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[digiaarnav]

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[ljf613]

Alright, Chanukah starts tonight, which means it's time for me to finally make a post about different kinds of menorahs.

This right here? This is the Temple Menorah:

There's some debate over whether the branches were straight or curved, but here's a few things we do know:

It had seven branches of equal length.

It was made of one solid piece of gold

It was at least five feet tall.

It used pure olive oil.

The Temple Menorah is what people mean when they talk about The Menorah. It's what you'll see on historical or commemorative artifacts such as the Arch of Titus in Rome or Israeli currency:

During the time when the Temple stood in Jerusalem, the High Priest lit all seven flames on this Menorah every day (using the aforementioned pure olive oil):

No one lights this on Chanukah.

This is a Chanukah menorah:

There are countless variations, but here are the important things:

It has eight branches of equal length, plus a ninth "helper" branch, known as the shamash, which is set apart from the rest of the branches and used to light the others.

It can be made of any material.

It is usually used with wax candles or oil, but, if necessary, one can use anything that burns.

In Hebrew, this kind of menorah is called a chanukiah.

Some Chanukah menorahs, like the one shown above, have the shamash in the middle. Others have it on the side:

Regardless, this kind of menorah is the one that has been lit by Jews on Chanukah for thousands of years. It's the menorah you'll seen in photographs of Jewish households, including this famous picture taken in Germany in 1931:

(The message written on the back of the photo reads: "Death to Judah"/ So the flag says/ "Judah will live forever"/ So the light answers)

On Chanukah, whoever is lighting the menorah will first light the shamash, then the number of candles corresponding to whichever night of Chanukah it is. The first night, only the rightmost candle is lit, the second night the two rightmost, etc. (The newest candle is always lit first):

Again, a valid Chanukah menorah has eight branches of equal length, along with a shamash. There is no such thing as a Chanukah menorah with six branches of equal length and a longer seventh branch, and no valid Chanukah menorah has eight branches of completely different lengths.

If you see either of the above designs (or anything similar) on Chanukah-themed decor, it tells you the creator has absolutely no idea what they're doing and couldn't be bothered to do more than two seconds of research to make sure their product was accurate. Anyone who knows anything about the holiday will laugh at these. (They may buy them anyway, especially if that's all that's available-- my new Chanukah sweater has an invalid menorah pattern, but it's adorable, so I'm still going to wear it. But I am also laughing about it and invite you all to do the same.)

Anyway, have a happy Chanukah, everyone!

[hoshifighting]

Whai kind of camboys would svt be? What content eo of them would offer?

       seventeen as camboys

WARNINGS: smut, public sex, fingering/handjob, sub/dom, degradation, porn, tantric sex, porn asmr, dirty talk, edging, denial, sex toys, porn filters, amateur, sex partners, masturbation, forced orgasm, hand fetish...

seungcheol dom daddy af pov. full-on bdsm content. he’s got the handcuffs, the restraints.. he’s the type to sit back, shirtless, broad shoulders on full display, he’s telling the audience when they’re allowed to touch themselves, making them wait until he gives them the okay. sometimes he’ll tease by stroking himself, not showing his cock on camera. uses a mask too. and prize draw a fan for him to fuck on the channel's birthdays.

jeonghan edging and denial. always with someone new on cameras, he’ll start his stream fully clothed, just smiling that devilish grin, playing with his hair, “oh? you want me to take it off?” but he’ll drag it out for so long, giving lil’ peeks of skin here and there. sometimes he’ll straight up dip after a tease. he moans all breathy, making eye contact with the camera.

joshua hear me out.. asmr & dirty talk. joshua’s got a voice that’ll melt you, so ofc he’d be doing those long, drawn-out sessions where he’s whispering right into your ear, breathing heavy like he’s right next to you. audio experience—close your eyes, and it’s like he’s fuckin’ you with just his voice. “you want me louder? fuck, i’ll give you loud.”

junhui body worship. there for the visuals, his streams are all about him showing off—slow, oiled-up body shots, flexing, maybe even a lil’ self-praise thrown in. “yeah, you like what you see?” it’s basically softcore porn for your eyes, just… him flexing and jerking off like a fuckin’ greek god. “fuck, i make you so wet, don’t i?”

hoshi messy sex, rough sex & overstimulation. everything with hoshi is physical af, like he’s tryna fuck you through the screen. the type that even gets the camera dirty. absolute chaos. every stream is like a workout, sweat dripping down his body while he’s all breathless, flexing between rounds. “fuck, lemme catch my breath,” he’ll say, grinning at the camera, then he’s back at it, moaning loud enough to wake the neighbors.

wonwoo public sex. wonwoo’s always in public spaces, daring his partner to keep quiet while he fucks them somewhere they could get caught. or just masturbating in public. “don’t make a sound, or we’ll get in trouble.” dirty whispers, his hands everywhere while people walk by, totally unaware. pure adrenaline. all of that with him looking around, and them looking at the camera through his glasses.

woozi hands-only content = fingering&handjob masterclass/tutorial. man’s got skills, and he’s showing them off. finger-fucking a silicone cunt or fisting a dildo, or his cock, while he mutters filth under his breath. it’s like a fuckin’ anatomy lesson. he’s so damn precise with it, it almost feels unfair. you know he could make you cum in record time.

minghao tantric sex & roleplay. minghao’s streams are straight-up sensual. artful af. his streams are like some softcore art film, everything in slow motion, dim lights, silk sheets, slow burn. it’s less about the dirty talk and more about the vibe. but when he does speak, it’s smooth, deep, and straight to the point. “you’ve been waiting for this? let’s make it worth your time.” every moan perfectly timed, like he’s orchestrating the whole experience.

mingyu sub humiliation. big puppy turned sub, tied up, begging for more while he gets humiliated. he will moan pout, getting all flustered when called a good boy. the humiliation only turns him on more—loves begging. the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

seokmin sex toy review. mr. too sweet, all polite, “hi, how was your day?” then he gets into it and fuck, you’re blindsided. he’s got this wholesome look, but once he starts testing the toys, he’s so vocal too. moaning, breathless, almost embarrassed at how into it, because he needs to talk about the whole experience, he gets but also loving every second. the type that reads mostly of the streaming comments. “i hope you have a good night.” he’ll flash that sweet smile, by the end of the stream.

seungkwan mean dom, forced orgasm. this man is cruel in the best way. he’s tying someone to a chair, not letting them cum until they’re crying, pleading with him. “aww, baby, you’re all messed up, huh? too bad, i’m not done.” won’t stop until you’re a wreck. every tear is a turn-on for him.

vernon twitter-porn-style, faceless porn. faceless, purple bedroom lights, and it’s just his giant cock on display, no face, no extra fluff. the vids speak for themselves. slow strokes under fuzzy lighting, letting you focus on just the action. simple but devastating. maybe a low grunt or two if you’re lucky.

chan amateur couple content. chan’s a full boyfriend experience—enthusiastic af, experimenting, maybe even bringing in a partner sometimes. he’s loud, whimpering when he gets close, showing off how excited he is to try new things. you’re in it together, and his moans are infectious.

[planete777]

꒰ EYES ON ME .:. LN4 ꒱

( lando norris x reader )

IN WHICH. y/n rides lando in his gaming chair (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, riding, unprotected p in v (safe sex guys!!!), slight dirty talk, pure filth imo 🤭

NOTE. when i saw this ask i was like 'YES.' so here it is!!! nothing much to say other than enjoy <33

SIDENOTE. requests are closed!! my brain has been milked dry of everything writing. i have 2 in-progress works so i will still upload those then probably go on a small writing break <3 also dividers are not mine, creds to the owners

edited to add tag on banner

lando's whimpering.

he's actually fucking whimpering and it's then he knows that he's absolutely drowning in everything y/n. her hands digging into his shoulders, her thighs squeezed into the impossible space of his gaming chair and her pussy, her fucking pussy is clenching him so tightly that he feels light headed, as if he smoked a joint.

sweat glistens on his forehead like oil, and the more y/n bounces on his dick, her breasts with her, the more whimpers leak out of his mouth and his eyebrows slant downwards.

"oh fuck— you're doing so good baby, so good," he moans, head thrown back like there's not a muscle in his neck, and y/n begins to grind as her lips suck and lick on lando's neck.

he can't do anything but just sit there and let her take control, he's completely at her mercy and his hands just rest on her hips, nails sinking into the flesh everytime a submitting flash of pleasure shoots through the nerves of his dick.

his cock throbs against the walls of her cunt, and his eyes squeeze shut so hard he swears he goes blind. it's too much, his t shirt clings to his chest like a lifeline and y/n's lips find his in a filthy, sloppy kiss that pulls his mind back to the present. he's instantly dragging his lips and tongue against her own, feeling the way her mouth grows slack and it gives him the chance to wrap his swollen lips around her tongue.

she's grinding faster, pressing so much on his cock that a loud, stretched moan escapes him like he's punched out every ounce of energy into it. it brings an insatiable ache for more, his hands gripping her ass with all it has to give and dragging her up and down his cock to milk it dry.

"fuck lando," her mouth whimpers with her head thrown back, hands on his chair's backrest. the sight is sinful before him, breasts spilling out her crop top, practically begging to be touched, and back arched so much it looks animalistic.

"come on, y/n," he pants, licking a stripe between the valley of her breasts before giving it a gentle kiss, "fuck yourself on my cock."

she's doing just that, beautifully, like she was made for his dick. her pussy squeezes and squeezes like it wants to kill him, and his hands lift and push her on his cock more and more, just as he feels her movements turn sloppy. the wet, dirty sounds of skin slapping sharply on skin makes his dick pulsate and lando's mind begs for it more as his hips raise desperately to meet y/n's.

"i'm gonna cum, lando, i'm gonna cum," she's sobbing. fucking hell, she's sobbing, and the tears glimmer in his purple leds light they're art. he's moaning and groaning, losing himself as he draws hickeys on her collar bones with reckless abandon.

"cum for me, baby."

she shakes as she lets go, walls constricting his dick like a mold and it completely shatters the tension building up in his balls. his cum shoots straight and deep into her pussy, mouth mumbling incoherently upon the skin of her neck as they ride their highs down.

"fucking hell, lan'."

he smiles tiredly, pressing a kiss into her mouth.

"you're gonna be the death of me."

that she is. for he would lose himself in the essence of his girlfriend, again and again, even if it meant leaving a game halfway through.

[beomie3]

dawn *☼*ﾟ・

bf!beomgyu x reader

content: soft smut, beomgyu is absolutely whipped for reader, gyu gives you a massage bc you are stressed :( but ofc it turns into more hehe, oral f!receiving, sleepy sex, creampie, cursing, gentle then heated makeouts, they are so in love lol

wc: 2.9k

♫ morning sex - ralph castelli

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊

soft, linen sheets cradle your bare legs, bathing in the sun that peeked through the blinds. pure warmth of his skin against you.

you held on to the sleep blanketing you until the thought of going to work, like a dark thunderstorm, pulled you from the peace and quiet of your slumber.

without even realizing it, your eyebrows were furrowing, muscles taut and shoulders tensed by your ears. you were already anxious and stressed within the one minute of being awake.

the executive presentation you had for your job was finally today and to say you had been preparing for months was an understatement. the amount of stress it has caused you especially leading up to today has been tremendous.

"hey, hey, baby it's okay, i'm right here with you," you didn't realize your eyes were shut tight, hands in fists until the warm touch of your boyfriend brought you back to reality. his soft voice filling your ears an immediate comfort.

your eyes fluttered open to be met with his deep brown gaze above you, the morning sun striking his irises and turning them gold. that sight alone was enough to calm your nerves even for a moment.

he knew you like the back of his hand, knew exactly what you were stressing over because he had been by your side through it all; there to help you practice your presentation and calm you when you felt the world would crumble down on top of you. it didn't help that you were a naturally anxious person, but he washed all of your worries away.

his warm embrace around you was enough to make you melt, limbs intertwined with his; your legs wrapped around his long ones, your arms around his neck and his around your waist. the perfect recipie to destress you in every way.

"here, let me give you a long massage before i make you breakfast, and then you can practice your presentation for me okay baby?" he sensed your sudden tenseness when you checked your phone, anxious about the time.

you had awoken at dawn; several hours before you even needed to, out of stress that you wouldn't have enough time to get ready. but he wanted to calm you back down. he wanted to put you at ease.

you complied, flipping over to lay down on your tummy with his help. but before you did so, he slid your oversized shirt off of you, lifting off the warm material over your head and tossing it aside; that way he could access your bare skin. massages were always better that way.

his long fingers up and down your back were heavenly, a sigh of relief exiting your lungs when he began applying pressure in all the right areas- especially your shoulders, where he knew you carried most of your stress.

if this was good, it got even better when he reached over to the bedside table to get some body oil, spreading it over your skin; warming it up with his hands first so that it's cold temperature wouldn't shock you.

mmmh you couldn't keep in your sighs of relief as his slippery fingers worked your muscle knots out one by one, pushing every negative thought from your mind and closer to pure bliss with every passing second. all you could think about was the pleasure he gave you, and how much you loved him for it.

"thank you, gyu," your sleepy voice came out muffled from the pillow and he chuckled, "but i'm not even close to done!" he leaned down to kiss the back of your neck, driving tingles up your spine with the sudden warmth of his breath down your skin.

time passed as his hands slowly worked their way from the top of your back to your lower back, where he focused on your tailbone and hips, his fingers sliding deliciously closer to the waist band of your underwear.

you were hyper-focused on where his fingers would travel to next, almost hoping they would travel under the hem of your underwear and massage you elsewhere. you also didn't realize wetness pooling the thin material of your undies with the mere thought of it.

it was impossible not to think about, not with the way he was touching you right now; so sensually although it was only a massage. the thought of his long fingers sliding between your folds so effortlessly, disappearing in and out of you and curling up-

"gyu?" you turn your head, still heavy with sleep when his hands slide back up to your shoulders.

