#we love to drag them through the mud

[majoringinsarcasm]

The thing about TERFs is that they’ll talk about the issues women face and how things are unfair or not designed with women in mind and how society was shaped around men and how it still is like that in many many places.

But instead of seeing that as a system that needs to be changed, they take all of that as Inherent and Biological when that’s not the case. And in fact is just adhering to what the system has been from the start.

More rambling underneath idk I’ve just been thinking about stuff lately

“Men are born hating women. They are born with this instinct to harass and assault and it’s only a matter of time before they do. You cannot transition into a women because you are not socialized the same was a them. You didn’t suffer what they suffered. You don’t know all the True Ways of being a women so anything you do is a mockery.”

And I just have to wonder. Who taught you about women hood? I don’t mean what did society tell you or show you. Who taught you as an individual why being a woman meant To Them.

Because there are a lot of women in this world who wake up and are so happy to be women. Who feel pride in not just their body but their mind and goals and ideals and dreams. Who see womanhood as something to strive towards. Not one thing to earn by doing the right things but panting to gain For The Self. The way they carry themselves and treat others, the way they see and want to shape the world.

I am not cis, but not because I was scared or felt that I was failing at being a girl. I didn’t feel like one. All of that Inherent and Biological stuff I was meant to feel as a girl and future women wasn’t clicking. All the talking points that TERFs and transphobes make about this or that. It wasn’t clicking. I was a Girl no doubt, because I wasn’t a boy and those were my only options. And it was fine for me because I wasn’t taught to hate it. I was surrounded by women who enjoyed being women. I don’t reject my upbringing bc it’s the only one I had. It was fine because My Life more or less wasn’t filled with that kind of suffering.

I do not define my identity by suffering. I tried to once and that almost killed me. I was taught by other queer people that I had to hate my body or I wasn’t really trans. I’ve never been assaulted for being queer but I’m not out at work. I don’t feel safe and I know I don’t look any different. It took me ages to just be okay with My Body being a trans body I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to take that next step. But I’ll make it in my on time if I ever do.

But I’m trans bc I LACK the euphoria of being a woman. There is no joy or pride. I was a Weird Girl bc no other word existed for me back then. I was a human but a girl. I was a person but a girl. And when I discovered there were other words I felt happy. I didn’t need to be a Different from the rest girl or a Late Blooming girl. Nonbinary came along. Trans came along. Agender came along. I had new words to try out and they fit me in the way Weird Girl no longer needed to act as a placeholder.

I say All of this just to reiterate how stupid those biological talking points are. On both sides mind you because the queer community from what I’ve seen is not kind to AMAB people and that upsetting. Because there is no inherent evil of birth sex or body. There is no way to tell who is Good and Safe and who is Harmful other than their actions. This is not me ignoring society structure. This is me saying that

“You don’t know my pain so you’re not a real X”

Sounds a lot like

“If all you need to be X is the desire and genuine euphoria with identifying as such to the point of choosing a scary series of events and possible hatred from others, all because you will be happy at the end of the road, then My suffering doesn’t mean I’m worthy of this title. I am just someone who suffered.”

And it’s fucked up the way we live now. And there is no blank slate. And we STILL act as a group on these issues. But it doesn’t need to stay that way. We as individuals can make that change day by day until we don’t need to fear or resent each other to feel safe. Where we won’t have to fight over scraps. But we won’t get there by listening to people who wish us harm or who make up criteria that even other cis people don’t meet.

#trans rights #trans woman #queer community #trans man #the idea that you have not suffered enough to claim a title is a bad rhetoric that only hurts everyone #we can acknowledge and show compassion to those who were dragged through the mud to get to where they are #but we help them by caring about each other no matter where they started #from those who had no support to those with loving families #the people who want us dead or to stay quiet about how we feel do not care who has it worse #they will use that to divide us further #as for TERFs who hate men but also hate being women #the struggles women face are real and true but how you feel about yourself is not universal #bigots use the boxes to keep people in line and to keep life the way it is #the idea that it can be different but Better doenst even register #they don’t want equality the way it should be and that’s why we need to stop using their ideals to hurt others in the community #gosh dang messed up the first tags ARG #trans women #trans men #I used to k ow how to spell guys

[hyunsvngs]

𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞-𝐚-𝐡𝐨𝐞! - spiderman!han jisung x fem!reader

wc: 11.1k

cw: han jisung is spiderman, a brief attack of an alien in school, both characters are 18+ (legal) but are intended to be in high school, friends to lovers, jisung calling mc baby at any given moment

synopsis: you’re obsessed with spiderman, but after a certain event takes place, you become convinced your best friend and spiderman are the same person.

a/n: after a long wait… HEHE smut warnings under the cut and as usual 18+ MDNI!!!!!!!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: brief mention of masturbation (both), oral (fem!rec), slightly switchy both parties, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, loss of virginity (both), cumswapping, relatively tame given that its me

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re intrigued.

Interested seemed like too little of a word to use for how you feel whenever you see the latest news report. In a world full of superhuman serums and bulletproof skin, he is still intriguing. Maths homework could be ignored, as far as you’re concerned - and that’s bold for you, because you love maths. You wonder if he likes maths, too.

Every night at 6pm sharp, you settle in front of the television and wait for the news. Spiderman, the hero in question, is always up to something. He loves shooting his webs across the tallest skyscrapers in the city, dangling from them precariously without a care before he lets out a loud, earth-shattering giggle and beats the newest bad-guy that your world has attracted. You always wince at the reports, wondering just how he healed from the injuries he must sustain. It had to be down to the spider venom, you supposed.

“He’s dangerous,” Your dad huffs. He’s lounging on his normal armchair, peeling leather be damned, munching on a bag of crisps. You grimace at his crisp covered digits motioning towards the television. You love your dad, really, and your mum - you just always differed in opinions when it came to Spiderman. He was so fucking cool, and you seriously feel like a child saying that all of the time, despite your best friend Jisung telling you that we all have our interests. “I mean, he’s putting normal civilians in danger. Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman my ass.”

“Honey,” Your mother admonishes, digging through her own bag of crisps. You briefly consider why you haven’t been offered one. They look tasty, when your father isn’t rubbing luminous orange dust onto his previously crisp white shirt. “You know she doesn’t like it when you say bad things about him. He- what was the word again, baby?”

“He intrigues me,” You mumble, pretending to erase equations from your homework. Your cheeks blaze crimson when your mother hums in agreement, nodding triumphantly to your father. You wish you could be as sassy as her sometimes. You’re more timid, hiding behind oversized hoodies and Jisung. He is a lot more confident than you, more loud and exuberant - you suppose that’s why he had adopted you as his all those years ago.

Your mother had been best friends with Jisung’s aunt, Sohee. She’s just like Jisung, zipping around the place at an insane pace to offer you snacks and drinks at every second. When you and Jisung had first met in preschool, you’d been drawing patterns in the mud with your grubby little fingers, hiding from the bullies. He’d criticised your drawing. He helped you fix it, though, chubby cheeks puffing out with a grin when it was good enough for his taste. Looking back now, that behaviour was so Jisung, but your mother had been delighted to find out that you’d already met her best friend’s son.

It had been easy becoming friends with him after that. Every day, he’d drag you by your wrist and take you to the yard, insisting on doing your co-operative drawings together. The teachers had a fit everyday on the state of you two by the end of your break, but your mothers had loved it, taking a million and one pictures a second. He stuck up for you both to the teachers, and then he stuck up for you to the bullies and it was like you’d known each other since birth. Inseparable at the hip, you’d been glued together throughout preschool, primary school and now high school - it doesn’t look like you’re getting rid of him anytime soon, either. You’d applied for the same colleges.

You don’t particularly want to be rid of him anyway. He’s alright, really, and you had a bit of a girly, high school crush on him. You would rather jump off of a building like Spiderman sans the webs if anyone found out.

Another thing Jisung is good for is listening to your rants. He waits for your call every night after the news had been on, and you clamber on your bed obediently after the report finishes to press on his contact.

“Jisung!” You squeal. There’s a lot of feedback on his end, and you hear a low ‘shit, fuck, oops, oh God’, until there’s a loud thud and he giggles, chiming through your tinny phone speakers. “... Ji? Are you okay?”

“Yep, sorry, baby,” He sounds out of breath, but you smile when he speaks anyway. Whenever he calls you baby, his designated nickname for you, it makes your heart flutter and you have to grimace to ignore it. His face pops into the little square designated to him, his cheeks blushing pink and round eyes wide. His hair is slightly damp, from what you’re not sure - but he looks cute. “I just got home. I was- I was running some errands for my aunt.”

“God, she’s got you running like crazy lately,” You mumble, still jotting down numbers on your homework. It’s taken you hours, but you always get distracted on nights like this. “Did you see it?”

Jisung hums, and then you hear him groan. He’s stretching, slightly toned honey-skinned arms appearing above his head in the plain oversized t-shirt he’s wearing. You try not to stare. “Did I see what?”

“The- the news, Sungie,” You feel shy mentioning it so outright. It is a weird interest, a weird thing to be obsessed with - Jisung often reassures you that it really isn’t, and his anime obsession was a lot worse. It was. You sigh, clearing your throat. “Spiderman. He was- he was super cool tonight.”

“Ooh, was he?” Jisung teases, chuckling when you groan in protest. “I’m only playing with you, baby. I saw it. He was super cool, wasn’t he?”

“Ha-ha, super cool, ‘cause he’s a superhero. You’re funny.”

“That’s why you keep me around,” Jisung chirps. “Hey, have you done the maths homework? I haven’t had time, because of the errands, y’know.”

“Hmm, yeah, I’m almost finished,” You aren’t. You’re far from it, really, but he doesn’t have to know that. “I can let you copy it tomorrow morning, before class.”

“No, that’s alright, baby. We can just cross-check our answers tomorrow,” His voice sounds tired, but you don’t comment. It’s better not to question Jisung when he’s like this.

His aunt has him doing a lot these days. You haven’t wanted to ask about it because you know it must be tough for her to look after Jisung since his parents passed, especially when Jisung is always going at full speed and is probably seconds away from giving his aunt a heart attack. He was always clumsy as a child, too, snapping his glasses in half and having a few broken bones to tell long stories about. He always means well, but sometimes you wish that he had something else to get his energy out of his system rather than stressing his aunt out.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Jisung, surely you know who Spiderman is, like, underneath the mask,” Seungmin quips through a mouthful of dry, government regulated school food. “You spent all that time with Bang Chan in the internship.”

Seungmin is a lanky boy that just came along one day and decided to be yours and Jisung’s friend. With him, he brought a younger, smiley guy named Jeongin, and Jeongin brought Felix. Felix is just Felix - nothing else can describe him. Before long, you’d found yourself in a de facto group of misfits that you weren’t even sure you could call friends. Apart from Jisung, of course.

Jisung simply raises an eyebrow in response to Seungmin. “I mean, sure. I met Mr Bang a few times, but I never met Spiderman. Not out of his suit, anyway.”

You gasp. Jeongin startles from the nap he was taking on the cafeteria table, raising his head to look at you angrily. Felix pushes his head back down from the hood on his jumper and Jeongin immediately falls back to sleep. “You met him in his suit?”

“Well, yeah,” Jisung shrugs. When he turns to look at you, your mouth is agape, feeling slightly betrayed. Jisung shoves another spoonful of cheese - was it really cheese? - pasta into his mouth, and then he’s sighing. “It’s not a big deal, baby. If I really met him, the real him, you’d be the first to know. I promise.”

“You still got that fat crush on Spiderman?” Felix chirps. You meet his amused gaze with your own steely glare, pouting over your packed lunch.

“It’s not a crush-”

“It’s an interest,” Jisung clarifies for you, and you smile. He’s always jumping to your defence like that. You bite into an apple, savouring the crisp, fruity taste on your tongue, and then the bell rings. Sighing, you watch as the boys around you get up - including Jeongin, fox like eyes bleary from sleep - and swing their bags on their shoulders.

“I’ll see you later,” You murmur to Jisung, who throws his arm around your waist in a quick hug. “Enjoy English.”

Right. You and Jisung didn’t have the same classes. He has English now, and you have chemistry, which is probably your least favourite of all classes. You just weren’t a fan of the whole blowing shit up scenario, unlike Jeongin was, and the boy trundles behind you towards your chemistry class.

The class is boring. The teacher drones on and on about some experiment you couldn’t care less about, and you pretend to care. You’re taking notes, sure, ever the diligent student - but you can’t get anything other than Spiderman out of your mind. Jisung met him, and didn’t tell you, and who even is this guy? You’d love to know. You’d love to just see him, even once, just to be able to tell the story.

A massive crash stops the teacher’s speech. He turns to the door, confused, and the students do the same. You do too, furrowed eyebrows staring at the door. Another crash causes people to begin to rise, and the teacher starts ushering everyone out of the class to the closest exit route. You’re frozen in confusion and fear, pencil halted in your fingers, even as another noise makes the teacher run out behind the class.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you’re still sitting in your seat, eyes wide and heart racing. Then, you spring up to follow the rest of your cohort, sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor as you run to the door. Swinging it open, you stick your head out the door and look around, trying to see if the coast is clear. With a planet full of interdimensional attacks, you can’t be sure, and looking left leads you to see a scaly, large animal type of thing. You squeak, startled, and immediately retreat into the class before it notices you. What the fuck do you do? What are you meant to do?

The whole room begins to shake, and you have a feeling the creature’s getting closer. Beakers are thrown to the floor from the vibration ringing throughout the room, glass shattering loudly, and you feel like you’re about to scream, or cry, or run, and you can’t run.

Doing the only thing you can think of, you cower to the floor, hiding underneath a table donned in smashed beakers. You’re curled up in a ball, watching students standing outside murmuring and discussing their own safety, and then the shaking stops.

The door swings open. Everything outside the classroom is too intimidating, items being thrown everywhere, and you can’t even bring your legs to move with how badly they’re shaking. Who’s just walked in? You pray for Jisung. You pray for someone who’s going to help you hide, someone who’s going to keep you safe, and then-

A masked face pops underneath the table. He’s lithe, slender, but the tight red and dark blue suit highlights the hint of abs and sculpted biceps on his body. Holy fucking shit. Your eyes widen. Spiderman is in your school.

“Are you okay?” His voice is deep, but it sounds almost like someone putting on a deeper voice to hide their identity. You nod hesitantly, and then he’s extending a gloved hand towards you, pulling you out from underneath the table. You’re unable to speak. Once you’re standing in front of him, you notice he’s around a head or so taller than you, but definitely not as tall as you thought he’d be. He sighs, chest heaving with panic. You suppose it must be pretty tough work fighting aliens from outer space. “I’ve webbed him up for now, but it won’t hold much longer. Go- please, go and run. Please, anywhere, just- go and hide, or run.”

“I-I-”

“Promise me, b- um, you. I can’t let you get hurt.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- Yes, I promise, I’m going to- I’ll go, thank you, thank you-”

“Wait, no!” He shouts, rubbing his temples - or at least, you’d imagine he was but he’s just rubbing the mask in frustration. You watch as he bounds over to the window, kicking it open, and the students outside turn to the classroom in awe. You’re rooted in place, as if vines are circling your ankles and securing you to the floor, mouth agape. You wait for him to give you further directions, and you gasp when he runs back over to you, picking you up and carrying you over to the window. You feel light as a feather, and all you can think is how he’s even carrying this amount of strength in that small body. “Too risky. Outside.”

“O-Outside?” You stammer, cheeks bright red, and he nods. He leans to place you out of the window, delicately placing you on your feet, and then he speeds off, shouting a quick “see you later!”.

You blink. You can hear the noises of walls breaking and windows shattering as Spiderman fights, and Felix runs up to you from the crowd outside and slings an arm over your shoulder. You’re still staring inside the classroom as if you can see through walls and watch the fight. What did see you later mean?

What’s the likelihood, honestly? You knew he was the friendly neighbourhood guy, and all that, but why not Bang Chan, in his sleek nanotech suit? This was a big fight. You find yourself getting worried, biting your nails in concern for the man you don’t even know. You have to remind yourself of that. He saved you because you’re any other citizen, not for any other specialty - you don’t know this guy.

“C’mon, over here,” Felix ushers you over, tone soft. When you’re with him, Seungmin and Jeongin, he sighs, rubbing your back. “Crazy, right? At least you can say you met Spiderman now.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Jisung is safe, thank god. You kind of feel guilty for not worrying about him at the moment, but he’d text you shortly after, saying he’d left just before it all kicked off because he felt a little under the weather. He wanted to make sure you were okay, though, so he texted you as soon as he could. You’d never admit the blush that rose to your cheeks when you read it.

It’s quiet in your room. Your parents had sprinted to you as soon as you’d come through the door, having seen the situation on the news, and you’d reassured them that Spiderman had saved you. It definitely changed your dad’s perspective of him, and now you lie on your bed feeling more than relieved.

Your fingers tap on your tummy in thought, though. He was making his voice deeper, that much you could tell, but why? How was he there so quickly? There’s no fucking way he was a student. Still, that body in the tight suit… you’d definitely been looking. You’re a woman, of course you were going to look. He had a figure enviable to every man. Broad shoulders, abs just slightly visible, strong legs that carried you over to the window…

In your dreamlike fantasy, you’re considering something you previously never would’ve thought of. What if Jisung was underneath that suit? Now, that would be perfect. Both of your crushes being one being, Jisung pulling that suit up his lithe thighs and letting it settle over his broad pecs.

Before you know it, your hand is dipping under the hem of your pyjama pants, unable to feel guilty for thinking about your best friend in this way. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time, with many of your nights spent whimpering into your pillow and coming apart on your own fingers wishing they were his. He had such nice hands… What if it was him who had grabbed you from underneath that table? Your hand trails down to find your folds, slick and ready for whatever you had in store, but you focus on your clit, swollen and aching between your bottom lips. Would he finger you in the gloves if you asked, let you ride his abs in the suit until completion? Would he kiss you upside down, hanging from the-

A tap on your window makes you jump. The room is dark, save for your bedside lamp, and you turn rapidly to see a faceless figure just about popping in from the corner. You yank your hand out of your bottoms, squeaking, and then you squint to try and see the figure closer.

Holy shit. Spiderman is at your bedroom window.

Your cotton tank top is revealing, so you turn immediately to reach for your dressing gown and tie it around your figure. You pad over to the window in your socks, still wide-eyed and completely baffled, and then you turn the handle to allow him access. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” You blurt, toes curling against your floor. Spiderman swings inside instead of responding, walking around your room like he’s been there a million times before. “No, seriously, what the fuck?”

He turns to you, shrugging. “I said I’d see you later, didn’t I?”

You blanch. He did say that, yes, but that still doesn’t explain the million questions you have right now. “Well, yeah, but- how do you know where I live?”

“I- uh, found it in the school office,” He hops up onto your bed, sitting cross legged. His mask hides his face, but he hums in pleasure at the feeling of the bedsheets on him. “After the fight, I went in there. Glad you’re okay, by the way.”

He’s still making his voice deeper, and you blink, nodding in response. “I’m great. Can I- can I ask why you’re here?”

He shrugs again, fiddling with a loose thread on your duvet. “No reason. Got bored. I was swinging around and remembered I saw your address on the computer.”

“Right,” You shake your head, still baffled. Instead of questioning him further, you jump onto the bed in front of him and copy his position, cross legged. “Don’t you have, like, recovering to do? I heard you got beat pretty bad.”

“Nah, no way,” He scoffs, rolling his neck. You suppress a smile. Cocky. “Spider venom, y’know? It repairs everything super quick.”

You were right. You can’t suppress a smile at his response, clicking your fingers at his masked face. “I fucking knew it! I guessed it was the venom.”

He stops fiddling with the duvet, turning to you and tilting his head in question. “You’re smart, aren’t you? Hey, are you the one that’s friends with that kid?”

You narrow your eyes. Jisung’s a liar. If Spiderman knows who he is, that means they’ve met more than once, and Jisung lied. You reach for your phone, ready to bitch him out via text, but Spiderman knocks your phone out of your hand. You turn to him, confused.

“Talk to me,” He whines. “I told you I was bored!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, damn. Yes, I’m friends with Jisung. Why?”

“No reason,” He wiggles forward on your bed, grabbing your hand. You’re confused, but then he launches you into an intense thumb war, one that you were never going to win. Everytime you go to move your thumb in response to his, he’s got you pinned, and before he speaks again you’re five rounds down. “He’s pretty cool, right?”

“Who?” You ask, still focusing on the thumb war.

“Jisung,” He clarifies, clearing his throat. Making his voice that deep must be taking its toll on his vocal chords. “He’s kinda cool. Super smart, I thought.”

“He definitely is,” You laugh when he pins your thumb down again, swatting at his wrist to get him off of you. “He’s smarter than me.”

“And, uh,” He clears his throat again, leaning back on your bed. Leaning back like that, you have a full view of his body in his suit, and you have to stare at the posters on your wall to avoid looking at him. He puts his hands behind his head, the full picture of relaxation, and you wished he’d stop throwing you this random curveball behaviour. “Is that all you think of him? Just smart?”

You blush, finally reverting your eyes to him. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean… Do you have a crush on him, or?”

“Who wants to know?” You bristle, playing with your hands in your lap. You look down at your chipped nail polish, awkwardly shifting on the bed in your pyjamas. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“No one knows who I am,” He responds easily. “I want to know. Tell me. Do you have a crush on him?”

“I’m not telling you that-”

“I’m bored!” He whines again, sitting up. You let him grab your hand again, pulling your pinky finger into a promise. You swear you see the mask smile. “Tell me!”

“Okay, damn,” You sigh, exasperated. Was he on molly or something? Are you dreaming? “I guess so. I guess I always have, yeah, I don’t know. I don’t think he’d ever like me like that.”

He coos at that, taking your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting. “Why not?”

“He’s- well, I don’t think I’m good enough for someone like him,” You admit, scratching the back of your neck. “It’s awkward. He’s my best friend. It would ruin things, and I guess I’ve never let myself think about it like that.”

“You should,” He hums. You blink, staring at him. What the hell is he on about? “I just mean you should. Maybe he likes you too, y’know? I like my best friend. I’d love to know if she likes me back.”

“You do?” You wiggle closer, eager to know more. “You like your best friend? What’s she like?”

“Well,” He strokes your hand again before pulling away, leaning his chin on his hand. “She’s super pretty. Smart, too. I’ve known her since like, forev- for a few years, I think, in total.”

“It’s kind of the same with me and Jisung,” You sigh again, pouting. “I’ve known him for my whole life, basically. I’m just scared it’ll ruin things, but I think about him a lot when I’m on my own.”

He snickers. “Really? Like when you’re doing what you were doing when I got here?”

You swat at his shoulder, blushing bright red. “Shut up, oh my god! I thought you- shut up. Just don’t.”

