#my whole life here feels so flimsy

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Take it off

pairing: stripper!felix x afab!reader

genre: smut

word count: 2.9k

warnings: sub!felix, grinding, humping, fingering (m receiving), handjob, nipple play, edging, oral (f receiving), spanking, degradation for a sec, felix is called slut once, dacryphilia (lmk if i missed something), reader is older than felix

a/n: i'm writing a longer seungmin fic but felix just had to be a slut so this happened

~check out: Masterlist

This isn't your regular weekend night, where you curl up with a book and a blanket, some quiet music playing in the background.

No, your perfect peace was shattered as your friends begged, no made you finally go out to a club with them, going as far as also making you put on a short tight dress and heels.

You feel ridiculous, being almost in your 30s, too old to party like some horny teenager but your friends were adamant that you need to get out of your house and stop decomposing.

You wanted to argue but they shut down any excuse you had and you whined dramatically the whole ride to the club about a 'ruined weekend' and 'disturbed peace'.

When you finally walked inside the club, and saw how fancy it was and all the half naked men walking around, only then you realized what kind of club it was.

"Y'all. This is a strip club?"- your mouth fell open as one of the men walked by and threw you a wink.

"Yes. And they also provide some more intimate services."- one of your friends wiggles their eyebrows.

You groan loudly as they take you to a booth they reserved for the four of you.

"I can't believe you tricked me! I don't want some weird oiled up man to grind on me!"- you whine, your face scrunched up in disgust, making your friends laugh.

"Look around, y/n. These men are beyond beautiful. And everything is done with consent. Like we've been here multiple times and we always had a great time. You'll love it, I'm sure."

You sigh as your friend keeps trying to convince you that tonight will somehow change your life.

Some music starts playing which makes everyone cheer and scream, all eyes turned towards the stage.

"It's him!"- one of your friend giggles.

"Who?"- you ask curiously, wondering what's got all these people in a hold.

"The star of the show, Felix. He's like the prettiest man ever."- your friend swoons and you scoff.

How pretty can he be to put the whole room in a trance even before he steps out on stage?

You get your answer as soon as finally emerges from behind the curtain, your mouth falls open in shock, your eyes wide as you stare at the man smirking and walking sensually to the music.

You've never seen someone who looks so angelic, moving so sinfully at the same time, his body supple, every single movement purposeful as he strips the flimsy little shirt he had on.

Your eyes are glued to his chest and perky nipples, his abs and the barely noticeable happy trail and everyone around you cheers but your focus is on him.

His eyes land on you and he gives you a devilish smirk before his eyes change completely, they narrow and darken, staring deep into your soul as he dances and looks only at you.

Your friends are estatic, grabbing at you and saying things like 'Felix likes you', 'he's looking at you', they're freaking out and you're sitting there stunned and with arousal pooling on your panties.

He looks like a hunter and you feel like an animal that he's got his eyes on. It's obvious why he's the star of the show when he can take someone in his hold so quickly, before you even know it you're under his spell.

The performance ends too soon for everyone's liking and the pretty boy slowly makes his way towards you.

"He's coming here, oh my god!"- your friend screams as they grab at you and shake you.

"Calm down!"- you smack their arm, trying to calm your heart too.

"Well, hello there beautiful."- his deep voice shocks you and as he leans in closer, you can see his freckles and the glittery make up on his eyes, and the sweat trickling down his skin making him shine like the prettiest diamond.

"You finally brought your friend that hates going out?"- he looks at your friends and you scold them under your breath. Just how many times have they been here without you?

"Yep, we tricked her into coming out."

"Tsk. Sneaky, sneaky."- he snickers. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Y/n."- your voice is shaky as he stands in your personal space.

"That's a beautiful name, for a beautiful woman. My name is Felix, but you can call me whatever you like."- he flirts and you want to roll your eyes, but you don't even have time to think.

"You seem tense. How about I help you relax? Put on a little show for you?"- he asks, his hand on your chin and your eyes scan around to look at your friends, and all of them give you encouraging looks and nudges.

Oh what the hell, you think. You're a little buzzed and you're already here so might as well make the best of it.

"Do your best, pretty boy."- you smirk, shocking yourself and your friends at your sudden boldness.

That only seems to spur Felix on as he smirks back at you and starts dancing, moving his hips and ass tentatively in front of your face.

You feel hotness surge through your body, the way he moves is delicious, making you feel so hungry to touch him.

It's like he senses that, and suddenly his knees are on either side of your thighs and you gasp as he looks at you through his eyelashes as if asking if he should continue. You give a quiet nod and suddenly he's grinding on you, his hands running on his own body as he touches himself, fingertips brushing his cute pink nipples.

Your friends are screaming your ears off but you're drowning them out, only focusing on the beautiful man who's grinding on your bare thighs.

"You can touch if you'd like."- his voice is even lower as he says it quietly, only for you to hear. His hands are on yours and he brings them to his waist.

You wrap your fingers around him, his skin is smooth and slippery from the sheen of sweat on it and your pussy throbs for more.

His chest is in your face, his ass on your thighs and you can see and feel his erection growing in his pants.

"How about we move this to one of the private rooms?"- Felix smirks, a little out of breath.

You don't know what possessed you but you nod quickly.

"Let's go."- you say and he stands up immediately, reaching his hand to take yours.

Your friends cheer behind you as he leads you away to one of the rooms, the doors closing as you walk in.

It seems like different music is playing in there, more sensual and there's even a little bar in the corner. There's a couch and a bed and you gulp as you stare at it.

"Do you want a drink, beautiful?"- Felix's deep voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

"No, thanks."- you feel a little awkward suddenly as Felix pours himself a drink and chugs on it.

"Now, where were we? You're tense again, sweetheart. We can't have that."- he shakes his head with a smile as he gently pushes you to sit on the couch.

He stands in front of you as you look up at him, shivering in anticipation.

"You want me to take these off?"- he bats his eyelashes innocently, his fingers hooking into the leather pants he still had on.

You nod quietly, your mouth dry suddenly, wishing you actually had something to drink earlier.

Felix smirks as he unzips his pants, slowly sliding them down, making a show of it and you almost moan out loud when you see what he has underneath.

He's almost practically naked, the little black lacy panties revealing everything to you, his semi-hard cock tucked inside them straining almost painfully to come out, his balls cupped by the lace and a pretty little bush above his erection.

"See something you like?"- he says cockily and you look up at the prideful smirk on his face. Something stirs within you, you want to wipe that smirk off of his face and make this man cry and beg on his knees for you.

"Hm. Maybe."- you return a smirk before reaching out for him and grabbing his hips, yanking him down into your lap. Felix gasps from the sudden change from your shy demeanor, and you can see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he looks at you with a glazed over look.

You grip his hips, bringing him down on your thighs, his cock pressing into your flesh. A little moan escapes his pretty plump lips and your hands slide behind to grab a handful of his ass.

"Oh!"- he gasps, rutting against you.

"Tell me pretty boy. What do you want me to do with you?"- you smirk, flipping the figurative card on him and he looks at you hazily as you massage his plushy asscheeks.

"W-whatever you want. I-I'm here to please you."- he's become a stuttering mess suddenly and you're beyond turned on and sick of all the teasing.

You grip his face with one of your hands and crash your lips into his and he kisses you back eagerly and desperately, his cock popping out of it's confines and leaking onto your bare flesh.

"Eager, are we?"- you chuckle against his lips and he whines.

"Mm, yes."- he chases your lips but your hand tangles in his hair, gripping and pulling his head back. A broken moan falls from his lips as you attach yours on his skin, kissing and nipping at him.

Your hands are now on his chest as you run your palms on his nipples and he keens, arching into you, his chubby cock rutting in the spot where your thighs are pressed together.

You lick at his neck before sinking your teeth in his skin and sucking on it, your fingers pulling and pinching on his aroused nipples.

"Oh-h my- ah- please!"- he whines incoherently and you smirk against him.

You've never felt this kind of power over someone and it made you feel so turned on, your panties now soaked with arousal.

"You're so sensitive."- you say as you blow air on the red bruise you sucked onto his neck.

"Y-yes! Please touch me! Please!"- he begs and you have no idea if he's taking on a role or if he's usually like that but you don't care in that moment, any thoughts are thrown in the back of your mind as you grab his leaky cock in your hand.

He whimpers, hips lifting up into your touch immediately as he grips at your shoulders to steady himself.

Your lips kiss and bite wherever you can reach, his neck, his collarbone and finally his nipples as you run your tongue on the sensitive bud, your hand working his pretty cock that's leaking so much and throbbing in your hand.

"Ah!"- he whimpers when you bite down on his nipple before flicking it with your tongue harshly.

He's sputtering nonsense as he grips at you hard, his fingertips digging into your shoulders.

You detach from his nipples when they're red and swollen, slowing your hand down any time his cock twitches, edging him as you dangle the promise of cumming in front of his face before snatching it away from him constantly.

"P-please!"- he cries, tears framing his pretty face as he looks at you with desperate eyes, his hips dragging against you the whole time you play with his cock.

You only smirk, your other hand lifting up before you land a smack on his ass. Felix yelps, burying his face in your shoulder immediately.

"Ah shit! Please, please do that a-again!"- he moans and you chuckle as your hand speeds up on his length again, the flick of your wrist driving him crazy as you smack his ass once more.

"Mm, y/n!"- your name rolls out of his lips so prettily that you just have to smack him again.

"Fuck!"- his cock twitches hard in your hand as you keep the onslaught on his ass.

Your name keeps spilling out of his lips as he shakes on top of you, crying and whimpering as he holds onto you for dear life.

Another thought crosses your mind and you stop all movement only to have him cry out desperately.

"W-why'd you stop?!"- he cries, tears sliding down his cheeks as he looks at you.

"You look so pretty when you cry."- you smirk, gathering the pre cum on your fingertips before your hand reaches behind him.

"P-please let me cum. Please. I'll do anything!"- he really looks desperate and you almost feel bad.

Almost.

Felix gasps and jolts when he feels your fingertips slide under his panties and press against his little hole.

"Is that okay?"- you whisper and he nods quickly.

"Yes, yes!"- he moans as you circle your fingers, smearing the pre cum on him.

Your other hand grabs a hold of his cock again and this time you decide to finally let him cum as you sink your finger inside his fluttering hole, meeting a little resistance as he leans forward on you, grabbing onto your upper back and whimpering.

You start fucking your finger in and out of him, hitting his sweet spot as your other hand matches the pace on his cock.

Felix is falling apart in your lap, his mind cloudy, the only wish his body has right now is to cum for you.

He grinds into your touch, matching the movements of your hands and it doesn't take long for that familiar feeling to blossom inside him.

"Please, please, please-" - he mutters desperately and you chuckle, teeth nipping at a sensitive spot beneath his ear.

"Cum for me, pretty."- you say and Felix keens, his cock twitching before he explodes, spurts of hot white cum painting your black dress, his hole clenching around your finger like it doesn't want to let go.

You keep fucking into his prostate as you milk him dry and he cries and begs for you to stop.

You finally move your hands away when his cock goes completely limp against you.

You grab his face and kiss his lips, you can taste the saltiness of his tears on them and you push your tongue inside his mouth, circling it around his. You swallow all his moans before grabbing a hold of his hair and leaning him back.

"Get on your knees."- you tell him and his eyes widden a little before he scrambles to get up.

"You're getting a little reward for being such a good boy for me."- you smirk, caressing his cheek with your thumb as Felix looks at you dumbly, his mind completely gone from the pleasure he feels.

You lift up your ruined dress, and Felix moans at the sight of your soaked panties.

"Take them off."- you say and he does so, the sight of your glistening pussy makes his spent cock twitch miserably against his thigh.

"What are you waiting for?"- you grip his head and bring him closer to you as you spread your legs more.

Felix's eyes flutter and he wastes no more time as he buries his face between your legs. His plump lips leave kisses all around your throbbing pussy before he presses them into your clit.

Your breath hitches in your throat when he pushes the tip of his tongue into your clit and starts flicking it slowly, pressing into it.

"Mm"- you moan, hands gripping his hair. He grabs at your thighs and runs his tongue on your folds, moaning at the sweet taste of you.

You don't let him lift up as you slowly start grinding on his face while he laps at you greedily, his tongue fucking in and out of your cunt, he's drooling and making a mess out of you.

You smirk when you feel his hips push into your leg, his cock against your skin as he starts rutting against you like a dog in heat.

"What a desperate little slut you are."- you chuckle as you pull on his hair and grip his head with your plushy thighs.

He moans into your pussy, the vibrations making your core throb and you're close.

"Keep going. Make me cum."- you say as he keeps eating you out and humping against you.

You grind against him, dragging your pussy on his face before the coil finally snaps and you spill your release on his tongue and chin.

Felix mewls, his hips jolting as he cums untouched, his cum spilling on the floor right between the heels on your feet, a few drops landing on the straps.

He licks around his lips and looks at you, his eyes still glazed over and not a single thought in his head.

"Look what a mess you made."- you lean in closer to look at his face.

"Y/n..."- he whimpers your name, seemingly the only thing he knows right now.

"Came untouched."- you click your tongue. "You really are pathetic. But I'd still like to take you home. What do you think about that?"- you grip his chin.

He whines a little, his tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip as he leans into your touch.

"I'd love to. My shift ended anyways."

"Right."- you lean back suddenly. "How much do I-"

"No"- he shakes his head. "This was for my pleasure too."- he says, seemingly coming to his senses.

He stands up suddenly and the cocky smirk on his face is back.

"Take me home then. I'd like for us to get more acquainted with each other."

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong

[flowerfan2]

Steve falls hard, is the thing.  At least, he does this time.  He knows it’s crazy, that Eddie has only been out of the hospital for a few weeks, that Steve has only really known him for a few days more than that. But he knows more than most people that life is full of cliffs and dangers and if there’s happiness to be had, he’s ready to take it.

It happens so quickly that he speeds right past any potential sexuality crisis, doesn’t pass go, just realizes one evening while he’s tucking a blanket around Eddie’s feet when he dozes off on the couch that he’s in love.   He knows it’s real, because Eddie’s feet are frankly stinky since it’s still hard for him to get around, and yet Steve’s content to curl up with Eddie’s feet in his lap and make sure they stay toasty warm.

He tells Robin that night, and once she’s finished swatting him with a nearby magazine and then hugging him until his ribs squeak, she asks him what he’s going to do about it.  “Tell him,” Steve answers, and Robin stares at him as if he’s grown two heads (he hasn’t, he checked).  “Just like that?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Know any good reason to wait?” Steve asks, and when Robin shakes her head no, he smiles.

The next day Steve puts on a clean pair of khakis and his favorite striped polo.  He ever so briefly considers wearing something not so preppy, but he doesn’t think Eddie would appreciate anything less than the truth.  The real Steve, polo shirts and all.  Begin as you mean to continue, and all that.

When he arrives at the trailer the next day (yes, that same goddamned trailer, flimsy and broken but in somewhat better shape than it was a few weeks ago), Steve takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, then remembers he’s supposed to use his key so that Eddie doesn’t have to get up off the couch too often.  He juggles the grocery bag in his arms and finds the key, glad to see when he gets the door open that Eddie hasn’t been disturbed.  In fact, it looks like he’s fast asleep.

