had a calming effect on her. Water was something that nobody could be without, yet still had the power to do catastrophic things. It was intriguing to the blonde. It gave her something to believe in. Spending time by it like this reminded her of the dangerous simplicity of life.

“I gotcha!” Emily threw her body weight forward, pushing both women deeper into the water.

“Ah, Emily!” They made it a few steps deeper, where the water was up past their knees.

“I thought you were a highly trained Agent. Shouldn’t you be able to sense when someone is behind you?” Emily teased the blonde, knowing her wife’s abilities were way above par.

“Oh, shut it. I happen to be on vacation with my wife right now. Who, by the way, is acting very childish.” JJ rolled her eyes, preparing her next move as she finished her sentence.

“Oh yeah?” Emily replied amused.

“Yeah.” JJ’s hand slapped the water, splashing it onto Emily.

“No! You didn’t.” She simply looked back at the blonde in astonishment, JJ feigning innocence in her eyes.

“Didn’t what?” JJ smirked at Emily, watching the woman’s eyes widen.

“Oh, you’re not getting out of that one.” Emily jumped forward and pushed large waves of water towards JJ.

The women played in the water where they were for several minutes. Neither was one to back down from a competition, especially between themselves. They walked back and forth through deep and shallow waters, not allowing the other to escape. Playful screams rang out as Emily ran after JJ and when JJ turned the tide on her. The air felt light with playfulness and both women could feel their hearts glow with love for the other. Occasionally, Emily would trip on rocks on the ocean floor, disappearing into the water with only her anchor-decorated swim trunks visible.

JJ hadn’t been able to enjoy a beach quite like this since Roslyn. When she was a kid, she and her sister would go back and forth for hours, not even thinking of having a reprieve until their mother’s voice rang in their ears. That was another beautiful thing about Emily and their relationship. No matter what it was, her wife’s dedication helped JJ enjoy things as she had once done in her childhood. Emily brought out the truest parts of JJ as JJ did for her. They truly were soulmates in her eyes.

After roughly 2 hours, the tired women trudged out of the water. They landed on their towels, glad for the warming rays of the sun and their fully stocked food basket. Wasting little time, Emily pulled out the sandwiches that JJ had made earlier in the afternoon. She had insisted on bringing them and was glad she had. JJ cracked open the two chilled beers they had brought.  

The couple relaxed and basked in the sunlight, their comfortable silence filling the air. They had planned the day to be able to watch the sunset over the horizon. As the sky was painted in robust pinks and oranges, Emily pulled JJ close. The blonde nestled closely into her side and let her heart ease.

Cool air blew as the darkness spread in the sky. Both women made quick work of gathering their things so they could turn in for the night. Emily spoke, the love in her heart heavily weighing on her words.

“Thank you, Jen. I loved today and you made things perfect, just as you always do.”

“Of course, Em, always. You do the same for me. Now come on, let’s get you inside.”

JJ smiled and wrapped her arms around the brunette as they walked to the car.

Maybe the heat wasn’t so bad after all.

[op-peccatori]

to know him (is to love him) | MLQC Victor (M)

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Reader

Rating: 18+/Explicit/NSFW

Word Count: 2900

Summary: It was something that had only come up in the occasional daydream, a delicious reversal of your roles. You couldn’t have ever imagined that it was something he’d been thinking of too.

A/N: NO, I don’t know where this came from either. it came to me in a seductive whisper at 3 AM I feel the need to let you know this isn’t something I’ve tried personally and it’s really more of an exercise in writing so, if you read it, hope you enjoy. and maybe laugh a little. 

I need to stop exposing myself like this. (warnings/tags under the cut)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, language, soft dom!MC, anal (male receiving), pegging, oral sex, slightly ooc Victor? idk I think the guy would loosen up with something else up his ass, i’ll...edit this later

With a slight tilt of your head, you observe the still figure on the bed.

Silken strands of ebony hang over eyes that stare back at you intensely, belying the relaxed state of his body. Victor lounges on his stomach, the same position you’d left him in while you went to finish your report; you saunter over to the foot of the bed, admiring the muscular legs spread in a v-position. 