“Maybe he thinks about you then too, I don’t know,” He shrugs nonchalantly, and then he’s getting up and pacing around. You watch him fiddle with a few photo frames on your desk, humming at ones of you and Jisung when you were younger and even fiddling with a few of your academic medals and prizes. “I won’t tell him, by the way.”

“You see him often?” You ask, voice soft. “He said-”

“Nah, I’ve only seen him once or twice,” He stretches his arms above his head, still staring at your desk full of trinkets. “He doesn’t know who I am.”

“Can I know?”

He turns to you. “Know what?”

“I want to know who you are,” Your voice is confident, but you feel anything but, teeth chewing your bottom lip nervously. “You saved me, and now you’re in my bedroom. I feel that I deserve to know.”

He sighs loudly this time, walking towards the window. “When we get to know eachother better, maybe.”

“Wait, hang on,” You watch him sling a foot out of the window, exasperated. He can’t leave! “Where are you going? I thought you said you were bored-”

“Things to do, baby,” He replies quickly. You blink. That ‘baby’ sounds awfully familiar, and you stand up quickly to walk towards the window, but he’s already webbing away. “Bye!”

You stand there, shocked and confused. He’s swinging from building to building away from you, and you’re just standing there like an idiot. You were interrupted before you could even start touching yourself, forced into a thumb war and coerced into admitting your deepest, darkest secret, and then he just… leaves? Just like that?

Your life is proving to be a little more interesting than you thought, but your dreams were filled with familiar round cheeks beneath a red and blue mask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Baby, is there a reason why your eyes are burning holes into the side of my head?”

You’re convinced your best friend is Spiderman. There, sitting beside you with his glasses sliding down his nose and comfortable in a grey hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms on, it’s hard to believe. But you’re not stupid.

First of all, since he started that internship with Mr Bang, he’s been weird about letting you inside his room. This is the same person that you had many sleepovers with growing up, and as recently as a few months ago you’d been cuddling in bed together watching Howl’s Moving Castle. He has something to hide, but you’d been let down when you’d arrived at his house earlier and shouldered past him to find literally nothing of suspicion inside his room, other than an anime girl mouse pad with the boobs to rest your wrist on. You knew that existed though, ever since his birthday last year when Felix had gifted it to him, so what gives?

Secondly, Sohee is more stressed out than ever. You’d caught sight of her flitting around the kitchen when you arrived for your homework friend-date, scrubs on and ready to head to the hospital but still panicking about something. Jisung said multiple times that he’d been helping her out more and that’s why he’s been so busy lately. She shouldn’t still be panicking.

Thirdly, Spiderman wouldn’t make his voice deeper to you unless you knew him. He wouldn’t need to, or you wouldn’t recognise his voice - unless it’s a habit he’s picked up, perhaps. That doesn’t change that the way he called you baby last night sounded a little bit too familiar, too comfortable. It came out of his mouth like second nature.

Still, it makes no sense. Surely Jisung would have told you? You’re his best friend, he said so, so he’d tell you. Or would he? Maybe Felix knows. You’re also hoping deep down that it isn’t true, because if it is, you told your crush last night that you liked him.

You can’t even be mad at Jisung for it. He’s still staring at you, and you’re staring blankly back while shoving snacks into your mouth. There’s crumbs all over your homework.

“Jisung,” You begin, and he hums in response. “Would you tell me your deepest, most serious secret if I worked it out?”

He chokes on his energy drink, spluttering neon blue liquid all over his bed. You want to giggle, to make fun of him, but you’re sure you’ve gotten somewhere here. He wipes his mouth, clears his throat, and turns back to you. His hands are shaky where they clutch his textbook, and his eyes are almost blurry through the glasses. “I tell you everything anyway.”

“I don’t think you do,” You respond, quick as a beat. He blinks, lips parting. “Not by that reaction, Jisung. I think you’re hiding something from me.”

He scratches his nose with the end of his pen, looking down at the textbook again. You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Okay,” You hum. He sighs, scribbling something on the paper. It’s so quiet in the room that you can hear his pen scribbling, but you’re speaking again before you can even think. “Did I tell you Spiderman came to my room last night?”

He gulps audibly. “Nope.”

“Yeah, it was kinda weird,” You take a sip from your energy drink, still staring at him vacantly. Jisung’s eyes flit up to you, and then back down to the textbook. Oh, he knows. He knows that you know. He knows that you know that he knows. “He saved me in school, when that alien thing was there, and then he came to my room and asked me about you.”

“He, uh- really? Did he?”

“Mhm,” Your gaze is steely. “Jisung, I know you’re Spiderman.”

Jisung bursts out laughing. It would be believable, but you’ve known him since you were four years old and it’s a fake laugh. He’s cackling, loud as brass, and he lets out a little “ooh” afterwards as if he can’t believe you. “Baby, that’s the craziest theory you’ve ever come up with.”

“Is it?” You question, head tilting to the side. Then, in the smartest moment you’ve ever had, you pick up Jisung’s energy drink from the floor. He’s still looking at you, a fake smile on his lips, and you take a sip from it casually. Sharing drinks isn’t new for you. You glug back the artificial blue raspberry flavour, and then keeping eye contact with him, you let go.

Before the can is able to fall and spill the rest of its contents over your own textbook, and inevitably Jisung’s One Piece bed sheets, he reaches out and grabs it, hand wrapping around the can, quick as a flash. It all happens in about a second, and you gasp. Jisung gasps. His hand tightens around the can and it crinkles, an impossible show of strength, and then he’s blinking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

“I knew it.”

He puts the can safely on the bedside table, and then he’s slamming his textbook shut. You watch in confusion as he paces back and forth on his bedroom floor, running his hands through his hair over and over.

“Okay!” He points at you, victorious. “That was a reflex. I knew you were going to do that, I’m smart, duh! I knew you were going to drop the can to prove something, and-”

“Jisung,” You say, voice soft. He stops pacing, sock clad feet rooted on the carpet to stare at you. You’re going to get him. You’re going to get him good. “Do you not want me to know? Is that what this is?”

He immediately falls to the floor, head resting on your knee as he looks up at you. You can’t even feel sorry for him, because your plan is working perfectly. His eyes are round and vulnerable, and then he clenches them shut in distress. You think he’s probably a second away from crying. “Baby, it’s not that. I wanted to protect you. It would be dangerous if the bad guys knew who you were, knew that you knew, and I know I shouldn’t have come to your room, that was wrong of me, and-”

You giggle. Jisung furrows his eyebrows, eyes opening. “I knew I was right.” He gasps, pointing at you again.

“Judas! You’re a judas!” He’s shocked, leaning back on his haunches and staring at you. “I can’t- I can’t believe you, that was so-”

“Sneaky? Good? Smart?” You list, leaning back on his twin bed. He stands up, hands on his hips. You’re ready for him to bitch you out, but you don’t care - you knew that you had to know, had to have it confirmed. He taps his foot, and then you see a smile break out on his lips.

“Okay, yeah, that was pretty good,” He hums, returning to the bed. You let him shut your own textbook and sprawl across you, head in your lap. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve told you.”

You sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. “That’s okay, Ji. It’s fine. I’m just a little embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why?” Jisung asks, his eyes fluttering shut from the feeling of your nails on his scalp. You want to scoff. Embarrassed for two major reasons - one, because you’ve been gushing about how cool Spiderman is for weeks, maybe even months, and two because you told Spiderman last night that you liked Jisung. Spiderman and Jisung are the same person. Sure, it makes things easier. You no longer have a crush on two people, only one, but it doesn’t change the fact that Jisung knows and is yet to say anything.

“I’ve been talking to you about Spiderman for weeks,” You blush, pushing his hair off of his forehead. He whines, thrashing his feet and shaking his head like a dog to hide his forehead again. He’s so dramatic. You like him so bad. “And- and you- it was you, then. You came to my room last night.”

“Yeah, that was risky,” He responds, exasperated. “I just had to, baby. I don’t know, you always seemed so interested in Spiderman and not me. I needed to know if you saw me like you saw him.”

You pause your movements on his head, blinking at the wall in front of you. When you turn back to him, he’s blushing, teeth gnawing his bottom lip. His eyes are conveniently staring at the window, away from you.

“Jisung,” You start, hesitant. “What do you mean?”

He sits up sharply. “Wanna go on the roof?”

“T-The roof? Jisung, how are we gonna- oh. Oh.”

Jisung jumps up from the bed, toeing his sliders onto his feet and pushing the window open. It gives you deja vu - that same figure was pushing the window open just like this to place you safely outside in school yesterday, and then he was coming through your window to see you late at night. It’s hard to believe that they’re the same person, the man you admired so much and your best friend who’s standing by the window expectantly waiting for you to join him.

You hesitantly stand up, brushing off imaginary crumbs from your joggers and looking at Jisung. He smiles, a soft, reassuring smile, and then he’s scooping you up from the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist. It’s slender, the plush flesh of your thighs almost obscuring it, and you squeak in surprise at being in the air.

“I- Jisung?!”

“You have to hold on tight,” He says. His face is inches away from yours, plush lips looking more than appealing and his glasses making him look so endearing. “I need my hands for this, so hold onto my shoulders.”

You nod, face blushing crimson at the realisation of just how close you are. Would he have you like this if he fucked you? Legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders, his face so close to yours as he pants and whines and moans-

You squeak again when he slides out of the window, and then you see him in action. His hands stick to the outside of the apartment building, feet kicking up against the concrete wall. Your heart is racing so badly it feels as though it could burst out of your chest, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the height or because you’re tightly pressed against Jisung.

When he swings you both over the side ledge on the roof, you notice the sun’s set already. Time always goes by quickly with Jisung, but the stars are already out, and the air is crisp and biting against your limbs despite the layers. Once he’s safely stood on the roof, he places his hands underneath your thighs and detaches you from his firm body, placing you on your feet.

You’re disorientated, shocked at the sheer height of the building and at the way Jisung seems to be swinging you around like it’s nothing, but he’s simply staring at you. A wide smile stretches from ear to ear, and he blinks when you don’t say anything. “It’s cool, right?”

“Y-Yeah, super cool,” You admit, chest heaving. “Really high up, but cool. Jisung, why are we on the roof?”

He’s wrangling you, hands on your arms and pushing you to the floor. It feels firm, but with what you now know about him, you know he’s holding back. He plops down next to you, eyes wide and expectant.

“I wanted to do it properly,” He begins. He pauses for a moment, licks his lips, pushes his glasses up his nose, and then he’s speaking again. “I like you, so that’s why I asked. Is it romantic up here? It feels romantic, but I’m not too sure-“

He stands up and begins pacing around the roof before you realise he’s even moved. You raise an eyebrow. “Jisung?”

“I wanted to do this right, y’know?” He pauses, hands on his hips. He looks comical, trying to assert dominance over you like that in those Hello Kitty pyjama trousers. “I- I wanted to swing by and like, grab you, or something? But then you worked it out, and now I’m just standing here with you on a roof…”

He continues mumbling like a mad scientist, eyes focused on a spot next to your head. You stand up, making your way towards him, and he still refuses to look at you. He likes you back. He likes you back, and he’s still your best friend - he’s still Jisung, but he’s also Spiderman, and you’re okay with that. You don’t have to like two people. You only like one, and it’s your goofy best friend.

“Is this even romantic? You know, we could just forget about it and-“

You press your lips to his. He doesn’t make any form of surprised noise, only cupping your cheeks with his hands and pulling you close to him. His glasses bump against your face, his lips pouty against yours and plush and maybe a bit too wet for a first kiss, but you’d always figured he’d take it too far. That’s what you like about him. Jisung never does anything by halves.

It’s brief, too brief for your liking, but then he’s pulling away with a satisfied grin on his face. You blink. Wait.

“Wait, your stupid- your stupid spidey things. Did you know I was going to kiss you?” You pout, and he giggles. “No, seriously! Could you like- I don’t know, feel it coming?”

“Not until you were like, a few inches from my face,” Jisung admits, and his teeth gleam in the brilliance of the evening. “I had a feeling you might.”

You sigh. “So why didn’t you stop talking?”

“Dunno,” He shrugs. “I couldn’t stop once I started.”

The statement is so true to Jisung, so in character for your best friend that you can do nothing but accept it.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s easy to fall into a different routine with Jisung.

He never asked you to be his girlfriend. You’re pretty sure you’re fine with that, though - things have had a natural manner of progressing, and now your best friend slash boyfriend slash superhero turns up at your window every night after he’s been on his neighbourhood patrol. Sometimes he’s a little bruised, and sometimes he’s just looking for consolation kisses.

It’s a normal night for you when it happens. Jisung’s halfway out of your bedroom window on his way to perform perfect justice, pulling his mask down over his annoyingly beautiful face. You’re standing a few feet away grinning like an idiot.

“I’ll see you later, my baby,” You can see his grin through the mask. The eyes on his mask form beautiful crescent moons with his happiness. He falters, legs swinging on your windowsill. “Wait. I am coming back here, yeah?”

“Of course,” You giggle. He sends you two fingers in a mock salute, and you watch him begin his journey up the wall to your roof. A beat passes and you’re still standing there, smiling, hands on your hips, and then the masked head of your best friend pops back down into your window, upside down, tilting to the side in confusion. You blink, confused. “What is it, Sungie?”

“Well, where’s my goodbye kiss? Damn,” He huffs, and you roll your eyes playfully. You make your way to the window, sock-clad feet padding on your carpet, and you pull his mask down to his eyes with two fingers. It miraculously stays on his head, and his lips form a teasing grin.

Despite him being upside down, you place a chaste kiss to his lips, and you watch in amusement as he swings away afterwards. You can still hear him giggling with glee from a few buildings away.

It’s a few hours later when he comes back. You’re flicking through a book for English, scrawling notes and highlighting words on sticky notes. It’s started to rain, and the city lights only look brighter in the dusk with the pattering of water on your window. You left it open, of course, for your superhero, but the cold air bites at your arms even through the fluffy blanket you’ve got wrapped around yourself.

Just as you’re beginning to contemplate closing it, a louder, more prominent tap hits the glass. When you turn to the window, Jisung is slouched against your windowsill, chest heaving beneath red lycra and forehead pressed against the glass. He’s got his mask between his teeth, and his hair is dishevelled, floppy brown locks obscuring his eyes. You can still catch sight of the bruising on his cheekbones and you gasp, rushing towards the window.

You drop your blanket in shock, but you swing the window open, pulling Jisung inside with one hand. He stumbles through, disoriented and confused, and you lead him to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Got hurt,” He explains, huffing out a breath. The mask drops from his teeth unceremoniously, with a wet plop to your carpeted floor, but you don’t care. You rush to sit next to him, fingers gripping his chin to pull him to face you. His eyes are round, sincere, and he gives you a soft smile. “It’ll heal before long, baby, don’t panic.”

“I am panicking,” You say, resolute, because you really are. Bruising is scattered across his cheekbones, fading into green on the plush of his cheeks and his lip looks like it had been burst, but is already healing. “Will it- will it take long? Do you need me to get the first aid kit, or-“

“Baby,” He shakes his head, grabbing your hands. You watch with parted lips as he leans forward, both of you cross legged on the end of your bed. It reminds you of when Spiderman first visited you, when you weren’t quite sure of his identity. Jisung presses his forehead against yours, and you let him look into your eyes. It’s like he’s demanding everything that’s ever gone through your head to be vocalised. You’d tell him if he asked. “I’m really okay. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m fine. Most of it is on my ribs from falling, to be honest.”

“Your ribs?!” You shriek. “Show me. Let me see, I need to help you-“

You’re already trying to wrangle Jisung out of his suit, and he giggles, clearly thinking this is all just some game. He holds his arms up pliantly, though, and you don’t have the thought processing ability within you to realise that Jisung’s suit is an all-in-one and you’re currently stripping him down to his boxers.

The suit is wet too when you drop it to the floor, and before long you’re blinking at your best friend in his plain black boxers and he’s grinning at you as if this is any other day. There’s no bruising on his ribs. You’re staring at his abs, regardless, so you’re not sure you would’ve even noticed.

“You look fine.”

“I told you it heals quickly, baby,” He grins. You blink when he wriggles on your bed, laying on his back and stretching his arms above his head again, this time to get comfortable. His legs stretch out too, and you avoid looking anywhere below his waist.

His body is a spectacle. You can’t stop looking. Broad shoulders taper off into an extremely defined chest and a tight, thin waist adorned with prominent abdominal muscles, before reaching a v-line that leads into his boxers. You’re wide eyed, wanting nothing more than to reach out and run your fingers down his honey toned skin.

“Why-“ You cough, clearing your throat. Jisung raises an eyebrow. He’s grinning from ear to ear, teeth gleaming. “Why did you let me strip you if you’re literally fine?”

The bruising on his cheek is already fading. He shrugs nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge with the movement and you think you might choke on your own spit. “You seemed pretty determined, so I just allowed it. You wanted to see me naked, I assumed, so-“

“Jisung!” You wail, slapping his shoulder. He groans in pain, catching your hand, and he grits his teeth with a hiss.

“My shoulder! Fuck, that hurt, ouch, baby! What was that for?!”

You gasp. He clutches his shoulder, letting out little pants of hurt sounding noises. You let your head fall to his chest, engulfing him with a hug. “Jisung, I’m so sorry-“

“Hehe,” He giggles. When you look at him, he’s sticking his tongue out, completely fine. You groan, annoyed you fell for it, and then he’s grabbing your forearms and pulling you upwards on top of him.

Your breasts press against his chest like this, due to your lack of bra in your sleep shirt, and his eyes widen when he feels it. Instead of letting you go, his hands move to your back, encompassing you in his strong hold.

You gasp, wiggling in his grip, and he licks his lips. His eyes go to your lips, and then back up to your eyes, as if he’s hesitant.

“I-“ He begins, faltering. “Are you my girlfriend?”

You scoff out a laugh. “I don’t know, am I?”

“I hope so,” Jisung admits, his facial expression vulnerable. His eyes dart to something behind you, as if he’s not sure, almost shy. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him shy. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but I want you to be, if you want to be.”

“I want to be,” You nod. He nods in response, and you watch his eyes flicker to your lips again. It’s silent for a moment, and then he leans in, pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss is more charged than usual. Before now, you’re used to chaste, fleeting kisses from your superhero, but now he lets his tongue tease against the seam of your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and his eyelashes brush against your skin where he does the same. You let your lips part, and Jisung’s quick to grip your back harder, tongue darting inside your mouth with impatience.

You’ve made out with someone before. You’d never had sex with someone before, but you had made out with someone. It was only once at a party when you were a little bit younger but it had felt like a good idea at the time. You’re sure Jisung’s lost his virginity though, but when he whimpers against your lips and his hips squirm a little you’re not too sure.

You pull away from the kiss, lips a little wet, and Jisung’s mouth goes to your neck. You allow him to suck a mark into the expanse of skin just underneath your jaw, his fingers grabbing impatiently at your back. “Sungie, are you a virgin?”

Jisung pulls away, licking his lips. You feel something hard pressing against your thigh where you lay on top of him. You’re thanking every entity ever that your parents are out for a work dinner. “Yeah, I am. I would have told you if I wasn’t,” He confirms, a little breathless. His hips wiggle again. “Is that- is that okay, baby?”

“Yeah, of course,” You smile, comforting. You peck his lips again and he grins back at you. “I am too.”

“I know,” He responds, quick as a flash. You blush. That’s embarrassing. “No, I just mean- you also would’ve told me, y’know?”

“That’s true,” You shrug. You’re feeling a little overconfident, and you move in his hold, having felt it gone a little lax with your kissing. You let your thighs spread over his hips, his hard shaft pressing against your core through your pyjama bottoms and his boxers. You still feel it, though, and it makes your pussy gush a little. “Is- is this okay?”

He’s blushing. His lips part, and he nods, perhaps too eagerly because he clutches his neck afterwards like he’s got whiplash. “Baby, you’re- I have a pretty girl in my lap. This is so okay. Like, so okay, I might have a heart attack and die, probably.”

You shift, and he winces. “Sorry,” You say. It’s a fake apology. You want to swallow his cock down your throat until he cries, and you don’t even know how to. You’d try your best though. “If I lost my virginity, I’d want it to be with you.”

“Damn,” Jisung whistles, eyebrows raised. “Let me hit?”

You giggle, tilting your head to the side. “I’ll let you hit right now, Jisung.”

Jisung shoots upwards into a seated position. His eyes are wide. “Right now?”

“Right now,” You confirm. You go from straddling his lap to laying on your back on your bed in a flash, and Jisung looms over you, all tight, toned muscles and broad shoulders.

“I’ll make it so good, baby, I promise,” He says, and then he’s kissing you again. It’s even messier this time, lips pressing against yours over and over and his tongue adding a collection of spit to the mix. You let your thighs fall apart, his hips quick to fill the space and press his cock against you. His hands go to your waist as he kisses you, sucking and biting on your lips until you’re whining with it, but he doesn’t let up. He’s desperate, messy, and it’s only making your pussy drool even more.

The rain hits the window still, cooling off a little but still providing a calming effect to your room when combined with the orange-pink of your lamp. He inches his palms up your shirt, the softness of his hands surprising you, and then he’s pulling away from your mouth to yank the fabric over your head.

You’re left in just your pyjama bottoms, lips kiss bitten and nipples pebbled against the cool air of your bedroom. You never had shut your window, after all.

“Oh,” Jisung says, exasperated. You finally open your eyes to see him staring at your tits, and you think he might be drooling. “Oh, yeah, my baby. They are so fucking good.”

You almost laugh, but you’re cut off by your own strangled moan when his pouty lips engulf your right nipple. He sucks on it, hard, and when your back arches he lets it slip out of his mouth with a wet popping noise. It’s only a brief moment of reprieve before he’s letting his teeth skim along the bud, and you keen, fingers moving upwards from his shoulders to grip onto the pillow behind your head.

“Oh, that’s so- Sungie, baby, that feels good,” You whine, and he hums against your breast. When he moves to the other one, he tweaks your wet nipple between two fingers. It’s experimental, but the whole thing is, and you buck your hips up impatiently.

His hands move to your ass, scooping underneath you and making you grind slightly against him. The movement makes him moan, your nipple leaving his mouth. A string of drool attaches to his lips and his tongue lolls out lazily, and before you can process it, he’s grinding his cock into your clothed centre.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” He whines, eyes clenching shut. You whimper in response, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Baby- baby, baby. Baby, I’ve thought about this so much, I- fuck, you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

His words are so crude that they make you keen, nodding enthusiastically. “I thought about it too. I- I touched myself thinking about it, Sungie, did you?”

He gasps sharply, and there’s a fumbling between your legs. He rocks backwards on his haunches, and you see him gripping his cock impatiently underneath his boxers, fingers wrapped tight around the base.