"hm baby? what is it?" he slightly leans over you, silky bangs over his eyes as his warm gaze is attentive to whatever it is you need.

you can't help the flip your heart does at the sight of him like this- his sleeves rolled to his elbows, dainty silver necklace dangling onto your skin, hair messy from sleep, eyes wide and sparkling with love. he had your heart in every single way.

"can you please go lower again? it still feels sore," your eyes are soft with desire, a faux whine to sell your little lie. but he knew from that look in your eye. he knew. i mean, how could he not know? the best way to relieve your physical stress was to make you cum. it worked every time.

"where baby? tell me when to stop," he trailed his fingers lower down your back until he reached the hem of your underwear, teasingly sliding his fingertips under the elastic.

"here?" you shook your head with a small grin, face flushed, and he continued on, the tent in his pants growing harder than it already was.

"here?" his hands were palming your ass, massaging both cheeks together like they were dough.

"close," your face grew warm as you giggled, neck still craned to look at him over your shoulder with a grin.

"or here?" he used two fingers to lightly trail down to the soaked patch in between your legs, gently massaging the area enough to have you biting your lip roughly.

"you want a massage here hm?" his tone was deeper, eyes darkening as his grin turned into more of a smirk, hair fluffed over his eyes and making your heart twirl.

"i know," he said without needing your response; the look in your eyes simply said it all. his eyes on yours all the while, searching them.

you slowly sat up to lean on your elbows, nearing your lips to his, pressing them to his gently, immediately intoxicated by the softness of them and the way they engulfed yours.

his fingers slid past the elastic of your panties on either side of your hips, breaking the kiss for a moment to pull them down to your ankles, reuniting your lips together and even more passionately.

the kisses grew hotter as your skin did against his, his clothed chest pressed against your back as he kissed the side of your neck, helping flip you over so that you lay on your back, legs spread wide and wrapping around his waist, soaked panties hanging from one ankle.

"want a massage too?" you hinted as you eyed the rock-hard imprint poking through his sweatpants, palming him through the material. biting his lip through a smile, he shook his head, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"right now i'm only focused on you...gonna make you feel so good. fuck you so good you forget all this stress," his deep, hot breath trickled into your ear, having you squirming against his knee that was right up against your aching core, trying to relieve the ache by grinding against it.

his voice alone was enough to have your stomach filling with butterflies. but that along with his soft touch, his warmth, the faint scent of shampoo in his hair from last night's shower. you just couldn't resist him.

he drenched your neck with wet kisses, trailing down to your chest and stopping to palm them, massaging each one in his warm hands as he looked up at you all the while, large doe eyes filled with the sparkle of desire.

you just couldn't take it- looking into his eyes as he lewdly swirled his tongue against your hardened buds, sucking on each one so sensually.

but it wasn't until he continued his trail of kisses, shuddering when he placed your legs on his shoulders and reached your bundle of nerves, that you absolutely lost it.

you were a moaning mess as his hand gripped the soft plush of your thighs as the other entered you slowly with two fingers, his puffy lips around your throbbing clit and sucking softly. his bangs messily framed his eyes, sparking golden in the sun as daylight entered through the blinds.

you could never get over the sight of such a beautiful man in between your legs, eating you out so sensually, so erotically. tongue flicking against your throbbing bud, fingers spreading you wide to suck up all your juices, practically french kissing your lower lips until he needed to come up for a breath.

it wasn't long before he had you coming so intensely all over his fingers, glazed with your arousal as he removed them from you and sucked them clean.

your chest heaved, head thrown back onto the cold pillow, hands gripping his soft hair as he licked a finishing stripe across your fluttering entrance; he simply couldn't get enough of your taste.

your head was fuzzy with pleasure, already forgetting what you were even so stressed over; it was like you were literally high off of him.

but if you felt this way now, how would you feel when he's pounding into you in several moments? he always had you falling apart when you were wrapped around his cock.

he trailed his tongue along the valley between your breasts, the sunrise radiating warmth onto the sheets, his sun-kissed hair tickling your skin.

arching your back up to his plush lips that kissed every part of your body so lovingly, soft hands trailing and ghosting along your skin and causing goosebumps to pelt you.

your makeout was soft and slow, tasting his lips, glazed with your arousal with your tongue. and once it got rougher, he couldn't take not being inside you for one more second.

he sat up and slowly pulled his sweatpants and boxers down past his hips, teasing you by going as low as he could before his member could spring out.

you watched in anticipation, smiling when he was going as slow as humanly possible, so you hooked the waistband with two fingers, helping him pull them down.

lo and behold, his cock sprung out, immediately pressing against his stomach with how hard he was; tip flushed and glistening with precum. the sight was enough to have you clenching around nothing, just wanting to be stretched by his size, hug him tightly with your walls.

kicking his sweats and boxers off, he lowered himself onto you, supporting himself with his forearms on either side of your head. he bunched up his shirt and held it between his teeth, trying to keep it out of the way.

"beomgyu just take it off," you laughed, tugging at the soft material of his baggy shirt and helped it over his head, not caring where it landed when you threw it off the bed.

the comforter fluffed up around the two of you like you were floating in the clouds, cradling your naked bodies. you just wanted to stay here with him forever.

you whined against his lips, so needy for him and arching against his chest, until you looked over at your phone, the sudden tinge of worry in your eyes when you got the urge to check the time. there were still hours before you had to be up, and you both knew that. this feeling was so nice, you felt you didn't deserve it in the moment.  "beom-"

"shhh just relax," he placed his thumb lightly over your lips, shushing you in the softest way possible. he didn't want the stressful thoughts rushing to you all at once, so he stopped you there. all he wanted right now was for you to focus on this moment, focus on the way his dick would slide so smoothly into you.

you looked into each other's eyes, so deeply that you began to see your own reflection in his glassy brown orbs. eye contact was your absolute favorite way to connect, especially when he was sliding into you so slowly; you felt like he was the only and most important thing on the planet.

the moan that leaves your mouth when he enters you harmonizes with his as you squeeze around him, your hands in his hair as he captures your whimpers with his lips when he leans down to kiss you.

"god you're so fucking wet," he rips his lips apart from yours to groan in your ear, butterflies entering your stomach with his lewd comment.

his hips rock back and forth ever so slowly, letting you adjust to his length as you stretch around him so perfectly.

the sun illuminates your skin so beautifully that he can't take his eyes off of you, wondering how he got such a beautiful girlfriend, he is just so proud to call you his <3

slowly thrusting in and out of you, he lifts your hips up with his hand on the small of your back, holding you there as he reaches over to grab a pillow and slides it under your hips. this not only supports your back but gives the perfect angle to hit every spot inside of you.

he accommodates to you so well because he knows just what you like, he loves knowing that your pleasure is coming first.

pinching your nipples to heighten your senses, whispering dirty things into your ear to make you even hornier, holding your leg up to fuck you deeper. he just knows all of the right things to have you so turned on, that your wetness seeps out and makes lewd squelching noises.

and he loved watching you from above; the way your mouth hangs opens when he hits deeper, the way your chest bounces with every thrust, the rosy tinge on your cheeks when he kisses you so sweetly.

"you are so beautiful," his soft voice fans across your lips as he kisses you slowly, your body fuzzy from the sheer pleasure, the depth of his voice driving you nearly insane.

"gyu you're gonna make me blush," you lightly chuckle, hitting him on the chest weakly as you're falling apart under him, holding the back of his neck with your other hand. he buries his face into your neck, chuckling at your remark as he bottoms out into you, moans escaping the two of you as you smile.

"and i'm gonna make you..." he looks back into your eyes, cheeks flushed as he tilts his head with a mischievous smile, wanting you to finish the sentence.

but before you could speak, he picked up his pace, slamming his hips into yours and deepening his thrusts; he wanted you to mean it. he wanted you to be on the verge of your orgasm. he wanted to hear you say what he was doing to you because he knew it would drive him closer to his.

he loves the way you both look down to watch his dick move in and out of you, your legs spread wide as he trails his fingers up and down the outside of your thigh, gripping the plush of your hips.

"fuck, you're gonna make me cum gyu!" your head was thrown back onto the pillow, neck exposed for him to kiss and suck marks onto, your back arching as he held your hips tight, slamming into you.

hearing you say that made his dick twitch violently inside of you, coaxing loud moans from your lips, his grunts growing louder in your ear.

"that's right say it again baby, tell me what i'm doing to you," he holds your chin steady with his hand as he searches your eyes, the hungriest look in his gaze like he's one word away from releasing.

"you're fucking me so good. so good gyu- fuck!" your head collapsed to the pillow again as he attached his lips to your nipples and sucked and licked until you were stimulated at the max.

"cum for me baby," he groans in your ear and at that second you are unraveling completely, releasing into a spasm that disperses hot pleasure throughout your skin and you swear you're in heaven with how fucking good this feels.

your insides are filled with throbbing warmth, and you realized that he is a huffing mess collapsed on your chest, his dick twitching inside of you as his warm seed is dripping out of your hole and onto the linen sheets.

"you filled me all the way up gyu," you chucked with a tired voice, wiping sweat from your brow. he picked his head up off of your chest and lazily smiled at you, leaning up to kiss you softly.

"what do you want for breakfast along with your creampie?" he smirks and you laugh so hard at his dumb joke. he loved making you laugh. he placed a kiss on your forehead as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and came down from your highs. you both could stay here forever.

-

with a delicious breakfast and a kiss out the door, your work presentation finally rolled around and you could've sworn you were completely nerve-free. 

completely calm and confident as people listened in and clapped at your remarkable ideas and brilliant presentation. 

but you couldn't take your mind off of your gyu, reminded of him with his warm cum trickling down your leg the entire time.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊

a/n: thank you so much for reading and for being patient with me during the time i have been inactive <3 there have been a lot of problems with family lately so i sincerely appreciate every single one of you for continuing to support me through this time :) but!! you can look forward to more fics as i am slowly getting back to writing. i love you all! also thank you from the bottom of my heart for over 600 followers i really am so so grateful🥹💗

[alexlwrites]

from my notes app:

Just picture it: Yoongi who just... never had a crush. Sure, he has felt attraction that sometimes evolved into something more through dates or other encounters. But a crush? Feet kicking, face blushing, giddy giggles? No, he couldn't say he ever experienced that.

Until you.

Until you showed up, a new manager at the company, and left him shaking in his disconcertingly large boots. You were bright, witty, charismatic and hard working and he stood there, arms hanging by his side awkwardly like a damn emoji, hovering around you unsure about what to do, what to say, how to act.

It was so frustrating! He never felt this way before and at 30 years old he felt as if he was going through a late puberty: voice cracking when he tried talking to you, waking up sweating from a dream way too realistic, poorly timed boners when he saw you walking around the office with skin tight pencil skirts.

His so called friend weren't making it any easier for him: Yoongi had officially become the butt of every joke as the members collectively regressed back to the 5th grade, murmuring everytime you showed up "here comes your wife, hyung, here comes Mrs. Suga".

Thankfully, you seemed unaware of their jabs, even as yoongi's pale cheeks blushed fiercely at the name.

He didn't know whether to be greatful or resentful for your obliviousness. On one side, you didn’t seem to hear the constant on going teasing from the other 6 raccoons he shared a band with, which saved yoongi from the swift death at the pearly hands of embarrassment, ripping his dramatic soul from his even more dramatic body.

On the other hand, you couldn’t seem to take a hint! He tried all of his best moves: standing there silently next to you, offering you a single tangerine, playing the guitar when you walked in whilst offering absolutely no explanation or context, even wearing his most scandalous, whorish outfit: a white tshirt that showed his collarbones instead of his usual 37 layers of clothing.

He didn't know how to make it any more obvious! Should he just take you against the wall of his studio (he totally should!, his lower brain unhelpfully provided as you once again strutted past him leaving him sniffing after your perfume like the fucking dog he was)?

He even tried asking his friends for advice, the lowest form of humiliation possible: Jungkook offered only baby oil and told him to lose a couple buttons. Hoseok made him couple matching beaded bracelets. And Namjoon, scorpio venus horndog, told him to actually go through with the wall taking idea.

Funnily enough, Jin was the one with the most plausible idea: give her a gift, bake her something! Homemade goods would show her how much you care.

So there he was, at thirty years old, holding onto a plate of cookies like a lifeline, cold sweating in front of your office, ready to flee the building and suck up those cookies like a hungry Kirby and mop in his own lameness like the international grammy nominee celebrity he was.

And then you opened the door and his body just reacted on his own, thrusting the plate towards you silently as his eyes screamed pure panic.

"For me?" You asked and he just nodded "Thank you so much, you are so sweet!"

Yoongi felt his lips curving and even without a mirror he could tell he had a dumbstruck smile on his face.

"What's the occasion?"

Ask her out, he urged himself. Tell her how you feel, how you can't stop thinking about her face, how her smile fuled his daydreams and her perfume haunts his days, bleeding into his psyche and sinking its claws into his heart, turning every song he wrote into a proclamation of adoration and lust, tell her how...

"Hm, for all y-your hard wo-work" he sputtered, mentally face palming himself at his own words.

Bugger.

Bugger it all to hell.