Steve puts the groceries away and settles at the end of the couch like he always does, pulling Eddie’s feet onto his lap, and paging through a comic book.  A little while later Eddie stirs, blinking his eyes open and smiling at Steve.

They decide to watch a movie, but after a few minutes Eddie complains that his neck hurts from lying in the same position all day.  Steve helps him switch around so that his head is at the other end of the couch, and Eddie continues to gripe, but he’s smiling the whole time.  Steve can tell he likes the attention, likes when Steve slides an arm around his back and gently rearranges his limbs.  Steve likes it too.

Steve fetches some snacks from the kitchen and returns to find Eddie shuffling himself around again, claiming that the new position isn’t working either.  Soon they’re sitting next to each other, legs stretched out on a pillow on the coffee table, the television directly in front of them.  Steve is getting a suspicious feeling about the whole thing, and it only intensifies when Eddie gives a little sigh and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder.  “Thanks,” Eddie says softly.  “This is perfect.”

Steve’s not sure how much time goes by – time is weird when you’re practically holding your breath – but when he tilts his head to look at Eddie, Eddie’s looking right at him.  

“Eds?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m falling for you, you know.”

Eddie bites his lip and smiles, his nose crinkling adorably.  “Yeah, I figured.”  He turns back to the television and snuggles in closer against Steve’s side.  “It’s good, ‘cause, you know.  Me too.”

______

You can read all of my Steddie ficlets in one place on A03 here.

[edgeray]

*presses my face against your tank* HELLO RAY !!! :D I AM FINALLY HERE !! MY BRAINCELLS HAVE COLLIDED AND PRODUCED A THOUGHT !!

or, er, sort of? more like a vague vibe, but i digress. basically, consider: pining arle. how does she realize her feelings for you? how does she cope? how does her behaviour around you change? does it? what is she thinking the whole time? when would she consider making a move? essentially i would like to see you psychologically pick apart this woman. go as in depth into her brain or inner monologue as you want !!! the set dressing can be canon or an au, i’ll eat it up regardless :)) and as a professional angst writer i know you can write some absolutely monstrous (/pos) yearning and i’m frothing at the mouth thinking about it 🤤🤤🤤 lookin forward to your thoughts but also take your time with it !!! godspeed 🫡🫡🫡

An Unfit Role 

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Oh sev… you spoil me too much. You truly do. Somehow this turned into very ‘Arlecchino is a person'-esque and I don't know how but oh well. I don't know if this answered your questions very well, but hopefully this is what you mean by psychologically picking apart her! Was this enough pining? Content warnings / info - uhh none I think. just a lil bit of angst, 1.4k words

Arlecchino is many things. The Fourth Fatui Harbinger, a Snezynayan diplomat, the head of the House of the Hearth, and simply ‘'Father.’ She takes on many roles, and enforces them with an iron fist, every facade meticulously practiced and rationalized. Perfected as if she were an actor on a stage, every action and step is calculated beforehand. And if external factors or unpredictable variables crop up in the midst of her play? Well, a good actor knows how to improvise. Arlecchino is well aware of her roles, has memorized the lines and drilled through every movement. The Knave has many feats from each character she plays. A flawless performer, in those aspects.

A lover is not a character she can play. Someone who loves. It is a role that she cannot hope to touch, one she cannot imagine assigning herself too. She is far too inexperienced in what it pertains to. Her perception would grossly mischaracterize it, painting a rather crude display of what she knows of but doesn't know. After all, how could one act without an adequate example? No actor would want to showcase a poor impression of an original source material, an actor presents only their most remarkable qualities. A good actor knows what they cannot act, and it is this where her talents reach their limit. It is what her role as a ‘Father’ stems from; this inability to express something far too fragile and flimsy for her to hold. 

Of the few showcases of others playing the role, Arlecchino is knowledgeable enough that they are simply inept showcases. The Tsaritsa, who has shown the capability to act, and yet chooses to conceal her abilities from her audience. Crucabena, an unqualified actor, whose words dripped with far too much venom for the soft-spoken voice that she used. Perhaps Clervie was the only accurate and genuine actor able to play the part, but one cannot appreciate the traits of an unfinished story. And the naive Peruere, who could hardly imitate her counterpart, was maimed by Arlecchino’s own hands. It is here that she learns that the role of a lover earns no applause, because it adds little to the plot, and so it lacks a function in her story.  

Despite this, she finds herself in this scene, where she plays a character unlike her usual, an entirely new character involuntarily thrusted into her by the cruel machinations of her mind. 

It is a subtle thing. First, she was just the Knave to you. But somehow, among your presence, her facade slips, and she dons another character. 

She becomes a character who knows of nothing but the way her sight is captured by a singular person, a character whose dead heart begins to beat, daring to flutter back to life after it was painfully wrenched out of her chest by her favorite story's ending. She becomes acutely aware of this role when her eyes linger on you a moment longer than need be, when she indulges your empty but no less engaging conversations, when she familarizes herself with the particular fauna scent you carry. When she closes her eyes, your smile flashes through her mind, she knows she's fallen. 

An actor knows when to quit, when they misfit the character they're performing. And yet her mind remains stubborn. Acting a role one does not fit will only damage the actor's reputation, and she intends on abandoning it. But it is difficult for her to dismiss how much she yearns for a warmth that the blood flames in her veins cannot bring. It is difficult to deny that she is not momentarily blinded and stunned by your beaming expression, even when you are not looking at her. It is increasingly more difficult to control the pulsing underneath her skin. This is a character she cannot control, instead, it often feels that the character controls her. 

It is an unseemly, disgusting appearance for her. If it were physically possible, she would plunge her very own cursed, clawed hands into her chest, to grasp onto this fickle, volatile organ and crush it just to exhaust the remaining embers of a futile hope. If only it were as simple as that. Love is far too much of a complicated role for her, and yet it is somehow inescapable. Some sort of torment placed onto her by the archons. 

She can long, she can reach, she can prance around you, but never can she touch. For love imprints its scorch marks deeper than any weapon or assault. One of the lessons her story has concluded to. 

So, instead, she reduces its role to a minor character. She lets her stares remain, but she observes you from a distance. She does not dawdle a second longer besides you if she needn't be. She dresses the role of a lover as an observer. Everything she touches with these wretched, blackened hands soon turns into nothing but embers and ashes, and so the only way that you will remain is away from her.

On her desk, sits a vase with a single flower. It is your favorite flower, the flower that you smell of. It does not move from its place, nothing is done to it besides being watered. Its stem is so brittle, and the petals are far too easy to wither away.

(It is a reminder, every time she sits at her desk. Oh, how'd she like to stroke the patels with as much tenderness as she could muster. How'd she like to cradle it in her hands, this source of life, despite being so delicate, is so beautiful. How'd she like to be able to wake up everyday, and view upon this blossoming flower. But she is not a gardener. She knows nothing of how to make a flower bloom.) 

Humans are the only viable actors for the role of a lover. A curse is not. 

(In her dreams, sometimes you are in place of Clervie. Yet, like Clervie, the only moment she is able to cradle you is when her sword impales you. She will not let another flower wilt, she will not burn another flower.)

It is why you baffle her. Why do you gaze upon her with that expression, as if her claws are not one one more inch from piercing your skin and ripping into your flesh? How do you take her hands in yours, somehow slotting them as if they were always meant to, when they’re soiled with vulgar blood? Her cutting words and sharp tongue, how do they not dissuade you? How do you see her blackened skin, and not be driven away by such a mark of impurity and depravity? 

How could you not tell that she is improper for the role that you seek?

She wonders if a flower is a poor description of you. She wonders if you are instead a Sundew ensnaring a spider, unwilling to let it escape. No, perhaps that is not fitting for you, because you are unaware how effortlessly she can char you–unaware of the imminent danger that comes with keeping such a venomous creature.

Arlecchino is many things. She is a coward, if only for you. She cannot abandon her role, but she cannot perform better, floating in the state of inadequacy that she so despises. Playing a lover makes her foolish, and it is a compromising role. 

She is foolish, but she is despicable. She is selfish. And though she is perfect actor, even performers must fail to succeed. One day, her mental will and patience crumbles. She requests you into her office, your doe-eyed expression widens when she gives you the flower that sits lone in a glass vase on her desk. She tells you that you plague her thoughts, every feeling and emotion is muddied when they concern you, a culmination of things not within her grasp, not within her control. 

It is your performance that finally teaches her what she lacked before: playing the role of a lover requires another. It is a role dependent on another character, otherwise it cannot succeed. It matters not how experienced one is with the other, as long as the characters are committed to it.

There is another lesson that she learned from you.

“I cannot act as a lover.”

“Why must you act to love me?”

Love is a fickle, unpredictable thing. There is no words to be practiced, no actions to be scripted. 

Arlecchino is many things. A lover may be one of them. 

[pinkmirth]

I think we need some headcanons of cowboy Reiner

— ( save a horse, ride a cowboy! )

༉‧₊˚. — synopsis: just a cluster of fluffy and smutty headcanons for none other than the love of my life, cowboy reiner!

༉‧₊˚. — contains: (2k words of…) cowboy!reiner x fem!reader, (black coded), fluff, nsfw/smut, modern au, southern setting, established relationship (married), fantasies of having a child, breeding kink (‘cause this is reiner we’re talking about duh!), mentions of pregnancy, bondage kink, oral (m!receiving/blowjob), cowgirl position, doggy-style, creampie, reiner calls himself “daddy”, use of the petnames (mama, sugar, darling, honey, cowgirl), reiner calls you “woman” once, lowercase intended, minors shoo!

༉‧₊˚. — mira’s note: oh absolutely, nonnie! here are some thoughts I have on cowboy rei-rei 💕 (check masterlist for other reiner fics!)

this man is always covered head-to-toe in classic cowboy attire— embroidered cowboy boots, blue denim jeans with a lasso hanging from his belt loop, and a trusty old cowboy hat. he’s got the whole getup, and he looks even sexier in it every time you see him! though, his best look by far is the shirtless one. it’s the highlight of your day when whenever it gets too warm outside, because he’s soon to peel off his top. from across the farm, he can feel your eyes burning into his lightly-tanned skin as he does the most mundane chores. his muscles tense and flex with every move, pecs gleaming with sweat. he shoots you a smirk, folding his arms across his bare chest. “y’like what ya see, honey?” you pray the weather’s even hotter tomorrow.

it warms his heart whenever you come around to watch him do his daily chores around the farm. your presence motivates him to work harder, so he can continue to provide for you and sustain your comfortable lifestyle. you try not to be too much of a distraction, but you can’t help wanting to be closer to your husband; so you tug at his leather belt and pull him in for a kiss. that gets him giddy like nothing else. “ya know how much i love it when y’do that… gimme another,” he puckers his lips, and you giggle. “i don’t wanna keep you sidetracked for too long, rei. you were busy before i got here,” you caress his stubbled cheek and he pouts in response, leaning forward to receive another pillowy kiss. “jus’ one more, mama.”

cowboy reiner loves to cook and bake! he often goes on farmer’s market dates with you, walking hand in hand as you help him pick out the freshest ingredients and spices. you chat and laugh amongst one another, dropping carrots and apples into the hand-woven basket that reiner made for you. after arriving back home, he allows you to relax in yours and his shared bedroom while he whips together a hearty southern meal for the two of you. he shouts from across the house, adorned in nothing but a short pair of checkered boxers and a flimsy apron, “supper’s ready, darlin’! come on down ‘n eat!”

he’s great with animals! reiner cradles an adorable month-old horse in his strong arms, feeding milk to the baby with a soft smile. it’s just about the sweetest thing you could ever see! all the little foals follow him around the ranch because they love papa reiner just as much as you do <3 he’s built something of a connection between himself and his beloved herd, which is why he’s able to bring the horses over to their stables with no hassle whatsoever. this man could practically be a veterinarian with all the animal knowledge he has!

he’s a locally known rodeo champion! reiner wins the prize for longest bull-riding every single year. he should allow someone else a fighting chance, at least 😭 but he’s just effortlessly good at anything he puts his mind to! he skillfully rides the beast with such ease, leaving the crowd in awe. courtesy of his natural-born strength, he hardly ever gets tossed off. reiner’s got medals galore hanging on his wall from every competition.

as a southern man, he’s very family-oriented. his loved ones are of the utmost importance to him, and he’ll always put family first before anything else. he utterly adores you, and can’t wait to start a tiny lil family of his own with you <3 when I tell you this man cannot wait to be a papa, I mean it! there’s no denying that reiner would be an amazing father, considering that he’s so caring and attentive. he knows the best tickle spots to target, and the silliest faces to make to get a child cracking up (both of which he discovered through spending lots of time with gabi when she was small.) he constantly daydreams about dressing up his little one in tiny boots and overalls and carrying them up on his shoulders. (yes, I’m pushing the daddy rei-rei agenda on this fine weekend!)

cowboy reiner has manners like none other— the epitome of a true gentleman! he’s a great listener, is always so patient, opens doors for you, pays for your things without hesitation, gives frequent massages, carries you when you begin to feel tired; the list goes on! he’s just so kind and selfless, and never fails to show it. cowboy rei-rei is truly the perfect husband. “your feet hurt? well c’mere, sugar. i’ll carry you. it ain’t too much for me, y’know i can handle ya! jus’ hold onto me. i gotcha, okay?”

cowboy reiner is a grown man who can wholly appreciate your body and every striking detail about it. he scrutinizes the small dotted beauty marks scattered across your skin, your cutely patterned stretch marks, the curves and crevices of your soft tummy and thighs, and he fucking loves it all. makes it a habit to kiss up and down your body, just to give you a well-needed confidence boost. this man right here surely knows how to make a woman feel special! “listen t’me— you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, y’know that?”

(nsfw) — reiner loves when you treat him to a surprise blowie during work. he’s up to the usual, arranging things around the barn and tending to the animals. you then make your entrance, wrapping your arms around his waist to hug him from behind. your plump lips curve into a sensual smile as you ask him, “can I steal you for a moment, baby? it won’t be for too long, I swear it.” in an instant, he's allowing you to pull him away from his duties, unknowing of where you’re taking him, but also uncaring because he’d allow you to do whatever you please. he follows you with the goofiest smile plastered on his charming face, because he knows that he’s about to receive the most knee-buckling blowjob of his entire goddamn life. you bring him into the hayloft, pushing him against the red-painted wall until he’s flat against it. you drop to your knees and bring his jeans down with you. “fuck, darlin’… kiss the tip ‘fa me.” he moans lowly. you do as he wishes, suckling on his cockhead with the most beautiful, glistening eyes. you’re so eager to please, and it makes him throb on your tongue. with a hand at the back of your head, he guides you further onto him until you’ve swallowed the entirety of his fat dick. reiner ruts his hips, fucking into your wet mouth. you always know just how to make him feel so good, so loved. he adores you like nothing else. “oh, that’s it, honey, right there… atta girl.”