“I will literally cum if I imagine that,” He huffs, breathless. “But yes. I did, many times, and- and- baby, can I see your pussy?”

It’s so bold that you can’t say no. You never would have dreamed of saying no anyway, and you nod, wiggling your bottoms down your legs. You never wear a bra or panties underneath your pyjamas, and your pussy is revealed to him in all its drooly glory, folds sticking together with your arousal.

Jisung’s jaw goes slack. You watch him jerk his cock, eyes fixated on your wet hole, and you shift impatiently.

“I showed you mine, Sungie,” You huff. “Show me yours.”

He nods, eyes still glued to your pussy. Your clit is swollen with arousal, some wetness stuck onto it, and you reach down to trace your fingertips over it absentmindedly while he pushes his boxers down. His cock slaps up against the bottom of his tummy, cockhead leaking beneath his foreskin, precum slicking the smattering of hair at his base. His balls look heavy, shaft swollen and fat between lithe thighs, and you can’t help but go a little googly eyed at the thought of him stretching you out.

He grabs it, pumps his cock a few times while you rub your fingers over your clit. “Is- is it okay, baby?” He gasps, cock leaking steadily in his fist.

“You’re so sexy, Sungie, ‘s so big. I- oh,” You whine, spreading your arousal over your folds. You prop your feet up, letting your legs fall wide, and the movement must expose your soppy hole to Jisung because his eyes widen even further. “I want you inside of me so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, I just- shit, Jisung, what are you-“

You’re cut off by him diving between your legs. His cock is forgotten, his hands looping around your ass again to spread you wide, and his tongue presses against your core. He moans at the taste, and you whimper out loud, head rolling against your pillow. It’s messy and you can tell he’s inexperienced, but when he sucks your clit between his lips you can’t find it in you to care.

“Oh, oh- baby, baby! You’re good at that, so good at that, baby,” You babble, trying your best not to grind up into his mouth. His mouth is just as wet as your pussy, his lips drooling all over you. You’re cut short when he flattens his tongue against your core, moaning out loud, and his hands move your ass just a bit. “I- you- Sungie-?”

“Grind on my face, baby, c’mon,” He murmurs, muffled by your folds, and you oblige. Your hand goes to his hair, yanking on the dark brown strands, and you hold him in place while you grind your pussy senseless on his tongue. Your boy is good with his mouth, you realise - he’s pliant, letting you make yourself cum on his tongue and lips, and after only a few grinds you’re sure you’re going to fall apart for him.

“Ah! Ah, oh, baby, your mouth is- Sungie, Sungie,” You whine, feet kicking on the bed. Your legs go flat, but as the pleasure builds up in your core, your thighs tighten around his ears. He likes this, moaning loud to the point the vibrations make you jolt. It’s all so wet, your pussy dripping with arousal and his saliva, dripping down to your asshole. It has you wondering if Jisung would eat your ass further down the line, and your eyes flicker to his - would he let you eat his? He probably would, with how submissive he’s being.

His hips buck downwards on the bed and he keens into your pussy, and you realise he’s humping your mattress. He’s so desperate for you that he just can’t help himself, and you moan, loud and unabashed. The sight has you hurtling towards your orgasm.

“I’m gonna fucking cum, baby,” You warn, and he finally lets up, pulling back to suck on your clit. His hand moves over to the top of your pussy, pulling your mound backwards, and the exposure of your clit directly to his lips is your downfall. You wail, bucking your hips into his mouth, and you can hear yourself talking and moaning but you’re not sure what you’re saying, only able to feel your hole gushing into Jisung’s mouth over and over.

Jisung licks over your clit a few times comfortingly, and then he’s on top of you again, face looming over yours. His right hand holds him up steadily and the other stays downwards, hooked on your thigh to keep you open.

“You taste delicious, baby,” He grins, mouth wet. When he presses his lips to yours he’s desperate, tongue darting into your mouth to let you taste your own cum. You let your hands fall to his chest, fingernails digging into the muscles. The filthiness of it all has you wriggling around impatiently again, and Jisung’s cockhead slips against your clit, making you whine into his mouth. He pulls away, gasping for air with the sensation, and you kiss the beauty spot on his cheek for good measure. “Baby. M-my baby, shit, can- can I fuck you now? Have you got a condom, I- shit, I need to fuck you?”

He’s breathless, giggling at his own desperation, and you nod eagerly. You’re on the pill, and realistically you’d want nothing more than him to creampie you, but you have a shred of logic still left in your brain. “No condom. I- I don’t have any, can you pull out? I know it’s not-“

“Don’t care,” He huffs, legs moving to prop himself up more securely. His knees dig into your bed, and he pulls your thigh further apart, letting his eyes fall down to your pussy. His face is more than pornographic when he sees the visual of his cockhead sliding through your folds, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. He lets his eyes flutter shut, a small profanity leaving his mouth. “You’re sure I can fuck you raw? I- please, p-please, baby. I need to be inside.”

“Jisung,” You whine. He lets his tip bump against your clit again, and you grow too desperate, reaching down yourself to grab his cock. The feeling makes him whimper, his fingers ripping into the pillow beside your head with his superhuman strength, but you’re too out of it to care. You position his cock by your hole, soppy and wet with your own cum, and he can’t hold himself back - he pushes in, all of it at once, a long, anguished noise leaving his mouth. “Oh. Oh- Oh, Jisung, that’s-“

“Is it okay? Are you okay?” Jisung asks, breathless. “Does it hurt? I- baby, baby-“

He’s still completely stationary, but he can’t stop talking, chest heaving and flushed pink. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt. You’re wet enough that he glided in so easy, stretching your pussy in the most pleasurable, delicious way. You didn’t think it would ever feel this good, but you’re sure it’s because it’s Jisung.

“God, is it- does it feel good?” He questions you, and you nod eagerly, hands moving to rest on his biceps. He repositions you both so that your legs are wrapped around his waist, his arms holding himself up over you, and the movement has him sliding deeper, making you whimper. “Can I-“

“Fucking hell, Jisung, can you just move?” You huff, annoyed, and he giggles. He shakes his head fondly, and then he’s thrusting into you, slow but steady.

“Oh, that’s good,” He slurs, eyes rolling back into his head. “That pussy’s good. Jesus, you’re- you’re tight on my cock, baby, like a fuckin’ vice.”

“Your cock is so good,” You whine, trying to fuck yourself back on him. Your pussy is so wet that every thrust makes an audible noise, ringing throughout your room. If anyone walked past now they’d hear the debauchery, and you’re not sure you’d even care. “Fuck, Jisung- Jisung, you’re big. Please, please, more, I need more!”

“Okay, okay,” He moans, and then his hips speed up. His balls slap against your asshole with every thrust, his cock pistoning into you at a pace that has you wailing. The headboard slams against the wall. “Oh, fuckin’- baby, this puusssy.”

“It feels so good. Your cock is stretching me out so good, baby-“

“Fuck, wait,” He whines, pulling out sharply. When you look down between his legs his cock is painfully hard, and his pubic hair is drenched with you. The sight makes you even more eager to get him back inside of you, but Jisung grabs the base of his cock tightly, his chest heaving. “I- I’ll cum if you talk like that. Fuck, this is so embarrassing!”

“I want you to cum,” You insist, leaning up on your elbows. Your pussy is still leaking steadily onto your bedsheets, and you make grabby hands at your boy to try and get him back inside of you. “You made me cum so good in your mouth, Sungie, c’mon. Make yourself cum with my pussy.”

“Oh my God,” He moans, eyes half lidded, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re dirty. My fucking dream, holy shit.”

He leans over you once more, pushing his cock inside of you. It slides back in easily with another wet noise, and you moan, smiling with delight. “Mm, fuck this pussy, baby, c’mon.”

“I- fuck, okay,” He keens, nodding. His teeth bite into his lower lip almost painfully, and you kiss his neck while he starts to fuck into you again. With a quick reposition you let your thighs fall apart and further back, and his cock starts to hit your g-spot incessantly. He pulls away from you, head lolling into your neck. His breaths fan over your skin, hot and heavy. “You’re so wet, why are you- how are you so wet, baby? This pussy, fucking- I’m gonna cum. I’m so close, I’m so close, please-“

The shred of logic has left your brain. His cock feels so good, thick and pressing inside of you. You have to let him do it. “Baby. Baby, do y’wanna- I’m on the pill, baby,” You say, breathless. His pace stops, hips halting, and he makes a confused noise. “Cum inside. Creampie this hole, Sungie, I know you want to.”

“Oh my fucking- baby? My baby, can I?” He wails, head pulling up to look at you. You catch sight of tears brewing in his eyes, glassy and unshed. “Baby, please, I’m gonna cum, please, where-? Baby?”

“Inside of me, Sungie,” You wrap your legs around him, pulling him inside of you, deep. You know he could get out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, hips starting to pick up inside of you again. It’s fast, desperate and he keens, nodding. “You gonna fill me up, yeah?”

“Yeah. Y-yeah, yes, oh- I’m gonna fill you up,” Jisung’s words are slurred, quiet, and you let him fuck into you over and over. With a sharp noise, his hips slow once more, and you feel a rush of additional wetness inside of you. It’s warm, and you run your fingers through his hair while he fucks his cum inside of you. “Fuck. Baby, you’re so good to me, so good. Lettin’ me breed your cunt, and- and- oh. I’m still-“

He’s still cumming. It floods out of his cock and into your pussy steadily, and you giggle, feeling sated. Your delighted state of mind only lasts a second, because he pulls out sharply and wiggles down on the bed, attaching his mouth to your cunt. He’s eating his own cum out of you.

“Oh! Oh, Jisung, you’re- you’re dirty, Sungie, ah-“ You whine, fingers moving to his hair again. He licks you over and over until you’re wailing with it, your own tears brimming in your eyes from the overstimulation. Your hole feels stretched, a feeling you’re sure you could get used to, and you shake through a second orgasm.

Jisung’s quick to lean over you again, and then his thumb moves to your chin. He opens your mouth firmly, spitting your combined release into your mouth, and you moan, letting him press his tongue between your lips afterwards.

It’s messy and you let him kiss you for a bit, slow, languid, passionate kisses that have your core almost throbbing for more, if you weren’t so satisfied. Jisung’s soft cock presses against your tummy, wet with your combined arousal, and then he flops down next to you with a huff.

“God, I could go again,” He admits, hand running through his sweat mussed hair. When you turn to him, he’s grinning from ear to ear, and you giggle. He looks at you with a satisfied expression. “You’re the best. That was literally like, the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Even more than when I win some fight against an alien, or something.”

“Alien?” You ask, and then you remember. “Oh, yeah. Kinda forgot about that.”

“You forgot about me saving your life?!” He shrieks, thrashing around on the bed in a tantrum. “Seriously, if I wasn’t in love with you I would- ah. Oh.”

You blanch, blinking at him. It’s easy to ignore that you’re both naked when he’s just dropped a bombshell on you like that, and you let out a giggle. “That was sweet. I’m in love with you too, for the record.”

You’re attacked in a flurry of kisses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re sure Han Jisung intrigues you just as much as his superhero alterego does, so it’s easy to accept.

#juno’s fics ♡ #han jisung smut #han jisung x you #han jisung fic #han jisung fanfiction #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines #jisung smut #jisung fic #jisung fanfiction #stray kids smut #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids x you #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fics #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz fic #skz fanfic #skz smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios

[tender-rosiey]

can i have more gojo fluff plsplsplspls i crave for more gojo fluff

gossip — gojo satoru xf!reader

a/n: gossip with husband gojo is here everyone! next up is sick gojo ;)) ( also sorry to all the stacy's out there; i am sure you are all wonderfull <33)

you and your husband love shit-talking people and the thing is you don’t even have to say anything. one look at each other and you both know what you’re both thinking.

consequently, it makes you guys absolutely terrible in a meeting.

and this is something that happens ever since you were students.

for example, yaga was lecturing you and the others about something. you and satoru locked eyes for a single moment, looked at yaga, then at each other once again.

both of you are barely able to contain your smiles.

in this relationship, you’re supposed to be the mature one, at least, before gojo mouthed a “tennis ball” pointing at his own head.

it looks like that was your breaking point because you started cackling loudly and almost fell off your chair if it wasn’t for satoru teleporting beside you and holding you up— barely holding back a cackle of his own.

yaga merely sighed, pinching his nose.

you tried your best to breathe out a sorry, but satoru is merciless as he continues joking about his teacher’s hairstyle which makes you laugh even louder.

yaga could smack gojo across the head and lecture you both separately.

but he guesses that with the way gojo’s eyes are brimming with adoration and the way you’re laughing and making the others around you laugh as well, he can let it pass.

even if it’s at his own expense this time.

everyone needed a laughing break every once in a while, especially as sorcerers.

now nothing has changed. you’re both married, completely in love and are teachers.

and you’re supposed to be teaching your class, at the moment.

but your dumbass of a husband thought it would be better to teleport to your favourite café and judge every poor soul out there.

“he looks like he eats deodorant.”

“he looks like he has a body pillow for a wife.”

“she looks like she thinks babies come from storks.”

“she looks like she eats soap and chia seeds for breakfast.”

“satoru, please,” you wheeze, hand over your mouth to muffle your laughs, “I c-can’t take it anymore!”

“but y/n, I can’t help myself! also that couple over there looks like the ones that wear matching hello kitty pijamas.”

you perk up at that, “satoru, we did that too.”

“I know, honey,” he quips, eyes locking with your own, “it’s cool when we do it, not anyone else,” he argues with a proud smile.

you shake your head as you mumble, “hypocrite,” and satoru gasps while trying to defend himself.

another instance is while training the first and second years.

naturally, you were sat beside satoru, but the idiot could not keep his mouth shut and you were, too easily, dragged into it.

he leans towards you, “I can’t believe that that yuuji went into the water with socks. what’s wrong with him?!”

“I know, right?” you whisper, amidst the yelling of nobara and maki.

after that, you and gojo don’t leave a student without making a comment about them—ruthless you are.

yuuji, self-esteem dragged through the mud and having enough, heads snaps towards you both, “can you stop bullying me?!”

satoru smiles while the both of you raises your hands in innocence then looks at you, “sweets, you know how megumi said todo’s head is like a pineapple?”

you nod and he gladly continues, “don’t you think it’s ironic that it’s him, out of everyone, that said that?—“

“DON’T DRAG ME INTO YOUR GOSSIP!”

and even though you talk about the kids, you also talk with them about everyone else.

you can never forget that time you went with the first years to get some sushi.

you had left no one in the restaurant without butchering their entire life or alternatively said: you made up stories for every person you saw.

but that shall be the story of another time.

along with judging every creature that has come to existence, you and your husband love to gossip, a lot.

nothing happens without one telling the other; you always keep the other updated about everything.

so today as you slam the door open, you are barely able to contain yourself as you yell out, “satoru, you will not guess what just happened!”

in an instance, he gets all the snacks and sits in front of you on the couch, face eager as ever.

he is wearing that bunny headband you got him for the self-care nights and you smile: you have both a best friend and a husband in the same person.

he leans forward, eyes wide, “is it about stacy?”

“how did you know?” you gasp before taking a bite from one of the many snacks laid on the table.

he shrugs, “lucky guess, plus! I’ve been curious ever since you told me about what she did! it’s hard to believe that she is dating 4 guys at the same time and they don’t even know that the other exists.”

“right? I’ve heard about two-timing but never four-timing, and speaking of them not knowing about each other,” you smirk and his eyes light up in excitement, “they found out today!”

satoru cackles before pulling you in to cuddle you, “I bet a story like that will take the entire night to tell.”

you look up at him, “and you don’t mind?”

he kisses your cheek leaving an obnoxiously loud sound, “of course not! I get to listen to some juicy and hot tea and I get to hear your gorgeous voice for a really long time! so practically heaven for me, sweets,” he grins.

a giggle escapes your lips, “gossip is heaven for you, my dear husband?”

“gossip with you is heaven for me, my dear wife,” he murmurs as he peppers your face with kisses before abruptly pulling back, “now tell me! I am dying to know!”

you laugh, “okay, so one of them…”

and so you tell the story of stacy, the four-timer.

satoru is hung up on your every word and you’ve yet to figure out whether it’s because two of the boyfriends end up fighting each other or because of something else.

to satoru, it’s clear, your voice and the way you’re so excited while telling him about how the third boyfriend ended up being the son of the ceo makes him smile contently as he hugs you closer.

he doesn’t know what else to do, but he has a feeling that he should thank stacy for providing the both of you with a very interesting story like that.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @jisbizarre @kunikida-simp @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo imagine #jjk x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk imagines #gojo x y/n #gojo fanfic #gojo x you #jjk gojo x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo headcanons #jjk gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru imagine #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk gojo x y/n

[alyakthedorklord]

Bat Poker Face Training

Dick, Steph, Cass, Tim, and Jason all crammed into someones room, with a kidnapped Duke sitting awkwardly with them, kinda scared.

Duke: “Uh… what’s going on?”

Steph, completely blank faced and standing ominously in the corner: “It has come to our attention that you require training.”

Duke: “Bruce is already teaching me really well-“

Jason, also blank faced: “That’s bat training. This is robin training.”

Cass, carefully but without a single emotion: “Sibling training.”

Dick, face just as blank as all his other siblings: “It’s much more fun.”

Duke, freaked out by the empty faces: “Am I being hazed?”

Jason: “Eh, maybe. Scared?

Tim, not giving Duke a second to reply: “Yes, he is. It’s written all over his face. And while its okay to be scared, sometimes hiding your true emotions in the field is a matter of life, death, and secret identities.”

Dick: “You’re going to be flustered. Humiliated. Terrified. Angry. Relieved. Your vigilante ID dragged through the mud in front of you as a civilian. Someone worried about your civilian ID and you need to keep them away.“

Tim: “Not just as a Bat, but a Wayne. Some dinosaur at a gala is going to say the most out of pocket thing you’ve ever heard in your life and you’ve just got to stand there.”

Duke: “So that’s the reason you’re doing the creepy thing?”

Steph: “Yes Duke. You need to have a poker face that Even Superman can’t break. That even a Fifth-dimensional Imp can’t crack! And that is the purpose of our training tonight!”

Duke, getting the program now: “Okay. I’m ready.”

Jason, allowing a creepy grin to slide over his face: “Don’t be so sure. Because what we are about to show you… it has broken Batman.”

Dick: “Damian is too innocent to see it, which is why he isn’t here.”

Steph: “If you can handle this, you can handle anything.”

Tim, tapping on his computer, chanting under his breath: “the horrors, the horrors, the horrors…”

Duke, terrified of what Tim is about to pull up, on the edge of his seat wondering what on earth can shake the Bat of Gotham, what the family considers too awful for thier arguably LEAST innocent member to see, what vile images he’s about to be shown…

Tap. The screen lights up white.

Duke: “No.”

Jason, grin widening: “We’ll be reading this aloud, for your entertainment.”

Duke, trembling and inching towards the door: “No.”

Steph, vice grip on Duke’s arm: “There’s no escaping it, Signal. This is your mission- to stay completely pokerfaced through Real Person Fanfiction of us- the Batfamily. And co, of course.”

Duke, sobbing: “Please, why… why would you do this to yourselves… oh god, is that… is that… is that Kate with Bruce? She’s a lesbian! And his cousin!”

Steph: “They don’t know that, Duke. They know nothing. And the depths of a human imagination is comparable to the depths of the ocean… there’s some weird shit down there.”

Tim, without a single emotion on his face, least of all mercy: “I had to sit through Young Justice fawning over Dick and Bruce. Do you know what they said? About my own father figure? Right in front of my salad? I was lucky I was wearing a mask. I cried, and I cried in silence. They knew NOTHING, because I showed nothing. This is what you must achieve.”

Jason: “I’ve had to listen to criminals talk about what they’d do to the ‘Prince of Gotham’ and not twitch. I’ve had to listen to both goons and civilians play fuck marry kill with our vigilante identities and not move a muscle. I know this feels like overkill, but trust me, it’s not.”

Dick: “Don’t worry, we’ll keep it mostly PG. Tim? Begin with the wildly out of character and aggressively heteronormative Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman love triangle. Then maybe we’ll work our way up to slash readers and…” shudders in horror, “…batcest.”

Duke: “NOOOOOOOO!!!”

#jason goes all out #theater kid dreams #and torturing his younger sibs #batfam #they make a game of it #who breaks first #bruce hates this game so much #damian walked in on them once #batfamily #dc prompt #tim drake #stephanie brown #duke thomas #dick grayson #jason todd

[dr-felitas]

to love is to learn

synopsis: aventurine is still unexposed to the many concepts of this world. but that doesn't mean he won't try to get to know them if it's for you.

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 1.0k | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, insecure aventurine, established relationship, my ass wrote this in an hour and its super late rn i just wanna upload this and my lazy ass did NOT proofread this + im on mobile so hell, kinda HELLA rushed ; ficlet

a/n: just the other day me and azul were talking about what body parts of aven would be sensitive and we got to his collarbone and azul said that he thinks that it'd be super evident so i pointed out that it might be cause he was used to starvation and barely ate even when he got to the ipc/had the chance to do so. SO I JUST HAD TO WRITE SMTH.

tags: @azullumi

aventurine shudders under your touch. your nimble fingers trace across his collarbone, featherlight movements, touch so delicate, it makes him tremble.

the pads of your digits lightly dance across his clavicle, one finger turns into two. your index swiftly slides over the pale skin that separates the bone that lies underneath. while your thumb starts inching closer the neckline of his satin pajama, diving beneath. at that he can't help but flinch.

“oh god.” he laughs out. “someone's being touchy today.” his voice is filled with joy. hearing, seeing, knowing that aventurine has fun around you, makes you crave for more. his laugh is an intoxicating drug. something that you'll always long for, absorbing it until every part of your body is stained with the tantalising essence and puts you to your demise.

you don't stop your actions, instead continuing to glide your fingers along his delicate body. “sorry, for i couldn't help it!” a giggle escapes your mouth.

“i just thought about how pretty it is.” you let out a small hum.

“my collarbone? pretty, how come?” he's confused, what is the beauty you see within his body?

his body is fragile. it's a hollow shell he carries around. ugly and not worthy of your attention even less your admiration, abused and marked in burns. when the digits that he carries around like a sacred body part of his, roughly engraved on his neck, come in contact with any kind of substance, liquid or his own fingers. he's reminded of the mishap his body was or rather is in. how it was abused and dragged through the mud.

putting his calloused fingers around the tattoo, stings. the touch lingers like a nostalgic scent which still remains on an old piece of clothing, one that has never been washed so the smell never fades away. it burns up at the slightest touch. hurting just as much as when it was freshly inflicted onto his young body.

kakavasha doesn't even know what he looks like. the only person he sees in the mirror is aventurine. sure he walked past puddles of dirty rain back in his childhood, reflecting his younger self, but the images are vague and blurry. he doesn't know what kakavasha looks like and he probably never will.

and neither do you. the only thing you have in front of you right now is aventurine. a shattered soul that doesn't know where it belongs. his being consists of a thousand fragments, they're scattered thoughts that are similar to broken mirror shards.

they reflect the tales of his heart and reveal its greatest desire. mirroring those untold stories like the surface of the water. thoughts and wishes that are full of pureness, almost childlike.

the broken pieces that make up the man who's named aventurine long for a haven which he can call a safe space - a home. but on the other hand he thinks that he's not permitted to find such a place, that he's not allowed to stay, undeserving of it.