Your attention is immediately recaptured by the cherry on top, the icing on the cake, the beautiful jewel nestled between thick asscheeks littered with marks–some lipstick stains, some sucked lovingly into his skin. The deep blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears down to his chest is adorable, the way his hips press into the bed at your reappearance incredibly tempting. 

“Look at you,” you murmur appreciatively, pulling your hair back in a tight ponytail. You have vivid memories of the first time you had ventured into the backdoor territory, your tongue circling his puckered hole; the memory of the way Victor’s strong thighs had trembled and his fingers had tightened in your hair never fails to make your mouth water. “You doing alright, babe?” 

You climb onto the bed, sitting on folded knees between his spread legs, your fingers working their way up his legs with a gentle massage. 

“Mm, I’m fine,” he mumbles, his words casual but his tone containing the slightest hitch as your hands come to rest on his ass, squeezing the supple flesh gently. He grinds down into the mattress, desperate for the friction. “Are you done with your report?”

“Yes, all done. We can finally focus on you,” you coo, running a finger over the jewelled head before patting his thigh. “I’m going to need you on your back, you think you could do that for me?” 

“Yeah, give me a sec.” Victor moves carefully, shifting his weight to his elbows and knees as he turns onto his back, keeping his knees folded and feet flat on the bed; he leaves enough space between his legs for you to crawl forward, rubbing his inner thighs soothingly, your eyes focusing on his stuff member before drifting up his body.

“Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes,” he hesitates, studying your fond little smile as you continue to watch him. He scoffs lightly. “Are you going to sit there all night?”

“If you want me to,” you tease lightly, and he glares before curling a hand around yours, tugging you forward until you manoeuvre your limbs around his and straddle his stomach, keeping your weight on your knees. Victor looks gorgeous like this, sprawled on his back with the soft dim lighting in the room and the moonlight painting his pale skin, his hair adorably tousled. 

“You look beautiful, baby,” you whisper as his questing fingers slip beneath the hem of your short silk robe, brushing over soft skin to cup a breast, rolling a nipple between nimble fingers. He doesn’t say a word but the slight curl of his lips says it all. 

You can’t help the way you smile in response to his, eyes half-lidded as you lean in, brushing your lips against his, light as the first fragile snowflake to reach the ground. 

His lips part and you dive in, mouth settling firmly over his as your tongue slips in to brush against his. Your fingers brush his bangs away from his face and his fingers dig into your breast. He moans when your lips close around his tongue, sucking lightly, his hips bucking involuntarily beneath you. 

You pull away panting, watching his face twist with disapproval, full brows knitting together. His legs straighten out a bit and he tries to push you back, and you don’t have to look back to know how strained and flushed his erection is, the needy demand in his eyes and touch tipping you off.  

“Y/n,” he mutters, eyelashes fluttering as your lips trace a hot path along his neck, his head tilting to the side automatically. “Y/n...”

“Yes?” You pull back to look at him questioningly, as if you don’t know what he needs, what he’s been waiting for all day. 

He scowls you at you. You squint at him as if not understanding what he’s trying to say. “Fuck, y/n, I’m going to–“ 

“Tell me what you want,” you murmur pleasantly, cutting him off as you lean in, the tips of your noses nearly brushing. His bottom lip quivers, you feel his warm breath on your lips, but no words come out and you decide to help him out. “Do you want me to suck your cock? Is that it, baby?” 

Victor, glare wavering just the slightest bit, gives a small nod and you smile faintly–before your fingers come up to rest on his throat. He freezes, mostly in surprise, but you don’t increase the pressure, just digging in your nails lightly. 

“Say it.” The words are clipped, contrasting with your benign expression. His throat bobs under your touch as he swallows. You can almost see him weigh his options, the way he considers just flipping you over and fucking you senseless; but you’ve talked about this, and he knows you won’t mind but neither of you likes derailing from the agenda. 

“I need you–I need your mouth, your hands, anything. Please suck my dick.” He would never beg, but you’re nonetheless quite delighted with the beseeching note in his voice. 

