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dcxdpdabbles · 15 hours ago

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DC x DP Fanfic: Family bonding.

The Waynes, for all of their proclamation of being some of the best detectives in the world, missed the signs that one of their own was dating. Usually, that wouldn't have been so shocking, except that the person who dating made a point to tell the group he was dating.

He also somehow always stayed friends with his exes. Which was a superpower of its own, if they are honest, because not a single one of them was bitter about the relationship ending with Dick.

Another thing unusual about Dick having a lover was that he never brought them around or was seen in public with them. If anything, it felt like Dick was trying to keep the relationship a secret.

Which went against everything he cared about when dating someone.

That's why Bruce fully believed that the secret was being enforced by his partner. So it was up to the Waynes to find out who this mysterious lover was and evaluate if they were good enough for Dick.

So on a Friday night, when Dick was allegedly tutoring underprivileged kids but was actually meeting up with his lover, the Waynes piled into a shabby-looking minivan and followed.

It was cramped. It was dented, and it had tinted windows. Most importantly, the minivan belonged to John Constantine, who hadn't used it in over twenty years after learning to portal from one place to another.

Dick would never realize it was them.

"I think this is a terrible idea," Jason grunts from the back seat. He crosses his arms, refusing to pick up the binoculars Tim had passed around earlier. "Dick is a fully grown man. He knows how to properly talk to his partner about what he wants in a relationship."

"Shut up, virgin," Damian hisses from the passenger seat. He won the right to sit there after breaking Steph's skin with his teeth. Bruce had allowed them to brawl for a few minutes until Damian emerged victorious. He also let her use his phone to schedule a rabies shot, keeping eye contact with Damian in the rearview mirror. "Just because you never had a girlfriend-"

"-or a boyfriend. You fail to seducing both." Cass cut in from around her binoculars. She fist-bumped Tim as Jason threw her an offended look.

"Thank you, Cassandra. Ultimately, you have no experience and thus can not comment on what to do in relationships." Damian concluded.

"Neither do you!"

"Yes, but I am a child." Damian waves his hand in Jason's general direction. "It's expected of me to not have any romantic experience. You, on the other hand, are a loser."

"Unless you are Asexual or Aromantic," Bruce pipes in, leaning a little against the steering wheel, attempting to get a better view of the apartment building that Dick had walked into. He wasn't going up to any of the actual units; he remained in the lobby. "Then you are the are not a loser. But rather the closest thing to godhood."

"B, we know gods."

"That's why I said closest."

Thankfully, the lobby had huge windows. Dick was speaking to the receptionist, leaning on the counter with a little smile, and the man was grinning back.

However, Dick hasn't touched his hair even once. This was not the secret lover. This was a fool falling for Dick's charms, probably someone involved with a crime.

Ugh, so dull.

Jason crossed his arms stubbornly "I can get a date. I'm just busy."

"Doing what? Reading romance novels?" Steph laughs. Jason opens his mouth to yell at her, but the receptionist hands Dick a golden key that the eldest Wayne pockets. He strides out of the apartment complex, hands in his pocket and whistling joyfully.

The Wayns put away their binoculars, and Bruce carefully peels out of their parking spot. They keep a nice distance away from Dick as he scrolls around the stores, stopping every once in a while to admire a display before he sits on a bench, hand still inside the pocket with the key.

A person wearing a trench coat and thick sunglasses approaches the bench, sitting on the far end of it and not looking in Dick's direction. The van collectively gasps.

Despite the disguise, they can tell just who it is.

"Tatior," Jason hisses between clenched teeth as Duke slides a sealed brown package across the bench towards Dick. In return, the eldest places the key on the bench, back top, and strives away from the bench. Duke waits a few minutes before he stands, walking in the opposite direction of Dick, hand sliding out to grab the key nearly undetectable.

"Why does Duke need an apartment key? And one that was snuck to him," Tim asks, watching the two siblings walk away from each other as though they were strangers. "What's he up to?"

" We only have time for one family mystery today," Bruce answers, turning the wheel to the left and continuing to follow Dick. "I have dinner plans with Selina later."

Duke pulls out a red wig and slides off his coat. Underneath is a punk rock outfit, complete with spikes, the coat he throws into the trash and clicks his boots. Four-inch heels pop out from his shoes, and Duke struts out of sight.

Tim leans against the windows, face and palms against the glass, eyes wide. "Wait. Wait. I have so many questions. B, turn around!"

"Dinner plans, Tim!"

"But B!"

Damian points. "Look! Richard is twirling his hair! The harlot draws near."

Steph laughs, patting Tim's back, who is straining hard to open the door. Thankfully, Bruce was quick enough to press the child lock. "I love the way you talk, Dames. It's like a period piece villain escaped the TV."

"Thank you, Brown. I enjoy your existence as well." Damian smiles, pressing the binoculars against his face. "Oh."

Bruce's grip on the wheel tightens. He had chosen to stay really far behind Dick once the man had walked into a narrow street, making it harder to blend into the traffic. "What is Damian?"

"You will not like it, Father," Damian says lowly. Behind him, Steph and Tim also reach for their spying gear. Jason and Cass were grimacing from the back seat, one taking pictures and the other working on getting the listening device's antenna out the crack of the window to aim at Dick.

Bruce's knuckles turn white as he steeled his resolve. "Go on. I can take it. What do you see?"

"It's Danny Fenton." Tim, Steph, and Damian all say at the same time. "The person he is dating in secret is Danny Fenton."

Bruce felt his heart stop. "The man who makes bread in the shape of hero logos?"

"Yeah. Otherwise known as "The Happy Baker," Steph says gravely. "The only Gothamite who is unreasonably happy without drugs or Joker venom."

"I once saw him making up songs while setting out a display of animal-shaped bread. He rhymed Gotham with awesome." Tim practically spits. "I should have known. All those animals were circus-themed. The elephants were incredibly tasty."

"You bought some!?"

"Excuse me for being hungry B!"

Damian slaps Bruce's arm aggressively. "Father! Father! Richard is getting on one knee."

"WHAT?!"

Jason pressed one hand over his headphones and attempted to listen closer before his eyes widened. "Wait! It's not a real marriage. Dick's investigating a possible trafficking ring, who been using Gotham baking supplies as a cover. He wants Danny to help him infiltrate the front by pretending to be baking husbands!"

"He just asked him to get married," Jason reported, much to the horror of the general van. Cass' camera starts clicking aggressively, either to capture the moment or have something to hang over Dick's head and force him to call off his marriage.

It's hard to tell with her perfectly impassive expression.

"Oh, thank the gods." Bruce breathes, only to have Steph ruin the moment.

"They're frenching right now."

"Oh, come on!"

"This is fun," Cass says over Bruce, swearing under his breath. "We should spy on each other as a group more often."

"Can we find out what Duke is up to next? The heels will haunt me until I know everything." Tim pipes up.

Damian, Tim, and Steph do not lower their binoculars even though they are close enough that they become a nuisance rather than helpful. He hasn't seen them so engaged in a family outing in a long time. "Yeah, we can spy on Duke next."

There is a moment of silence as Bruce considers the request before he merges lanes. In doing so, they drive by the kissing couple, too caught up in each other to notice the people staring at them through spying gear.

"You're the best adoptive dad ever!" Tim cheers as the rest of the kids let out whoops. Fenton's ears twitch, breaking the kiss with Dick to look right at them over their eldest shoulder.

Bruce slams a foot on the pedal the second Cass starts yelling, "Go go go! He saw us!". They peel away, screaming while Dick throws them a finger, and Fenton laughs silently.

The happy little freak.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Family Bonding #death defying #The Waynes spy on Dick #Fluffy fmaily outting #Bruce doesn't like Danny #He's too happy #The other don't like him either for the same reason #Duke is also undercover but he's day shift so his stuff is crazier #Danny is a baker

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puppym3 · 3 days ago

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felix x reader ─── just this once?

synopsis - you and felix, your best friend, are watching anime and cuddling on the couch together; and while there's nothing weird about that, why do you feel so weird when he reacts strangely to you playing with his hair?

wc: 4.5k

silly tags: MDNI! 18+, bsf!felix, afab!reader, maybe pining?, felix is a huge cuddler, other seven members exist but are nowhere to be seen, felix likes having his hair played with (me too), PT 1 (maybe pt 2?)

MDNI!! smut warnings under cut!!

WARNINGS: smut, masturbation (f + m), hair pulling, slight choking (not rough), they masturbate in front of each other, post-nut clarity, cum ingestion, reader likes noisy men!! (YES YOU)

Felix was the one you considered your best friend in the entire world, despite having seven other good friends. You and Felix just clicked. Maybe it was because he'd stay up playing video games with you, or make you late-night desserts even though you both agree you shouldn't be allowed to have snacks after 11 pm. Or maybe it was the fact that you found him the cutest out of the eight, making him the easiest to tease. (The insane cuteness aggression you get)

The apartment was unusually quiet today, the kind of silence that felt rare in a space usually filled with chaotic laughter, competitive yelling from game nights, or the general commotion of eight boys who all somehow coexisted without killing each other. But tonight, it was just you and Felix, sprawled on the couch, tangled in a way you both swore no one else would ever find out about.

Somehow, you were always falling for Felix's lures, agreeing to the "no telling" pact after Felix hit you with those wide, pleading eyes. It was unfair, honestly. A weaponized look that had no business being as effective as it was.

“Just this once,” you had muttered at the time, already knowing you were lying. It was never just once with Felix.

And now, here you were; his head resting on your chest, your fingers weaving lazily through the soft strands of his black hair. His eyes were half-lidded but determinedly focused on the anime playing in front of you, though he was obviously on the verge of dozing off. His long, delicate fingers absentmindedly traced light patterns along your arm, the subtle scratching oddly soothing.

“Don't fall asleep, Lix," you teased quietly, though the warmth of your voice lacked any real scolding. "You're gonna miss the three episodes of filler!”

“M’not,” he mumbled, voice heavy with exhaustion. But the way his body melted further into yours suggested otherwise.

A soft laugh escaped you. “Sure, sure. Just resting your eyes, hm?”

Felix hummed in contentment, clearly too comfortable to argue. "You’re a good... head massager," he admitted with a lazy grin, though it quickly faded into something softer as he shifted his head slightly, nuzzling closer without a care.

You knew this was dangerous territory, the kind of scene the other boys would never let either of you live down. Hyunjin would tease Felix mercilessly for his "puppy syndrome," and Chan would probably lose it at the idea that you of all people caved to cuddling. No, this would definitely remain a secret.

Your fingers slid into his hair, your nails gently scratching his scalp as Felix let out a soft, pleased hum. It was barely a sound, but the scratch of his voice sent a strange flutter through your chest, one you couldn’t quite place. He shifted slightly against you, his body curling closer as if he were trying to burrow into your warmth.

"That feels so good," he murmured, his voice low and sleepy. Another noise escaped him; a quiet, deep sound of contentment that shouldn’t have meant anything but, for some reason, made the air feel a little heavier. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse picked up. It was just Felix. Your best friend. Nothing weird about this.

But as his quiet little noises continued, your hands faltered. The sound; it wasn’t wrong, exactly, but it felt… intimate in a way you weren’t used to, like you were overhearing something private. You hesitated, your fingers slowing to a stop as you tried to collect yourself.

Felix stirred, a small whine escaping him as he looked up at you through heavy-lidded eyes. “Why’d you stop?” he mumbled, the tiniest pout forming on his lips. “It was nice.”

You laughed nervously, your hand hovering above his head. “I don’t know. Just… thought you were about to fall asleep.”

“I wasn’t.” He yawned, completely ruining his point, before nudging his head against your chest again. “Please? Just a little more?” His voice was so soft, so innocent, that you felt ridiculous for overthinking it.

Still, when you started again, something about it felt different. His little hums of satisfaction grew deeper, quieter, like they were traveling straight to your core and wrapping themselves around your nerves. It heightened your awareness of everything; the warmth of his body against yours, the weight of his head on your chest, the way his hand idly traced your arm.

You swallowed hard and quickly adjusted, opting to rake your fingers through his hair instead. It felt safer somehow, less intimate than the slow, deliberate scratches. Felix didn’t seem to mind, his eyes fluttering shut again as he relaxed fully against you.

“Better?” you asked softly, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

“Mhm,” he murmured, his lips tugging into a small, sleepy smile. “You’re the best.”

Your stomach flipped, and you had to bite back a groan. This was Felix. Just Felix. So why did you like these sounds so much? Why did you want so badly to tug on his hair to see what sound he'd make? You couldn't boil this down to just 'cuteness aggression', it sounded way too perverted in your head to be left at that.

You could only blame your curiosity, the sudden urge to explore what other sounds you could get out of him. Would he whine if you pulled his hair a bit harder? Would he moan if you lightly dragged your nails across the sensitive spot on his head? The thoughts raced through your mind, a whirlwind of possibilities that shouldn’t have been so exciting, yet they were.

You clenched your jaw, willing the thoughts away as shame crawled up your neck. Your hands stilled in his hair, fingers frozen mid-motion. You needed to stop before your imagination ran even wilder.

Felix's body tensed against yours, his head shifting slightly as he let out a pitiful whine. “Nooo,” he protested softly, his voice coated in drowsy frustration. His sleepy eyes blinked open, glassy and pleading. “Don’t stop,” he begged, barely above a whisper. “Please? Feels nice...”

That voice, low and soft, made your already frayed nerves snap. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, the way your breath caught at how needy he sounded. But it only got worse when he used those eyes again, wide and shimmering with earnest desperation, pulling at you in ways that felt dangerous.

You should have ignored him. You should have laughed it off and told him to watch the show. But you didn’t. Instead, your fingers clenched reflexively, twisting gently into his hair without thinking.

Felix gasped softly, his body jerking slightly at the sudden tug. A quiet, breathy sound slipped from his lips, half a moan, half a whimper; and it undid you. Your pulse raced, heat flaring in your chest and spreading like wildfire as you struggled to keep your composure.

Felix’s eyes widened, the sleepy haze lifting just enough for curiosity to spark in their depths. His lips parted slightly as if processing the situation in slow motion, the sharp tug, your face burning up, the way your breathing had quickened ever so subtly.

A sudden realization flickered across his expression, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The anime played in the background, completely forgotten now.

"Did- did you like that??"

Fuck.

He caught on.

You didn't know what to say, your mouth opening and closing several times.

"You...you did," he whispered, more a statement than a question, his voice thick with disbelief.

"Lix-" you started, not sure where to go.

"Do it again," he urged, his eyes settling on your face, his soft hands reaching up to rest on your shoulders .

"Again??" You squeaked, feeling embarrassed at how turned on you were getting.

"Please, just..." he bit his lip, and oh god, that wasn't helping at all. "...please."

Felix was your best friend, but you like the sounds of his voice and his little moans a little too much to risk it.

The embarrassment burned under your skin, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell him no. Slowly, cautiously, you curled your fingers into his hair, the same way you'd done earlier. Only this time, you tugged harder, letting the strands slide between your fingers.

Felix's breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping him as his head tilted back, his eyes slipping shut. "Oh..." he whispered, his voice breathy and strained. He bit his lip again, the sight nearly undoing you.

"Lix," you said, the word coming out hoarse. "I-"

"Don't stop," he breathed, his hands gripping your shoulders a little tighter. "Just- just one more time."

Your fingers tightened into his hair, tugging a little harder this time. Felix's mouth fell open, a moan slipping free as his eyes fluttered opened, dark and unfocused. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, his cheeks burning red. He was looking at you with such raw, shameless desire that you didn't know how to handle it. You were pretty sure you were shaking.