“no particular reason. i just like the way it stands out, it's easy to find and trace.” the words that roll off your tongue sting. they probably hurt as much as a paper cut you've received as a little kid, but it's not like kakavasha knows or is able to relate - he didn't get to grow up like the other children. but he can't blame you, you're oblivious to his past.

his body has gone through physical and emotional abuse. beat ups, labor or starvation. the reason why his collarbone is so evident, the face you adore is so slim, and his rips slightly poke through his body, is all because kakavashas hunger has never been satisfied and the dryness in his throat has never been quenched.

even after he put on the mask of the man who calls himself aventurine - a wealthy man, who’s a member of the ten stone hearts that makes more money than he spends, he's still reluctant when it comes to eating. of course he could buy all the delicacies that kakavasha never got to try - never even knew, but he hesitates.

the concept of chewing and swallowing the bits is still something aventurine can't befriend himself with. it's unfamiliar - he's not used to it, the feeling of a full stomach, what it's like to be satisfied after a meal. it's something foreign to him, a feeling he's not sure he'll ever get accustomed to.

he doesn't think he deserves to eat. to know what it feels like to be full, the rumbling that comes from his stomach is the one he grew up with is what brought him here. he fears that if he gets too comfortable with something or someone he'll forget who he is.

a lost soul that mourns after the past, but saved itself from the dark abyss, freeing itself. not allowing himself to get too close, always keeping everyone that comes near him at an arm's length. worrying he might grow too attached.

so why is he still here? here with you, chattering happily and conversing freely, he doesn't deserve it - he doesn't deserve you.

but is it wrong to be selfish for once? he knows the answer already: it is. but he can't help it, not when you coax him into this position, one which he can't leave, no matter how hard he tries.

“i love you.” you trace the letters along his neck, over the tattoo that is engraved on his skin.

you don't need a verbal answer to know that he feels the same way. perhaps, he himself hasn't realized it yet but he's conveyed his love for you many times already. just like now as he continues to lie in bed with you.

the both of you are oblivious, but that doesn't mean that either of you will stop in your tracks, turn back and leave. (even though he sometimes wishes to do so)

both satisfaction and love are two unfamiliar concepts for aventurine. but he'll try to get to know them. for the sake of you.

© TOORURS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is not permitted.

#toorurs #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine hsr #hsr aventurine #aventurine imagines #kakavasha x reader #aventurine fluff #kakavasha fluff #aventurine

[mrs-illyrian-baby]

Omega Ours - Part 1 | Alpha!Cassian x Alpha!Nesta x Omega!Reader| Short Series 2.7k

After fighting your way out of every potential mating offered to you, your village sends you off with the High Lord. Rhysand, tired of dealing with the Alphas living in the House of Wind, gifts you to Cassian and Nesta in the hopes that it'll settle all three of you down.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, language & themes. Omegaverse dynamics including Alpha & Omega and the sexist assumptions/implications that go along with it, heat/heat cycles, forced proximity, d/s themes, only one bed (and only one chaise), lots of tropey tropes! No use of YN but liberal use of pet names.

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Cassian & Nesta - from Pinterest

Created for @polyacotarweek - prompt 5 faveourite tropes (Omegaverse, only one bed, forced proximity, sort of insta-love)

Part 2 will be posted on the 13 (Free day!) follow @illyrianlibrary for updates ❤️

Part 2 | Masterlist | Poly Fics | Cassian

The only way to describe the couple stood before you was - handsome. 

The High Lord and Lady who’d brought you here were beautiful, elegant. But this couple could only be described as handsome, strong, Alpha. 

You knew them, of course. General Cassian of the Nightcourt and his mate, Lady Nesta. Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death, they’d called them in the camps that circled the Illyrian villages like pilot fish on a shark.  

“I’ve brought you a present,” Rhysand drawled, pointing at you. “Well, it’s a favour and a present. The last unmated omega of the season. She's  from the Western Isles, I thought it might help to tamp down your behaviour if you two had a project.” He grinned and you turned to look at Nesta and Cassian again. 

It was true, you’d rejected every mate offered to you, bitten some of them, in your desperation to get away, and that’s how you’d lost your freedom. Fighting the boys from the village was one thing, fighting an Illyrian was another. They’d hauled you into the camp in front of the High Lord on his last visit and demanded compensation. 

Rhysand, ever flush with jewels and gold, had paid them and then had a set of cuffs and leathers made for you. Nightcourt black velvet, red stitching and silver buckles. But restraints were still restraints, no matter how soft they felt against your wrists and ankles. He’d had new clothes made for you as well, traditional sheer panels of matching blood red that hung in gossamer curtains down your legs, pooling around you as you were forced to your knees in front of the Lady and General. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Nesta studied her nails, her air bored but her eyes kept flickering towards you. 

“Come now, Nesta, we both know you and Cassian caused quite the stir the last time you were both in heat.” 

You were right then, you could smell it on them anyway, that raw power and strength that designated them as Alpha. 

“Still -  you want us to take care of your problems?” Nesta huffed. 

“Of course not, she’s a gift, for you and Cass, if you happen to tame her enough that she stops mauling my men then that’s a bonus.” 

You looked between them, it was undeniable how attractive they were. Better than the mud caked idiots from the village at least, but you still railed against the hand that dragged you back to your feet. 

Cassian kept his hand under your elbow, pinching your cheeks with his other hand. “Come on, Nes. She’s cute, isn’t she?” He angled your face up towards his mate. 

Nesta shrugged one shoulder and you snarled, snapping at Cassian’s fingers. 

“Feisty,” he gave a deep chuckle, “I like that, that’s how Nes and I got together.” He hauled you over his shoulder, your legs and arms dangling, the panels of your dress slipping dangerously. 

“Put me down!” You beat your fists on his back. 

“Should have thought of that before you tried to bite me,” he teased, jostling you. 

You scowled at Nesta, who followed, laughing, through the halls of the palace and then tried using the only knowledge you had about the Illyrians. You reached out and grabbed his wing, squeezing as tightly as you could. 

He growled back, the sound travelling up through his chest into yours, vibrating your very core. 

“You want to play rough? Good.” 

Cassian shouldered a heavy door open and suddenly the sweeping corridor was gone and a dark, warm room wrapped itself around you. 

The walls were an oxblood red with thick velvet curtains that lay heavily in front of the eternally open windows. The soft jasmine breeze that circulated through the house was mixed with the cleaner scent of mountain air and the crackling of a fire, rich and inviting. 

The general set you down, his gaze travelling slowly down your figure. He clenched his jaw and then instantly turned to his mate, cupping her cheeks in his large hands and kissing her roughly. She growled in response, leaning into his embrace and allowing him to lift her against his body. You watched as he carried her across the room to an open archway, almost hidden behind a large tapestry, and then they vanished again. 

Tentatively, as much as you could with the thin chain connecting your ankles, you crept across the room to the curtain, now brushed back and curling heavily on the polished floor. 

Nesta and Cassian were tangled on the bed, the heady scent of their arousal lay thick in the air, the bedsheets already rumpled as if they’d been interrupted before, the room in disarray. 

On both bedside tables there were stacks of books of various genres, a pitcher of water on one and dagger on the other. 

“Either come in or go,” Nesta groused from the bed, hair messy, one of Cassian’s hands still tangled in the long golden-brown strands. 

“Play nice, Nes.” The general laughed, biting at Nesta’s earlobe. “You can join us or you can sleep,” he said over his shoulder. 

Sure enough there was a small chaise made up with blankets at the end of the bed. You shuffled over, and fell heavily onto the soft cushions listening to the sound of their love making. Each grunt and moan made you press your thighs together harder. Each stifled sigh had your hands twitching, itching for something more. You may have rejected every attempt at a mating, but you weren’t completely without feeling, without desire and needs and lust. 

You lifted your hands to cover your ears, the chain between them digging into the bridge of your nose, and fell into a confused sleep. 

 You awoke to the sound of moving bodies and cloth dragging on the floor. 

“She’s asleep, let her rest, Cas.” 

“What if she’s cold?” The footsteps came closer and you tensed on instinct. The steps stopped, but a gentle weight floated down on you, a large cotton blanket, awash with their scent, settled. 

“I’m going to wash,” Nesta’s voice faded as she walked away but there was no other movement. 

“I know you’re awake.” His voice was loud in your ear, closer than you’d expected and you jumped again, almost sliding from the chaise. Cassian’s arm caught you, tight around your waist and his bareskin was so warm against your own. You cracked one eye open and looked around the room as best you could with his wings blocking out the faint candlelight.

His arm was speckled with tiny scars that twinkled against his tan skin, the hair that decorated his forearm was as dark as the long tendrils that brushed over his shoulders and this close, his chin almost resting on your own arm, he smelt heavenly. That mixture of his own scent and Nesta’s even stronger in his proximity and, no doubt, enhanced by their earlier activities. 

“If you want, you can borrow some clothes.” His voice was a sleepy rumble and you resisted the urge to let your omega instincts take over and push yourself back into his chest, seek out that warmth, that comfort - but you didn’t respond. 

The sound of running water in the other room stopped, replaced with the gentle pad of Nesta’s footsteps and then she was in front of you. Surrounded by them again you had to fight back every urge to give in to her wicked mouth, her lips plump and kiss bitten. 

“We’ve left you some things on the chair, choose what you will. If you want to join us on the bed, you can.” Nesta moved away taking Cassian with her and you assumed from the gentle rustle of sheets they were back in bed. 

The chair that sat opposite their grand fireplace was strewn with clothes, silky looking negligees and billowing linen shirts, some cotton leggings and a pair of woollen socks. 

Waiting a moment, hoping they weren’t looking, you rose from the chaise and rushed for the chair. The translucent dress the High Lord had had you wear left your skin cold and bare, exposed and vulnerable. Cassian’s shirt was a welcome relief, covering your body from view, although the two slits in the back for his wings did feel slightly odd. The socks were warm and fluffy, long enough to reach almost to your knees. Redressed, you turned to return to your chaise and tugged the blanket up to your chin. 

You didn’t really want to spend the entire night there, but you also refused to give in to the ridiculousness of the situation. No one chose your mate, or mates, for you and you’d rather sleep on the tiny chaise that allow anyone to take that choice from you. 

Thankfully, Nesta and Cassian had turned away, the Illyrian’s large wings spread over the bed,. Shielding his mate from view? Or stopping her from following you around the room with her silver stare? You weren’t sure, but you were grateful as you closed your eyes. 

It was only as you were falling asleep that you realised you were snuggled into the shirt, inhaling Cassian’s scent, and by then it was too late, you were tumbling into your dreams. 

The next morning Cassian and Nesta were gone, but someone had left a tray of food, a pot of tea and a stack of books on the table. The doors to the balcony were open and the jasmine wind blew the curtains back so invitingly you couldn’t resist. 

You were halfway through one of the books they’d left, something by Sellyn Drake that had far more smut in it than you were anticipating. A slice of buttered toast was stuck halfway to your mouth as you stared transfixed at the page, when the door opened. Cassian held the door for Nesta, taking a long sword from her hand and placing it on the table that was perpetually strewn with weapons. His own sword and daggers followed and the two of them began to strip out of their leathers. 

There had been a rumour that Nesta trained alongside the Lord of Bloodshed and the Shadowsinger, trained with other women as well, but you hadn’t thought to believe it until now. 

Her leathers were tight against skin, a sheen of sweat making her sparkle, her long hair was tied up in what was now a messy ponytail and, most surprising of all, she was smiling broadly at Cassian. He returned the smile, cupping her cheek and pulling her in for a kiss, his hands wandering down to the buckles and clasps that held her fighting leathers together. 

Cassian looked equally as powerful, his own armour dark against his tanned skin, his tattoos flowing under the leather before appearing again at his collar bone and trailing over his shoulders towards the vast wings at his back. You set the book down slowly, the lust filled scene already had you feeling hot under Cassian’s shirt even before they appeared. 

The movement caught his eye and he turned, taking Nesta with him and pinning her against his chest. They way they looked at you, like the most delicious prey, had you pressing your legs together. You wouldn’t give in to this, especially not when it was exactly what that smug prick of a High Lord wanted. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he cooed, “Would you like to join us?” 

It was Nesta who held her hand out, crooking her finger to coax you forward. “We’re going to bathe, the tub is large enough for three, come.” It was more a demand than a question and, though you longed to see how far down Cassian’s tattoos went and how Nesta would look covered in bubbles, you resisted again. 

With a shake of your head you went back to your book, trying to ignore the sound of them together through the wall. 

You fell into a rhythm, the three of you. Nesta and Cassian continued as they were, training, working in the library and attending meetings, and inviting you to join them whenever they were together. 

Your nights on the chaise were becoming increasingly uncomfortable, but you refused to be worn down by their requests, preferring to stay silent and read alone either on the balcony or by the fire. No amount of reading could drown out the sound of their love making, though. If you could call it that, judging by the bruises both of them sported proudly and the way their headboard banged against the stone wall. 

Despite your protests their allure was difficult to ignore, their playful banter, the care and attention they showed each other, even the way they whispered in bed, dissecting the day's events and, on a few occasions, discussing you. 

This only happened when you were pretending to sleep heavily, breathing slow and steady as you wished for dreams to take you. 

“Nes, did you see the way my shirt fit her today, rolling up her thighs-” Cassian had made a deep, guttural noise, only to be shushed by Nesta. 

“Yes, Cas, stop, she’s right over there.” Nesta hissed in return. 

“I know, God, she’s so fucking close, don’t you think she smells good?” 

“You know I do.” The sheets rustled and you heard Nesta whimper as a wave of arousal flooded you. They could smell you, you knew it and you couldn’t stop it. 

Sleeping in their room, bathed in their scent every day, surrounded by their things, it was like a huge nest and the longer you lingered here the more you wanted to give in and climb into their bed, to be between them and allow them to care for you.

You knew something had changed when you woke up drenched in sweat. As usual, Nesta and Cassian had already left the room, your breakfast arranged in its spot, clothes laid out for you. They’d started adding some new things, items that smelt like neither of them, clean linen and lavender, but you were still drawn to their items the most. Perhaps, it was the way they smiled when they saw you cuddling into one of Cassian’s shirts or standing on the balcony in one of Nesta’s dresses. But you refused to confront that feeling. 

Despite your long, cold, bath you still felt hot and uncomfortable. It was mid way through stripping off your linen trousers that Nesta reappeared. She moved with a preternatural grace that you were sure existed well before her sister’s ascent to High Lady. A smoothness to each turn of her hand, or extension of her arm, she made walking seem like a dance and you were transfixed.  

Nesta stopped as soon as she saw you, her nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly.

“Are you okay?” she asked in that cool, silvery voice. 

“Yes,” your voice felt hoarse. You barely spoke and had gone days without saying anything to either of them, merely existing in their presence. But now, locked by her gaze, there was no escaping. 

“You seem -” she weighed her words carefully, “unwell.” 

“I can assure you, I’m fine.” You took a half step towards the balcony doors, hoping the breeze would cool your skin. 

Nesta hummed, surveying you from head to toe. “I’d feel better if you got into bed.” 

You knew this was as persuasive as Nesta could be, a simple request made in the lowest of tones, an argument not worth having. 

“I-” 

“The bed.” She crossed the room swiftly and turned you towards the large, velvet draped bed that took up a large portion of the room. Since your first entrance into Nesta and Cassian’s suite, you’d done your best to avoid even looking at it. Now there was no escape.

Your hands were shaking, a tingling heat rising from your spine and coiling in your stomach. On this occasion, just once, you’d listen to her. “Fine.” With great difficulty, you pulled the shirt over your head and dropped it to the floor. You were so tired. When had you become so tired?

Nesta’s deft fingers grasped your chin, holding you still so she could look at your pupils, large and frightened. “Get in bed and go to sleep,” she insisted, and you obeyed. 

Part 2

#poly+acotarweek2024 #Cassian #Nesta #cassian x nesta #nesta x cassian #Cassian x Nesta x Reader #cassian x fem!reader #Nesta x fem!reader #nessian x reader #Nessian x female reader #Nessian #nesta acotar #nesta archeron #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #ACOTAR #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #nesta x reader #cassian x you #nesta x you

[wheneclipsefalls]

Little Gift- Introduction

Pairing: Soft Dark Neteyam x Human Fem Reader

Beautiful Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2

Sumarry: The RDA are forced to negotiate with a certain Olo'eyktan. Luckily, there is only one thing he wants.

Warnings: dark, dubcon/noncon, suggestive, kidnapping, aged up Neteyam, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, humiliation, dark Neteyam, swearing, power imbalance, etc. (not exhaustive) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: I had this idea in the middle of the night two days ago. This will be the introduction of the mini series. It is dark content so read at your own risk.

tiyawn: love

mawey: be calm

oeyӓ: my (possessive)

Masterlist

The rope is coarse against your wrist and ankles, tied tight enough to leave squirming out of the question. However, it's the thick fabric gag that has you grinding your teeth together in discomfort. They leave you no opportunity to ask questions. No way to understand your fate before it unfolds. 

Colonel Quaritch had been even more cold and distant as you were prepared for the mysterious treck. You had been in the middle of packing your stuff, preparing to return home with the rest of the RDA when you had been dragged away and dressed against your will. 

Now kneeling here in the middle of Pandora’s forest wearing little more than sparkly scraps, you have never felt more exposed. The intricately beaded top does little to nothing to cover your hardening nipples and it’s easy to catch some of the Colonel’s brats sneaking a glance occasionally. 

“Colonel,” Lyle calls to your left. “For a final touch.” He holds a large pink ribbon in one hand, eyes snapping over to your small form with a smirk. 

“Be quick.” Quaritch grumbles but he doesn’t hide the amusement painted across his face. 

You attempt to scoot away when Lyle approaches you but he wrangles you back into place one handed. Another recom keeps you still with hands on your shoulders and before you know it Lyle is using the ribbon to tie a big bow directly over your breasts.

You muster every hateful thought into your heated glare, not that it does much to kill his mood. 

It’s obvious that you are the one left out of the joke everyone seems to revel in. Several times you wonder if all of this is some sick prank. Dressing you up only to drag you into the middle of the woods and leave you for dead. Perhaps even kill you themselves. 

However, thirty minutes of kneeling in the mud with a small army on high alert around you proves plans to be otherwise. There is something ominous about that pink bow tied around you, something even more suspicious about the traditional Na’vi clothing that has somehow been made to fit you perfectly. 

“That bastard sure likes to take his sweet time.” Mansk huffs. 

“What more did you expect from one of Sully’s filthy half breeds?” Quaritch sneers, readjusting the heavy artillery into his shoulder. 

“Makes a lot of demands too. Swear if we didn’t need these resources-” Lyle starts but is cut off.

“And yet we do. So shut your trap and pay attention.” The Colonel snips at him. It’s almost comical to see how fast Lyle straightens and goes back to scanning the terrain for movement. 

Always the Colonel’s bitch. 

You wish this ridiculous gag wouldn’t stop you from finally speaking your opinion freely. If you are about to meet your demise, the least they could let you do is get some long awaited satisfaction. 

Tension bleeds into the atmosphere. The former marines snap to attention and guns are locked into place, the formation fanning them out to combat any potential threats. 

It takes several dreadful seconds for you to see them but finally a pair of golden eyes just barely shines through the thick forest. They are in the trees, crouched to the ground, in bushes, some even swooping overhead on banshees. 

You marvel at their ability to hide in the nooks and crannies of the forest. However, even now you recognize that they are choosing to be seen. They have decided to make their presence known. 

Your heart thunders.

Tied and kneeling between the two juxtaposing crowds feels like being offered up as a human sacrifice. 

Do the Na’vi believe in live sacrifice?

Perhaps they too put up dead to their deity as a sign of loyalty. 

And you are pampered and primed for the taking. 

“Signed, sealed and delivered as promised.” The Colonel grunts, boot clad toe nudging your vulnerable form. 

Dread slinks through your veins.

What have you done to deserve this?

The Na’vi that steps out into the open is one that you can recognize instantly. Even a human of low status among the RDA knows what Jake Sully’s eldest son, and now Omatikaya Olo’eyktan, looks like. His face has become a focused target that the RDA have been working to exterminate for months. Now, it feels all for naught as they have been brought to their knees and forced to leave Pandora with little resources. The same reason you prepare yourself to say goodbye to this mysterious planet for good.

However, that was the idea before you were prepared like a trussed up main course for the taking. 

You struggle fruitlessly in the binds once more and Neteyam’s eyes center on you. Peering up at him hurts your neck as you are once again reminded of how tall and muscular the Na’vi are. His shoulders give the illusion of spanning out even further with the traditional feathered mantle he wears. 

His head slants to the side before he is prowling closer. You attempt to jerk away from his large hand coming to your face but that only ends in you falling back on your rear. His lips turn down as he inspects your tied wrists. There is nothing you can do as he holds both of them easily with one hand. 

“I was told she would not be harmed.” He speaks lowly, voice thick with a Na’vi accent. 

“She put up quite a fight. Even getting her to hold still during the shot was a pain in the ass.” Quaritch replies.

You remember all too well the fear that had overcome you when they brought out that long needle. The developed serum was a success naturally but it still racks your anxiety higher to fully breathe Pandoran air without your mask. Even more so, you feel strangely more exposed in front of this Na’vi legend without the glass to separate you from him. 

“I don’t appreciate excuses.” His golden eyes flicker towards your face and a small smile appears. “But I am pleased to see it fits.” Long fingers trace the lines of your necklace top before toying with the ends of the pink boy. 

You stiffen beneath his touch, eyeing the sheathed dagger across his chest. 

Do sacrificial ceremonies require specific clothing? 

Maybe dressing a sacrifice up in pretty ornaments and clothing proves to their deity its value. 

Either way, you hope it’s fast. The Na’vi are trained killers, but at least they should know how to end a life swiftly. 

“I would be pleased to see the resources you promised.” The Colonel bites back.

Neteyam sighs and purses her lips as if the small army around them is simply an annoyance instead of a threat. 

“Trades are not historically present between the Omatikaya and your people. I am not opposed to taking instead. Remember that.” 

