#B Diamond with Two Lines

[mewnette]

Patrick Bear, Boyd Glass, 1988-1993

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

[suzukiblu]

"Lex Luthor's latest character flaw" poll winner, "deciding he wants grandbabies and giving Robin a cloning lab about it". Behold, a new WIP strikes!!

“What,” Tim says, staring blankly at the brightly-lit and airy sunroom full of very obvious cloning technology in the very expensive penthouse that Lex Luthor’s bodyguards just dragged a handcuffed Red Robin and Spoiler into after kidnapping them straight off patrol in the Diamond District in the middle of an active crisis situation with the League of Assassins and disabling all their tech and every single one of their trackers six and a half hours ago, down to the bastardized Kryptonian-tech ones in their back molars and two more in both of their suits that Tim didn’t even know existed, plus the one he put in Steph’s collar that she didn’t know existed. Babs is probably just about feral by now. Bruce is definitely feral by now. 

And Lex Luthor is drinking what appears to be a neon purple protein shake out of a rocks glass while sitting at a neatly-arranged desk in the center of the sunroom lab, looking idly bored and scrolling through whatever’s on his phone with his free hand. 

Alright then, Tim thinks carefully. 

“There you are, I was starting to wonder if I’d gotten al Ghul riled up for nothing,” Luthor says, barely glancing up from his tablet. 

“. . . which al Ghul,” Tim asks with wary dread. 

“All of them,” Luthor says, setting down his tablet to give him a pleasant smile. 

Well, now Tim knows why nobody’s dropped in a skylight to rescue them yet. And also why half of Gotham is currently on fire. 

“Uh,” Steph says, glancing around the sunroom lab. “So like, lead-lined glass in here, then, or . . . ?” 

“We’re in Connecticut, so no,” Luthor replies dismissively. “Anyway, the Boy Scout always gets suspicious of too much lead in one place. Which I personally find darling, since anyone in Metropolis without at least a lead-lined and soundproofed bedroom is essentially asking for Kryptonian voyeurs, whether intentionally or not on said Kryptonians’ parts. Also, privacy laws exist for a reason. As do patents, copyrights, attorney-client privilege, HIPAA . . .” 

“Connecticut?” Steph repeats incredulously. “What the frick is in Connecticut?” 

“Currently, us,” Luthor replies matter-of-factly. “Hope, Mercy, do me a favor and go check the security systems manually, just in case any invasive species of vermin have gotten into them. Also, yes, there is kryptonite, and no, there is actually much more than you’re theorizing.” 

“You have literally no idea how much kryptonite we’re theorizing,” Steph says as the bodyguards both leave with an affirming nod. Luthor gives her a pitying look, then turns his chair a few degrees towards Tim. Tim immediately expects the inevitable threat or ultimatum, and braces himself for–

“I’d apologize for all the fuss, but I don’t actually care about inconveniencing you and don’t see the point in pretending I ever would,” Luthor informs him. Tim stares blankly at him again. What is even happening right now? “Now then, what are your intentions in regards to ‘Supernova’, as I hear someone’s started calling himself now. ‘Themself’? I’m not sure if ‘Supernova’ is meant to be gender-affirming or more a ‘too old to stick with ‘Superboy’ but there are already three ‘Supermen’ active and the whole, you know, general stubborn individualism they’re so fond of. Or ‘he’s’ so fond of. Whichever."

Tim stares at him. 

“Is this supposed to be a trap for Supernova or a shovel talk for me?” he asks, because a) he’s not telling Lex Luthor anything about Kon’s gender or personal choices that Kon hasn’t publicly stated, and b) only Lex Luthor would actually kidnap two active vigilantes in the middle of a crisis he’d apparently pre-arranged to give a–well, no, Bruce would also do that, definitely. But this is not a Batman talk, either way. 

Batman’s “talks” all involve tests, for one thing, so actually so far this is an improvement. 

“It’s an engagement present,” Luthor says pleasantly. 

Tim’s brain crashes, then does the slowest reboot of his life. He’s recovered from concussions faster, he’s pretty sure. 

“They’re . . . not engaged, though?” Steph says skeptically. “Or, like, even dating?” 

“Red Robin’s commitment issues are his own problem, not mine. I’ve got a schedule to keep,” Luthor replies dismissively.

[magiccath]

TARDIS Tricks

Tenth Doctor/Reader (could be any Doctor if you squint)

Summary: In which the TARDIS pulls some matchmaking schemes

The last week had been exhausting. Life with the Doctor usually was, but this week was just a little too much for you. Not just you either, the Doctor was wiped out too.

He pushed the doors of the TARDIS open with a tired sigh, throwing his long brown coat over one of the numerous coral-like branches littered throughout the control room. Then, he made a b-line for his worn-out captain’s chair, slumping into it dramatically. His long, spindly legs stretched out in front of him, making him appear taller than he was - if that was even possible. The way he stretched was more than akin to the characteristics of the cats you had encountered.

You weren’t much more energetic about your entrance, throwing your coat next to his and moving to slump against the circular console.

“Can we please take a break from the running?”

“We haven’t been running that much,” he groaned, though you could tell he was thinking the same thing. He might have ‘superior Time Lord biology’, but he was clearly as tired as you were. Maybe there was a limit to the running he could do.

“Daleks, New New York, then that weird Bio-tech company, followed by the literal end of the universe, and wrap it all up with diamond rain on Saturn.”

“Suppose there has been a lot of running,” the Doctor grumbled again, admitting defeat. “How about a day or two of rest? Get some sleep and relax a bit?”

You nodded, glad he finally understood what you were trying to say. All you wanted was to sleep for at least 8 hours uninterrupted. Ideally, 12 hours.

“Don’t fall asleep in that chair,” you scold, noticing how he already appeared to be half asleep, “you’ll get back pain and then you’ll be insufferable. Go to bed, I know you have one somewhere.”

The Doctor grumbled, not bothering to form a full and coherent sentence. You kicked his leg, not hard enough to truly hurt him, just enough to get him out of the chair. He grumbled again and sat up in the chair, stretching his slender arms above his head.

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

He nodded, already looking slightly more alert. Slightly. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to fall asleep, you decided to head off to your bedroom.

You walked slowly down one of the numerous, winding halls of the TARDIS. You’d walked to your room hundreds, if not thousands, of times by now. You knew exactly where it was, and it wasn’t there. In the space where your door would normally be was… nothing. You tapped around the wall, wondering if perhaps the Doctor replaced your normal door with some kind of seamless door mechanism.

When the wall didn’t yield you let out a frustrated grunt, “What did you do?” you asked the TARDIS, resting your hands on the smooth surface of her walls. The wall was cold to the touch, colder than usual that is. Normally, you felt something when you touched her. The best way you could describe it was a presence. But, at the moment, you felt nothing.

Aggravated, you sulked your way back to the control room.

“Where is my room?” you glared at the Doctor, hands on your hips. Normally, you’d play along. Hide his Sonic Screwdriver or coat somewhere he couldn’t find it. This time, you were far too tired to humor him.

“What d’ya mean?” the Doctor frowned in confusion. “Did you get lost in the hallways again?”

“No, I know where my own room is and it’s not there!”

The Doctor’s frown deepened as he got up from his seat, brushing past you and into the hallway. He took long strides down the corridor, stopping in front of where your room normally was. He slipped his glasses out of his inner pocket, sliding the specs onto the bridge of his nose. His head tilted to the side as his hands ran over the smooth wall, examining the space with his characteristic curiosity.

“Did you do this?”

“What? No, why would I steal your room?” He peered over his shoulder, almost offended that you would suggest such a thing.

“You’ve done weirder things,” you argued, crossing your arms.

“Name one,” the Doctor challenged, mirroring your defensive stance.

“The time you put a pigeon in my shower,” you responded immediately, not needing time to think about weird things the Time Lord had done. It was one of the things you liked best about him, he was constantly strange. It made things fun, but it could also make things incredibly aggravating.

“He needed a bath. Have you met pigeons? They’re filthy.”

“Wash your pigeons in your own shower!”

“That's… that’s not the point here,” he mumbled, clearly deflecting the conversation. “Your room is missing.”

“I noticed,” you deadpanned, not looking away from him. “Can I have it back?”

“I told you, I didn’t take it.” The Doctor threw his hands up defensively.

“Rooms don’t just walk away,” you say, glaring at him. By now, your irritation was bordering on anger. All you wanted to do was fall into your soft bed and not leave until this exhaustion wore off, but you needed a bed to do that.

“Maybe the TARDIS sorted it away,” he shrugged. As if accentuating his point, the TARDIS let out a soft hum. You weren’t even sure it was real at first, maybe it was just the air conditioning kicking on.

“Did she just…?”

The Doctor nodded, confirming your theory that the TARDIS had responded to him. What reason did she have for storing your room away? You were about 98% sure that you still lived on the ship.

“Is this her way of kicking me out?” The TARDIS let out another hum, this one in clear disapproval. Not kicking you out, then.

You let out a small sigh of relief. You’d never admit it, but you had never felt more at home anywhere else in your life. Realistically, that wasn’t because of the TARDIS. It was the Doctor, he could make any place feel like home to you.

“Well then, can I have my room back please?” you asked the TARDIS

The corridor was silent. In fact, the whole ship was silent, if that was even possible.

Something you learned early on in your travels with the Doctor was that the TARDIS was the one really in charge. What she says goes. Always. It doesn’t matter if you were promised a beach vacation and ended up in the middle of winter in Victorian England. And it most certainly didn’t matter if you wanted a bedroom or not. She was a force to be reckoned with, and you respected that.

“I’ll sleep on the couch in the library, we can deal with this in the morning.” You decided it was easier to just let the TARDIS work through whatever tantrum or scheme she was cooking up. Sometimes when traveling with the Doctor it was better to just go with the flow - and that didn’t just apply to ship malfunctions or sleeping arrangements.

You trudged down the corridor, heading for the vast library. It really was an impressive library, even better than the one in Beauty and the Beast. Shelves lined the walls and extended up high for multiple stories. It was easy to get lost in the room because it was so large. Most of the time you just asked the TARDIS for directions if you needed a specific book. Mostly, you just used it as a calm and quiet place to take a break between your chaotic adventures with the Doctor.

Usually, there were at least three couches in the room at a time. Your favorite was a mustard yellow, not a particularly nice color (especially for a couch), but it was beyond comfortable. The issue was that the couch wasn’t there. Furthermore, there wasn’t any couch in the large room.

“Doctor!” you call out loudly, staring blankly at the space where there should be a couch. There were small circles on the wood where the legs of the couch would normally sit, leading you to assume that you weren’t going crazy. The TARDIS had stolen your room and now your favorite couch.

“What’s the issue now?” the Doctor grumbled, rubbing his face tiredly as he strode into the library. He came to a standstill next to you, staring at the empty floor with equal confusion.

“She got rid of the couch.”

“I can see that,” the Doctor said, his eyebrows raising in interest.

“I’m exhausted, I'm grumpy, and I just want to sleep,” you whisper urgently, almost on the verge of tears. It felt silly to be upset over such a small thing, but you were beyond tired. Your brain was functioning on sheer willpower and that was quickly running out.

“I know, I know,” the Doctor whispered sympathetically, gently lifting your face up to look at him. “Look, you can sleep in my room. She hasn’t taken that.”

“That's where you sleep,” you point out, trying not to show how flustered the endearing touch had made you.

“Normally, yes,” the Doctor smiled slightly, finding your response slightly comical. “It’s a nice bed, though I’m not sure it would matter much to you either way at this point.”

“Where would you sleep?” You frown, knowing that he needs the sleep just as much as you do, even if he would never admit it.

“I don’t need to-” he started but cut off once he saw your glare. “I can sleep in the console room, that chair isn’t really that bad,” he amended.

“You’ll hurt your back, I already told you not to fall asleep there.”

“It’s not like we have any other options,” the Doctor shrugged. It wasn’t that big of a deal to him. He would do anything for you, sleeping on a chair that hurt his back was nothing in comparison.

“I’m not letting you sleep in the chair,” you insisted, crossing your arms defensively. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“No one is sleeping in the chair!” the Doctor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I could just sleep on the floor, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, I’m not letting you do that,” he said seriously.

“What do you propose then?”

“Well… we could…” the Doctor trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. By now, you knew it as one of his many nervous tics. “We could share the bed,” he finally said, his eyes glued to the floor.

“Share your bed?”

The Doctor nodded, still not fully looking at you. At this point, you were too tired to question it, or even really think about it.

“Can we even do that? Are you ok with that?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t. As you’re comfortable with it,” he said back, his tone only slightly less panicked. He wasn’t even sure when the last time he shared a bed was.

“Alright,” you whisper with a slight blush.

“I’ve never seen your room,” you add after a few seconds.

“You haven’t?”

You shake your head, “it could be a torture dungeon for all I know.”

“It’s- it’s not-” he struggled before realizing you were joking. “It’s a normal bedroom,” he whispered, already walking out of the library.

You smile to yourself and follow him down the hall, the only sound the soft tap of your footsteps. His room wasn’t far from where yours would normally be, just a few turns down the hall and to the left. The door was the same blue as the TARDIS, almost identical to the front doors of the ship.

The Doctor opened the door and slipped inside, leaving it ajar so you could follow.

Whatever you had expected when it came to the Doctor’s room, it wasn’t this. Almost every square inch of the place was covered with things. Gadgets and gizmos, rocks, keys, books, alien-looking things, and-

“Is that Starry Night?” you frown, looking at a framed picture leaning against a corner.

“Oh, yeah, Vincent gave that to me,” the Doctor shrugged like he didn’t have one of the most recognizable paintings in all of history on his bedroom floor.

“Isn’t it supposed to be in the MoMa?”

“That one’s fake. Don't tell anyone though, I’m not really supposed to have this one,” the Doctor shrugged, undoing his tie and slipping it off his neck. You tried to not follow the movement with your eyes, the nimble movement of his hands as he undid the knot capturing your attention.

You looked away embarrassed, turning your attention back to the painting. “Did you steal Starry Night?!”

“No, I told you, Vincent gave it to me,” he frowned at you, wondering if the exhaustion was finally getting to you. He had just told you that.

“And you just… decided to keep it on your bedroom floor? Next to your trash can and first editions of Lord Of The Rings?”

“That’s not a trash can, it’s an artifact from B-739. Priceless, don’t touch it.”

“Right, 'cause that’s the priceless item in here that I’m worried about accidentally defacing.”

“If you’re going to bully my possessions, I’m not gonna let you sleep in here,” he grumbled, a pout barely evident on his face.