(Part 2>>>)

[lowkeyremi]

WHEN THEY'RE CURIOUS ABOUT YOUR HAIR jjk x black!fem!reader

remi's note: i just wanted to do something like this cuz i thought about how most of the black readers seem to have braids all the time. so this is when they see your natural hair!! this applies to any black girl hair type but mostly 4c bc that's my hair type. hope you like it :)

He's been staring at you for at least thirty-five minutes and it's finally starting to work your nerves.

"What are you looking at?" You ask him with slight irritation in your tone.

"I just.. I don't think I've ever seen your hair out like that before." He says quietly. It settles your nerves to know he's not looking at you like you're weird, he's looking at you out of curiosity. You've been braiding your hair into cornrows so your natural hair can breathe. It's not healthy for your hair to always be in braids.

He watches as you part your hair with ease, it wasn't always like this though. It took time and patience to be able to do what you do to your hair now. There were several times where you came close to giving up, because your hair is just so thick and there's so much of it.

"Well, this is what it looks like when it's not styled. Get used to it cuz I'm not paying for braids all the time." You quickly oil one section of your scalp before you start the braiding process.

"I mean.. I'll pay for them if you want, baby, but your natural hair is so cute." The idea of being accepted by your partner for who you are, unconditionally makes your heart beat wildly.

"Is it soft? It looks really soft." Child-like curiosity and pure excitement takes over his features. You usually don't let people touch your hair but for your boyfriend you'll make an exception.

"Are your hands clean? I just washed and deep conditioned it." You've never seen him hop off the couch that fast. You hear the kitchen sink running. When his hands are clean and dry he makes his way over to the couch you're sitting on.

His eyes ask 'can I?' and you give him a small nod. He softly taps the top of your unbraided hair as if it would break if he touched it too hard.

"Wowwwwwwwww. Can you teach me how to braid it so I can do it for you?" The way he's acting like a little kid seeing a cute puppy makes you giggle.

"I doubt you'll get it on the first time but I'll teach you if you want." His smile about doubles when you agree. Everything about you is pretty, your skin, your eyes, and of course your pretty curls.

GOJO, yuji, YUTA, choso, inumaki, TODO, NANAMI

He's never watched you take out your braids before, but now that he's doing it, he's invested. You've noticed it but decided not to say anything, if he has any questions he has absolutely no problem asking you.

"What are you gonna do when you take all the braids out?"

"Wash it and braid it up myself. Or maybe I'll twist it up." Instead of saying something he just nods.

He tries to fake uninterested but you see the quick little glances he thinks that he's sneaking in.

"Do you ever straighten it?"

"Sometimes yeah, but it's not great for my hair, heat in general I mean." You quickly cut a braid slightly longer than your natural hair so the unbraiding process goes by much faster.

"I think I like when it's out. I've never seen your hair all poofy before." He's confused when you giggle at his terminology for your hair.

"You mean my afro?" He nods again. "I think you should wear it out more often let your scalp breathe you know?"

The fact that he knows a little bit about your hair makes you proud and content. "Yeah but that means extra work because I have to twist it up before going to bed. So I don't wake up in the morning with my hair all scrunched up."

He sets his phone down and sits closer to you than he was before, "I'll help you twist it. I want to see that pretty hair of yours."

"Well, I have to wash and condition it first, but since you're over here you can help me take my braids out. Don't cut too close though."

"Girl, I know what I'm doing, your hair is not that long." He gets a playful slap to the chest for that comment.

TOJI, megumi, GETO, sukuna, naoya

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 4

summary ;; A father protects, that's what gives him meaning. Jake Sully has failed. PART 3 | PART 5 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; PLEASE READ AUTHOR NOTES. I explicitly said in the previous chapter I would NO LONGER BE TAKING TAG REQUESTS. You're just going to have to check my profile every now and then. I also will not be re-tagging the peeps I did in the last chapter’s replies, it’s just a lot 😭 I'm sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding! Now I present you, the long awaited angst and groveling of Jake. Enjoy! Please excuse my mistakes if you see any. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support, I hope the angst hits the way you wanted it / was expecting HHHHH

It’ll shine better, Jake mused to himself, rotating the lumpy amber around in his fingers to better reflect the sunlight streaming in thin rays from the hands of the dense flora above, once I dip this in that polish oil. It’s not entirely unsalvageable. 

At least he hadn’t scraped too much in attempts to give it a rounder shape, the bug at its core you were gushing about to the point of waking him up at zero dark thirty was still intact. He had been summoned from his dreams to look at a cool rock. 

Jake couldn’t not gift it to you as something to be permanently worn after that.

The problem? He was ass at this. Always had been. No drop of craftsmanship in his bloodstream at all when the Na’vi were particularly fond of their ornaments and accessories, making it themselves, in fact. 

Songcords were put together from beads, bones and stones, virtuosity was a must intrinsically woven into everyday life, methodized and irreplaceable since it wasn’t as if mass production could ever be a thing in Pandora. Everything was handmade. 

Jake’s worst enemy beadwork was in their clothing, for example, even in braids — his maladroit at it may or may not be why he wore his hair in plain dreads now. 

He wasn’t an artist or a creator, his hands were more comfortable being fit around a gun or a knife than slipping effortlessly in the rhythm of weaving or the act of making. All his end results were dreadful enough to be bullied relentlessly by his kids — except for you, that is. You absolutely loved them for reasons your mother or none of your siblings could understand. 

Jake’s blundering conscience would melt at the sight of your eyes shining and the biggest smile almost splitting your head in half as if he had just handed you the world every single time he gifted you the newest of his clunky handiwork. He didn’t know why that made you the happiest. You’d been that way ever since you saw him carving and personally adding a bead to his songcord about how he got his firstborn daughter to utter her first word: dada. 

It was important to him, so, down it had gone into Jake’s life story; putting official significance to the moment he never wanted to forget in the same thread that carried the story of him becoming Toruk Makto, just beside Neteyam’s first word, which was also dadada. (Neytiri had Lo’ak’s mam, and Kiri’s perfectly articulated mommy.)

Ever since that day, you had made grabby hands at the bead all the time when he picked you up, teethed at it like a puppy trying to grab a toy, tried to rip it off to make it yours — anything, until Neytiri made you one, but no, you wanted it from dada. 

So dada started making you little trinkets. 

He didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing you never grew out of receiving gifts from your dad he himself cringed at. Jake wasn’t one to complain, not when someone in this life would feel such enough joy to purify thousands of blighted souls upon receiving his ugly personal work. It made him happy, stroked his ego to high heavens that his sweetheart was doting on dada to see the imperfect as the most fascinating. 

That’s why he had taken on the daunting task of making a bead for you out of the amber you’d fixated on, rasp in one hand, sitting on a thick log that cut into the little stream he and his family were spending leisurely time that day, one leg pulled to himself and one feet in the water up to his ankle. Even though he had half an ear on his four children playing around in the shallow water of the creek, all the screams and squeals of joy felt weak compared to the contained huff of amusement that escaped from his mate who had come up to Jake while he was way too engrossed in his task. 

His eyes shifted to Neytiri, watching her hop on to the log in one agile move. “Don’t laugh.”

“I am not laughing,” Neytiri said, crouching to sit, her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at the amber in his hand.

“I have eyes, Neytiri, I literally see you laughing.” His face used to burn at her openly teasing about beadmaking, but his oldest daughter’s attentions had restored his bruised confidence over the years. The slander wasn’t taken lightly these days as Jake had proudly relabeled the odd shapes of his work as a creative choice. “Right to my face.”

“You’re mistaken.” 

Jake made his jaw drop, overacting his bafflement. “Wow, gaslighting? Really?”

Neytiri hit his arm lightly. In her terms, it was light, at least. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s something you shouldn’t do to your mate.” He turned his back to her, giving a look over his shoulder. “You’re abusing me. I’m being abused.”

“Baby.”

“No amount of pet names are gonna fix my broken heart.”

“No. You are a baby. I’m insulting you.” Neytiri hadn’t even laughed, but the uplifted timbre of that sentence sure did make Jake snicker in disbelief. “If you can’t take it, maybe you should leave beading to me.”

“I would say they are fashionably off,” he defended. You carried them with delight, so why shouldn’t Jake take more pride in his work? “And you said practice makes perfect years ago, I remember the exact words—”

“Years ago. You still haven’t gotten any better at it.” Neytiri was his biggest supporter and criticizer at the same time. “And you became a part of the clan back in the day in three months Jake. Never a more unbelievable thing to me than this.” 

“I’m trying alright?” He turned back to the bead, or, vaguely bead-shaped amber, if technical terms were involved. It still had a whole adventure to embark on until it could receive the noble title of a bead. “She likes what I make, at least.”

“It’s because she’s your daughter and anything you do is out of this world. Beauty in the most unlikely places. A child’s love is pure that way.” The unexpected hypnotism of poetry in that sentence alone pulled Jake’s gaze to Neytiri’s, and for a moment, he could physically feel his heart within his ribcage being squeezed, tethering on painful, but with a joyful tinge. “She doesn’t have standards yet.”

Well, that hurt. “Damn.”

“Damm!” A pair of small and branch-thin arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and something, or rather, someone, latched onto his back. “Rahh!” 

Jake should have been suspicious of how silent it had gotten halfway into his talk with Neytiri. Turns out, you had swam underneath the log to get out of his line of sight, climbing with the stealth of a bug to come up undetected. 

Well, mark Jake down as impressed, you weren’t able to do that without being spotted until today, this was another wonderful milestone for you — you had learned impressively, taking advantage of his distraction, avoiding making noise and using water to your advantage. Neytiri must have given you some pointers. 

And now he was wondering if his mate was in on this all along, purposefully disturbing his peace so their kids could see an opening to pounce on him.  

“Oof!” Your hold on him was something he could break out of any minute with how adorably strong you were exerting yourself to make it, but he wanted to play along more than anything. Jake was acting panicked, swinging his body left and right from the waist, but really, it was just a light warm-up exercise with the easiest deadlift possible. “I’m being ambushed!”

“I got you now, Toruk Makto!” You wrapped your legs around his torso, and he felt like this was just a piggyback ride with extra steps. “Watch this, mom!”

Oh, it’s on. 

Discreetly handing Neytiri the amber, Jake stood up, bringing you up with him and fighting a smile at your clipped squeak as the height became too much too quick, causing you to cling onto him stronger. He reached behind, and within seconds, he had you in his hands, holding you from the armpits and dangling you above the stream, your kicking legs beating the air, and he cackled like a villain threatening to fling the hero from atop of a skyscraper. 

“You got me? Please.” He loosened his grip the slightest amount to give you the illusion he would let go, and you stopped struggling to scream, catching his forearms. “A measly thing like you? Conquering me? I’ll show you why I’m the king of the skies! Here I come!”

Making sure you wouldn’t get hurt, Jake threw you into the water as gently as possible, but made the angle entertaining enough so you would go flying. He wasn’t sure who’d screeched the highest, your three siblings who had you spearheading this little operation with full trust in your capabilities, or you reacting like you were falling down from an ikran midair. Either way, he was enjoying bullying his kid a bit too much. 

Emerging from the stream and shaking the water off too akin to a wet dog, your first action was to shield your siblings, open arms and whole body and all. “Nete, run! Protect Lovak and Kiri, I’ll save you!”

Jake’s evil smile looming on his kids wavered at that. 

You had problems with some letters even at the big age of eight, two vowels next to each other in one word was one of them, along with the confusion of “f” and “b”, and sometimes “p” — it made for hilarious misunderstandings Jake had to fight to be a parent about instead of busting a lung from laughing. 

One of the many unforgettable events was deemed “The Fish Incident” between Jake, Max and Norm. He had been recording Neteyam’s first catch on his own to add it to the cute memory pile he and his mate would watch in the future after all their children eventually moved out to pursue their paths. You happened to be present that time, watching intently as your big brother shot a particularly giant yellow fish, eagerly jumping down to the pond to get it and showing it to the camera with a shy, yet proud grin on his face. 

“Good job, boy!” Jake had cheered. “Say I got that fish!”

Out of the camera’s frame and making little jumps on your toes, you’d blithely yelled. “Yeah, you got that bish!” 

The rest of the footage was shaky and out of focus, the microphone hadn’t picked up any sound but Jake’s uncontrollable laughter, kicked off by an exploding snort of shock. 

You and Neteyam had no idea why, but after he’d stopped recording with tears streaming down his face, wheezing because he couldn’t stop laughing, you’d joined to laugh and play with him regardless, mirroring his excitement. 

Later though, Jake had to actively make it so you wouldn’t have to say the words kitchen and pitch (and obviously, fish) out loud, at least, in front of Neytiri. He didn’t want to abstain from having a little fun himself, so under no circumstance was she allowed to find out and correct you. And he had it going strong for a while until it slipped when he was talking about a scientist friend over at Hell’s Gate called Richard and you repeated it as “Bitchard”. The word had somehow weaseled into your English lexicon as well, and Neytiri wasn’t illiterate enough to be oblivious to what you’d merrily blurted. 

Good old days. Jake sometimes missed hearing you curse innocently. Neytiri had to take that source of joy away from him. Discouragement and warnings would be given to his kids if they knowingly cussed, of course, Kiri calling Lo’ak penis face was something he’d immediately shot down, but this was harmless, he thought. He could have let you be blissfully unaware until the day you learned the meaning of the words, or gain consciousness of the articulation errors as you grew up and naturally fix it yourself. It was only a natural part of a child’s growth.  

But he had other entertainment. The obligatory consonant you had to sometimes add to two different neighboring vowels if it was too difficult for you to pronounce, for example. Your little brother was a victim to this. Thankfully, Lo’ak wasn’t bothered to be called Lovak by his older sister, somehow thinking of it as a nickname, but Jake could bet his ass the boy would use this as infinite ammo against you once both of you were older. He would of course forget how you always protected him in play fighting like right now, of course, maybe you would remember enough to accuse him of ungratefulness, and perhaps Lo’ak would declare he didn’t recall anything such as that. 