You can hear the shifting guns behind you. The Colonel’s anger boils through the air and you are surprised to find no smart response coming from him. Neteyam leisurely tugs the ends of the bow, perfecting its shape and you are mortified to feel your nipples tighten beneath them. He nods his head and a few armed Na’vi step forward and hesitantly hand over a few tubes of minerals.

You recognize it as unobtanium, most likely the small amount left to mine from the last Home Tree. Your eyes widen. All of that for you? 

It wouldn’t be enough to make the RDA’s trip a success but it would surely cut down the financial loss significantly. But why give it over? Just to kill you? Had their deity sent out a bounty on your head and if so, what had you done to piss Her off so immensely?

“As promised.” Neteyam rises back to full height, hands settling on his hips. “I trust you understand what is to come to those who do not honor this agreement.” 

“Consider her a…peace offering. A special gift from the RDA.” You can hear the smirk in Quaritch’s tone, even the chuckle that Loyd fights to hold back. Your teeth dig into the fabric gag, praying more than ever that now would be the one time you would be able to rip him a new one. 

Your own special gift before you leave this life. 

“I tire of your presence, demon.” 

Quaritch scoffs but you can already hear the shuffling of retreating boots as they slowly but surely exit the scene. The only home you have ever known and now it is nothing more than a memory. You’re left to the demise of the Na’vi like a shiny object to be collected. 

And with the way Neteyam smiles and studies your form intently, you can’t have found a better analogy. Kneeling once more, large hands cup your cheeks, fingers encasing the whole side of your head. 

“Oeyӓ tiyawn, you are shaking.” He tuts, features softening at breakneck speed. Eyebrows furrowing, you watch closely as he carefully parts the hair from your face. “So nice to meet you, properly that is.” He chuckles, as if telling a joke only he knows the context to. 

Unease tightens your muscles and you’re sure that if your heart rate picks up anymore the organ will simply give out before they even have a chance to kill you. 

He sends a look to the side and instantly the rest of the Na’vi party retreat back into the forest. Your forehead creases. What is a sacrifice without an audience? 

Unless. 

Neteyam’s fingers comb through your hair.

Unless the Olo’eyktan has decided to have his fun with you before you are offered up. 

Tears spill from your eyes and you can’t stop yourself from trying to beg through the gag.

“Oh tiyawn,” His thumbs wipe away your tears. “You do not need to cry anymore. Not now that you are mine.” 

A hiccup catches in your throat, wide eyes looking up at him. 

“My sweet pet.” He husks, lips curved into a prideful smile. 

Your heart drops to your stomach.

Pet. 

How does he even know what that word means? The Na’vi do not keep pets. Perhaps he misspoke. 

But when one large hand circles around the back of your neck and you remember one thing: this man was raised by both Na’vi and Sky People. 

Frantically shaking your head in protest you try to get out words that will convince him to release you. It’s a strained effort with the cloth gag and his giant hand grasping your neck. 

“Mawey, little gift, before you hurt yourself.” He lingers over the cloth gag and for a moment you have hope that he will remove it, instead Neteyam gives you a sympathetic smile. “My poor tiyawn, I would love to remove it but I think we will need to go over some ground rules first. I’ll need you to listen without distraction for that part.” 

Your thoughts tangle into a million knots as vast ideas of what these rules may entail generate frantically. 

It would be easier to believe that a Na’vi has no purpose for a Sky Person as a pet but it’s impossible to miss the lust swimming in his golden orbs. Nor the wandering hands that now come to squeeze your plush hips. 

“You’re even more breathtaking up close.” He grins. When had he seen you from a distance? “Especially in proper clothing.” 

You can barely see through the cloud of tears over your eyes so you miss when Neteyam unsheathes his knife. That is, until you feel the cold material against your ankles. Terror grips your heart but to your surprise the Olo’eyktan cuts the rope around your feet. 

Foolishly you take advantage of this slight freedom only to be snatched around the waist and pulled onto his lap. Neteyam chuckles as if your escape attempt is the cutest thing he has ever seen. Your hips ache slightly at the stretch it takes to straddle one of his muscular thighs. 

“Misbehaving already, hm?” He raises a hairless eyebrow at you, one hand slink down to settle over your rear. Luckily he seems more amused than angry. After all, you have to admit that there was no real chance of you outrunning him in the first place. And now that those muscular arms are locked around you, there is no hope of beating his strength. 

Humiliation runs deep when you feel the first trickle of arousal stain your tiny loincloth. Neteyam’s thigh flexes and your pussy greedily takes the friction as an invitation. His nostrils flare, no doubt taking in your changing scent. 

He doesn’t further your embarrassment, however. At least not yet. 

“My father told me about these.” He muses, fingers playing with the bow once more. “It’s said to represent gifts. I always thought they were silly but now…” Heat runs straight to your core when his thumb dances over one escaped nipple. “I quite like the look of it on you, little gift.” 

A whimper escapes your lips without permission, snagging his attention. 

“Needy little pet, aren’t you?” A dark laugh rumbles his chest as his thumb casually slips underneath to bow to torment one nipple. “Do not worry, oeyӓ tiyawn. I’ll have you seeing stars before the night is through.” 

Everything in your mind says no but Neteyam’s skin is warm and his hands are skilled as one teases your nipples while the other explores your backside. Your body preens into the touch, desperate for some semblance of comfort to hold onto. And in the dangerous atmosphere of Pandoran nights, your instincts tell you that this man is what separates you from death. 

However, you are still held as prey under his gaze. 

“But first I think it is time to get you home.” He leans forwards until your noses are touching. 

“You will be more comfortable in my bed, pet.” 

And so it begins! As always, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts! <3

unofficial taglist: @pandoraslxna @tallulah477 (thought you might like it, baby) @itchaboi-itchyboy @zafrinaxyz @lilghostiequinni @criticallybella

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the official taglist for future parts

#neteyam sully #avatar smut #avatar fanfiction #avatar way of water #avatar wow #neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #avatar neteyam #neteyam x human reader #kidnapping #smut #dark neteyam #soft dark neteyam #aged up neteyam #olo'eyktan neteyam #adult neteyam #neteyam #older neteyam #avatar #james cameron avatar #avatar twow #avatar 2 #omatikaya #human reader #possessive neteyam #dom neteyam #dom/sub #protective neteyam

[lovebugism]

could you do some drunk Eddie blurbs or oneshots? Thanks! I love your stuff btw

✶ ┄ DRUNK IN LOVE !

summary: "you're drunk, eds" / "yeah, super drunk. and in the morning, when i'm sober, you’ll still be beautiful… i’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you." pairing: best friend!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 3.8k warnings: talks of alcohol, getting drunk, and taking care of a super drunk eddie! barely proofread so pretend any typos are nonexistent <3 a/n: i'm learning it's next impossible for me to write blurbs. i get an idea for one and boom. it's nearly 4k words. thanks for the request, anon! hope you like it xoxo

( MASTERLIST )

Eddie didn’t realize until he was halfway through his fifth beer, that he probably should’ve stopped at his fourth. 

He’d stumbled upon that finicky little fork in the road at the crux both drinks, a line he was toeing all night between blissfully tipsy and borderline obliterated. You can only really maneuver it if you’re smart about it, and in true Munson fashion, Eddie opted for the exact wrong decision.

It wasn’t like he’d ever prided himself on being a man of self-control. He was gluttonous to a fault, green and greedy at times, especially when there was free alcohol involved.

Eddie had been a grumpy little stick in the mud when you and him first got to Steve’s place. He didn’t feel like partying that night or sharing you with people he could barely stand. They were your friends, after all, not his. He only tolerated the bunch of them because you did. He spent the entire drive lamenting about how illegal it was — to be his best friend and have other people in your life you cared about the same way you cared about him. 

“That’s obviously against the rules,” he joked.

You only scoffed in response. “Obviously.”

Undeterred by his complaints, you drug him halfway across Hawkins with you like a storm cloud on a leash.

When you arrived, he found that it wasn’t a party at all. It was just Steve and Robin drinking together on the couch while Nancy and Jonathan stirred around in the kitchen and scolded Argyle for rifling through all the cabinets.

Music spilled lowly from the radio, a platter of snacks were laid out on the coffee table, and everyone smiled at you when you walked in. It wasn’t nearly as loud or as overwhelming as he’d dreaded it might be on the drive over.

Didn’t mean he was any happier about it, though.

“I don’t know about this,” he cautioned in your ear from where he stood behind your shoulder, seeking a familiar refuge in you once all the greetings were done. “We talked to everyone, can’t we just, like… go? I don’t think I’m gonna have a good time here, babe.”

Babe, he calls you, a nickname that’s left half of Hawkins believing the two of you were really dating. You stopped blushing about it some years ago, when the novelty of it wore off and it ultimately replaced your actual name.

You shrugged, grasping for a reason to make him stay. “Steve said he had a keg.”

The big silver thing next to the kitchen island didn’t catch his eye until then. You peered up at him, finding a sudden sparkle in his gaze. His bushy brows bounced and his pink mouth fell soft agape at the sight of it. Something swelled in his heart then, a distant and boyish happiness. 

“…I’m gonna try.”

He was pretty much a goner after that.

The beer was pretty stellar, but more than anything, the keg kept it cold. Eddie could barely drag himself away from the damn thing — the red solo cup hadn’t left his right hand all night. And when Steve let him handle the music, that was even better… Well, technically, he let you handle the music, but you sifted through his tapes and picked only what you knew Eddie would like — just like you always did.

Any other time, Eddie might’ve asked what the hell King Steve was doing with so many KISS cassettes, but he was already too drunk to think logically about anything by the time “Detroit Rock City” started playing. He stopped caring and let all the beer and music coursing through his system do all the work for him.

And while stumbling for his sixth refill with Robin, he concludes that he is, in fact, completely and utterly and unabashedly drunk. He’s still sober yet, enough to make such an admission to himself, but too far gone now to stop drinking.

He crouches slightly to bring the nozzle to the rim of his cup without much resistance. His tongue pokes through his tingling lips as he pours all of his concentration into aiming the beer into his plastic chalice and not completely toppling over onto the kitchen floor below him.

That’s when he spots you and Steve sitting on the couch, a little too close for his liking.

The brunette boy has his arms sprawled over the back of the sofa like he owns the place (Eddie’s too drink to remember he does, in fact, own the place) and your legs are delicately crossed and turned towards him, too enraptured in whatever conversation you were having to notice that your best friend had run off (you’d been trying to look after him all night, it wasn’t your fault he kept dodging you).

And it wasn’t his place to be jealous, he knew that. You didn’t belong to him. You could do whatever the hell you wanted to.

If he wasn’t so sloshed, he might’ve been able to recall that you don’t have a thing for Steve — that you’ve never had a thing for Steve, because you’ve spent your entire life in love with your best friend.

But you were too chicken shit to tell Eddie and Eddie was too oblivious to see any of it and it left the both of you in a permanent limbo of unsaid feelings.

So much so, that he once encouraged you to conquer the feat of King Steve one night, many moons ago. He thought he’d noticed the two of you being overtly touchy in the back of a dimly lit club.

Eddie was sober enough then to make fun of it all while still feeling every ounce of his misplaced jealousy as he playfully promised you that “you had his blessing to screw Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”

You should’ve known you were screwed when you told him that you didn’t want to screw Steve because “you had your eyes on someone else,” and he completely missed the brave, longing look you shot his way.

Eddie spent the rest of the night pestering you endlessly about your crush, while you just sat there, red hot and embarrassed about the whole thing.

Now he’s the one feeling like a fool, watching his best friend make nice with the dowager king of Hawkins.

Being without you makes the distance feel somehow wider from where stands across the too big house, feeling like a stray puppy everyone adores but never actually choses.

Robin taps him on the shoulder to bring him from his stupor before he can waste the foaming beer rapidly filling his cup, though there was no stopping the drunken war path he goes on after.

You and Steve giggle to yourselves as you watch Nancy twirl drunkenly to the tune of the Joan Jett, louder when Jonathan fights to keep her from stumbling over herself. The boy leans over to you, whispering a joke only you can hear, and smiling when it makes you laugh.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie scolds when he stumbles up to the couch. “What’re you two love birds whisperin’ ‘bout over here, huh?”

The two of you blink up at the boy, surprised by his sudden visit and how much drunker he’d gotten since you spoke to him last.

He’s all flushed out, cheeks glowing red with the alcohol in his system, and slurring something fierce — the kind of drawled out garbles that only sound clear to the one that’s speaking.

“We were talking about you, Eds,” you smile without missing a beat. “Been missin’ you over here.”

Steve nods with a dumb, tight-lipped grin. “Yeah. You’ve been making friends with that keg instead of the rest of us, man—”

“Yeah, right,” the boy scoffs out a laugh with a bitter nod. He less than gracefully squeezes between your legs and the coffee table. “Scooch over, Harrington. Make some room. ’S too damn cuddly over here.”

With no choice but to comply, the two of you part.

“Scooch?” you hear Steve mutter under his breath with a faint laugh that has you giggling too. Eddie’s not drunk enough to miss the glance that both of you share, seemingly having some sort of silent conversation that’s left him, yet again, out of the loop.

He’s got a full on pout on his numbing face when he settles between you and Steve, losing his balance briefly before landing in a clumsy pile between the both of you. The beer in his freshly filled up cup sloshes over the rim and splashes into your lap. The alcohol stains the belly of your t-shirt, leaving it cold and clinging to your skin.

And it’s not as dramatic as the movies make it seem, where a guy spills a drink on a girl and something terribly melodramatic ensues. You weren’t trying to impress anybody, least of all with your outfit — hell, you’d probably stolen it from Eddie himself a lifetime or more ago. You don’t get angry or rush out of the room for a good cry.

Actually, you smile sweetly at him, with the realization that it was time for you and your way-too-drunk-to-function best friend to head home.

Eddie gets all sad about it anyway, though, because to him it really does feel all that dramatic. His face screws up like he’s just done something irreversible. His umber eyes glimmer at you with a particular sadness only a drunk person could possess. 

“Shit, babe… I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay, Eds—”

“No, it’s not okay. I’m sorry,” he slurs with the sloppy shake of his head. “Please don’t be mad at me, babe. I didn’t mean to.”

“No one’s mad at you, Eddie,” you affirm with a soft laugh, dabbing at the wet spot of your shirt with the bunch of napkins Jonathan (the only other half-sober person aside from you and Steve) haphazardly hands to you.

“I can give you another shirt, if you want,” Steve offers, already standing to retrieve it for you. “Might be too big but it’s—”

Eddie’s head snaps away from you and to the brunette boy. A cartoon-like anger coats his buzzing features. “Like hell you will, Harrington,” he tries to threaten, though the words come out half-jumbled together. “Won’t have my girl wearin’ your shit, Steven—”

You burn red hot at the new nickname, equal parts embarrassed and delighted as you stand from your position on the sofa. Suddenly eager to escape the situation, you reach for Eddie’s hand. “Alright, Eds. Let’s go.”

He accepts your touch without question, rising on swaying feet and forcing you to keep an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

He’s already forgotten what he just said. He has no idea that your heart’s just done a billion backflips for him. He focuses, instead, on the thought of a new adventure with you. “Ooh. Where we goin’ now?”

“I’m taking you back to the trailer, okay?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, suddenly displeased again. “Yeah, whatever… You wanna spend more time with King Steve, I see what you’re doin’—”

“I’m coming with you, Eds,” you laugh.

It’s like the switch flipped and he’s grinning all sloppy and stupid at you again. He tosses the smug look to the boy standing at his other side. “Suck it, Stevie—”

“Eddie!” you scold.

“You guys can just take the spare bedroom,” Steve offers despite Eddie’s teasing. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

“Oh, how fucking chivalrous,” your best friend grumbles under his breath.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” you press with brows furrowed in concern. “I don’t want to, you know, intrude or whatever. I’m good to drive—”

“No, it’s fine. Really. He should probably lie down anyway.”

“Yeah… Okay.”

“You know where it is, right?” he asks you and you nod

Eddie takes great offense to your affirmative answer.

“Wait, why do you know where it is?” he pouts down at you, figuring there’s something dirty hidden in the fact you’ve slept in your friend’s guest bedroom before. You shake your head and opt not to answer as you help him towards the stairs. “Why do you know where it is?”

“—Go upstairs, okay?” you shout over him, trying your best to stay patient. “I’ll check on you in a second.”

He lingers on the first stair and juts out his lip. His pointer fingers trails the intricate carvings in the wood of the banister while his glassy puppy dog eyes glimmer down at you. “…Promise?”

“Yes, Eddie. I promise.”

With that, he makes careful work climbing the stairs, hanging onto the railing for dear life as he goes. You watch attentively, prepared to rush to him if he stumbles, and able to breathe out a sigh of relief when he makes it to the top step. 

You turn away from the hallway of the staircase and back to your friends, who — save for Steve and maybe Jonathan — haven’t yet bothered to acknowledge the situation.

Robin is rifling through Steve’s cabinets for food, Argyle’s at the keg pouring beer into his mouth straight from the nozzle, and Nancy hasn’t stopped dancing the entire time. You’re not even sure if she knows the song.

“I didn’t know you guys were dating,” Stevie remarks with a smile. “No wonder he was being so… like that.”

You shake your head and duck your gaze. “We’re not. Dating, I mean— he’s just, like, super drunk.”

“…Really?”

“Really,” you breathe out a laugh at the way your admission make this face twist in confusion.

“I’ve just— I’ve never heard a drunk person talk that way about someone they didn’t, you know… like.”

A part of you so desperately wants that to be true.

Eddie’s never been particularly shy about calling you babe or sweetheart or honey in front of people — sometimes he did it just to throw them off. But something about him getting jealous over a guy you’ve never liked, calling you his girl to bat the believed ‘affections’ away, has a foreign feeling swirling in your belly.

You force yourself to swallow your hopes down.

“Well, you’ve never met drunk Eddie,” you tell him with a shrug. “The freak’ll say just about anything.”

You make your way up to the guest bedroom and find Eddie slouched at the top step. He looks terribly sad, pouting with his elbows propped up on his knees and his hands on his chin. But he lights up like a christmas tree all over again at the sight of you.

“What are you doing, Eddie? You were supposed to be laying down,” you scold softly.

“I missed you,” he whines, gazing up at you with twinkling, red-rimmed eyes. “And I got lost… And then I forgot how to walk.”

You try your best to keep a straight face as you help him up again, trying to ignore the way your heart thrums like a hummingbird when he leans completely into your side. 

You walk the staggering boy the short distance to Steve’s guest bedroom.

It’s as extravagant as the rest of the house, complete with large windows and expensive furniture and a thousand throw pillows on the freshly made bed. The entire room practically sparkles, there’s not a single crease in the bedsheets; it probably hasn’t been touched since the last time one of you spent the night there.

Eddie flops onto the bed when you urge him to sit down. He makes himself comfortable with ease, legs still hanging over the side as he throws his arms out, melting easily into the newly laundered blankets.

You navigate through the darkness, illuminated only by a subtle moonlight, to the seating area across the room. The newly granted privacy of the guest bedroom allows you to strip off your damp shirt. The wet spot sticks to your skin when you peel it off of you. The feeling makes you grimace. 

You don’t think twice about being in your bra in front of Eddie — he’s not even looking at you now — and besides, he’s seen you in less. You’ve been friends for far too long to care. Being naked in front of each other stops meaning so much after accidentally catching each other changing a half a billion times.

Leaving your shirt in a crumpled pile on the arm of the couch, you make the silent decision to sleep there for the night. Many a bed has been shared between you and Eddie, but he’s going to need all the comfort he can get tonight — the hangover he’ll have tomorrow will feel like hell, no doubt.

You look across the dark room at Eddie and find he hasn’t moved an inch. “Take off your clothes, Eds. You’re not gonna be comfortable sleeping in jeans.”

“Mm,” he groans in the darkness, as though in protest, already half-asleep.

“You’re already gonna feel like shit in the morning, especially if you’re sleeping like that,” you advise with a soft laugh. “Come on, Eds. At least take off your shoes.”

“…Don’t know how,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes at him, even though he can’t see you, even though you do it all for him anyway. It was second nature to you, taking care of Eddie, and you do it with an ease that makes his drunken little heart swell. 

You start with his shoes, not having to untie them because they’re so loose on his feet. His jeans come next, a far bigger struggle because you do it with little help from the boy in the bed. His belt is strangely tricky and he claims his body feels too heavy to lift his hips for you.

But what he lacks in assistance, he makes up for in cheeky one-liners — “At least, take me out to dinner first, babe” and “If you wanted to see me naked so bad, you coulda just said" to name a few.

Once he’s clad in nothing but his Hellfire t-shirt, R2D2 patterned underwear, and hand-me-down socks that barely fit him, you maneuver him so he’s lying properly in bed.

You toss away all the pillows that are more for decoration than anything else, pull the covers down and over his body, and Eddie doesn’t do a single damn thing but watch. 

He couldn’t do anything even if he wanted to because his heart is so far in his throat he can’t breathe. 

You’re so unfamiliarly soft with him — sweet in your way than anyone will ever be to him in his lifetime, than anyone will ever be to anyone else.

The love you bathe him in half-sobers him and tosses him into a spiral of self-hatred. Why did it take getting drunk at Steve’s place to realize he’s been so head over heels for you he hasn’t stood up straight in years?

Drunken words sit impatiently on his tongue. He lacks the self-control to keep the hidden.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles tiredly.

Your hands almost immediately still where they bunch the covers up at his chest. Your eyes dart to his face and it takes everything in you not to duck away all over again, when you see the way he’s looking at you. 

Eddie looks so soft, basked in a soft moonlight streaming in through parted sheer curtains.

His brown eyes twinkle with stars of their own. He gazes up at you like you put them there.

He doesn’t miss the shock that coats your features. Your eyes widen in surprise of his words at first, before your brows furrow and you shake your head to yourself in denial — like you’re not deserving of them. Like you’re not standing over him in your baggy jeans and five-year-old cotton bra after he spilt his beer all over you, taking care of him because he’s too drunk to take care of himself, doting on him like it’s second nature to you.

As far as Eddie’s concerned, there’s never been a sight more beautiful than this one.

“Stop,” you manage a laugh, still swallowing down that glimmer of hope that lingers on the back of your tongue. “You’re drunk, Eds.”

“Yeah. Super drunk,” he nods unabashedly. A distant smile hints at the corner of his lips as he gazes up at you like he’s trying to commit your features to memory — the angle of your nose, the shape of your jaw, the softness of your lips, and the way you’re looking down at him like you’re wondering if he’s real or not. “And in the morning, when I’m sober, you’ll still be beautiful… I’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you.”

You never thought Eddie would say something like this — not something so profound it makes your heart stop and especially not to you. You always dreamed that he might. And you had nightmares that it wouldn’t. That he would utter them to someone who wasn’t you.