“I’ll shut up,” you say, looking around the rest of the room. You kept your comments to yourself, instead taking the time to admire the strange collection of things the Doctor kept in his room. It was like a personal museum of all of time and space. That is if the museum prioritized shiny objects and children’s toys from the early ‘90s.

It was all very him, and you couldn't help but feel safe in the room. Sure, you felt safe everywhere on the TARDIS, but this was different. If you could, you would have spent hours scouring every inch, wanting to learn everything you could about the Doctor.

You tugged your attention the the bed. It wasn’t a small bed, but it also wasn’t ridiculously large for one (albeit, strangely tall) Time Lord. The sheets were dark blue silk with a thick woolen blanket on top, also in a matching blue.

“Do you need PJs?” he asked, poking his head out of the closet he was currently in. The doors were a dark oak with a row of ties hanging on the inside of one. The patterns ranged anywhere from solid colors to cartoon characters from your childhood you had forgotten existed. You smiled as your eyes caught on a brightly colored tie with Winnie the Pooh on it.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” you nod, turning your attention back to him. A few moments later he came back into the main room carrying two sets of PJs. You’d only seen the Doctor out of his trademark suit once or twice, for all you knew he just slept in it. Maybe he invented some kind of sleep suit, like a three-piece made entirely out of comfortable knit fabric.

He handed you one set of PJs, a classic striped set. He held in his hands another set, that one also striped, just in a different colorway. You’d never put much thought into what the Doctor wore to bed, but for some reason, this made sense to you.

“Bathroom’s over there,” he tilted his head in the direction of a door in the corner. You took the clothes and made your way over to the room, closing the door gently behind you, the ‘click’ reverberating through the silent space.

There wasn’t anything spectacular about the bathroom. By most standards, it was a perfectly ordinary bathroom. Even still, it’s clear to you who this bathroom belonged to. Various products (mostly ones for hair styling) were scattered across the countertop, but you didn’t feel like it was a mess.

There was a bright, puffy, flower-shaped rug in front of the sink that reminded you of something you might find in a Barbie Dollhouse circa 2002. In contrast, the shower curtain was a bright striped pattern that reminded you of a beach ball. In any other room, the decorations wouldn’t have matched, but knowing this was the Doctor’s doing made it all make sense to you.

You slipped the pajamas on quickly. You looked a little ridiculous in the Doctor’s clothes, like you were playing dress up in his closet. They didn’t fit you perfectly, but that much was expected. Even still, the fabric smelled like the Doctor, leaving you with the aching feeling that he was hugging you. You pressed your nose against the sleeve, breathing in the familiar smell before realizing you were smelling the Time Lord’s pajamas.

You shook yourself out of it and exited the bathroom, poking your head tentatively into the main room. The Doctor was sitting on the bed, having already changed into his PJs. His head turned at the sound of the door, smiling slightly at the sight of you.

“Do y’a need anything else?” he asked.

You shook your head, standing in the doorway awkwardly. Seeing him sitting there, on the bed, made it all seem real. You couldn’t do this. How could you share a bed with the man you had the biggest crush on ever?

“I- well, I can’t-” you stammered, trying to put your thoughts into words. Your brain was tired and panicking, the combination leaving you unable to fully express anything. “I can just sleep on the floor.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, just get in the bed.”

You shift anxiously, tugging at the sleeve of the PJs he gave you. There was no way to explain it to him without admitting your feelings. It was a double-edged sword. Or maybe it was paradoxical. It didn’t really matter.

Begrudgingly, you slide under the covers next to him. You lay like a corpse, your hands firmly tucked at your side as you stare up at the ceiling. He had those ridiculous glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. They weren’t even just haphazardly stuck up there, he took the time to form them into actual constellations. The ones that he’d shown you up close.

You felt a twinge in your heart. It took everything in you not to turn to your side and hug him right now. His hugs felt like oxygen to you. You could be having the worst day ever, but a hug from your favorite alien never failed to brighten it.

The Doctor turned the bedside lamp off, sending the room into darkness. Your eyes were still glued to the stars, their soft glow highlighting them against the black of the room. He settled down in the bed next to you. You felt every single shift as he got comfortable, the feeling of him next to you distracting. It was hard not to think about how much you liked the Time Lord when you were literally in his bed. It was impossible not to feel his presence next to you, the weight of another person weighing down your mind.

“You ok?” the Doctor whispered, pulling you out of your spiral.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. Maybe if you said it, it would be true.

You felt his hand slide against yours, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand. You didn’t dare move, you didn’t even pull your gaze from the cluster of glow-in-the-dark stars above your head. Tentatively, he slid his hand into yours.

This wasn’t the first time you had held his hand. Far from it, actually. You held his hand almost every day. It was easy to get lost in space, it was just easier if you held onto each other. But this time was different, the intimacy of it making your heart thunder against your chest.

Neither of you said anything, the silence filling the room. Eventually, your eyes fluttered closed, the fluorescent greenish afterglow of the plastic stars remaining in your mind. It didn’t take long for you to slide out of consciousness, the heavy weight of sleep taking over and dragging you down.

-

You woke up of your own accord, a pleasantry you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced. No droning alarm, blinding rays of early morning sunshine, dogs barking, or anything else of the sort. Just your mind and body, having decided they were thoroughly rested, arising of their own accord - an internal affair rather than an external one.

After the initial fogginess of waking up after hours of deep sleep, you became quickly aware of your surroundings. Not just the Doctor’s bed or even his bedroom, but the Doctor himself. More specifically, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

At some time during the night, the exact timing unbeknownst to either of you, the two of you had found your way into each other’s arms. The action was seamlessly smooth, so much so that it almost felt rehearsed.

Your legs slotted together like expertly crafted puzzle pieces, fitting together in a way that made more sense than it should have. Could legs even fit together? You suppose they must if you were experiencing it. His chin rested on top of your head, his nose occasionally bumping the crown of your head as he shifted and nuzzled in his sleep. Your own head was tucked against his chest, your ear positioned right between his beating hearts.

The steady thumping of the twin organs pumping blood through his system was mesmerizing, the sound strangely familiar and comforting. You could feel the vibrations through your body, the asynchronous beats reverberating around in your head.

Slowly, the panic started to creep in, invading the sense of calm you had felt seconds before. You were in the Doctor’s arms. You woke up in the Doctor’s arms. Even worse, the Doctor was going to wake up and find you in his arms.

As if on cue, the Doctor started to stir awake. Low grumbles left his mouth as he buried his face further into the pillow beneath him. You stiffened, the change in posture immediately noticeable. You cursed yourself for drawing more attention to the situation.

The Doctor looked down at you, his tired brown eyes boring into yours. You blinked slowly, unsure what else to do.

“Good morning,” he whispered groggily, his voice at least an octave deeper than usual. You felt your cheeks heat up, almost certain that a blush was rapidly spreading across your face. He wasn’t moving you away or screaming in horror. If anything, he was holding you tighter now.

“Good morning,” you patored back, unable to form any words of your own. What was there to say? “Sorry, I’m a compulsive sleep cuddler, this totally isn’t because I have a massive crush on you please don’t read into it.”

The Doctor’s thumb rubbed small, concentric circles on the small of your back, his eyes still hung up on your face. You wished he wouldn’t look at you like that, like the most beautiful thing in the whole galaxy, like it was nothing.

As if suddenly realizing what he was doing, the Doctor stopped immediately. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and released his arms from around you, the sudden loss of contact disjointed. You frowned slightly and scooted to the other side of the bed, sitting up in the process.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hurriedly, his eyes purposefully avoiding you.

“It’s ok, I really don’t mind, I mean honestly it’s probably my fault,” you responded too quickly, your words falling out of you without much thought. “It’s really not that big of a deal,” you lied.

The Doctor finally looked over at you. By now, you were in expert in reading him. The secret was to look in his eyes. It didn’t matter what face he had, his eyes always told you everything you needed to know. You’d never seen them like this, though. An unfamiliar emotion him, a combination of his emotes you were so familiar with creating something you didn’t know. That worried you.

“Yeah,” he whispered, the look gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. He was back to his cheery self in minutes, stretching his body and springing up out of bed. “Let’s get on with it, maybe the TARDIS has found your room. I’d like to go visit The Beatles, what do you think?” he babbled on, striding across his room.

You scrambled out of his bed, almost begrudged to leave the silky warmth of his sheets. You scurried after him, practically running into his back as he came to a sudden stop. An annoyed groan escaped your lips as you peered over him, searching for the cause of the sudden stop.

The Doctor was pulling on his door handle, struggling to get it open.

“Forget how to open a door?”

“I’m over 900, I didn’t forget how to open a door,” he frowned, still tugging on it.

“Let me try,” you pushed him gently out of the way, tugging on the door handle yourself. Sure enough, it refused to budge. You pulled on it again, using both hands this time. Nothing.

Sheepishly, you turn back to the Doctor, ashamed to admit that he was right. “It’s stuck.”

The Doctor crossed his arms and nodded, an ‘I told you so’ look plastered on his face. He swiftly pulls the Sonic Screwdriver out of his pocket, pointing it at the door with his usual flourish. When it does nothing, he presses a few buttons on the device before trying again. After a few minutes of this, he finally gives up and resorts to kicking the door.

“Doctor!” you cry, grabbing his arm and forcibly dragging him away from the door before he can damage it or himself.

“Do you think…” you sigh, feeling guilty for even insinuating such a thing, “that the TARDIS locked us in here?”

“The TARDIS didn’t lock us in my room,” the Doctor says like it’s the most preposterous thing he had ever heard.

In response, the ship lets out a low groan of disagreement. More versed in the language of the ship, the Doctor noticed first. “You locked us in here?!” he hisses at seemingly nothing, but you know who it’s directed at. The TARDIS hums again, this time in a more approving tone.

“Why?” you butt in to ask. You’re met with nothing but silence.

“I don’t think she’s going to answer that,” the Doctor whispers in your general direction. The ship lets out another hum of approval.

You groan loudly, throwing your hands up in defeat. Not knowing what else to do, you slump back down onto the Doctor’s bed. You sit there for a few seconds just staring at the carpet (‘90s arcade patterned, of course) before the mattress dips next to you. You pull your eyes way from the garish carpet to look at the Doctor, his face equally as dejected as yours.

“I suppose there are worse places to be stuck,” you offer, “could be Mars.”

“There’s more to explore on Mars.”

“There aren’t ‘priceless’ artifacts from B-739, a mobile of the solar system that I’m pretty sure is intended for children, a box of Hotwheels cars, and a collection of pirate maps all in the same corner.”

“The mobile was a gift,” the Doctor defended.

“That’s what you got from all of that?” you chuckle. “It’s like the world's most clustered, excentric, space museum in here.”

“I don’t really sleep in here much. I suppose it’s just become a storage room of sorts,” the Doctor says sheepishly, almost embarrassed to be this open with someone. Sharing this much of his life with you felt strangely raw.

“I think it’s perfect,” you smile, the expression lighting up your whole face, “it’s very you. Chaotic, unorganized, other-worldly, and… beautiful,” you whispered, eyes scanning across the room. It didn’t matter how much you looked at it, there always seemed to be something new and fascinating to look at.

The Doctor, on the other hand, was looking at you. He was flabbergasted at how interested you seemed in it all. The tiny twinkle in your eye reminded him of all the stars he had shown you, all of the alien planets and beautiful corners of space. Yet, you weren’t looking at something particularly odd or beautiful, you were looking at his room. His messy, haphazard collection of strange objects and patterns.

Then, you turned that curious gaze in his direction. He felt his hearts speed up, a subtle but noticeable shift within his body. It was a nasty habit, his body getting excited every time you looked at him like that. He was 903, pretty people smiling at him shouldn’t make him react this way. Yet, you did.

-

Neither of you could figure out what the TARDIS wanted from you, so you eventually gave up trying. There was no point in fighting with the ship, both of you knew that was a losing battle.

You read the Doctor’s first edition of The Hobbit in the comfy warmth of his bed. In that time, the Doctor opted to pace back and forth and fiddle with the door relentlessly. Finally, he gave up and joined you on the bed.

“Do you have any ideas of why we’re in here?” he asked, pulling the book from your hands. You let him slip the paperback from your hands, throwing it on the duvet without bothering to mark your place in the book.

“If I did, we wouldn’t be in here,” you pointed out, looking at the discarded book longingly. The Doctor popped his head back into your field of vision, clearly not taking ‘no’ for an answer.

“It has to do with both of us, otherwise she wouldn’t have hidden your room.”

“Maybe she just thinks we need a few days off.”

The Doctor shakes his head, “She wouldn’t lock us in a room for that, she would just refuse to fly anywhere.”

“Maybe she thinks we’re fighting. Are we fighting?”

“Not that I know of,” he shrugs.

“I didn’t think so. Maybe we pissed her off?”

The Doctor shook his head again, “she doesn’t seem mad.” You didn’t need to question any further, you knew that the Doctor could read the TARDIS’ emotions better than his own sometimes.

“If it’s not anger, what is it?”

“Annoyance?” he said. You couldn’t tell if he was guessing or just generally unsure.

“Has she ever done this before?”

“Once she locked me out of the ship when I complained about her never taking me where I wanted to go, but this is different.”

“Have you said anything mean about her lately?” you asked more out of curiosity than animosity, but the Doctor interpreted it as the latter. He could be quite sensitive.

“No! Have you?”

“I have nothing but love and respect for the ship. She has put up with you longer than any of us ever could.” The TARDIS hummed in agreement while the Doctor scowled.

“I don’t know what we did!” he groans, falling back dramatically on the bed.

“Are you hiding something from me? A big secret?” you say as if you aren’t the one hiding feelings for the other.

The TARDIS lets out a quiet hum that lets you know you’re on the right track and you grin, poking the Doctor.

“I’m not hiding anything!” he swats you away, “maybe you’re the one hiding things away.”

You shake your head. For a second the two of you just look at each other. It’s hard not to get lost in his deep brown eyes, they’re endless pools of wisdom that can only come from centuries of living. Beneath the wary tiredness and stoic armor you can see who he really is, a lost wanderer looking for a place to call home. It was foolish, but you secretly wished you could be that home.

“You have really nice eyes,” the Doctor whispered.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you whisper back.

“You were also thinking about how nice your eyes are?” he frowns in confusion.

You laugh, a smile taking over your face at his blatant obliviousness. “No, I was thinking your eyes are nice. I like them.”

“Oh… thank you?”

You nod, momentarily getting lost in his eyes again. Your mind was a mess, a kaleidoscope of him, the TARDIS, and your feelings for the former. You wanted so desperately to tell him how you felt, as you often did. Albeit, now was not the opportune moment. If he reacted poorly, you’d still be stuck in the room with him for an unknown amount of time.