How bittersweet of a thing it was to drift into imaginations of how his kids would be like when they grew up. Like the stinging ache Jake always got when he was confronted with the sadness of losing his children forever one day — the need to put every minute with them in a bottle, and the feeling of time slipping through his fingers, the same old melancholy each time: when it first dawned on Jake that you’d successfully sneaked up on him just now, when Neteyam had captured his first fish all on his own without assistance, when Lo’ak showed him the knife he had successfully carved by himself to get his approval, and when Kiri had tended to a scratch wound of his better than her grandmother did with precocious wisdom on her face. 

Jake was making every moment count. Just like this one. 

“Nobody is safe from me, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!” He jumped down from the log with the grace and intimidation of a leopard who had been disturbed while eating up the tree he’d dragged his meal on, splashing water everywhere. “What will you do, o’ mighty hunter?”

You loved being called mighty hunter by him, he saw the sparkle in your eyes. 

“Noooo!” Kiri cried, pulling on both Lo’ak and Neteyam’s arms huddled behind you. “He’ll get us!”

Your thought process, completely spooked by Jake, was painfully visible. But surprisingly, you yelled, “Scatter!” with the experience of a rave addict who would take a forty and smash it on the ground as the police closed in on the party grounds. And his kids ran in different directions, like a group of cockroaches when someone approached them, they all ran in different directions. 

Sloshing water all around to make it more terrifying, he got Kiri first, hauled her right over his shoulder when she made for Neytiri, thinking her mother could protect her, but no. Jake was inevitable. Lo’ak gave him a weak challenge trying to step around him, getting Jake to confuse his steps as if they were playing basketball, but this was his dad he was facing and not Spider, these tricks didn’t work on veterans, so now he was flush to Jake’s side, tail facing forward, carried like some strapless bag, it didn’t even put any strain on the man’s bicep. Neteyam was the last, hiding beneath the water level and holding his breath, but the little nose peeking out for air gave him away, and Jake had him up the other shoulder in seconds, the boy didn’t have enough time to run away even though he’d spied from underwater that Jake was coming for him. 

Three out of four. That left only his eldest daughter. 

You were nowhere to be seen. The delighted and struggling giggle-cries of the three kids in his arms and shoulders didn’t help at all to Jake taking his surroundings in with a keen ear, all senses attuned to spotting the stray. 

A rustle from above. 

“Attack him!” 

He didn’t have enough time to see just which branch of the trees cocooning the creek you had climbed on before all three in his arms turned on him, flailing around together in unison to get Jake to fall down and kneel, and it surprisingly worked, he couldn’t even recover between the blink of a time between them getting off the way and you jumping down on him. The height at which you did that knocked all air off his ribcage for a second as he tried to retain balance, and you took that chance to sit on his shoulders, your legs dangling from each one, grabbing onto two dreads on his head as if they were the tails of Toruk he once had held onto like leashes. 

Jake had to give this one to you, damn. When had you become a student of the art of strategizing? 

But, defeat was defeat. He had to play his part. “This can’t be!” He opened his arms, making it seem cartoonishly like he had been incapacitated. “I’ve been… bested?”

“That’s right!” The cockiness was dripping from you as you pulled on his dreads. “I’m Toruk Makto Makto now. The first of my name!”

Your siblings started cheering battle cries, repeating the word. 

Don’t laugh, he ordered himself. Toruk Makto Makto, what a title, oh Jesus Christ. 

“Alright, alright, you got me, mighty hunter.” 

“So I win?”

“Yes, you win.”

He was going to have two less dreads on his head if you kept pulling on them like this. “Hell yeah!” 

After hearing the declaration, his other children also joined in on the ‘Hell yeah!’ train. Jake supposed he could let this slide for now, you guys were too happy, he wouldn’t sully it. 

“You’re gonna rip my hair off, get down now.” You understood play time was over from his tone, and obeyed, hopping down his shoulders when he lowered you into the water, immediately attempting to rush to your siblings’ side to be celebrated, but Jake had something else in mind. “C’mere for a sec.”

He pulled you to the edge of the stream where water met grassy land, dipping his hand into the wet soil under your confused gaze and bringing his fingers up to trace a pattern on your face.

The reaction was instantaneous. You pulled back. “Ew, mud!”

“Hold on,” he gently warned, or rather, encouraged.

You let him continue whatever he was doing then, albeit not losing the laughable concern along the way. “What’s this?”

“Well, you’ve tamed Toruk Makto before an ikran. My mighty hunter should be painted accordingly, no?”

He pointed down and you followed it with your eyes. Seeing your reflection and the ‘V’ shape with a dot on your face in the water, you stopped yourself from touching it with the impulse control that kicked in at the last second, looking up at Jake, jumping up and down, unable to contain the energy, knowing exactly what he did just now. He’d recognized you as a prospective hunter candidate. “Thank you, dad!”

Jake could swear his insides liquidized at that. “Always, sweetheart.”

“Will you paint me like this when I finally get an ikran, too?”

“Of course I will.” He actually wanted to cup your cheeks and plant a little kiss at the adorable flat of your nose but the mud would be ruined, so he pet your braids instead. “As will your mother. It’s what family does.”

At the time, Jake didn’t have the slightest inkling that the paint would end up being your own blood. 

Neytiri’s bloody hands — your blood, his child, his child, his baby Jake’s entire day would stop at seeing one tear on her face — had been stroking your face, trying to hold on to you anywhere she could to soothe your flaming pain as you were squirming like a dying animal fighting for the next breath. His heart beating right behind his eyes in a massive pulsating headache, Jake was too desperate fighting his swelling panic with each noise that ripped from you to notice they had left the vague pattern of Iknimaya paint pattern in their wake. 

She did. 

And her following anguished, gasping shudder as her shaking hands hovered above your contorted face, tracing the air along the lines the blood had left on your face ended up hitting him right in the gut. He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let this random twisted sign sweep him into the roaring waterfall of torment, your life was on the line.  

Jake didn’t have any coherent memory of running back to the mouth of the cave from the family tent. One moment, he was back with his brain fried from thinking about Quaritch in the aftermath of an hour that had just taken twenty years from his lifespan, avoiding the inquisitive silence of his kids who hadn’t gone back to bed yet; and the other, Neytiri was screaming in the distance with terror worse than the anguish he’d heard her go through upon losing her father and her home. Jake had all but flown there, mind blank in swirling, spasming panic. 

Neytiri had told him he had a strong heart the first time they’d met. No fear. Even though Jake was aware he was being disliked strongly, this quality of his she had remarked on, honest to her soul. 

But she was wrong. 

That fearless fortress heart of his had begun to crumble the moment he learned of Neteyam’s existence. And with each and every new addition to their family, Jake had been rehabilitated on what fear truly was, like a baby learning a language. 

Losing. It was all about losing. 

He would wake up from terrorizing, choking nightmares with the sensation of his family being violently taken away from him when his children were in his arms, sleeping peacefully all along. He couldn’t stop it. It had spiraled out of control after the sky people came back, turning him into a paranoid, angry man who was ruled by fear. He worried for the safety of his family every day, obsessed over it — beneath the impenetrable iron mask of a leader his whole clan was leaning on, Jake was nothing more than a weak, emotionally crippled father who would lose it the more his children grew up to take reckless actions he made worse by the inability to govern his fear-curbed anger. He called it tough love. 

That tough love had resulted in this. Loss. Loss. Loss he had tried his damnedest to prevent. It was blood slipping through his fingers from a wound he had no way of stitching back together. 

The more he pushed to block the bullet entrance point, the more you fought Jake, making feral yowls that weakened into animalistic whimpers and throaty whines that all but ripped his heart off muscle by muscle, your hits and scratches didn’t faze him, but the noises. Eywa, the noises. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you’re in pain, I know, I know, I’ll make it go away, please hold on, c’mon.” The droplets of sweat that had formed in the matter of seconds rolled down his face. You had begun to hyperventilate from the accelerating pain because of his efforts. “C’mon sweetheart. Breathe for me, breathe for dad, okay? You gotta breathe. Breathe!”

You were unhearing, lost in the overwhelming, blinding, deafening agony he couldn’t anchor or shield you from. The grunt of desperation that escaped his sore throat rattled his carbon fiber infused bones.  

Jake didn’t have time to think. His reason had flown out the mountains to be able to force one single word to form in his mindscape. He just knew he had to stop the bleeding, propelled by concentrated instinct. You were struggling too much for him to have a solid hold on you. Everything, too slippery. Too much blood. Too fucking much. The sickening smell of iron bit at his senses. 

(Was it the liver? The spleen? Pancreas? One of the major arteries? But Na’vi biology wasn’t the same as humans. Fuck.) 

Then, you were being restrained by a third party, Neytiri was too devastated to make that reasonable decision, and in his peripheral vision, he saw it was Neteyam who had sat down on your legs, restricting your movements with incredible strength. Jake couldn’t even bark at him to go away with how much Neteyam looked in control, a rock he and Neytiri both could draw strength from. Behind him, Lo’ak was a stone statue just standing there, frozen, his eyes not leaving your bloody abdomen. 

When you let out a yelp his heart could no longer stand, he yelled, “Bring a stretcher!” to nobody in particular, out of his goddamn mind. Lo’ak jumped at it, coming back to his senses, hesitating what to do for a second before he was off to god knows where. He had to take you to Norm’s, and then a doctor—

A tiny, trembling voice he couldn’t recognize as Neteyam’s reached his ears. “Dad…” 

The boy was looking at you, blown eyes shining with unshed tears, upper set of teeth sinking in his shaky bottom lip. 

You had gone slack in his arms. 

He hadn’t even seen the moment, didn’t stop putting pressure on the wound as the dread assaulted his body. And a biting shiver went down his spine before Jake also looked down on his eldest daughter. Your eyes weren’t closed all the way, halted gaze focused on something to the side, one tear rolling down your temple. 

“Don’t do this to me.” Jake couldn’t breathe as he shook his head, he was about to lose it, about to tumble down the edge he could never climb his way up from. In denial, he didn’t lift his hands, losing all strength in his upper body and gradually collapsing forward as his forehead found yours. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, not like this. Please, not like this.”

The last thing you were looking at was the ikran you’d gotten.

Jake didn’t feel that very ikran making its way to their side, flapping its wings, didn’t feel anything to react when a snoot reached down and ever-so-gently nudged you, like you were asleep and it was given the duty to wake you up in the morning that day. 

Your ikran nudged you once. Twice. Thrice. Each push was harsher than the other. 

You didn’t wake up. Your eyes didn’t get their light back. 

A paralyzing numbness took over Jake’s body, all his neuron ends stunted. The moon stopped spinning, time stopped moving, he ceased existing, all at the same time. 

A piercing ringing stabbed his ears, took away his hearing. He didn’t hear Neytiri scream louder than the ikran, you were ripped from his arms, and he couldn’t move to do anything about it, just staring into the distance, at nothing, bloodied palms facing upwards in his lap. 

It was Neteyam who tried to stop his wailing mother from going mad with grief, trying to get her to set down your body from her crushing embrace even though he couldn’t take his misty eyes off your body. It was Lo’ak, frantic in his run even though his panic-frozen face gave away nothing, who had rushed back with Mo’at and Kiri. It was Tuk who had thrown herself into his arms for a hug Jake wasn’t in his body to reciprocate, his seven year old child, in tears, comforting him when Jake, as the adult and the father, should have had his shit together and be the provider of comfort. 

Instead, all he could feel was the blood on his hands, one small part in his mind making him focus on that one amber with a bug inside he’d carved for you, years ago, now in your hair.

The tears didn’t come. His world was shattering all around him, but not one tear made it to the surface. 

Someone was talking to him, but Jake wasn’t there, experiencing the moment behind a thick veil of silencing glass. 

“Open her mouth, Jakesuli.”

He looked at the source of the muffled sound breaching the ringing in his ears, painfully empty and unfeeling. It was Mo’at. In her hand, a woodsprite gently floated in the air and landed before it repeated the motion again. It was as if his brains had been emptied from his skull. He didn’t understand. He didn’t see. Tuk was clinging to him, Neytiri doubled down in waves of cries in Neteyam’s arms. Jake wasn’t there. 

“Open her mouth so I can keep her spirit here longer,” Mo’at said. “Do it now. We do not have much time.”

And Jake could breathe again, his soul slinged back into his body, feeling returning to the tips of his fingers, kicking into action. 

He cradled your body from the cold ground you were lying on, bringing his shaky hand to your tightly shut jaw. Your body couldn’t have been experiencing rigor mortis, so you must have been clenching your teeth to the point of your jaw locking to fight the pain, and he was nearly blinded from the sheer strength with which he had to hold back from hugging you. But he eventually opened your jaw with a sickening pop that made him visibly grimace, and Mo’at guided the woodsprite to slip inside the cavity of your mouth.

The bioluminescent dots on your body began to flicker the moment your mouth was closed again. Jake gave a shuddering breath at the sign of life, hands unsure if he should continue to cover the wound again. 

“Eywa has allowed her to remain. For a while.”

“Oh Great Mother, thank you!” Neytiri took one of your hands, pressing it against her cheek and kissing it over and over again. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Bring her to my tent,” the Tsahik simply stated, and Jake didn’t even stop to consider how he should be taking you to the science guys, how they were probably going to say you needed a blood transfusion and surgery right after they got the necessary tests such as MRI and blood analysis out of the way. Kiri, sniffling weakly, took the crying Tuk away so Jake could carry you. He couldn’t comfort his girls the way he wanted to, couldn’t attend to Neytiri as their sons consoled her and got consoled in return in a tight hug together; he was on the move, heart about to beat out of his chest.  