You could feel the now drenched fabric of your panties clinging to you, your entire body thrumming with need. Felix's body was warm and solid, his grip on you desperate as your leg experimentally lifted. You could feel his length pressing into your leg, his need becoming clear.

Felix’s body went rigid as he suddenly snapped out of his tired, needy trance, his flushed face contorting with embarrassment. He sucked in a sharp breath, his wide eyes flickering downward before realization hit him like a truck.

“Oh—uh, sorry—” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he scrambled to pull away from you. His movements were jerky, frantic, as though physical distance could erase the undeniable evidence of his body's reaction. He stood up too quickly, nearly tripping over his own feet.

You blinked, still caught in the haze of heated confusion. “Wait-” you pleaded instinctively, reaching out to catch his wrist before he could escape.

“I can’t,” he muttered, shaking his head as though trying to clear it. His face was bright red, the tips of his ears burning. “I—I shouldn’t—I mean—this is just—”

“Felix,” you interrupted softly, your voice steadier than you felt. Your grip on his wrist tightened just enough to keep him from bolting. “Don’t… don’t go.”

“I—” He bit his lower lip, clearly at war with himself, torn between wanting to vanish into thin air and staying despite the mortifying situation. His breathing was shallow, uneven, and you could tell how desperately he was trying to regain control.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding so violently it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it. Heat crawled up your neck as words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them. “You don’t have to go,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. “I mean… if you want to stay.”

Felix blinked at you, bewildered. “Stay?” he repeated dumbly, his voice cracking again.

“I—” You faltered, embarrassment knotting your stomach. The logical part of your brain screamed at you to shut up, to take the out he was clearly offering, but something raw and primal clawed its way to the surface instead. “You can… um...” You hesitated, heat flooding your face. “If it helps—if you need to—you can... do it here. In front of me.”

The moment the words left your mouth, your heart stopped. The weight of what you'd just said hung heavy in the room, your own embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. You couldn’t even look at him.

“What?” Felix’s voice cracked, his eyes going impossibly wide. “Wait—are you saying—do you want me to—”

“I don’t know...” you blurted out, mortified beyond belief but too far gone to stop now. “I just—” You exhaled shakily, words fumbling over themselves in your mouth. “I liked hearing you, I shouldn’t have, but I did, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Felix’s breath hitched audibly. He stared at you, his expression shifting between disbelief, awe, and something far more intense than either of you had expected to find in this situation.

“You liked it,” he repeated softly, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

“I can’t help it,” you admitted, your voice barely steady. “I’m sorry, it’s just—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

There was a long, heavy pause. Felix’s gaze flickered between your face and the hand still wrapped around his wrist. His lips parted, words catching in his throat before he finally spoke again.

“Just this once?” he asked quietly, like he was reassuring himself as much as you.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. “Yeah,” you murmured, barely managing to get the word out. “Just this once.”

Felix’s body trembled slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Slowly, cautiously, he sat back down beside you, his breath uneven as if he were standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to jump or not.

But he leaned back, looking forward as if he was trying to pretend you weren't staring holes into him. Then his hands moved, closing his eyes as his hand slowly went to his bulge, his breath hitching. You could hear the sound of the fabric shifting and his hips slowly rolled.

The sounds were enough to have you weak, your face feeling like it's on fire, the way he moaned and breathed out made you even more excited. He was enjoying it, enjoying the feeling of the fabric rubbing against him.

It was as if your knees felt a magnetic force, you were drawn to the way his hips rolled and the sounds. It was a good thing he had his eyes closed or he would have seen the way you fell off of the couch onto the floor, the way you crawled over to him was embarrassing, but the urge was too strong.

You settled on your knees between his legs, the new position giving you a much better view of the show. His fingers curled into the couch cushion, his body tense and shuddering. You could hear his ragged breaths, the subtle groans as his hips rocked against his hand.

You wanted more. You wanted to hear more. You wanted to see more. The realization washed over you, your pulse throbbing in your ears. Without thinking, you reached forward, resting a hand on his knee.

Felix froze, his eyes snapping open, his face flushed. His gaze drifted to the hand on his knee and then up to your face. He blinked a few times, his lips parted in surprise. You felt like a deer caught in headlights. You had no idea why you did that. Your hand trembled against his knee, a mixture of guilt and shame and something else twisting in your gut.

Before you could pull away, his hand moved. His fingers tangled in yours, holding your hand firmly against his knee. He took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes dark and full of something that looked dangerously close to want.

You were paralyzed. Stuck in place, frozen, unable to move.

Felix bit his lip, his gaze unwavering. His free hand went back to his bulge, his fingers curling over the outline of his cock. His hips jerked slightly, a breathy gasp slipping past his lips.

Then, his eyes met yours, and your heart stopped. Something sparked in his gaze, something so intense that you felt yourself tremble.

Without breaking eye contact, he began to roll his hips again, a low groan rumbling in his chest. His hand gripped the base of his shaft, fingers sliding along his length through his pants. You couldn't look away. The sight was overwhelming, almost too much, but you couldn't look away.

His hand left yours and moved up to the hem of his shirt, hiking it up to expose his bare stomach, the muscles flexing with every movement. You swallowed hard, transfixed by the way his abs contracted and relaxed, the way his breath quickened and grew heavier.

Felix bit his lower lip, his brows furrowing, his gaze darkening as his free hand slid up his abdomen. He brushed his fingers over his nipple, his lips parting, a strained moan escaping him. He pinched and twisted his nipple, the sensation shooting through his nerves and straight to his cock.

You watched as he slowly brought his pants and boxers down enough to expose his erection. Just the sight of it made your core pulse. He was bigger than you thought he would be. And you could feel yourself tingling, desperate for friction, almost numb just from watching him.

Felix groaned, his head falling back as his fingers wrapped around his cock. He gave a few slow, experimental strokes, his hips thrusting slightly. The sound of his hand moving over his cock sent a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You were completely hypnotized by the sight of him. You so badly wanted to hold it in your hand yourself, but you knew that'd be crossing a line, the very same line you were currently dancing on the edge of.

Your hands wandered, your fingers dipping into the waistband of your shorts and the top of your underwear. Your fingers grazed your sensitive flesh and you whimpered, your hips jerking reflexively. It would be so embarrassing if he found out you were touching yourself because of him, but that thought only made you want to do it even more.

Felix moaned, his eyes fluttering open. His gaze landed on you and his breath caught. Watching how your eyes were transfixed on his cock, his hand moving teasingly slow, making sure you could see everything.

He was mesmerized by the way you looked, and how aroused you looked just by watching him, he felt a rush of pride knowing that he was the one making you look that way. His fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him as his movements sped up, his chest heaving.

"You like watching me, hm?" he asked, his voice deep and raspy, his accent strong and hitting your ears in a different way.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You were too far gone to speak. Instead, you nodded, whimpering quietly.

He chuckled softly, his eyes darkening. "Fuck, that's so hot," he groaned, his gaze flickering over your body, drinking in the sight of you. "I wanna make a mess on that pretty face of yours."

Your heart pounded, the words sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. You couldn't stop yourself, you moaned, the sound surprising both of you. Felix groaned, his cock twitching in his hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You were getting so close, and it had never happened this fast in your life. The sight of his cock, the sounds he was making, the way he was staring at you; it was too much. Your hand moved faster, your fingers dipping into your aching cunt and brushing against your clit. You gasped, your hips jerking involuntarily.

Felix's eyes widened, his gaze flickering between your face and your hand. He sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw clenching.

"Are you... are you touching yourself?"

His words hit you like a slap. Your eyes snapped open, your face burning with shame. But before you could say anything, his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging roughly.

"Don't stop," he hissed.

"But-"

"Just keep going," he urged, his voice low and husky. "I want to watch, too."

Your stomach flipped. He wanted to watch you? You moaned in response, your fingers stilling inside of you. Your body shook, the intensity of his gaze too much for you to handle. You closed your eyes, trying to ground yourself, but it didn't help.

His hand stilled, his fingers moving back to its grip on your chin. "Keep going, keep looking at me."

And before you could think about how embarrassed you'd be later, your fingers started moving again, his gaze searing into you. You couldn't breathe, your body trembling as his hand moved faster. You were so close, so painfully close. You gasped, arching into your touch.

Felix groaned, his head falling back. "Fuck, just like that."

His words went straight to your core. You could feel yourself pulsing, the pressure building. Your hand moved faster, the sensations flooding your body. Your hips bucked against your hand, a broken moan slipping past your lips.

Felix's gaze locked with yours, watching your every movement, your every expression. He could tell you were much closer than he was, but he seemed to love it all.

He watched your face, taking in every detail, committing them to memory. He was mesmerized, captivated, entranced. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you. The sight of you, the sound of your breathing, the way you moaned and shuddered; it was intoxicating.

You were right on the edge, your orgasm building rapidly. You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, threatening to snap at any moment. Your hips jerked against your hand, your fingers frantically moving over your clit.

"Lixie... I can't-" you moaned, the sound coming out strangled and desperate.

Felix's gaze flickered over your face, taking in every inch. His jaw clenched, his lips parting. He let out a low groan, the sound echoing in your ears.

"Cum for me," he commanded, his voice rough and breathless. "Cum for me and I'll cum all over that pretty face of yours."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. Your whole body shuddered, heat flooding your veins. You gasped, arching into your hand. Your hips bucked against the couch, the tension building rapidly.

Your orgasm crashed over you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You cried out, your eyes screwing shut. You couldn't control the sounds that spilled from your mouth, a mixture of moans and cries and curses.

Felix's eyes widened, his gaze fixed on you. He watched every detail, his eyes glazed over with lust. He watched as you came undone, his lips parted, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. He groaned, his cock throbbing, precum dripping onto his hand.

"Fuck, that's hot," he murmured, his voice low and breathless.

You could barely catch your breath, your chest heaving. You couldn't stop trembling, your body overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm. You whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Felix's grip on your chin loosened, his fingers gently brushing across your cheek. His thumb brushed over your lips, the tender gesture sending a shiver down your spine.

"Such a good girl," he whispered, his tone affectionate and almost loving.

The words made your heart skip a beat.

But then his hand traveled down, wrapping around your neck and pulling you closer. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut. His grip was firm but gentle, his fingers digging into the soft skin.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice low and commanding.

You obeyed without question, your eyes opening, meeting his.

Felix groaned, his gaze darkening, his lips parting. "God, that's so hot," he breathed, his cock twitching in his hand.

You couldn't look away, couldn't take your eyes off of him. You could feel the heat in your face, the flush creeping up your neck. He was beautiful, so fucking beautiful, and the sight of him made your heart race.

His hand moved faster, his breathing ragged, his gaze intense. He was so close, his body tensing, his hips bucking. He moaned, his eyes fluttering shut, his fingers tightening around your neck.

You couldn't stop your mouth from opening, slightly letting your tongue fall out. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you what a bad idea this was, but you didn't care.

Felix's eyes opened, his gaze locking with yours. He groaned, his hips jerking, his body trembling. His breathy and somewhat cute moans got louder as his hips rolled and bucked, his hand moving faster and faster.

He was getting close. So, so close. His body shuddered, his cock throbbing. He gasped, his grip on your neck tightening, his body going rigid. His eyes screwed shut, his lips parting. A shudder rippled through him, his orgasm crashing over him.

You couldn't take your eyes off of him. He was so beautiful, so perfect. The way his face twisted in pleasure, the way his chest heaved, the way his lips parted. You were mesmerized, captivated, entranced. You couldn't tear your eyes away.

And then, he opened his eyes, his gaze locking with yours. He moaned, his cock twitching. A thick, warm stream of cum landed on your face, splattering across your face and tongue. You couldn't look away, couldn't think straight.

His grip loosened on you as he laid back on the couch, his eyes drifting closed. You were frozen in place, stunned, unable to move. His cum dripped down your cheek, his taste lingering on your tongue.

It wasn't until Felix was completely spent that you came to, snapping out of your trance. Your face was burning, the heat crawling up your neck, your ears turning pink. You could feel his cum slowly sliding down your cheek, the sensation strange and foreign.

"Oh, shit."

You flinched at the sound of his voice, his eyes fluttering open.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean- I should've-"

Before he could continue, you swallowed the cum that was pooling in your mouth. You could feel it running down your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth on your skin.

Felix's eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed red.

You could feel yourself blush, embarrassment flooding your veins. You could feel his cum, still warm and sticky, clinging to your face. The feeling was unfamiliar and strange, but not unpleasant.

Felix cleared his throat, his gaze flickering away.

"I should- uh- I'll just go clean up."

You couldn't speak, couldn't move. You couldn't even look at him.

The two of you sat in silence, the tension heavy and awkward. Neither of you knew what to say, what to do. Neither of you had ever imagined this happening, and now, here you were.

"I'll... see you later."

You could hear his footsteps, the sound growing distant as he left the room.

And that was it.

You were alone, his cum still on your face. You felt a wave of shame, of guilt, of embarrassment. You started this, you asked your own best friend to do that in front of you, and you came in front of him, even worse to the thought of him.

You wanted to cry, to scream, to hide. You couldn't look at him again, you couldn't stand the thought of facing him, but you couldn't stay here.

You rushed to your feet, your legs shaking. You ran into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. You stood there, in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection.

You looked like a mess, like a disaster, a fucking wreck. Your hair was a mess, your face covered in cum, your shirt slightly tucked into your pants.

Things had just changed.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

taglist for my lovelies : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88, @honeyybbuubblleess

#stray kids x reader #skz #skz fic #stray kids #skz x reader #skz smut #skz imagines #stray kids smut #straykids #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #lee felix #felix smut #felix lee #felix x reader #felix #puppym3

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childishshroom · 10 hours ago

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I’m not the best at fic writing, or writing these characters/series in general, but i just had to get this idea out into words!!

(Lost my original draft of this cause of device dying, but i will prevail :[ )

<- —~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~— ->

As Danny and the gang were walking down the side walk coming back from school, he suddenly sensed that a large amount of ecto was nearby, but that was impossible, there was only shops and a couple of random, far away people coming across the side walk towards them. And there was definitely no way it was from anyone he knew, he would of recognized it almost instantly.

‘Maybe its just a fluke? some random ambient patch of echo or something!’ He would start justify to himself, but that feeling never disappeared, in fact, it did the opposite, it only got stronger the longer he walked. And once it was strong enough he realized what kind of ghost that ecto would come from.

A revenant. One of — if not the most — violent, vengeful, short sighted, and all around pain in the butt to deal with, type of ghost. Of course, due to this fact, Danny quickly started looking around for the source of this negative ecto, sweeping over the shops, cars, manholes, and finally over the people they were about to pass, the ecto seemed to be concentrated around them the most, so he started looking them over, there were two of them.

There was a short woman, who probably somewhere around 25, sporting an almost fully blue outfit with the eyes and hair to match, leaving just her glasses being sort of purple tinted. Danny noted that she has roughly the same amount of ambient ecto as some just random, run of the mill paranormal hunter, if not a bit more then one, but nowhere even close to revenant levels of the stuff.

So, that leaves only the other person walking besides her.

He seemed to be a tall, pretty bulky guy, who looked like he couldn’t be that much older then 20, wearing a nearly full black suit, black and white what seems like gloves, and a pinkish-purple tie, matching with his purple hair — which, sure is an odd choice, but this is amity park, Dannys seen weirder. — anyways. Danny soon realized that he couldn’t really see the mans eyes, and that he seemed to be walking with a sort of lightness in his steps, not too dissimilar to when he himself walks around as phantom. But hey! Maybe he’s just a surprisingly light guy, who knows.