And then it hit you. The TARDIS wanted you to admit something. She knew you had a secret, she maybe even knew what the secret was.

“Doctor?” you whisper shakily, surprised to find your voice uncertain and wavy.

“Mhm?” He pulled his attention to you.

“I just wanted to say that I love you.”

The room was silent for a moment. Neither of you moved or said a word, the normally quiet sounds of breathing and movement heightened by the lack of words between you.

“You too,” he finally said, his voice quiet. You knew admitting feelings was hard for him, especially when it came to things like love, so you couldn’t really blame him for the lackluster response.

You nodded, “I mean as more than a friend.”

“I know.”

Now it was your turn to sit in silence, your brain whirling as it tried to process his words. Was it hopeful to assume that he felt the same? That was what he had said, no?

“I’m very fond of you,” he added, sensing your confusion on the matter. “As more than a friend.”

You studied his eyes again. That unfamiliar look was back. For a minute you entertained the thought that it might be a look of admiration, love even.

The Doctor moved his hand into yours, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand. It was a normal action from him, but it still sent your stomach into a frenzy.

“It’s quite an inconvenience, honestly. Makes it hard to get anything properly done when you’re around.”

You chuckle, a small smile forming on your lips.

“You’re my favorite distraction,” he said earnestly. In his own way, it was his way of saying you were the most fascinating, beautiful, unique, and magnificent thing he had ever seen. He’d rather have a day with you than centuries with anyone or anything else.

He leaned closer to you, his face hovering inches away from yours. He waited, giving you time and space to move away or protest. When you didn’t, he slowly closed the gap.

His lips connected with yours, the kiss short and light, but it conveyed the years of affection and yearning. He pulled away, both of you smiling like love sick idiots.

Satisfied, the TARDIS opened the door with a click, the sound echoing around the room.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Angel In the Infield - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw is a struggling first-baseman in the major leagues. He's had bad season after bad season, until he met you, his angel.

A/N: While I'm currently struggling with motivation to work on on Take One for the Team, please instead enjoy this baseball au fic I've done in the meantime! Also I started reading sports romance novels, pls send help half these men are baseball players with dark hair. Also if you like this concept/set up, I'm toying with the idea of making this a series of connected oneshots?

pairing: baseball player!Bradley Bradshaw x reader

warnings/content: baseball au, smut throughout, oral (both m + f receiving), praise, dirty talk, mentions of divorce, unfaithfulness (neither Bradley, nor reader), public sex.

word count: 3.7k

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted

The sun hung high on the horizon for a Saturday afternoon, radiating an unseasonable warmth as its rays beat down over the course. A gentle breeze made its way through the palm trees that stood tall outside of the stadium, causing large, deep green leaves to sway in its wake. A crowd of spectators sat on the bleachers that surrounded the diamond, a sea of faces filling the scenery, silently watching, sipping beers and eating hotdogs as they took in the spectacle before them. Media representatives dotted the balcony, press passes on display as they gawked at the game unfolding below. 

Bradley Bradshaw approached the plate, lining up to take his turn at bat. His bright white uniformed baseball shirt, emblazoned with the team logo across the front, his last name in bold, block lettering across the back of his broad shoulders, hugged at his sun kissed biceps as they flexed. One of his tattoos just barely visible from under the sleeve of the shirt.

 He took two practice swings, and once he was comfortable, lined up with the plate. He narrowed his eyes in focus as he looked to the pitcher, giving him the coldest stare down he could muster, his face fixed in a state of concentration. A year and a half ago, he would have begun trash-talking his opponent from the start, calling out that he’d seen his grandmother lob better pitches, and she’d been dead for 15 years. Instead, Bradley forced himself to behave, willing any inappropriate comments about Jake Seresin’s mother to himself, for now. 

He took a swing at the first pitch lobbed towards him with a loud grunt, biting his tongue as he held back a frustrated fuck from his lips as the ball sailed past him, landing in the catcher’s mitt with a thud. 

Strike one.

He caught your gaze in the sea of faces that were watching him expectantly, his lips curling up into a soft smile as he looked towards the family and friends boxes where you stood, waving subtly to him to gain his attention. He gave you a subtle nod of his head, symbolic of a thank you, for Bradley. 

In an instant, Bradley was back in the game, level-headed and laser focused, ready for the next pitch that was coming, as if seeing you had brought him back down to earth, willing him to focus his attention on something other than his once uncontrollable anger. 

He wasn’t often this soft. He never used to be. In fact, he was never considered to be a gentleman when he played any sport. He couldn’t lose graciously. It wasn’t in his nature. He was serious, determined and reserved, focused and dedicated, but even his best intended plans couldn’t withstand his explosive temper. It wasn’t that he wanted to be a walking stick of dynamite. 

He didn’t intend to fly off the handle at everyone around if he made a bad play or if someone commented on his skills not being on point the way they once were, but after nothing but criticism for the last four years of his career, Bradley thought his outbursts were justifiable. 

If he had to hear another comment about being “washed up” at thirty-one, he might snap again, unable to bite his tongue much longer. And if he had a bat in hand? He’d show whoever it was just how good his game still was. He knew his career didn’t have many years left in it, but he had just as much right as any other up and coming young asshole in the MLB to be here. But one bad year at twenty-seven had turned into two, which turned into three, which now crept up on reaching four. 

Admittedly, this year was turning out to be marginally better than the three previous - he didn’t know what to chalk it up to at first. 

Herefused to admit he could be in love. Love was never for him. At least, that’s what his ex-wife told him when she filed for divorce four years prior. He’d just been starting to make a name for himself as a promising first baseman when she served him the papers, leaving him with a burning desire to focus everything he had on the one thing that he thought couldn’t break him - baseball. That desperate need to be good at something, anything, drove him to the brink of insanity. He couldn’t control himself or his need to be the best in the only area he knew he could be anymore. 

However, that train of thought came to a screeching, grinding halt when he met you. 

As Bradley remained focused on his turn at bat, he took a swing at the second pitch sent his way, a fastball that, if he was a smart man, he would have let go, taking the ball instead of risking a strike at a pitch that far outside.

However, Bradley was not a smart man. Not when it came to his turns at bat.

Even he couldn’t hide his momentary shock as the ball made contact with the wooden bat in his hands with a crack. He started running towards first base, rounding it quickly before making the smarter decision to stay put, rather than aim for second. He looked towards where you were watching him from once again, smiling to himself as he watched you blow a kiss towards him. He couldn’t wait to finish this game and just hold you and kiss you. Watch you walk around the house with nothing but his baseball jersey on, just barely long enough on you to cover your private areas, giving him a little sneak peek as you bent over to unload the dishwasher, or reached up to grab a wine glass for yourself when you were ready to unwind for the evening. 

Those delicious thighs, soft and smooth as he ran his hands up and down them, the way you’d giggle and kick your legs playfully when he grasped at the back of them, even though he knew you were ticklish there. He didn’t give a rat’s ass though. He loved the way you laughed. He swore it was up there on the list of the most beautiful sounds in the world, along with the way you said his name right before you reached your orgasm, the way you’d call him ‘honey’ in passing and the sound of a World Series crowd chanting your number. 

Images of his hands lifting the back of that jersey up, shoving the excess material at the bottom out of his way as he pounded into you from behind flashed across his mind, the sounds of you whining out in pleasure as he relentlessly fucked into you, your pretty, pink folds glistening with arousal, letting him slide in and out of you with ease. The thought alone was almost enough to make him curse the athletic cup that was sitting in his baseball pants at the moment, making it increasingly uncomfortable to move as he felt himself hardening at the thought of you. 

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to take you in the hotel room later. 

As he rounded the bases to home after his teammate’s home run hit, his mind drifted to the thought of your teeth sinking into the tanned, taut skin of his shoulder as he made love to you in the California King Bed that awaited you both in the hotel suite after the game. Your fingers gripping his dark curly hair tightly, tangling into them and tugging as he licked and sucked on your neck, leaving a trail of purpling bite marks down you as he marked you as his own. Not that you protested - in fact, you encouraged it. 

As the game progressed, Bradley continued to think about the various ways he could make you his as soon as he got you alone. His mind raced as he thought of you again - in every way possible. He thought about your perfume, how it had some kind of hypnotic hold over him, leaving him momentarily dazed whenever he breathed in your scent. He thought about your smile, how you lit up the entire room when you beamed at him - how you were one of the only people to ever look at him like he meant everything in the world to you, and how you made him feel special and loved and wanted, for the first time in years. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt the way you made him feel. 

 His ex-wife had been cold and cut-off from him emotionally, physically. She was never satisfied just being with him. She resented that he couldn’t put all of his attention on her, 100% of the time, despite Bradley feeling like he tried his best to balance his career and home life as best as he could. When she had told him she was ready to have a baby, he’d been entirely on board - ready and willing to start a family. What he wasn’t prepared for, was walking in on her sleeping with a rookie from a rival team in the hotel room that Bradley had paid for. 

As he packed up his gear after the game, his team pulling ahead with a win thanks to a home run hit he scored in the 8th inning that shocked even him, he let out a deep, satisfied sigh. He had proved himself for another day, and he was proud of himself for it. He figured at this rate, if he kept it up, he could be discussing his comeback season with the press after another couple of games. The thought of being respected once again in the sport was electrifying, enough to send a shockwave pulsating through his veins as he switched out of his cleats and into his street shoes. 

He headed out of the locker room, his baseball bag slung over his shoulder and his cap turned backwards, with tufts of dark chestnut brown curls peaking out through the opening. He spotted you, wearing one of his spare jerseys unbuttoned with a short little black dress on underneath, with a pair of stark white running shoes. Your matching baseball cap was sported backwards, just like Bradley’s, a style he started adopting on your advice. You’d flipped his cap around one day during a playful round of sex in the backseat of his vintage Ford Bronco, telling him it looked so much hotter on him when he wore it so that you could still see his face. He took that advice to heart, and now, every chance he could, backwards is how it was. 

You happily skipped over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck loosely as you peppered his lips with feather-light kisses. He laughed softly and shook his head when you finally pulled away, his cheeks burning into a rosy red tone as a slight wave of embarrassment washed over him. 

It wasn’t your kisses or affection that embarrassed him though. It was the fact that after 18 months of dating, he still wasn’t used to it. It was partially his own fault — his ex-wife had never been an affectionate lover, but even after that, he refused to actually be in a relationship with anyone. He enjoyed sex, and that was all he wanted. He wasn’t looking for his heart to be broken again, and it suited him just fine until you came along. 

He’d met you once in passing — he’d gotten himself embroiled in a bar brawl with some guy who’s mouth ran faster than the speed of light. Bradley’s nose had been broken and bloodied as a result, and you’d been leaving the bar with a handful of friends. You’d recognized Bradley as the guy who’d hit on you earlier in the night, and to your surprise, graciously accepted your rejection when you turned him down. When you saw him in this light though, drunk and vulnerable, you felt sorry for him. 

Taking a couple of tissues from your purse, you helped clean up his face as best as you could, sending your friends on their way without you as you took on this newfound role of nurse to him. With few other options to stop his nosebleed, you’d handed him a tampon from your purse. He laughed initially, in complete and total refusal to use it. You had gestured to his floral print white polo shirt, the collar now stained with drips of blood from his face. He huffed a sigh and followed your advice, grumbling as you insisted on making awkward small talk as you sat and waited with him to get checked out. 

That was the first time since his mother’s passing that anyone had ever shown Bradley an ounce of compassion when he was injured. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking or not , but he could have sworn you were an angel with the way you smiled at him and how soothing he found your voice. 

Now, eighteen months later, standing here with your arms wrapped around him, his hands on your waist as you fussed over him and congratulated him on his performance in this afternoon’s game, he was sure. You were heaven sent.. In fact, it was what he called you — angel. He’d decided early on it was the perfect nickname for you, and as time went on, he only proved himself right. 

“Everyone’s left, right?” You asked him, raising an eyebrow at him as he snapped back to reality, shooting a quick glance behind his shoulder.

“Mhmm. I was the last one out of the showers. Looks like it’s just us left here.”

“Perfect. I have a little something for you.”

“Do you?” He inquired, eyebrows raised as he smirked, a million ideas running through his head at what his surprise could be. 

Together, you walked back towards the now deserted dugout, the ballpark that was roaring with excitement an hour ago was now silent, deserted by players and fans alike. You grinned as you turned around to face Bradley, dropping down to your knees in front of him, gazing up at him with a doe-eyed stare that was almost enough to make him groan out in pleasure.

“Wh-you mean, this is my surprise? You’re gonna suck my dick in the dugout, angel?”

“I know you’ve always wanted me to. And you played so good today, honey. How could I say no?” You purred as you undid the belt holding his pants in place. 

He dropped his baseball pants down to his ankles, and before his hands could remove the tight fitting boxer briefs he’d changed into post-game, your mouth was pressed against the tightening bulge, pressing warm kisses to it in a way that made Bradley’s mind foggy. He couldn’t think straight and he wasn’t even in your mouth yet. 

Fuck.

He knew he wouldn’t last long if this was how worked up he was feeling at your mouth touching him. As you tugged his boxers down, peeling them off his thighs to free his cock. A white bead of pre-cum pearled on his tip, leading Bradley to elicit a pornographic moan as your thumb swiped across it, whisking the liquid away before you began pumping your hand up and down his shaft. You tauntingly flicked your tongue out over the tip of his erection, encircling the red, throbbing head with a trail of saliva before licking a strip along the underside to his balls. Bradley shuddered as he felt you continue to lick up and down his length, your hand pumping him tightly when you alternated and pressed your lips to the tip. 

After what felt to Bradley like an eternity, you took his tip past your parted lips, hollowing your cheeks as you began to suck on his cock like it was some kind of refreshing summer treat. As you took him further back in your mouth, your saliva began to pool around his shaft, dribbling out down his length as you tried to take more of him into you. He grunted your name as he gathered your hair in his hand, gripping tightly as he thrusted his hips forward into your mouth. 

You gagged as you felt his tip brush the back of your throat, causing more of your spit to soak his cock, your hand using it as lubrication as you continued to pump on whatever didn’t fit past your lips. Bradley began panting, gasping and singing your praises as he fucked your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered as you shut them for a quick moment to concentrate yourself on your technique until you felt a hand gently squeezing your cheeks, making your mouth seemingly tighten harder around Bradley.

“Nuh, uh, beautiful. Eyes on me,” he directed. 