“Anything for you,” you croon, planting a quick kiss on his cheek as he huffs before shuffling back and onto his thighs, reaching for his neglected cock. It brushes your thigh as you move, and it’s surprisingly difficult to steer yourself away from the thought of just-

Okay. No. Bad y/n.

You start with slow pumps, ducking your head to bring your mouth to it, giving soft kitten licks around the tip, the slightly salty taste of his wetness a familiar one. His breathing stutters as his hands grabbing fistfuls of the bedspread, keeping himself still as you work him diligently. 

It’s nice that he’s being so obedient, but would that remain so in the face of obstacles? You should test him, right? Victor loves his tests, after all. 

You take in as much of his length into your mouth as you can, continuing the motions of your hand as your tongue undulates along it. You take in his soft groan before letting him slip out of your mouth. And then, just as he raises his head to look at you, a protest on the tip of his tongue, you dip the tip of your tongue into the wet slit at the head of his cock–just the slightest bit, and thrilled shivers erupt all over your skin as he slams his head back into the pillow, a helplessly loud groan almost resembling a growl erupting from his mouth.

How lovely.

“Fuck, y/n, please–“ 

At that, you take him in your mouth once more, working it in tandem with your hand as you increase your pace with one goal in mind. Just when you know he’s close, his thighs tensing and his hips beginning to snap into your mouth, your fingers sneak down to fondle his balls carefully. 

Victor comes with a loud curse, a helpless groan of your name; warm, thick liquid fills your mouth and you swallow as much as you can, allowing the rest to dribble down your chin and over your fingers and his skin. You swallow forcefully as you lock eyes with him, savouring the flash of desire in his eyes. 

Victor’s breathing evens out slowly as you clean him up, his limbs relaxed and unmoving, and you start to wonder if he’s dozed off until you look up and catch him watching you. 

Going by the look on his face alone, sleeping seems to be the last thing on his mind. 

“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” You reach for his hand, bringing it up to brush your lips over his knuckles, relishing in his slightly flustered expression. 

You have to wonder why Victor’s so surprised. You did, after all, learn from the best.

He takes a moment to think about it, eyes darting to the harness resting harmlessly on a chair in the corner of the room. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

“Not too tired?” 

“No.” 

You study him for another moment before nodding. “I’ll get us ready, then. Safe word?”

“Dummy.” 

You share a smile at that, chuckling softly as you climb off the bed and reach for the strappy gear. Silently thanking YouTube as you clip it on, feeling like you’re about to raid a tomb, you reach for the chosen dildo and pivot, only to freeze in place. 

Victor seems to have taken it upon himself to get into one of the positions you’d researched, staying on his back and pulling his knees up until they’re closer to his chest, and the visual goes straight to your groin; you swear that you feel your cunt tremble from this sight alone, of this powerful man spread on his back for you, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s saying something. 

“Y/n?” he repeats, looking annoyed when you jump and look at him, before it shifts into something more self-conscious. “I think this should work.”

“Y-yeah...” You amble back over to the bed in a slight daze, grabbing the lube off the side table, sliding onto the bed deftly. Your mouth trembles and dries up: Victor, with his knees up, plugged for nearly an hour now, ready for you to fuck him.

“...Is everything okay?” he peers at you curiously, flushing slightly when you run your fingers over the backs of his thighs. His, now mostly flaccid, cock rests on his stomach, and you decide it to leave it alone for now. 

“Just wondering how I got so lucky,” you admit easily, a sly smile forming on your lips when he scoffs, but the pleased tilt of his mouth gives him away. “Did I mention you’re gorgeous?” 

“Yes, you did.” He averts his eyes but you don’t miss his slight smirk, prompting your own as you reach for the plug. His expression falters as you twist it in place, a soft sound leaving his throat. 

“I’m gonna pull this out now, okay?” 

“Mm.” He shifts as you pull the toy out, pouring the cool lube over your fingers; you circle the flexing hole, eyes darting between your hand and his face. A long finger slides in, followed by a second, and his eyelids flutter as you slide them in and out, marvelling at the way his walls clamp down on them.

“Feels okay?” 

