#Mid flight entertainment

[env0]

Hello from over the Pacific Ocean

[belxveds]

Could you write a fic where the reader is Stark’s daughter and he catches her and Peter fooling around in her room/main room whilst they think he is out?

caught in a web of kisses

pairings: peter parker x f!reader, tony stark x daughter!reader

brief: (requested!) misunderstandings and compromising situations with peter lead to a whole of cackling and screaming throughout the stark tower compound. a brief look into the life of y/n stark and your struggles with your stupidly overprotective dad and chaotically cute boyfriend.

tags: humour. fluff. borderline crack fic. "enemies" to lover. established relationship.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting! i appreciate it :) it always makes fills me with so much joy to know someone seeks out my writing <3

requests are open!

wc: 1.4k

Perhaps it wasn't your smartest idea to pretend to absolutely despise your father's intern in front of your parents and the Avengers but . . . well- how could you possibly resist yourself when it was so much fun sharing sneaky, mischievous smiles with Peter as you both shot teasing glares across the room to maintain your appearance as rivals?

Plus, it was just a little prank to keep your relationship with Peter, as well as the days spent at the compound, more interesting. If anything, you and Peter were single handedly entertaining the entirety of Avengers with your debates and arguments. You were fairly sure they had bets going on about the two of you. It was harmless, really.

And it wasn't like you were going to keep it from them forever! You would tell them . . . eventually. You just- hadn't thought anyone would find out like this. With you and Peter in such a . . . compromising situation?

You almost let out a small groan of exhaustion as you sunk into the unnecessarily large couch your dad had purchased for the lounge, melting into Peter's side as you fiddled with the remote to lower the lights and dim the windows. Pouting at the sliver of light that still managed to peek through the sunroof, you let out the smallest huff as you closed that as well before turning to take a glance at your boyfriend.

He let out a small yawn before shifting with your attention on him, cuddling into you tighter as he murmured, "You sure no one will be back for another 2 hours? 'Cause I swear if we get caught because you wanted to take a nap on the couch, I will never let you live this down."

Snuggling deeper into the blanket you'd draped over the two of you, you couldn't help but let out the smallest breathless laugh as you responded, "That's if they don't kill you first."

"Hey!" Peter quipped, voice growing the tiniest bit slurred as the nap you promised him began to look awfully tempting, "I'll have you know that I think your dad and also everyone else is quite fond of me, alright?"

You couldn't help but let out a snort as you mocked, pretending to push up fake glasses on the bridge of your nose as you raised the pitch of your voice, "I'll have you know-"

The gentle whack you got on your arm made you stop mid-sentence as you giggled, answering your boyfriend more seriously, "Everyone's schedule says they have stuff going on until at least 6:00, unless they were all just to magically-"

"What happened to, "God dad, if I have to see your stupid intern's face one more time, you're going to have to hold me back from stealing your repulsors and pulverizing the shit out of him?""

You're entire body pauses as you feel Peter tense in your arms, the both of you wincing in sync as you slowly, cautiously, turn your head around to face your dad, voice dragging out as you say nervously, "Uhm...so you see-".

Peter's bewilderment is audible as his head snaps to you, eyes furrowed in confused amusement as he hisses, "Why the fuck are you starting to quote Dhar Mann right now?"

"Peter", your dad interrupts, tone much too pleasant for the situation at hand and consequently sending both your spines into automatically locking up straight as you await his next move, fight or flight instincts activated, "You have 3 seconds to run."

"Mr. Stark, we can talk about this-"

"3 . . ."

"Oh shit!", your boyfriend scrambles, legs tangling into themselves and the blanket in his attempts to get free and run as he presses a ragged kiss to your forehead while declaring muffled through his panicked breath, "If I don't make it out of this alive, just know I wanted you to have my babies and be Y/N Parker-Stark."

The confession sends a surprised wheeze to rack through your body as you see him begin to take down the hallway, sparing a glance over his shoulder at you and your dad before maneuvering himself onto the ceiling and into the vents.