You gazed up at him with that same doe-eyed stare again, batting your lashes as you watched his facial expression, his eyes shutting as he enjoyed the feel of your mouth as it sucked and licked at his cock, working him into his orgasm.

“Shit, angel, ‘m’not gonna last,” Bradley panted, deep chocolate brown eyes fixated on you as he watched you pull your mouth back from him almost entirely before thrusting yourself fully into him. 

His lids shut again as he drew his head back, saying your name as if it was a hymn he was singing. He let out a deep, throaty grunt as he shot hot, white ropes of his cum down your throat. Your eyes never left his as you swallowed hard, making sure that he could see you as you did it before pulling yourself back off his cock. Pulling yourself to your feet, you wiped the saliva from your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning proudly at the mess you’d made out of Bradley.

His eyes deepened with a burning, lustful hunger for you as he wrapped his arm around your waist, picking you up off your feet and grinning. 

“I gotta return the favour, now, angel. You know the rules. You wear a pretty little skirt like that, and I just have to eat that pussy of yours.” He said matter-of-factly as he pulled his bottoms back up, chuckling to himself as he tightened his belt back up. “Bet you did it on purpose, didn’t you, honey? Knew I wouldn’t be able to resist eating that perfect little cunt of yours if you wore something like this?”

“I may have been thinking something along those lines,” you teased, shrugging your shoulders as he laid you down on the bench. 

He straddled the bench in front of your legs and tutted his tongue at you, giving you a head shake of disapproval before raising an eyebrow at you.

“Angel, come on, spread those pretty thighs of yours nice and wide for me. Throw your legs over my shoulders if you have to.” 

You obeyed his command, biting down on your lip as you fought back a grin, draping your legs over his broad shoulders as he slipped between them, his mouth hovering just over your folds. He pressed his lips to your inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth. You let out a soft yelp of pleasure, feeling your body writhe at the mere suggestion of Bradley’s mouth down there on you.

“Look at you,” Bradley purred as he spread your folds apart with two thick fingers. “So pretty and wet for me already? Sucking my cock got you all worked up like this?” 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, trying to concentrate your thoughts into a sentence. 

“C’mon, honey, use your words for me. Wanna hear you say it,” Bradley said as he flicked his tongue out, swiping it across your swollen, sensitive clit. 

“Bradley,” you whined as you arched your back at the slow, sensual teasing, “You know exactly why I’m like this already.”

“Mhmm, my perfect angel,” he cooed as he licked at your folds again, gathering your arousal on his tongue. 

As Bradley’s tongue ravaged you, eating you out like a man starved on a desert island for the last few months, your heart began to race, a burning desire brewing in the pit of your stomach. While Bradley’s tongue lapped at your arousal, he delved two thick fingers into your pulsating core, pumping them into your g-spot. You could picture him grinning to himself as he heard your needy, whiny moans, panting his name as if it was the only word you were able to say anymore. That was just how he liked it though - making it so he was the only thing on your mind. He prided himself on it.

Your thighs began to shake as he dug the fingers of his free hand into your flesh, holding you in place. He pulled his mouth away from you for a moment with a loud suck. You whimpered at the loss of contact, looking down at him from beneath hooded lids as he continued to fuck his fingers deeper into you. 

“That’s it, angel. I played my best for you today, wanted to do right, earn this pretty little pussy of yours. Make it mine,” he husked. 

Your walls clenched down tightly around his fingers as he spoke, the words alone enough to send you over the edge. He pressed his lips to your clit once again, giving it a long, tantalizing suck as he drew your orgasm out of you. Instead of his name, this time all you could get out of your mouth was a breathless, blissed out moan, unable to formulate words as your brain fogged. Bradley continued to praise you, coaching you through your climax like a personal trainer coaching you through a workout. 

He drew his hand up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers until they were clean, his wide tongue pressing flat against them before pulling them out of his mouth with a loud pop. You blinked twice at him, still dazed from your orgasm as he pulled your underwear back up your legs. 

“You ok, angel?” Bradley grinned as he tapped your thigh gently with his hand to try and bring you back to reality. Your blissfully fucked out stare was all he needed, a soft smile on your face as you tried to regain your composure. 

“We’re just getting started, baby. I’ve got 48 hours with you before my next game, I’m making each one of those hours count.” 

[star-sim]

say it back! ☆ jay park

☆ non-idol! bf! jay x fem! reader ☆ summary: jay thinks you're really cute, especially when you're mad. ☆ genre: fluff!! implied college! au / young adult! au , super domestic and cutesy ☆ warning(s)? nope! ☆ word count: 1.1k ☆ after supermassive blackhole i realized just how many jay stans followed me, so eat up guys 😛

It was a Friday evening. The sun was beginning to set, casting a vibrant peach-orange glow over Jay’s apartment.

With a navy-blue apron hanging loosely from his neck, Jay took in the scent of garlic chives and caramelized onions marinating in the pan. With a spatula, he popped in a lump of gochujang, stirring in the hot, red paste.

If Jay had to be honest, he spent most of his time just touching you, his girlfriend. Not in a sexual way. Any physical touch with you was more than enough. Whether it be cuddling on the couch or you clinging onto him while he did things, the intimacy of having skin-on-skin contact was everything.

On days like this, Jay was the one cooking dinner. Not-so-surprising, you were an absolute mess in the kitchen, so he took on that responsibility. You should be home soon. You had taken up an internship a weeks ago, so you had to stay just a tad later than usual.

As Jay immersed himself in the gorgeous aromas of his craft, he thought of what he should do with you later.

He could watch a movie with you, but knowing you, you would probably be all over him. He never expected you to be the clingy, needy type, doing whatever you could to snuggle up against his warm body. Jay’s lips parted before spreading into a gummy grin. He could imagine your voice:

“Baaabe,” you would whine, plopping yourself in between his legs. You would tangle your arms with his, or maybe you'd place his hands in your hair and make him play with it.

If his eyes were glued to the TV for long enough, you would pout, before peppering soft kisses against his neck. Jay would pretend to ignore you, making you whine again. 

“Give me attention,” you would murmur against his ear. 

Oh man, Jay felt giddy and warm inside just thinking about it. 

What he wouldn’t do just to have you come home already—

The door clicked open.

“I’m home!”

Speak of the devil and you will appear.

Jay heard a few footsteps and a giggle before feeling arms slither around his torso. 

“Hi,” you mumbled against his back. 

Jay grinned. “Hi, Angel.”

You peeked over his shoulder, taking in the scent of his cooking. “Smells good.”

“Go wash up, baby,” Jay said. “I’m almost done.”

“Okayyy,” you squeezed his waist. You gave Jay a small peck on the cheek. You drawled, “I love youuuu!”

Jay hummed. 

He heard you huff. 

“I love you,” you repeated.

“Mhm.”

There’s a pulse of silence before you pulled away, leaving him alone.

When you left, he couldn’t help but smile so stupidly. 

You were going to drive him crazy. 

You were so cute, and adorable, and pretty, and beautiful, and gorgeous, and precious, and everything that he loved. He wanted to hold you in his arms forever and kiss you forever and be with you forever and-

How many kids should you and him have? He’d always wanted two boys and a girl, but he wouldn’t mind having more. Later down the line, when you and him got older, he’d buy you a pretty diamond ring— in fact, he’d buy you everything that you’ve ever wanted. And then you and him will get married and buy a house. Would you take his last name? [Name] Park didn’t sound too bad. People would call you Mrs. Park, and instead of calling you by your first name, Jay would refer to you as “my wife,” and—

He was feeling dizzy just thinking about it. Was he getting ahead of himself?

“Are you mad at me?” your voice suddenly said.

Jay jumped. He whipped his head around to see you with your arms crossed and a big, sulky frown.

Were you standing there the whole time?

“B-Babe, I thought you went to the bathroom…”

You shook your head. 

“Are you mad at me?” you repeated. Taking a few steps forward, you turned him around, pressing him up against the kitchen counter while holding his hands together.

“Wait, what?” Jay’s brows knitted together. “Baby, where is this coming from?”

“You…” you began, averting your gaze. “You didn’t say it back.”

Jay cocked his head. “Say what back?”

You huffed. “I said I love you, and you didn’t say it back.”

You tilted your head so that he couldn’t see your pouty face, playing with his fingers. You murmured something under your breath, something that he couldn’t quite hear.

Jay stared at you for a few seconds, processing everything. And then, he threw his head back, loud bouts of laughter emitting from his lips. Every time that he would calm down and look at you, your sulky face would make him burst back into his fit of giggles.

“It’s not funny!” you slapped his shoulder, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment. When he wouldn’t stop laughing, you turned away, punching him on the arm, “You’re a jerk, Jay.”

At that, Jay immediately stopped laughing.

“Wait, I’m sorry!” Jay clasped your hands in his, pulling you close to him so that you were flushed against his chest. 

You frowned. 

“It's too late to apologize,” you mumbled.

Jay almost chuckled at your grumpiness, but stopped himself before you’d be even more upset with him.

You stayed like that for a few moments: Jay holding you close against the kitchen counter, fingers loosely intertwined.

Finally, Jay poked your cheek.

“Hey!”

“Don’t be mad at me, Angel.”

Your frown deepened.

Jay sighed.

Bringing a large hand up, he gently grabbed your face, bringing it closer.

“What are you-”

Jay began littering chaste kisses all across your face– he started at your cheek, moved up to your forehead, down your nose, to your other cheek, and lastly to your chin, where he teased you by kissing just close enough to your lips. He exaggerated by making loud kissy noises to further rile you up.

“Stoooooppp,” you whined, but made no attempt to resist him.

Jay let out a low chuckle. He cupped your cheeks. He ghosted his lips over yours, reveling in the way that you automatically closed your eyes and wet your lips in anticipation. He contemplated whether or not he should pull away to tease you, but decided against it. 

Who was he to deny you?

When your lips met, you let out an excited squeal, squeezing his bicep. When you guys pulled away, Jay breathed against your lips, “I love you.”

“Baby...” you mewled, sliding your hands up his chest to hook around his neck.

“I love you,” he repeated himself, leaning in to give your lips a peck. “I love you so fucking much.”

You giggled softly, your breath brushing against his cheek. “I love you, too.”

[readychilledwine]

Dancing with Eris Vanserra Headcanons?

Sway

Dancing with Eris Headcanons

Warnings - none.

A/N - I have a whole playlist for this subject. Writing Eris dancing is honestly becoming an obsession.

P.s. You'll get a detailed scene of that in Kissed by Fire.

Eris learned to dance from his mother. His father did not see if as a necessary skill, but Mama Vanserra saw it as a necessary outlet.

She has had him dancing since he could stand on her toes. She would count the little steps out to him while teaching him the story and meaning behind each dance.

It soon became an object of pride Beron used. Another way to brag about the son he was not actually proud of.

He would use Eris's skills to seduce females for information, or Mother forbid a father upset the High Lord and had a pretty daughter. Then it was a warning.

Until, you, that is.

Your father is one of Eris's spies, planted as an advisor to Beron. Once you were of age, Beron insisted on a large ball to honor you and present you as an eligible bachelorette to the Autumn Court.

Beron had Eris offer you a dance. It was the first time Beron forced him to dance with a female where it wasn't a warning or filled with ill intent.

Eris will never forget that night. Your hair had been curled and fell into loose waves, a braid wrapped the back of your hair with pieces pulled through. Your father and mother spared no expense to purchase diamonds to decorate your hair with.

He remembers the way you flushed when he offered you his hand. The way you quietly squeaked when his hand rested on your hip once you two were centered on the floor.

He remembers the feel of the rich red velvet dress and its full skirt. He remembers the whispers of scandal over the sweetheart necklace decored with diamonds and sheer nude sleeves that matched your skintone perfectly and matched as well. It was a nod to your mother's Night Court heritage while still accepting fashion standards from Autumn.

The first dance you two shared was a traditional waltz.

It would be the same dance you two would share for your first as husband and wife one year later.

Eris never had a dance partner like you. Someone who was as trained as he was, who loved to dance as much as he did.

Nesta had been fun to dance with, but she did not hold a candle to you.

You and Eris spend most of your time dancing. Sometimes, it's alone with instruments enchanted to play in the ballroom. Sometimes, it's to absolutely no music, your head on his chest. Your arms would rest up his strong back while one of his wrapped your waist and the other cradled your head.

The two of you are the opening dance for every Autumn ball, a tradition handed over by Beron to Eris to allow him to drink instead of perform his duties.

It allowed you two so much more freedom to decide the tone of the ball. It was a symbol of power Beron unknowingly and stupidly handed his son.

It also allowed you two to bring back a dance Beron had banned. The tango. He had deemed it too sexual, too scandalous.

The dance was too ingrained in Autumn culture to allow it to rest and be forgotten.

When Beron died under mysterious circumstances, dancing became more common in Autumn again.

In the streets, in the pubs, in The Forest House.

It became all too common to hear you and Eris laughing as he spun and dipped you.

His body was more relaxed now, allowing the movements to feel almost Godlike now.

When you two finally have a family, the made tradition continues.

From the moment your little daughter holds her head up well enough, Eris holds her close, letting her hold his finger in her little hand and swaying her.

Then Eris echos his own mother, having your sweet girl stand on his feet as he teaches her the steps.

Her first dance presented to the court was a magic moment for Eris.

She was in your dress. That beautiful red velvet dress. He looked at you during the dance, eyes lined with tears as you held your young son.

You would always be his favorite partner. His perfect match. But his daughter, your daughter, she would be close second.

It was a fairytale for him. It healed that last part of dancing that had been so tainted by Beron.

He had spent the rest of the night dancing with you, watching closely as male after male approaches your daughter

You trailed his eyes, seeing the lights dancing off your daughter's flaming red hair. "A beauty, is she not?"

"She is exquisite. My finest work." His lips twitched in pride. Eyes beginning to water again. "I do not plan on letting her go gently."

"Perhaps you will have a dance off with whomever she decides is worthy of her love."

Eris smirked at the idea, the bond now glowing as he dipped you and kissed your neck. "And now I know how we replace the blood duels. I would never lose."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects

[eddiesxangel]

Hey Siri, Play Jealous by Nick Jonas | BarTender!Eddie

ty @mmunson86 for the idea 😚

Wc 2.4k

Cw: You see another woman flirting with your husband when you go to visit him at work, smut ok no minors 🔞 only description of the reader is what they are wearing

You’re late, Eddie was expecting you at his bar at 8:00pm like always, except it was already 8:45pm and you were just leaving the house. You were running behind because you were trying to look extra special for him. It has been a while since the two of you had been intimate. You’ve been married for a little over a year now and to say you’re still in the honeymoon faze is an understatement. However in the past month or so, it’s been lacking. Work has been draining you so much that you’d only want to sleep after the two of you would come home from closing up the bar. Eddie's business was doing very well, so much so that he needed to hire more help but training had been taking longer than expected, so there was no way he was able to leave the bar unsupervised, he had to work.