“Yeah,” his mouth parts silently as you angle your wrist, brushing over where you’ve, in the past few weeks, come to know his prostate is. “Ah-feels good.”  You’re glad his eyes are closed; he misses your pleased grin. 

“Y/n,” he opens his eyes, waiting until you look away from the lovely sight of your fingers entering him and meet them, giving you a firm nod. “I’m ready.” 

You can’t help but remember saying those exact words to him, more than a year ago, the night you had sex with him for the first time. The way he grins lets you know he’s remembering the same thing, and you shake your head lightly as you pull your fingers out. 

Well, then, you should aim to be just as good as he was. A lofty goal, but you’ve been in a relationship with arguably the most enterprising man in the city for over a year–and you’re no stranger to ambition.

Once you’re sure the dildo is dripping with enough lube, you shuffle forward, guiding the tip to his entrance. You’re oddly nervous, even though you’ve spent weeks prepping for this, but Victor’s gaze is clear of any worry; his eyes, luminous and fervent, meet yours steadily. You reach for his hand, the one resting beside him, and lace your fingers through his tightly. 

You push the head of the toy through, a part of you wishing you could actually feel it, and stop there. 

“Keep going.” 

“Victor-“ 

“Keep going, y/n,” he gasps, “please.” 

You start moving at once, at his breathless demand, much to your chagrin–old habits do die hard. He groans deeply, chest heaving, hand squeezing yours. You still once you bottom out, your breath stuck in your chest as you watch him squirm, his jaw clenching as he adjusts.

“Okay?” you whisper, your walls squeezing almost despondently around nothing as you watch his cock get stiffer, as he opens eyes glazed over with arousal.

“Yeah,” Victor pushes his hips up lightly, “I’m good. Are you?” 

You try not to laugh, because he’s so sweet even when he’s the one with a five-inch dildo up his ass. “Perfect.” 

“Then move,” he commands, and you bite back a yes sir as you slide out halfway, before sliding back in. “Oh, fuck.” 

“Good?” 

“I love you,” he groans, and this time you do giggle as you start thrusting slowly. “Babygirl, ah, keep going.” 

It feels surreal to be on the receiving end of these words, to be the one fucking him, but you enjoy it immensely, even though the movement feels a bit strange. Perhaps you should’ve listened to Victor and opted for one of those dual dildos. But you’d wanted the first time to be about him, to focus on his pleasure and not let your own be a distraction. Your pace is steady, nearly a grind and he rocks his hips into yours. 

“Harder. I’m not made of glass-“ His choked gasp as you cut him off with a hard snap of your hips sends satisfaction rushing through your veins. No wonder he does it so often, you would love to see that again. 

It takes a few tries to angle it right, to have the toy brushing his prostate, but you’re rewarded by him writhing beneath you, your name falling from his lips in a curse and a prayer in turns. His cock, flushed and erect, bounces enticingly as you drill into him. You hope you’re not rushing when you reach for it, giving it a few quick pumps and Victor cracks. You let go of his cock in slight fear as he shouts, but his other hand finds yours and guides it back to his straining erection. 

“Please, fuck–I’m so close, baby, so close–“ he pants, his hips lifting to meet yours as you pick up your faltering pace. There’s a strange sort of desperation welling in you, a need to see him come, and your hand wraps around his cock firmly as you lift your interlocked hands to place them on his folded knee, his other leg having fallen to the side. 

With his lips parted, deep groans rumbling from his chest, stormy eyes shut tight–Victor looks ethereal as he comes, like a wild god falling apart beneath you. His seed spills over his chest, and he’s shaking, his hand lax in your grip, and you take a moment to breathe before sliding out as gently as you can. 

He hisses as you do so, looking up at you tiredly as you help him turn to his side, unclipping the harness hurriedly as you move over to his side, wiping impatiently at the sweat dripping down your cheeks. 

Your lips brush his temple as you stroke his damp hair gently, drawing a tiny hum from his throat as he presses his face into your stomach. Unsure if you should wake him up if he’s dozed off, you’re relieved when he stirs, tilting his head up and smiling as you kiss him softly. 

“Okay?” 

“Mm.” He moves as if to scoot closer, before pausing and staring down at his chest. 