He took you in his arms and clutched your unconscious and ashen blue body tightly to his chest, your head lolling in the crook of his arm, arriving to Mo’at’s tent faster than she did — and oh, how small you were compared to him, how fragile and vulnerable. The attitude made you appear bigger than you actually were, and Jake was reminded how you were still a child from how light his daughter was, like a fleeting bird. He’d forgotten. It had been forever since he last held you like this that he couldn’t bear to lay you down on the mat. If only he could hide you away within his ribcage, away from the pain and the suffering, forever.

“Everything in this world is borrowed,” she told him, an incense was burned, salves were prepared, tools he had no idea on what they were used were brought out. Plants, herbs. Jake stood there, helpless. “Even this child, Eywa has lent to you. She is borrowed from the bosom of our Great Mother, entrusted to you. Entrusted.” Your freckles were still flickering, and Tsahik’s tone, clipped. “I will converse with her. Ask if she plans to call her daughter back home today.”

Ice washed over Jake. “No, you gotta heal her, Mo’at, I can't lose m—”

“Everything in this world is borrowed. Each breath. Each heartbeat. All children. All gifts from Eywa.” Her eyes bore into him. “I can only ask.”

Neytiri pounced on him as soon as he stumbled out of the tent, beaten and spent despite not having one scratch on his body, upon Kiri’s entrance to assist her grandmother in tending to you. 

“Your fault!” He was violently pushed back, only able to take in the woman’s bloodied, wrathful face, tear tracks freshened with saltwater she couldn’t stop shedding. “This is your fault! I told you! I told you to fix this!”

Jake was aware other clan members were watching even if they weren’t out of their homes, he was Olo’eyktan, their leader, his pride would have taken this to their own tent had this been any other debate, but now, he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Bruising his back was the weight of a failed father instead of the ornamental piece of the clan leader, it was unbearable enough. She was right. There was nothing else to be said. His mate was right. 

“Mother, please,” Neteyam was right beside them in a flash, holding Neytiri back and shielding his father from her. His sunken eyes found Lo’ak and Tuk crouching at the edge of the tent, huddled together, the youngest having the crying hiccups as her older brother had an arm around her, himself looking traumatized enough. 

“Don’t, boy.” Jake put a hand on his stone-hard shoulder, moving him aside. Neteyam took one hard look at Neytiri half-circling his father in long strides, and decided it was best if he took care of his siblings instead even if he wasn’t told outright. He ushered Tuk and Lo’ak up and away, to the other side of the tent where they wouldn’t disturb their parents by staying in the field of vision. 

Jake should have been the one to take control, but Neteyam had stepped up for it — he was a kid, too, eldest child or not. What the fuck am I doing? 

In his tumultuous sorrow, every piece of the fortress Jake had put together was coming down, every decision re-evaluated, emotion overtaking what he once thought as logic. His fault. His fault. He had ruined his children, all of them. He had thought embracing the iron will of a war chief would allow him to be a strong father figure, but it had only alienated his family. 

You had died in his arms. 

Jake contained every storm in a box inside his body, Neytiri lived those storms, she was strong that way. He would take it. Her eyes were only seeing red at the moment, the grief and wrath of a wronged mother. “Yeah, it’s my fault,” he told her, something between a whisper and a sigh. His kids deserved to hear it. “I know.”

“She is dying because of you!” Jake couldn’t escape the truth by closing his eyes, but he did anyway, like an automatic body reflex against detecting something would be hitting him. He swallowed, his mouth was drier than a desert, no relief was found in the action. “My daughter! My child! Your child!” She pushed him again, hissing. Jake didn’t do anything to stop it. “All because you told her to go today—everything, everything… All because you didn’t reach out to her. She hid that.” A shiver shook her voice. “That… because of you. You! She thought you would be angry!”

Violent horror seized his heart, ears pinning back on his head, knuckles clenching so light blue they were almost white. “I would… I would never—how could I ever—?”

But it was in character, wasn’t it? Jake always getting angry over worry for his children. Going crazy because they could have gotten hurt. Fear grows into anger, worm eating away the bark of a tree into poisonous snake. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, chest rising and falling in big breaths, there was no air.  

“She said you hated her. Over and over again, she said you hated her. Not to call you because you would hate her for it, Jake!”

Bitter guilt and glacial shock rose from his stomach, choking him, his eyes looking at anywhere but Neytiri’s blazing golden eyes, to his children who sat together seemingly away from them but blatantly listening, to the tent flames were barely illuminating the shadows inside. His legs were weak. All that he had been breaching behind a wall to prioritize your safety flooded rancid to his mind. 

Jake got angry at you all the time that you’d expected it at your most vulnerable. That he would blame you, reprimand you for his enemy’s actions.

His memories were attacked by all sides. That you had gone off on your own for the Iknimaya everybody should have been there for, he should have painted your face personally for. That you have been hiding the bleeding out from the moment Jake had found you pinned down by the dead body of an avatar, from the moment you’d answered positively to the question of if you were hurt or not, with that rifle he’d thought you didn’t let go because of how the events had shaken you. He opened his mouth, a gaping fish, but no words came out, mute and voiceless. 

Hate you? Hate you? Hate his own child he would burn the whole world for?

His child. Suffering in silence when her nature was anything but silent. Afraid of her father when she was the most fearless of his kids when facing him.

You thought you weren’t loved.

“What have you done to our children? What has this family become? What are we if our children are too afraid to come to us in their darkest hours?” Neytiri was snarling, both fury and grief battling inside her, teeth gnashing so hard they could sharpen a knife. “What child does not seek her parents when she is hurt?” 

Unseeing, Jake couldn’t stand anymore, staggering towards a particularly large rock and sitting on it, he raised his hands to rub his face but stopped when he saw the blood. 

All yours. All his daughter’s who he had failed. Who had died in his arms thinking she was hated because Jake was a shit excuse of a father you couldn’t trust to say you were hurt that you would take the risk of dying so he wouldn’t find out. 

His daughter’s blood, on his hands. 

He put his elbows to his legs, crossing his wrists to lean his forehead on, yet unable to hide his shaking hands even if he managed to hide his face. Jake couldn’t comprehend any of this, crushed beneath the skyful of burning hot shame and the guilt dwarfing him — tears he couldn’t seem to shed found life in his eyes at him trying to blink away the memory of you clinging to your ikran at the flight home. You had been suffering the whole time and all he could think about was Quaritch when he should have been thinking of you.

“What child would rather hide her injury than let her father know?” It shocked his spine like lightning, and Jake visibly flinched, fists clenching and unclenching. “Explain this to me!” 

Shame. Shame. Shame. Jake was about to throw up, rocking back and forth.

He had nothing to say. Nothing could ever excuse this. He couldn’t wash away all your moments from this night, all a cursed film strip haunting his every breath accompanied by thorns that ripped apart his insides. 

“If she lives,” Neytiri said, pointing a curled hand at him, slowly, scarily calm, but shaking with mastered rage. If she lives destroyed Jake.  “We would be lucky if my mother doesn’t decide to perform Stxel’eveng as Tsahik!” 

Jake’s head shot up at the word, his arms dropping altogether and meeting his mate’s tortured stare. As Olo’eyktan, he had to be taught the traditions and ceremonies to the point of talking in his sleep from overlearning — this one was a long lost one the clan hadn’t performed for a long time, as the Omatikayan were faithful and loyal to Eywa and her teachings. 

Stxel’eveng was the shortened word for ‘Gifting of a Child’ — an adoption ceremony within Na’vi that didn’t even have the word ‘adopt’ in their vocabulary, simply because it was almost non-existent, most Na’vi didn’t even know the existence of such a tradition. If the parents were unable to care and provide for their child, mistreated on purpose or neglected them to the point of no return, they were to be publicly dishonored by the gifting of said child to another willing family. A knot would be formed between the three, one thread bound around the waist of the mother signifying the womb, one thread fastened to the queue of the father, and the final thread to the wrists of the child as if they were captive. The knot, then, would be severed by Tsahik to symbolize the dissolvement of the familial relations in Eywa’s eyes.

The biggest shame a Na’vi could bring upon their name. 

“No,” Jake muttered, his mind going blank yet again. Fuck the shame. Damn his name. He couldn’t lose you. It’s a stone in his throat he can’t swallow, whales on his tongue he can’t speak to save himself.

“Pray to Eywa it doesn’t happen. Because if I was Tsahik, I would do it.” Neytiri turned away from him, pushing the heel of her hands on her damp eyes. “I cannot bear this shame, Jake. I can barely breathe.”

He quivered like a baby leaf caught in a storm, a couple more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Neytiri…” 

“I lost my daughter today. She slipped from my fingers. I watched her die.” He lowered his head at her grief, vision swimming. “How am I a mother when I can't feel her pain? How am I worthy of being her mother when I saw my child’s pain and just sat there helpless? Why would the Great Mother ever want to send her back?” She just kept going, not having any mercy on Jake’s soul. “Where was I when she won against her ikran? Where was I when she had her first flight? Where was I to protect her from those demons?”

A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning.

Who was Jake Sully?

“Lo’ak, come back here!” 

Both of them turned just in time to see their youngest son running away from the back of the tent they’d been hiding, Neteyam following a couple steps before he stopped to look back, probably at his sister. 

“I’ll get him,” Jake said, soulless and absentminded. Neytiri didn’t respond, stalking back to Mo’at’s tent, just kneeling in front of the entrance, wrapping her hands and tail around her knees. Tuk turned the corner, scampering towards her and finding refuge in Neytiri immediately wrapping around her protectively. 

Jake wasn’t allowed to comfort his mate. 

But he could get to his children who needed it. Trust, Neytiri had said. Honesty. 

Walking up to Neteyam, he put a warm hand behind his rigid back, and felt the taut muscles relax underneath his touch, another wave of shame hitting at the inability to recall just when he had last comforted his boy. 

“Get Tuk. Go home. Rest.”

Neteyam turned to him, scandalized. “We will stay.”

“Neteyam—”

“Dad—sir, please. I can’t leave my sister.”

That sir was a splash of acid on his already weeping heart. 

It dawned on Jake that Neteyam was the one witnessing your moment of death. Death. A surge of nausea shot up from his esophagus, and he didn’t stop himself from hooking an arm around the boy, careful of using his hands not to get blood on the eldest, pulling him into a much awaited embrace. He hadn’t allowed him to be a kid.

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” he croaked. “She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Neteyam’s arms didn’t wrap around him, unfamiliar to the gesture — crumbling Jake’s already broken heart into dust, but he did shiver, fighting the tremble. He simply said, “I pray so.”

He was still trying to hold it together — for everybody’s sake. 

Jake felt the boy’s tears on his skin, and didn’t let him go when he tried to step back to wipe them, letting Neteyam cry silently as much as he wanted. He owed the boy that much, as his father. It was the least he could do. 

Jake would stitch this family back together. He had to.

Washing the blood off his hands had taken a while. Jake wasn’t let off easy, cursed by the remaining line of bloodied dirt in his nails. 

He found Lo’ak at where it all began. The mouth of the cave where your ikran was disturbing the other ones with restless chittering, reminding Jake of a wolf howling all night at the full moon. 

His youngest son was transfixed by the blood staining the ground. Just standing there, looking at it. Jake couldn’t protect him from the sight. Not anymore. He himself could barely stomach it.

“Is sister going to be taken away?” was the first thing he asked Jake, not looking at him still. 

Jake didn’t know if he meant death, or Stxel’eveng. 

“I pray not,” he told Lo’ak, honest for once. 

And like him, the boy wasn’t sentimental or emotional enough to bear his wounds to another, even to a family member, and fell silent. “It has Toruk’s colors,” he said instead, referring to your ikran’s red, orange, yellow and black patterns. Looking at the creature, Jake tried his hardest to stand up straight when he discerned all the blood coating its neck and back from the natural red color disguising it. “I wanted to fly with her.”

Pulling him into a side-hug, “I’m sorry, Lo’ak,” Jake admitted, causing him to finally break the trance he had on the blood. Speechless at his father, proud and strong, admitting he was wrong out loud and that he was being hugged when it wasn’t like his father at all to show them casual physical affection. Jake knew what must be going through his head, he would be thinking the same if his own father had ever taken responsibility for wrongdoings, as well.  “It’s my fault you didn’t get to.”

Lo’ak’s mouth was hanging low. “Dad…”

“But you will,” he said, determined and full of hope. He had to be. For his children. 

“You think so?”

“I pray so,” he quoted Neteyam. “Your sister is stubborn. She will pull through. Don’t lose faith in her.”

Lo’ak’s grip on his forearm was painful. 

“That ikran’s lost the half of its tail fins,” the boy sniffled, thickening his voice to hide the tears. “How did it get all the way here?”

It stung in Jake’s chest. The same way you’d hidden that injury. Your ikran was fueled only by the desire to get its rider to safety, it seemed. 

It would never fly again. 

Jake looked down at Lo’ak, only to be met with him avoiding his look, still concerned with hiding the tears. “Loyalty,” he said. “Devotion. Sometimes you don’t want to lose the things you love no matter what, that desperation gives you enough strength to push through any trial by fire. You would do anything. Anything.” 

And sometimes it was fear that did it, but he didn’t mention that to Lo’ak to not put salt on their family’s injury. Jake didn’t want to think about how terrified you must have been, or he would actually go insane. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of you not making it in the end. He had to keep going. He had to push forward. Be the father this family needed him to be. 