Getting back to business, he realized that while seemingly having similar levels of ecto to his companion at a glance, he had a MUCH higher level then her if you actually focused on him. So of course, he was Dannys best guess as to who the revenant might be.

But there was no way it was him! Revenants attack anybody and anything almost completely blindly, say’ from they’re target who they go after with unbridled rage. But this guy was literally just walking down the street, chatting with his friend, little to no rage, no vengefulness, not even any disappointment! Not to mention the fact that he at least looked human, revenants usually looked like strange, floating skeletons more then humans!

But Danny’s trail of thought would quickly be cut off by him spotting the weird — you could almost call it an aura — around that guy, purple, misty, and unmistakably ghostly.

<- —~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~——~— ->

ANYWAYS!!! Thats it for now cause its 3AM on a school night and i am already regretting my decisions!

Might add more later if the ghost motivation’s future hits me hard enough, i think doing Lewis’s/Vivi’s perspective of this would be fun! :))

Do you want to see the continuation of this story?

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mysteryshoptls · 1 day ago

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SSR Cater Diamond - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

#MyLoungewear #BirthdayEve #CheckOutMyHairband ...Posted!

Summon: 'Kay then, tomorrow's ol' Cay-kun's birthday... I gotta get hyped to receive all those well wishes!

Groovification: The birthday video came out great... No doubt about it, this'll definitely go viral ♪

Home: This is Cay-kun's favorite ♪

Swap Looks: Yaaaaawn... Guess I'll go wash my face.

Home Transition 1: I'm usually just on my phone whenever I'm in my room～ ...Huh, studying? Don't pick on me by asking that～

Home Transition 2: Azul-kun treated me to a real fancy-looking drink ♪ He said my promoting it on Magicam would be payment enough.

Home Transition 3: A limited cosmetics set, huh～ Even the package itself is super duper cute! Maybe I'll buy it as a birthday gift to myself.

Home Transition - Login: The number of likes and comments I get on my Magicam posts on my birthday is through the roof! It makes me happy, sure, but it's a little difficult to reply to them all～

Home Transition - Groovy: Never thought I'd ever have Leona-kun wishing me a happy birthday... Wish I woulda snagged a video of it happening.

Home Tap 1: Don'tcha think this loungewear is soft and adorable? Both the top and bottoms are part of the same outfit series.

Home Tap 2: All I did was change up my eyeliner a little bit, but Rook-kun picked up on it right away... He's kinda scarily observant.

Home Tap 3: My hair's looks all silky smooth? Right? Isn't it? I tried out this hair milk that I came across on Magicam.

Home Tap 4: I'm totally used to Lilia-chan's surprises... Is what I'd like to say, but he definitely got me again this year.

Home Tap 5: It's rare to see ya boy Cay-kun without a suit drawn on, isn't it? Wanna take a pic together to remember this moment by?

Home Tap - Groovy: My loungewear? Well, yeah, I have a ton of other sets. Maybe I should wear a more cool-looking outfit tomorrow ♪

Duo: [CATER]: Leona-kun, gimmie your most heartfelt well wishes～ [LEONA]: I'll just do it normally, Cater.

Birthday Login Message: Thanks for the birthday wishes! I got a thing with the Pop Music Club after this, but you wanna come with me, [Yuu]? I mean, it's not really like we're going to be doing anything special. We'll probably just be snacking and chatting, like usual. Ah, I just had a good idea. One sec, let me reach out to Lilia-chan and Kalim-kun. ...Niice～ Looks like they're both on board. "'Kay, then we'll go with the plan I just sent you guys" ...And send. So basically, we're gonna throw an impromptu Cay-kun Birthday Performance. Come and enjoy the celebration!

Requested by @farfalla049.

#twisted wonderland #twst #cater diamond #leona kingscholar #twst cater #twst leona #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: azul #mention: rook #mention: lilia #mention: kalim

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prettealolilol · 2 days ago

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What if, when Jason dies and Tim steps up as Robin, he realised it isn't enough ?

Like, yeah Batman is less violent. But Bruce himself isn't doing much better. He still cries himself to sleep, has nightmare, drinks until unconsciousness, and sometimes calls Tim 'Jason'. Batman is still rough and merciless during training, cold and dismissive when Tim is around the batcave or the manor, and uncairing during patrol. Of course it hurts, but that's what Tim signs up for, so he doesn't say anything.

So Tim decides to do something he knows is a terrible idea, especially if he's being found out. He decides to drop pictures of Batman and Robin (Jason's at the beginning, and later on Dick's when Bruce gets better) at the manor. Bruce cries himself to sleep, craddling the photos. He doesn't ask questions, probably assuming it's from Alfred, and too scared of the pictures stopping appearing if he starts looking into it.

Bruce slowly but surely gets better, keeping those pictures close to himself. Tim is glad that he found a way of helping even if Batman doesn't know it's him. It would probably be worse if he knew anyway.

Years later, when it is discovered Tim took pictures of the Batfam at the age of nine, everyone is amazed and a bit scandalised because that's young. Bruce is silent and then hugs Tim like he has never before, thanking him over and over. Everyone is perplexed but Tim and Bruce keeps it between themselves because those were dark age the family does not need to know the details of.

#the batfam starts asking for copies to keep #bruce decides to put them all over the manor #batman #tim drake #batfam #batfamily #batkids #batboys #bruce wayne #robin #jason todd

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luvyeni · 1 day ago

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ALL FOR YOU 𝕼. ( 이민형 )

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 이민형 x fem!reader ) ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. idol!mark x idol!reader, unprotected sex , oral ( f ) , little bit of jealousy word count. 2.5k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library !

synopsis … you knew mark and you would eventually cross paths; being in the same company and all — but this , this was stressing you out.

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ this one i like , so good job to me …

you knew mark and you would eventually cross paths; being in the same company and all — but this , this was stressing you out…

“okay yn since you’re the youngest; you can pair up with jisung since he’s also the youngest.” you and the tall boy exchanged small awkward smiles. “aren’t they so cute together?” you heard yuna whisper to mark; you boy next to you clearly heard because he started to turn a deep shade of red — not cause he liked you, but because knew you were with mark.

you and mark met when you were still a trainee under sm. you’d accidentally walked into the wrong practice room, mark so happened to be in there… to say you were embarrassed was an understatement. he found it cute and endearing, watching you scramble to find the right words — but all you could manage was a small squeak.

from that day on; he tried to seek you out, finding you in the practice room, pretending to be confused. looking for you in the cafeteria where you sat with the other trainees and future group mates. he never said anything, no, he didn’t want to get you in trouble; but that didn’t stop him from looking; and falling for what he saw.

he knew what he was getting himself into when he asked you out; he was not only asking someone younger than him, but his junior at that — he was asking for trouble, but he couldn’t help it. he liked you so much and you liked him.

your debut was announced about a month after you and mark began to secretly date, he was so excited for you; that was also the first time you two had sex and it was mind blowing.

you both didn’t want anyone to found out about your relationship; but unfortunately haechan has the code to mark’s apartment and loves to show up announced sometimes — and after a awkward first meeting with haechan and you, and mark pinning him down to the floor to get him shut his mouth; he promised not to tell staff… but that didn’t stop him from telling the other dreamies.

you decided to not tell your members at all — which you are currently regretting. “mark is kinda cute don’t you think?” yuna sat next to you as you sat down for a quick break. “huh?” you said. “and he so obviously wants me, you see how low his hands went.” you followed her gaze to your boyfriend who was talking to your manager. “he wants me for sure, should i ask for his number?”

you were stunned; how do you answer that question? “um i don’t think that’s a good idea , we really aren’t supposed to be dating.” you said , how ironic. “besides he’s probably already in a relationship.” you said , hoping she’d drop it, the jealousy starting to boil inside your stomach. “so innocent yn , of course he doesn’t a guy as fine as he is , he’s probably fucking all around world he has no time to have a girl waiting for him.” she stood up ; walking away leaving you with a heavy heart and green with jealousy. “i have to use the bathroom.” you got up. “hurry back, we have to practice , this collab has to be perfect.” yuna said , nodded walking out the room.

more like slamming the door behind you in marks eyes. “what’s wrong with her?” haechan asked. “did you two fight?” the elder shook his head; in fact he just talked to you before you guys met up and you seemed excited to be working with him and his group. “her and member seemed to be having a conversation before she stormed out , maybe they’re having a argument.” jaemin said. “should i go after her?” mark asked; normally he wouldn’t ask a question like that, he’d just go, but there were a bunch of staff and cameras around he didn’t want anyone catching on. “duh , go.” chenle said. “we’ll make sure no one finds out anything.”

he nodded , standing up walking out the door. “hey mark.” yuna batted her eyelashes at the boy. “hi.” was all he said before leaving out to find you.

why were you even mad? you could’ve told her and ended it there. you just didn’t want to jeopardize your careers and ruin your groups reputation, you were still in your early parts of your career. “get it together, you’re a professional.” you said to yourself before walking out of the bathroom , only to be pushed back in.

“mark what the hell?” you shrieked. “did anyone see you?” you questioned. “what’s wrong?” mark said , looking into your eyes; his filled with worry. “nothing im fine.” you tried to walk out but he grabbed your wrist. “mark.” you frowned. “tell me what’s wrong , the way you slammed that door.” he said. “did you and your member have a fight?” he asked. “no.” you trailed off. “then what is it?”

“its stupid.” you whispered , eyes to the floor. “hey.” he grabbed your chin, lifting your head up. “nothing you feel is stupid to me.” his hand covered your cheek, caressing it softly. “so tell me what’s wrong baby.” you sighed before speaking up. “it’s yuna , she likes you.” you said. “she wants to ask for your number.”

he didn’t want to laugh, but the cute pout on your lips as you spoke, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “are you laughing at me?” you asked. “i told you it was stupid , let me go.” you pulled away from him , but he grabbed you , pulling you close to wrap his arms around you. “you’re just too cute baby , so jealous and so cute.” he said. “it’s not funny , i told her you probably have a girlfriend and you know what she said.” he smiled listening to you ramble. “she said there’s no way a guy as fine as you are isn’t fucking all around the world.”

“she said that?” he said; of course that wasn’t true. “yeah , can you believe it.” you said. “and i guess she wants to be next.” you pouted, slapping his arm. “don’t say it like it could be a possibility mark.” he winced , rubbing the spot. “baby you know it’s not a possibility, not even a 0.01% chance i would do that,” he said. “you sure?” he giggled, kissing your pouty lips. “100%.” you smiled. “now stop pouting and let’s get back to the practice room before they start to question our whereabouts.”

“wanna stay here with you.” you said , he smiled. “come over tonight , and you’ll have me all to yourself yeah?” he had you pinned against the sink. “you’d like that?” you bit your lip nodding. “yeah.” he was about to pull you into a kiss — when you both got a ping on your phones. he groaned , pulling away from you. “we have to go.” you said. “why now when im so hard,” he said. “just 5 more minutes.” your phones going off again. “i don’t think we can.” you said. “let’s go before they send a search party.”

you made your return first; coming up with a excuse to tell your leader; luckily she didn’t question it. “just get in line and get ready.” you nodded , standing next to jisung. “happy now?” he smirked , you rolled your eyes , pushing him. “look who’s back.” mark made his way back inside the room. “there were people at the vending machine,” he said. “at the vending machines and yet not a single snack or anything.” haechan said. “i ate it on the way back.” he gritted through his teeth , silently threatening the boy. “okay , okay let’s get back to practice.” the choreographer said ; mark giving you a quick glance and a wink making you smile as the music started.

“good job everybody.” the choreographer said; mark watched you begin to pack up. “here.” someone shoved a piece of paper in his face. “uh.” he looked up, yuna staring him in the face. “it’s my number.” she said. “oh , i don’t think — yuna lets go.” your leader called out for the girl. “here.” she dropped it in his hand making her way out ; you watched the whole thing. “yn.” he called out. “bye.” you gave him a tight lipped smile as you made your way out. “she’s jealous.” jeno said. “yeah no shit.” he tossed the paper in the trash.

“baby please talk to me.” you sat on his bed later that night , arms folded stubbornly against your chest. “you know what she did as soon as we got back to the dorms?” you said. “she went on and on how you couldn’t keep your eyes off of her boobs , how you were definitely into her and you taking her number solidified that.” you spat out , he laid against the headboard , his hand coming up to your thigh. “baby i told you i wasn’t , i threw the number away.” he whined. “and i wasn’t looking at her boobs , i was looking past her , looking at your boobs.”

“now isn’t the time for jokes mark.” you said flatly , trying to hold back a smile. “but it got you to smile.” he pulled you back against a smile. “mark.” he kissed behind your ear. “i don’t want anyone else but you.” he whispered, knowing what it did to you. “you’re so cute when you’re jealous , huffing and puffing.” he said , hands traveling down to your side. “makes me so hard.” he turned your head around, pulling you into a heated kiss.

he slipped his tongue inside your mouth , both of you moaning into the kiss , he flipped you over so he was on top. “so fucking pretty.” he dipped inside your neck. “you don’t know what you do to me , how much i wanted to pull you away from jisung.” he groaned. “his hands were too low on you.” he growled. “se-seems like you were jealous too.” you whimpered , he bit down on your neck. “fuck mark don’t leave any marks.” he licked the spot on your neck. “fuck of course i was jealous baby , i wanted to dance with you , not her.” he gripped your waist tightly. “all i could think about is you while dancing.”

he kissed down the valley of your breast. “the way you looked.” *kiss* “the way you talked.” *kiss* “the way you smelled.” he gave you one final kiss. “fuck and the way you taste.” he pulled your leggings down your legs , spreading them open. “ma-mark i need you.” you desperately mewled. “yeah?” he smirked. “need me to lick your pretty pussy.” he kissed your clothed cunt. “mhm pl-please.” he pulled your panties to the side; his cock twitching in his sweats. “look how wet you are.” he groaned. “all this for me baby?” you nodded , he gave your clit another kiss. “mhm fuck , you taste so good.” he dove into your heat , passionately licking your folds. “ma-mark , fuck that feels good.”

he hummed against your heat , holding your legs apart as he feverishly licked your folds. “fuck , fuck keep going.” your hand tangled up into his hair as your hips bucked up involuntarily. “fuck mark im gonna cum.” he replaced his mouth with his fingers , pushed two inside. “you’re so wet , gonna cum for me?” you nodded , the knot in your belly getting tighter. “cum for me then , be a good girl and cum for me.” you gasped out , the knot finally snapping as you came all over her fingers. “good fucking girl.” his voice filled with lust. “made such a mess on my fingers.”

he pushed his fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. “so sweet.” he said. “like fucking candy baby.” he untied the string to his sweats , pulling them down just enough to free his fully erected cock. “look how hard i am for you.” he pressed his tip against your hole. “only get like this for you.” he slowly slid inside you. “fuck mark , so-so big.” you moaned , he grunted. “sh-shit baby you’re so tight.” his cock slowly filling you up , his cock kissing your cervix. “love this pussy so much.”

he pulled out , stopping at the tip; pushing himself all the way in. “so so much.” he groaned. “mark faster.” you moaned. “faster?” he said , speeding up. “yes like that.” your fingers running through his hair. “no need to be jealous baby , it’s all for you.” he groaned. “all mines.” he groaned as you tugged at his hair. “it’s yours.” he whispered in your ear. “so take what’s yours baby.”

he pulled out of you; laying back letting you climb into his lap. “ride me baby , ride your cock.” he groaned as you held the base of his cock , sinking down on him. “fuck mark.” he watched in awe as you rode him; bouncing up and down on his length. “fuck that feels good princess , ride me , ride it like you own me.” he held your waist as you worked his cock. “fuck baby im about to cum.” he moaned out. “no-not yet , almost there.” you stuttered , legs faltering. “fuck , fuck mark im about to cum.”

he held your hips , bucking up into your needy cunt. “fuck baby cum.” he groaned. “cum.” both of you moaning out as you came at the same time , your head dropping in between his neck. “b-baby don’t leave any marks , my manager will kill me.” he sighed , loving the feeling on his lips … okay maybe he can’t take the scolding.