You wanted to get dolled tonight for the both of you. That’s why you decide to go all out for him, to show just how much you want him. Your hair was done at the salon after work, you refreshed your makeup to more of an evening look and you bought new lingerie just as a surprise, and to top it off you put on that midnight blue mini dress he loves so much. That’s why you’re late tonight.

You walk into the bar and take in the familiar surroundings. You make a B line to the main bar to the far right, and you spot him immediately. There he is, leaning over the bar, a toothy smile plastered on his face, his hair was down, framing his beautiful chiselled face, both elbows resting leaning into someone that you can’t quite see yet over the crowd. As you make your way through the horde of people you’re able to make out who it is he’s speaking to. Your heart stops and a wave of insecurities washes through you. The person he is charming was a beautiful brunette, evidently sitting alone. You can automatically tell by her body language that she’s openly flirting with your husband. The sirens in your mind are screaming, MINE MINE MINE. Can she not see the single wedding ring adorning his hand? It’s not like the other hand, hidden with the rest of his signature rings.

Eddie stands up, turning to make another drink, mid-way through he spots you. At first, he’s taken aback by how good you’re looking tonight. You have on that tight low-cut dress he loves so much. Was that a push-up bra you were wearing? Yes, it was. As you got closer the smell of your perfume consumed his sense, it was the same one you wore on your wedding night. Was tonight your anniversary? No, it wasn’t. Eddie was sure of it. So why were you all dressed up?

You sit down on the bar stool next to the leggy Brunette, side-eyeing her as you do. Eddie always knows how to read you, he knows you are about to start acting up. Eddie enjoys it, so he lets it happen.

“What can I get for you doll face?” Eddie eyes you up and down. He clocks your jealousy in a second.

“Whatever she isn’t having” nodding to the drink he had just made the brunette.

He playfully rolled his eyes while she scoffs at you. So this is how you’re going to play tonight? Yes. Do you care she is a paying customer? No. She’s probably thinking her drinks will be free by flashing her tits to your husband.

Eddie gets to work on your favourite drink, you don’t have to tell him, he didn’t have to ask, but he wanted to have some fun.

“I don’t know who you think you are but I saw him first.” The brunette flips her long hair over her shoulder.

“Oh really? Did you now?” You raise your perfectly sculpted brows to her. You can see Eddie’s shoulder slightly moving up and down like he’s stifling a laugh, which he was.

“Looks like you’re taken anyway, what your man who gave you that rock not satisfying you?” She motions to the 2-karat diamond ring Eddie gave you as an engagement ring. It's sat there for 3 years along with the newer wedding band to match. So she notices your ring but not Eddie’s? “Have to run out on him like a little tramp?” She smirks thinking she’s won the battle.

You don’t think twice, you hop your ass on the bar, swing your legs over and plop down on the other side. You grab Eddie’s shirt by the collar, startling him a bit, and kiss him. You kiss him hard, calming your territory and he pulls away.

“This chick bothering you baby?” You look over at her, face in shock. Eddie didn’t think It wasn’t funny anymore, he should have stopped the situation from escalating sooner,

He firmly whispers in your ear to go to his office and don’t talk to any more customers on your way there...You’re in trouble. what you did was unprofessional. However, technically you didn’t work there. You walk from behind the bar and he apologized to the brunette for your actions, yet she’s the one who called you a slut.

Not even 5 minutes later the door swings open and slams shut. Eddie locks the door and turns to see you sitting in his desk chair.

“on your knees. Now.” He points to the ground in front of him.

As you slowly get up revealing that you’d taken off your dress leaving you in just the black lacy set you had on underneath for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it, he just continues speaking.

“You think you can play these games while I’m at work? You think you can just walk in here an hour late, start acting up, looking like that, and you’re not going to get into trouble?” Your pricing eyes look up so innocently like you’ve done nothing wrong.

“You’re mine, and you were flirting with that wom-”

“Are you talking back to me right now?” Eddie cuts you off.

You both know this isn’t how he truly feels. This was your little song and dance the two of you did. You could see he was holding back a smirk.

“No” you answered.

“Don’t make me tell you again” he cupped your throat and you let a moan slip.

You sunk ever so slowly to your knees. His cock was already painfully hard, seeing you kneel before him.

You grazed your hand over his tented jeans.

“You’re in no place to tease sweetheart “ he undid his pants shoving them and his underwear down to release his cock. The tip was already red and leaking pre cum, ready and waiting for you.

“Open up sweetheart, show me you can be my good girl”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you opened your mouth slightly sticking out your tongue. He slapped the head of his dick on it a few times before sliding it in.

His head fell back with pleasure, as your warm wet mouth consumed him.

“You’re taking it so well baby, being such a good girl” he didn’t give you a chance to take control he just slowly thrust into your mouth, slowly picking up speed as he began to throat fuck you.

“You think I would want anyone but this perfect mouth baby? Do you think I would want to replace you with someone else? Not a chance “ he spoke through gritted teeth.

You can feel a puddle of heat collecting in your panties. Your blood was rushing south, your now swollen clit was throbbing and begging to be touched. Eddie gripped your hair at the back of your head. You’re sure your perfectly styled hair was now ruined. The tears were forming in your eyes as he continuously fucked into your mouth.

“My perfect girl, look at you, so good to me” He abruptly pulled out giving you a chance to catch your breath. He placed his hands on your shoulders to lift you up. He grabbed your throat as he kissed you sloppily.

“Get on the couch” he walks you backwards, hand still attached to your throat, kissing you until the backs of your knees fold against the plush green corduroy. You plop down with a bounce.

“Spread those legs for me baby, let me see you” he hovered over you, both hands settled beside each ear on the back of the couch.

You slowly opened your legs, exposing more of he delicate black lacy number you had on.

He trails a single finger down your chest, across your tummy, and stopped at the hem of your thong.

“This new baby?” He pinches is fingers into the gusset of your panties and snaps the material.

“Already soaked for me and I haven’t even touch you yet.” He motioned to his fingers covered with your heat.

“Baby, please touch me” You grind your hips into nothing, begging for his touch, the only touch that ever gives you the amount of pleasure you desire.

“You think you deserve it? You’ve been naughty” He questioned.

“Yes, baby, please, I need you, it’s been so long, I need it, please” You’re begging your husband to fucking touch you and he was reviling in it.

“You need me to claim you? Let everyone know who you belong to? Hmmm is that it? Not enough that I made you my wife? Just had to claim me in front of everyone in the bar”

“Yes you're mine” you state.

“Fine, but only because I haven’t tasted this pussy in weeks” He didn’t give you time to reply. He moved so quickly, shoving your lacy panties to the side and attaching his lips to yours. He ran his hot tongue up your slit, collecting all your wetness in his wake. He hummed into your pussy as a sign of enjoyment. He circled your clit, finally getting relief from the pulsing that has been building since the second you walked into the bar. You groped the back of his head like he did you minutes before. “Oh right there!” You let your head rest on the back of the couch, soaking in the marvellous feeling of Eddie's mouth on you. His 5 o’clock shadow was brushing your inner thighs as he ran his face up and down, and side to side. He was devouring you. Every touch, every kiss, every lick was consuming you. The build on your lower abdomen was growing, you were being wound up tighter and tighter. “More please” You managed to whisper.

“Good girl, remembering her manners” Eddie spoke into you while inserting a single finger into your wet hole. “More baby, I need more” You ground your hips into him.

“Greedy greedy girl” Eddie takes his finger out of you just as quickly as it went in, he gives your pussy a small slap and stood up. You cried at the loss of him, but it was short-lived. He crouched down to bring one leg up and rested it on his shoulder. He lines himself up at your entrance and groaned as his throbbing cock slid into you effortlessly.

“This what you wanted baby? *thrust* To fuck you *thrust* in my bar *thrust* You got all pretty just for me? *thrust* All pretty just so I would fuck you silly tonight is that it?” You couldn’t answer, you were in fact being fucked dumb. Eddie sped up with each thrust and with each thrust the head of his cock would brush up against that spot. The spot that made you see stars.

“Answer me” he gripped your chin and made you look into his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes that made you fall in love with him. Looking into his eyes snapped you back into reality. “No, it’s not what I wanted” his hips stopped mid-thirst not expecting your answer. You strain your neck to connect your lips. You kiss him, you’re desperate for his affection. Touch starved by the weeks without intimate moments like this. Eddie kissed you back with the same need you both needed this just as much as the other.

“No baby it’s what I needed” you spoke into his mouth. Eddie groaned and flipped you over. He yanked down your thong and bent down to give your pussy one last kiss before splitting you open again. The new angle made your eyes roll to the back of your head, and the sounds of your moans, and skin-to-skin filled the room. Your moans could be heard above the sounds of the noisy bar on the other side of the door, but none of that mattered.

“Baby touch me please I’m so close” you panted. A hand reaches around your lower tummy down your mound and attached to your clit. A cry of pleasure left your mouth as he grazed your clit while plowing into you.

“Give it to me baby, claim me as yours” Eddie gritted out, you can tell he was getting tired but he wasn’t about to give up.

“Your pussy was made for me, going to fill you up with my cum, gunna give you a baby”

His words had you coming on his cock instantly, your body shook with pleasure and he continued to pound into you as he rode out your orgasm and chased his. “Give me your cum baby, I need it. I wanna have your baby” you cried as he continuously fucked into you balls deep, they were slapping your clit overstimulating you just prolonging your orgasm. That seemed to do for Eddie. You beg Eddie to fill you with his cum making him pump his hot load into you time and time again.

You felt Eddie slump his body over yours as he let out a sigh.

“God I missed this” he gave you a peck on the cheek before pulling out. You whimpered at the loss of connection.

He damped some paper towels with his water bottle to clean you up. It’s the best he could do without having to go back into the bar bathroom.

“Don’t ever think I would want any other girl other than you” he kissed you before having to walk back out into the bar. The impromptu 30-minute break was not on the schedule. He needed to make sure everything was ok in the bar. You found your dress and walked back out like nothing happened.

The leggy brunette was now snuggled up to some other guy in the back booth, you make eye contact and give her a little wink. Eddie was already back behind the bar, lipstick still smudged on his face but you couldn’t really tell in the dim light.

“See you at home for round two hot stuff” You leaned over the bar to give him one last kiss goodbye. Eddie groaned, he still has 2 hours left until closing he wasn’t sure he could wait that long.

Master list

[talia-black]

A Gift Repaid (Is But A Favor Owed)

(I started this a week after 2.3 went live. Clearly this sat in my WIPs before boredom resurrected it. Based on the 2.3 post-quest. Currently in the middle of a hurricane and the internet is out so I finally have no choice but to finish some of my WIPs.) 

Angsty, because Lord knows I can’t separate poor Aventurine from his trauma, but let me know if you want a fluffy sequel. 

Trailblazer!Gender neutral!Reader

(But I do use the name Stelle because I am a part of the AvenStelle agenda)

Stelle wants to repay Aventurine's gift, but doesn't have a single clue about how to do that. Maybe something just a little bit more will come of their clueless but sincere gesture.

Aventurine let out a well-earned sigh as he collapsed into bed. The weeks following his return to Pier Point had been nothing but a series of meetings, debriefs, more meetings, follow-up reports, and even more meetings. Leaving the normally free-wheeling gambler feeling restless and pent-up. Watching the drama unfold on the Radiant Feldspar had been his only form of entertainment. So naturally once the negotiations had settled and the Fool's prank had been dealt with, the Stoneheart had nothing to distract himself from the stack of paperwork taunting him from its perch on his desk.

Admittedly he had resorted to browsing one of his favorite online stores when he got the notification that the limited-edition model of the Astral Express was finally open for bidding. He won naturally, and it only took him a few seconds before he decided what to do with it.

Aventurine bundled up a few trinkets he had collected while on Penacony and had them packaged alongside the train model before shipping it off to the formerly-named Radiant Feldspar.

Stelle had been by far one of the most interesting and delightful characters he ever had the pleasure of meeting. Despite the power they wielded simply by hosting a Stellaron and being a member of the Astral Express Crew, they were almost chronically lawless and free-spirited. Although, squirrel-brained might be the most accurate descriptor. They could be in the middle of a punch line to some terrible dad joke one moment, and the next they are sprinting off because something shiny was poking out of a trashcan and they just had to take it with them. Every expensive gift he sent their way was met with sincere gratitude. But Stelle's wide-eyed, embarrassed blush didn't hold a candle to the expression of pure joy that lit up their entire face whenever they dug out something they deemed worthwhile out of a pile of abandoned boxes or an alley that looked like it could launch a thousand microbiology studies. Stelle was just so genuine and thoroughly lacking in any kind of malicious intent or agenda that it was impossible to not be endeared to them.

As far as the Stoneheart was concerned, the Astral Express' resident raccoon in human skin could have whatever their heart desired.

()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Honestly, Aventurine forgot about the gift after a week. Work wasn't any less busy, and it was becoming clearer by the day that part of his punishment for damaging his cornerstone and putting two others in jeopardy was to be grounded on Pier Point until Diamond was forced to send him somewhere else.

Five weeks later, the gambler was willing to take a second shot at that Emanator if it meant he would be able to escape the never-ending mountain of paperwork. One way or the other.

Which is why he decided to spend an afternoon sifting through his backlog of physical mail instead of addressing the two-foot stack of papers that one of Obsidian's lackeys had dropped on his desk five minutes before his lunch break or the 1000+ emails sitting in his inbox.

The majority was junk. He was appalled that most of it got past his subordinates desk, and he happily watched the papers be chewed to pieces in the shredder. A few particularly inventive scam attempts even managed to get a chuckle out of him before they met their fate.

The slightly more personal letters were mildly amusing. Threats from past "friends", professions of love from strangers who had caught a glimpse of him at this place or the other. 

He would definitely need to have HR reevaluate the person who handled his mail.

Aventurine saved the packages for last, mainly because he knew those had been thoroughly inspected before they were even allowed in the building. One attempted bombing incident and now all of his shopping orders took a minimum of 72 hours before he was allowed to pick them up. But it wasn't until he had actually started to examine the boxes that he noticed something odd.

One of the packages wasn't so much a "package" as it was something vaguely spherical wrapped in newspaper. A shipping label that barely met postal requirements was the only thing holding it together, and the smell of burnt metal radiated from it. The sender's name had been smudged, which only fueled the gambler's curiosity.