(nsfw) — the bondage kink on this man is insane, I tell you! cowboy reiner loves to keep your hands tied behind your back and watch you squirm against the rope. “rei,” in a breathless whine, his name falls from your plush lips. you wiggle your ass in the air for him, anticipating his next move. he takes you from the back, raw-dogging your pussy with a merciless pace. you truly wonder where he gets all this unparalleled energy to drill you into the bed, especially considering all the hard work he puts into maintaining the farm every day. one large hand of his stays planted on your waist, hastily grabbing, while the other holds onto your tied hands for leverage. he delivers harsh, deep-reaching thrusts, with his firm hips sharply smacking against you from behind. your wrists struggle against the rope, and he can tell just how desperate you are to touch him. his gaze is fixated on your soft body; every jiggle of your ass and ripple of your thighs is more hypnotizing than the last. you mewl for him, stuttering out something along the lines of ‘t—too much!’ … reiner leans down until his chest grazes the arch of your back, so that he can say, “quit alla-that whinin’, woman.” he clicks his teeth, flooding your ears with that sexy southern drawl of his. “y’can take it all, you’ve done it before.”

(nsfw) — we all know it, the entire goddamn fandom knows it: cowboy reiner has a massive fucking breeding kink! he wants nothing more than to get you pregnant by stuffing your pliant womb with his thick loads of cum. giving you a creampie makes him go completely wild; he watches his seed drip down your slit with hitched breath. a sight such as that is enough to get him hard all over again. the lust takes over, and he’s thinking with his dick for the next three rounds. plowing into you and rubbing at your puffed clit with calloused fingertips, reiner asks, “want me to come inside you? hm?” he gently holds onto your chin, directing your gaze to him. you dazedly look at your husband, pulsing around his thick cock. seeing how fucked-out you are makes his chest swell with the utmost pride. his greatest achievement is being able to please you. “tell me how bad y’fuckin’ want it, baby.” he rasps. your pleading moans urge him to release for you. his warm, pearly arousal seeps into you for the nth time that night. all he wants is to fill you up until you’re walking funny, with your leg shaking from all the stimulation. or, at least until that little stick comes out positive one day. having you grow plump with his child is his ultimate fantasy. “you’d look so stunnin’ as a mama, carryin’ my baby… don’t’cha think so, sugar?”

(nsfw) — reiner likes to let you wear his cowboy hat while you ride him. mounting onto your husband with your legs on either side of his hips, you straddle him. your dainty hands are planted on his broad chest for balance. he pulls off his iconic hat, hair cutely tousled from wearing it all day, before sitting up to place it on your head. “since you’ll be the one ridin’ tonight. giddyup, cowgirl.” he teases with a slick grin. you tip the hat with a breathy laugh before sinking down on his fat dick, maintaining sharp eye contact with him as your throbbing cunt takes him in little by little, until your clit’s grounded and snug against the dark-blonde tufts of his happy trail. his warm palms rub along your body as you swivel your hips, slamming down on all nine girthy inches that he has to offer. he watches your tits bounce, one manicured hand of yours squeezing at your left boob while the other holds onto his hat that rests upon the crown of your head. you rock back and forth with fervor, and he swears he can feel every spongy ridge of your contracting pussy. he throws his head back onto the pillows and gazes at you with the prettiest set of honey-golden eyes, hooded and lust-blown. gravelly moans fall past his agape lips as he spurs you on, giving your ass a thorough smack, “bounce on it, jus’ like that— yeah, fuck daddy’s cock.”

[mage-of-mip]

Half-Foots and Ainu Culture in Dungeon Meshi

It sometimes feels like I might be grasping at straws with this, but I do feel like it's not completely unfounded. Please note, I am a white woman living in the USA, I am by no means an expert on Japanese culture in general, much less a marginalized subculture. I have simply made limited attempts to educate myself out of genuine interest born from exposure to media about Ainu characters and culture. I am always hoping to learn more.

I think it's fairly obvious that many parallels can be drawn between Ryoko Kui's Half-Foot race, and more than one ethnicity or subculture in real life. Romani, Irish, and Jewish stereotypes come to mind immediately.

But I think there's another one that may be explored less in the text, and much harder to catch by a western reader, but nonetheless could be intended by Kui, or perhaps was at one point. That of the Ainu people of Hokkaido, Japan.

There's not a lot of translated information about the Ainu online, so please bear with my limited knowledge. In short, the Ainu are the indigenous people of Northern Japan. For generations, their way of life has been taken from them and they were forced to assimilate to the wider Japanese culture. There are not many who still fully practice the cultural heritage in this day, but there are movements to bring the Ainu culture back.

In Delicious in Dungeon, there are two instances that reference the Ainu, both relating to Chilchuck. This could, of course, be a coincidence, especially if there are more references that I missed. It may be flimsy, but it still feels significant that this is the case, and that Half-Foots are or were meant to be an allusion to the Ainu.

This is the first instance. A significant panel in the context of the story. To my knowledge, this is the only specifically Ainu dish that's referenced in the text. On it's own, its just an interesting factoid, and the same dark humor that's being used for all the other character deaths in this fight against Thistle.

This is the second instance. From the supplemental material rather than the main story, Chilchuck is discussing what Half-Foots are called across the languages. The one that caught my eye here is the one in the top corner. Koropokkur.

The Koropokkur are a race of small people in Ainu folklore, their name meaning "those who live under the butterbur leaves".

Again, in a vacuum, this could just be a Japanese person using a Japanese word in her manga. But I think it's interesting that the two instances of Ainu culture being referenced have to do with Chilchuck and Half-Foots as a whole. It could warrant a deeper read-through looking for other references, perhaps by someone more educated than myself.

I think this could have some interesting implications in the wider worldbuilding. Perhaps the Half-Foots have faced similar cultural erasure and assimilation attempts, which is why a lot of their customs and clothing are just "Tallman but smaller", and why other races regularly mistake them for the children of tallmen, despite having pretty noticeable differences in how they look other than just their height(their disproportionately large ears, for example).

This idea might be a tad more indulgent, but I also like the idea that Half-Foot children don't receive a permanent name until they are toddlers. At one point, in Ainu culture(this may not be practiced today, I could not find information on that), the Ainu would give their children "vulgar" placeholder names until they started forming personalities, as a ward against evil spirits. Perhaps the same is done for Half-Foot children, and their two part names are selected when they are a little older.

Again, these are just the observations of an outsider looking in, please feel free to correct any mistakes I may have made! And if I'm completely off-base or have said something offensive, I apologize and will delete or amend the post as necessary.

[azen13]

The Lives and Losses of Lovers

Description: This is actually inspired by a post by @lum1nesc3nce, which you can find here! TLDR: Zhongli x God!Reader, where Zhongli kills his lover but they stay alive. This does have a bit more of a Yandere!Zhongli flavor, though, so be warned!

CW: Yandere Themes, Descriptions of Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Murder, Mild Gore,

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The patio is warm, blessed with the touch of the sun’s earliest rays. Already you and Zhongli sit in two comfortable chairs; he sips on tea, you on coffee. It is a scene that has played out a thousand times, yet one Zhongli never tires of. He never tires of seeing your face aglow, of feeling your body leaning against his, of knowing you are here, miraculously breathing life through your bones and skin.

“My dear, I was wondering,” Zhongli starts, his soft contemplative voice shattering the flimsy silence blanketing the porch. “Would you like to accompany me to Liyue Harbor to purchase some groceries?” It is a reward–he thinks as he revels in your surprised reaction–for how understanding you have been in these turbulent times. With the whole mess regarding the Fatui cleared up and a mundane mortal life ahead of him, Zhongli can afford to spend more moments with you in sweet, blissful love.

Perhaps one day it will make up for that vile scene years ago, the moment his heart became stone: your body splayed stunningly on the ground, looking like the most gilded, horrific masterpiece he had ever seen. Painted in sunlit hues, his spearhead sticking from your chest splattered with blood made of molten gold. 

Even nearly dying you looked breathtaking. 

He is still suffering from regret for the decision. At the time, the situation was looking grim; Guizhong and Azhdaha were both gone, leaving you his only close friend. He spent many moonlit nights sharing tea and hushed conversation, as well as tears and heartfelt confessions with you. Zhongli is not the god of words, but just the sight of your iridescent eyes made him want to tell you every trouble and every worry had. You were his most valuable treasure, his lover through and through. Your contract with him, to always stand by side, loyal to one another, made him so weak, so soft, so human.

But that was the issue. Everyone knew of his love, his tender affection; unbecoming of a god who wielded earth and stone as weapons. His life was plagued by phantoms day and night. When he dreamed he envisioned you being kidnapped by some evil god like Osial and being tortured. Killed. Doomed to a fate worse than death, even. In the day, every action you did reminded him of a delicate tree weathering a deluge. Your branches swayed in the intense winds and even the earth couldn’t anchor you.

So he pleaded. He begged you to stay tucked away in his private domain where no great evil could stalk after you, promising to love you for an eternity of eternities. He would love you until every mountain had become a valley. But you refused, saying you wanted to live every facet of life, turning the world like a kaleidoscope in your hands.

The mirrors shifted and the skies turned red.

Those prophecies he had dreamt, uttered to him by ghosts haunting his mind, came true. You were taken away by some pesky, lowly god, and confessed all that you knew. That was fine. Zhongli was made of stone and Cor Lapis, and even if this insignificant insect of a god knew his weaknesses–few as they were–Zhongli eviscerated them.

But the contract.

When the god was sealed away beneath the sea, Zhongli fell to his knees, mouth opened but unable to utter any words.

Zhongli is not the god of words.

It is horribly tragic, he mourns as he stares at your hollow expression, that you must face the wrath of the rock because of a ridiculous choice of words. “To always stand by his side.” You have technically betrayed him.

The earth shakes for weeks afterwards. The sudden freak earthquake is talked about for weeks on end before people move on, as life does. Zhongli does not. His memory of you remains petrified, his new specter. He will never truly love again for thousands of years. Every time he is reminded of you, a piece of his heart chips away

But then you came back. 

That day is amber, crystallized in his mind. Seeing you in the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor, so lost after centuries away from home. At that moment, Zhongli decides he will not make the same mistake twice. He would have preferred more time to draw you in carefully, but he is afraid now. Afraid that some hideous twist of fate will rip you from him again. So he whisks you away to his private domain, and drafts up a new contract, binding you to him in matrimony forever. 

Please forgive him, he begs after you sign the contract in gold, tears dripping down your cheeks. He only wishes to protect you; he has always wished to protect you. But the world is cruel to lovers, and not even the strong can uphold such a delicate thing. 

In Zhongli’s private domain, wicked things like time and fate are nonexistent. Zhongli is the only god that rules these lands. He is a benevolent god, if a little possessive. After being deprived of you for so long, he craves your presence, he claims. Day and night, he tries to spend every living moment with you. When he cannot, you are ever-present in his mind–a living, breathing thing instead of the dead spirits that once terrorized it for all those years.

Some days you seem despondent, craving room to spread your branches far and wide. But Zhongli simply chuckles and kisses the top of your head; he smells the gentle scent of your shampoo, knowing this is what is best for you. He whispers it quietly, lacing sweet nothings and honeyed words into his voice as he pulls you into his arms. You haven’t tried to fight him on this in years, either. It’s part of the reason why he has proposed going on a  little trip to Liyue Harbor. Perhaps if all goes well, he’ll allow more trips out of the private domain. All supervised by his watchful eye, of course. After a few moments of stunned surprise, you finally have the courage to speak. “I-I’d love to. Thank you, Zhongli,” you say quietly. Zhongli smiles, leaning to press a delicate kiss to your lips.

“You are very welcome, my treasure,” he whispers, a hand reaching to cup your face; his thumb reaches to brush your lips tenderly.

He can tell that you are still afraid of him, fearful that he will hurt you again. No matter. One day, Zhongli hopes, you will shed your fear like a caterpillar in chrysalis, and emerge into a glittering world full of Zhongli’s love for you. 

[shitsndgiggs]

Hello there i am new here and love your work so much, this is my first ever request so i hope you could consider writing when you have time.

So the oc and Kenan have know each other since child and their family are also close. Oc have a huge crush on Kenan so did him, but oc is not afraid of showing it so everyone around them friends and family knew about it. They never confess but their actions shows. Kenan have lots of girls pursuing him so oc have moments where she is vey jealous because Kenan is a kind hearted person and talks nicely to them, but Kenan somehow make up to it(?). But.. one day she saw him kiss a beautiful influencer and assume they are dating and oc distance herself from Kenan's life. And Kenan try go win her back and confess to each other.

A little angst with fluff and happy ending please. Thank you <3

JUST US - KENAN YILDIZ

… idk what to write here

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Growing up in a small town, the lines between family and friendship were often blurred. My family and Kenan’s were the epitome of that.

From playdates to family dinners, our lives were intertwined in ways that made it impossible to separate one from the other.

We were always together, whether we liked it or not. But as we grew older, what started as innocent childhood companionship evolved into something more complex—at least, for me.

I don’t remember the exact moment I realized I had a crush on Kenan. Maybe it was when he defended me against a playground bully in third grade, or when he spent a whole weekend helping me finish a school project that was due on Monday.

Or perhaps it was the way he always had this stupid grin on his face whenever he saw me, like seeing me was the best part of his day. Whatever it was, my crush on him grew slowly, steadily, until it became impossible to ignore.

Unlike most people with a secret crush, I didn’t exactly try to hide it. I couldn’t help but blush whenever he was near, and I’d make up the most ridiculous excuses just to spend more time with him.

My friends teased me about it constantly, and our families noticed, too.

They’d exchange knowing looks whenever I gazed a little too long at him, or when I found some flimsy reason to sit next to him at the dinner table. It wasn’t a secret to anyone—except Kenan himself.

Despite my obvious affections, Kenan remained blissfully unaware. He was kind-hearted and warm, with an easygoing nature that drew people to him, especially girls.

And that was the problem.

Even though everyone knew how I felt about him, Kenan never seemed to catch on, or maybe he just didn’t feel the same way.

It didn’t help that there were always girls pursuing him, drawn in by his charm and good looks. He never shied away from them, always speaking kindly, his warm nature making him a magnet for attention. I hated it.

Jealousy wasn’t a feeling I was proud of, but it was hard to avoid when Kenan seemed to have a new admirer every week.

He was nice to them, of course—too nice, in my opinion—and I often found myself seething silently as I watched him chat and laugh with girls who were far prettier and more confident than I was.

But just when I’d start to spiral into insecurity, Kenan would do something small but meaningful, like sending me a text to check in or inviting me over to hang out. It was his way of showing he still cared about me, even if it wasn’t in the way I wanted.

One time, after I had been particularly distant during a group outing, Kenan surprised me by showing up at my house with my favorite snacks and a dumb movie he knew I loved. We spent the entire evening on my couch, laughing until our sides hurt.

In those moments, it was easy to believe that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way about me. But then I’d see him with another girl, and the doubts would creep back in.

The worst of it happened a few months ago. We were at a mutual friend’s birthday party when I saw him talking to a beautiful influencer who had recently moved to our town.