“what were you thinking , the makeup artist is gonna kill you if that isn’t gone by the performance.” you heard his manager scolding him as your group walked into the practice room. “next time at least put it somewhere no one can see.” the older man shook his head in disappointment. “so irresponsible.” you chuckled , covering your smile. he looked at you frowning. “guess he had too good of a time last night.” your other member said. “guess yuna was wrong.” you looked at yuna who looked upset upon seeing the mark on his neck. “let’s just get this over with.” she said stomping away; your other member was chuckling. “don’t worry she’ll get over it , if not oh well.” she said. “and don’t you laughed too much.” she turned to you. “what are you talking about?”

she rolled her eyes. “you think im dumb , if you aren’t careful you’ll be getting a scolding just like he is.” she said. “at least he’s smart enough to put it somewhere no one can see.” she walked away leaving you stunned; mark looking at you curiously. “what?” he mouthed , you pointed to your member. “she knows.” you mouthed back, he shrugged. “tell them all.”

guess it’s time to tell your members the truth.

©️LUVYENI

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crashpit · 3 days ago

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in 5th grade my friend and I had websites on a site maker thing called yolasite. also we had like major beef on this girl named Aubrey bc she was always snitching on us and getting us in trouble for random things. anyways, one day my friend was at my house and we were in the computer room on our home PC which was windows 2000 in the year 2009 if that adds any flavor to this. my friend suggested we make our own website, one called aubreyhaters .yolasite .com but we had to make it on my account because her parents would be mad if they found out. I thought this was reasonable, as her parents scared the living shit out of me too. we made the site detailing all the little things we hated about her (she lied about befriending Justin Bieber, lied about being related to the Jonas Brothers, was mean, etc.) alongside poorly drawn mspaint imagery (stick figures).

I didn't think about this until the next day at school during lunch, my friend and I were sitting at the table and Aubrey was at the same table too so my friend gets her attention and she's like "hey Aubrey! I found a crazy website you should look up. it's literally called aubreyhaters .yolasite .com. I swear it's real!! look it up!!!" and then my heart sank. I felt so incredibly numb with anxiety like my whole body was liquified into a puddle then and there.

so the next day at lunch Aubrey comes and tells us that she found the website and she's gonna tell EVERYONE in school including the principal. she was determined to find the creators of the site. so anyways I am fucking horrified to go to school for days on end I mean it felt like months but it may have been moreso a week or two of the school trying really hard to figure out wtf this site was and who made it. at the time, there wasn't much knowledge on tracking things down to IP addresses especially in a small school where there wasn't any protocol for this sort of situation yet. when it became known that the school was investigating that was when I went and permanently deleted the site and prayed to myself that nothing would happen.

well, one day they came to our classroom, deciding it had to be one of us as this was the same class Aubrey was in. they gave a long lecture on cyberbulling, which they had described as a crazy and new, never before seen phenomenon where kids could, omg, bully each other online. who knew that could happen. so what happens next in this situation is that they come to the conclusion my friend might have made this account, considering history between her and Aubrey. they take her out to the hall to have a conversation. she comes back crying. the principal comes up to me with this look like "you're in huge trouble" and pulls me immediately to the principals office. hes like "you friend told me YOU came up with this website and it was all YOUR idea and your friend there? you were trying to frame this on her and you're lucky you have no history of being in trouble for anything otherwise you would be in much worse trouble." basically I clammed up couldn't say a word just sobbing profusely for the whole thing and he felt bad probably so gave me a slap on the wrist at most. still, this is one of my most traumatic memories of my childhood I can remember.

in retrospect, I don't feel bad about making aubreyhaters bc Aubrey in the year 2025 is uh... well at one point she was a security guard or something and acted like she was a fully fledged police officer online to the point where I genuinely thought she was a cop until someone told me she wasn't even a real cop just a security guard who's pretending to be a cop online. before that she joined the military and then got dishonorably discharged and lied about that whole situation saying she left bc she hurt herself but that's not what happened. well that isn't exactly the most recent fuckery on her part she's also like.. got Israeli citizenship and fullheartedly is supporting Israel and yea I do not feel bad about cyberbulling her in 2009. it was not even real cyberbulling we were spitting straight facts about how she was a lier in regards to Justin Bieber and The Jonas Brothers. reasonably I avoid her and a lot of people I went to school with like the plague :/

what's the most demented thing you guys got in trouble for in school mine was when an english boy in my class made fun of my name and called my mum a (derogatory word for irish travellers) so i told him my ira uncle was in town and was coming to blow him up after school

#sorry for adding an insanely long story to this #i felt i needed to get this out there #its like my lore #when i get to talking to someone its like necessary at some point that this comes up

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thehighladywrites · 1 day ago

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you’re just like me

pairing: cassian x crazy stalker reader

summary: cassian thinks of you as his insanely obsessive ex girlfriend who’s downright crazy. you are obviously cassian’s one true love and will eliminate anything that stands in your way.

warnings: murder, dark romance, cheeky little twist👀, stalking, obsessive behavior, sexual content, knives, nasty sex, um also a sick way of getting off just downright crazy, description of murder… um this is just kinda dark. two psychos encouraging each other

amara’s note: so i might be making this into a series bc i have an amazing idea for azriel next😫😫😫 also guys this was a lil dark lol

You couldn’t understand how Cassian had the nerve to walk away from you. There was absolutely nothing wrong with you, not one single thing. People just didn’t get it; love was supposed to be all-consuming, right? Obsession wasn’t a flaw. It was just proof you cared deeply. So what if you knew his schedule down to the minute, memorized the exact scent of his shampoo, or followed him everywhere he went like your very existence depended on it? That wasn’t weird, it was love. Real, burning, raw love.

Cassian must have been confused, that’s all. Poor thing, probably led astray by some outside influence. Maybe someone whispered lies into his ear or cast some strange spell over his mind. Yeah, that had to be it, because Cassian did love you. He did. He just needed to wake up and realize it again.

And when he did , he’d thank you for never letting go, for being the one person who truly saw him, who loved him without limits.

Seeing Cassian sitting next to some water-wraith makes your heart pound harder and harder, fury bubbling under your skin. That’s it — that’s why he hasn’t been his usual self. That wretched wraith is manipulating him, filling his head with filthy lies about you. Poisoning what was meant to be perfect.

You have to stop this. You have to save him. And the only way to do that is to get rid of her. Permanently.

Your hands itch for action, and you’re already stepping forward when a hand clamps around your wrist.

“Are you about to go over to Cassian?” Feyre’s calm voice cuts through your haze of rage. “Don’t cause a scene.”

You tilt your head, offering her a polite smile. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply going to claim what is rightfully mine.”

You tug at her grip, but it holds firm. Feyre’s eyes narrow. “Not so fast. You know Cassian will think you’re crazy if you kill her right here and now.”

Your breath catches. How the hell did she know? Were you that obvious?

Before you can respond, she steps closer, her intoxicating perfume filling your senses. Her voice, low and smooth, sends shivers down your spine.

“If you want that little whore gone, gut her like a fucking fish. I’ll even help you. But not now, it’ll look bad for us.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Never in a million years would you have expected Feyre to suggest murder.

“Why are you so interested in me killing her?” you ask, voice curious.

A wicked smile curls at her lips before she presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “That little bitch tried to fuck Rhys right in front of me. Didn’t even bother pretending she didn’t know who I was. She didn’t care. And now I want her gone.”

Her voice cracks with a manic edge before she smooths it over, composure snapping neatly back into place.

She was just like you, a comfort you took pleasure in, someone who understood that love was meant to be fierce, consuming, and without limits.

—

You did exactly what Feyre suggested — waited until the big meeting with all the courts had ended, biding your time until the wraith was on her way back to Spring. She was alone, vulnerable, just as you had hoped.

Before she could winnow away, you struck. Kidnapping her had been easy, far too easy. And then came the best part: stabbing her over and over until you were drenched in her warm blood. Her look of terror sent a sick thrill down your spine, flipping your stomach in delight. Fuck, it felt good to finally get rid of her. Like being on edge for an eternity and finally getting the sweet, blissful relief you'd craved.

You cleaned up meticulously, disposing of every shred of evidence. No one would ever find her.

Winnowing back to Velaris, you appeared just outside Cassian’s house, dagger still in hand. Breaking in through your usual route was second nature by now. You settled yourself on his sofa, waiting patiently like you always did when he needed a gentle reminder of who truly belonged to him.

The door creaked open, and Cassian trudged inside, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Normally, you'd feel a pang of sympathy for how hard he worked — how much he gave of himself. But not tonight. Tonight, you were kinda pissed.

His eyes flicked toward you, squinting in the dim light. He hesitated, unsure of who he was looking at until he flipped the lights on.

The color drained from his face as he stumbled backward, eyes wide with shock. “What the hell?” His voice wavered. “What are you doing here?”

You tilted your head, offering a sweet, unwavering smile. “Hi, Cassian. Done being a manwhore? Ready to come back to your senses?”

His gaze darted to the blood soaking your clothes, the gleaming dagger in your hand. He shook his head in disbelief, taking another step back, as if distance could protect him from you.

“I said, what are you doing here?” His voice hardens, sharp and commanding.

Yours matches his, cold and steady. “Well, since you seem to be under some delusion that you can get away from me, I figured I’d burst your little bubble and remind you that’s not the case.”

A calm smile spreads across your lips as you lift the dagger, pointing it directly at him. The weight of it feels right in your hand, steady and sure.

Cassian’s chest rises and falls as tension coils through the room. “You’re insane,” he mutters, disbelief lacing every word.

“Call it what you want. Call it love, call it obsession. Call me fucking insane,” you say, taking a slow step forward. “But you belong to me, Cassian. Always have. Always will.”

You shake your head and laugh, a hollow, unsettling sound. “Gods, Cassian. I don't know why you're doing this to me. Stop being so damn difficult and realize there's no one else for you. That water-wraith slut sure knows it now.”

His face goes pale, a hand pressing against his chest. “W-what are you talking about? You... you killed her?” he asks, horrified.

“Sure did.” You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “And I'll end anyone you think can take my place. Am I clear? Either you realize it now, or I keep killing people. It's all up to you.” You shrug nonchalantly, inspecting your nails as if this conversation were about the weather.

There's a long silence, thick with tension, and then something changes.

His voice drops, lower and rougher. “Took you long enough.”

Your head snaps up, eyes narrowing in confusion. His pale, horrified expression has melted away, replaced by something darker, more primal. His eyes gleam with something unholy, and his mouth twists into a cruel, wicked smile.

“Was wondering when you’d kill that little wraith,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Gods know it was hard feigning interest.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, almost dizzying. Was this a dream? No way. Cassian matching your intensity, your madness — that was only supposed to happen in fantasies.

“What?” you whisper, barely believing what you’re hearing.

He steps closer, eyes gleaming darkly. “Didn’t think I noticed your stalking? Or the way you conveniently disposed of anyone I talked to?” His smirk widens, sharp and dangerous. “The way you just happened to show up at places I had scheduled? I’ve been onto you since day one.”

Your breath catches, heart thundering. “And?”

“And I knew you were the one the day you snuck into my room and stared at me, thinking I didn’t know,” he murmurs, eyes burning into yours with dark satisfaction.

A shiver runs down your spine, both thrilled and unhinged by his words. “You knew?”

He leans in closer, voice low and possessive. “Of course I knew. Your heavy breathing was a dead giveaway, sweetheart. You looked like you were seconds away from crawling into bed with me.”

You grin, eyes gleaming with madness. “I almost did.”

And it was true. He had been shirtless, skin smooth and golden in the moonlight, hair tied back so his sharp, handsome features were perfectly highlighted. Only years of discipline had kept you rooted to the spot instead of crawling into bed with him like you’d wanted to.

His smile deepens, dark and taunting. “You should’ve.” He steps closer, voice dropping to a low, sinful whisper. “Not the Gods themselves could have pulled me away.”

Your pulse races, wild and electric. This was so not fucking happening. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not tempting you, my love.” he says, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “I’m inviting you.”

He looks down at you, hands settling on your hips as he pulls you so close. Cassian’s heat makes your brain go fuzzy and for a moment you’re lost. Just as he is about to kiss you…

”Wait. So you felt the same I did? Why did you act all high and mighty when you’re literally worse than me?” You step back and raise an eyebrow at him, arms crossed over your chest.

Cassian blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but instead of guilt or surprise softening his expression, something darker gleams in his eyes — intrigue, even delight. “You’re mad at me, baby?”

“Of course I’m mad!” you snap, practically vibrating with frustration. “You knew I’m bsessed with you, and instead of saying anything, you just sat there, playing with me, making me feel insane.”

Your grip on the dagger tightens in pure frustration. “Do you know how many nights I spent plotting ways to keep you? How much blood I spilled thinking you didn’t care?”

His lips twitch, eyes filled with dark amusement.

“You could’ve just matched my crazy from day one, but nooo, you had to be all stoic and mysterious. Gods, Cassian, that’s infuriating.”

He steps closer, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re adorable when you’re pissed off, ya know? A cute, hotheaded little thing.”

“Adorable? I should stab you,” you snarl, but he only grins wider.

“Do it,” he whispers, his voice dripping with challenge. “I’d love to see what happens next.”

Your breath catches, heart racing as his words sink in. Cassian wasn’t just tolerating your madness, he wanted it, thrived on it, matched it beat for beat.

The realization sends a dizzy thrill through you, but you pout anyway, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. “You’re the worst,” you grumble, turning your head away with a dramatic huff.

He chuckles darkly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “I was only interesed in seeing how far you’d go. Didn’t know if you’d run for the hills when I told you I murdered Helion’s advicer for looking at you yesterday.”

Your heart skips a beat, then thunders wildly in your chest. A sharp, wicked grin tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You did that?”

“Snapped his neck right before breakfast. Or did I feed him his own fingers then strangle him with his insides? Can’t say I remember.”

A sick thrill courses through you. Man, he was fucking perfect. It was so fucking wrong but your knees went weak and you started throbbing. He killed someone just for staring at you?

That was actually hot.

—

With no surprise, cassian fucked you for so long, so hard so fucking deep. It was so nasty, a reaaaal mess. one hand of his grabs onto your thigh, another gripping your waist while he’s glancing down at your sloppy cunt, what a masterpiece. Cassian decided he needed to see better so he pulled out as you whimpered pathetically.

his fingers smear his oozing cum all over you, from the slit all the way to your, swollen, throbbing clit.

“look at you makin’ a damn mess.” Your shaky hands gripping his wide shoulders start to slip. His arm tightens around your waist before you fall backwards. “fuckkkk, baby, look at how good your pussy was takin’ me, see how fucking wet she is?” you shudder as his fingers go knuckle deep into your cunt, giving you a few pumps before he pulls it right out, stringy wetness coating them.

he places two thick fingers inside of your mouth, you suck them clean whilst still moving against him, silently pleading for him to fill you out.

“shiiit, not fair. you got these killer hips that’ll dumb down any man.” Cassian finally fills you up again, his fat cock gliding against ypur wall just right. “oh-fuckkkk thaaat’s it, slow baby. slow, fuck me good, yeah?”

Cassian’s breath hitches as you tighten around him, his arm hurling behind the headboard. the desperation of having something to hold on to gives you an ego boost. was your just pussy too damn good?