“Right, here–“ 

Reaching for a small towel and handing him a glass of water as you clean him up, admittedly hovering as he takes small sips; you’re gifted with an eye-roll from him. 

“Calm down.” 

“How does a bath sound?” you ask instead. He considers you for a moment, taking in your nervous expression and wringing hands. He stretches, muscles rippling beneath his skin–and winces. You take that as a yes, scrambling off the bed.

“Only if you join me,” he calls after you as you run to the bathroom. He looks surprised when, after turning the water on, you run to the door of the bedroom. “What are you doing?” 

“Getting you a snack!” you answer over your shoulder, hurrying to the kitchen and grabbing the prepped bowl of fruit. You’re back at his side in record time, place the bowl on the bed as he lounges on his side, head propped up on a palm. 

“I’m fine, y/n,” he sighs, accepting the strawberry with a long-suffering look. 

“I know, but-”

“But nothing,” he pops another slice into his mouth. You settle behind him and he leans back into your arms, something sly in the curve of his smile. You pepper every inch of skin you can reach with soft kisses, resisting the urge to hold him tighter. “Although I could get used to this.”

Your mind flashes back to his face when you first slid into him, the way he’d moaned shamelessly as you thrust into him, the way he fell to pieces when he came. And then you take in the way he’s sunk into your embrace, nibbling contentedly on the snack he ‘didn’t need.’ 

“Yeah. Me too.”

[kunstellation-one]

rendezvous - qian kun (m.)

• synopsis: this is my legitimate reaction after/during the Love Talk mv, like, this is what was going on in my brain. the sort of thing i was imagining. WayV really... released this... in English... with those lyrics...

• warning[s]: smut [dd/bg, orgasm denial, etc] below.  it’s under the read more, read at your own pleasure? idk

• word count: 2.3k

There’s something strangely attractive about the way Kun drags the chair across the hotel room, to the side of the bed where you sit, determined not to look up and meet his eyes. He sets it down adjacent to the bed and leans one arm over the side and sighs.

Other than that, though, he doesn’t say anything, and you can only feel the heat of his gaze running along the curves of your body. Even like this, you want his hands on you instead, ache for his touch like it’s the only thing that can warm your skin.

You know better than to talk out of turn, though. Not when he’s mad, and especially not when you’re the one that’s pissed him off.

It feels like hours before Kun finally speaks. “Baby...”

The cold, sharp growl in his voice makes you gasp a little, and you almost recoil. Almost. But no, you sit there prim and straight-backed and patient, because you have to be a good girl, if there’s any chance of him touching you at all tonight.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” he continues, and you sneak a peek at him as the chair creaks. He’s staring at you, dark eyes burning, mouth set in a hard line, and you know you should be afraid, even a little ashamed of yourself, but all you can think of is how deliciously pure he looks in all white, though you know better. “I don’t want you showing up to the company, ever.”

“But...”

“Don’t argue with me.” He exhales slowly, massaging his temples, and his voice softens, and for a moment, there’s a glimpse of the regular Kun, the one that wakes you up in the morning with a gentle kiss to your forehead and breakfast in bed. “I don’t want anyone seeing you, my love. You know how the fans can be.”

Under your breath, you murmur, “I just wanted to see you, daddy.”

The magic word has never failed you before, but at the sound, he falls silent for so long that you think, maybe, this is the one time it has.

Then he says firmly, “Come here.”

You don’t need further prompting. 

When you’ve settled yourself in his arms atop his thighs, bracing your hands on his shoulder, is when he finally touches you, one hand reaching up to caress your face as the other holds you steady. A smile lights up his features, dimpling his cheeks, and you sigh into his touch. “I love you, you know that?” he murmurs.

You kiss his palm. “I love you too.”

His expression shifts when your lips touch his skin, flashes from affectionate to something else, something darker. “But don’t come by the company building, okay? Or I’ll punish you, and not nicely.”

“Okay.”

He sucks in a breath. “Okay, what?”

You grin, and he laughs, but his hands tighten on your waist, reminding you that he really does mean business.

“Okay, daddy.”