“Come on, boy,” he pulled Lo’ak gently. “Let’s go back.”

Your ikran whined at this pitifully. Jake tried not to think. He tried not to imagine what your reaction would be upon learning you would never fly together again, and had to put down this ikran that had been devoted endlessly to you if you wanted to get a new one. 

Jake didn’t think. Because if he did, he would actually go insane from the pain. 

Mo’at and Kiri emerged from the tent only in the morning, by which the whole family was cocooned in Jake’s embrace for the first time in years before the sky people had come back. They all had scrambled to get up, waiting with bated breath for one syllable of good news as Kiri slipped into Jake’s arms, one wink from falling asleep while standing. He kissed the girl’s head, soothing her, hoping this could be you eventually. He had been praying for it like a madman. 

“Eywa has accepted to bestow your daughter back to you, Jakesuli,” was the only answer Mo’at had for them, no word about your physical wellbeing. “But only if she accepts as well.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“You must go speak with her. At the Tree of Souls.”

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis@alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily@n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

@thotd-f1 @httpjiikook @nipoxe @fussel9913 @gloryekaterina @nxptury @thesheelfsworld @heyyitsmaiaa @anyasullyyy @rey26 @in-luvais @em-100 @n7cje @kpopslur @holysaladapricothero @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @maviee @grxcisxhy-wp @me-marilm @n39ro-chann

[endlessthxxghts]

Time of The Month

New boyfriend!Frankie Morales x afab!gn!reader

Summary: You had a date planned tonight, but your monthly visitor makes an early appearance, wreaking bloody havoc on your plans. W/C: 1k (wow, I'm sticking to my celebration rules for once?) Content warnings: Pics are for aesthetic purposes only!! Mature content, but purely fluff and comfort! Mention of reader having period, but no use of any pronouns or physical or feminine descriptors. Santi gets mentioned! Frankie calls you "cariño" and "baby." Some kissing. Honestly, I think that's it! Please let me know if I missed anything. BLOG RULES MAKE THIS 18+! MDNI.

A/N: This is my response to this request made by @sawymredfox in regard to my 1k follower celebration! I hope this gives you all the fluff and comfort you were hoping for!🥹 Also, shoutout to @javierpena-inatacvest for picking out the pictures above — it matches the comfort vibe perfectly. Thank you, bestie, I love you.💚 Anywho, I hope you enjoy. I'd love to hear what ya guys think. All my love. Xx

MASTERLIST || L'S 1K CELEBRATION

You and Frankie have been seeing each other, officially, for a few months now. And even though you two were friends for a little bit of time before that, there was still a charge of attraction then. So, really, your entire relationship started in the talking stage. So, yeah, your guys’ relationship is relatively new, which is why he’s shaking like a leaf at the prospect of letting himself into your home without you giving him the approval to do so—even if you told him so many times before that it was okay. But when you didn’t answer your phone for the third time in a row, he knew something was off, especially since you two had a little date planned in a few hours. 

Putting in the code to your garage—no, he doesn’t have a key…yet—he makes his way through, hitting the button inside to watch it fall shut before he actually enters your home. He’s met with complete silence: all lights off, the television off, no sign of life anywhere. 

He calls out your name, voice filled with anxiety. A beat passes, and no answer. He walks deeper inside, slowly making his way to the living room. “Cariño?” He calls out. Still, no answer. He really doesn’t want to invade your privacy like this, but part of him can’t just sit in the unknown. Not when his partner is the most communicative person he’s ever met in his life. No, something is really wrong. 

He makes his way to your bedroom. The door is shut, but not all the way—enough for Frankie to see your dimly lit space and smell a plethora of essential oils coming from your room. He gives your door a slight knock before entering, and the view he’s met with sends him in absolute shambles. You’re curled up in your bed, fetal position, cocooned in a thick blanket, and your arms are wrapped around something—holding it tight to your lower belly. A heating pad, he thinks. 

Your bedside table houses a glass of water, some painkillers, and some chocolate. Then, it clicks. 

You’re on your period. 

It’s not like Frankie has never experienced a person being on their period before, and it’s not like he hasn’t seen you on your period before (just last month—duh!). But he has never seen you like this. So weak and fragile. So in pain. God, he hates seeing you in any kind of pain. He would take it all away if he could. 

The only reason he’s nervous is because he knows every person who gets their period is different; their needs are different. Unique. Some prefer the warm embrace of another at all times, others prefer complete solitude. Frankie was still learning what you were like during your time of the month, and he just wants to be as accommodating as possible for you. He doesn’t want to make you upset, ever, and definitely not when you’re in such a vulnerable state—ready to either cry or rip him a new asshole. Whatever he would have to experience, though, he would endure it, for you. 

Scooting closer to the side of the bed you’re laying on, he slowly kneels, his broad hand feeling your forehead. Warm and a slight layer of sweat from your cocoon and your heat pack. You stir at his touch. “Cariño,” he whispers, trying to get you aware of his presence. 

Your eyebrows furrow, a little pout forming, not wanting to wake up. Frankie softly laughs to himself. He brings his face closer to yours, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Baby,” he says a little louder this time, still unbelievably gentle. 

One eye slowly peels open, the other following suit. “Frankie?” you say with uncertainty, your voice thick with sleep. Your hand leaves its hold on your heat pack to rub the fatigue out of your eyes. 

“Hi, honey,” he whispers, his thumb mindlessly caressing your face wherever he can reach. 

“B-baby, what are you doing here? I-” you gasp. “Oh, fuck! Baby!” You immediately rip the blanket off of you, scrambling to get yourself to sit up. “Baby, our date! What time is it? I must’ve fallen asleep- I- I’m sor-”

Standing a little taller now on one knee, Frankie stands between your legs, both his hands finding their homes on your cheeks, pulling you to look at him—to ground you. He kisses your nose, a soft say of your name to get your attention. 

“Cariño, breathe, it’s okay, we’re okay,” he says softly. “We planned for 7, baby, it’s 5:30.”

He feels your body start to relax, a soft sigh of relief fanning his cheeks. “Oh,” you whisper.

“The question is, though,” he asks, one hand leaving your cheek to rest across your lower belly. “Do you feel okay enough to even leave the house?”

You track his hand before you meet his eyes. “...not really,” you admit. 

“That’s oka-”

Cutting him off with a thick sigh, “I’m so sorry, baby, I just ruined tonight. My period has been wonky lately. I was supposed to start tomorrow, but it ended up being a murder scene a few hours ago, and I’ve been in pain ever since. I didn’t even realize how hard I knocked out-”

He pulls your face into his, your lips meeting each other in a soft embrace, stopping your brain from the 5k marathon it was currently running. He pulls away, your cheeks completely hot under his gaze, Frankie mirroring your bashfulness. “I- I’m sorry, I just-” he lets out a breathy laugh. “I don’t need you overthinking with me, cariño. I promise it’s okay. As long as I’m with you, I really don’t care what we’re doing. Okay?”

“Okay,” you respond, eyes tearing up at how sweet your boyfriend is. 

“I just want you. I just need you. Nothing else,” he angles your head down to kiss your forehead. “Now what’s my baby craving? I’ll go get it.”

“No-” you immediately reply, clearing your throat to suppress your eager response. “No… just. I don’t want you to leave me.” You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his kneeling form flush against your sitting one. 

“Okay, baby. I’ll just get it delivered then. Pretty sure Santi isn’t doing anything besides being an asshole,” he says, laughing into your neck. “Wanna bother him?”

“Fuck yeah,” you laugh. Frankie beams at the sound. 

“¿Qué quieres comer?” What do you want to eat? 

“Mmm, can we get…” you trail off, a little shy to indulge. He’s probably hungry and wanting a real meal like what your original plan was for, but here you are, craving nothing but junk and snacks to satiate you tonight. 

“Hm? Fries and a chocolate frosty? You want pickles, too, huh? Maybe some mashed potatoes?”

Oh my God. You’re going to fucking marry this man. 

“…yes.” 

Frankie pulls away from you with a smirk, reaching for his phone to dial up Santi. 

Huh. Maybe he already does know you—especially during this time of the month. 

End note - I hope this was okay!🥹 There are a few more requests for me to do as part of my celebration!! I'm sorry if it seems like I'm dragging them out lol! Not my intention at all, just trying to balance my excitement with the neediness of school😩 lolol but anyway, I love you all SO MUCH thank you for your endless love.💚

[hedgehog-moss]

I realised I hadn't posted a greenhouse report since spring, and today seemed like a good day for a 2023 home-grown food review!

2023 was a great year for fruit; my apple & plum trees were so generous! In the greenhouse my most successful crops were tomatoes, red chilli peppers, beans, and pickles. I was able to make spicy plum chutney using my own plums, onions and peppers:

On the other hand I was unlucky with my non-greenhouse vegetables, there were so many insects this year and my courgettes got absolutely decimated. But then I complained about my bad courgette luck to some neighbours and was gifted 9 courgettes and 3 pumpkins. I spent the first half of my autumn cooking and freezing and pickling and preserving to try not to let anything go to waste; I made:

7 jars of pesto (with greenhouse basil); 8 jars of pasta sauce (with courgette-pumpkin-tomato-red peppers-onions-basil, + parmesan); an unknown but large amount of pumpkin-tomato soup (I put them in empty glass bottles and freeze them); 7 jars of spicy plum chutney; 2 small bottles of spicy oil for my pizzas (with some of my chilli peppers; the rest are still drying by the stove to become chilli powder); 5 jars of plum jam and 3 of blackberry jam (I also froze several kg of whole blackberries for winter desserts); 6 jars of pickles (they are delicious!! I'd never pickled pickles before this year, I'm really happy with the result); 12 small bottles of elderberry syrup; 4 large bottles of elderflower syrup; hundreds of little apple sweets; several bottles of apple juice; an absolutely dizzying amount of apple puree / compote / jelly, because I refused to leave any leftover apples for the dormouse population. They are not my friends.

(If you think I'm being too mean to the dormice, please know that a) they are unrepentant thieves; b) I became so competent at hiding my apples that a dormouse ended up sneaking into the shower at night to eat my soap. My bar of homemade (not by me) goat milk soap. It's hazelnut scented so I guess if you're a rodent it just smells like lunch.)

I took some stuff out of the freezer just long enough to take this family picture; though I already gave away a lot of things to guests and neighbours, so it's just what's left! (I also froze enough chopped onions to last until summer I think)

I am terrible at labelling my jars; in my hubris I always assume I'll just remember where I put which kind of sauce or flavour of compote. I never remember. I end up having to give my guests mystery jars, like "this is fruit jelly! Made with... fruits"

So it wouldn't get too monotonous I added various fruits to my apple purees: apple-raspberry, apple-blueberry, -plum, -blackberry... I also made a few jars of apple-pineapple-pumpkin compote because I had too much pumpkin and I regret not focusing on that from the start, this combo tasted so good and was the most cheerful yellow colour.

I finally used my last apples last week, making apple-quince paste which is currently drying in order to become sweets. I bought some pretty & thick paper to origami a few boxes to put them in, so I'll have New Year presents for my courgette-providing neighbours. <3

(My cats are currently banned from this room so they won't try to lick the fruit paste) (they don't even like it, they're just cats)

[octuscle]

Expats

Gabriel was quite a freeloader. Of course he didn't come to Dubai as an expat because he was stupid or lazy. But he also knew pretty well that he would have had a much harder time in France affording the life he could afford here. Life in Dubai was luxury, pure luxury. He had a cool house with a pool, a gardener, a housekeeper and a chauffeur, and he earned a huge amount of money. He didn't necessarily work nine to five, but he didn't necessarily work himself to death either. In short, for him, life here was pure paradise!

Gabriel had heard the news that the climate had turned a little against the privileges of expats. But he wasn't interested in it. He would do his job here, he was saving a lot of money, which was safely invested in Switzerland, if necessary, he would be on the plane back to Paris tomorrow and look for a job in Riyadh or Kuwait. The United Arab Emirates were not the only place on this planet where he could make money. And besides, he didn't really care about it today. It was Saturday. Tomorrow he would have to sit in the office again, today he wanted to work out at the gym and then hang out with a few friends at the beach club for the rest of the day. A few cocktails, lobster for dinner and then to bed. The only problem was: his driver had the day off. And even though Gabriel had been living in Dubai for several years, he couldn't drive a car himself! He had forgotten how. That's why there were drivers. So he ordered a taxi.

The porter at his community had announced the driver. Gabriel took his sports bag. A quick check in the mirror: yes, he looked good. He opened the door. The brand new Toyota taxi was parked in front of the door. The driver got out and asked in English if Gabriel wanted to put the sports bag in the boot. Gabriel barely looked up from his phone and just shook his head. He didn't feel like having any more contact with the driver than absolutely necessary. The driver opened the back door for him, Gabriel got in, repeated his destination once more and continued playing with his cell phone. The driver remained quiet at first. But then he started talking. First in English. About the weather, about football, where Gabriel came from, whether he liked Dubai. Gabriel simply didn't react. The driver just kept talking. That he had fled from Syria. That he had been in Dubai for four years. That he had two children. He showed Gabriel pictures in his wallet. His English became more and more incomprehensible. A mixture of English and Arabic. Gabriel continued to pretend to be deaf. The driver kept talking. In Arabic. He was ranting about the expats. About the arrogance of the infidels, who thought they were better than everyone else, even though they were dependent on the mercy of Allah, who had given the Muslims oil.

Gabriel was annoyed. He wanted to work on a few e-mails and not talk about politics. What did he care about politics? So he snapped at the driver, "Rakkiz 'ala al-siyaqa, ana mashghul!" The driver smiled. He looked in the rear-view mirror. God's plan was working.