But here he is now, loving on you and calling you pretty and hating himself for not being able to tell you that, and you don’t know what to do.

“…Okay,” is all you can say in response, nodding your head like an idiot. You force yourself to move on quickly, focusing instead on tucking him further into the unfamiliar bed.

It’s easier than concentrating on your racing heart that ticks like a time bomb seconds away from going off.

“Thanks for taking care of me, babe,” he murmurs quietly, blinking slow and heavy up at you. “I’m sorry… I know I don’t deserve it—”

“I’ll take care of you forever, Eds. You know that,” you interject without thinking. “And you don’t ever have to apologize to me.”

Eddie lets your words settle over him like the cozy blanket you cover him with. They bathe him like warm water, prickle his skin like they’re cleansing him.

The intent behind them means more than he could ever comprehend, half-drunk or sober still.

He rises abruptly, disrupting the cocoon you’d just tucked him into, as he works with disoriented hands to peel off his shirt. “What are you doing, Eds?” he hears you laugh when his head and arms get caught in the fabric.

You help him out of it anyway, tugging the cotton over him and gaping at him when he hands the bunched up t-shirt over to you.

“Here,” he offers like you’re supposed to know what to do with it.

“…What?”

“Want you to wear it… And to go downstairs so Steve will see you in it.”

You roll your eyes though a smile plasters itself on your mouth. You slip the thing over your head and pretend it's just to appease him. It isn’t the first time you’ve worn something of his, but this time feels so much different. 

“Better?” you tease.

Eddie nods with a childlike happiness.

You’ve always been his, in your own special way, but wearing his shirt? It’s like you’re waving a big, brightly-colored flag — a lit up I’m with stupid sign with a flashing arrow pointed right at him. It makes him grin like an idiot.

“Now, go to sleep, alright? We’ll talk in the morning. When you’re so hungover you wanna die,” you joke, still perched at his bedside.

Before you rise, you lean over and press a quick peck to the tip of his warm nose. 

You want to do more than that, so much more than that, but you know that he’s still half-drunk — and that he might not mean a single word of this come sunrise.

You’ll revel in this softness now, either way it goes.

“And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful too.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #st oneshots #eddie spaghetti oneshot

[sweetandsavageautistic]

(CW: Cringe, Autism Parents stuff, drunk mention, infantilization)

So I don't have a degree in Graphic Design, but I do have a sense of general aesthetic. I figured that it's April. Let's rate, and potentially verbally tear apart and drag through the mud, some autism shirts and graphic designs, and I'll probably do a part 2, these scores are only semi-arbitrary: First up is this:

Already off the top, I am confusion because it seems to read "I wear puzzle cousin autism awareness". Sounds like whoever made this was drunk.

Puzzle pieces, ew.

The red, yellow, green, and blue look like the shades you'd see in elementary school, so that seems pretty infantilizing.

Autism Awareness, I am very much aware of my existence.

Final Score: 0 out of 10. Designer, go home; you're drunk.

Next we have this:

This one already has a slight advantage over the first because it's at least coherent in terms of the message.

Elementary school colors, but make it extra tacky.

Puzzle pieces; don't try to bullshit me by putting the autism awareness banner over it, I can see the other indents that make them puzzle pieces.

Once again, I am well aware of my own existence.

At least it's a smaller design.

Final Score: 0.5 out of 10, and that's being generous.

Next one's not a shirt, but it still counts:

No blue so thank God for that.

This is up to personal preference, but to me, the person-first language is giving "I need to be reminded that someone is a person."

Puzzle pieces. Ew. Don't BS me, I can see them.

Walk down Autism Lane. (it's right below the word LOVE) Sorry, but we don't allow ableists on Autism Lane; you need to be a premium member and to be a premium member, you need to not be a dick.

The pumpkin disturbs me for some reason, and not in the Halloween way; I mean, it just straight-up disturbs me.

Final Score: 0.5 out of 10. Bury it in a shallow grave.

Just found this one:

It's easy on the eyes at least.

No tacky elementary school colors.

No puzzle pieces.

The bunny's cute, but this also seems very infantilizing.

Person first language is a no for me.

Why are all of the is lowercase, but the others are uppercase?

Final Score: 5 out of 10. Not great, but not terrible.

Here we have simple:

Elementary school colors, but credit where credit's due; it's not terrible on the eyes.

Why is blessed on there three times?

One big-ass puzzle piece.

"Autism blesses" Yes, because being bullied by my peers, being indirectly told who I am is wrong, having the worst time making friends, always feeling like I'm never truly part of a friend group, being confused when some adults got mad at me, not having anyone to play with at 4 years old is an absolute fucking blessing. /s And that's the tip of the iceberg.

"Fun", "Sweet", "Cute".....it's the infantilization for me.

Final Score: 3 out of 10. No further elaboration.

Then there's this monstrosity:

I call this color Patronizing Paraprofessional Blue, aka the tackiest shade of blue ever.

It looks like something one of those older white suburban millennial moms would wear. Like something a Karen would wear to one of those autism walks or one of those social skills teachers who talk in that slowed-down patronizing kindergarten teacher tone with that fake-ass smile, no matter how old you are. You know the one I'm talking about, right? Yeah, they'd wear this.

Puzzle piece. Light It Up Blue. Ew.

We all know what organization this supports.

Final Score: -10 out of 10. Burn it.

Let's get in a good one to counter that abomination of a shirt and end part one on a higher note:

Nice simple design with a black background.

No tacky elementary school colors.

Identity-first language.

Really counters the....what the fuck would it be called? The UwU autism parent thing? ("I am his voice, he is my heart," "See the able, not the label," etc,.) It counters that.

The light sparkle around "a bitch" is chef's kiss.

Final Score: 11 out of 10. Perfection.

#autism awareness #autism acceptance #autism #autistic #actually autistic #actuallyautistic #sweet and savage autistic

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

xiii. and all the pieces fall right into place

— the one where he’s in love with you.

warnings: mykonos inaccuracies, mentions of anxiety, language, not proofread sorry! have mercy and ignore the mistakes, i feel like this is very romcomish and i actually quite like it! 3.5k words (+articles!)

currently playing: i'm in love with you by the 1975!

masterlist ✢ next

IT doesn't come as a surprise that actress y/n y/ln is surrounded by rumors and he-said-she-saids, her life has been a constant rollercoaster since March of the present year, when the news of her breakup to superstar Aidan Kim due to her cheating were made public by various outlets.

Since she decided to 'speak up' not two months ago, after letting the world drag her throught the mud, which in this writer's humble opinion, is the clearest sign of guilt. y/n has been on the road of digging her reputation out of the cemetery, not minding that what's dead should stay that way: Dead AND buried.

The public's opinion on the 'Queen of Romcoms' is progressively changing to her benefit, call it manipulation or excellent PR, word on the street is that y/n has landed a role that will mean the complete turnaround for her career in Greta Gerwig's version of 'Little Women' (as if we needed YET another version), alongside industry figures such as Timothée Chalamet, Meryl Streep and Saoirse Ronan.

One thing's for sure, this role will make or break her sorry excuse of a career. I hope you have taken acting lessons, y/n, because actual actors are about to give you a run for your money.

SEE ALSO:

→ Aidan Kim's 'In Your Pocket' M/V features ex girlfriend's belongings.

→ y/n y/ln and Charles Leclerc meet again in Paris.

→ Matilde Bassi takes on the role of Elphaba in her return to Broadway.

August 18th, Mykonos, Greece.

It's true what they say: everything is worse in your head.

It isn't like you to prove motivational Pinterest quotes right, but they are right. This trip looked wildly different in your head and not exactly in a positive way, though, to be fair after the shitshow you've lived through for half the year, your head is not the happiest place on Earth. Or the one that sees the glass half-full.

Anxiety was the only thing fueling you (besides a shaken espresso, again not the brightest idea) as you left Paris with Charles. Hyper-aware of his presence next or behind you as if he was this magnet you couldn't tear yourself apart from.

"What is it?" he'd asked a couple times when he felt your gaze on him as you waited by your gate for the flight to Athens. Charles was the textbook definition of confident and composed, hiding his expression behind a pair of Bvlgari shades. At the end of the day your destination had been his choice, which was fine by you. If you had to think any more than absolutely necessary about the trip and everything it involved, you would have backed out and ran back to New York with Matilde. And Charles knew this, so he took charge.

You only had so many 'it's nothing's in you before admitting that you were terrified. Not of him, of course, but the jumble in your brain and your heart didn't translate properly into words and it only added on to another fear: making a fool of yourself. After all this was, in its reason, absolutely terrifying. Confronting your feelings for Charles after months of denying you had them felt like some twisted exposure therapy. And the voices in your head that sometimes sounded a lot like Mati and others way too close to Victoria and Aidan, went from telling you that it is obvious Charles feels the same way to reminding you of how unlovable you truly are.

But it was all worse in your head.

Your brain has toned the fight or flight instinct per your insistence that it is supposed to be for actual life-threatening situations, not seeing Charles Leclerc in a bathing suit.

So you're enjoying the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair. It's a beautiful place and you deserve to have a good time with someone you have grown to care about so much.

“Having fun?” You ask, letting your sunglasses slide past the bridge of your nose to look at Charles properly.

It’s yacht day, and although you don’t usually fare well in boats and were dreading the nausea even before you set foot in the thing, you’re doing pretty well.

“Of course I'm having fun, I'm with you.” Charles replies, smiling. He's lying next to you in a lounge chair, basking in the sun.

It's probably not a good idea for you to be tanning, since, if you get lucky you'll be playing a girl in a piece taking place in the United States Civil War. But if anything, you'll find a way to solve it.

"Are you sure that's going to look good?" you question, raising an eyebrow as Charles points the Polaroid in your direction. The quite strict 'no phones' policy was his idea, and you agreed in a heartbeat. You were willing to let the outside world outside. Which is what led you two to buy an extremely overpriced Polaroid camera in a tourist shop. "There's too much light."

Charles shrugs, snapping the picture while you still have your eyebrows raised. "We'll see."

You already have a collection between the pages of the book you carry with you in your suitcase, and it's only been one day since your holiday started. Charles and you take turns with the camera, but to be honest it's mostly him taking candids of you and showing them off excitedly.

"Gorgeous," he says after he's shaken the little square enough to reveal your image glaring at him. "Even if you are giving me a dirty look."

You laugh before rolling your eyes. His compliments come more often now, and he awaits your reaction with a slight anxiety that recedes when you smile. "My turn to have it."

Charles holds the camera close to his chest. "Not yet."

"You're so unfair,"

This makes Charles laugh again, but still doesn't give the camera up. "Fine. Let's take one together, soleil."

This would be your second picture together in the whole trip. The other one is a very bright depiction of your confused faces as you tested the camera for the first time. You wanted to throw it to the trash before Charles took it from you and kept it in the pocket of his trousers.

Charles makes the most space for you to sit down in the lounge chair as he possibly can, but there's a reason they're individual, so you're still halfway on top of him as you try to fit in the frame. His skin is warm, as it was expected from being in the sun, but your body reacts in the opposite way, exploding in goosebumps.

"Are you okay?" he asks, lowering the camera. His Adam's Apple bobs as he swallows, trying to keep his eyes on your face and not the bright pink top of your bikini.

"Perfect," you retort too quickly to be truthful, "I just— I'm in your personal bubble."

Charles chuckles. His free hand goes down from your shoulder to your bare waist in a second, pulling you closer to him and over-confident movement that shocks even Charles himself. "I like you being here."

You don't know how to react to the most obvious flirting you have been subjected to by Charles. You are not even sure you're capable of flirting back.

Your relationship with Aidan just happened. That's the only way you could describe it for the three years that you were with him. It happened because it was supposed to, you met in the set of a romcom, you kissed and kissed and kissed, and suddenly you didn't have to act as much in love as you had to just live it in front of the cameras. It made sense, at least for a while.

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment in which you had fallen in love with Aidan Kim. You had just let your relationship from coworkers to fictional lovers to actual lovers run its course the way you thought was normal and expected. Maybe that was the first mistake in a long line you can't seem to stop dragging around. It's not like you didn't love him—in some moments more than others—but it didn't feel like you had fallen in love with him.

And with Charles, it couldn't be like that. It hadn't been like that from the start, but you still felt like you could fuck it up any second just by not being able to make a flirty retort without sounding like you were being strangled.

"You do?" you reply, letting your weight fall a little more on his legs. Maybe words can be left behind if you can get a grip on your actions. You don't want to be afraid, and you want to cross that threshold with him, finally.

He only holds your waist tighter, clearing his throat before readying the camera once more. Charles wants to kiss you, of course he wants to kiss you. He has probably wanted it since he saw you that day in his Driver's Room sneaking away with a granola bar and a bottle of water. But he also doesn't want to do it in the middle of a yacht, rushed and mostly hormone-driven.

"Ready, soleil?" Charles asks, his breath tickles your neck and you sink your fingers into his shoulder.

"Ready." you smile, enjoying the warmth of his body more than you do that of the sun.

─────────

You finish applying your peach colored lipstick three seconds before Charles knocks on the door to your room. Although you're exhausted from the sun, you're also relaxed and content, you can't wait to spend more time with Charles.

"Hi," you greet as you open the door. Charles is wearing khaki shorts and a half-unbuttoned white shirt, and the same Bvlgari sunglasses he's been carrying everywhere rest low on his chest. "I'm ready!"

Charles nods, holding his hand out for you. "You look beautiful, soleil."

"Thank you," you smile at him, taking his hand, although you wish you could have wiped it on your sundress before giving it to him. After the yacht, the whole aura shifted. Charles' gaze lingers on you more than usual, your fingers look for his, grazing each other until he finally intertwines them. You hope the sun melts you into one another.

Though maybe you should start by hoping you finally get the guts to kiss him.

It was your idea to get some drinks before dinner, and after a simple Google search you found a pretty place where you could chill while watching the sunset. Regrets came after that, when you found out you had to walk uphill to get to the place. Charles can't stop laughing as you whine and drag your already sore feet.

Once you are led to your seats—a pair of cushions on the floor of the terrace—you stop complaining. The view is magnificent and the expectation hanging in the air has you buzzing in the best way. Something is going to happen, and you know for the first time in months, it is going to be good.

Charles is talking about last year's Dutch Grand Prix, when your phone rings. While the idea of no phones allowed was lovely, it was a little unrealistic considering both your careers. But you have made it work with the "only urgent calls" feature and automatic response texts, so you know this is probably really important.

Matilde is staying at your house per your insistence that, even if you weren't there, she could make herself at home. But sometimes she still calls you to make sure that whatever she's doing is okay with you.

"Go ahead," Charles nods gently, thanking the waiter as he places your drinks in the tiny table between your cushions.

The unregistered number appears familiar as you stare at your screen, and you snap back to reality before missing the call. "Hello?"

"Hello," it's a female voice on the other side of the line, chirpy and clear. "Am I talking to Amy March?" she laughs, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Charles notices the way your demeanor changes and he's unsure of how to react in return. The hand holding your iPhone against your ear has begun to shake and your mouth is hanging slightly open, lower lip trembling.

You did it. You got the role.

You are coming back.

"y/n?" Charles ventures, anxiously.

"YES!" you speak to the phone again, unable to moderate your tone. "Yes, this is her!"

The casting director on the phone laughs again, although her ear is probably ringing. "Hello y/n, I just called to let you know about the role you got in..."

You try your best to pay attention to her as your eyes drift to Charles, your free palm pressed to your mouth, yet unable to hide your grin. The muscles in your face are still trembling with a mixture of excitement and the urge to cry. You thought happy tears would never come back to you.

Still unsure of what's happening, Charles looks at the people around you. Some have started to stare, others have already made up their minds about you being some crazy, noisy tourists and aren't interested in that. At least he's starting to feel relieved that you're smiling, although there are tears in the corner of your eyes.

You agree to a meeting next week and thank her around a million times before hanging up. It's official.

Charles remains silent, anxiously waiting for you to share the news.

"I got it!" you screech, and tears roll down your cheeks. The salt in them touches your lips, but you relish them. You are happy, ecstatic. "I got the role, Charlie!"

An audible sigh escapes from Charles' lips and before he knows it, you're throwing your arms around him. Not even giving him time to speak.

You're still crying as he envelops you in a hug that leaves you breathless. His hand runs down the back of your head and pulls you closer by your lower back.

"I knew you could do it," he whispers softly, before his lips brush against your temple. "Congratulations my sun."

The possessive has your stomach filling with butterflies and you hug Charles even tighter. You are grateful for him, because he did believe in you, and he has stuck to your side no matter how crazy your environment gets. He cares about you, genuinely and deeply.

Later you will have a recollection of moments that are tinted pink in your mind. Reminding you of all the times where you realized you were in love with Charles. But this one right here is the one where you realize you are so in love with the man holding you in his arms you can hardly breathe.

"Thank you, Charlie," you hiccup slightly, overwhelmed with every single emotion in your body. "Thank you."

Charles kisses your cheek gently, holding your face with both hands. "I'm really proud of you."

You smile widely as he runs a thumb across your cheek to wipe your tears. "Thanks."

You return to your own cushion hurriedly, too happy to feel embarrassed about the show you just put up for the rest of the tourists.

Now there's just one thing left for this to be perfect.

─────────

You're walking hand in hand back to the hotel, stopping with any chance you get. Attempting to make the night longer before you have to part ways at the door of your respective hotel rooms and spend yet another night tossing and turning, haunted by what could be or what could have been between the two of you.

But time is running out as you reach your floor and neither has given that step that will throw you both off the edge. In a good way, though.

"So, goodnight?" Charles rubs the back of his head anxiously, letting go of your hand as you rummage your beach bag for the key to your room.

You look up at him, the keycard already between your index and middle finger. "Goodnight, Charlie."

It's all awkwardness as Charles reaches for your hand again and gives it a gentle kiss. His stubble feels raspy against the back of your hand. You wrap your arms around him again letting your hand touch the back of his neck. Neither of you want to actually say goodnight.

"See you tomorrow," you mutter, aware that you've already hugged him more than what's socially acceptable.

Charles nods, squeezing your hand one last time before letting you disappear inside your room.

You want to scream into your pillow and hit yourself in the head. But Charles would probably be able to hear the banging against the wall and it would mortify you. You make yourself busy for a few minutes by removing your makeup and changing your clothes, before you finally listen to the impulse nagging your brain.

Go and find Charles.

You open the door to your room before your anxiety makes you hesitate and you find Charles closing the door to his.

"Oh," you say, slowly.

"Do you want to sit with me on the balcony?" Charles rushes to say, fighting against his anxiety much like you.

Both your rooms are the exact same, so when he points to his room, you move out of the door to yours instead.

"Yes."

Charles enters your room slowly, as if it's unknown territory, although it mirrors his. Maybe a little messier since you just threw your clothes all over the place as you ranted to yourself about how stupid and childish you were being just ten minutes ago.

"Sorry for the mess," you cringe, throwing the bottom of your bikini to one side with your left foot. You will probably be looking for that thing like crazy tomorrow, but you're trying to focus on the now.

"It's okay," Charles assures, smiling as he crosses the room to the glass door that leads to the balcony. Two lounge chairs and a simple table await.

You follow after him once you've grabbed some tiny bottles from the mini bar, two Red Labels and one Hennessy. Offering one to Charles before sitting in the chair next to him. Liquid courage, if anything.

Charles uncaps his Red Label and jiggles it gently towards you. "Toast?"

"To what?" you question, placing the tiny cap on the table. You've toasted to your new role several times already, and honestly it doesn't get old, but you want Charles to say whatever is on his mind.

"To us," Charles smiles, his eyes never leaving you. "For being here, together."

You clink the tiny bottle against his before downing half of the whisky in one gulp.

Both stay silent for a few minutes, listening to the waves crash against the shore and the sounds of people getting back to their rooms on the other side.

"I can feel you looking at me," you hum, still staring out the balcony and not back at Charles. "Charles?"

"That's because I'm looking at you," he responds nonchalantly. "Because you're beautiful."

You finally look at him, shaking your head lightly. "Thank you."

"And I'm in love with you, y/n," he's almost breathless by the time he says your name, but doesn't stop to take a sharp breath. He doesn't even hesitate as he changes his position in the lounge chair, his whole body facing you. "I am so in love with you, I don't understand how the fuck is my heart able to keep beating."

It's like the world has paused for Charles to continue with his confession in peace. All of Mykonos is holding its breath, even the sea.

"I know you already know," he adds as you open your mouth. "But I have to tell you because I cannot keep swallowing the words every time you look at me like that. I'm in love with you, and you don't have to say it back."

You're moving in slow motion as you leave your chair, you can feel your hands shaking but fight against the motion of pinching your thigh or pulling on the string of your shorts. You're nervous, but you're not about to back down. Charles holds his breath when you stand in front of him, but stands up too.

"I'm in love with you too," you breathe, placing a hand on his chest. His heart is going so fast, it's like the words he spoke not a minute ago float in the air. "I really am in love with you, Charles."

Charles is mildly afraid of touching you, as if by doing so you would disappear. But the urgency to finally kiss you is bigger than his fear, and he wants to hold you and blend your bodies together and so, so many things all at once.

His hands grip your face firmly, but not with enough strength to hurt you and you close your eyes, melting into the way his lips touch yours. Softly, tentatively at first. As if testing the pieces of a puzzle you're not quite certain they fit together. But you respond immediately, moving your mouth against his and taking your hand to his jaw.

And it's like overflowing gates have finally opened.

Charles stumbles back to the low chair, pulling you with him swiftly yet with care. His hands have traveled down to your hips and he helps you settle on his lap, straddling him. He has wished for this moment so many times, has fantasized about it on countless occasions, and none of those daydreams compare to the way your lips feel against his. The way your hands move to his hair and how you grip his shoulders to maintain balance.

And it's only when you really need to breathe again that you break the kiss. Your chests rise and fall frantically, matching your heartbeats. You can't wait to kiss him again. You never want to stop kissing him.

He's staring at you, and he has never looked more beautiful than right now with his disheveled hair and reddened lips. And his eyes are so bright when he looks at you, your heart races even more.

So you kiss him again, pressing your chest tighter against him as he holds the back of your head and your lower back. His tongue tastes like whisky and mint as he runs it down your lower lip, and you let him deepen the kiss as much as he wants to. Both of you have wanted this for months, and it's enough and nothing at all, at the same time.

"I'm yours, y/n," Charles says between kisses, breathless and with a tinge of desperation. "Je suis à toi, mon soleil."

And you kiss him again, and again, and again. Because you're his too. You have been his for so long.