“That’s my babygirl,” he whispers, reaching up to kiss you. And when your lips meet, it’s gentle, loving, a rush of warmth. 

At least, just for a few blissful moments, the two of you revel in it. 

That changes when you shift your weight a little to slide forward in his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he chuckles. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you say, raising a brow as your hips press against his and you feel the unmistakable hardness of his cock against your thighs. 

Kun groans as you cup his face in your hands and continue to press kisses to every inch of his face and neck and whatever exposed skin you can capture. When your mouth descends to his hand and you kiss the calluses of his fingers, he sighs. 

When you bite down gently on the thumb that caresses your bottom lip, he lets out a half-strangled noise-- and that’s when he snaps.

“Stop,” he commands, gripping your jaw in one hand, just tight enough to keep you there, not to hurt you. 

You freeze.

“Did you really think I was going to let you have your fun after what happened today?” he asks. You are still so close to him that you feel his lips barely brush yours with every word he speaks, and you whine, but he shakes his head. “We’ve had this talk before, my love.”

He meets your eye before he does anything, just checking in, like he always does. Asking if it’s okay to continue.

“I consent,” you say, and he smiles.

Then the smile drops away, replaced by the intense stare of a man whose only intent is to teach you a lesson. You shiver in anticipation as his hand slips under your skirt and trails up your thigh to grip it and tug you even closer to him. Just this simple motion has your pulse speeding.

“Good things--”

Slowly, his hand moves to part your thighs, and you hold your breath.

“--don’t--”

His lips brush yours again, and he’s smiling so brightly, it’s as if he’s not doing anything that would be unbecoming if someone walked in the door.

“--come easy.”

And just like you’d known he would, his fingers slide between the lips of your pussy and into you.

You squeak at the sudden feeling of being filled, surging forward to rest your forehead against his. “Daddy--”

“Shh.” He leans in and crushes his mouth against yours to shut you up, keeping his fingers buried inside you. It’s messy, his tongue laving against yours, biting, sucking, but it distracts you just long enough, because when he curls his fingers against your walls you whine again, grinding your hips against his hand. 

That makes him pull back momentarily. “You make such pretty sounds, princess, but keep it down. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“Y-yes, daddy,” you gasp. 

Kun’s fingers withdraw, leaving an aching emptiness behind. Before you can complain, though, he slams back into you, and you muffle the cry that forms in your throat by burying your face in his neck. Then his thumb begins to rubs circles into your clit, and you melt into him with a shuddering sigh as his fingers move inside you, making lewd, wet noises.

He does this again, and again, and again, all the while using his mouth to keep you quiet. 

Not once does he quicken his pace, bringing you to a high point, your chest rising and falling rapidly, but never over the edge. Unconsciously, your hips buck against his hand, but he grips your waist tight when he notices, and denies you that too.

“Uh-uh, my love. Sit still.”

Only when you’re a whimpering, breathless mess, eyes watering with the denial of more, dripping with arousal, does he relent.

“Please,” you implore him, a single tear dripping down the side of your face. It’s all too much, even when it isn’t enough.

When he sees that, he knows you’ve learned your lesson.

“Babygirl,” Kun coos, pressing a kiss to your nose and holding you close. “Don’t worry, I’m done teasing you.”

Tenderly, he lifts you up from his lap, making sure your legs are wrapped securely around his waist, and lays you on the bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as he drags his shirt off of his head and tosses it aside.

He flashes you the dimpled smile you love so much.

Then he kisses your tummy, making you giggle, and takes his time leaving a trail of soft kisses all the way down to your thighs-- and then he looks up at you.

“Daddy--”

“I’m getting there, babygirl.” He laughs at your impatience, and then you arch your back and cry out as he licks your clit, swirls a figure eight around the sensitive nub, and then dips into your folds again. His fingers fill you again-- one, two, and then a third, which has you writhing in the sheets.

“Kun--!” you moan, reaching down to touch him, feel his head bobbing in your hand. “I--”

He doesn’t stop this time, doesn’t let you come down from the high. When his fingers aren’t in you, his tongue takes their place, dipping deftly into your heat and then returning to your clit. Your hips pick up a rhythm against his mouth, and you teeter on the edge of orgasm, that feeling inside of you, that tightness, threatening to take you over.

