Love The Trope Where An Authoritative Side Character Pointedly Pretends Not To Help The Hero Theyre Not

love the trope where an authoritative side character pointedly pretends not to help the hero they’re not supposed to be helping by saying shit like “well I can’t just let you wander around up to the THIRD FLOOR where you could just FIND THE THING YOU NEED in the FIRST ROOM ON THE LEFT. And under no circumstances should you USE THE KEY FROM UNDER THE MAT. I wish I could help you, but I CAN’T. Now excuse me, I need to take this phone call for the next 37 minutes EXACTLY.”

May I request  “you’re so warm.” “i hear you, but we really need to get up, love.” for the holiday celebration?

Side note: I’m new to your blog and I’m loving everything!

pairing: namor x queen!reader

warnings: eighteen+ content, they married so established relationship, mentions of trying to conceive, teasing, sexy fluff.

note: i had to rework the second line to fit more namor, i hope you don’t mind, lovey <3 but writing softness with this man makes me swoon for real.

translations: In yakunaj (my love), ko’olelo’ tortuosa (tortuous woman).

Biologically you know the logic of ocean creatures being cold blooded. The deeper you travel down the colder the temperature, the more the water feels like ice constricting your passages and tearing into your skin like knives. It’s why you can’t leave this cavern and visit his city without gearing up.

But Namor seems to defy all logic. All things you thought you knew about the world and what was biologically capable and taught in a textbook or lab. One of the many defying qualities of his: his warmth. The temperature of his body never wavering whether he was on the surface or in the depths of the sea.

It’s a warmth you love waking up to—pressed to your back or flush against your cheek as you cuddle into his chest.

His heat at your back feels better than any blanket that could possibly be woven. The heat engulfing you like a furnace, the cave a stinging cold contrast to the warmth his body provides in the bed; on your skin, lulling your limbs to stay close to him, to stay in bed.

“You’re so warm.” You hum, sleep still clinging to you, still wanting to be had. Your voice soft and groggy.

His smile presses into your cheek when he wraps his forearm more securely around you, pulling you closer, and pressing the softest kiss to your cheek. “Yes, I know.” He mumbles against your skin as he leaves a trail of kisses from your cheek, jawline, below it, and to the beginnings of your neck. “But we must get up. Our people are going to think all we do is lay with each other, doing nothing productive. It does not look good.”

“Didn’t Namora tell us to stay in bed until we have secured an heir?”

“Yes, In yakunaj. But–”

“Who are we to not listen to her demands? She is our people correct? Your second hand–your–” he cuts you off with his mouth. His lips capture yours in a silencing kiss, maneuvering your frame so he’s now lying chest to chest with you.

“I have pumped you full for days, In yakunaj. It will take. We must do other duties.” His thumb rubs along your jaw, amusement in the up turn of his lips.

“What’s one more try?” You know you’re playing dirty, know that the two of you really should stretch and do something other than bask in each other's warmth. But that can come later, right now you want to drown in the feel of his chest on top of yours, and his cock between your thighs. So you push your hips up and let them drag along his quickly hardening cock. The soft groan he lets out feeling like a victory. “K’uk’ulkan,” you moan against his mouth as you roll your hips once more—for good measure.

“Who knew I married such a ko'olelo' tortuosa,” he growls as he slots himself between your thighs and presses his mouth to yours; hard, teeth nipping at your bottom lip.