“c-cas,” you moan, feeling his big fingers stroke their way against your waist to the very undersides of your thighs. you made sure to go slow, slow and steady just like he wanted. cassian’s got a sleazy grin, feeling the wetness of your cunt take him with all its might. “g-gonna cum!”

“i can tell, ah shit— you’re squeezin’ the fuck outta me,” He grunts in response as he feels you writhing, groaning at the gummy texture of your walls mightily gripping around him tight.

But it’s not enough. The rush lingers, addictive and gnawing, and you want more — need more. Something to cling to, something to burn into your memory for the rest of the week. A painfully sweet reminder of just how far you’ll both go for each other.

Your lips curl into a sly smile, voice dropping into a breathy tease. Finally, you’d lock in one last time to see if he was really as crazy as you. “Do you want to know,” You pause, your breath hitching in pleasure, “how it felt to kill t-that wraith?”

Cassian’s entire body tenses, his pupils dilating as a spark of something wild flickers in his eyes. His pulse kicks up, thrumming like a war drum. Fuck yeah, he wanted to know. Every sickening, twisted detail. Morality be damned—this was love.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice low and raw, filled with a dark hunger.

You grin wickedly, savoring his reaction. “It was beautiful,” you whimper, letting the memory flood your senses. “The way her breath hitched when she realized she was going to die? Gods, Cassian, it was intoxicating. She looked so helpless.”

His breath shudders as he pumps harder, his voice gravelly. “What did you feel?”

A dark satisfaction blooms in your chest. “Relief,” you murmur. “Pure relief. Like I’d been waiting forever and I was free.”

Cassian’s eyes burn into yours, his lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. “Absolutely perfect. Absolutely mine.”

Your heart races as you lean in, lips hovering near his ear. “Next time,” you purr, “I’ll let you watch then fuck me right there.”

That’s it. Those few sadistic words are all the power he needs to finish you both off.

“you’re a nasty fucking girl—ughhhh.”

his speed had the bed creaking louder, and cassian’s grunting in your ear was getting louder as you were feeling fuller than ever. with hot pounds of skin against skin roughly slapping against each other after each second, the two of you felt the same pangs of pleasure and fervent dizziness. “inside, cas—fuck, cum inside me!” before an inevitable flood of heavenly pleasure consumes you both.

your cunt throbs the second he spills an entire whopping load inside of you raw, and you nuzzle your face into his neck. “cas—,” you stammer, and your walls were oh so greedy, adjusting to the way your pussy convulses around him, sharp nails dragging over his back. you both cum together as a surge of electricity pulses through each of your veins.

“fuck… ya better take every drop, s-shit,” he groans before slumping back against the headboard, tugging you closer so your face rests on his neck.

This was absolutely perfect. Cassian was yours now—forever. He could never leave you. And if he tried? You wouldn’t just kill him; you’d burn the entire world down with him. If you couldn’t have him, no one could. He simply wouldn’t exist without you.

That was love.

And Cassian being utterly, unapologetically insane? A gift wrapped in chaos. He understood you better than anyone ever could. Maybe you’d push him, see just how far that darkness in him stretched. Because Cassian didn’t get jealous—he got even. He got murderous.

“I love you, Cassian. So, so much,” you sob into his neck, your body trembling under the weight of the confession.

“I know you do,” he rasps, his voice rough as he grabs a blanket, wrapping it around your shivering form. His strong arms envelop you completely, his touch obsessive, possessive. His hand trails down your hair and back with agonizing tenderness as though memorizing every inch of you.

But something gnaws at you—a flicker of unease. Why wasn’t he saying it back? Did he need more proof that you were his literal wife(even if he didn’t know it yet), his reason for fucking breathing?

As if sensing your doubt, his grip tightens, pulling you even closer until you could hear the rapid, frantic beat of his heart. His lips brush against your ear, his voice low and raw, trembling with emotion.

“There are no words for what I feel for you,” he says, voice breaking. “Love is too weak, too pitiful. What I feel for you—gods, it devours me whole. It’s a sickness, an obsession that digs its claws into me and never lets go. You are everything. My breath, my blood, my madness.”

His words crash over you, wild and terrifying and utterly beautiful. And you know—he belongs to you as much as you belong to him.

Always.

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gloomwitchwrites · 17 hours ago

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How would the 141 boys + Nikolai (everyone's favorite Russian dilf) react if their s/o proposed to them with a sword? Like a custom, made by an actual blacksmith, sword? I'll also leave capes on the table, you can choose what to do with that idea.

Swords? Capes? Sorry, I’m dying over here. Never would have thought of this honestly. Just a fair warning, this entire thing is going to consist of me rambling and just putting my brain thoughts into words. Read at your own risk.

Written w/ gn!reader

Price: This man is in awe when you present him a sword. Don’t worry about him saying “yes.” Price is just impressed that you went out of your way to do this for him, to propose to him with a work of true craftsmanship. He’s cherishing that sword, putting it in his office where he can look at it every day, and when people ask him about it, he’ll proudly say that his wife/husband/partner proposed to him with it.

Ghost: If anything, Simon is just going to stare at you for a ridiculous amount of time when you present the sword and propose to him. Like, awkward silence that stretches a bit and you aren’t sure whether you should say something or just let it be. Eventually, he answers with a firm “yes.” However, that’s probably all you’re getting from this big brute of a man. But the sword? He’s taking that thing with him into battle. Are you kidding? He’s cutting down enemies with it. Capes? Possible but optional.

Gaz: There are capes involved in this proposal. Not because it was planned but because it happens when the two of you go to a Ren Fest together. Dressed in cosplay, Kyle doesn’t expect it at all when you excuse yourself to go purchase “drinks” and come back with a sword. Of course, he says “yes.”

Soap: His immediate reaction is the Scottish version of “hell yeah” the moment that sword comes out. You went out of your way to have a custom sword made for him? An actual sword? He’s cherishing that for the rest of his life. He’s showing it off to everyone. He’s making up stories about it like it’s an actual weapon he takes on mission. A cape for him during the wedding? Unlikely. But he’s strapping that sword on him.

Nikolai: If you approach Nikolai with a sword with the intention of proposing to him, this man is going to laugh his ass off and then pull out a sword to propose right back. You think you were the only one with this idea? Guess again. The two of you share a single braincell. Also, no capes at the proposal, but he insists on capes for the wedding.

main masterlist

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midnite-c6 · 3 days ago

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hear me out — nam-gyu is actually soooo icky. i don’t care what anyone tells me. he’s a icky icky man. he’s so fucking mean too. he thinks of women as possessions (he’s sooo misogynistic. you can’t convince me otherwise) like what do you mean women are their own person and can control their own lives?! no…. they are possessions!

additionally, he is sooo convincing with his words — he can get anyone to trust him quite easily (especially if they’re naive) and he’s taking full advantage of that.

honestly nam-gyu probably has anyone naive trying things they were always against. he has such a way with words when it comes to getting anyone to open up or doing what he wants them to do. he'll give them everything they need to get them to say yes even if it means making promises he doesn't even plan to keep or fulfill.

also, no one can convince me otherwise that this man doesn’t have a thing for trad wives. he definitely likes the idea of codependency and the fact that someone clings to him like a second skin (but let’s be honest, he definitely doesn’t make it out to seem like he likes it — it’s always constant degradation from him: “stupid bitch, can’t ever do anything for yourself, huh? i have to do everything for you”). also likes the idea of baby trapping, because you can’t leave him ♡ but 100% does not like kids.

i also can see him fetishizes the FUCK out of lesbians (once again… this man is ICKY) and i definitely feel like if he was the type to get into a relationship with someone who is bisexual (or closeted lesbian. specifically if he coerces them) he would exploit the shit out of it. bro definitely has a premium subscription to ph. constantly doom scrolling to find something he hasn’t watched yet (specifically lesbians or threesomes (two girls, one guy) it’s definitely one of his biggest fantasies. he is soo gross ♡)

he would probably likes giving some naive, lightweight (never done drugs before) drugs that he knows they wouldn’t be able to handle just so he they can take advantage.

I AM GOING INSANEEEE. i am clawing and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

warnings: 18+, DARK content, dubcon, baby trapping

bro i am so sorry i haven't let this out to the public sooner, this is so good and factual fr 💔 like this guy is an misogynistic incel honestly, idfc what anyone else says, u literally can see it in the show how he treats se-mi. he's a meanie.

THE PH SUBSCRIPTION IS SO REAL. also, forces or not, makes u watch porn with him, the disgusting ones like heavy bondage/bdsm, prolly whilst sticking a wand vibrator on ur clit in a setting that's intense BUT wont make u cum so its pure torture..

guys has anyone done se-mi x reader x nam-gyu ? like hello? hello????? ITS RIGHT THERE prolly would watch u & se-mi whilst he's cucking himself. or he's right in the middle of the action, both ur pussies rubbing on his dick.

also, i love nam-gyu corruption kink, to someone whos absolutely clean, pure, law abiding citizen, prolly doesnt even know half of the kinks or stuff u see in pornhub, BUT THAT'S WHY NAM-GYU EXISTS!! to teach you allat, to corrupt u :^

i just dont feel like hes a good person at all, in smut mindset, and in fr the character, hes those toxic bfs who's only "strong" cuz u're just a lil bit weaker than him. and if u try to leave, nuh-uh, u can't, u wanted a child to begin with right?

"fuck you mean, 'i'm leaving you'? bitch please," he scolds, pumping another load inside- straight to your womb, "you wanna be a single mom?" you shake your head immediately, you were on birth control.. but maybe not... oh no! "then don't bullshit me with saying you're 'leaving me'... you know you love me." let's just hope he'll be a good dad... (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

if anyone needs a fluffy lovey namgyu smut this aint the place.. jk, i would prolly post one too heheh <3 also, now i wanna make a full on incel!nam-gyu x reader smut mannn

#squid game 2 #squid game #nam-gyu #player 124 #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game smut #nam gyu #namgyu #nam-gyu smut #nam-gyu x reader #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu smut

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alluramiura · 2 days ago

Text

hyunju nsfw alphabet <3

word count: 939 words

warnings: intended lowercase, afab reader

author’s note: hi tumblr :3 i’ll probably post a poll asking for which character to do next. i’m coming back to this app since i deleted tiktok like a dumbass. anywho. enjoy let me ride your face please hyunju

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

hyunju is incredibly gentle and sweet after sex. even if it wasn’t that rough (which it typically isn’t), she makes sure you’re okay. she would cuddle you for a little, running her fingers through your hair and whispering to you about how good you were for her, before getting up to run a bath, and maybe get you some snacks after.

B = Body part (favorite body part on themself and their partner)

her favorite body part on you is your eyes. she thinks they’re so beautiful, and she thinks there’s nothing more romantic and intimate than looking directly into your eyes while she fucks you. she wants to see all the expressions you make, because you’re gorgeous. she also wants to make sure she’s making you feel good.

her favorite feature on herself is her hands, working in the military she’s very good with her hands and she knows it, and she most definitely uses it to her advantage.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

i headcannon that after a while on hrt, she asks you if she can start cumming in you since hrt typically lowers fertility. if you say yes, it becomes her favorite thing to creampie you when she fucks you.

D = Dirty secret (dirty secret of theirs)

related to the last letter, she has a breeding kink. it’s not so much about the idea of getting you pregnant, more so the idea of filling you with her cum.

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

i think she’s had sex a few times before you, but it was a while ago and she’s explored a lot about herself since then, so when you two started dating you both explored each others bodies, preferences and kinks together.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary. it gives her the opportunity to hit your deepest spots, and also the eye contact. as i said before, there’s nothing more intimate to her than looking you in the eyes while she fucks you slow and deep.

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

she’s usually very gentle which naturally makes room for some playfulness and slight teasing.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?)

i believe she is groomed and shaved clean since it’s necessary for tucking.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

she fucking looooovees intimate sex. sometimes after a rough day, she just needs lay you down on the bed gently, strip your clothes off, and give it to you deep and slow. not in a lustful way, she just loves the rawness and closeness, the warmth of your body and holding your hand, whispering how much she loves you. sex was never something she does with just anybody, especially after she started transitioning.

(picture you by chappell roan came on as i started writing this part, and i think that was so fitting lol)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

she only does it when she really misses you. she’ll grab one of your shirts and inhale it’s scent while stroking her cock slowly and imagining it’s your hand jerking her off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

praising (giving and receiving), body worship (giving most but also receiving when she really needs it), unnie kink, size difference, brat taming, overstimulation, edging.

L = Location (favorite place to have sex)

she doesn’t really like the idea of having sex with you anywhere other than in the comfort of your home. on that note, she’d be down to fuck you anywhere in your house. but she prefers the bedroom.

M = Motivation (what turns them on?)

nothingggg turns her on more than when you give her that look and call her unnie in that tone. that’s probably one of the few things that gets her a little rough with you. she can’t help how worked up it makes her.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything that contains hurting you physically. she wants to take care of you, not hurt you. the most she’d do is some very light degradation.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving)

she loves eating you out. her eyes would be glued on yours, watching how you react when she adds an extra finger or gives a particularly tantalizing lick to your clit.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

typically gentle as i said before, but if you decide to be a brat she’s more than alright with putting aside the soft dom in her and being rough. and when she’s rough, oh does she ruin you.

Q = Quickies (their opinions on quickies)

she doesn’t mind a quickie. if you wanted to do one she wouldn’t object, but she wouldn’t ask for one on her own. she prefers taking her time with you.

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

as long as it doesn’t involve hurting you or humiliating you too much, she’s down to try mostly anything at least once.

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

she can last a long time, that military service built her stamina up good. she can go for about 5 or 6 rounds before getting tired, but she’s also okay with less if you can’t keep up with that.

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

she doesn’t own any toys personally, but she has a few she bought for you and loves to see you use them on yourself as foreplay.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

she usually likes to give you want you want, but if you’ve been misbehaving she’ll tease you and deny you of your orgasms as many times as she needs to until she’s sure you’ve learned your lesson. she’ll tease you in this condescendingly sweet tone with a pout on her face.

“aww, do you want unnie to let you cum, baby?”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what kind of sounds they make)

she doesn’t typically get too loud, she usually lets out short moans that get breathier when she’s close. one in a while, when your wrapping around her just right, she’ll let out louder moans.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

she has a snack drawer next to her bed specifically for aftercare, right above the drawer that contains the sex toys, lube, etc. couldn’t get this out my mind for some reason.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A (maybe B) cup tits, and a cock that’s about 5 inches soft and around 6 ½ inches hard.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

her sex drive is pretty regular since when you two have sex it lasts a while, she’s good for at most 3 days after that.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

she can manage to stay awake until you sleep, wanting to make sure you’ve fallen asleep peacefully in her arms before going to sleep herself.

#cho hyunju x reader #cho hyun ju #player 120 #squid game x reader #hyun ju x reader #player 120 x reader #alluramiura

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queensunshinee · 2 days ago

Text

So sweet- part 2 || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (mention of p in v sex, oral sex), mention of an eating disorder, family drama, death in the family, cheating. It's a mess.

Word Count: 7.9k

(Part 1)

So sweet- part 2:

Art leaned against the doorframe as he looked at you. Since your back was to him, you hadn't seen him yet, and he felt like he had the upper hand. As if he didn’t need to be defensive. As if he was still part of your life. Your hair looked shorter than the last time he saw you. But then again, the last time he saw you, you told him you never wanted to see him again, so maybe he didn’t remember all the details as well as he’d like to.