─── team principal radio: ❝in the wise words of taylor swift: it's been a long time coming! thank you so much for reading I hope you enjoyed this chapter because i LOVED writing it. also, thank you so much for being so patient and waiting for an update! i'm glad you're still here❤️❞

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[artethyst]

~ Leaves In A Sky Full Of Stars ~

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s Sister!Reader/OC

Eris had never seen his Mate so nervous- to talk to him, anyway.

Even when they had first met she had been nothing but a pain in his backside- a beautiful one no less.

“I have…news.” Came her voice, wavering as she played with her fingers, sliding the grand, shimmering ruby across her ceremonially ringed digit to soothe her.

“I suspect it is bad.” His teased, taking in her soft appearance, taught chest blossoming at the sight of his beloved.

She grinned, but there was a strange sadness to her eye which sent his own heart racing.

“It depends how you feel about it.”

He quirked a brow as she moved to him, perching herself over his thigh, her skirts brushing against his riding boots that were caked in mud.

“My Love, I am filthy-“

“When are you not?” She mocked lightly and he could only roll his eyes in return, gathering her trembling fingers in his own, warming them as he knew she liked.

Without a word she guided one of his calloused hands away from her own, placing it on her lower stomach as she remained perched on his lap.

He was perplexed until he felt it.

Their life force thrumming as one.

He looked at her incredulously and she bit her lip.

He couldn’t breathe.

“A-Another?” He swallowed thickly. “So…So soon?”

“Eri, he is almost four,” she tried to smile, but his gaze was too piercing, focused on her stomach- where their babe guiltlessly lay.

She knew what was wrong.

“He is hardly three,”

His resolve quickly diminished as he felt her disappointment through the bond, her sweet face falling at his words- ones he vowed to never hurt her with.

He heard her breath hitch and that was enough to break him.

“It…It is a blessing.” He breathed out, unconvincingly- but she knew better. “My Love, any child you give me is a greater gift than I could ever ask for-“

“Then why are you so scared?” Her voice was low as she traced his jaw, eyes glassy as he took a deep breath and counted.

One.

His father was dead. He couldn’t hurt her or the child- children.

Two.

She hadn’t died in childbirth. Madja had saved her. She was alive. Her and his firstborn son were okay.

Three-

“Eri…Talk to me…”

He hated this.

Himself.

His own anxieties self sabotaging his relationships with the only people- person he really cared about.

He swallowed thickly before replying, the feel of her delicate skin against his own dragging him back to surface from his suffocating fears. Ones he might have drowned in if not for her addictive salvation.

“Last time.” Was all he could say, jaw taught. “I almost lost you- the both of you.”

“Eri-“

“I am not my father. You…You are more than what your womb can give me- one was enough. More than enough. You are more precious to me than the heirs you may provide.”

“You…You do not want more children?”

She knew her husband was wary about the first, but had hoped he might have been convinced to have more. She was happy to compromise with his darkest fears and stop at two if it meant she could have at least one of each.

“My Love, I would have as many as you would be happy to give me, but…But it is dangerous. The Healers said-“

“Eris.” She was firm, pushing his hand further against her slightly raised stomach. “You have no reason to be afraid. You are High Lord- we have the best Healers at our disposal. After last time-“

She felt him still at the memory, a chilling sense of fear scattering its way down the bond.

“It was a miracle you both survived.” His voice was cold as she ran a hand through his choppy auburn locks, knowing that his reaction was not one of disappointment, but rather sheer unadulterated terror.

Worry for both his Mate and unborn child.

“Eri, we are both okay- we will be okay.”

And then he nodded.

A shaky breath with it, no less.

“Another, then?” Came a breathy half-laugh, his amber eyes glinting in the soft light of the room.

“Another,” she replied, eyes just as glassy, an incredulous smile on her face as he nuzzled his face against her womb, fresh tears of his own gathering against her gown.

If only the first time they had found out had been as simple.

-

“Must you leave me?” Eris drawled against the crown of your head, inhaling the scent as if it were his last drop of water in the vast, dry plains of Summer.

“It is all but only for a few hours you fiery baby,” you teased as he grinned against your silky hair, revelling in its softness against his cheek. “I would extend the invitation to you, though, I am certain you would not be interested in having tea with-“

“If by tea you mean talking about your sinful novels and eating pastries-“

“I’ll have you know we have distinguished talks-“

“About Sellyn Drake?”

“How do you know about Sellyn Drake?”

It was then he went quiet, which made you giggle, leaning into him for support as his hold on you tightened.

“Will you take the guards I have assigned to you? Perhaps too at least three of the hounds-“

“It is my birthplace Eris,” you wanted to roll your eyes at his overprotectiveness but knew it only came from love. “No guards. No hounds.”

It was then the eldest hound gave a high pitched whine, the very same one that had taken to curling up protectively over your stomach and defying Eris for the first time ever in her meticulously reared existence.

You were lucky he hadn’t caught on.

“How will I survive these awful meetings without knowing you’ll be right behind those doors to greet me once they have ceased?

Your smile became wicked.

“Perhaps I will have a greater surprise for you this evening-“

You barely finished your sentence before his hands had found themselves desperately grabbing at your rear, you smiled into his needy mouth as he pulled you into a tender kiss, laughing wildly as he squeezed the cheeks to slip his tongue right through your lips.

He would be in for a surprise alright.

-

You breathed in the air of Velaris with a melancholic peacefulness, whilst Autumn was your new home- the Court in which you presided over, nothing could ever beat the place in which you had grown.

Only two days prior, you had discovered you were pregnant- a miracle in itself. You knew of Eris’ remaining self doubts, ones that failed to be distinguished even after snuffing out Beron. How he had assured you that it wasn’t necessary to provide him heirs, that the risk of childbirth was not worth losing you.

You knew he was nothing like his father, and had often caught yourself daydreaming of what you could have- what your brother had.

It wasn’t until the Healers excitedly told you of your newfound condition that you thought it could ever be a reality.

You wanted to make it special. As special as Fae pregnancies were, and so you decided you would visit your long time favourite bakery and have them ice a celebration cake in such a way that would reveal the surprise.

One you hoped your husband would take well if not for his ridiculous overbearing attitude.

“Gods, you reek of Eris,” your cousin grimaced, nose scrunching as she pulled you into a hug. “No…Wait. What is that?” She pulled away perplexed, her pouty mouth falling open in disbelief as she suddenly recognised the sickly, sweet aroma- one also tinged with your husband’s delicate spice.

“Mor-“

“OH MY GOD! MOTHER’S TITS!” She squealed, loud enough for all of Prythian to hear. “You’re pregnant with that asshole’s child!”

You frowned.

“That asshole is still my Mate you know.”

“Cauldron boil you I suppose,” she retorted, a grin on her joyous face as you rolled your eyes with a half smile, knowing her jests were all in good humour- despite everything.

Despite the truth. Despite the truth and what you knew of Eris, the very truth your family now did too, there was still a long way to go for them to truly accept him.

“That is why I enlisted your help,” you continued, her arm now looped through yours. “I have been glamouring my scent so he wouldn’t find out until I had planned something special.”

“He has turned you soppy, Cousin,” she mocked as you giggled, knowing it was very much the other way around. “But who am I to say no to free pastries?”

After you and Mor had sufficiently stuffed yourself with cakes, you especially savouring the taste having suffered without it for far too long. It wasn’t that Autumn desserts were bad, you just missed the sweets of your childhood.

That and you were growing sick of spices and apple.

You had felt a pair of eyes trailing you but presumed it was due to the fact you were still Princess of the Night Court, your presence was greatly missed in those parts of Velaris you seldom frequented since being appointed High Lady Of Autumn.

After you thanked your favourite baker, receiving the delicate cake and had practically forced the money into her hands, making sure to visit again soon, it was almost time for you to leave the City of Starlight.

“Why can’t you stay for dinner?” Your cousin whined, still hanging off of your arm like she did when you both were teens. “I’m sure your husband can manage those few hours-“

“We will visit again when I reveal the news to everyone. I swear on the Mother Mor…You better keep it a secret- especially from Rhys!”

She raised her hands in mock surrender.

“Besides,” you continued, blissfully unaware of the presence gaining on you from behind the narrow alley. “Eris-“

It was Mor who screamed first.

You felt the dagger pierce your side, but the sharp pain in your stomach that followed was worse than whatever the assailant had set out to do. A dull ache that had stolen your voice away as you fell to the floor, helpless.

You felt yourself waning as Mor’s loud voice became faint, the last thing you saw were her shaking hands, covered in blood, as she removed the Autumn Court dagger from your marred flesh.

-

Eris jolted when the bond was flooded with pain, his hands scouring burn marks into his ornate chair at the head of the meeting he had been called to at the sudden intensity of it.

He hardly had time to react before the large oak doors swung open, revealing Lucien who, to anyone else, looked normal, but the most disheveled Eris had seen him in years.

The Advisors quickly bowed and deserted the room before Eris had the chance to send them away, Lucien’s shallow breaths enough to warn them of the severity of the situation their ears were not Privy to.

“Someone was sent to kill her,” was all the Emissary said. He knew Eris would understand and was never one for pleasantries. “Rhysand has her in the Town House-“

And that was all he needed to winnow straight to where his Mate was being held.

“Brother,” Lucien called out, only steps behind the High Lord, jogging to catch up to the man barrelling through the doors adorned with Night’s symbology. “Rhysand has her room guarded, I warn you-“

“She is my Mate,” he growled, animalistic. “I shall do as I please.”

“High Lord,” Rhysand greeted sarcastically as Eris stormed his way into view, heart beating so fast he was sure he might have a heart attack if he didn’t reach you in the next few seconds.

“Rhysand if you do not step your ridiculously shoed foot aside-“

“She is safe. Our Healers do not need another High Lord breathing down their necks-“

“Safe? Someone tried to kill her. I think you and I have very different definitions of ‘safe’, High Lord.” The title was spat with venom, not respect.

“It was an Autumn Court Soldier.” Rhysand’s tone was pointed, “if she hadn’t been with Morrigan, perhaps nobody would have found her in time.”

Eris’ face paled.

“Autumn?” His jaw became taught. “Where-“

“Azriel took him to the dungeons. I assured him to leave the bastard to you, that you would most certainly provide the deserved punishment.”

Eris couldn’t thank him.

The horrible lump in his throat stopping him.

The one that had never left since his cursed birth- the one that had remained even when you had entered his life, the one that only shrunk, but never ceased to exist.

You had been hurt because of him.

Targeted.

Almost killed because he had been unaware- unable to stop it.

He knew he didn’t deserve you, but this was enough proof for him to make that very lump increase tenfold. Increase to the point where he felt he was going to suffocate.

He was drowning. He was erratic and his salvation- his only respite, was laying unresponsive in next the room over.

Whenever he got like this, which was rare as of late, you were the one to soothe him.

Kiss away his fears- quash the traumas his father had so lovingly provided him.

He felt like he was going to die.

He wanted to.

A life without you in it was not worth living.

He felt a familiar claws scraping at his mental shields and could only blame his lack of response for their intrusion, sending his brother a sharp glare in return regardless.

“Get out of my head Rhysand!”

“Let him see her, Rhys,” came Feyre’s gentle voice as she emerged from the chamber in which you were being held, and Eris might have thanked her if not for the red tainting his vision. “You would act just the same if it were me.”

Rhysand looked torn for a moment- as if he had only just remembered his little sister, now his only sister, belonged to another male.

That someone else now held her heart.

“Try keeping your emotions in check High Lord,” came his suave voice, though Feyre knew he was masking his own fears. “Wouldn’t want to exasperate her further through your…Unfortunate bond, would we?”

And with that, the High Lord of Night made his exit.

A silent acceptance that Eris was the one now entrusted to look over you.

Feyre sent Eris an apologetic smile before catching up with her own Mate, lightly berating him before they could turn the corner.

He didn’t even bother to listen.

You were more important than any domestic material he could have on Rhysand to poke fun at him for later.

You were more important than anything.

He thought he had prepared himself for the worst, but he would never forget the way your face looked in that moment.

Pale.

Sickeningly pale.

Not the delicate, moonlit expanse he spent his nights caressing- worshipping, wondering how he got so lucky, but a pallid shade that almost brought him to his knees.

You were the only one who could ever bring him to.

He knew he had memorised the shade of your eyes- an ethereal violet, the only place he’d allow himself to get lost in, but was horrified as they remained shut.

Perhaps to never open again.

Because of him.

Or so he told himself.

He wished then he had spent every breath- every fleeting second of his centuries of living looking into those eyes if it meant never having to forget the way they looked.

The way you gazed upon him- with love.

Not with fear, disappointment nor disgust, but the way his mother did.

Even when you had wanted nothing to do with him, before you had accepted the bond and would refuse to meet his gaze, forced to trail behind your father and brother as a well-bred female should- or so was told.

Even when he knew he was the only one in love- would do anything for you regardless, he would rather go back to that moment, see those eyes narrowed at him in fury, than never see them again.

“The dagger was laced with Fae bane,” came the voice of Madja, he knew that because you had forced him to be attended to by her when he had suffered a particularly nasty thrashing at the hands of his father.

One you didn’t trust the Healers of his own court to remedy.

“By the Mother child, sit before you faint on me.” His face might have been have been paler than yours- blood colder and far more disheveled. “She is alive. After she wakes, Mother knows she will, I must warn you, she will still require an extensive recovery period- especially because of the baby.”

Especially because of the baby.

The baby.

The baby. The baby. The baby.

“T-The what?”

Madja breathed sharply through her nostrils.

“I see.” She sighed, adjusting the pillows beneath your limp neck. “I was under the impression you were aware. Do not fret, I have not informed anyone else-“

“She…She’s pregnant?”

It was then any semblance he was gripping onto fell through his hands like the tears threatened to from his piercing eyes.

His chest felt like it was on fire- consumed by the same flames that rested within him, his ribcage screaming out with each wavered breath as he used the wall for support.

He was having a panic attack.

He was having a panic attack and you were not there to save him.

“Leave,” he gritted out when he felt Madja inch towards him. “It will resolve itself in a minute- go.”

She was in no mood to argue with a High Lord- a temperamental one at that, and, deep down, trusted him enough to be left alone with you. He might’ve been the only one she would’ve taken that order from.

She knew that you loved him- that he loved you more. Perhaps even deeper than her own High Lord loved his own mate. She had practically raised you, it was not hard to tell. It was a palpable love.

A fiery, all consuming love.

When the woman had finally left, he let himself fall to your bedside, one hand clutching his chest, the other trembling and taking a firm hold of your much smaller, much softer one.

One that was ice cold.

He gasped through his tears, so foreign against his skin- his skin that had become so hot, his Magic uncontrollable, that they evaporated as soon as they fell upon his freckled cheeks.

The words came tumbling out before he could even rationalise- process what they meant. Apologising- for everything.

Apologising for being your Mate, for cursing you to be bound to such a fool as he, one that had broken his promise to protect you- to keep you safe.

He sobbed unabashedly- unashamedly into your hands, the frail digits slowly becoming warmed by his powers as he continued praying the hardest he’d ever prayed- the only time of three that he had ever put his wavering faith into the Mother, to keep you and his unborn child steady.

Steady and awake.

He wasn’t sure if Madja had been vague to comfort him or simply because she too was unaware when you would come to.

Or if you would ever.

He hadn’t even become a father and he had already failed his one duty.

If he felt worthless before, it was nothing to what he felt now- kneeling on the cold stone, his head against your womb with his fractured cries ricocheting off of the bloodied material.

He would burn it.

Buy you 1000 dresses to make up for the one he destroyed- never wanting to smell the scent of your blood, the one which made him gag and tears gather ever more strongly at the corner of his russet eyes.

He would burn it alongside the very man had done this to you.

Burn him slowly.

He would burn everything for you, the entirety of Prythian- himself to ensure your safety.

And now his child’s.

“E-Eri?”

And that’s when he really did properly cry.

You couldn’t understand what he was saying, his hoarse voice muffled by the fresh linen Madja had given you after attending to your wound.

Then you realised he wasn’t saying anything at all.

He was crying.

He was crying and trying to hide it.

“I-I’m sorry-“ your voice was weak, and it was your turn to cry. “I-I should’ve listened to you, I-I should never have come, I put our baby in danger-“

You spoke without thinking, but it was then you gasped.

Your baby.

“The baby is okay-“ Eris let out, his own voice breaking, finally lifting his head and allowing his watery gaze meeting your own as if saying it out loud finally made him accept it.

Realise what truly lay ahead.

“T-The baby- our baby,” he choked out, and you let him bring you into his arms, as you hiccuped against his shoulder as he held you. “My star, I can never apologise enough if I made you feel you couldn’t tell me-“

“No,” you sniffled, wincing as you shifted, “I-I came here to surprise you, I-I had someone bake a cake- I-“ you burst into tears again. “I-I didn’t mean for any of this to happen…I just wanted to make you happy!”

You were still thinking about him.

He was supposed to be the one comforting you and yet all you could do was apologise- apologise for wanting him to be happy.

“My Love, you make me happy. With every breath I take knowing you are my Mate fills me with more joy than anything tangible- anything else the Mother could ever gift me,” his words were sincere as he delicately held you, mindful of your wound. “There is nothing in all of Prythian that matters to me apart from you.”

He felt himself becoming tense as his fingers brushed against your cut- the one he refused to look at because it turned him feral.

“Are…Are you happy then?” Your voice was so small it almost broke him. The fact you even had to ask. “I know how you feel-“

“My Light, that news alone leaves me the happiest I have ever been,” he was struggling to maintain his composure with his Mate so weak- trembling in his strong arms. “A child is a blessing, one I am honoured you would ever give me…” His amber gaze became crescent shaped as he smiled, still in disbelief. “I love you. More than anything. More than I ever thought possible.”

You didn’t know why you were crying anymore.

The pain, the fear, the love you felt oozing from the bond or your husband’s words.

The confessions that spilled from him so readily- easily after years of coaxing him from his shell, that hard exterior even you had to work through.

“Our baby,” you echoed, the only words you could find as you revelled in your Mate’s tears.

A rare sight if any.

“Our baby,” he affirmed shakily, his free hand remaining protectively splayed on your flat stomach, swearing there and then he’d keep you safe- the both of you safe, no matter the cost.

The same cost that later that evening, when you had spent enough time wrapped up in Eris, Madja shooing him away exasperatedly, the man who had dared do this to you paid for.

The cost he paid for when Eris knew you were amply surrounded by people- family who loved you, people at your beck and call by your bedside, giving him enough time to deal with the very scum that had once been part of his- your Court.

The very cost that was hours of torture- brutal torture lovingly provided by the very blade that had harmed you- a hundred fold.

The man couldn’t even scream his last words, his tongue cut from his mouth as he was burned alive.

Eris, with a snarl on his powerful face at the memory of you so helpless.

And with the blood of his enemy covering his shaking hands, all he could think of was you.

You and his child.

#fanfic #acotar #acotar fic #acotar x oc #acotar x reader #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra x reader #eris x oc #eris x reader #dad!eris

[celaenaeiln]

I feel like Nightwing doesn't kill is a promise. That's why criminals fear him. He won't kill. He'll make you wish you were killed, tho. He'll make sure you live, but the pain is what scares them. But maybe that's my way to look at it. Cuz my pretty boy is unhinged and feral in the most adorable way, hehe 😅😅

YESSSS! More than a promise to Bruce, it is a promise to himself.

Nightwing is only the nicest, sweetest, charming guy to civilians and allies but when he's serious criminals are terrified of him.

The pure ice in his voice. He's itching-daring-the criminal to even try and shoot him. Just begging for it so he can give him the proper retribution.

Here he's throwing a criminal from a speeding subway. He knows the action won't kill them, but it will seriously hurt them.

More than that it's how he instills fear which has my greatest admiration. Dick is the symbol of hope and rebirth to the good and the heroes but he's a masked terror when it comes to villains. I love how he just doesn't go around scaring them the same way. Every single villain, he terrifies them in a different manner than he did the previous.

Here's my favorite of the series:

"Do you have any idea what it feels like to burn to death?"

-the ice in his voice while surrounded by flames of anger both literal and figurative.

"Residents on floors one through three died instantly when your bomb went off. But four and five the floors...fell through on them. And floor six...they burned."

*fanning myself because that was too hot*

He's special because he purposefully brings forth people's strengths and uses them to destroy themselves with it.

Bludhaven is the worst fictional place in all of DC. It's been alluded to in the DC Legends of Tomorrow and other comics but Bludhaven is almost practically inhabitable because of the way it is rife with crime. Riddled and filled.

To be able to clean up such a city that corrupt to its core, Dick had to be the brightest light to shine so the good will bask in him and seek reform like the citizens who were so desperately relieved at the reappearance of Nightwing during the Ric Grayson arc.

But he is also so unhinged and vicious and overwhelming enough to quell the worst of the worst and drag his city up from the mud. His mind is like a razor blade made of diamond in order to cut through the bullshit of his city and keep everyone in check.

That means he's unhinged and powerful and he revels in that insanity and strength to become someone worth looking up to.

He's so feral in the way his eyes shine just a little too bright and his perpetual smile always has a touch of wildness clinging to its edges.

He'll cackle with joy because for him he is living in the moment. Just pure, unadulterated joy that comes from being free and alive in a way we can't explain.

#he's so twisted when he's on his own #dick grayson #nightwing #i remembered a quote I saved many years ago that describes him I'll post #cl anon asks

[morallyinept]

A Cup Of Love - A Dieter Bravo One Shot ☕️

Summary: Dieter makes you a cup of tea.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However, I have made a brief mention of Reader having a real body with stretch marks, as with Dieter with him ageing and greying.)

Word Count: 2.1k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️“Don't hurt me, cadejo.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) Brief mention of drugs - nothing graphic. Dieter and Reader have REAL bodies. Mostly fluffy and soft. Dieter is a total sweetheart.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: The amazing Gi @tightjeansjavi and I got to talking today about Dieter and tea, and we were both inspired to write a little something about, uh, Dieter and tea! ☕️🫖 Please ensure your check out Gi's amazing Tea Party story! And her other Dieter story Chamomile, which started our adventure down the tea-drinking rabbit hole! Love you, Gi 😘

MAIN MASTERLIST | A CUP OF LOVE MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

As Dieter stands in the kitchen, preparing the tea with careful precision, he can't help but marvel at the stark contrast between the often debilitating chaos of his career, and the tranquillity of his home life with you.

It still feels new, that band around his puffy wedding finger gleaming up at him, not tarnished like his other rings. Shiny, untainted.

Like a whirlwind on set, he often finds himself swept up in the frenzied gluttony of fame, dabbling in the temptations that lurk in the shadows with shiny lacquer talons beckoning him in.

They whisper his name with insidious crackles, sharp teeth that glisten in their false fanged smiles. His dishevelled face imprinted on sleazy tabloids, and ruthlessly scathing reviews of his work, that seek to further besmirch his tattered legacy.