“Cum for me, baby.”

With one last swirl of your clit, you cum, hips trembling as you ride out the euphoria of your orgasm, heat washing over you in waves as you cry out, nonsense noises, some of them his name, some of them soft little calls of “daddy!”... and the little aftershocks have you whimpering in sensitivity, the involuntary clenching of your pussy leaving you shivering.

Before you can even recover properly, though, you’re already reaching for him, for the zipper of his jeans, and the swell of his cock beneath his boxers.

“I wanna feel you inside me,” you beg him, tugging out his thick length out, running a thumb over the bead of moisture at the tip. He inhales sharply at the sensation.

“Condom,” he reminds you with a laugh, reaching for his wallet at the bedside and unfolding it to pull out the foil and roll it on. 

When he slides into you, stretches you, it makes you squeal in delight. Just like before, he silences you with a kiss, tossing the rest of his clothes-- and yours-- off of the bed.

He sinks into you until your hips are touching, till he is as deep inside of you as he can go, and groans, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “Your pussy feels so good.”

Addled by the orgasm, and by the feel of him filling you up, you say the first thing that comes to mind. “Fuck me, daddy.” 

He hums. “Tell me how you like it, babygirl.”

“I want it rough, daddy.” Your toes curl, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Anything to make my babygirl feel good.” Kun seals your request with a kiss, and then he pulls back and thrusts deeply into you.

Your fingers dig into his back, and he sighs, pleased by your reaction, dropping his head to your breasts to give them some attention to, licking over your erect nipples and sucking on one just hard enough to draw a long, languid moan from you, one that dips and rises as he fucks you hard and fast.

He doesn’t leave any inch of your body untouched, any part of you unexplored. His mouth nips at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, in the cleavage of your breasts, the spot where your jaw meets your ear, and a thousand other places. It’s like basking in the sunlight of a summer day, being showered with his kisses like this, except that he’s also rocking his body into yours, and the both of you are drenched in sweat.

You love this. That you can be ruined like this by him, panting, crying, moaning. That he looks absolutely undone at the sight of you, his moans echoing yours as his pace increases and the bed is creaking with each thrust.

“This isn’t quiet,” you point out, kissing his cheek and reaching down between your two bodies to run a finger over your clit. He doesn’t let you, does it for you, and groans in appreciation as you whine for him.

“Do you really want me to stop and slow down?” Kun chuckles.

“Ah!” you gasp as a particularly hard thrust pushes you deeper into the pillows, and you feel the head of his cock hit somewhere it hadn’t been before. “No, keep going--”

“You feel like heaven, baby,” he admits, quickening his movements on your clit. You feel it coming, too, the tension growing in your body, a string about to be cut, and you grind your hips into his, matching his tempo, your keening whines urging him on, his low growl urging you on. “I don’t know if I can last much longer.”

He lifts you up so you are bouncing on his dick, the other arm wrapped around you to keep you steady. He whispers, giving your clit one last swirl, “That’s it, baby. Beautiful. Cum for me again.”

Your body obeys him, eyes rolling back in your head as the ecstasy rolls over you, hot and all-consuming, your body shaking with the sheer intensity of this orgasm.

“F-fuck,” he chokes out at the same time, hips stuttering as he cums, too, feeling your walls clench so tight around him, and he manages a couple more strokes before he collapses into you, and the two of you lay there, trying to catch your breath, heartbeats racing together. 

Eventually, he pulls back to cup your face and kiss you, slowly, lazily. Enjoying the plushness of your lips rolling against his, breaths mingling. You stay like this for a while longer, until you can’t breathe with all his weight atop you, and you tap his shoulder. “Babe, you’re heavy.”

Obligingly, he rolls off of you. He takes a couple of minutes to tug the condom off, toss it into the trash, and clean himself up in the bathroom. Then he returns to curl against your side, pulling you into his embrace and snuggling you close, tangling his legs with yours. “Did you have fun, baby? You were so good for me, I loved it.” 

“Next time, less edging.”