She was everything I wasn’t—gorgeous, sophisticated, and exuding a confidence that seemed effortless. I tried to stay away, to not let it bother me, but when I saw them kissing in a corner of the backyard, it felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.

I don’t remember much of what happened next. I left the party as quickly as I could, my mind reeling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. The next few weeks were a blur. I distanced myself from Kenan, avoiding him at all costs.

He tried to reach out multiple times, but I either ignored his calls or gave him the cold shoulder whenever he tried to talk to me in person. My heart couldn’t take it. If he had moved on with someone else, then I needed to let him go, even if it hurt like hell.

Kenan, however, was persistent. He’d show up at my house with lame excuses, like borrowing a book or asking for advice on something trivial.

Each time, I’d keep my answers short, making it clear that I didn’t want to talk. But he didn’t give up. It was like he couldn’t understand why I was pulling away, and the frustration was evident on his face.

Finally, one evening, I couldn’t take it anymore. He had shown up at my door again, this time with a sad smile and an apology for not calling ahead. I could see the concern etched on his face, but I was too exhausted to pretend everything was fine.

“Kenan, I really don’t have time for this,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“What happened, Y/N? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. Did I do something wrong?”

His voice was laced with genuine confusion and concern, and it broke my heart even more.

I wanted to scream, to tell him everything, but the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I just shook my head. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I need some space.”

His expression softened as he took a step closer. “Is this about that party? The one where I… kissed that girl?”

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of it, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Why would that matter to me? You’re free to do whatever you want, Kenan.”

“But it does matter to you, doesn’t it?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The truth was too painful to admit.

Kenan sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Y/N, I never wanted to hurt you. That kiss… it didn’t mean anything. I was just trying to be polite. It’s nothing compared to what I feel for you.”

My eyes snapped up to meet his. “What?”

He took a deep breath, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between us. “Y/N, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. And then you started avoiding me, and I thought I’d lost my chance.”

I stared at him in disbelief, my mind struggling to process what he was saying. “You… you like me?”

Kenan’s gaze was intense as he nodded. “Yes, I do. More than you know. And seeing you pull away from me has been killing me. I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I never did.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as the weight of his words finally hit me. All this time, I had been doubting his feelings, assuming the worst, when in reality, he had felt the same way about me all along.

“But… you never said anything,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his own voice breaking slightly. “Scared that I wasn’t good enough for you, that you’d realize you could do better. And then when you started pulling away, I thought maybe I was right.”

I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They spilled down my cheeks as I closed the gap between us, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug. “You idiot,” I sobbed into his chest. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Kenan’s arms tightened around me, holding me close as if he never wanted to let go. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t important to me. You’re the most important person in my life.”

We stood there for what felt like an eternity, just holding each other, letting the years of unspoken feelings and misunderstandings melt away.

When we finally pulled back, Kenan cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away my tears.

“I don’t want to hide how I feel anymore,” he said softly, his eyes locked on mine. “I love you, Y/N. And I’m going to spend every day proving it to you, if you’ll let me.”

My heart swelled with emotion as I nodded, a smile breaking through the tears. “I love you too, Kenan.”

He leaned in then, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that was soft and tender, yet filled with all the passion and love we had kept buried for so long.

It was a kiss that spoke of promises and new beginnings, of a future where we no longer had to hide our feelings from each other.

When we finally pulled apart, Kenan rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I laughed softly, the sound light and carefree. “Probably as long as I’ve wanted you to.”

He chuckled, pulling me back into his arms. “Well, now we don’t have to wait anymore. We’re in this together, okay? No more hiding, no more misunderstandings. Just us.”

“Just us,” I repeated, feeling a sense of peace and happiness that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

[taurusgoddess99]

Frustration

Felix Catton x f! Reader

MDNI

AN: Hi! It’s been so long since I’ve posted on Tumblr that I’ve forgotten how! I hope y’all enjoy this piece that I’ve word it. It’s smutty. Also, I’m posting on tumblr so I’m sure it’ll be sorta wonky. Thanks!

TW: light choking

His bed creaks up under his weight and he notices that she's barely visible from under his sheets.

He eyes the naked skin of her exposed back, and the stretch marks that covered her hips. The bralette barely contained her full tits and he was frustrated that she wouldn't let him touch.

He crawled on top of her, her ass pressed against his dick, and he groaned into the soft skin of her neck.

“Why can't we fuck again?”

“I don't feel like it.”

It's muffled by the sheets. He groans in frustration before nipping at her neck. She says something that he can't hear, and he pulls on the straps of her bralette. Her head pops up from under the sheets and she shoots him a glare.

“I'm not having sex with you.”

“Why not?”

He hates how whiny he sounds but he continues with his motions. His nose nudges against her shoulder.

“Go away.”

“We're in my house.”

His fingers hooks into her black shorts pulling down the soft fabric. He grins when he sees the bright yellow thong that's tucked neatly between her full ass cheeks.

“I'll eat your pussy.”

“No.”

“I'll eat your ass.”

“You're a pervert.”

He slides his finger down her ass cheeks before pulling at the flimsy thing. She shifts and groans feeling frustrated with Felix and his insatiable appetite. She had came upstairs to nap after lounging by the pool most of the day, and Felix had followed.

“I’m your pervert.”

He flips her over and grins at her. She stares up at him just taking in his big brown doe eyes wondering how she ended up with him in the first place.

“Why don’t you go find, Ollie? I’m sure he’d love to take my place.”

His eyes traced over the swells of her full breast. One of her nipples peaked out at him over her bralette and he couldn’t resist himself. He leaned down and kissed the hardened peak. His tongue lapping over it as he maintained eye contact with her. Her body seemed to go limp under him and he knew he had won.

He always won.

He is Felix Catton after all.

Her fingers tangle in his hair that’s still wet from the pool. His large hands unclapse the little bralette and he pulls away from her supple breast to pull it off of her.

Felix takes over her mind, her body, and everything else. She couldn’t remember what her life was like before Felix. Her thumb rubs his cheek as they make eye contact. The words bubbles up her throat threatening to spill but they can’t come out. Not yet anyway.

Her whole life is Felix Catton.

He knows it.

His lips brushes over her collarbone. His nose trails up her jawline before meeting with hers. Her breath quickens and he swears he can hear her heart beating. Her heart beats for him.

He opens his lips to say something. Anything, but nothing comes out. Their lips collide in a quick peck. His wet locks drag against her forehead and causes her to giggle. It’s a sound that he loves to hear. He could pick out her giggle in a crowd of a million.

“I thought you weren’t going to fuck me?”

“Shut up.”

“Why would I go for Oliver when I have the prettiest girl here with me?”

His hands travel down her body, hooking into her little shorts and pulling them off and the thong. He makes a mental note to keep them for himself. He could never get enough of her.

The lips meet for another kiss. He licks into her mouth and can taste the fresh fruit that she had earlier. The taste of his last cigarette coats her tongue. Her leg wraps around his waist and he grinds against her.

He breaks away from their kiss, his hand grips her thigh and presses it against her chest. She’s already slick and ready from their previous activities. He groans at the thought of her full of his cum again. He couldn’t decide if he liked seeing her swallowing it or seeing it dripping out of her better.

Her brow is furrowed and her arms wrap loosely around Felix’s broad shoulder. He nips at her collarbone. She lazily scratches his scalp and it send shivers down his spine.

He’s rutting against her at a faster pace now. His cock presses against her sensitive clit with each thrust. The tip of his cock presses against her entrance. He brings his hand up to her neck and his hand linger there lightly squeezing. He forces her to look at him. She’s laying beneath him, completely dependent on, and her eyes flutter from the pleasure of it all.

“I love you.”

He sinks into her fluttering hole and her eyes widen with the realization of his words and with how full she felt again. She hadn’t realized how empty she felt when Felix wasn’t fucking her. She felt empty when Felix wasn’t with her now that she thinks about her.

Her mouth open and shuts and her bottom lip quivers.

“I love you, Fe’.”

He gives her a lazy smile and presses his forehead against hers. She’s so full of him. His cock is so big and is stretching her out to the max and she can’t escape from Felix Catton. She’s all his.

Felix starts up at a fast pace. The desperation behind his thrust pushes her up the bed. He eyes her full breast as they bounce with the movement of his hips.

She realizes at that moment that they were always connected. They were always meant to be one.

She kisses him desperately, messily, and she’s lost in him. She feels like she’s flying and drowning at the same time. His hipbone nudges her clit and she feels like she could cry.

Her back is arched, both legs are wrapped around his waist, and her fingers are scratching at his shoulders.

His hands move down to cup her thighs again. He squeezes them like his life depends on it and she knows that it’ll be bruises coloring them later. Just like he’ll have the marks of her fingernails on his shoulder.

He pulls her closer and their eyes meet. His cheeks are red and his eyes are dark. His releases one of her thighs to push his fingers into her mouth to get them wet.

His hand slides down between their naked bodies and swipes at her clit. With a yelp of his name, she cums all over his cock, and jumpstarts his own orgasm.

His hips stutter before he forces himself even deeper and coats her wall with his cum. He holds himself there until he’s sure he’s all spent before collapsing on top of her. He rubs his face in her cleavage as they both lay there. She rubs the back of his neck and twitches with the aftershocks that rock her body.

“I really do love you, Felix.”

He kisses her nipple and looks up at her through his eyelashes.

“I love you too, princess.”

The two fall asleep in the post-orgasm fog not noticing the company that they had that was watching them through the door.

[beenbaanbuun]

j have to say i love the way u write jongho so badddd ALL OF UR POSTS R SO GRRFFGGGRGDGD

anyways while we’re here… what if 🧍pt 2 of 🧍the 🧍pool fic 🧍🧍

he was so cute there 🙁🙁 (AUUGHHHGHGHGHVC) if not tho i would like to request more awkward/loser jongho he is real and has my whole heart 😞😞

thank u for writing in general tho u eat tf up everytime

okay so i am planning a part 2 to the pool fic!!!! but it’s not written yet… BUT!!!!!!!!! here is more awkward jongho for your viewing pleasure :D

(also those photos of him… your honour i love him. he’s so silly 😓)

words - 1.7k

genre - suggestive/nsfw

warnings - loser!jongho, jongho is thinking thoughts about the reader, slight dom!reader/sub!jongho, teasing, reader calls jongho good boy…, public touching off peen but also no one can tell, i think that’s it??

——————————————————————————-

if jongho were an artist then you would be his muse. right in this moment, he can find a million things he would love to replicate in oils. everything from the way your delicately painted fingernails pick at a ball of lint on your skirt to the print of lipgloss left on the half-empty coffee mug deserves to be immortalised on canvas. the fact that it's only the first date should make him feel insane, but all he can think is that perhaps if things progress between the both of you, he'll be able to find a million more things to admire.

"i like your shirt," you smile, the world immediately seeming brighter as you do. he smiles back, although it feels a bit forced. not because he doesn't want to smile back--god, just sitting here and looking at you makes him want to do nothing *but* smile--but because he feels he can do nothing but sit and stare in awe, slack jawed and eyes wide. "i haven't seen you wear that one in class before.”

that sets his face on fire, painting his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. you notice him in lectures? not just that but you notice what he wears? he casts an eye down towards the shirt that's slung loosely over his plain black t-shirt. he'd figured it was far too formal just to wear to class but if you like it... well, maybe dressing up a little more wouldn't be too much of an issue. when he looks back up, he immediately forgets what the shirt looks like, his brain flooded once more with the image of you.

"thank you… i like your shirt too," he repeats your compliment back to you, unsure of what else he should say. of course, theres so many things more that he likes than just the flimsy piece of fabric that adorns your top half, but despite the poems and soliloqies hes writing in his head, its hard to get the words out. he settles for your shirt; its easy to compliment you on that when the words have already been said by you.

"youve seen it before, though," you giggle, and his heart does a little dance in his chest. if only everything could sound as sweet as you. if he could hear you every day for the rest of his life, hes sure thered be nothing to be miserable about ever again. you bite your lower lip to stifle the sound, and he can’t quite work out how he feels about that. he wants to hear you more, but just the sight of your teeth sinking into that pink fleshy pillow is enough to make his heart trip and stumble down several flights of stairs.

holy fuck.

of course, he’s spent hours studying your face before now, sitting in lectures picking out each feature and coming up with a million and one reasons as to why he adores them. your lips are something he’s already committed to memory, the colour, the shape, the way they look wrapped around the neck of the water bottle you bring to every lecture. this is the first time he’s seen them in this light though. up close, being tugged upon by your teeth in such a manner that he can’t help but let his mind wander to some less than savoury places.

he swallows down the saliva that had begun to gather upon his tongue; he’s a gentleman and these thoughts really shouldn’t be in the forefront of his mind right now. he shouldn’t be wondering how you look on top of him, hips swaying back and forth with your lip tucked away to stifle your moans. he tries to pull his eyes away to stifle his overactive imagination, but when they land on your thighs instead, he gives up. he’s a gentleman, he can have a normal conversation while his mind runs wild with the fantasies of what he’d do to you if you were in his bed.

“it’s still a pretty shirt,” his voice is quiet, yet it still somehow manages to crack. it’s humiliating, of course it is, but it’s made even worse when the pretty sound of your laughter starts up again. it still sounds like wind chimes on an autumn day, but this time he can feel the bitter breeze that rings them nipping at his skin. he doesn’t blame you for laughing at him; he would too. in fact, he probably would’ve laughed the second he asked you out on this date if he were in your shoes. why would someone as perfect as you even bother to look at someone like him?

he’s half expecting some cruel jest from you. a little joke you make at his expense just to make yourself feel better about this weird guy you’ve found yourself on a date with. he can take it, he tells himself; it’s what he assumed would happen anyway.

but instead he hears the scrape of a mug being pushed across the table, your mouth silent except for the biting giggles that still flow freely from it. he looks up to your face once more only to see anything but the animosity he was expecting. a kind toothy grin paired with your wide eyes that he fell in love with the very first time he spotted you. you look kind, not at all like the image he’d been painting in his head. it’s a relief and the invisible noose that had been slowly tightening around his neck loosens. he can breathe again, knowing that nothing has changed from when he first set foot in the cafe, despite his body’s attempt to sabotage him.

“here,” your voice is warm, just like it always is. if your laughter is a wind chime on a cool autumn day, then your voice is most certainly the crackling fire that awaits him inside. “you finished your drink but it sounds like you need another. you can have mine, i’ll go and grab anotherfor myself.”

you begin to lift yourself from your chair, and before he even realises what he’s doing a demanding, “no,” comes from jongho. you pause, eyes flickering over to him in question. he shakes his head, more at himself than to you, yet you seem to respond, sitting yourself back down on the seat without little complaint. so obedient, he notices, although the thought is quickly pushed away by the shame he still feels. he takes a sip of your drink to soothe his throat. “i’ll get you one in a moment,” he forces his words out, “i’ve taken yours, i’m not going to make you buy a new one for yourself.”