There was a time when Dieter Bravo gave them two thick fingers, caring little and indulging in the hedonism that such a career and all of its chromatic glitz offered in abundance. It literally fell into his lap and gyrated suggestively on it.

And instead of pushing it away, he stuffed crumpled, one-hundred dollar bills into its g-string and snorted lines from its ample cleavage without a care in the world.

He was sucked in, drowning in front of an unsatisfied audience, who clapped lazily and jeered instead of throwing him a much needed life buoy. The drowning man, coughing water from his lungs as they hand him gold statues, and plaques with his name engraved on.

A name that sounds more like a third wheel in his life with you, dragging its baggage in from the doorstep and forgetting to wipe its feet as it traipses the clotting mud of his life over the polished wooden floors.

But here, in the quiet sanctuary of your shared kitchen, humble with the soft glow of morning light filtering through the window, Dieter feels it all wash away; the bawdy grime of a soiled past rinsing down the plug hole.

Gone are the days of wild partying with yes-men, drug-fuelled binges and scandalous social feeds, to be replaced with knuckling down, taking the better scripts with characters of substance, and potential Oscar nominations attached to them.

He’s traded the bizarre, the outlandish, for the quiet and the subdued. For the homemade, the curated and the simple joys of growing older with an aching back.

He’s traded it all for something far greater than any of it all; coming home to you.

With each measured movement - the precise amount of tea leaves, the exact temperature of the water - he finds solace in the routine of making a simple cup of tea, a stark departure from the unpredictability of his previous, voracious world.

With the tea steeped to perfection, Dieter pours it into your favourite cup, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him.

As he stirs the heady tea, watching the leaves dance in the whirlpool of hot water, he can't help but think of you; his anchor, his steady hand in the midst of the choppy storms.

With you by his side, he feels grounded, connected to the earth by his feet once more; his erratic impulses tempered by your steady presence and a spiritual awakening.

The heavy drag of his hand over his weathered face as he yawns, an itching nostril that tickles, and he tosses the spoon in the sink, metallic chimes echoing in his ears.

He allows himself a moment to savour it, the scent, the quiet. A moment to just breathe. In and out, his chest expanding as he closes his eyes, hands resting on the counter.

Leaving the nagging ache in his shoulder from the stunt work dulling into a silent pang. The bruises will fade, it all heals in the end. Regrowth, second chances... another shot at the important things.

With the cup cradled in his hands, rings chinking delicately against the porcelain, he makes his way to the bedroom, where you lay in the billowy sheets, your features softened by sleep.

He takes a moment, lingering in the crack of the door silently, a ghost in his own home watching from afar, unable to be fully corporeal, a real boy.

Hovering in the draw of you, he wonders what you dream about. If the world you’re in is better than what he offers you. He tells himself to stop being ridiculous, that he’s deserving of your love, right?

Right?

You looked so fucking beautiful on the day you vowed to love and cherish him, warts and all. A lump in his throat, seafoam in his eyes as the wind tousled the flowers in your hair.

The hushed, reverend tones of your friends and families, they all washed away, swept out with the tide, and it was just the two of you for a few moments, hands knotted, hearts entwined. An intricate lace dress and a sand coloured suit. Dieter knew then he could do this, with you.

For you.

He could pick himself up, dust himself down and be what you needed. He vowed to be strong for you when he'd spent so long feeling weak, small.

On that day, he finally learned how to be selfless.

A tender smile unfolding over his crooked lips, Dieter observes you for a moment, marvelling at the gentle rise and fall of your bare chest on display for him. Nipples swollen, seemingly double their circumference in the heat, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by his own body as he stiffens at the sight of you.

Throbbing and heavy between his legs, the view of you melting him into the floor.

As he holds the scalding cup in his hands, the steam curling into his nose in gentle tendrils, he pushes the door fully open and approaches the bed.

He knows just how to rouse you from slumber without disrupting your tranquil state.

The aroma of the tea wafts through the room, a delicate rapture of fragrances that wilt in the air. With each inhale, Dieter is greeted by the rich, earthy scent, mingling with delicate notes of jasmine and bergamot.

It’s a quietly comforting aroma, one that envelopes him like a warm embrace, soothing his senses and calming the restless tornadoes in his mind.

A smell that is familiarly and uniquely, you.

Sitting gently on the bed beside you, resting on his elbow, he traces the curve of your jaw with his fingertips, watching your eyes flicker under the lids.

A soft moan escapes you on a gossamer breath, barely heard over the timid whistle of the radiator in the room.

As Dieter leans closer into you, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply the sweet scent of your hair. It’s a fragrance that never fails to intoxicate him, a delicate blend of coconut and vanilla that lingers long after you've left the room.

He’s transported to the beach once again where you'd promised you were his, forever. A hand he can squeeze and show off on the red carpets, look, she’s mine. She loves me… A smile he can eagerly chase with his lips.

A partner he can grow old with and reminisce about life whilst your bones shape around the rocking chairs on your porch. Papery hands held tight together as you wait for the pearlescent dust of death.

An eternal cup of tea he can make for you, just because.

With each breath, he feels a sense of calm wash over him, as if your very essence has the power to chase away the lingering shadows of doubt and uncertainty that like to piggyback on his shoulders.

It’s in these quiet moments, when the world seems to stand still, that Dieter feels the full force of his love for you wash over him like a tidal wave. The drowning man, coughing water from his lungs as you pull him out of the salty brine and into your arms.

He could just paint you right now, whip out another canvas and let your love guide his brush once more. Your face adorns the walls in collections of his signature style; a wallpaper of affection. Your eyes, your smile; the way your hair dances and beckons him into the acrylic world created by his once numb fingers.

Dieter presses his cracked lips to your forehead and then your cheek as you stir.

When you wake up, your eyes slowly flutter open, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains and the delicate smooches painting your face.

As your gaze meets his, there’s a fleeting moment of confusion, followed by a dawning recognition that spreads across your features like the first golden light of the sunrise. Your lips curve into a sleepy smile, your eyes alight with warmth and adoration as you take in the hazy, messy aura of him beside you, holding the steaming cup in his big hands.

There’s a certain softness in your gaze, a tenderness that speaks volumes without the need for words to be sounded out around clumsy vowels. It’s as if you can see straight into him, unravelling the layers of his complicated and erratic being with a single glance that strips him to bone and sinew.

“You look tired, baby.”

“Long flight.” He yawns, all fillings in his back molars, all deep crinkles around his eyes.

He slips you the cup as you smile at him, offering him that grin that makes him feel so big and powerful, even when he feels like sludge.

He watches you take a sip, eyes closing in blissful contentment and humming at the warm taste as you feel it make its way down into your chest.

“Good?”

“Perfect,” you say, your fingers stroking the fine, grey scruff of his jaw as he blushes.

He nestles into your palm, mouthing a kiss on it, deep brown eyes lancing at you longingly. A lost boy in a tired man’s body coming home to you, offering more than the riches of a name chiselled inside a scuff-worn star on a boulevard in a dirty city with dimming bright lights.

No, he offers you his love in fragrant liquid form, a small yellow ocean to sail together in a teacup. An I love you curated in the moments of the simple art of patience and preparation.

You can taste it as it warms through your insides.

“Come here,” you open your arms out, after discarding the cup, and he can’t resist, shuffling out of his clothes that carry the stress of his journey quickly, leaving the sag of them hanging off the bed like shedding his skin.

He seeks your own for that one-on-one comfort, sharing your sleepy heat in the soft sheets. He covets to feel you pressed up naked against him, slotting easily around the misshapen lumps and bumps of a body well-abused.

He sniffs you in deep, to the back of his nostrils, but you don’t burn or fizz as you go down. Dieter can breathe you in freely and doesn't choke when you make his head spin.

You're his favourite kind of drug.

Wrapping his thick arms around you, Dieter pulls you close, revelling in the familiar weight of your body against his; your fingers sweeping across his broad chest, rifling through the sparse grey hairs here and there. A journey finalised when you finger in the grey, fluffed curls at the back of his neck, twirling them around the tips.

Nose pressed under his jaw as you inhale notes of his dying cologne and musky sweat from his travels. Eyelashes tickling softly against a constellation of freckles. Your clammy thigh hooked over the softness of his belly that he grips, his own fingers stroking at your marred skin with crinkly stretch marks.

He runs his fingers up and down the zig-zags of them, making you shudder, and he hums into your scalp, awed at the reaction from his touch.

Dieter takes a few moments, remembering what it feels like to be home in your arms. To understand finally that home isn’t just some fancy condo on a hilltop overlooking the City of Angels, nor a place full of frivolous, pointless things - it’s you.

Home is in the smile you blind him with, the sound of your laughter pummelling his ears deafening him. The feel of your body crushing him into the mattress as you gift him every piece of your love without expecting anything in return.

But he gives you all of him back, because that's all he has to offer.

And you accept this disasterous, frail human, cradling him tight like a scraggly bear left out in the rain, cold and discarded.

He gives you all his love in the only way he knows how; raw and scarred.

Dieter kisses you, tilting your chin up to his and losing himself in you. He’s been lost for so long, only being found the day he met you. The day he fell head over heels for an angel.

Lips sweep over one another, reminding him of your taste, the way you moan gently into the cavities, how your nails rake gently, but tingly, down the broad expanse of his back making him shudder in turn with want and need.

The way you simply kiss his bruises and aches, from weeks of throwing himself around sets, away, makes him fall harder to his knees.

You reach out to him, your hands seeking his naked flesh in the crumpled sheets, your legs cinching around his paunchy waist, the brush of his hardened cock catching in the crease of your thigh.

He feels your breath, warm and pleasant on his eyelids when you gasp, filling you up with him. Thick, warm, wet…

Pushes his thick cock slowly and deliberately inside of you, equally burying himself in this feeling that comes without a name, an unconditional tattoo inked on a pair of stumpy hearts.

You bind him to you, his face in your chest, kissing, nuzzling. Your hands in his hair, stroking, combing. A ghost of his name falling from your lips, mouth full of him.

“My tea will get cold…” You pant softly into his eyelashes as you take him all in, connected as one again; hips gently grinding against one another. Chests pressed together, hearts beating as one.

“I’ll make you another cup.” Dieter murmurs, as his mouth latches onto yours.

Thank you so much for reading this little, soft Dieter story. I hope you enjoyed it and as always, would love to know your thoughts. 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal #dieter bravo #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo the bubble #jett's writing

[nyctophiliq]

FREE PALESTINE, FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA !

i have refrained from making this post, both for the reason of not wanting to be ridiculed as a "know it all" and because i thought people in this day and age, where we have the internet to do almost the impossible would conclude to themselves that helping is now not an impossible thing.

but here we are.

i feel like a lot of you out there, who might not have a following, or has a big following but doesn’t post has completely ignore the important aspects of the internet that they claim to be using.

i sense that none of you above want to acknowledge that there is a world outside of your tumblr, because why would you? the sole purpose of you coming here was to get away from the real life around you, to have something to ground yourself with instead of having to face the dark, gruesome troubles that you are having but all i see is hiding, not dealing. now that that real life is with you on your dashboard, talking about people dying of bombs, slaughter, hunger, and dehydration is taking away the sense of escape that you came here to seek. and by no means i am defending you, silent creatures, i am dragging you by the collar of your shirt through the mud for your inhumane actions.

it shows how some of you cherish life, wanting it to be as perfect as possible- going to therapists to deal with your trauma, going to the store to not starve, enjoying the police and military of a secure country that has fallen into your hand by the right of your birth. you say you are depressed and not well, voice your concerns about how some people neglect to even think about your mental health because the person dismissing your problems could be only a horrible person in turn.

how does it not hurt to see other people in pain, being hurt on purpose and not thing that “i should maybe do something, i wouldn’t wanna be in the place they are, wouldn’t wanna be going through what they are”. to see you holler about your right to a better life, a good mental health is outragious. you believe in your right to have that why can’t you believe that other people deserve it too?

how can you go a day without talking about, or at least acknowledging in your own words that what you have gone through- all that trauma, that abuse, being cut up, and spit at- can’t be as bad or twice as bad for other people? of course we can talk about our problems, we can say that we are struggling but we have to at least have the decency to say that we are not the only ones.

telling yourself that someone else is in bigger trouble than you won’t help you, ignoring your pain for somebody else’s doesn’t make yours go away but it can make you realize that somehow there has to be a way through it- going to a therapist to work on your issues for example. a lot of you don’t understand that the life you have, the life you love and cherish despite how horrible it might have been before others want to have it too? the relief of being able to say “shit happened, but i got through it”, to see the light at the end of the tunnel, to have a family, friends, siblings, and people around them, to have their own religion, background, city of birth that brings them closer as a community, to have somewhere to belong.

our world has been so easy, we don’t have to go to war to help, we don’t have to spend money to help- we only need our voice, that simple click, and the reblog to let others out there know that this is not okay and that people are fighting for them, to have them hope for another day, to have them endure for a brighter future.

in this day and age we have become so pleasantly blissed by the “bystander affect”, letting everything slip by because “hells, it’s easier to be like this than actually do something”. it shows how many of you are fighting, how many of you accepted defeat, how many of you still have hope.

and i mean all offense.

FREE PALESTINE, FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA !

#🍃 — moss rambles !

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 21: CAUGHT

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

Inside the kitchen, Cillian poured you two a glass of wine and heated up the food while you watched, marveling at how easy it was to be around him. It wasn't just his charm or experience, but the passion that seemed to radiate from him. It was infectious and invigorating.

As you sat at the dining table, picking at the delectable dishes laid in front of you, the two of you started talking, about everything and nothing. You discussed everything from poetry to life choices, the conversation flowing naturally, almost effortlessly, as if you had known each other for years.

And then, eventually, he brought up his wife and the fact that, on the morning of this very same day, he had phoned his lawyer.

"I am filing for divorce," he confessed with a solemnity that turned the atmosphere heavy with a looming sense of foreboding. "I just can't do it anymore," he sighed heavily but with a hint of excitement in his voice. 

His words hung in the air, weighty and inevitable. You sipped from your wine glass, feeling a sudden chill seize you. 

"Please tell me that it's not because of me," you demanded, your voice wavering slightly.

"No," he reassured you, grabbing your hand across the table. "It's just...I can't pretend anymore. I can't keep pretending that I love her when I don't and, after all she has done to me over the years, I am certain that, leaving her, is what I need in order to be happy," he confessed.

His words pierced your heart, and you felt a sense of guilt creeping up inside you. Despite his reassurance, you couldn't deny the fact that you had somehow played a significant role in the end of Cillian and his wife's relationship, although it wasn't intentional. Your affair had started off as a simple short-lived escape from reality for both of you, but now that you confessed your feelings for one another, it was much more than that.

"What are you thinking?" Cillian asked, his voice soft and soothing.

"I just hope you know what you're getting yourself into," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You couldn't deny the guilt you felt over what was happening. "She might try to ruin your career," you warned, causing Cillian to nod.

"I know, but like I said, I cannot keep going like this," he confessed. "Life is too short, and I refuse to let her dictate how I should live mine."

You both fell silent for a moment, the gravity of the situation soaking in. The thought of Cillian's name being dragged through the mud was unbearable - even if you felt confident that he was making the right decision.

"What about us?" you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Will there ever be an 'us'?" you wanted to know, causing Cillian to gaze at you, his intense blue eyes meeting your own.

"I want there to be an 'us' Y/N," he affirmed, squeezing your hand. "But I have to take care of this first," he explained, a solemn expression crossing his face. "And to tell you the truth, I do not know how I would ever explain this to Max," Cillian sighed, seeing that until just a year ago you were dating him, his very own son.

"I know. It seems like an impossible situation," you agreed, a twinge of sadness creeping into your voice. "But once you finalise your divorce, we may be able to come up with a plan to address this," you told him, a determined glint in your eyes.

Cillian nodded solemnly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"I could not possibly ask you to wait for me, Y/N. You are young and deserve better than someone like me, who comes with baggage," Cillian admitted, a look of regret flashing across his handsome features as the weight of his words settled between them.

"Cillian, I am in love with you," you declared before taking in a deep breath. "And it's not something that I thought would happen when we started sleeping with each other, but it did," you confessed with all the sincerity you could muster. "So, I think me waiting for you to sort out this mess might be worthwhile. Despite, we can still go on like this, in secret, for the time being," you suggested, your voice hopeful.

Cillian's eyes lit up, his surprise palpable. "You'd do that for me?"

"I would," you replied, a determined expression on your face. "But only if you promise that we will work towards something real after all this is over."

"I promise," he assured you, cupping your cheek before placing a tender kiss on your lips. The promise of a future together was exhilarating, yet tinged with uncertainty. You knew it would not be easy, but the thought of being with Cillian - of sharing yourself fully with him - made the struggle worthwhile.

After you finished your meal and settled on the sofa together, the hours crept towards midnight. The two of you were cocooned in a blanket of warmth, your legs tangled together as you shared stories of your lives.

You relished in the opulence of his penthouse suite, the skyline of London bathed in an ethereal glow as the city lulled to sleep outside. The sounds of the city seemed to fade away until only the gentle hum of his heater filled the silence. Your head rested on Cillian's chest, lulled into a peaceful trance by the steady beat of his heart.

You glanced up at the clock, noticing the time had slipped past the midnight hour. Reluctantly, you detangled yourself from him and stood up.

"I should get going," you mumbled, stifling a yawn. "Early start tomorrow."

Cillian grabbed your hand, his face unreadable in the dim light. "Can't I convince you to stay?"

You hesitated, the desire to spend the night beside him battling with the responsibilities that awaited you in the morning. 

"I guess I could get to work straight from here," you mused aloud, glancing up as a sly grin spread across Cillian's face. He tugged gently at your hand, pulling you towards him and trapping you within the circle of his arms.

"Good, then stay," he murmured, nuzzling your hair.

A sigh escaped your lips and you leaned into his embrace, feeling as though you could remain in this moment for an eternity. 

"Okay," you agreed, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. "But only if you promise me something," you declared, looking him directly in the eyes.

"Anything," he vowed, his voice low and ragged with desire.

"You will let me sleep," you giggled. "No fooling around," you commanded, your voice barely audible.

Cillian merely chuckled at your words, kissing the top of your head affectionately. "How about a little more fooling around and then I will let you go to sleep," he teased, nipping at your earlobe with his teeth.

"Hmm, not fair," you whispered, closing your eyes and loving the sensation of his lips on your sensitive ear.

He placed his hand underneath your chin, tilting it upwards slightly. His lips found yours in a soft kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips. You opened your mouth to allow him entrance, the taste of wine still on his tongue as it danced with yours. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you.

Despite your exhaustion, your body immediately responded to his touch, a slow burn working its way through your veins as arousal built within you.

"I am going to be sore tomorrow, won't I?" you joked, pulling back from his embrace and smiling up at him.

Cillian chuckled softly, his arms still wrapped around your waist. "That's the idea. I want you to remember this moment tomorrow, so you know how much I want you," he admitted, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

You shivered, your body aching for his touch, but your mind still tried to resist, knowing that the morning would soon be upon you.

"The sheer thought of being tired and sore from having been fucked by you all night is quite the turn on," you said, biting your lower lip in anticipation.

"Oh, yeah? That's good to know," Cillian murmured, capturing your lip between his teeth for a playful nibble.

His hands slid up your back, lifting the hem of your shirt and caressing the bare skin beneath. You gasped, your body tingling with anticipation.

His t-shirt came off next, revealing his toned but slim frame and the smattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You couldn't help but trace the line of freckles with your fingers, savoring the feeling of his bare skin against yours.

Cillian then captured your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue tracing the contours of your mouth.

You yielded to him, allowing yourself to become lost in the passion of the moment. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath your fingertips.

Despite your earlier reservations, your body begged for more. Each brush of his skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine. His cock hardened against your leg, the sensation making you gasp and, by this point, you were so engrossed within each other that you didn't realize that Max had walked through the front door.

"What the fuck!" Max exclaimed, his eyes widening in horror as he realized the scene that was unfolding before him after his mother had sent him to Cillian's apartment to get something for her, knowingly, claiming that his father wasn't home. 

To be continued...

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[bluecapsicum]

Cold winter skies illustrations for my daily meteorological fiction project, Reports From Unknown Places About Indescribable Events (Twitter, Instagram, Mastodon, archives on my website).

Keep reading for the companion texts.

December 31st: We report: sometimes, we think we know what to expect when it comes to the sky. We go a few days, maybe a couple of weeks without much happening, a rainbow perhaps, a contrail... We think we know the sky. It happens then, that the clouds twist and knit into impossibilities.

January 4th: We report: we went to the planetarium with our expert, once. We spent an hour watching as we got further, and further away from Earth, then the solar system, our galaxy, and then our galaxy group, until there was nowhere to go anymore. We got brought home, to our beating heart.

January 11th: We report: good morning, we would like to draw attention to a lovely and unexpected event occurring at this moment. Would you please look up to the clouds and notice how, though the sky is largely grey, the gulls flying overhead are tinted orange by the sunrise light? Thank you.

January 12th: We report: in the hollow of a valley, sleepy lightning bugs. There is grey little light dragging itself through the air like it does not want to be here, and we are cold with our hands in our pockets and our nose in our scarf and our ears exposed and bright red (nobody sees).

January 22nd: We report: we have missed a train today, but we can only hope that the train dearly missed us in return. We waited at the station for the next one for a long time, watched people get off and on different trains until it got too cold for us to wait outside. Wispy cirrus.

January 27th: We report on a winter morning: there was a robin and a few hares, blending in with the snowy grass. The snowflakes were heavy enough that we could hear them fall around us. We could smell the cold air until our nose started running. Grey sludge on the side of salted roads.

January 28th: We report: it is after nightfall, but there are still many sparrows chattering in the trees. The air is dank out here, and as we walk, we can feel condensation forming on our face, the white puffs of our breath dissolving into the night. Our expert walks a few steps behind us.

January 31st: We report sometime around sunrise (what sun, rising from where, one might ask on this cloudy morning). The light, weak and mournful, does not weigh enough to reach down the deep blue dark of the ocean. The sea, torn by the wind, is busy frothing and making everything capsize.

February 20th: We report: the barometer and the thermometer are both down. It rained a lot last night, and today, the waters are murky, agitated even through the advection fog. We cannot see the horizon. We picked up a nice, pearlescent seashell that glimmered in the sand amidst all the grey.

February 24th: We report: hares in the fields, then a partridge later. The mud is frozen, the clouds are thick. Not much wind. Some colza and daffodils blooming on the roadside. A little bit more of February, its low skies and its half-steps, the transitions in the light and the time.

#drawing #illustration #digital art #digital #artists on tumblr #landscape #sky #image description in alt text #weather #clouds #night #snow #sunrise #sunset #twilight #sea #ocean #blue #grey #birds #reports #reports from unknown places