Your eyes tearing up from laughter, you try to speak through your immobilizing giggles as you address your dad, "Dad, father dearest, please- come on- spare him-" "2 . . ." "Dad! C'mon- you have to admit . . . from a completely scientific and objective lens with zero romantic emotions taken into account, considering all the teenage boys out there, Peter is definitely one of the better choices", you tried to level, summoning the critically-acclaimed award winning Y/N Stark inside of you and not the moderately concerned girlfriend worried that her boyfriend's cause of death may in fact be the same repulsors Peter had helped your father tweak in the lab earlier today. How unfortunately ironic. Shuffling over, albeit a bit awkwardly, to where your dad stood, you cautiously peered closer at his profile, trying your best to assess exactly how much trouble you were in. You knew deep down, he truly wasn't all that upset, though, maybe a bit grumpy about having been kept out of the loop for this long. In fact, you were positively confident he was quite happy with who you had chosen. Despite all of his teasing and successfully accomplished fatherly duties of bullying the both of you, it was stupidly evident how much he cared for Peter like a son. Not just anyone was allowed to intern for the Tony Stark, after all.

Lost in thought, you couldn't help but yelp slightly and flinch into your father's side as a muffled voice echoed down from the ceiling, cooing, "Aww Y/N, you really mean that?"

Cursing at your boyfriend's surprising lack of self preservation skills taking into consideration his literal job and particular set of talents, you glared upwards. Hoping your disappointment at his lack of distance somehow radiated through the insulated plaster, you deadpanned, "No, I was just playing. I wish I'd gotten with Harley."

"What?!" squeaked Peter, like a little vent rat, his offended gasp echoing in time with your dad's final countdown.

Giggling once again at Peter's frightened scuttling at the realization that he was out of time, you quickly reached to grip at your dad's suit clad bicep before he could make a motion to call at the Iron Man suit, your voice taking on a more serious tone as you asked softly, his opinion and approval still highly valuable to you, "You're ok with me and Peter dating though? Genuinely?"

The twitch of his signature smirk on the corner of his lips and the nodding glint in his eyes sent a happy thrill through your heart, instinctively grinning wide as you squealed and rushed to give him a tight hug, speaking through a stifled smile into his chest, "Ok, you have my consent to go squish my little spider now. Please don't bring him back to me flattened or burnt- I quite like how he is now." Your father's wrinkled nose and vocal sound of disgust at how you'd addressed his intern sent you into another fit of laughter as he spoke, "Ground rules since I know the kid's out of his freaky super-hearing range. One, ew. Never address him like that again, I might vomit. Two, if I see the two of you touch, I am immediately invoking a 50 year social-distancing ban between the two of you. 6 feet and everything. I'll throw in permanent masks if I ever catch you two kissing. Three, . . . no promises."

"In response- One, . . . no promises. Two, you don't want spider grandbabies crawling up the walls? All I'm hearing is that we can't get caught. Three, I'll tell mom", you grinned pulling back, your gaze filled with amusement and the look of humoured adoration you often had reserved specifically for your dad as he let out a little whine in complaint at your threat of telling Pepper.

It would just be a little rough up. You know, the classic "hurt my daughter and you're dead" speech. And Peter was Spider-Man! He'd be fine . . . probably.

mailbox ༶•┈ peter parker's mailbox! ┈•༶ send letter

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (peace is a Targaryen illusion)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: family

- Next part: flight of fancy

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @misspendragonsworld

- A/N: I've manged to post this before work. 🙂

Tyland Lannister was finally having a rare moment of peace and intimacy with you. After days of dragon-induced chaos, visiting family, and Daemon Targaryen stirring up the Lannisters with his stories, it seemed the gods had granted you both a quiet night. The castle was still, and Tyland was feeling genuinely relaxed, a rare occurrence since your arrival at Casterly Rock with dragons in tow.

Just as he leaned in, savoring the warmth of your touch, a loud thud rattled the walls, followed by what sounded disturbingly like... splattering. Tyland bolted upright, nearly falling off the bed as he pulled the sheets with him in his haste. “Seven hells! What was that?”

You, trying to suppress a laugh at his undignified scramble, gave him an amused look. “Probably nothing... although, with dragons around, who can say?”

Tyland shot you a look, his face half-frustrated, half-alarmed, as he wrapped himself in the sheets and stumbled over to the balcony. Pulling the doors open, he took a cautious step outside, peering down at the scene below.

And that’s when he saw it—a dead sheep, splattered rather horrifically across the stones below, looking as though it had been launched like a projectile. Tyland let out a strangled groan, rubbing his forehead. “Oh, for the love of...”

From somewhere above, he heard a distinct, high-pitched screech, followed by the heavy flap of wings. Squinting into the night sky, he spotted Viseron, diving down with a wriggling sheep in his claws, only to toss it in the air like a plaything. Caraxes swooped in from the other side, catching the unfortunate creature mid-air with his jaws before tossing it back in what could only be described as a deadly game of catch.