“i don’t mind,” you say softly as jongho takes another sip, “you can just buy me something on our next date!”

and just like that, jongho’s mind just… stops. he forgets what it means to breathe, the oxygen hitching in his throat as he inhaled through his nose. the liquid his mouth refuses to slide down his neck with ease, catching right at the entrance to his throat and making him cough. he splutters, the rest of the coffee expelling itself from his mouth and flying all over his own lap. “shit,” he murmurs, hands flying into action to clean himself up, only for more coffee to slosh ungracefully over the side of the cup, “fucking hell!”

“jongho!” he can't even blink before you’re there at his side, kneeling on the cold wood floor of the cafe with a napkin in hand. it’s like you’re not even thinking when you begin to dab at his stomach with the cloth, touching his tummy so gently that it sends tingles up and down his spine. his hands fly immediately to the arms of his chair and he clings onto them for dear life.

it’s worse when your hand travels a little further south, grazing the waistband of his jeans. he squeezes his eyes shut as you pat the damp material, not sparing a single second to consider what having your hand so close to his cock might be doing to his sanity. he can feel it stirring, his underwear becoming tighter and tighter with each passing second. there’s nothing he can do about it other than hope you don’t notice—

“oh,” your hand falls limp against his thigh as your gaze locks onto the quite obvious bulge that he’s sporting. of course he is, what else would you expect when you sit there rubbing at his almost-crotch? sure, you were just trying to be helpful but now jongho is hard and it’s not like he could exactly help it.

he watches you intently as your gaze shifts to his face, looking even more beautiful from this close up. you’re mere inches away; if he were to just bend down a little, he could snag your lips in a kiss. he so badly wants to, however, he can’t imagine it would help his case at all.

“you’re hard,” you whisper to him.

he nods.

“i am,” he doesn’t know what else to say. you caught him and that’s that. what, is he supposed to deny it? how can he when your hand lays just ever-so-slightly left of the evidence.

“is it my fault?” the corner of your mouth twitches into a sly smirk, letting jongho know that you already know the answer. nevertheless, he nods, gulping down the lump that’s beginning to form in his throat. “sorry, i didn’t quite hear that.”

“yes,” he hisses out through gritted teeth, “it’s your fault.” you smile at him, beautiful and dangerous.

“so i guess that means i should fix it, right?” you hand shifts the tiniest bit, catching the edge of his erection with your finger tip. he winces, body twitching in reaction to your cruel maneuver. for someone so sweet, it seems you have a bit of a mean streak. jongho can hardly complain; you look hot sitting by his feet as you tease him. damn his shyness, honestly. if it wasn’t for that, he’d love nothing more than to show you who’s in charge. for now, though, he guesses he can let you have your fun.

“please,” he sighs as you apply a little more pressure to his bulge. to anyone else, it might just look like you’re an overly attentive girlfriend dabbing at the spilt coffee; to jongho you look like the picture of filth.

“good boy,” you whisper to him, and despite jongho’s own preference for dominance, he has to admit that those words sound so pretty coming from you. a shiver makes its way up his spine. “meet me in the bathroom in 5.”

[justbreakonme]

“Ouch- Fuck, Whumpee, stop- I’m trying to help you!”

Caretaker had one hand around Whumpees wrist and the other desperately fumbling for the pills the doctor had given them. They’d tried everything else.

Whumpee had dug them out of everything they’d tried to hide them in, and no amount of begging or bargaining was going to convince them to take them on their own.

But they were just going to keep getting worse without them. They were practically feral at this point, the pain and fear making them fight tooth and nail against anything and anyone that dared come near them.

Whumpee scrabbled at their trapped arm, gouging into Caretakers arm viciously with their still untrimmed nails. Blood dripped over their hands and to the floor but still, Caretaker held on, found the pill, and moved in.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I hope you’ll forgive me later…” they pleaded, before stuffing the pill down Whumpees throat, yanking their hand back before Whumpee could bite them.

They let go, and Whumpee scrambled back into the corner, chest heaving and wild eyes fixed on them warily.

“They’re gonna make you feel better, I swear… I promise, I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you…”

Their words are punctuated with the sound of blood dripping to the floor.

They took a better look at Whumpees scratches and winced.

They got me good, that’s for sure.

Long claw marks reached their inner elbow, a few had managed to catch their shoulder and jaw, but most were concentrated around their wrist, frantic and wild in their unevenness.

They sighed, looking between their arm and Whumpee, and sent up a silent prayer that those pills would do something.

Then, they grabbed a rag, mopped up the blood, and got to work with the first aid kit.

They didn’t mean to.

Something had taken over then when Caretaker had grabbed their wrist, and it wasn’t… It wasn’t Caretaker who they saw anymore.

Now, they saw them. Saw their blood under their nails and smeared across their hands and chest, dripping onto the floor.

Hot tears began to fall as Caretaker merely retreated, wrapping their arm as if it was just a paper cut.

Like the ungrateful beast in the corner hadn’t tried to rip them to shreds for trying to help.

“I-I’m sorry- I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry…” they managed, their apology sounding whiny and flimsy even to their own ears.

“You were just defending yourself,” Caretaker said after a moment, “I just wish you could feel safe with me.”

Me too… Like nothing else I’ve ever wanted in my whole life…

(This is little and slapdash but your comment gave me an idea, so here it is and thank you!)

[chaoticjjcakes]

Ok, so I’m gonna go on a little rant on here.

I’m a marvel comics fan, my favorite comics were the young avengers comics and absolutely loved the dynamics between the characters. I particularly loved Tommy Shepherd, also known as Speed. Out of the entire lineup of Young Avengers, I somehow saw a piece of myself within his character. But his treatment in Marvel Comics definitely leaves something to be desired. Especially with the whole thinkfast breakup which is is my last straw.

First of all, the writers reasoning for breaking breaking Tommy and David up is ABSOLUTE HORSESHIT! Tommy has no connections to the x-men, no connections to Krakoa, ITS NOT EVEN CONFIRMED IF HE AND BILLY ARE MUTANTS OR NOT! (Which is a whole other ballgame I don’t wanna get into) Their reasoning is flimsy at best and bullshit at worst because of this, and it gets even worse when you introduce a new love interest so soon after they break up OFF PANEL with a seemingly insulting dig at Tommy within the comic.

Second of all, I’m worried how this will affect Tommy’s appearances in comics. The last time we saw him was the scarlet witch and quicksilver miniseries. He barely, if ever gets any appearances anymore and the ones he does show up in, he was with David (Which is probably why the writer thought Tommy was an X-men connection). Tommy is frequently left out of major story arcs and team-ups, leading to me feeling that he is somehow forgotten by the writers and creators at Marvel. While Tommy has been a part of the Young Avengers, he is often overshadowed by other more prominent characters like Kate Bishop, America Chavez, Cassie Lang who’s with Antman, Noh-Varr whos with the guardians of the galaxy, his mother, his uncle, even his own twin brother! He’s often underutilized as well and when he is there, he’s just the goofier version of quicksilver.

Third, we barely get any sense of actual character from him and in moments we do it’s just immediately dropped. First example: scarlet witch and quicksilver #3, where he actively mentioned Davids supposed death (cuz he definitely didn’t know that David was actually alive? I’m kinda confused about this?) and he seemed to be kinda disassociated from with stating he wasn’t there until Pietro snapped him out of it. This isn’t the first time someone has died and Tommy wasn’t there. He finds his mom’s dead body before Trial of Magneto and later in issue 1, seems disassociated when talking with Kevin. In the infinity comics, he states that people always forget about him. I see that he probably often finds himself overlooked and underutilized within the vast universe of superheroes.

Just to headcanon with fact: It’s somewhat implied he may have been neglected. I mean we barely know anything about his life before except that his parents were divorced and he was in and out of juvie until he was a teenager. Considering that they didn’t give a shit about him, leaving their child alone to the court system, and then not contacting him. (Though I doubt he would want that.) He so desperately wants a family, and he sees that in the young avengers, in the magnet family (even if they’re a little fucked up, they’re infinitely better). The team breaks him out, and a kid who looks exactly like him says they’re brothers and this powerful witch is their mother. He doesn’t want to believe it. He can’t believe it because that means he has another family that actually cares about him. Then they find out about everything Wanda went through and he takes in the connection even further. The team goes on a few missions and find out they could save his mom, and then they go through trauma via teammates dying and and the avengers/x-men fighting over his spirit mom. The team decides to breakup, he doesn’t want this to happen, the only thing he has being taken from him, he doesn’t want this to end. But it does, and it hurts, especially because his brother is willing to let go of it so easily. And it’s even harder because he’s living with him, his boyfriend, and other family who’s too nice and so he leaves and no one apparently cares. He goes on with heroics alone, working jobs, meets David and recruits him for a stakeout, then gets kidnapped by an entity. He then comes back almost a year later and has to take it in stride. He goes through so much traumatic and sad shit and either no one cares or they’re too busy. He doesn’t have much support. David seemed to be the only support he had and they’re broken up now. Wanda has her own shit, Pietro has his own shit, Billy has his own shit. HIS OTHER TEAMMATES HAVE THEIR OWN SHIT!

I’d imagine he’d have some type of resentment towards everyone, especially Billy. He has the perfect husband, perfect family, has a great relationship with their spiritual mother, and has unimaginable power. In the infinity comics master pandemonium seemingly implied Tommy has some kind of powerful potential, but we haven’t seen that yet. They haven’t even made any foreshadowing towards that. But I’d imagine after the whole break up with David, he’d have a mental breakdown from all the shit he went through. His boyfriend dying twice while he wasn’t there, after the second time David breaks up with him then gets a new boyfriend almost immediately (I don’t know the timeframe, I’m sorry), I’d crack too.

Considering all of this I introduce the following options:

1.) Put him in a new team. Have him be apart of a new team of youngish heroes, or better yet make him a mentor. He’s great with kids. I can’t think of any actual teams he could be on, but just let him be a part of a team. Please?!

2.) Have him interact with more characters. Have him interact with his family more. Wanda, Pietro, Lorna, Billy, fucking Magneto and Luna, give him more interactions with them. Have him mention talking to Kate Bishop. OR ELI BRADLEY ANOTHER CHARCTER YOU’VE SEEMINGLY FORGOT MARVEL!

3.) Give him his own miniseries. Or a fucking arc. I wanna see my baby do something cool, not play second fiddle to Billy for once. Billy gets several different comics to appear in and has so much power. Give Tommy a power upgrade like in the fanfics. Develop his powers more, like those headcanons where he could manipulate time and space. If the writers on ao3 can do that, you can do it too. Or better yet, have him be an antihero, that would absolutely fit him better. Didn’t he literally kill people when he first appeared? Have him be a bit more violent when dealing with bad guys. Not completely sociopathic, just a bit chaotic.

Anyway, please stop sleeping on Tommy Shepherd Marvel, he has so much more potential, you don’t even know.

Thank you for listening to my Ted-Talk!

Edit: Another thing I’d like to add to this is the fact that in other universes, Tommy is the magic twin…

Or Billy and him have unimaginable power…

So I know that Marvel can explore this. No excuse to just throw Tommy to the wayside like this while Billy gets all the glory.

[wannabehockeygf]

Florida!!! - Clayton Keller

“My friends all smell like weed or little babies,

And this city reeks of driving myself crazy,

Little did you know, your home’s really only a town you’re just a guest in?

So you work your life away,

Just to pay for a timeshare down in Destin.”

Summary: On a family vacation with your boyfriend, you find him stoned with his brother, and when he gets you alone, things escalate…

Word Count: 5k

Pairing: Clayton Keller x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW! Use of drugs (marijuana), oral sex (f receiving), Clayton being an absolute munch.

Notes:

- been indulging recently (it’s perfectly legal where i live, don’t @ me…) so real life projection!

- munch Clayton is finally here for my girlies who enjoy him as much as I do!

- also I’m still not over ttpd. no skip album.

- not proof read <3

***

*EDIT 08/15/2024 @ 8:31pm PST : His brother’s name is Jake. Not Luke. Sorry if you read prior 😭 (hughes brother brainrot)

A vacation with your boyfriend’s family? Oh, this was uncharted territory. I mean, you’d survived Thanksgiving dinner at his parents’ house in St. Louis—barely. But that was just one night. One turkey. One slightly-too-long hug from his mom. You’d only been together five months, after all.

But now, here you are, basking in the relentless sunshine of Destin, Florida, sharing a timeshare with them. A timeshare. This is like Thanksgiving on steroids, with no escape hatch. The place is stupidly nice, though. Like, if Pottery Barn threw up on a beach house, this would be it. Sure, Clayton probably financed half of it, but you still feel like you’re tiptoeing through a very fragile house of cards. One wrong move and you’ll topple the whole “good impression” thing you’ve got going on. So yeah, “best behavior” mode is fully engaged, like a 24/7 surveillance camera on yourself.

But then, the moment of truth. After a blissful solo beach jaunt—because let’s be honest, sometimes you just need a break from all that “family bonding”—you wander into the garage, nose twitching at some weird smell. Is that...skunk? No, no. Please don’t be a skunk. You cautiously push open the door, and what do you find? Clayton and his brother, Jake, in full bro-mode sitting in flimsy lawn chairs, laughing like they’re at some frat party, sharing hits from a brightly colored bong.

Well, that’s definitely a new one.

Really, Clayton? You’re on a family vacation, not reliving your glory days as "Chad, the King of Sigma Nu." Is this his idea of “relaxing with the fam?” Plus, isn’t smoking bad for your lungs? Especially for a hockey player. You stand there for a second, frozen like you’ve just walked in on a murder mystery party and are trying to figure out if you’re the victim or the detective. Your mind is a hurricane of thoughts: Should I laugh? Should I be offended? Is this one of those “testing the girlfriend” moments? Because honestly, who packs a bong for a trip to a family-friendly beach destination?

You catch Clayton’s eye, and for a split second, you see the gears in his head screech to a halt. Jake, on the other hand, is blissfully unaware of your presence, too busy blowing a perfect smoke ring that floats lazily toward the ceiling. Clayton gives you this wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights look, which would be adorable if it weren’t so stupid. Oh, sweetheart, you are so busted.

“Heyyy,” Clayton says, dragging out the word like he’s trying to slow time. “You, uh, back already?”

You blink. “Yeah, funny thing, I actually live here too. With your family. On vacation. Remember?”

He shifts uncomfortably in his lawn chair—seriously, who uses lawn chairs indoors?—and suddenly, you’re struck by how much this scene looks like a low-budget college film. The only thing missing is a dorm fridge stocked with PBR and a poster of Bob Marley on the wall. Instead, it’s all beige walls and perfectly coordinated coastal decor that just screams, “Don’t touch anything.”

Jake finally notices you and breaks into a grin, lifting the bong like it’s a trophy. “Hey, you wanna join?”

Oh, great, you think, now I’m one of the bros.

But before you can respond, Clayton is already scrambling to fix this train wreck. “No, no, she doesn’t want to join! Right, babe?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Where did you guys even get that? I mean, isn’t smoking pot like… illegal in this state?”

Clayton, bless his clueless heart, is staring at you with wide, bloodshot eyes like a puppy that just realized it’s chewed up your favorite shoes. Meanwhile, Jake— who you’re now starting to think might actually be a golden retriever in human form—waves the bong around like he’s offering you a slice of pizza at a sleepover.