Mostly confident whatever was in the package wouldn't kill him, Aventurine tore away the wrapping paper.

"What in the name of the Preservation-"

Aventurine hissed. His fingers had struck metal, nearly slicing his finger open on a particularly jagged corner. The rusted bronze burned in the low lighting Aventurine had illuminating his office, offset by the shiny aluminum that had been soldered to it. Aventurine continued to unwrap the package and it was only when the last of the newspaper had fallen to the floor that he was able to make out what it was.

Several pieces of scrap had been melded together in a caricature of a star. Different types of metal and alloys gleaned in the light of his office, and despite the patches of rust and wear on it, a lot of effort had clearly been put into it.

Aventurine had no clue what to make of it. It wasn't some high-end art piece if the shipping was anything to go by, and wasn't anything close to gifts people had attempted to bribe him with before. He reached down to pick through the wrapping and take a second look at the shipping label and a folded piece of paper fell out. It looked like standard cardstock, but Aventurine could see his name scratched on the top.

The gambler's intrigue was practically suffocating him at this point as he snatched the paper up and folded back the crease.

Hey Aventurine, hope you're doing alright. I've been stabbed before. It's not a fun experience once the adrenaline wears off and you can't get your legs to work properly. Make sure you wait at least a few days before trying to go out and pick a fight, or you'll wake up with very disappointed people hovering over you.

Sorry I didn't respond to your gift sooner. I would say social anxiety is bitch, but March has been nagging me to stop masking my vulnerability with humor.

Truthfully, I didn't know how to thank you. Excusing that little scuffle at the theme park (No hard feelings there. A lot of my friends have tried to maim me before) you've been great company and I wanted to give you something in return for all of the presents you’ve given me. It took me a while to decide on what exactly that was. I've watched a few of your poker games. You can make more credits in a single evening than I've ever had in my entire life. It wasn't until Dan Heng commented on all of the "junk" in my room that I had the idea of making something.

March 7th says I'm a hoarder. I prefer the term "low-budget collector". The metal you're holding was scavenged from a massive junkyard that most of Belobog's decommissioned robots end up in, though some of it came from abandoned cycranes I found near the Alchemy Commission. You wouldn't believe the types of odds and ends that get thrown in their dumpsters.

I had to ask for Himeko's help to actually weld the metal though. I think I did a pretty decent job for my first time, and aside from a few burns I made it through the experience unscathed. Word of advice: never touch the tip of a welding torch. Even after it's been off for ten minutes.

I really did like hanging out with you, Aventurine. Not a lot of people are willing to put up with my hyperactive raccoon brain for long, and it was nice to meet someone else who enjoys causing general mayhem. There should be another present in here if I get Pom-Pom to approve it.

Anyway, I hope you at least like this gift. If you don't, feel free to toss it.

May your journey lead you starward

-The Trailblazing Raccoon

Stelle

P.S. If you were serious about that round of cards, the Express will be staying at the Luofu for the next few months before we go out of range of the HoloNet for a while. I know a place with great food and mostly empty tables if you feel like stopping by.

Stelle.

The letter’s words blurred from how hard his hand was shaking.

Aventurine blinked furiously. A single tear escaped and smeared the postscript. He set the ornament gently on his desk before looking through the newspaper for a second envelope.

Instead of another folded note, there was a smaller envelope crookedly taped to what had been the inside of the newspaper. 

The Astral Express welcomes all who wish to move beyond their past and journey along the silver rails, no matter their intent or agenda. Ms. Topaz has already been granted an Express Pass, so it would be inconsiderate to not offer you one as well when a Trailblazer has vouched for you. The Pass enclosed will allow you to board the Astral Express whenever you wish, barring emergency circumstances or a crisis state. 

- The Conductor of the Astral Express, Pom-Pom

A golden ticket was nestled in the folded page. The rainbow sheen on its glossy gold surface was a perfect replica of the reflection of the stars outside Aventurine’s office window. 

Those same stars were the sole light in Aventurine’s penthouse apartment later that night as he drowned his memories and anxieties in a bottle of Penacony’s finest. His alcohol-addled brain scheming away as he clutched that golden ticket in a death grip. 

()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

A few days later…

“Hey Stelle!” 

The Trailblazer in question looked up from their game to see March leaning into their room.

“You’ve got a package. Well, a few packages. And a letter.”

Stelle raised an eyebrow as March dropped six nicely-wrapped boxes and a letter on their bed.  

“Are you sure you haven’t gone over your budget this month?” March asked as Stelle reached for the letter. 

“I haven’t ordered anything,” Stelle mumbled, distracted by the ostentatious gold calligraphy decorating the front. The list of people she knew who would send them such a thing was short, and with the packages…

Stelle ripped open the envelope and leaned back, away from March’s prying gaze. 

Dear Stelle, 

It would be my honor to accept your invitation. The gifts I’ve sent are a small measure of my gratitude for such a thoughtful present, and I hope you won’t object to similar gestures in the future. I’ve never had the chance to visit the Luofu, but I managed to free a few days next week for me to spend at my leisure. You have my number, so if you’re looking for a little risky fun, give me a call. 

Your close friend, Aventurine <3

[purelyfiction]

stars in a line - robert 'bob' floyd x f!reader

Word Count: 1,207 words

Summary: Chicken's in the skillet, ice in the drink, head's in the clouds, diamond's in the rough, he's in a Chevy and I'm in love // Tips in the apron, hair's in a braid, Mercury's all in retrograde // He's in a T-shirt all cleaned up, Good lord almighty, mama don't wait up // Chills down my spine, hearts on the line, He's all mine and I'm in love

Content Warning: fluff!! also note of animal abandonment

Author Note: another round for @ohtobeleah 's galentines writings :))))))

the familiar rumble of the older engine makes your features split with a smile. when bob had told you he was gonna drive his truck from montana to california you thought he was losing his mind.

then he'd explained why he was so insistent.

that he'd taken you out in that '87 Chevy all those years ago. after weeks of coming into the diner you worked in after school, dozens and dozens of milkshake and fry basket combos (and subsequent heartburn) just so he could hang out with you. he'd gotten up the nerve to finally ask you out. that truck had been your front row seats at the drive in watching a rerun of some old army movie his dad had recommended.

he'd taken the two of you to prom in that truck. to high school graduation, your college graduation. when the engine died on you while he was stationed in atlanta he'd taught you how to fix the thing via facetime.

beverly the chevy had been there for so many of your big moments. she'd been the reason why bob ended up buying the house that you stood contently in.

'bev is gonna need a place out of the elements if she's gonna stay top notch.'

this house had been the only one with a two car garage. one side for bev and one side for your car.

now when the engine rumbles echoed in the garage and made the older house vibrate, you couldn't help but grin. the sizzling of chicken in a skillet on the stove greets bob when he steps into the kitchen. he's greeted with the smell and a bottle of wine in a pile of ice in the sink. the door to the garage shuts, and you glance over your shoulder. when you do, you're witnessing the brown paper bouquet in his hands, white t-shirt on his shoulders, levis hugging his waist, trucker cap right where it belongs. he knows what this does to you. it's a simple look, nothing more than the basics but that's what does it. it highlights him. the man you love, bare bones and all.

the same man you fell for in that truck bed all those years ago.

he slides his boots off and wraps his arms around you from behind you, showing off the flowers he carried in. "happy flowers to you," he's humming now, making you giggle as his arms tight around you start bouncing you back and forth as he sings to the tune of 'happy birthday', "happy flowers to you, happy flowers, happy flowers, to my valentine youuuuuu" he punctuates the end of the song with a sloppy kiss to your cheek as you ease the weight of the florals from his hand.

"these are stunning, bo." you grin as he lets go, letting you turn to face him fully as he smiles.

"i know, i picked 'em cause they remind me of you." bob grins before pressing a quick kiss to your lips, barely pulling back when he speaks again, "happy valentines, sweet girl." you repeat the sentiment before he takes the arrangement and starts to get them into water.

you can't help but stare as he begins trimming the ends of each stem, easing them into the vase. you can smell the freshness of his body wash, having showered on base before he came home to you. couldn't waste time on your night together - and he knew it. the combination on him is near lethal to you. if you weren't actively cooking dinner, the counter would have been supplying a different kind of heat to the kitchen.

"i bought you something!" you nearly startle him with your sudden announcement, the reminder of your gift hitting you as you watch him. running down the hall causes the pup in the living room to chase after you, causing you and bob to both laugh.

shadow had been an unplanned addition to your lives because the poor pup appeared on your back deck one night. the collar on his neck held your current address. the previous owners had barely been involved with the process of the sale, so you didn't have their contact information to tell them hey assholes, you left your dog.

so, you and bob joked that the house came with a guardian, a black lab and german shepherd mix (bob got his dna tested out of infuriating curiosity). he quickly clung to the two of you - thus 'shadow'.

you lug the box into the kitchen, where bob has kept an eye on the meal you had recklessly abandoned. looking at you he huffs a gasp. "sweet girl, this is unnecessary." he laughs, taking the wrapped gift from your arms and sliding it onto the counter. still, he tears into it and reveals the milkshake maker, making him laugh, looking over at you with a grin. "that why you got your hair all done like this?" he grins, his fingers moving over the braid you'd plaited this morning.

"maybe." you hum, kissing his cheek as he looks over the box holding the machine. that diner the two of you met in had closed not long after you moved to san diego. you'd spent hours there and he'd once complimented the ribbon in your hair when it was woven into the braid on your head. recently, bob had mentioned how he'd missed those milkshakes they'd always made him.

he grins, before tucking his hand into his pocket. "hold out your hand." you hold it out as he asks, palm up. what he sets into your palm catches you off guard.

you'd been expecting something small, likely a jewelry box or something, like the years before.

instead a little metal circle is dropped into your palm. shining and glimmering. diamonds along it like stars in a line. your spine is electrified with chills, as your jaw drops as you look at him in awe. "bob, what-you-"

"i can get on my knee if you want, i'm just- i'm so in love with you. i'm truly in awe of you and how valid you make me feel. how valued and cherished i feel - how you listen," his head nods to the machine on the counter, "and you care and you never fail to be the best. just simply the best. i hope that i am for you-"

cutting him off you speak, "and you are," he laughs.

"then i wanna continue being that for you. for forever." you're sliding the new piece of jewelry onto your ring finger before he can get the words out, your arms slinking around his shoulders and linking your lips with his.

when you pull back, you grin.

"you're mine. i'm all yours and i'm in love. i'm so in love with you. with our life and the path we're on." you whisper. his hand takes a hold of your arm before the two of you jump at the sound of a smoke detector, both of you scrambling to clear the kitchen of smoke.

when the alarm is off and the burnt chicken is tossed, you smirk as you pull ice cream from the fridge.

"ice cream for dinner?" you try. bob grins.

"how about milkshakes instead?"

[suugarbabe]

Love your writing! Could you do a Theodore Nott and best friend reader who he is head over heels for but is too scared to admit his feelings. Mattheo knows how he feels and at a party or something like the Yule ball he brings her as his date to mess with him. Probably leads to a small fight with the boys but results in Theodore confessing to her and maybe some smut as well.

Love a little shy and angry Theo

You and Pansy seemingly walked into a conversation, nay argument, between Theo and Mattheo. As soon as the boys noticed you two, Mattheo made a b-line straight for you.

"Hello, Princess," Mattheo greeted you, cocky smile on full display. You chanced a glance at Pansy as you rolled your eyes. She wore a smirk and raised her eyebrows as if to say 'play along I guess'.

"Hi, Teo. Something I could help you with?" You gave him a dazzling smile of your own.

Mattheo ran his tongue along the front of his teeth, eyeing you up and down, "Would you do me the absolute pleasure of going to the Ravenclaw party with me tonight?"

You shifted your weight, jutting a hip out and tapping your chin like you were thinking about your answer, "Can I wear whatever I want?" You stood straight now, putting your hands behind your back and batting your eyelashes at the dark haired man.

Mattheo gave you a dimpled smile, "Go naked for all I care, love." You smirked at him, pecking his cheek, "Perfect. See you tonight." You grabbed Pansy's hand and pulled her toward your dorms.

As you disappeared up the steps Mattheo returned to where Theo sat. "You gonna tell me what the bloody hell that was, Riddle?" Mattheo rolled his eyes at his friend, "I told you, Nott. If you don't go after her, someone else will. Tonight, that someone is me."

In your room you and Pansy were having a similar conversation.

"I thought you were in to Theo," Pansy laid back on your bed, popping Bertie Botts in to her mouth as you dug through your trunk for the perfect dress.

You held up a slinky green piece with diamond straps, "Gotcha." You smiled to yourself as you stood, tossing the dress on your bed next to Pansy. She held it up, "Definitely slutty."

"Thank you," you smiled, shimmying off your school skirt and unbuttoning your blouse, "and I do like Theo, but he's being a bloody idiot. I thought maybe he didn't like me, but Mattheo just proved me wrong."

Pansy quirked an eyebrow as you pulled the dress over your head, "Little help with the straps, Pans?" She stood behind you, adjusting the diamond straps until the appropriate pattern was revealed. You turned to face her, giving her a twirl before she crossed her arms, waiting for your further explanation.

You huffed, mirroring her body language, "I know you've told Draco that I like Theo, which means that Draco told Mattheo because Draco can't keep anything to himself. SO Mattheo wouldn't ask me to a party when he knew I was pining after his best friend. Unless..."

"Unless Theo was being a huge pussy," Pansy nodded her head in full understanding. You smiled a devilish smile at her, glad your friend was able to piece it all together.

At the party you were giving Theo a full on show. You didn't let Mattheo in on your knowledge of the situation, but he seemed to be playing the role you wanted him to perfectly none the less.

With a decent amount of drinks your hips found a rhythm against Mattheo, your ass pressed firmly against his crotch as you both swayed to the music. You chanced a glance near the drink table where you knew Theo was essentially rooted.

His eyes were glued to your form, hand crushing the red cup in his grip and tossing it to the floor before stalking towards you and Mattheo. As he got closer, you opened your mouth to stop him but when you saw a fist flying you quickly stepped out of the way.

Theo's fist connected with Mattheo's jaw, which only made the latter pause for a second, a smirk gracing his face. Mattheo reared his fist back, fully planning to punch Theo back when suddenly both boys were frozen.

You took a step forward, wand outstretched, "That's enough." You lowered your wand, glaring at the small crowd that was forming before they quickly dispersed. You grabbed Theo by the wrist, dragging him out of the Ravenclaw common room and to the tower steps.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" For once you were looking down at Theo, him on the steps below you. Theo huffed, turning his head to look at his feet.