“Viseron!” Tyland yelled, waving his arms in a desperate attempt to gain the dragon’s attention. “Stop using my courtyard as a... a slaughterhouse!”

As if on cue, a third sheep plummeted past the balcony, landing with a sickening splat right next to the first. Tyland recoiled, his face turning a shade paler. “This... this is absurd. How did we end up here?”

You stifled a laugh behind him, joining him at the balcony with a playful smile. “Well, they are dragons, Tyland. They need to entertain themselves somehow.”

Tyland gave you an incredulous look. “By catapulting sheep at my walls? This isn’t a game!”

Just then, the doors to your chambers burst open, and young Daemon appeared, out of breath and clearly excited. “Father, Mother, have you seen Viseron? He’s been practicing ‘catch’ with Caraxes all night!”

Tyland’s eye twitched, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. “Yes, I’m aware, son. And it appears that ‘catch’ is claiming half the local flock as casualties.”

Alyssa appeared at the doorway behind her brother, looking equally entertained. “They’re just having fun, Father. You should see the shepherd’s face. He doesn’t know whether to bow or faint.”

Tyland groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m quite certain it’s the latter.” He turned to you, his face caught between exasperation and defeat. “This was supposed to be our time, our rare moment of quiet.”

You patted his shoulder soothingly. “Think of it this way—you’ll have quite the story to tell at the next council meeting.”

Tyland rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t entirely suppress the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, how my home was laid siege to... by my own dragons.”

Just as he said it, another sheep hurtled past, barely missing the edge of the balcony. Tyland flinched, muttering a quick prayer under his breath. “Enough!” he yelled, leaning over the railing to shout into the courtyard below. “Viseron! Caraxes! Find another game!”

But the dragons, thoroughly absorbed in their antics, paid him no mind. Viseron swooped down again, only to launch another sheep upward, which Caraxes caught with alarming precision. The sheep landed somewhere near the stables, prompting a startled yell from a stable hand who had been minding his own business.

Young Daemon was watching with a gleam of admiration in his eye. “See? They’re getting so good at it!”

“Good at... what, exactly?” Tyland muttered, slumping back against the doorframe, eyes wide with exasperation.

Alyssa nudged her father with a grin. “Well, at least they’re not burning the castle down.”

Tyland shot her a look, torn between laughing and sighing. “It’s a close second.”

You slipped your arm around his waist, giving him a reassuring smile. “This is life with dragons, Tyland. And besides... they’ll tire themselves out soon enough.”

As if on cue, the distant sound of a sheep landing somewhere far too close to the kitchens echoed through the night, followed by another startled shout from below. Tyland closed his eyes, muttering under his breath, “I’m moving to Pentos. Alone.”

But as he looked at his family, even in the chaos of flying sheep and dragon mischief, he couldn’t help but smile. It was absurd, loud, and completely unpredictable—just like life with Targaryens.

And, he supposed, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Morning at Casterly Rock was not the peaceful start to the day Jason Lannister had been hoping for. The courtyard was a scene of utter carnage, littered with what was left of the sheep flock from the night’s dragon-led game of “catch.” The shepherds had gathered nearby, their faces as pale as the blood-streaked stones that no amount of scrubbing seemed able to restore to their former glory.

Jason paced back and forth, practically pulling his hair out. “Blood... everywhere! Sheep parts strewn about the courtyard like some twisted banquet. And the stonemasons are saying it’ll take days—days—to get it all cleaned up!”

Standing nearby, Prince Daemon watched the frantic Lannister with an amused smirk. He crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall as if the entire courtyard hadn’t become a scene straight out of a butcher’s worst nightmare.

“Jason,” Daemon said, his voice as smooth as silk, “you’re overthinking it. It’s just a little blood. Adds character to the place.”

“Character?” Jason shot back, his face a mix of horror and disbelief. “This is Casterly Rock, not some... back alley slaughterhouse!”

Daemon chuckled, clearly unfazed. “Consider it a touch of Targaryen decor. A reminder of power.” He gestured grandly to the blood-streaked courtyard. “Think of it this way—no one will ever mistake this place for a mere stronghold again.”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every decision that had brought him to this moment. “I... I don’t think that’s the image I was hoping for.”