Maybe he felt that "never" was subjective. That everyone could choose what to take from the word "never." That a year and a half without speaking to you was enough "never" for him, and you'd be a hypocrite if you said it wasn’t for you too. "Are you going to stand there much longer, Donaldson?" Your voice sounded the same. He'd recently discovered he hated a lot of things, but at the top of his list were all the times you called him by his last name instead of his first.

"You really do have eyes in the back of your head," he tried to joke, but he didn’t hear you laugh, not even a chuckle. He hadn’t seen your face yet, but he could guess you weren’t even smiling. "Aren’t you supposed to be in Atlanta?" you asked. If he didn’t know you, he might have thought you were fine. That this was just polite conversation between two acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other in a while and ran into each other by chance. "My first match isn’t for another two days. I couldn’t miss the funeral," he said quietly. "I’m really sorry for your loss, you know that, right?" He took a few large steps and sat on the bed next to you, hoping you’d give him this moment. Hoping you wouldn’t be angry. Not when he was trying so hard.

"She was a mean drunk," you muttered. "Not a huge loss," you added, glancing at him for a second, allowing yourself to surrender to the moment. He recognized the piercing gaze. Maybe a wrinkle that wasn’t there before, but your eyes were the same eyes. You were the same girl he used to love. Used to. Used to. Used to. Before he went on his path in life and you on yours. Before he made a decision, and then you made a decision, and then both of you made decisions. Before words were said. Before he left and you stayed. Before he opened up and you shut down. Used to.

"You’re a grown man, you should know how to tie a tie by now, don’t you think?" you asked, probably trying to lighten the sadness that filled your childhood room, located right across from his childhood room. He wanted to thank you for that. But he never knew how to talk to you honestly. Why would he start now? "Tashi usually does it," he said quietly, and you stood in front of him, starting to adjust the damn tie. You had no idea what you were doing to his heartbeat. "I’m sorry about your grandmother. I was at your parents’ house afterward. I don’t know if they told you," you mumbled.

He was so angry at you for not coming to the funeral. Because by what right did you take his tragedy and make him consumed with thoughts of you? About your absence. About your hand that could’ve held his tightly, just like you did when he was eight, and Jameson died. Instead, he held Tashi’s hand. She didn’t squeeze. She let go after a few minutes. He was so angry that at his grandmother’s funeral, more than anything, he missed you. So now, a few minutes before heading to your mother’s funeral, he squeezed your hand for a moment while you adjusted his tie, looking at him with big eyes filling with tears you refused to let fall. "Better," you said.

He didn’t think it was better. He didn’t want to argue. He just nodded. . . . Patrick couldn’t focus. Every time he hit that stupid ball, he thought about the fight he had with his dad a week ago and the dumb argument he had with you before leaving for Atlanta. He hadn’t told you yet that his parents decided to cut him off from the trust fund. He hadn’t told you that he was basically broke. Sometimes Patrick thinks you’re the only person in the world who looks at him like he understands something about life. Like he’s capable of pulling off magic at any given moment. Sparkling eyes and a smile. He wonders when was the last time you looked at him like that. It’s been a few good months. He can’t deliver. Not the damn ball and not in real life.

He hesitates. Everything he does comes with a certain delay. He knows that at 24, he’s expected to understand who he is and what he wants from life. But what he wants from life doesn’t want him back, and that’s something he’s not willing to accept. He blames his parents for the fact that he’s too spoiled. That he doesn’t know when to stop. That he can’t let go of dreams. That he has to be the best, even though he’s drowning in his own mediocrity. He moves too fast between knowing how good he is at what he does and the harsh slap of reality that comes with each of his failures. Every tournament he loses in the second round, every person who was once in his life and doesn’t want him anymore. They found something better. Something more put-together.

He saw Tashi from a distance for the second time in the last two days. Always alone, Art wasn’t with her. He wondered why Art wasn’t here. He knew Art was competing. Everyone knew Art was competing. The rising star of American tennis. Motherfucker. His dad screamed it at him when he lost it a week ago— “I wish Art Donaldson were my son, maybe then I wouldn’t be so ashamed.” Patrick won’t tell anyone that it hurt. Not because he cares what his shitty dad thinks of him. Not because he cares that Art is succeeding on an international level, breaking into the world’s top ten. Fulfilling all the dreams they once dreamed together. Patrick cares because he knows that at any given moment, he could beat Art. He’s better than Art. So how is it that Art is ranked eighth and Patrick is a nobody? No one takes him into account.

“You planning to embarrass yourself in another tournament?” Tashi’s voice crept up behind him. “You know that if he competes against me, I’ll win, right?” he asked. Overconfident. Always overconfident. “I know you’re ranked 243rd, and he’s ranked 8th. It doesn’t matter who wins this, you’ll still be a loser, and he’ll still get a Nike campaign. They asked us about a winter collection.” She was trying to hurt him. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to her—to hurt him. But he thinks only two people can: you and Art. Tashi isn’t on that list. He doesn’t think Tashi comes close to being on that list.

He thinks Tashi is beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman he knows. Maybe you’re the most beautiful woman he knows. He doesn’t really know- it’s blurry and messy. But hearing you moan or say his name softly, sweetly, is the most beautiful thing he knows. So maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe he measures beauty differently than he did four years ago. “Sounds good. I promise to buy a jacket with his name on it. Do you need anything, Tashi?” he tried to end the conversation. He didn’t want her to see the pathetic training session he was having with himself against a wall. “I don’t know, maybe to ask why you’re here?” She shrugged like it was obvious. Like she cared about the useless existence of Patrick Zweig. Like he mattered. “I’m competing, just like Art-” he started, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but Art’s not here. How is it that you are?” she cut off the monologue he was about to throw at her. “I don’t know why Art isn’t here, Tashi.” If it were possible, his eyes would roll so far back into his skull they’d get stuck there. “Because he’s at a funeral, obviously. She’s your girlfriend last time I checked- how are you not there?” The furrow of her brows showed she was genuinely confused. But now he stood in front of her, terrified too. Whose funeral? Who the fuck died? “What are you talking about?” he muttered, feeling his heart pound. Every muscle in his body tensed. “(Y/N)’s mom passed away, Patrick. How am I the first one telling you this?” She doesn’t understand. But he does. And right now he hates Tashi. And Art, who’s with you. And himself- mostly himself- because after four years, he’s still a selfish bastard who only cares about himself. . . . You’re not crying, and you suspect it bothers your father. He looks at you strangely. As if you’re making things difficult. Because this is an event. A funeral is an event, and you need to behave the way you're expected to behave. You just can’t seem to do it. Because you don’t think you have a warm spot in your heart for the woman you called Mom for the pathetic 24 years of your existence. To anyone else, it would sound sad. Pathetic. You don’t say it out loud very often. You don’t want to make things harder for anyone. You don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. You considered cutting an onion before you left, just to save yourself from the weird looks from the extended family you haven’t seen in years, but Art fucking Donaldson hasn’t left you alone since the second he heard she kicked the bucket.

His hand held yours like his life depended on it. Maybe yours. Someone’s life depended on it. Definitely not your mother’s. She’s dead. You wonder if the need for sacrifice died with her. You wonder if your constant need to make everyone feel comfortable all the time died with her too. It’s exhausting. You wish you could be less like that. Your hand is sweating into his. He probably thinks it’s disgusting. He probably doesn’t like it. You miss the time when your whole world was making sure Art Donaldson was comfortable. His parents hugged you, and you’re pretty sure his mom left lipstick on you. He’s been staring at you for an hour straight. Maybe two. Maybe your whole life. You can’t know; it’s an emotional day.

You try to move your hand away from his; there’s no way this is comfortable for him. He grips harder. Doesn’t let go. Doesn’t leave you alone. Your father says the Kaddish, everyone responds "Amen" and cries. You don’t. Maybe you really are crazy, like she hinted at a few times when she got drunk and called you at an inappropriate hour. Maybe you really are the reason for every problem she ever had. Maybe you didn’t sacrifice enough. Maybe you didn’t love enough.

Maybe you just don’t know how to love, and then it makes sense that you don’t deserve to be loved. Not really. Not unconditionally. Not like your father loved your mother. Not like Art loves Tashi. Not like Patrick loved Tashi. Not like Patrick hated you. Maybe he still does- sometimes you’re not sure. Patrick isn’t here. Art’s hand keeps holding you both steady. You finally cry.

When you walk into the house, your extended family is already there. Uncles, cousins- you think you saw the grandfather of someone your father goes to synagogue with. All you wanted was to sit quietly in your room for a second. Take off the heels and the damn dress. You felt the thong digging into your ass. That’s what happens when you let a dead woman dictate what you'll wear to her funeral. A woman who had conditions for her own funeral. Who told you what dress to wear. What underwear to put on. Sometimes you wonder how many years ahead you’ll keep dragging her advice, her judgmental looks. The tongue clicks. The general dissatisfaction with the world, wrapped in fake smiles. Maybe that’s where you learned to fake so well. To fake who you are down to your core. To fake and fake until you don’t know what you want or from whom.

“You disappeared. I figured you’d be here.” Art walks into your childhood room like it’s his. Like he always did. “You’re still here?” you mutter, and he hands you a plate of food he picked up from downstairs. “Where else would I be?” he sighs. As if that’s the only answer that makes sense to him. As if you two were in touch. As if you know anything about his fancy life or he knows anything about your painfully mediocre one. “In Atlanta,” you answer and place the plate on the nightstand beside you. “When’s your flight?” you ask, not looking at him as he sits next to you on the bed like he did before the funeral.

“I can stay-” he starts quietly. You know he’s looking at you, almost begging you to see that he means it. "Ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself, but you know he hears. “When’s your flight, Art?” you ask, your voice steadier, looking at him with an almost hollow expression. One that doesn’t show any emotion or maybe shows all emotions at once. A look that scared him. A look that worried you. A look you’ll think about a month from now. You’ll sit at home, writing the structure for one of your classes, and you’ll think about Art Donaldson and the empty look you gave him when your mother died. Embarrassing. Everything is so fucking embarrassing.

“Tonight,” he sums up. You glance at your phone’s clock. Sixteen missed calls from Patrick. Instinct says to call him. But it’s 6 p.m., and his first match is at 8 in the morning. “Don’t you need to pack?” He rolls his eyes, ignoring your attempt to dismiss him. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly. “Excuse me?” you snap back, not understanding the direction of the conversation. “Now. In general. What are you doing?” His gaze surrounds you from every direction. You can’t look anywhere that isn’t Art Donaldson. He reflects off the damn mirrors in this room. “Trying to sit quietly in my room, clearly,” you reply stiffly.

You remember how all your conversations used to be warm. Soft. You’d talk about dreams. About books you’d write. About tournaments he’d win. You’d kiss. He’d touch you. You’d touch him. There was curiosity. There was love. Or at least that thing you’ve spent years believing was love. The thing where you become exactly what he wants and needs and disappear when he needs something else, something better. That was the unwritten contract between you. Lately, you’ve been thinking that’s the unwritten contract between you and everyone you know. A depressing thought. You try not to dwell on it too much. On the way you please people in your suffering. Please in deprivation. Please to the point of tears, and more tears, and more tears. You try not to think about all the dreams you had when Art Donaldson -maybe- loved you. You try not to think about the joy of life. About how much you loved seeing him happy, how much you loved making him happy. How much you loved being responsible for his happiness. "Why isn’t Patrick here?" He quietly asked what he really wanted to know. He wanted to understand if you’d broken up. If you were alone. If he could laugh and say he told you so. That he told you; you had no business being with Patrick Zweig. "Because he has a match tomorrow at 8 a.m., and he trained too hard to miss it," you said it coolly, without breaking eye contact. As if it made perfect sense that you hadn’t told your boyfriend, the person who was supposed to be your confidant, that your mother had died. "He didn’t want to come?" Art continued, confused. Ice. That look again. The immediate shift in his mood confuses you, but it doesn’t throw you off balance. You know him. For the past four years, every time he’s seen you, all he’s tried to do is confuse you, to knock you off balance. It never works, at least not in his eyes.

"Hedoesn’tknow," you mumbled the words as if they were one. Quietly, knowing that what you’d done didn’t make sense. Wasn’t reasonable. Wasn’t acceptable. Didn’t fit into the unspoken rules of a relationship. "You’re an idiot." He stood up and started pacing back and forth. "A fucking moron, really." He was angry, as if he was the one who hadn’t been told your mother had died. If it were up to you, he wouldn’t have known either, but his mother told him. Whatever. "I’ll tell him when he gets back from the tournament, it’s not a big deal," you said and shrugged. Art stopped and looked at you like you’d just fallen from the moon. Like you were some natural phenomena. "If you did that to me, I’d kill you. If you thought some shitty tennis tournament in shitty Atlanta was more important to me than you, I’d murder you and then die myself. I don’t like what you have with Zweig, God knows I hate it, but how could you not tell him? Do you even understand the concept of a relationship?" He let out this Shakespearean monologue while looking at you with a half-pitying, half-angry expression. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he thought you were Tashi.

"Art, I’m not your problem. Do you remember that?" You didn’t know what else to say, so you said the only thing you knew for sure in a defeated voice. Art Donaldson was not a part of your life. "You’ll always be my problem. You should know that by now," he said, half despairing at himself. As if wondering how you both got here. As if wondering if there was anywhere else you could be. . . . Patrick was beyond frustrated. He won his first match after two and a half hours, barely. It didn’t come easy. All he could think about was how nothing came easy for him anymore, and how everything used to be so easy.

The thought that you didn’t tell him your mother had died, and then didn’t answer his calls either, hovered over his head like a rain cloud focused solely on him. He didn’t know how to approach it. He knew why you didn’t tell him- because unlike what Art thought, unlike what your dead mother thought, he knew you. He knew how you thought. He understood the mechanics behind your strange decisions. He hated that he had become someone you had to overthink things for.

That afternoon, he went to one of the courts and caught Tashi and Art’s practice. They both saw him sit down. He thinks it made Art play better. He wondered if Art imagined his face when he hit the ball. He thinks he does. Because when Tashi checkmated his relationship with Art, Patrick wrapped his life around yours as if that was how it was always meant to be, while everyone involved knew it wasn’t. While everyone involved knew that you had embroidered Art’s name on bags from the moment you learned how to stitch. While everyone knew that Art Donaldson didn’t know how to exist in the world without you.

So, Patrick took you for himself. Most of the time, he didn’t think of it as something technical, as a game he was playing against Art. Most of the time, he looked at you, really looked at you. Most of the time, he tried to make you laugh and understand the world through your own eyes. Most of the time, he tried to protect you from complex emotions you couldn’t express, from hunger. He tried to protect you from yourself, the way you protect some helpless creature. In some way, you were. In his eyes, you were helpless.

When you first started sleeping together, Patrick treated you with kid gloves, in a way he had never treated anyone before. Like you were porcelain. Like you could shatter and crumble in his hands at any moment. You had gestures and habits, ones you thought no one noticed. But he always saw. You tried to please everyone all the time. You switched from a smile to a sad look in a second, for the sake of the feelings of whoever was in front of you, for the sake of what you thought they wanted from you.

But Patrick didn’t want anything from you. He wanted to give you all the orgasms that you missed and for you to eat at least three meals a day. Some days, he didn’t know how to make you do it. Some days, he raised his voice. When he was desperate, he cried. When he was really desperate, he asked you to eat for him, so that he would be happy. That was the easy way, it always worked. He exploited a destructive mechanism someone had embedded in you (he suspects your dead mother) and used it to get you to do something he thought would be good for you. He wanted to throw up.