“Illegal? Pssh, not if you don’t get caught,” Jake says with a wink that’s meant to be charming but lands somewhere between “bad decision” and “future mugshot.”

Clayton clears his throat and finally sets the bong down on the cement floor, like he’s slowly disarming a bomb. “It’s just, you know, for relaxation. Family vacations can be...stressful.”

You tilt your head, considering this. Stressful? You’ve been trying to make sure his mom doesn’t hate you and his dad doesn’t think you’re a gold-digger. And he’s the one who’s stressed? You bite back a laugh, because now’s really not the time to remind him that you’ve been fake-smiling so much your cheeks are about to cramp.

“Oh, totally,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because nothing says ‘stress relief’ like hiding in the garage with your brother, getting high while the rest of your family is out there expecting you to be getting ready for dinner.”

Clayton scratches the back of his neck, his go-to move when he’s trying to avoid a conversation. It’s endearing, really. In a way that also makes you want to strangle him. “I wasn’t— I mean, we were just—” He stumbles over his words, and you can practically see the gears in his head struggling to find a logical explanation that isn’t “We’re idiots.”

You take a deep breath, rolling your eyes so hard you’re worried they might get stuck. But, honestly, are you even surprised? In the last five months, you’ve learned that Clayton’s the kind of guy who accidentally dips his fries in your ketchup while trying to impress you with some half-baked philosophical theory about life. Which, admittedly, is part of his charm—when he’s not pulling stunts like this.

“Alright,” you say, crossing your arms, “let’s get one thing straight. I’m not going to narc you out to your mom since you’re actual grown adults, but you’re coming inside with me right now, and I’m going to help you sober up before we have to go to dinner.”

Jake’s still grinning like an idiot, probably already mentally planning the next bong hit, but you’ve got your sights set on Clayton. He’s trying to look contrite, but the bloodshot eyes are sort of ruining the effect.

“Come on,” you say, reaching out to take his hand, which, by the way, is clammy. Lovely. “I don’t think anyone’s noticed you’ve gone missing yet, but let’s not push our luck.”

Clayton gives you a sheepish smile, the kind that’s got you melting just a little bit. He stands up, wobbling slightly, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. Instead, you squeeze his hand, pulling him toward the door that leads back into the house.

You’re halfway there when Jake chimes in, “You sure you don’t want a hit? It’s good stuff. I mean, if you want to see, like, colors you didn’t know existed...”

You raise an eyebrow. “Colors? Really? I thought you were more of a ‘munchies and conspiracy theories’ kind of guy.”

Jake blinks at you, clearly having to work too hard to process that sentence, and you’re actually kind of proud of yourself. Two points for you, zero for the stoner brothers.

Clayton’s trailing behind you, still holding your hand like it’s a lifeline, and you can feel him trying to gauge your mood. It’s not anger, really—more of a low simmering exasperation. You drag him through the door and into the immaculate kitchen, up the stairs, until you reach the bedroom you’d been sharing.

Clayton finally releases your hand, flopping down onto the bed like a ragdoll. “Babe, you’re the best, you know that?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes like a kid who’s been up past his bedtime. “I mean, seriously, the absolute best.”

You raise an eyebrow, perching on the edge of the bed. “Oh, I know. But that’s not going to save you from having to drink a gallon of water and eating something before we go to dinner with your parents.”

He groans, throwing an arm over his face like he’s in a bad rom-com. “Do we have to? I was kind of hoping we could just... stay here. Forever. In this bed. With no responsibilities.”

You smirk, reaching over to poke his side. “As tempting as that sounds, I’m not sure your mom would appreciate us skipping out on dinner after she called multiple travel agents to find the best restaurant.”

He peeks out from under his arm, giving you a lopsided grin. “Come here,” He urges, obviously still trying to get out of his responsibilities. His voice is teasing, but there’s something genuine in his eyes that makes your heart do a weird little flip.

You take a deep breath, trying to muster the willpower to resist the magnetic pull of that stupidly adorable grin. Clayton’s got this way of looking at you, all soft eyes and boyish charm, like he’s just discovered the best thing in the world, and it happens to be you. It’s the kind of look that could melt the Polar ice caps, and honestly, it’s not fair.

But you’re here for a mission, and that mission is to get this man sober enough to face his family without blowing your cover as the perfect girlfriend who isn’t remotely flustered by her boyfriend’s impromptu stoner session in the garage.

"Nice try," you say, raising an eyebrow and trying to keep your resolve firm, "but you’re not weaseling your way out of this one with cuddles."

“Come on,” Clayton says again, patting the bed beside him. “We’ve got, what? An hour before dinner? We could… relax for a bit.” His voice drops at the word “relax,” and you catch the hint of mischief in his tone.

You narrow your eyes at him, feigning suspicion. “Relax? Are you sure that’s all you want to do?”

He grins, and it’s that boyish, slightly cocky smile that usually precedes him getting his way. “I mean, we could do other things. Fun things. Relaxing, fun things…”

You’re already shaking your head, but you can feel the resolve weakening. It doesn’t help that he’s giving you that look—the one that’s equal parts puppy-dog eyes and shameless seduction. How he manages to pull that off when he still smells like weed with a hint of Febreze is beyond you.

“Clay…” you start, trying to maintain a firm tone, but he’s already moving closer, his hand finding its way to your thigh. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver up your spine, and suddenly, you’re a lot less focused on the whole “responsible girlfriend” thing and more on the fact that, despite his current state, he’s still ridiculously attractive.

“Mm-hmm?” he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your shoulder.

Oh no. You know where this is going, and while every logical part of you is screaming “this is a bad idea,” the rest of you is pretty much ready to throw logic out the window.

“Clayton,” you try again, but this time it’s softer, less of a protest and more of a gentle reminder that maybe—just maybe—you should both be thinking this through.

He nuzzles his way up your neck, planting kisses as he goes, and when his lips reach that spot just beneath your ear, the one that makes your breath hitch, you know you’re done for.

“Mm-hmm?” he repeats, but this time it’s muffled against your skin, and the way his voice vibrates sends a delightful thrill through your entire body.

“Dinner,” you say weakly, though even to your own ears, it sounds more like a suggestion than a requirement.

“Later,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jaw.

You let out a breathy laugh, your hands instinctively finding their way to his hair, threading through the soft strands. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums again, clearly not caring in the slightest. His hands are roaming now, one sliding up your back, the other tracing patterns on your thigh. You feel him gently push you back against the pillows, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes it very hard to remember why you were resisting in the first place.

For a brief moment, you consider pushing him away, reminding him of the inevitable dinner with his parents where, let’s be honest, you’re still trying to score all the points. But then his lips find yours, and all thoughts of social propriety melt away.

His hand slides up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin in that gentle, affectionate way that always makes your heart skip a beat. He pulls back just a fraction, his eyes half-lidded and glassy, but there’s a warmth there—a genuine sweetness that cuts through the haze of weed and turns your resolve to mush.

“You know I’m crazy about you, right?” he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough. It’s that tone that gets you every time, the one that makes it clear he’s not just messing around, even if he’s not entirely in his right mind at the moment.

Your heart does that weird flip again, and you find yourself smiling despite everything. “I know,” you whisper back, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

He grins, all boyish charm and mischief, and then his lips are on yours again, more insistent this time. The kiss is slow and languid, like he’s savoring every second, and you can’t help but melt into it. His hands are warm, tracing a path down your sides, and when he pulls you closer, pressing his body against yours, you let out a soft, involuntary sigh.

“Mm, I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he mumbles against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Can’t stop thinking about you.”

You’re lying there, pinned under the warm, slightly too-heavy weight of Clayton’s body, and your mind is racing, trying to catch up with the situation. Clayton’s still high as a kite, and yet here he is, trying to seduce you with that damn lopsided grin of his. You’re supposed to be the responsible one right now, the one who keeps everything on track. The one who doesn’t let her boyfriend’s cannabis-induced haze derail a meticulously planned family dinner. But, as his lips work their way down your neck, you’re beginning to think maybe you’ve lost control of this situation altogether.

“Clayton,” you say, trying to sound firm, but it comes out more like a breathless sigh. His mouth is trailing hot, lazy kisses along your collarbone, and you can feel his fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. It’s distracting, to say the least, and you’re struggling to hold on to any coherent thought that doesn’t involve how good his touch feels.

“Hm?” He hums against your skin, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil you’re experiencing. His hands slide under your shirt, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your bare stomach, sending shivers up your spine. He’s not making this easy, and you know that’s probably the point.

“Dinner,” you manage to say, though it’s a weak attempt at protest. “We’re supposed to be getting ready for dinner.”

“Mm, later,” he mumbles, his lips moving lower, kissing just above the waistband of your shorts. “This is more important.”

You can’t help the small, breathy laugh that escapes you. “Is it now?”

He lifts his head to look at you, and the sight of him—flushed, with slightly mussed hair and glassy eyes that are somehow both earnest and a little mischievous—makes your heart skip a beat. “Definitely,” he says, and there’s something in his voice, a kind of sweet, dopey sincerity, that almost makes you want to give in right then and there.

You chew on your lower lip, trying to stay focused, but it’s hard when his hands are skimming up your sides, pushing your shirt higher. “Clayton, you’re high,” you remind him gently, as if he needs the reminder. “We really should—”

“I know,” he interrupts, and there’s that lopsided grin again, the one that makes your stomach do funny little flips. “But I just... I really fucking want you. And I want to make you feel good.”

You let out a sigh, glancing at the bedroom door as if it’s the gateway to the world of “responsibility” that you’re desperately trying to cling to. But honestly, that door is looking less like an escape route and more like a blockade against the pure, unadulterated temptation that is Clayton, sprawled out on the bed, high as a kite and making it very clear what he wants.

You’re supposed to be the responsible one. The one who keeps her wits about her, who doesn’t let a family vacation turn into a complete disaster because her boyfriend decided to get high with his brother in the garage. And yet…here you are, feeling the weight of Clayton’s gaze on you, his hands warm and insistent as they trace the curve of your hips.

“Clayton,” you try again, but your voice is soft, more an invitation than a protest. You should be telling him to sober up, to get dressed for dinner, to think about the fact that his mom could come knocking on the door at any minute. But instead, you find yourself caught in the way his eyes—glassy as they are—still manage to look at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

He looks up at you with those dazed, love-struck eyes and gives you that adorable lopsided grin. “Again? Baby, you don’t understand. I’ve been dreaming about having you like this all day. I just want to make you feel good. I’m so fucking into you right now. Just let me take care of you. It’s all I want.”

Oh god, his eyes are making your heart race, and every rational thought you had is slipping through your fingers. Here you are, his fingers gently tugging at your shirt, his lips grazing your collarbone in a way that makes you question every life decision you’ve ever made.

He’s literally begging to go down on you. To make you feel good, not giving a shit about himself. You’d laugh if it didn’t sound like the absolute best idea in the world right now.

But still, you hesitate. “Clayton,” you start, and even you’re surprised by how steady your voice sounds. “We really, really shouldn’t…”

He doesn’t stop. In fact, he seems to take your half-hearted protest as encouragement because he’s already kissing a path down your stomach, his fingers expertly unbuttoning your shorts like he’s done it a thousand times before. “I don’t care,” he mutters against your skin, and there’s an edge of desperation in his tone that sends a shiver down your spine. “I just need to taste you. Please, baby, let me.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep a level head, but Clayton’s hands are roaming, his fingers curling under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with a slow, deliberate movement. You feel the cool air against your skin, and suddenly every nerve in your body is on high alert. He’s not stopping—he’s determined, and you know, deep down, that if you don’t stop him now, you’re going to lose this battle entirely.

But then he looks up at you, his eyes soft and pleading, his lips swollen from the kisses he’s trailed across your body, and you know you’re done for. He’s high, sure, but there’s something in his gaze that’s entirely genuine—a need to make you feel good, to lose himself in the act of worshiping your body.

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat as you nod, just once, and it’s all the permission he needs. He grins, and there’s that boyish charm again, the kind that makes your stomach flip in the most ridiculous way.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s tugging your shorts fully down your legs, tossing them aside with zero care about where they land. His hands find your thighs, spreading them apart with a gentle insistence that makes your heart pound in your chest. He’s on a mission, and that mission is apparently you.

You try to brace yourself for what’s coming, but nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for the way Clayton dives in like a man starved. His mouth is hot, wet, and insistent, and the first swipe of his tongue against you has your back arching off the bed. He’s not wasting any time, his mouth moving with a kind of single-minded focus that makes your head spin.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hands flying to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you try to ground yourself. He hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your entire body, and you know you’re in trouble. Big, big trouble.

Clayton’s always been good at this—like, freakishly good—but tonight? Tonight, he’s on a whole other level. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the fact that he’s so damn into it, but whatever it is, it’s working, and you’re rapidly losing any semblance of control.

Your mind is a mess of sensations, each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck driving you closer to the edge. You’re not even sure how long he’s been at it—time has lost all meaning, and all you can focus on is the way he’s making you feel. The heat is building, a coil of pleasure tightening in your core, and you know it won’t be long now.

“Clay,” you pant, your voice shaky and breathless. “Oh god, Clayton, I—”

But he’s not stopping. In fact, he’s doubling down, his mouth working you with an intensity that has you trembling, your thighs quivering around his head as he pulls you closer to the brink. You can feel the pleasure building, a tidal wave that’s about to crash over you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it—not that you’d want to.

And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he moans against you, taking such obvious pleasure in it that the sound vibrates through your entire body, and that’s it. The coil snaps, and you’re free-falling into pure, unadulterated bliss. You cry out, your fingers tightening in his hair as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure washing through you in a way that leaves you breathless, trembling, and utterly spent.

Clayton doesn’t let up, his mouth working you through your climax with a kind of reverence that makes your heart swell in your chest. He’s not just doing this because he’s high—he’s doing it because he loves it, loves you, and that thought alone is enough to send a fresh wave of warmth flooding through you.

When you finally come down from the high, your body relaxing back into the bed, you realize with a start that Clayton’s still there, still between your legs, nuzzled up to your thigh. He’s breathing hard, his cheeks flushed as if he’s drunk on you along with being stoned, and when he looks up at you, there’s a smug, satisfied grin on his face that makes you want to smack him and kiss him all at once.

You can practically see the gears turning in his head, and despite everything, you can’t help but roll your eyes. The man just gave you the kind of orgasm that makes you question your life choices, and now he’s looking at you like a puppy who’s proud of himself for learning a new trick.

“Clay,” you start, but your voice is weak, more of a croak than the firm reprimand you were aiming for. You should be getting up, throwing on some clothes, and dragging him to dinner with his parents. You should be the responsible one. But you’re not moving. In fact, your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, and all you can do is lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to function as a human being.

He hums, lazily kissing your inner thigh, clearly not in any hurry to move. You would take him a lot more serious if his lips weren’t glistening, with, well, you. “Yeah, babe?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. He’s still down there, between your legs, like it’s the most natural place in the world for him to be. And maybe it is, but right now, all you can think about is the fact that you have dinner with his parents in, what, forty-five minutes? An hour, if you’re lucky? And here you are, half-naked on the bed, with your high-as-a-kite boyfriend nuzzling your thigh like it’s the most comfortable pillow he’s ever found.