You were frustrated, not able to help nearly shouting at him, "Theodore Tiberius Nott, look at me right now."

Theo's eyes snapped to yours instantly, "I-I'm sorry," he started, "I don't...don't know what came over me." He looked down at his hands briefly before looking you in the eyes again, "Why did you come with him?"

You placed a hand on Theo's cheek, "Because the guy I wanted never did."

Theo closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, "I'm an idiot aren't I?" You laughed lightly, "Maybe just a little." You smiled, turning to place a gentle kiss on your palm.

"Go back in with me?" he asked, blue eyes full of remorse. You shook your head, "I think," you leaned down, giving a chaste kiss on the lips, "that maybe we should go to the after party."

You started down the stairs, Theo turning confused, "Where's the after party?" Without turning around you answered him, "In my room." This time Theo didn't hesitate before following quickly behind you.

[grapejuicestyless]

Just Because!

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Pure fluff <3

Summery: Harry loves everything, “just because.” when it comes to y/n. Flowers, diamonds, shirts, songs. Harry loves to spoil his girl.

There is just something so romantic about all things, “just because.” The idea that your loved one is thinking of you, even in the lack of your presence, even in happiness or hell, is something quite like no other.

Harry, ever the romantic loved all things, “just because.” Flowers, chocolates, clothes, jewelry. Anything that could be held in his lovers hands or adorned on her body to represent a fraction of his love for her.

The shop was on the way home from the studio he often booked when working on his albums. It wasn’t too far from home, which made it convenient. It also required him to drive through a smaller town to reach it. Streets lined with buildings, each with their own purpose and products. All decorated with their own personality.

He was a frequent at the flower shop, in that town. It was a small building, sandwiched between a barber shop with a twisting barbers pole and a paint store smeared in pale blue on the exterior.

The shop had not many flowers in it, but the one thing it did carry was his beloved y/n’s favorite. Bicolored red carnations and pink stained orangish tulips. They smelled almost as heavenly as she did, and to him, were nothing compared to how beautiful she was.

Each week, Harry found a day to stop by the shop. Making a B-line to the two flowers his lover adored the most. It was in front of those bundles he would inspect each flower carefully. Sniffing out the best one and inspecting each petal for any signs of decay. It wasn’t cheap, but for her reaction, it was priceless.

On these days, Harry would try his best to be discrete. All but tiptoeing to the front door. He would still his hands the best he could, muffling the crinkling of the plastic from his new gift hidden behind his back. He’d open the door and call out to his love, waiting for the quick pattering of her sock clad feet to rush down the stairs and into his arms.

The smile on her face each day was more than enough to fuel his penmanship for albums on albums of songs. Her delicate warmth that surrounded her a muse of his in itself.

Most days, Harry wouldn’t hesitate to hug her with both arms. Picking her up as he arched his back. All to hear the surprised laugh rip through her throat. But on days where he came home with gifts, he would hug her with only one arm. Extra tight to make up for the lack of his other arm.

By now, Y/n knew his games. An eyebrow already raised while he tried to stifle his wide smile. Giving himself away too easy.

“Harry?” She would ask, innocently though she knew his games. It would be only then that he would reveal the beautiful bouquet from behind himself. Each flower perky and fresh.

Y/n smiled just as excitedly and appreciatively each time. Falling deeper and deeper in love with the man she called her partner each day.

The flowers were always the same. As was the jewelry and the shirts. All falling under the category of her favorite things. Vintage and dainty. But, each time he wandered over to the shop and picked out each item by himself, his special touch always managed to make everything that should’ve been so similar, so different every time. And Y/n loved that.

A kiss would be pressed to his lips, flowers being passed into her palms, crinkling beneath the weight of their bodies pressing together. And every time Y/n would ask,

“What are these for?” With the sweetest expression painted across her face. And each time Harry had the same response.

“Just because.” A phrase that meant nothing and everything all at once. No, there was no special occasion to celebrate. Nothing that prompted the flowers. Nothing other than the fact that to Harry, Y/n deserved to be celebrated everyday of his life. A feeling that was deep rooted in his obsession for her.

Y/n felt the same about Harry, celebrating him everyday. But she didn’t have the funds for all things, “just because.” So, she adopted the love language of acts of service. The pair a perfect complement of each other constantly.

It was all so predictable, until it wasn’t.

Harry and Y/n laid in bed, the sun having already set and the moon high. Their laughter and small conversations carrying them into a deep slumber. One of tangled limbs and messy sheets. Arms draped across bodies and legs stuck between thighs. A closeness that would be uncomfortable to anyone but them.

And in the morning, the bright sun would shine through their shear curtains. The birds singing a tune to attract their own mates. The grass just a little bit greener.

Harry would wake first, always the early riser of the two. He would admire her for hours if he could, but usually his wake up meant he had a good five minutes to take everything in before Y/n stirred to life again. Marking the beginning of another wonderful twenty four hours together. He traced the bridge of her nose, counted her freckles and memorized where her deepest smile lines laid. His breathing tickling her eyelashes the closer they grew, eyes fluttering open.

Y/n would sit silently for a moment, taking in her lover, his eyes looking into hers and his lips turned upwards into a lazy morning smile.

“Good morning, handsome.” She would mumble, rubbing over her eyes to rid them of the sleep stick to her lashes.

Harry would reply the same way each morning. By pressing a kiss to her forehead and pulling her impossibly closer he would rasp,

“Good morning, love.” And they would tumble out of bed, Y/n following Harry only after he made the first move to get up.

Only today, he laid there. Kissing her forehead but not yet pulling her closer. He admired her just a minute longer, selfishly taking up her time so he could have her all to himself longer. His smile lazy but filled with love. He let the words slip from his mouth without a care for the consequences of them.

“Marry me.” He asked, face showing no amusement.

Y/n only smiled larger at his request, teeth momentarily catching on her bitten lip as her smile lines deepened. She nodded quickly.

“Yeah, of course. One hundred percent.” She didn’t need to think about it, having waited for this moment for years. It was a shock they hadn’t gotten hitched years ago, with how they followed each other around. Stuck to each other like glue. The same question of ‘why now’ reaching Y/n’s head. She couldn’t help but have to ask.

“Why now, Harry?” Her eyes sparkling. He took her hand in his. Fingers interlacing in front of their faces. Eyes meeting just beyond their palms. He tightened his grip slightly.

“Just because I love you.”

[makethatelevenrings]

On the Edge // B. Wayne x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI go read Percy Jackson pls not this, sex toys, dildo, vaginal penetration, masturbation, dom/sub relationship, denied orgasm, camera sex

Summary: Bruce has been at the Watchtower for a few days now and you’re frustrated. Things ensue.

“I miss you.”

Your confession was met with a laugh suffused with warmth. A grin crept up onto your lips as the grainy video grew and glitched until it smoothed out into the handsome face of your husband. Bruce looked positively exhausted, bags clinging to his blue eyes, but he kept a straight face. He always refused to show any sign of fatigue, but he also knew better than to hide himself from you.

“You look like shit,” you commented lightly. His lips lifted into a small smile at that and he planted his forearms on the small wooden table that you knew was tucked into the corner of his quarters on the Watchtower. His cowl hung behind his head, but the rest of the suit was still on. He must have left a meeting and come straight here for your daily call.

“You’ve always had such a way with words,” he grunted, but there was no heat behind his words. “How was patrol last night?”

“Good ,” you reported. The stack of reports next to you all said the same thing. Easy night, minimal injuries, and a few low level criminals locked away. No Arkham breakouts and there was nothing from your contacts about major players making moves. You weren���t going to look a gift horse in the mouth here.

You leaned forward and the collar of Bruce’s button down that covered your torso slipped down just a bit. His eyes immediately locked onto the skin exposed on his screen and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Good, your plan was working.

He’d been gone a week now and you missed him terribly. The bed was cold at night and you hated running patrol from the cave, not feeling confident that you could pull one of your kid’s out of danger the way he could. Bruce was solid and secure.

And he also was the image of many night time fantasies that led to your hand sliding under the band of your underwear and touching yourself. But he had made himself very clear before he left:

You can touch yourself all you want, but you weren’t allowed to come.

The worst part was that you had no timeframe for when he was coming home. You had no idea when relief would come and instead found yourself pulling your hand away from your soaked pussy before you reached that high. Bruce did so much for you and Gotham and the world that the least he deserved was his desired sight of seeing you come apart.

That didn’t mean you wouldn’t be a little shit about it.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that, darling,” he purred. You batted your lashes and grinned.

“Well, if the world’s greatest detective didn’t see that one coming, I would have been concerned.”

His piercing blue eyes studied you from the other side of the screen before he leaned back in his seat and waved his hand. “Legs up on the desk. Spread them.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He wouldn’t…oh, but he would. There wasn’t a more secure line in the world than this single video call. Bruce would never risk anyone overhearing the two of you discuss the family, the Bat, or the Justice League.

And he certainly wouldn’t risk someone overhearing this.

You complied with his order, but you made sure to take your time. Other than his button down, you wore nothing else except a pair of heels that he had commented on once about how nice they made your ass look. With one heel on his desk, you slowly raised your other leg and planted it on the solid mahogany of his desk. Spreading your legs, your glistening cunt was revealed to the camera and Bruce let out a low, throaty groan as he ran a hand over his face.

“God, I wish I was there to taste you,” he murmured. “Look at how pretty you are.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you almost turned away from him. A diamond ring sat on your finger, marking his claim on you, and had been sitting there for a few years now but he still made you feel like a bashful idiot. Bruce leaned closer to the camera and hummed.

“Wet already,” he commented. “Touch yourself.”

Your hand moved without another thought and you slid the pad of your middle finger over the nub at the top of your cunt. A hiss of air escaped through your clenched teeth as you touched your aching clit. It had been played with for days now with little relief. Your pussy fluttered at the thought of finally getting to come apart. Maybe Bruce would allow you this opportunity.

“Good. Now, slide one finger in there. That’s a good girl.” His voice lowered and neared the gruff register of the Bat as you slid your pointer finger into your weeping cunt and sighed.

“Doesn’t feel as good as you do, sir,” you whined. 

“Oh, really? You need a cock inside of you to satisfy you?” You squirmed at his words, your cunt tightening around your finger as if it recognized the lack of a thick, curved dick filling it. Bruce chuckled at your neediness.

“You know where the toys are, darling. Go get yourself a few things and then come right back.”

You were up and out of the seat in a second. A wooden chest tucked deep in your shared closet held a collection that the two of you had amassed over your relationship. You grabbed a thick, silicone dildo that was similar in thickness and length to Bruce’s. Hurrying back, you returned to the seat and spread your legs up on the desk once more while displaying your find to the camera.

“Good girl. You’re going to be good for me, right? You’re not going to come until I say so.”

“Yes, sir.” He was always a good dom. Bruce needed this control and you were glad to give it over to him. Bruce could be intense, but he never pushed your farther than you could take. So you knew whatever he had planned right now had to be good.

“Is there lube on the toy?”

You quickly added some waterproof lube to the tip of the dildo and held it up for him to see. He nodded approvingly and a tiny thrill shot through your chest.

“Now take that cock and press it against yourself. Keep your eyes on me, darling. I want to see you like this.”

His words lit your nerves on fire as you followed his order. Bruce was sitting up straight in his chair and all of his attention was focused on you. Hell, if he was Clark, the laptop would probably be destroyed from heat vision based on how intently Bruce watched you.

“Fuck yourself with it, darling. Ten strokes.” He counted you through the strokes and you moaned, your head falling back against the leather chair as the dildo filled you up and scraped against your walls.

“Stop!” You immediately stilled your hand and whined at the injustice of it all. Bruce sat there with a grin and you knew at that moment, you were screwed.

“Did that feel good, baby?”

You cracked one eye open and sent a halfhearted glare towards the camera. You ignored his chuckle as you shifted slightly and the dildo shifted inside of you. Bruce settled back in his chair.

“Again. Ten, nine, eight…”

He made you do this four times before you were a panting, writhing mess. Pleads of mercy fell from your tongue as you looked upon your savior. Bruce’s gaze was hungry, flames burning in his icy stare.

“Please, sir,” you whimpered. “Please, let me come.”

Your legs were shaking from stimulated nerves and frustration and tears leaked out of the corner of your eyes. You were seconds away from sobbing solely because you were so damn horny, you couldn’t think.

“Take the toy out,” he ordered.

With a trembling hand, you pulled out the dildo and hissed as it brushed against your sensitive walls. Its silicone body was drenched in lube and your slick wetness and you knew your next plan of action.

Raising the dildo to your lips, you winked at the camera and pressed a kiss to the tip.

Bruce stood up from his seat, his cape flaring out behind him as he moved, and planted both hands on the table his computer rested on.

“I’m going straight to the Zeta tube and will be home in five minutes. If you aren’t on your knees and begging for my cock the second I walk into that bedroom, you won’t come for the next week. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” With a triumphant smirk, you ended the call and stood on your shaky legs. You would take the next few minutes to rest before you got into position. You had a feeling that you would get plenty of rest after he fucked you to sleep.

Tag List: @someoneimsure @perpetual-fangirl900 @visagebrise @alexxavicry​  @the-wayward-daughter @cursedandromedablack 

[the-irken-pony]

The Bios Notebook: Whose is it?

The table we see the book resting on appears to be the same table that we see in the introduction to Stealing the Diamond, albeit with better lighting and different placement. The same cup ring is seen on both tables (though the one in the bio screen is more detailed) and at a slightly different angle. This points to it belonging to Henry.

The handwriting in the notebook is almost identical to Henry's handwriting in StD. Look at the loops on the capital letters (D, P, B), and the shape of the 'S's. That said, there are some minor differences, such as how the lowercase 't' is written; it curls at the bottom of the lowercase 'T's in "rent late" and "janitor", but in the notebook, there is no curl, and the two crossing lines are connected (more reminiscent of the 't' in "test subject'; moreso the first than the second)

We know Henry likes to doodle thanks to StD. More doodles can be seen in the bio book, exclusively on the page for BtB. That said, the doodles on the scrap paper and the notebook are in two different styles. The art on the book is a lot "messier" than the art on the torn paper, and has larger heads with visible faces.

The two points of contention I can think of regarding whether it belongs to Henry or someone else the meta text are the art styles and the handwriting.

While the art is noticeably different, you have to squint to notice any differences in the handwriting, enough so that you could consider it natural variations in Henry’s writing and just assume that the art is a matter of Henry being flexible.

Meanwhile, if you wanted to be a real conspiracy theorist, you could make a point about the slight handwriting differences and how the notebook more closely matches “text subject” than any other part of the handwriting in StD.