“Noted.” He kisses your forehead, then your nose, and then a quick peck to your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Also, I’m hungry.” You rub your tummy as it grumbles. 

“If we’re going to get food, I don’t want to go outside. If we leave the hotel, you know the cameras will follow.”

“Room service it is, then,” you yawn, reaching around to wrap your arm around him. “Maybe later, though. I want to sleep.”

He laughs, but doesn’t let you embrace him and pushes gently at your shoulder. “Okay, go use the bathroom first, baby. You don’t want to get a UTI.”

“Ugh, fine.” You go and take your turn cleaning up, and by the time you’ve returned to the bed, Kun has slipped under the covers and is waiting for you to join him, holding the comforter up so you can slide in.

Giggling, you take the empty spot beside him, and hum contentedly as he pulls you to him, enveloping you securely in his arms. Within minutes, you feel his breathing even out, and his heartbeat mellow.

Comforted by that melody, you close your eyes, and sleep too.

[partyinthemysterymachine]

i’m gonna have to ask some people to go to therapy and idk work on their willfully obsessive behaviors over things they could absolutely let go of and move on with their lives in a healthy manner instead of fear-mongering and going out of their way to Spread The Good Word Of These Awful People By The Way Of Buzzwords And Insistence That Their Word Is The Truth And Thus Encouraging Ignorance Amongst Others, Because Morals

there has got to be some energy within some of you that’s Tired of being like this, unless the validation you desperately need is a deep-set addiction that needs to be reassessed post-haste or else doom yourself into immaturity and stunted emotional, mental, and social growth that is done knowingly and consciously, for a person has full autonomy, and the choice to thrust their efforts into getting people in a frothing tizzy is just that: a willing choice, a choking thirst for power that perhaps one might not otherwise have in their lives, backed by a total lack of some kind of control in their world, and is that really the most important thing one can look forward to every day? is that what gets people a burst of pride?

does it feel good knowing how deftly one blinds themselves to their own hypocrisies in the staunch effort to Right, to be Pure, to Warn The Masses, touting accusations in just the right words, order, and tone - a trait learned and used by actual abusers, and one must remember that abusers won’t call themselves abusers, nor will they think that their actions fall underneath that umbrella, because they’d never be like them

it’s impossible for someone with traumatic history to be an abuser like that, because they’ve experienced it firsthand and they know how it feels, so why and how could they ever continue the cycle?

well.. sometimes, people learn by watching others.

and so, the cycle continues, because the behavior is considered okay if around the right company.

discouraging others from doing their own research is cult behavior. declaring the major differences between “us” and “them” and how the “us” is on higher moral ground at all times is cult behavior. telling others that they are “amongst family” and that they will be cared for - so long as they remain within the same thought group as everyone else there - is cult behavior.

guilting others into staying in a community is cult behavior. warning others that they will face severe social punishment for changing their ideas is cult behavior.

saying, “i read this for you so you don’t have to read it, here are the points, it’s okay i’ve saved you from the hurt” when those bullet points are cherrypicked and knowingly taken out of context and warped is cult behavior.

a self-appointed savior, a person who the group has perceived them as a savior, how people treat the savior with groveling attention, lavishing praise (so brave; so valid; so strong in the face of these toxic people despite their traumatic past) and jumping to soothe them whenever they’re having a bad day (and sometimes, it seems like every day is a bad day, or one get turned around into a bad day on a dime and now everyone has to be focused on this person - isn’t it emotionally/mentally taxing? but now you’re an awful person for thinking that. you’re horrible. this person is suffering. how could you be so selfish? why do need support too? it’s awful that they’re having a bad day but so are you, but you can’t say anything for yourself, it’d just look like you don’t care at all) or all be damned.. is cult behavior.

vitriol and shame for a little misunderstanding is cult behavior.

some “friend” groups are nothing but underlying cults that seek to keep people in ignorance and immaturity for the fear that they may be wrong - or that those people see their toxicity, and grow up.

i hope that happy ties to toxicity can be severed; i hope those people can swallow their pride and learn to admit they’re wrong sometimes, sucky as it is, and accept growth rather than actively refuse it; and i hope they can get out.