“We really need to get up,” you say, though even you can hear the lack of conviction in your voice.

“Mmm, don’t wanna,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. “Wanna stay right here.”

You let out a groan, not entirely sure if it’s from frustration or the lingering pleasure still coursing through your veins. “Clayton, we have to go to dinner.”

He finally lifts his head, looking up at you with those hazy, love-drunk eyes that make your heart do a ridiculous little flip. “But I’m not done,” he says, as if that’s a perfectly valid excuse for skipping a family dinner.

You blink at him, trying to process what he just said. “Not… done?”

He grins, that boyish, slightly cocky smile that usually precedes him getting his way. “I mean, I could do this all night. I really, really like doing this for you. Makes me feel all… I dunno. Good. Happy.” He’s rambling now, his words tumbling out in a way that’s both endearing and a little infuriating. “You taste so fucking good, babe. Seriously. It’s like… fuck. I don’t even have words for it. I just wanna make you feel good. Again. And again. Until you can’t even think straight.”

Oh, you’re definitely not thinking straight. In fact, you’re pretty sure all coherent thought has flown out the window the moment he started talking about how much he likes going down on you. And the worst part? He’s completely sincere. This isn’t just the weed talking—this is Clayton being his ridiculously sweet, overly affectionate self, and it’s making it really, really hard to be the responsible one.

“Clayton,” you say again, trying to muster up some authority, but it comes out more like a plea than anything else. You should be getting up. You should be dragging him to the shower, dousing him with cold water, and forcing him into some semblance of sobriety before facing his parents. But instead, you’re lying there, letting him nuzzle your thigh, his breath warm against your skin, and all you can think about is how good it felt to have him between your legs, how good it would feel to let him do it again.

But you’re supposed to be the responsible one.

“Babe,” he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough, “please let me. Just one more time. I promise I’ll be good after. I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. You. How you taste. How you look when you come. God, it’s like… it’s the only thing I want right now.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from moaning at the sheer desperation in his voice. He’s practically begging, and it’s doing things to you—things that are making it very, very difficult to stay focused on the whole “responsible girlfriend” thing.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts. “Clay,” you start, but before you can get another word out, he’s already leaning in, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh in a way that makes your toes curl.

“I’m really good at it, right?” he mumbles against your skin, his voice muffled but still clear enough to make your heart race. “You like it when I do this?”

You want to say something—anything—to stop this before it spirals completely out of control, but all that comes out is a breathy whimper as he trails kisses higher, his tongue darting out to tease you in a way that makes you want to scream.

He grins against your skin, clearly pleased with himself. “Yeah, you like it. I knew it.”

“Clayton, we can’t…” You try again, but it’s a losing battle. Your body is betraying you, every nerve ending screaming for more even as your brain tries to remind you that there’s a dinner reservation looming over your head. But then he’s licking a slow, torturous line up your thigh, and any hope of rational thought flies out the window.

“Just one more time,” he murmurs, his voice soft and coaxing. “Please, babe. I just… I need it. I need you. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

And that’s it. Your resolve crumbles, and you find yourself nodding, even as your brain tries to scream at you that this is a terrible idea. But right now, with Clayton looking at you like you’re the most important thing in the world, you can’t bring yourself to care. This man is thorough, methodical, and once he sets his mind to something, he’s like a dog with a bone—or, in this case, like a stoned hockey player with a serious oral fixation.

“Okay,” you whisper, and the word is barely out of your mouth before he’s diving back in, his mouth hot and insistent as he picks up right where he left off. You’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair as you arch into him, all thoughts of dinner, responsibilities, and anything outside of this room fading into oblivion.

And as he works you over with a kind of focused intensity that leaves you breathless, you can’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—being the responsible one is overrated. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself as he sends you spiraling into another earth-shattering climax, your mind going blissfully blank as you lose yourself in the overwhelming pleasure.

So much for being responsible. But honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[netegf]

violet chemistry (i)

pairing: aged up!ao'nung x f!metkayina reader

plot: you and ao'nung attempt to regain control in your lives by fake-dating. the irony is... this is fated.

word count: 2k

a/n: my take on a fake-dating, friends to lovers, best friend's brother au??? i want to make this a series, but i think it will be short and sweet <3 no particular warnings, but this takes place roughly 10 years after atwow (& neteyam is alive 🥰).

next

Nothing about the moment makes sense. It’s an agonizing kind of relief, which is somehow a feeling that exists. It comes in Ao'nung's hand brushing a strand of hair from your face which you would have preferred stayed. His knee tickling yours as you attempt to control your uneven breathing, years of water training out the window as he casts you a sideways glance in preparation of the charade that’s about to begin.

As Ao’nung dislodges a beaded anklet from a poorly-woven pouch that you’ve made for him, clan members pass each other impish smiles like they know something you don’t.

The trouble is, reality is quite opposite. You know something they don’t.

Everything they think they've seen over the last few weeks – Ao’nung’s only slightly tender gaze, the rap of his three-fingered hand on your family’s marui pod before the end of night, his surprisingly charming gifts which match the accessories in your hair – is a farce.

Ao’nung watches you fumble with the anklet three times before he breaks. You sit in the sand, taking note of the eyes that linger over the two you.

“I can’t watch this anymore.” He grumbles, taking your calf in his hand and placing it firmly in his lap. Ao’nung ties the flimsy jewelry around your ankle in a single neat knot with a stupidly smug look on his face that seems to say ‘see how easy that was?’ and it makes you want to shove him hard in the chest.

Like he can see those violent wheels in your head turning, he clicks his tongue. “Nuh-uh.” He chides. “They’re watching.”

Spending time with the Olo'eyktan’s son, it seemed there was always someone watching.

You nod, but Ao’nung doesn’t miss the way your eyes roll slightly. It made his chest clench in a way that felt uncomfortably new. By this age, he’d really hoped there were no new feelings left to encounter. Nothing quite like this, sinking through him like a slab of metal through water.

“They’re always watching.” You retort, blowing a loose strand of hair up from your face. “When else do I get to roll my eyes at you? All this pent up anger is gonna burn a hole through my stomach.”

Ao’nung laughs a hearty laugh that you know is meant for your ears, but he smiles for everyone to see. Gently leaning his muscular shoulder on your own, he shrugs, and you take it that he doesn’t really have an answer.

That seemed to be the case a lot lately.

When Ao’nung first proposed the idea to you, he was shocked at the ease to which you complied. He was expecting more resistance, the way there’d always been in your relationship – a splash of the water to the face when he bragged about finally training with tsurak, a cheap and sarcastic laugh at one of his not-so-funny jokes which warmed him and vexed him at the same time.

He knew why he had asked. His parents were slowly but surely introducing the topic of mating into conversation and it was stealing all the air from his lungs like a vindictive little vacuum.

Talking about mates made everything feel so real. So heavy. Like he’d lived his whole life to get to this point and suddenly it was here and he’d do anything to go back and live one of those light-hearted days again. With you, and everyone else, playing because you could afford to.

He asked you to get his parents off his back for a bit – just until he could find it within himself to live out his destiny. Still, he couldn’t understand why you had said yes.

“If I’m so hard to be around,” Ao’nung jokes, but not really. “Why’d you even agree to this in the first place?”

You pull your knees to your chest, let the cool pieces of sea glass strung onto his anklet mediate your body temperature. “Same reason as you, really.”

Ao’nung quirks an eyebrow, turning his head to meet your eyes, but he’s met with resistance. Your eyes are glued to the rounds of your knees, a small bite to your lip that stirs a barrelling feeling in his stomach. He waits for you to elaborate with his forehead pinched.

“My parents want me to find a mate.” You say simply. “At first, it was easy to convince them otherwise. I could say I was focusing on completing my rites.”

He passes a contemplative glance. “And now?”

“Now, they have suggestions.”

Suggestions. The word felt sticky in his mouth and birthed a new feeling.

Ao’nung knew your parents. They were dedicated members of the clan – your mother, a celebrated hunter for her sharp mind in battle and borderline overwhelming tenacity, and your father, renowned for his artful craftsmanship of weaponry. They loved you well, but were a tad controlling. He could tell it bothered you – how tight their reigns were.

“And you know me. I wouldn’t be any good… at that.”  

You were right, he did know you. But it was the second part of that statement that was causing him full-body grief, though it’d be hard for him to pinpoint exactly why. Ao’nung feels his mouth open in objection, but you continue without waiting for him, like you always do.

“Anyways, I said yes because I need to do this. For myself.” You wrap your arms around your knees and gently press your chin atop them. “I don’t even know if I want a mate… but if I do, I-I need it to be my choice. And I need them to understand that.”

The heat Ao’nung feels is suddenly everywhere, but he nods all the same.

You shuffle under his hot gaze and let out a hefty breath that staggers as it falls. Every molecule in the air felt heavier and it had a lot to do with the fact that things were a lot different now than they were ten years ago. Ten years ago, when you’d joined Olo'eyktan’s children in teaching the Sully’s the ways of the Metkayina. When Kiri had joined your life-long friendship with Tsireya, and you’d pined for Ao’nung as inconsistently as high-tide, sometimes early in the day, sometimes late, but always so long as there was a moon.

The you of ten years ago wouldn’t have been able to fathom the situation you were in now, but the you of today knew that there were worse people to pretend to court than your best friend’s fickle, but well-meaning, brother. Some nights it felt like you were strong enough to do this. Other nights it singed at your fingertips, leaving ash on your sleeping mat.

According to Kiri, love doesn’t just fade like that. Maybe she was right and some completely sensitive part of you, trudging water from the past, was eager to have him in whatever capacity you could even if it was destined to disappoint. Maybe Tsireya was right and you wanted to hurt a little.

“I want to be more brave. Like you.” You finish, and Ao’nung feels a teasing shiver run down his spine. Like Eywa blowing air down his back.

“Brave?” He snorts. “My body just moves. I don’t know if I would call that brave.”

Ao’nung wasn’t sure how he felt hearing you undersell yourself. It was definitely bad, but it was also confusing. He’d never known anyone more daring than you. You butted his hard-headedness in a way that no one else seemed willing to. You’d been known to entertain Lo’ak’s recklessness more than a few times, flying ikran when you were born for water, and it annoyed him to no end. In most of his childhood memories, you were somewhere in the foreground, doing something that he’d wanted in on, but would never say so.

Some part of him thinks you always knew that –  which is why most of those memories finish with you tugging him by the arm and pulling him into the fun – often motivated by his hard-to-earn, but more than worth it smile – he was young, painfully begrudging, but entirely grateful, and he hoped you knew that.

In any case, brave was a word he reserved for that starry-eyed girl that spent many sleepless nights outside her marui pod and on the beach, retelling him fantastical Earth stories that she'd heard Jake Sully once tell Tuk. He couldn’t forget those nights if he tried – and if he could, he wouldn’t.

He remembers you, blinking the sleep away, heels buried in the sand in a way much like you were sitting currently. Except back then, you would tell him about ‘once upon a time’ – something humans said before they told stories about princesses and goblins – things that didn’t exist, but he supposed that’s what made them so compelling.

The Metkayina had a similar phrase for their stories, but the words were different. In English, the best translation would have been: ‘there was, there wasn’t’. He’d seen in you that urge to escape when you left the Na’vi words behind any time you told him a story thereafter.

“I guess I just feel stuck.”

That was something Ao’nung could relate to. He follows your eye line, set on a group of barnacles deadlocked to a slab of rock. With an unwavering hand, he breaks one off and chucks it into the sand in front of you.

“Then we pull a little harder." He casts a gentle, but stern look. "Right?”

“Right.” You force a smile over the dull burn of tears. Then you bite back a laugh. “What are you? The barnacle whisperer?"

Ao’nung groans. “Don’t call me that. Please.”

A small laugh rumbles in his chest, and he takes the opportunity to look at you head-on. He lingers on your slightly damp eyes and nudges your side.

“You, uh, look like you’re getting broken up with.” He says in a nervous whisper, scratching the back of his neck. Eyes flickering between you and the onlookers still out on this part of the reef.

You bite your lip, shifting slightly closer to him. “Can’t have that, can we?”

You sneak a quick peak at the eyes glued on the two of you, fingers trembling faintly, but you know you’re nervous for a different reason. There was no going back after this. But you force a deep breath of air so cold that it felt herbal, with a new-found confidence – you didn’t want to go back. Slowly, your hands, once planted in the sand, drift up to snake around Ao’nung’s neck and his breath catches in his throat. He knows the clan is watching – knows you’re doing this because the clan is watching, but he feels his heart beat erratically as if his body can’t tell the difference.

You eye him inquisitively, in a way that he knows means you’re asking for permission, and he nods whilst internally urging his jaw to fall slack. His lips to do something other than wait for you.

Your lips touch his in a way that makes him gasp, and then again, and again, when you swallow his heavy breaths. He feels like a quick-filling cup that you won’t let spill. Against all his self-restraint, his hands tremble around your waist when you pull away from him.

“Is that what that feels like?” You murmur, feeling loose-limbed and heady. He thinks he'll faint if he acknowledges that it's your first.

“Y-yeah.”

But Ao’nung knows he’s lying. He’s never felt anything like this in his life – let alone in a kiss, and he’s suddenly concerned that you'll remember his tells. Tinge of purple on his ears, lightly flaring nostrils. If you notice, you don’t say so, and he’s grateful for it.

He clumsily pulls the heat of his body away, knowing something inside him has changed, and mumbles some kind of non-excuse about having to help his father out before eclipse. He says so whilst avoiding your eyes, though you wouldn’t have noticed anyways. Too busy ruminating in the aftershocks of his kiss – there was no going back – and mostly because those lips shot an arrow dead through the idea that there could be someone else for you.

Wordlessly, you nod and walk away like his retreat is contagious – trying hard not to, but still keeling at the hope that he could feel there was something there. A spark, a desire, a small flash of yearning you swear you saw in his eyes but disappeared too quick to know for sure.

Something that was, then wasn’t.

reblogs + tags are always appreciated 🪐🩷🫶🏼 i hope you enjoyed! as it stands, i'm working on more parts in the hopes of making this a mini-series, but def lmk if you want more hehe!

[jkslipppiercing]

Jailbird teaser | jjk

♤ summary: He's a jailbird. You're an officer. A forbidden love story. But is he really who he claims to be?

♤ pairing: prisoner!jk x reader, officer!reader, morally black!jk.

♤ genre: prisoner x officer, forbidden romance, slowburn, strangers to lovers.

♤ WC: 400 words. (teaser)

a/n: so so so excited about this! a bit different from Bumblebee, but i hope you'll like it! dont hesitate to share your thoughts with me about it :)

taglist

index

"A woman?!"

Exasperated.

"Whats a girl with those curves doing here?"

Suggestive.

"Is she that much of a dumb bitch to come here, dressed like that?"

Rude.

At least one hundred pairs of eyes stare at you through bars.

You were told this was a small place in need of some help.

Oh boy, is it the furthest thing possible.