Don’t have any strong leaning in one direction or the other so feel free to discuss.

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 5.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

dropping this early cus its my b-day and this is how i celebrated: writing this. so sorry in advance! there is about a 5ish month timeskip in this chapter, so keep that in mind.

word count: 2.2k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings

content: smut, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity, child loss, vomiting

blue - marina & the diamonds • gold - marina and the diamonds

warnings: rough sex w/ biting, hairpulling (non descript), miscarriage / loss of a child, vomiting, suicidal ideation

Warmth. She had been so snugly pressed to Aegon, her body riddled in hickies and bites, just reveling in his warmth. He smelled so nice, too— mayhaps it was just her cloudy, lust-dumb mind, but she felt so… at peace. As if this was where she was meant to be for once. Lyanna, for the first time, didn’t doubt that maybe Aegon did want her, in some proximity or fashion. 

But then it was cold. She was asleep when he left, but her body noticed the change right away. Curling into herself autonomously, she clutched a pillow in the empty space where her husband had left. 

She deluded herself into thinking that this was some sort of turning point, right? He hadn’t gone out to the Silk Street since their first encounter upon her wardrobe seat, had he? Then with their multiple, raucous sessions the night before— 

When she awoke, he was gone. Lyanna tried to convince herself that he rose early. A quick query to one of the keep’s servants quickly brought the truth to fruition; Aegon had left the Keep late at night, towards his places of habit. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

There was a sting of hurt in the pit of her belly— but surely, he could’ve been going to other places. There are many more night activities in King’s Landing than just whoring, right? 

She found her answer later in the day as she was returning to her solar from a luncheon with some courtiers. Aegon was passing her in the corridor— his eyes were red rimmed, hair a mess. He didn’t smell pleasant like the night before, but of cheap booze and even cheaper, strong scented perfumes. He didn’t even go to the effort to hide the prominent bite marks upon his neck. 

Lyanna hadn’t bitten him the night before. 

As they passed in the hall, their eyes connected. Lyanna had gone her entire day giving him the benefit of the doubt, as she imagined that people were too quick to write off Aegon, too quick to judge. The passion and fervor of him the previous night— surely it wasn’t faked? He… he seemed quite impassioned about it all, just as she— she didn’t misremember the look of warmth in his eyes, unless she was blinded at the time with sheer joy, her brain shutting out the things that might’ve seemed wrong.

The look of pure shame and self-loathing in Aegon’s eyes told her everything she needed to know. 

They didn’t say anything to each other and Lyanna nor Aegon stopped their walk, merely slowed down their gaits to observe. The entire moment felt surreal for the Queen as she took in every minute detail, every piece of evidence from his night out. 

Aegon, in turn, zeroed in on her eyes. The darkest of browns, almost black in their hue— it was so easy to get lost in them, like two huge pools of thick, voided ichor. But they weren’t so all encompassingly dark now, as there was a sheen of wetness upon them like a film. Tears rimmed her lash line, threatening to spill over. 

The times that Aegon has made her cry was certainly outweighing the times he’s made her laugh. 

How very typical of him. Just another thing to add to the list of fuck ups in his life, he thought. He couldn’t even bring himself to apologize. He just kept up his pace, even quickening it. 

Off to ruminate in his agony of his own creation. 

— 

Lyanna was stuck in her melancholies— feeling sickly all the while. And still, something within her, brought to life by their one night of passion, wanted Aegon’s attention. She craved it, no less, like a warrior craves the swing of a blade or a whore craves the tinkling of coin. 

So for the next few moons, she scratched the itch within her, bringing Aegon to her bed by any means necessary. More times than not, it was by igniting his blood with jealousy. Other times, it was by intercepting his nightly traipsing and having him come back to her chambers with a few well placed, and vulgar, words. 

What had started as gentle, soft moments between them spiraled into borderline violent grappling, hair pulling and biting from both sides. Aegon would call her horrible names, enunciating each syllable with a smack to her bottom. Lyanna would bite, scratch and mark every part of him, as a way to tell whatever whores he still entertained himself with to back off. She felt like an animal, pronouncing her territory to other predators. 

She knows it isnt healthy for either of them, bordering on self-destructive, but its best to be empty and fucked than empty and alone, right?

One eve, after they had a particularly tumultuous session. Lyanna’s dress was shredded on the ground, along with her small clothes. Her hair was a mess, strewn at angles unnatural from where Aegon had pulled at it by the fistfuls, skin marred. Aegon, on the other hand, was bleeding from his shoulder lightly where he had insisted that Lyanna bite him with all of the force she could muster. She was still hesitant to outright hurt him, even at his request— but she wished to please him.

Lyanna, nude as the day she was born, crawled into bed— she had pushed him off before he started bleeding onto the sheets— and settled under her heavy blanket. She watched as Aegon, nude in turn, muttered to himself and dabbed at his shoulder with a piece of her shredded clothing. Something inside of her felt hollow, looking upon the scene, the massacre they had made of themselves, of their marriage. It made her want to vomit. 

Feeling bile rise in her throat, she streaked from the covers to an empty chamberpot, throwing up the contents of her stomach. It hurt, her whole body convulsing as the very essence of her was ripped from her in an acidic, foul tasting mess. Tears fell down her cheeks from her exertions— and her emotional turmoil.

Aegon, all the while, was unphased. He peered at her momentarily before uncorking a new bottle of wine and proceeding to take a healthy swig from it. “Are you quite done?” he asked, breaking the silence. 

“… I… think so,” she murmured in return, wiping away the snot, tears and saliva from her face. Her body instantly ached, aided by Aegon’s heavy hand upon her bottom just twenty minutes before. “I need… water.” 

“No water. We only have wine— unless you’d like to have a maid come to tend to you? I’m sure she would appreciate the mess you’ve made here.” 

“The mess I’ve made?” she coughed, her eyes widened with disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’re the one who begged me to fuck you instead of going to the whorehouse, wasn’t it?” he bit back, his voice laced with a venom. 

“You make me feel like a whore— no, less than a whore. You would fuck a whore without being spurred.” Lyanna squabbled back, her stomach doing flips again. She sank to the floor against one of the walls, her back creaking down against it. Holding the chamberpot against her, she stared up at Aegon. “What… What is so wrong with me, Aegon? What is so wrong with me that I have to beg you to fuck me? Why… why?” she was murmuring frantically now, shaking her head. “Am I that ugly?”

The king turned to her, tugging on a silken robe that he had left there the night before. “You… just aren’t my type, Lyanna.” he whispered in return, looking down into the now half empty wine bottle. “No amount of jealousy, nor filthy things you say to me will change it. I don’t find you attractive, nor do you pull at my heartstrings in any particular way,” he paused, swirling the bottle. His brow creased, as if it pained him to continue to speak. “I’m merely fulfilling my duty.” 

Duty. Duty. Those words stung, sending a wave of pure pain and shame through Lyanna, as if a dozen bees were making their home within her bones. They vibrated against the marrow, calling more bile from her stomach into the chamberpot. Gods, it fucking hurt. She knew what they were doing wasn’t healthy, but it had started somewhere soft, didn’t it? That was all… duty to him. 

She felt increasingly faint, feeling too much all at once. Her breaths were thready, not coming out right and she couldn’t see through the mist of tears blinding her. Somehow, she was able to speak. “So… when you go to the Silk Street…” she sobbed, “What type of woman do you fuck? What is it that I am not?” her voice was tinged with a concoction of despair and poison, her now bloodshot eyes half-lidded. 

Aegon was silent for a while— Lyanna had almost thought that he left— before he let out a sigh, downing the last of the wine. He hissed as the alcohol burned his throat, as if feeling some semblance of the bile that had scalded his wife’s throat in turn. “What type of women?” he echoed, chuckling lowly. “Any woman that isn’t you, Lyanna. It doesn’t matter, they don’t have to beg me, unlike you,” he had a wicked smile on his face and he didn’t look like himself— no, he looked like a caricature, violet eyes wide and wild. “How would the court react if they knew? If they knew that their lovely rabbit queen had to beg her husband, a known whoremonger, for sex? It would have to be the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard, mayhaps I’ll tell it to my next woman at the brothel.” 

She felt numb. A prickling numbness spread through her extremities as she stared down into the bucket of her spew.

It was pathetic, wasn’t it?

She wasn’t exactly sure how long she’d been sitting there for, staring. It felt like she wasn’t really in her own body, as if her life had spiraled into some dark dream.

It must’ve been hours, as when she snapped from her fugue state— Aegon was gone. And she was sitting in a small pool of her own blood, leaking from between her legs. 

—

The look of Lyanna’s face when he had said those terrible things— Aegon would likely never forget. 

It was reminiscent of Helaena’s pale visage for weeks after Jahaerys was slain. Like a white, shrouded specter, flitting through the walls without any sense of purpose or drive. A ghost stuck inside their own body. 

He laid on the pile of pillows in the brothel, some whore latched to his cock, and two more on either side of him. He was nursing his second bottle of wine of the night, the ladies urging him to drink more and more so that he could pass out and they’d go through his pockets. 

Aegon’s addiction to the darker sides of life started as an outlet for pleasure. More wine made his stomach warm, made him jovial. More women than he could count had been on his cock, milking him for all he was worth. Gods, it felt good— to just be an epicenter of hedonism, an apex of debauchery and sin just for the pure thrill and act of it all. 

Things changed, of course. After the war. The things that gave him pleasure before now felt like too much— to a point where it pained him. But he relished the pain in a way to where it became punishment. 

Punishment for everything he’d done, everything he hadn’t done— when he drank, he saw their faces. 

Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jaecerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Rhaenys, Criston— 

They stared at him blankly, as if expecting something from him, when he had nothing to give. He’s never had anything to give. He was stuck in a living hell— if not for Jaehaera and mayhaps his mother, he would’ve thrown himself from the ramparts like Helaena did. This was his punishment, for all their deaths. 

He couldn’t allow himself to have anything good. And Lyanna… she was good. Good and pure and he was fucking tainting her, pulling her down to his level of disgusting, animalistic debauchery. He had to push her away somehow before it was too late, before she became soulless and as empty as him.

His head was foggy as he pushed the girls off of him. “Get off of me, fuckin’ whores,” he slurred, getting up with wobbly legs, hand planted flat on the wall. He heard a commotion slither through the brothel, until the door flew open. 

‘Twas his grandsire and his loyal Kingsguard hound. Aegon narrowed his gaze. “The fuck do you want?” he spat, leaned against the wall with his softening cock in his hand— the whore had smeared her rouge lipstick all over it. 

“By the Seven,” Otto muttered. “Where is your shame, boy?” 

“It died with the rest of my family, grandsire. I suppose I have you to thank for it.” 

“Me? I can’t— no. There are more pressing matters than your filthy self-loathing.”

“And what could be so pressing? I am quite busy, you know— I’m due for another whore in just five minutes.” 

Otto’s brow furrowed, his face softened. The look on his grandsire’s face scared the hell out of him— he never looked so sorrowful, not since… 

“Jaehaera? Mother? Are they alright?” 

“Yes. They’re alright,” Otto paused. “Your wife. Lyanna. She’s… had a miscarriage. They aren’t sure if she will survive.” 

“My… wife?” 

“They say she was five moons along— the baby came out with wings and scales. ‘Twas a son,” Otto said, “Lyanna… said his name was Aeron. For Aemond and Daeron."

A son?

[imthepointe]

a very aruani wedding 🐚 🌊 💙

and yes— annie’s wedding dress is blue :) and i based it off of this dress here. (under the cut is a very long winded headcanon about the dress picking process)

personally, i think that annie isn’t really one to care about traditions surrounding weddings or anything; for her, she’s just happy to be alive, and she’s really getting married to armin for a display or stunt if anything. she’d be perfectly happy to spend the rest of her life with him unmarried, as long as he never leaves her or vice versa. but armin suggests getting married, and she agrees, because she loves him so much so sure? why not get married.

the months leading up to the wedding she’s really not feeling it, though. again, she wasn’t too much into the idea of a wedding because she would find them to be weird and traditional. and the whole “wearing a white dress for purity” or whatever— she thinks that’s complete bullshit. she’s not a dress girl, anyways, and she and armin have absolutely…explored each others bodies before their wedding, so annie really isn’t into the idea of a fancy white dress— or a fancy dress at all, for that matter.

when pieck takes her dress shopping, annie finds herself sicker and sicker at the thought of being wrapped up tightly in an uncomfortable white dress that she’ll absolutely trip over. it’s been 2 hours of looking at dresses and trying them on and annie has hated every single one— until they’re walking in a downtown city in some country (wherever they are, it doesn’t matter) and a beautiful blue dress in a shop’s window catches annie’s eye. she cannot help but stare— it’s a beautiful dress. but she resigns herself to moving on because, well, a.) it wasn’t white, and wedding dresses are white, and b.) it was probably meant for a debutante or some other teenage girl, not a woman about to marry her fiancé. but pieck catches her staring and oh my god it’s the first time annie has ever looked at a dress like that!! so of course she takes her hand and pulls her into the shop to try the dress on. and annie does, reluctantly because she doesn’t want to have her heart captured by this dress and inevitably compare every other one to it and be disappointed, but once she has the dress on she feels gorgeous.

annie has never felt so pretty before. she’d always been treated like a warrior, but in this blue dress that gently flowed to the floor and hugged her in all the right places without being too tight, she felt like a woman. it wasn’t too feminine, but just enough to make her feel giddy and she can’t stop smiling and staring at herself in the mirror in this gorgeous light blue gown. it matches the color of her eyes, and she looks truly like a diamond or sapphire or some other gem. but she tells pieck she can’t have this dress because it’s blue and wedding dresses are white. but oh my god, pieck is so excited and she might be shedding a tear or two, and is like “annie!! who cares if it’s blue!!”

annie’s all confused bc that’s, like, the whole point of a wedding dress, but pieck goes on a rant along the lines of “you could wear a trash bag to your wedding and armin would think you’re the most beautiful person in the world,” and “who really cares about that stupid tradition, it’s kinda sexist anyways,” and “it’s your wedding, wear whatever the hell will make you feel like the best version of yourself because this is one of the most important and beautiful days of your life.” most importantly, annie looks so happy in this dress, and pieck relishes that feeling.

so annie gets the blue dress, white wedding dress be damned. and she feels beautiful. she is beautiful, radiant, and all the adjectives. jean and pieck conspire to get armin a matching blue tie (without spoiling the surprise of annie’s dress).

and come wedding day? yeah… armin does think that annie is the most beautiful person in the world, because she is. and now she’s his wife.