The taxi driver's language began to change again. Arabic with a French accent. Gabriel sat in the back on the worn imitation leather seats of the old taxi. In the front, Ayoub couldn't stop getting worked up about the last few games of Olympic Marseille. Djibril grinned. He knew the feeling. When Ayoub was in a rage, he was in a rage. Fortunately, they were almost at the wholesale market, then his brother would let him out. Ayoub would drive his shift to an end. And Djibril would see what kind of job he could get. He and his pals ironically called themselves the expats. It was true in a way… His brother and he had immigrated from Morocco ten years ago. They had family in Marseille. Djibril had really tried hard at school, but at some point he stopped going and started working as a day laborer at the wholesale market. He was doing well. By now, Djibril had his network, he knew his way around. And he was strong and fast. He saved what he earned. He was proud of his brother Ayoub, who made it to get a taxi license and his own taxi, which was also Djibril's goal.

He checked his messages. It was still dawn. Ayoub was on his way to the banlieue to sleep. It was good when he drove the night shift, then he and Djibril didn't have to share the small bedroom. So far, no one had contacted him to request Djibril's services. If necessary, he could help out in his aunt's café in the kitchen. There was no money for that, though. But a café and a lunch. Life as an expat wasn't so bad.

[fanaticsnail]

Hey! Hope you’re doing well this fine day~ I had a cute idea if u just wanna hear me rant about it.

So imagine teaching Killer a new pasta recipe whether that is a new sauce or new way to cook it and making it for him and watching him literally LIGHT UP with pure glee over how good it is. I say this as I’ve made my grandma’s spaghetti sauce which is STRAIGHT UP ADDICTING every time I make it and gobble it all up. Like the reader can be like a straw hat or kid pirate who is like hey I have this really yummy pasta recipe if you wanna try and afterwards she keeps on exchanging recipes with Killer and lowkey he in love with her mwahahaha (cause as they say in Princess and the Frog “the quickest way to a man’s heart, is through his stomach”). And she cooks it for him since he is always cooking 🥹🥹🥹

Also! I do have to add how much IM OBSESSED with the recent Hey Doc Drabble. Idk if you saw my tags but man I was GOING THROUGH IT. All the sweet nicknames and just the pure desperation for doc to be okay like 😭😭😭 and POOR HEAT AND BUBBLEGUM LIKE AWWWW I need a part 2 to that or SOMETHING just to see an aftermath if you will. Wire calling them “honey” had me WEAK.

Alright imma head out now, have a marvelous day/night 🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️🏃🏽‍♀️

How did I miss this 😭. Thank you for your beautiful compliments on the 'Hey Doc' series. It's been an absolute joy to write. Reading through tags and reblogs are my favourite: especially when it's as enthusiastic as yours has been. You're so much fun, and I very much appreciate the time you take to read and go through my silly things. I can't write a full fic, but I hope this little drabble satiates the need of cooking with Killer 🖤.

Pasta

Masterlist Here

Word Count: mini-fic, just a little one.

Themes: Killer x reader, fluff, cooking, food, Killer is in awe, you are cooking, and I am hungry.

The one thing he hasn't managed to perfect is a pure, unadulterated Marinara. Anything to do with crushed tomato he finds too acidic, and over compensates with far too much salt to cut the tannins. He's tried everything: more onion, less herbs, malted brown sugar, refining his own salt by storing sea water on the oven, everything. He just can't seem to get it right.

Killer and pasta: his one weakness.

He would never admit it, but he has been attempting to perfect each recipe he comes upon. Pesto is all made from scratch: crushed fresh basil, the purest of virgin olive oils, a parmesan wheel with crispy salt crystals, oven toasted pine nuts, cloves of bulbed garlic, everything perfected by his skill in his kitchen. His pesto pasta is better than Sanji's, and the curly-browed chef is both impressed and intimidated by it.

Watching from a safe distance as you bounce gleefully within the dominion of the kitchen, he hunches his back and places his whiskered chin over his laced fingertips. He was unsure as to why you offered to cook for the crew, but your enthusiasm had him step aside to watch you work. It was the initial confession of homesickness that did it for him. Knowing food can aid in emotional regulation and comfort, he was more than happy to watch from his position sitting at the kitchen island.

And then the smell hit him.

The sweetness of roasting tomatoes, onion, garlic, and the herbal aromatics of thyme, rosemary and sage. The soft waft had his heart swell and beat in his chest and eyes twinkle in curiousity. Stirring the rotund vegetables in the pot and expertly crushing them with the blunt tip of the wooden spoon had him sit up attentively in his seat, watching you as you attend to the sauce from muscle memory alone.

He was in awe, perplexed, and intrigued.

Each time you would move on to another element of the dish, Killer would move a little closer. Each time your back was turned, he would perch himself just a little more towards the simmering pot. When you moved to the pantry to decide which shape of pasta to begin to boil, you could barely make out the shape of Killer's mask being partially elevated over his lips and nose by one large hand. Using a fresh spoon, he dips it into the sauce and puckers his purple-tinted lips and extends a breath of cool air to stifle the heat.

As soon as the first drops meet his tongue, he can't help the soft moan that escapes him at the flavor. Upon your return with a bag of penne in hand, you are immediately hoisted into the air with Killer's hands beneath your arms. Gently spinning you before placing you on the ground, he claps his arms over your shoulders and leans down closer. The purple hue of his lips is stretched up in a smile, his joy at your sauce immediately having him taken aback and fullfilled in the knowledge that he now has the answer he desperately seeks.

"Teach me. Please."

And who were you to deny him? It was a family recipe, and this crew aboard the Victoria Punk was your new family. Gently raising one of your hands to cup over his on your shoulder, you crinkle your nose at him and nod with a smile to match his own.

"Yes, chef."

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

[kombuuuu]

pavitir x reader cuddle hc🛐

Lovebug? No, Cuddlebug.

“Your hands are so warm.”

Pavitr x Gn!Reader

my baby pavitr is the most bright ray of sunshine

You: Pink

Pavitr: Orange

(i’ve used Hindi for endearments, as in Hindi Pavitr Prabhakar means “Pure Light Maker.”)

This man will squeeze you and not let go

he is an avid “hug until he cant breathe” advocate

will let you crush his bones if you wanted

he loves the feeling of another person around him

doesn’t matter if your lying on top of him, or he’s on you.

sometimes he grabs you and presses against your back, drapes his arms over your shoulders and kind of flops there.

his fav hug types are 1 and 4 (predominately four tho)

“You doing okay there, Pav?”

“Thithli, my body is worn. Please hold me.”

He will let you suffocate him if you so pleased

and absolutely adores when you try and crush him

squeeze as much as possible

literally try as hard as you can, he loves the lingering feeling of you on him

but if you get hurt if he squeezes too hard

he cries

he straight up sobs

he’s apologising profusely and not letting you tell him it’s okay

“Pav baby, it’s okay.”

“No! Don’t forgive me,” *sniffle* “,I hurt you!”

“I’m not even hurt, Do I look hurt?”

“..”

“C’mere.”

*sobs*

Now when it comes to cuddles??

this man is a god send

he’ll come back home to you after a day of spidering

lay you down and strip himself of his suit and gear

and will give you the best massage of your fucking life

and you know he’s good at it 2

you’ve seen how dexterous he is with his webs

he knows what he’s doin

his love language is touch and words of affirmation so you can imagine how that goes

“Doing so good for me, Shonu.”

“Just relax, your doing great.”

“Mm, relaxed, jus’ wan’ cuddle you.”

“We can cuddle after, need you comfy.”

He even goes shopping sometimes just to get you massage oils

the ones that smell nice

they remind him of you, okay? leave him alone

he loves u

“Baby, what are these?”

“They’re massage oils! I’m thinking maybe we should get a massage table too, we can make the whole set up.”

“Why are there so many?”

“I chose the ones that smelt most like you.”

“…You think I smell like vanilla cinnamon?”

“Yeah—“ *kiss*

“Oh! Awe, love you too.”

“Hmmph”

Now comes the cuddles,

once he’s finished he’ll put everything away and lay down next to you

your basically deadweight at this point

like you feel like jelly

will snuggle up against you

loves putting his head on your chest, or your stomach

he likes feeling like he’s worshipping you

when you’re almost asleep, he’ll lay down next to you

will wrap his arms around your waist and drag your body over his

will fix your limbs so your basically buried in him

put your arms around his neck, your head tucked under his chin

let you move around as much as you want

you’re uncomfy this way? okay, he’ll move his leg

your arms are dead, bring em down baby

“Pav.. My hand is dead.”

“Oh! Thithli, am I laying on it?”

“Mm.. Felt good at first. Now it’s dead.”

“Move it here, honey, c’mon.”

“Your hands are so warm!”

“You were warmin’ ‘em up.”

All with a smile on his face

he loves sleepy you

it’s knowing how much you trust him that brings him to his knees

how vulnerable you can be with him that has him swooning in his hopeless romanticism

sings to you sometimes

only when your asleep

when he’s still up, maybe thinking about spider things

or even just school

he gives you a little hum

you don’t even know how much you love it

or subconsciously love it

it’s such a nice feeling to lay on his rumbling chest

like your being lulled into a deeper sleep

eventually falls asleep with you, and will probably wake up half way off the bed with you clinging onto him

bonus!!

THREAD UR HANDS THROUGH HIS HAIR!!!!! MANS WILL MELT I KNOW IT

—

losing my mind hes so fucking cute hes so adorable he’s so baby

tags :>

@sodapopzds @squiiv @blublubluu

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Until Sunrise - A Khal Drogo/Reader One Shot Story.

So I was feeling a certain way about Jason Momoa, and realised that it is absolutely uncalled for that I have not yet written for my favourite character of his! I’ve no idea how alive/dead the GoT fandom is (I’m expecting dead, lol!) but I’ve tagged anyone I can think who might be interested, or because I know whatever form he’s presented in, you like him because he’s Jason motherfucking Momoa. As you should. 

Words - 1,375

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

The moments you lived for; they were only ever fleeting at best. He would send for you, as he always did, picking one of his favourites from the tent of women devoted entirely to keeping the Khal content, eyes that burned with envy following you as you departed, ready for him. They always did.  

Walking over the dried-up terrain, you cast your eyes to the sky, seeing the moon beginning to rise, knowing the silver orb will be glowing fully through the inky night sky by the time he’s done having his way with you. He never allows you to remain until sunrise.  

Entering his tent, you find him standing in wait for you, the splendour of his nakedness appealing as always, approaching with long strides and taking you roughly by the arm, as is Drogo’s way. He rarely shows anything less than dominant claiming, towing you to his bed, making short work of your clothes.  

“How do you want me tonight, my Khal?” you ask, your Dothraki flawless. He does speak the common tongue, much more than he would ever let on, yet you have only ever communicated with him in his own language.  

He takes a moment for contemplation, his finger running along your jawline. “Face down, backside up.” Not surprising. He always prefers to take you from behind. You feel his weight dip the bed behind you, one hand placed at the top of your spine, the other beginning to stroke at you. His hand is oiled, as is his only real consideration for you, that you be slippery enough to sheathe his huge cock. Foreplay is a word unknown to him, in any language.

It is surprising to you, as your folds are parted, that he simply hasn’t done the minimal to wet your walls and swiftly breech you, his fingers touring you, exploring the petal soft flesh of your sex. Those slippery fingertips swirl around, until they reach your little bud, a soft gasp fluttering from your lips, Drogo focusing in on it.

“Good?"

You are confused, pleasantly, though. “Yes, my Khal."

He takes a moment of pause, ceasing the rubbing. “Truly? Or do you just speak this to pacify me?" He leans to you, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “Tell me how you like it.”

You are too scared of sparking his terrifying rage to even question why he cares, only pleasantly surprised that for once, he actually does. “A little softer to begin with, less pressure.” When his fingers begin to circle again, it’s pure bliss, your lips parting on a soft moan. “Just like that, my Khal.”  

He straightens, his dark eyes watching, enchanted by the sight of you spread before him, his fingers quickening a little, dragging them back and forth, offering the same at your entrance, your arousal bathing them. He likes that, the feel of wet silk warming his fingertips, pushing them inside of you, a grumble rattling his throat.  

“Soaking,” he grunts, dragging them back, returning to your aching bud. “You feel beautiful.” It must be different for him, to feel the arousal of a woman, since you can bet he never really has before. He oils each whore, dousing his cock, fucking them until he dances with the stars before they are cast aside, their purpose served. 

Little glimmers skitter over your nerves, pleasure beginning to make you trickle hot for him, Drogo shifting, removing his hand as he crouches behind you, replacing the contact with his tongue.  

“Oh, gods above!” you hiss, the warmth of his mouth stoking your fire, the very first you’ve ever had settle between your legs and indulge you in the hot, flat wet of long, languid licks.  

“Turn.” He demands, his rough hands parting your thighs as soon as you are upon your back, his mouth reconnecting with you, greedy, his beard rubbing against you as he licks at the honey of your cunt. “Still good?”

“Incredible!” you cry, your hands clutching the pelts you lie upon. “Please, do not stop!”

A smirk tilts his full lips, his eyes finding yours over the rise of your breasts, tongue rapidly placing a firm lick over your bud. “She demands of her Khal?”

He sounds more amused than anything, but to hear the tinge of balefulness, of him bringing you back to yourself, you fluster a little. “I... but what I mean to say is... I...”