This has to be the biggest place you've ever been in.

"Y/L/N Y/N?" You jump at the voice that suddenly appears behind you.

You turn around too abruptly, losing your footing and almost stumbling into the arms of the man before you.

He rolls his eyes at your clumsiness, doing barely any effort to stabalize you. He holds a flimsy grip over your forearm, a mere attempt of keeping you from kissing the floor.

His hand leaves to join his side as he waits for you to quite literally get it together.

"Sorry about that." Your cheeks pink, flushed with embarrassment. The whole situation calls for awkwardness. The hushed voices tuned down to low murmurs, now turning curious at the interaction unfolding under their watch.

You grow even more conscious when the man strangely stays quiet, only pinning you down with a hard stare.

It's then you notice the lines of tension decorating his face, brackets of irritation framing his mouth. Deep purplish eye-bags grow heavier once he looks down at you, making you feel humiliated.

He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.

"This is not a playground. Nor is it a play house, miss." His harsh tone sends a pang to your chest.

That's strange. You havent felt those in so long, that it feels foreign. You've grown so used to the feeling before, that you almost miss it.

You push those thoughts aside, a frown pulling your eyebrows together as you grow confused.

Before you can respond, he beats you to it.

"If you're not willing to co-operate and take this seriously, leave."

Your mouth hangs open in shock.

That was straightforward, but it was also incredibly rude.

Who does this asshole think he is?!

"I think you know your way out," Your mouth opens yet again, just to close immediately after he brushes past you- rather roughly- bumping into your shoulder and causing you to stumble.

You're speechless.

"You have thirty minutes to get your bearings together and meet me in my office." He looks back and your eyes lock- not in a passionate way, more like in an I-can't-wait-to-make-your-life-a-living-hell-way.

"I have shit to do. Don't be late."

@hoseokteardrop @nochuel @kaitieskidmore97 @nays2112 @jksoftii @yu-justme @meadow-in-spring @bunnykoos @looneybleus @fushigurosdarling @alpha-mommy69 @junecat18 @xjiminsthighsx @tanniesdolls @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @whoa-jo @ahgasegotarmy116 @jksusawife @frgetmenotz @baechugff @partyparty-yah @army130613210521 @drugerlime @allisonstone @hopekive @llallaaa @tarahardcore @hopetookmysoul @betysotelo18 @harmonic55 @ecrvea @awesomebabyyoda @peterstarkchrishiddleston @pinkrockstar19 @sweetestseoul @luv--youu @mochminnie @coletaehyung @whitelies2248-blog

(please please please private message me if you don't want to be included in jailbird's taglist, maybe you'd only want to be mentioned on bumblebee updates?)

[thetaekookcloset]

Checking In ~! (And Signing Off)

Hello, everyone!

I logged in for a few minutes today just to check in on some other blogs, and I knew some people would probably see that I've been online so I wanted to say a quick hello and thank you to everyone who's been looking for me, thinking of me, and sending in sweet comments saying that you've missed the blog -- thanks so much for thinking of me!

I thought I'd give you a few rapid-fire answers to some questions I've seen since logging on and that have been floating around, starting with why I've been gone. The honest answer is that I never intended to run this blog forever, which is why I worked so hard to make sure it was well-organized, so that it could remain as a resource even after I moved on from it. I've had a lot going on in my life for the past couple of years, including buying a house with my partner and making a new best friend (you know who you are lol love youuuu), not to mention keeping up with all the members' solo projects! For the most part, I felt that I said what I had to say, and so I've been putting my fandom energy into other areas.

That said, there have of course been developments since I've been gone, so let me address some of them briefly.

Several people seemed to want to know how I feel about Taennie these days. I feel the same as I did before. I would be pretty damn surprised if anything legitimate were to ever come out about Tae and Jennie being involved. Everything that links them together is flimsy and circumstantial at best, whereas Jennie's links to G-Dragon have remained consistent and compelling, and regardless of Taehyung's relationship with Jungkook, I feel pretty confident that he is, shall we say, not especially interested in women in that way.

As for the developments in Jikook's relationship, and more specifically in the common Jikooker narratives lately, I feel the same as I always have. I think Jungkook and Jimin are clearly good friends who are very comfortable with each other. I'm glad they have each other close by for their military service as forced conscription must be hard on anyone and those two in particular seemed less than enthusiastic about the experience. I do not, however, believe that it would be safe for them to enlist together to potentially stay in close quarters if they were in a romantic relationship, nor do I think they would be put together by the company for content like a whole duo show, complete with photobook and merchandise, if they were in a relationship.

Taekook, on the other hand, proved again and again throughout 2023 that they were seeing each other often, keeping up with one another's lives and work, and remaining as close as they always have been, as there is and always has been ample evidence to prove. A few of my favorite moments: Tae saying that Jungkook would sing him "To Find You" from Sing Street, a song about being destined to find someone despite not believing in fate, and pulling up Jungkook's cover to listen to, while Jungkook was away; Jungkook mentioning Tae unprompted, like sharing his memory of going snowboarding with Tae and his friends when asked to talk about why he chose "Ditto" for his Spotify interview and mentioning that he loves the song "Golden Hour" during a live; Tae playing "For Us" and doing a little boxing move when JK happened to be in California; Jungkook asking Taehyung "Where have you been?" when he showed up late to Inkigayo -- I could go on honestly, probably forever, so I'll make myself stop here.

That's part of the thing with this blog. I could go on and on, and I have so much that I love and want to do and say, so many other directions I want to spread that energy, so I don't plan to stick around. But I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has missed me; I genuinely didn't anticipate that, and it means a lot. I hope you're all doing well, and finding spaces for yourselves in this wild fandom we share.

TL;DR -- I'm sure the question anyone would most want me to answer is just this: Do I still believe in Taekook?

Yeah, I do. More than ever before really. I think their relationship speaks for itself, more than I ever could, for anyone willing to listen.

Borahae!

[tayfabe75]

Matty Healy: Cancelled on purpose?

"I'd rather be a pretend supervillain than some pretend hero." (x)

Matty Healy. If you're familiar with the name, chances are good you've already got an opinion about him. Probably a strong one, if I had to guess! Since opinions about Matty Healy tend to come in just two shades: black and white - revered and reviled. On the one hand, you've got people sleeping in tents on sidewalks, sometimes in sketchy cities and inclement weather, just for the chance to see him up close; on the other hand, you have chronically online Twitter users praying for his early demise, using AI art to bring their most depraved wishes to life. So, what's going on, exactly?

"The only fear I have is provoking ambivalence in people. I'd rather people be angry at me than be bored." (x)

And get angry they did! Matty's 2023 cancellation even earned him Pitchfork's "Villain of the Year" title! But...

Did he plan for it to happen all along?

On October 14th, 2022, Matty appears on Chicken Shop Date with Amelia Dimoldenberg. She confronts him about his plan to go on a podcast and pleads, "please don't", to which Matty replies:

"It's probably good advice."

A couple of months later in December 2022, Zane Lowe reveals that Matty meticulously planned their entire interview, lovingly describing him as a "TROLL!" Likewise, when questioned about their ambitious 'At Their Very Best' tour, Matty says that though the tour "feels loose", it's actually "very, very tight" and "very, very well-rehearsed".

Fast-forward to February 2nd, 2023: Matty makes an appearance on Q with Tom Power, where he describes his interest in the flimsy nature of interviews, saying:

"I could fuck my career, I could be a different person, I could do a Chinese accent, I could do anything!"

About a week later, on February 9th, 2023, Matty appeared on the Adam Friedland Show podcast. For context, this podcast is classified as "black comedy, blue humor, surreal humor, anti-humor, and political satire". It is associated with the "Dirtbag left", which is described as "a style of left-wing politics that eschews civility to convey a left-wing populist and anti-capitalist message using vulgarity". In other words, they're trolls. Just like Matty.

Now, to make things easier for anyone reading who wants the full context, I clipped Matty's three "unforgivable offenses" from the dreaded podcast: here is the "ghetto gaggers" moment, the "Ice Spice" moment, and the "accents" moment. I hope you can tell the difference between British and American accents…

Adam and Nick would go on to clarify that they didn't actually know which website Matty was watching. Likewise, very recently, the woman who walked in on Matty clarified that he was not even watching ghetto gaggers:

When asked about the podcast and whether he baited his fans on purpose, Matty said:

"A little bit. But it doesn't actually matter. Nobody is sitting there at night slumped at their computer, and their boyfriend comes over and goes, 'What's wrong, darling?' and they go, 'It's just this thing with Matty Healy.' That doesn't happen."

Yet, it does! Shortly after the podcast, Matty's fans expressed their distaste for his appearance on The Adam Friedland Show. Part of that might be because it was amplified by this tweet from Yungblud:

Interestingly, a few months prior to his tweet, Yungblud went on record stating his admiration for Matty Healy in November 2022. And after Matty's very "unserious" video response wherein he mocks Yungblud, but Dom would later go on to admit that he found the whole thing funny and that he still likes the guy.

Conveniently, Ice Spice also happened to go on record with her admiration for The 1975 shortly before the dreaded podcast, in January 2023!:

"I listen to alternative music. I feel like a lot of people wouldn't expect that. Yeah, shout out Coldplay, The 1975. Obsessed with them."

This, of course, made the joke about her sting that much more a month later… Now, if Matty simply promoted Ice Spice by praising her on his social media accounts, she might have gotten a small boost in streams, that's true. But think about that pretend villain quote again… by taking the fall for a barely offensive joke that he didn't even say, himself… Matty practically turned Ice Spice into a household name.

And before you go assuming Taylor collaborated with Ice Spice purely as damage control… well, there was a rumor about the collab almost a full month before it dropped, on April 27th. And here's what Ice Spice had to say about it:

"That was mostly through management. I was talking about how I was watching Taylor's documentary 'cause I just wanted to really take notes as an artist and stuff like that. Just like how the lifestyle is for such a big artist like her. My manager heard me talking about that and had like reached out to her team and then they had a song for me and everything just played out real good."

Ice Spice's clarification often gets ignored in favor of the more dramatic version of events. The same way Matty's apology addressing the situation from last April gets ignored by so-called journalists who are rewarded for their biases via clickbait titles.

Ice Spice also clarified that Matty apologized to her personally several times:

"I saw him at the Jean Paul Gaultier party a couple days ago, and he was like, 'Hey, you OK?' and I'm like, 'Of course.' He apologized to me a bunch of times. We're good."

Speaking of podcasts… on April 8th, The 1975 released an episode of 'A Theatrical Performance of an Intimate Moment' (filmed in March) where Matty appears to be rehearsing lines for an upcoming and seemingly "candid" interview with Caveh Zahedi:

On April 15th, Matty revealed that he inspired the rat from Flushed Away. Now, Matty probably didn't actually inspire the character of Roddy St. James (although he really was close to one of the film's writers, Ian La Frenais, who was his mother's godfather), but... with this joke, he had just cemented his own "vermin" moniker that would continue to be used to insult him to this very day (sound familiar? 🐍)

What was it Taylor said? Ah, that's right:

"If you make the joke first and you make the joke better, then it's not as funny when other people call you a name."

Almost a week later, on April 21st, Matty would go on a four-minute speech on stage in Auckland, New Zealand, "finally" providing an apology and an explanation for the whole podcast debacle:

"It's not because I'm annoyed that me joking got misconstrued, it's because I don't want Ice Spice to think I'm a dick. I love you, Ice Spice. I'm so sorry. But I don't want to be… I don't want anything to get misconstrued to be mean. I just want to say, 'Hello. This is a bit embarrassing. I'm sorry if I get it wrong. We all get it wrong'. You know? Like, I just have to do it in public and then apologize to Ice Spice, and my life's just a bit weird. But I am genuinely sorry if I've upset her because I fucking love her."

Ignoring this pre-existing apology, on May 17th, Taylor's fans (allegedly) penned the "SpeakUpNow campaign", urging Taylor to dump Matty. On May 30th, Brad Troemel published the "Taylor Swift Fan Union", a series of satirical infographics targeting Taylor's most entitled fans.

Taylor and Matty were reported to have broken up on June 5th, just one month after Taylor had the nerve to date someone of her own volition, without first seeking fan permission!

And things were about to get even worse for Matty, as his labelmate Rina Sawayama would go on to call him out at Glastonbury in June:

"I wrote this next song because I was sick and tired of micro-aggressions. So, tonight, this song goes out to a white man who watches Ghetto Gaggers and mocks Asian people on a podcast. He also owns my masters. I've had enough."

Yet… Matty resigned from his position at Dirty Hit at the beginning of April, which, at the very least, should call the ownership of Rina's masters into question. Speaking of Rina, she's historically a friend of Matty's! Here she is photographed with Matty's dog Mayhem in 2020. And when Matty took over The Face podcast, they asked some of The 1975's friends to cover their songs… Rina was selected and chose 'Love It If We Made It'.

Speaking of Matty's friends… Bleachers were hand-picked to perform at The 1975's Finsbury Park show on July 2nd, where Matty would label Jack his best friend. Yet, just one month later, Matty would be allegedly "disinvited" from Jack's wedding.

In August 2023, Bleachers would go on to join The 1975's Dirty Hit label (alongside Rina). That same month, an episode of The Ion Pack podcast featuring Matty was published, revealing that Brad Troemel "lit a fire" underneath him "massively". Yep! The guy from earlier who created the "Taylor Swift Fan Union". And, though the podcast was published in August, it was filmed all the way back in November 2022…

Brad would go on to help co-write The 1975's 'Still At Their Very Best' Tour, which would launch in September 2023 (yep, the same month as Matty and Taylor's new relationships!):

During the SATVB tour, on February 13, 2024, Matty would describe what he does on stage as "simulating a breakdown", and, as was always intended, Matty's fans largely fell into the trap he laid… (or, at least, I personally saw a lot of speculation regarding Matty's possible drug relapse and mental health issues all over Reddit and Twitter, based solely on his on-stage performance - well, that and gossip blinds, I'm sure).

But... Matty called it a year earlier, in February 2023, when he said:

"I like these lines of like, blurring between what people consider is real. Because with the internet now, there's also a forum. So, there's a lot of conversation right now about like, whether I'm back on drugs, or whether the show is real."

Remember that pesky podcast that started all this mess? The Adam Friedland Podcast? Well, it's co-created and produced by Nick Mullen. Check out this file Matty shared on December 28th, 2023:

It's a little blurry, so let me actually type it out:

UNTITLED MH PILOT "Canceled" Written by Nick Mullen

Some interesting things started happening at The 1975's shows this February. Matty began playing the clip from Q with Tom Power during Consumption (the one about how he could fuck his career and do a Chinese accent if he wanted). And, in the midst of a seemingly earnest speech, Matty breaks the fourth wall, encouraging his fans to be skeptical of things they see on screens - even seemingly sincere moments...

I'll close this out by reminding anyone who happens to have read this far that Matty grew up watching tabloids profit off of made-up lies about his parents, and the media might have destroyed his relationship with the woman of his dreams (we'll see!) Basically, if anyone has the means and motive to troll the media, it's Matty Healy.