Art was playing well. He was playing against Tashi in front of him, and he was playing well. Too well. Patrick no longer thinks he can beat him. Not something he would ever say out loud. He wanted to ask him how you were. He didn’t want to admit that you hadn’t answered his million calls. He didn’t want to admit that he was a loser who didn’t know where his life was going. Not when Art had been with you at the fucking funeral of your awful mother. He hated that woman with everything he had. More than he hated his own father, and that had to be some kind of record. Art looked at him for a moment. The moment passed. Patrick thinks Art won. He’s not sure. . . . Patrick finds Tashi alone in the evening. Completely alone in the middle of the lobby restaurant. She suddenly looks small and fragile to him, holding a drink he can guess is whiskey or cognac or whatever it is that Tashi Duncan drinks these days. He doesn’t know anything about her anymore. Only that a few years ago, he thought he loved her, and in return, she took his best friend away from him.

When he stands in front of her, he is like a streetlight- impossible to ignore. It dawns on him, belatedly, that he is wearing her shirt. She must think he’s pathetic. He feels pathetic. He doesn’t think he cares about being pathetic in front of her. Because he sees her for what she is right now, and she is miserable. She doesn’t have much in life. She clings to what Art has. Which is fucked up on so many levels, but that’s reality. They both cling to things they shouldn’t be clinging to, and his eyes wander to her ring. Massive. Flashy. A bit like her, like the woman she tries to be when she’s not half-drunk and pathetic in front of him.

He places his hand over hers just as she’s about to take a sip of her drink, stopping her. He doesn’t know what he wants. Not from her, not from himself, but his lips find hers within seconds, and she doesn’t resist. He knew she wouldn’t resist- he saw it on her face. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Maybe more. And what a thought that is- that Tashi Duncan wants Patrick Zweig more.

They exit through the back door of the restaurant, go up to his room. Naturally. As if more than four years haven’t passed since the last time he was with Tashi. He wishes he knew what he was doing; it would make this easier. But it’s not particularly difficult, either- otherwise, he wouldn’t be pressing Tashi against the wall. Otherwise, his lips wouldn’t be kissing every inch of her body he can reach.

Hunger. Patrick feels hunger. It’s the only emotion coursing through him as he looks at her. He thinks he wants to hurt Art. He thinks about how Art was there for you at your mother’s funeral, and that was supposed to be his role, but you didn’t call him. So he strips Tashi of her shirt. Only to discover she isn’t wearing a bra. He compares her to you every few seconds. You never go without a bra. He can barely convince you to just be at home, without clothes, without defenses. Just be. He doesn’t think you’re capable of that. He doesn’t think you know how to feel at ease. That worries him more than he’s willing to admit.

“You’re thinking about her?” Tashi’s voice is almost angry as she kisses his neck. “No.” A lie. A complete lie. He can only think about you. He realized that a few years ago and stopped fighting it. You and tennis, as if that’s all there is in the world. What else even exists? What else even matters? “You’re a terrible liar,” she mutters against him, and somehow, the ugly shirt he’s pretty sure was Tashi’s -he doesn’t even know why he wore it- ends up on the floor. ‘You’re not thinking about Art?’ he should have asked, but he’s not here to ask questions. He’s here because he’s angry. At Art, at you, at Tashi for telling him, at the world. So he’s here. And they’re both shedding more pieces of their clothing and maybe their souls, because what they’re doing now has no way back. No forgiveness. They are bad people. Patrick knows it. Tashi knows it.

And after he wrings a heavy moan from her, one that follows an orgasm, she quietly tells him she thinks Art loves you. Patrick stares at the gaudy ring stuck on her finger, the ring that, in another universe, Art would have placed on yours. “Why do you think that?” Patrick asks softly, because what else is left to do? “I didn’t want him to go to the funeral. I wanted him to stay and train, but he went anyway,” she mumbles. Patrick says nothing, just nods. He would have done the exact same thing, and that’s why you didn’t call him. He would have come. Despite the dreams. Despite the tennis. Despite everything.

And Patrick remembers all the times Art called you sweet. All the times Art never wanted to tell him anything about what happened between you two. All the times Art didn’t want to talk about you. And it wasn’t because it wasn’t good. It wasn’t because other girls were better. It was because there was depth Patrick can only put his finger on now. So much happened beneath the surface- so much that Art had no words to describe it. So much that Art drowned in his own emotions. Repressed them and kept them bottled up until he found something shiny to bury his feelings in. Until he found Tashi.

And Tashi is safe. With Tashi, you can’t get lost. With Tashi, there’s a plan. With you, he just has to be himself. He doesn’t know how to be anything else. And that’s terrifying.

For the first time, Patrick understands Art in absolute terms. He lies in a hotel room, stroking the hair of a woman who isn’t you, and understands everything there is to understand about life. Mainly, he understands again- that you are so fucking sweet. And that there’s no way he can win. . . .

You're going over tomorrow��s lesson when you hear the door open. Without turning around, you already know it’s Patrick. Who else could it be? His scrutinizing gaze doesn’t waver from you, even when he says nothing. “How was it?” You find yourself breaking the silence, lifting your head toward him with a smile. He doesn’t smile back. He looks exhausted. The message Art sent you lingers in the back of your mind; He’s cheating on you. -Art Donaldson- Art has his reasons to make something like this up, but you doubt he’d be cruel enough to lie about it. Not while you’re mourning your horrible mother. No matter how angry he is at you. No matter how angry he is at Patrick. You don’t think Art is capable of that. You want to believe he isn’t capable of that. Then again, you also want so badly to believe Patrick wouldn’t do it. That Patrick wouldn’t cheat on you. That he wouldn’t find someone prettier, better, more cheerful and do all the things with her that he probably can’t do with you. You don’t want to think about the possibility that you haven’t sacrificed enough. That you didn’t try as hard as you were taught to. Your fault, your fault, your fault. You don’t want to believe it’s your fault. That another love will slip through your fingers, as if you’re trying to hold water. So, you choose to say nothing, because even if it’s true, even if he was with someone else, he came home. And home isn’t big, to say the least, not grand, not dazzling. But he came back. He’s right in front of you. You’re not alone. He knows you. He knows such ugly parts of you that sometimes you’re scared to acknowledge they even exist. He knows what you refuse to recognize in yourself, and sometimes he reminds you that you deserve more than you think. Which is a bizarre thought in itself. But you let him think it, you let him believe it enough for him to believe it for the both of you. “I lost in the third round. To Peter Michelson,” he says shortly, and you nod. “No choice but to make a voodoo doll with Peter Michelson’s face,” you try to joke. He usually laughs. At least smiles. He does neither. He just stands there like a block of wood, with the same expression. “I’m sorry you lost. I wish I’d been there,” you mumble, not knowing what else to say. “What about you? Anything special happen this week?” he asks, his gaze never leaving you.

Now you could tell him your mother died, but there’s no way to say it without it turning into a fight about the fact that you didn’t tell him the moment you found out. “No, nothing special, you know. My routine is boring.” You shrug and shift your focus back to the lesson you’re supposed to teach tomorrow. The Great Gatsby. A shitty book. “Nothing special at all?” he presses. “If you count the fact that Mr. Grace forgot to put in his dentures on Monday -again- and I had to sub for his class, then no.” It’s a half-lie because the thing with Mr. Grace and his dentures did happen, just not this week. Most of this week, you were at your parents’ house, helping your father deal with shiva and all the people who came by. He was completely heartbroken.

You see Patrick shake his head slightly and close his eyes. You know this is something he does when he’s trying to restrain himself. When he doesn’t want to lash out. When something is bothering him, and he doesn’t want it to turn into the biggest fight in the world. He has a bad history with fights that spiral out of control. “No one was born? No relatives died? I don’t know, maybe the woman who gave birth to you?” he says, his piercing gaze back on you. “Shit,” you mumble. Because what else is there to say in this situation? “Yeah, shit,” he stays exactly where he is, making you feel like a child being scolded. Like you dropped a lollipop and won’t be getting a new one.

“I’m sorry-” you start. “My mom isn’t dead; your mom is dead. I think I’m the one who’s sorry.” Patrick hated when you apologized. He said it was irrational with you. That you apologized more than was normal and more than people around you deserved. “Patrick,” you sigh, scrunching your nose as you try to think of a good way to explain it. “I really need to understand this, (Y/N). When were you planning on telling me your living mother was no longer alive? Another month? Two months? Two years? What was the timeline in that head of yours?” His words drip with sarcasm, like the way he used to talk to you before you became you and Patrick. Before you learned to love who he was and before he started treating you like you weren’t the worst person in the world.

“I didn’t want you to withdraw from Atlanta. You trained for it so hard.” You sigh again, quietly. This time, you’re the one closing your eyes, not wanting to look at him- and in doing so, you miss the fact that he moves toward you in giant strides. “I wish you’d told me, Little Dove. I wish I’d been with you instead of being there.” His hands cup your face as he crouches in front of you, looking up to catch your eyes. “I’m sor-” You stop yourself mid-sentence when you see his displeased expression. “How do you feel?” he asks, and you shrug in response. Because what you feel isn’t something you can say out loud, not even to Patrick. It’s not okay to feel relieved. A lot of sadness, of course. But also, relief.

“Tell me,” he insists. He has a habit of knowing the things you don’t want to say. He can look at your face and catch the slight twitch of your left eyebrow to understand what you’re feeling. To see what you try so hard to hide. You can’t beat him at this. You can’t lie to him, not too much. Not about your feelings. Not when he spent years of his life learning what to hate about you, and then a few more years learning to love it. “She wasn’t the nicest woman in the world,” you murmur quietly, like you’re confessing the most forbidden secret. Like it’s a secret that could start a world war. Like Patrick would tell someone.

“She didn’t like me.” Patrick lets out a dry chuckle, his eyes glassy as if he’s remembering something. “She used to call me Art all the time and then correct herself, like it was an accident, but she did it on purpose. So I’d know she wanted me to be Art.” His jaw tightens slightly. You can see the anger and frustration behind the fake lightness in his tone. “I’m sorry,” you say because you don’t know what else to say, and he sighs. His large hands wrap around you in an almost crushing hug. Almost making it hard to breathe.

But that’s how Patrick is. Everything he feels is out in the open. Everything he thinks, he says. Everything he wants, he does. And most of the time, he wants to be present in your life, which is ridiculous because there is no one more present in your life than him. He still acts like he needs to prove something to you. “I wish you’d let me take care of you, Little Dove. It would be easier.” He whispers into your hair, not letting go for a second. You can almost feel him thinking, almost see him guessing what might help you. “I know you care about me,” you say, shifting slightly to look at him, to show him that he doesn’t need to prove anything. That you’re okay.

“Did you eat?” he suddenly asks, stepping back slightly, scanning you, then moving toward the half-empty fridge. “What did you eat?” he follows up. “I don’t know, Patrick. I don’t keep a journal,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit. What did you eat, (Y/N)?” He doesn’t let up. “A sandwich,” you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Since this morning?” His eyes stay locked on you. “Patrick, my mother just died. Can we not focus on what I eat for one second? It’s exhausting,” you roll your eyes and cross your arms, turning your face to the side as he steps toward you and nods. . . . "What do you want to focus on?" he asked. Patrick felt guilty. He looked at you and saw nothing but the fact that just a few days ago, he had been with Tashi. While you were mourning your unbearable mother, he was busy fucking Tashi in a fancy hotel room, at a tournament he lost and that Art Donaldson would probably win. "You," your voice was small as you looked at him, almost pleading for a break from the interrogation and the anger. He hated when you made him the center of your focus, when you tried to do what you thought he wanted you to do. So he nodded and placed a small kiss on the crown of your head, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

Patrick felt like a man on a mission as he dropped to his knees in front of you. "Pat-" you tried to protest, to tell him he didn’t have to. You always tried. As if going down on you was a burden to him, as if all it would take for him to spend a lifetime just like this was for you to fucking ask. "Baby, can you take these off for me?" It was a question, but there was no question mark at the end. Not in that tone. Not when he was looking up at you like that, completely in control of the situation.

So you slid your pants down slowly, trying to hold on to the last bit of control slipping away with every second he stared at you like that. He took care of your underwear himself. Leaving you bare in front of him. "Fuck, Pat," you mumbled, closing your eyes for a moment, leaning back against the wall, making him look up at you one last time with a smirk stretched across his face. And then he got to work.

His lips explored you like you were his source of oxygen. Like his natural place was buried under you, his mouth inside you. "Baby, I’d eat you for the rest of my life. Every day. Every fucking day." His grip on your thigh was ruthless. Patrick felt like he was holding on for dear life, like this was all there was left to do. Like it was all he knew. "Sweet fucking pussy," he kept mumbling into you, until his face was coated with his own spit and your slick. He was ready to take it all, everything you gave him. In these moments, everything that was yours became his, and the little that was his became yours.

So he was milking it. He licked your clit in slow, agonizing strokes- for both of you. He took his time. The euphoria would come, but he was going to enjoy it until it did. Your small whimpers made him growl directly into you. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," like a prayer. He felt it. He felt divinity in all of it. He sped up and slowed down and sped up and slowed down. Merciless to the near-sobs escaping from you. "You're so sweet, baby. Do you want to come?" And he wasn’t asking if you wanted to come for him, because he wanted you to come for yourself. Because he wanted you to always, always come for yourself. He wanted to be a vessel. He wanted to erase all the stupid patterns in your head and make sure every orgasm you had was yours and for you. "Patrick." He thought that was the only thing you were capable of saying coherently, and he was fine with that. He was selfish enough to be satisfied if his name was the only word you could say forever.

And when you came with a moan he had learned to recognize and nearly worship, he told you how good you were. How rare you were. That he was yours and that he would always take care of you. He looked up at you from below, saw the tears slipping down your face, and pressed another kiss to your thigh. One that emphasized the word always. Because he didn’t think he could ever let this go. He was too selfish to ever let this go. . . . Art peeked through the door of the room every few seconds, searching for you among the guests. At this point, he didn’t even bother lying to himself about it. Because he didn’t know what else was left for him besides admitting the truth to himself- things he was never able to admit before. Lately, he’d been thinking a lot about the nights he used to lay beside you. When you didn’t even fuck. When you just lay in that rickety twin bed in his dorm room. He was willing to take that. He was willing not to fuck you if it meant you’d hold him again. More than that, he was willing not to fuck anyone ever again. But you were too sweet, you wouldn’t let him go through life without sex. The thought made him chuckle for a second. But he was nervous. So fucking nervous.

He was about to marry Tashi, and she didn’t cross his mind even once. He accidentally saw her dress, even though he told her that he hadn’t really noticed it was there. He knew she would be a stunning bride. That months from now, people would still be talking about Tashi Duncan in a wedding dress. He knew people would envy him, he knew everything. His mind knew everything.

But all he could think about was what kind of wedding dress you would have chosen. He was almost sure it would be something less extravagant; you’d try to draw as little attention as possible. But the Art he was today wouldn’t have let you. He would’ve told you that you deserved all the attention the universe had to offer. That you deserved to be seen. He hated himself for how long it had taken him to realize that. Only when you truly weren’t there. Only when you belonged to someone else. Only when you chose Patrick Zweig of all people.

Patrick Zweig, who hated you with every fiber of his being. Patrick Zweig, who Art was almost certain had cheated on you with Tashi. It should have hurt him much more than it did. But all he cared about was figuring out if this would be the thing that made you get up and leave. You had to know you deserved better. That if not him- if not Art, the guy you both knew you loved with all your heart- then at least someone who didn’t want anyone else. That was the bare minimum you deserved. For years, he’d wondered if he had something to do with how little you thought you deserved, with how low your standards were.