This scene is actually hilarious when you deep the fact that in the midst of a full out attack on Wakanda, Attuma took the time to find Okoye to antagonise her 😂 He really said “Lemme just see what my lil warrior bae is up to 👀” And what’s sending me is Okoye definitely planned his entire funeral in her head in those mere seconds of tense eye contact between them lmaooo

Okoye: *in turmoil trying to save Wakandan civilians*

Attuma: *standing on top of a Wakandan building searching aggressively* *spots her*

Attuma: 😈🫵🏽💥

Okoye: 😐😠😡🤬🔪

depression tips™

shower. not a bath, a shower. use water as hot or cold as u like. u dont even need to wash. just get in under the water and let it run over you for a while. sit on the floor if you gotta.

moisturize everything. use whatever lotion u like. unscented? dollar store lotion? fancy ass 48 hour lotion that makes u smell like a field of wildflowers? use whatever you want, and use it all over. 

put on clean, comfortable clothes. 

put on ur favorite underwear. cute black lacy panties? those ridiculous boxers u bought last christmas with candy cane hearts on the butt? put em on.

drink cold water. use ice. if u want, add some mint or lemon for an extra boost.

clean something. doesn’t have to be anything big. organize one drawer of ur desk. wash five dirty dishes. do a load of laundry. scrub the bathroom sink. 

blast music. listen to something upbeat and dancey and loud, something that’s got lots of energy. sing to it, dance to it, even if you suck at both.

make food. don’t just grab a granola bar to munch. take the time and make food. even if it’s ramen. add something special to it, like a hard boiled egg or some veggies. prepare food, it tastes way better, and you’ll feel like you accomplished something. 

make something. write a short story or a poem, draw a picture, color a picture, fold origami, crochet or knit, sculpt something out of clay, anything artistic. even if you don’t think you’re good at it.

go outside. take a walk. sit in the grass. look at the clouds. smell flowers. put your hands in the dirt and feel the soil against your skin.

call someone. call a loved one, a friend, a family member, call a chat service if you have no one else to call. talk to a stranger on the street. have a conversation and listen to someone’s voice. if you can’t, text or email or whatever, just have some social interaction with another person. even if you don’t say much, listen to them.

cuddle your pets if you have them/can cuddle them. take pictures of them. talk to them. tell them how u feel, about your favorite movie, a new game coming out.

Yeoyeos' ateez masterlist

masterlist

labeling system

《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》

Series

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒆𝒕

MTLs

𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒎 𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 [𝚜]

𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒔/𝒂𝒔𝒔/𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒔 [𝚜]

𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 [𝚊?]

𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑩𝑫𝑺𝑴 [𝚜]

𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒔/𝒐 [𝚜]

𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓/𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 [𝚜]

OT8

𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 [𝚜]

𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔/𝒐 [𝚏]

𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒔 [?]

𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒖𝒎 𝒐𝒏/𝒊𝒏 [𝚜]

𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒉𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒅 [𝚜]

Hongjoong

𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 [𝚏][𝚜]

Seonghwa

𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 [𝚜] [𝚏]

Yunho

𝒚𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 [𝚏][𝚜]

Yeosang

𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 [𝚜][𝚏]

San

𝒔𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 [𝚏] [𝚜]

Mingi

𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 [𝚜][𝚏]

Wooyoung

𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 #𝟏 [𝚜]

𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒔 [𝚜]

𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 [𝚏] [𝚜]

Jongho

𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒆 [𝚜]

《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》《☆》

listen as a namor whore (namwhore?) i think that he loves marking you as his like man would go nuts with the hickeys and bruises (and bite marks too). on the off chance he lets you return the favor he’s surprised by how much he loves seeing the love bites and bruises on his own godly self >:)

pairing: namor x princess!reader

word count: 962

warnings: eighteen+ content, mentions of p in v but not shown, teasing, bites and marking, established forbidden relationship.

note: ok see i love this concept, this take, this thot!! but i fear he’s not completely into you returning the favor because for him it’d be more of a ‘i want everyone to see and be reminded who you worship to’. and i think he likes to stay looking proper to his people, but he does let you get away with bites left under the shorts!!

You were supposed to have left your room and met your mother and the council minutes ago—almost an hour ago you now see as the clock on your bedside reflects back to you in the mirror you’re standing at. Trying to right yourself back into looking presentable, kept, like you’re not running late because the man at the foot of your bed used his sweet siren song of pretty compliments, and words that had you out of your dress just as fast as his fingers had torn at the undergarments underneath it.