He moves until his face is above yours, placing a finger to your lips, and a kiss to your throat. “Quiet with your words. No more talking, but you will let me hear how much you enjoy it.” Moving back to your apex, each lick he bestows to you is a rain of celestial decadence, tongue beating over the swell of your clit, the nectar of your arousal soaking his lips as he eats you feverishly, without pause, like a starving wolf would gorge upon the carcass of a deer.  

“Oh, you are divine, my Khal!” you cry, incoherence following as he sucks upon you, cheeks hollowing, his eyes almost black, pupils blown with lust as he grunts against the sopping mess of your cunt, enjoying you in his mouth. That is until he moves to arrow himself into your soaking centre, the many inches of his girthy cock splitting you wide, his mouth closing in a hard suck upon your nipple.

“Drogo,” he breathes, tongue beating over the little stiffened peak. “I want to hear my name upon your lips.” He grasps your jaw, turning your head to face him, eyes homed in upon you in an unbreakable stare.

Your mouths meet in a feverish kiss, a clash of tongues and teeth, your moans spilling from your lips onto his like wine. “You are divine, Drogo.” Taking him is like taking an entire storm within you, Drogo moving to kneel before you, grasping your thighs as his eyes fall to watch his glossy cock daggering into you deeply, an earthy rumble of a groan filling the air.

You are singed upon the heat he drives into you, cool fire flooding your veins, freezing and melting you again right to your very marrow as he pounds into your cunt, evoking your wails, your hands reaching to stroke the wide plane of muscles across his broad chest. The dark of his pubic hair glints in the candlelight, soaked from the dew of your cunt, your eyes falling to view it, to witness how his cock looks as it parts your walls again and again.  

It is a sight you have never beheld before, only ever being taken from behind, your eyes fixated on how sumptuously erotic it is, to watch how good he looks inside of you, his hands beginning to stroke your skin as a bonfire of pure sinful bliss rages between you.  

He moves his hand to your face, thumb dragging over your lips until they part, pushing it into your mouth. “Get it wet.” You meet his simple demand, sucking on it until it is as he requires, Drogo moving it to begin stroking at your clit once more. It’s more than you can handle, and he knows it, smirking down at you once again until his face contorts in bliss, grunting deeply as he gives his cock with keen thrusts, the sounds of your sweaty flesh smacking together filling the tent.  

He moves within you with nothing short of brutal voracity, until you can feel it radiating through you, stars sweeping from the strokes of his thumb as your light begins to shine out over his horizon, your body blooming as you fall apart around him, the fluttering of your cunt dragging his release from him. Thick ropes of cum paint your pulsing walls as he spills into you deep, breathless and spent, pulling from you and resting down on his back.  

You know that this is your cue to get up and leave quietly, yet when you rise, your escape from the bed is halted by a large hand splayed to your chest, Drogo pushing you back down. An arm slides beneath your shoulders, your Khal pulling you against his chest, fingers stroking swirls over your arm.  

"Stay."  

And you do. Until the sun rises.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 83)

Uzi was cold.

It was a strange feeling, considering that she'd spent almost a full year at this point staving off overheating, but right now a shiver was rolling up her spine in her half-asleep state.

It was early yet, but her mate- her normal source of pleasant warmth seemed to be absent, either going off to get oil or do a protective sweep around the nest before he came back. Not that Uzi was thinking of these things, she was still solidly dazed and clumsy from waking up, and all she wanted was to bury herself in his heat.

She mumbled, tail dragging the floor as she felt around for the nearest heat source, maybe N had just rolled over and was still in the nest somewhere? Instincts guided her slowly before she felt heat waft over her and she hummed, crawling up next the source with a sigh, there he was, she wasn't even going to question why he was so far away.

She wrapped her arms and tail around him and she felt him shift, almost like he was confused, before a feminine snicker brought her closer to consciousness. Huh?

She felt an arm wrap around her, bringing her snug against pleasant warmth, by pure habit, she nuzzled into a fur lined collar with a soft smile, humming in contentment.

“G’morning to you too~” She heard, and it took half a second for her to register that it wasn't N's voice. No.

It was V's

Uzi's eyes snapped open, pushing back against V's chest as she looked up like a deer in headlights, golden eyes looked back, V having the words biggest shit eating grin that evolved into a cackle as Uzi suddenly tried to scramble away.

“V?! I thought you were- why did I!? STOP LAUGHING!” Uzi yelped, still trapped in V's grip as the dissasembler refused to let her go, Lizzy beside her, joining her in her hysterics. Uzi was blushing like mad, visor a impressive shade of neon purple.

“Let me go!” She screeched, waking up Thad from the corner with a jolt, he woke up clumsily, Tera; who had somehow made her way over to him, poked her head out from beside him.

“Why? You're the one who crawled over here to cuddle up to me.” She teased, bringing her closer into her chest with a fake contented hum, Uzi fought harder to get away, squirming like caught prey.

“I thought you were N! And you let me! You could have told me!” She whined, grumbling, trying to fight against V's iron grip was impossible, especially when V squeezed around her tighter.

“Clearly he's not giving you enough attention, don't worry, I've got you~” V began to purr, wrapping her tail around Uzi much like N had done so many times before, Uzi whined and fought a little more, but V's heat was so, so pleasant, she slowly stopped fighting, a purr starting to escape from her core in response.

“Awww, listen to you… you're enjoying this.” V's voice was sickly sweet, Uzi grumbled, blushing the hardest she had since N and her got together. Fuck! She couldn't help it! V was warm! And… actually kind of comfortable - No!

“Please let me go… this is so embarrassing…” She mumbled in defeat, a bark of a laugh escaped V, who looked like she was having the time of her life.

“Oh it's priceless is what it is.” V replied, resting her head on Uzi's own, just to rub salt in the wound.

“Absolutely~” Lizzy commented, her phone up to record it, Uzi whimpered, this was the absolute worst… she purred louder.

There was the sound of something landing outside the nest, and V glanced up with a smile. “Oh even better, we can explain it to him together.”

She wanted to perish, actually perish, oh Robo-God.

“Oh! Is everyone already… awake?” He poked his head in, starting with a beaming smile that quickly morphed into a confused one, eyes settling on Uzi and V, Uzi groaned in embarrassment.

He had three containers of oil with him, so that's where he'd gone.

“Hey N~” V hummed, still refusing to let Uzi out of her forced cuddle. He cocked his head, but thankfully didn't look too upset.

“Uh, Hey?” He replied, looking at Uzi for some sort of explanation.

“I… I thought she was you! I got cold!” She whined, and N's smile turned from confused to amused.

“Oh she nuzzled up to me and everything~” V purred, Uzi could feel V's tail wrapping up against her leg, and huffed indignantly. “I think you haven't been giving her enough attention if she came all the way over to me.”

V then, to be even more of an ass, nuzzled into Uzi's neck, which made the already embarrassed worker squeal when the silicone met her sensitive neck.

“Agh! Let me go! N! She's got me trapped! I'm not a willing participant here!” She pleaded, once again trying to fight against V's grip.

“Naww, but you're still purring~” She was, it was very audible. Still she gave N a pleading look, as if begging him to come save her.

Lizzy was still laughing, even Thad was giving a stifled chuckle, she even caught N laughing slightly, much to her irritation.

“THIS ISN'T FUNNY!” She screeched, before all the excitement finally had a consequence, pain flooded her head and she suddenly whimpered, she felt V immediately tense up around her before gently relasing her hold.

There was a beat of silence, where Uzi was squeezing the sides of her head hard, She felt N, actually N this time, wrap around her and pull her up from behind, two more warm pair of hands checked her for injuries on the front, that was probably V.

After a moment, the sudden headache passed and she was able to open her eyes, everyone surrounding her with worried looks and Tera climbing into her lap.

“You good?” She heard N ask, and she nodded, V was giving her the world's most guilty look, but Uzi sighed.

“I'm fine, I think I did it to myself by screaming…” She reassured, leaning back into N and graciously accepting a container of oil from him. He handed one to V too.

“Sorry…” V said after a moment, Lizzy leaning into her shoulder, still clearly sleepy.

“I was the one that cuddled up to you…” Uzi admitted, not quite meeting V's eyes.

“Ya'll make me feel so single…” Thad hummed, standing back from the group slightly, there was a beat of silence.

And a feral twinkle appeared in everyone's eyes.

“Wait. No…” Everyone drew closer to him, aside from Uzi, who was holding Tera, before all the nestmates dogpiled him, smothering him utterly.

“Guys! Gerroff!” It came muffled, and nobody was listening, Uzi sipped on her oil container laughing lightly, looking out the nest window, putting a hand on her daughters back, who was looking up at her curiously.

For a moment, just a moment, they could enjoy this.

Next->

[gtgbabie0]

hellooooo🥰 first time requester here!!! (let me know if i am not doing anything right for future reference!! :) ) i loved your cowboy! remus lupin x preachers daughter! reader. was curious if you could do a continuation??? maybe seeing her at the saloon or in a public place??? just a thought! thank u so much:))

-Cowboy!Remus Lupin x reader

{Seeing the preacher’s daughter in the saloon was the last thing Remus expected, although he won’t be complaining.}

This is perfect, thank you so much for requesting. Enjoy lovelies💕

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The oil lamps cast a low moody light through the saloon, the glasses clinking and the patrons sharing a laugh or two whilst they play poker. It’s relatively quiet for a Friday, with most ranch owners taking advantage of the extra light the summer brings.

Remus is sitting at one of the tables with his hat pulled down low. One of the men opposite hands out some cards as Remus pushes a couple of coins and a handgun onto the table, his offer makes the rest of the men at the table share a couple of smirks.

Then the Saloon doors swing open, at first he doesn’t think anything of it just figuring that the general store owner from across the street had closed early. Then he hears Lily Evans’ voice followed by your giggle and he damn near falls off his chair in shock.

The rest of the men in the Saloon also share confused looks, they all know your father. The proud man who gives daily sermons, dedicating himself to spreading the word of God. What's his daughter doing stumbling in here?

Remus tips his hat up, looking under the edge of it and over in your direction. He smirks proudly, not quite believing that you dared to venture out because he knows for a fact your father was more of the overprotective type, and with that comes his strictness.

He keeps a watchful eye on you, shooting death glares at anyone who gets a little too close to comfort as you take your seat at the bar. Of course, you’re in a world of your own, completely oblivious to the cowboy who sits at the back table.

Remus can hardly pay attention to the game of poker that he’s stuck in. He’s far too distracted by the way you’re perched up on that stool and how the dress you’re wearing hugs at your body. You’re absolutely angelic, the warm light that dusts against your skin, and that sweet giggle of yours only proves this to him.

He wins by pure luck with a royal flush. Claiming the winnings that were piled up on the table with a cocky tone as he gives them a, “Thank you, gentlemen,” before walking over to where you’re sitting at the bar.

A hand against your lower back makes you jump, taking you out of your conversation with Lily as you let out a gasp. “Easy there Darlin’ s’just me.” Remus drawls, leaning against the wooden bar, his elbow propping up against the surface.

You look over to him with bright eyes, sparkling with excitement as you watch him order a whiskey. “What’re you doing here?” You ask him with a certain air of giddiness in your tone.

Remus knocks back his dark liquid with a low groan, placing his hat down on the bar before looking down at you, his eyebrows raised slightly in amusement.

“Could ask you the same gorgeous.” He smirks, the back of his fingers brushing against your warm cheek as he admires your pretty face.

You idly trail your fingertips along the rim of your whiskey glass with a shy smile, glancing down at your hands as he tucks your hair behind your ear. “Just stopping in for a drink with Lily-” You cut yourself off as you glance behind you, noticing that she had disappeared off to speak to Mary.

Remus hums softly, caressing your jaw with his thumb as he tilts your head back over to look up at him once again. “Does your Pa know?” He asks with a sly smirk when you shake your head ‘no’

With that he tuts teasingly, the roughness of his palm against your soft cheek sends a shiver down your spine and you can’t help but shy away from him ever so slightly.

“Darlin’ you tryin’ to give your old man a heart attack?” He chuckles lowly, his hand falling to rest against your hip.

He watches as you pout, the way your eyebrows furrow together. A huff escapes your lips and he bites his tongue, keeping his teasing words to himself with a smirk that teeters against his lips.

“I don’t need his permission to go out for a drink.” You tell him, taking a sip of your whiskey with a slight grimace on your face. That gets him, watching the disgust twist through your expression, he can’t stop himself from chuckling into his palm.

Remus leans down slightly, pressing a kiss against your forehead. He lets his lips linger for just a moment before pulling back as the bartender pushes another glass over to him.

“Nah you don’t, just gotta be careful baby.” He says, his expression softening slightly. He puts his hat down upon your head, tilting your chin upwards to look at him.

He quickly knocks back his second glass, his eyes meeting yours as his thumb rests against your chin. “My girl…” he whispers under his breath, his hand falling to gently fiddle with your cross necklace.

“I’m careful, always am.” You tell him, fixing his hat to sit comfortably on your head as he pays for yours and his drinks before you can even start to complain.

He nods in acknowledgement, but he also knows that won’t stop your father from marching his way into town to get you, he’d save you from that embarrassment.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get ya home.” He says, relief washing over him you give him a soft nod. Thankful that you’re not going to fight him on it, you understand how difficult your father can be at times.

The sun had completely gone down, making space for the moon and stars. Remus guides you out of the smokey Saloon with a hand against the small of your back, helping you up to saddle his horse.

He takes you home as promised, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips as you place his hat back onto his head. He doesn’t leave until he knows you’re in the safety of your home, an odd sense of longing swarming his stomach as he rides off.

One day he’d save up enough money to buy some land and get a house… first he has to get enough courage to ask for your father’s blessing.

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-Art by @/sophithil on twt