He convinced his mother- who probably loved you even more than he did- to take upon herself convincing you to come to his wedding. Which was almost sadistic of him. Maybe masochistic. Maybe both. But he had to see you. He hadn’t seen you since your mother’s funeral. Sometimes he dreamed about that day and how his hand held yours, he wanted it again and again and again. He wanted everyone to die if it meant he could hold you like that again. If it gave him an excuse.

He noticed that everything about you required an excuse. It hadn’t been like that when you were his. Except you were never really his. He didn’t even understand why it had been so complicated- why you hadn’t told him that’s what you wanted (though he could have guessed). And more than anything, he didn’t understand why he hadn’t known what he wanted. Why it hadn’t been clear to him that you were his person. That you knew the deepest parts of him.

He saw you walk in and texted you, almost begging you to come to the room where he was. You could tell him to go to hell, but that wasn’t your style. No, you were sweet. So sweet that all you did was knock on the door and push it open. Looking at him while he already had his eyes on your little black dress. While he was already studying the red nail polish. While he was already focusing on the lipstick he so badly wanted to wipe off of you.

“Your mother asked me to prepare a speech. Was that your idea?” you asked. There was no coldness in your voice, which made him happy. You stepped closer and started fixing his tie. He wanted to close his eyes, but at the same time, he wanted to see you. To remember you like this; in a little black dress, in heels, standing in front of him, helping him with his tie. “What can I say? You’re my best friend,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie, just as much as it wasn’t the truth. “That’s really sad, Art,” you said, probably referring to the last four years you spent apart. “Are you saying you have a better friend than me?” he asked, hoping you’d deny it because a yes might make him break down crying.

“It’s a mediocre speech. I didn’t know what to say at your wedding,” you sighed, confessing a secret. “Saying you don’t want me to get married would’ve been a good start,” he said, taking a risk. Because he calculated the timing, and you were late, so he had a very short window for this risk. “Don’t be ridicul—” you started, quietly. “If you tell me not to do this, I won’t get married. Tell me not to do it. Tell me it’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay,” he whispered. Not looking away from you.

The silence in the room was deafening, and the chuckle that escaped him was bitter. Fake. He felt pathetic and small and miserable, and maybe he was all those things because he never knew what he wanted in time. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. Not knowing what else to add, because what was left to add? He could see the wetness in your eyes. He knew how unfair he was being. “I’m sorry,” he echoed. He didn’t think he had ever told you that before, but he really, truly was. “Did you write something good about me?” he added. “That you’re my best friend. And that my soul will always love yours,” you said, letting a single tear fall as his rough hand wiped it away with whatever gentleness was still left in him.

It was a nice speech. Everyone applauded. Art cried. . . .

Here we are- the second part of So Sweet! Hope it turned out good enough. Thanks for stopping by and reading what I write, it means a lot. Let me know what you think. Love you guys, stay sweet! 💕

#art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #challengers fic #challengers #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #so sweet

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tricoloreddango · 2 days ago

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Phainon with chubby reader headcanons

contents: female reader / fluff and smut / insecurity and comfort / possessiveness / protectiveness / clingy behavior / mentions of marriage / riding / oral fem receiving / 69 position / cockwarming / soft and rough sex / service dom / period sex / aftercare / not suitable for minors

[Mydei version] [back to m.list]

SFW

—You are constantly made to be flustered. No, he won’t spare you any compliments, making sure they’re as poetic and detailed as possible. He’ll go as far as telling you how much he’d worship a statue made in the image of your body, leaving offerings for his ‘goddess’. But even if he can’t sculpt, he’ll gladly paint you if you give him a permission.

—Phainon wasn’t afraid to be constantly touching you, enjoying the physicality of you under his palms; being in public never stopped him from touching you either—he was just more subtle about it. He didn’t mean anything naughty (unless in a right setting), he just liked the fact you were there with him. Having your hip stroked or your waist wrapped with his arm, or even sleeping with his hand under your clothes just to feel your warmth was an everyday thing.

—Whenever you feel insecure, he’s not the one to just say “nah, don’t worry” and some compliment. He much preferred to get to the bottom of your insecurity and talk you through it until you no longer feel as if it was that bad—no matter how many times it takes you to fully solidify the fact in your head.

—Let him buy pretty or flattering clothes for you. One on hand, he didn’t like others having a clear view of your body; on the other hand, he wanted your shape to be enhanced and decorated—especially for others to agree with him that he’s indeed a lucky man.

—Phainon loved to take you to swimming sessions, somewhere by more isolated pools. His favorite part was you lying next to him on the blanket, the sun warming your skin, your body in a swimsuit and him having an excuse to spread open kisses onto your uncovered skin. You’ll make his heart flutter a lot if you giggle happily.

—Please let him rest on your stomach. He really liked taking a nap with him between your thighs, wanting an occasion to feel your soft body under him. You probably will feel ticklish with his warm breath teasing your skin, but he’ll fall asleep into a nap very quickly.

—All kinds of bodies were worshipped on Amphoreus, but should anyone end up spilling unpleasantries for your ears to hear you’ll have nothing to worry about. He’ll make sure to call out this person, not afraid to embarrass them in public either.

—Did I mention how clingy he is? On top of that, you’ll hear “I love you” on every occasion possible.

—Phainon knew you two should get to know each other well first. However, the ideas of marriage will fill his head rather quickly just in the beginning of your relationship… simply because he had feelings for you a long time before, and probably chased you for just as long.

—Teasing was just a big part of his personality. That’s why he liked to act like he’s your husband already, with that being done in front of others (it’s beneficial to him anyway, as no other man will think you’re an option anymore). Other form tease came from his touch you in small amounts throughout the day, just to get bit breathy and thinking of him.

Not to mention asking things such as “and who’s this pretty girl, huh?” or “what would you do if I was to kiss you all of the sudden?”—all whispered right into your ear, leaving him with a satisfied flicker in his eyes at your provoked tremble.

NSFW:

—He’ll set any warm and fuzzy setting you wish to have. Candles, essential oils, massage oil? You’ve got it. Sex wasn’t some mindless or animalistic ritual to him. He wasn’t using you, he was making love to you.

—You’re being fondled everywhere and I mean everywhere. He’ll become a whiny creature if he has to separate his hands from your body for even a second. It’s like during the day where he can’t keep his hands away from you, with a difference that this time it’s done in a really desperate and erotic way.

—He loved when you get on top of him. Any weight was enough for him to handle; he loved to see your beautiful body being exposed when you were sitting on him. He’ll squeeze and knead your flesh, while spilling out praises and encouragements.

—Every part of you was sweet, that’s why your pussy was no different. Phainon couldn’t get enough of eating you out on everyday basis, sometimes even stopping you in the middle of something just to drop down on his knees to pleasure you. You’re cooking? Great, turn off the stove for a moment and turn around to face him, before you spread your legs for him to sit between. It will be a perfect argument for him to touch and feel your thick thighs.

—69 position was arguably one of the best in his humble opinion. He could feel the weight of your body, the flesh of your chub against him on the bed; while you both exchange the beautiful act of mouthy-pleasuring like two true lovers. He’d service you anyway, yet he adored you wanting to make him feel good as well. Really, you were growing more and more lovable to Phainon everyday.

—Another perfect position was you both on your sides, with him either behind you or in front of you. He’ll hold you regardless, wanting sex to be something more than just fucking. He craved the intimacy with you… which of course didn’t mean he didn’t get rough with you occasionally, especially if he stared at you throughout the day than usual and needed to release his tension.

—Romantic gestures didn’t have to be cliche. One of his idea was you cockwarming him to sleep, in case cuddling wasn’t enough.

—Forgive him if he sometimes sounds too loud (high pitched even) or if he squeezes your hand too tightly (an intimate gesture he couldn’t deny himself of). It’s just that every time you laid each other on your shared bed, he was becoming a man thirsty, desperate and weaker than ever…. you’ll kill him too if you choose to be same amount of loud or squeeze violently around his cock. Perhaps you’ll force loud vulgar words from his mouth as well.

—He didn’t care if you or someone else found it nasty, he wouldn’t mind sleeping with you during your bleeding. It’s just a matter of placing a towel under you for him. He’ll gladly help you with your cramps by pushing orgasms out of you, and the fact you’d let him trust with your body even on your vulnerable time of the month made him feel a step closer to you. It’s just another way of him fully accepting you.

—Aftercare was as intense as possible. You need water? He’s already on his way. A towel was ready next to the bed. If you feel cold, he’ll keep you warm or help you dress up. Any soreness you had, he’ll gladly massage (and feel your plumpness with that). Not to mention all the pretty praises you’ll hear, even through your ears ringing post-orgasm.

#phainon x reader #phainon x you #phainon smut #phainon fluff #hsr x chubby reader #☆—tcdwrites

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litnerdwrites · 23 hours ago

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Yes to all of this. 100% Yes!

And to add on, I think Feyre ended up getting exactly what she wanted.

She got upset about the whole 'no such thing as a high lady' thing, in a conversation she started by stating how the title of High Lady made her uncomfortable. Between this and the way she chants in her head, while opening gifts, praying that they aren't crowns, imply that the idea of having equal authority and political power upset her. However, what Feyre did want, was to paint, help rebuild after the devastation of Amarantha's reign, and not be stuck indoors all the time.

There were a couple problems with each of her desires though. Her trauma reaction prevented her from doing things she enjoyed, due to both survivors guilt and a associating red with blood. Going out was dangerous, due to her unstable powers, the instability of the court, and the risk of Hybern/others coming after her (remember that she's untrained in both magic, and fighting, still trying to become properly accustomed to her fae body and new lifestyle, and panics at the sight of anything resembling blood, which probably would include actual blood). All of these are valid concerns, but Feyre's desires a valid too. It was up to her and Tamlin to communicate, grow their relationship, and try to find solutions, alternatives, and otherwise attempt to move forward together, while supporting each other, setting healthy boundaries, and making their expectations clear. If it couldn't work out, or they weren't meshing, then they should've broken up amicably.

But this post isn't about their communication issues.

Stepping back, I think what Feyre wants is power without the responsibility or drawbacks.

She wants to have her say in politics, or matters regarding the court, when she feels like it, but refuses to acknowledge the political ramifications of marrying The High Lord of Spring, being the woman who broke Amarantha's Curse, and having the powers of all seven HLs after being resurrected by them. She wants to be Tamlin's equal in every way, but when it comes to the idea of equal political status, she expresses discomfort. She wants power equal to his, without the title. Yet, she refuses to acknowledge or even deal with or learn more about the political ramifications of her circumstances.

Feyre laments her circumstances, but doesn't make an effort to educate herself about them. She never tries to learn how to read or ask about the laws of the Spring Court. She's upset when people cite that there are rules and traditions she and they need to follow, but makes no effort to learn them in any capacity, so she might understand her situation, and take action accordingly. Instead, she shows open disdain for those rules and traditions, without properly trying to communicate her problem, leaving her looking like a toddler.

Now, Velaris is the opposite of this.

There's no danger because no one knows it exists.

There's no distance between her and the people because they've spent centuries living next door to their ruler and his inner court, and can see him regularly when he hosts those meet & greets where his people raise their issues to him.

They aren't bombarding her with their gratitude because, a) It was the spring Court that was cursed, and b) The only issues Velaris saw, from what we can tell, was no trade, meaning no spices. It's clear that the area warded was large enough to not only encompass the city, but enough farmland to feed the entire population for fifty years, otherwise having very little over all impact on their quality of life.

Velaris has been protected on the blood of Illyria and the Hewn City, facing little to no significant changes in their lifestyles as a result. Both during war, and under Amarantha.

The political climate of the Velaris is not only stable, but has no impact on other courts, nor does it draw the eye of foreign nations because, again, nobody knows it exists. Feyre can do what she wants, because there's little consequence in doing so, while in Velaris. If Feyre fucks up political matters, it isn't going to have many ramifications, because the citizens will just laugh it off and carry on with their day.

If she uses her powers, before the other HLs learn about them, she doesn't have to worry about being spied on, anyone learning about them, because it doesn't matter in Velaris. If she wants to spend time painting at a studio in town, or volunteering, there's no risk of her life being in danger, because nobody knows this city exists. If anyone is looking for her, they will probably check either The Hewn City, Illyria, or any other small towns/villiages/cities that may exist because nobody suspects that there's a secret other city.

Meanwhile, none of those factors can be applied to the Spring Court, because while there, all eyes are on her and there would be ramifications to her actions.

It makes sense Feyre becomes High Lady in Velaris, because it means nothing. It requires nothing from her. There's little weight on her shoulders, and being uneducated isn't an issue because there's nobody around to critique her or how much/little she works. To the citizens, she's more like a neighbour, and we have no evidence that any of them leave Velaris at all, so we can assume they haven't personally seen the other two thirds of their court. With that in mind, what have they got to compare her or Rhys to, given the luxury they live in.

Of course she doesn't do High Lady duties. She doesn't have any, and if she did, they wouldn't matter. It's not like they look after anywhere other than Velaris anyway.

In regards to Nesta, I agree that she isn't able to rule either, but she has the most potential. It's important to understand that when we're told that Nesta was 'raised to marry a prince', it doesn't mean she's versed in politics. At least not more than is necessary for social gatherings. Aside from birthing heirs, and possibly hosting events, a Princess or Queen would be responsible for managing the household, meaning Nesta was likely raised to do just that. When they got their wealth back, it was likely her running and managing the household, especially while her father was away.

Ultimately, Nesta's education didn't give her the skills a politition would need, she has the most potential to learn, and even without that, I still think she'd do a better job than Feyre. At the very least, she can read, and has the initiative to go learn how to do it, if she doesn't know.

doesn’t surprise me feyre doesn’t do her high lady duties and she only brings it up for her own interests bc remember how much she brought up tamlin not making her a high lady?

tamlin would have made her his lady, same duties now she is doing now except her title has “high” word in it

“tamlin never saw me as his equal” bc your not! you don’t even know the basics of fae world!

tamlin not seeing feyre his equal for position of ruling does not mean he didn’t love or value her

it’s most likely tamlin thought they had all the time in the world now and he would teach her as they’d go

and is like what’s wrong with that?? some self reflection would go a long way feyre

she isn’t educated

she knows nothing about the faes or lands

has no training in politics

has no idea how to behave at court

she knows nothing

feyre had no reason to believe she is worthy of being tamlin’s or anyone’s equal in a position of leadership over a court

all she did was free tamlin, who then killed amarantha

if she believes it should be bc of love like honey, that’s not how it works. again it shows she has no knowledge of the land, of fae and the world of power

if it was human lands and politics then it’d make sense, they don’t follow magic bound laws

does that mean kallias sees viviane, who was in charge while he was UtM, as weak? no

if feyre wants to hate tamlin for not teaching her anything like girl at first u didn’t care about it and then u were traumatised and whisked away to nc, when was he suppose to teach u??

even if we ignore magic choosing the ruler rule….

she married a high lord and got her title, but she hasn’t earned it

it would be one thing if she worked after getting it through marriage but she hasn’t. all she did was destroy a court, attack lady autumn, look down on her citizens like her mate and opened a paint studio like?? that’s not ruling

“i’m the high lady of night court, i can do as i please” but u can’t honey, that’s not how it works

it’s a title she shows off but she doesn’t do the job it requires, and i don’t see how she is respected for it- for being a high lady

feyre hasn’t earned the title of being a high lady

she hadn’t even earned a position of power or a position in a court

for nesta, i don’t believe she’s ready nor has earned a title of a ruler either, but she is educated enough to be a part of a court

nesta was meant to married for power but it’s feyre who actually did

looking back, it’s crazy how much tamlin not naming her a high lady bothered her and she did no self reflection on it

#anti feyre #pro tamlin #sjm critical #anti feysand #anti acotar

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