Leaving your balcony door open for him was seeming more and more like a curse than a blessing.

Letting him come and go as he pleased, when he cared to visit you after days of being MIA. Sometimes only noting his presence with a saltwater covered gift he’d leave at your doorway, when you’d stayed up as long as your body would allow to. As you waited to see if he would come to you; or when duties like council meetings and required dinners were demanded of you—events a Princess was supposedly meant to attend.

You’re surprised your mother hasn’t sent someone to fetch you. You expect it anytime now, ever the punctual woman your mother was. Being tardy was surely going to get you a stern look and deep questioning.

“Jats'uts,” he mumbles against your shoulder.

Beautiful.

Pretty.

Your heart soars, fingers only wavering a little as you do your best to right the necklaces adorning your neck. Your body having just been molded pudy in his hands mere seconds ago. Your thighs still sticky from having his mouth and cock between them. Your legs still feel that heady wobble from post orgasm. Your mind and body still coming off of that beautiful precipice of want and desire, of falling against his body like you couldn’t stand up straight, or function properly, without him being there to sink into—or onto on most nights.

You had told him how urgent it was that you make it to this meeting. How he needed to turn around and make his way back to his beloved ocean before someone saw him, and your mother had both of you locked away.

A threat he laughed at. A threat you knew meant nothing to someone as powerful as him; a God.

“If this were Talokan I’d make our people come to you. You’d never have to lift a finger, princess.”

Our people.

As if there were some alternate reality in which that could come to formation. Where the two of you would rule as equals and not something forbidden, and secretive.

There had been too much death and destruction on both sides, from both of your people, for either groups to be happy to be ruled by the both of you.

But the fantasy was nice to dream about—get lost in the idea of actually being able to flaunt your love instead of hiding it.

When his arm wraps around your waist your body works on instinct, on knowing the hands and warmth of the man that’s touching it. Guiding it into his chest to lean and rest against. His lips brushing at the side of your neck, mustache burning your skin.

“Or you could stay naked, spread out for me. Waiting for my return while I handled everything.”

“Mm.” You let your eyes close as you grin, “no responsibilities other than pleasing my king.”

“Precisely.” His teeth take a hold of your sensitive skin, his tongue following after the sting like a salve. Making your body tremble against him, a gasp falling from your lips. “You’d never want for anything. I would have it brought to you. Made for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to you, princess.” His mouth repeats it’s actions against your neck, his hand creeping lower to the start of your thigh.

That ache between your legs quickly making a home once more at your swollen clit.

“K’uk’ulkan,” his name falls from your lips, practiced, known, worshiped—as you moan softly. As you let him suck and bite at your skin, letting his words coax you into that fantasy world you want so badly.

You don’t come back to reality until you feel his fingers start to pull up the bottom of your dress, the cool air against your damp underwear bringing you back down from that building high.

“Nononono,” you pull away from him. Untangling his arms from your body and sending him a scowl at the way he’s smirking at you. “I’m already late because of you!”

“My apologies, princess.” His hand waves towards the door, “don’t keep your people waiting any longer.”

“I won’t! You-” your quick movements stop abruptly when you see it, when the deep hue catches your eye in the mirror. And maybe it’s half your own fault for not stopping him, for once again falling victim to the hot-tease of manipulation of his beautiful words.

There’s words of anger and disbelief in the back of your throat, ready to come up and spill over at the man whose eyes are locked onto yours in the mirror. Who is still wearing that signature cool as can be expression, that you really want to slap off of him.

Your mother was going to kill you.

String you up as a pariah!

“My mother–”

“Will not be pleased, no.” He finishes for you. Steps back into that space behind you, returning his heat to your back. His thumb runs along the bruised area, eyes gleaming at his creation before flashing back to yours. “But now everyone will know you belong to someone.”

You belong to me.

Unspoken in words but not in the way he presses a kiss to the love mark, lips soft and endearingly sensual.