Just then, Tyland appeared, his hair slightly disheveled and an unmistakable air of sulking about him. He gave Daemon a pointed look, clearly still bitter about last night’s “interruptions.” “Enjoyed yourself, I see?” he muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. “Ah, Tyland, I’d heard you were a man who knew how to let loose. Has the golden lion lost his edge?”

Tyland sighed heavily, clearly not in the mood for Daemon’s teasing. “I’ve simply been reminded that ‘alone time’ is a luxury not afforded to those with dragons... or Targaryen family members, it seems.”

Daemon laughed, clapping Tyland on the shoulder with enough force to almost make him stumble. “Consider it my gift to you, Lord Tyland—a little taste of excitement to keep things lively here at Casterly Rock. And if I recall, you seemed to enjoy our wedding’s ‘alternative’ festivities.”

Tyland’s mouth opened, but no words came out, his face somewhere between a groan and a resigned smile. “I’ll remember this, Daemon.”

Jason, still looking around in horror at the blood-streaked stones, muttered, “If you’re finished reminiscing about your escapades, can we discuss how to get this... mess... cleaned up?”

Daemon’s smirk turned into something more serious as he straightened. “Actually, I came to talk about something else entirely. Casterly Rock is lovely, blood-soaked or not, but I’ve got my sights set on something a little more... historic.”

Tyland raised an eyebrow, wary. “And what might that be?”

“Harrenhal,” Daemon declared, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the plan. “I’m going to claim it. And once I do, I want your armies, Jason—Lannister troops to march on the Riverlands. With Harrenhal as our stronghold, we’ll press forward. It’s time to remind the Riverlords of their loyalties.”

Jason’s mouth dropped open. “Harrenhal? You mean the cursed castle where every lord dies within a fortnight?”

Daemon waved a hand dismissively. “Superstitions. Curses can’t touch a dragon, Jason.” He leaned in, his gaze sharp. “And with the Lannister armies behind me, the Hightowers won’t know what hit them. The Riverlands will be ours.”

Tyland’s eyes narrowed, glancing at Jason. “You realize he’s roping you into this chaos, don’t you?”

Jason ran a hand through his hair, visibly torn. “Do we... do we even have a choice? With three dragons in our midst and the Riverlands hanging in the balance?”

Daemon grinned, his tone persuasive. “You have a choice, Lord Jason, but let’s be honest—do you really want to miss the chance to show the Hightowers that the lions of Casterly Rock don’t cower?”

Jason glanced at Tyland, sighing heavily. “It seems I’m cursed either way. Either I face the Targaryen dragons... or the wrath of my own household.”

Tyland placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, half-reassuring, half-sympathetic. “Welcome to life with dragons, Jason. No matter what you choose, there’s always fire involved.”

Daemon, clearly pleased, clapped his hands together. “Then it’s settled. The Riverlands will soon know the strength of our combined houses. And when I claim Harrenhal, we’ll march with a force even the Hightowers won’t dare ignore.”

Jason gave the blood-streaked courtyard one last, defeated look, muttering under his breath. “Wonderful. A cursed castle, a blood-soaked courtyard, and a family of dragonlords. Exactly what I dreamed of when I took on Casterly Rock.”

Daemon, catching the muttered complaint, only laughed, throwing an arm around Jason’s shoulder. “Oh, come now, Jason. This is just the beginning of the excitement. Stick with us, and Casterly Rock will go down in history.”

Tyland groaned softly, already mentally preparing himself for the chaos to come. “Let’s just hope it’s for something more than sheep.”

Alyssa and young Daemon, feeling the thrill of adventure coursing through their veins, had been itching to test the speed of their dragons, Grey Ghost and Viseron. One sunny morning, after managing to slip away from the watchful eyes of their parents, the two teens found themselves perched on the cliffs overlooking Casterly Rock, their dragons poised and ready. Daemon grinned, his face alight with mischief as he turned to his sister.

“Alright, Alyssa,” he called over the rumbling of Grey Ghost and Viseron’s eager wings. “Let’s make this interesting—a race to Storm’s End. First one there wins.”

Alyssa’s eyes sparkled with the challenge. “And what does the winner get?”

Daemon thought for a moment, his grin widening. “Loser has to sneak into the kitchens and smuggle out the largest pie they can find—after explaining it to Father if they get caught.”

“Deal!” Alyssa laughed, patting Grey Ghost’s neck affectionately. “Prepare to lose, brother.”

With a nod, they launched into the sky, Grey Ghost and Viseron darting off over the Westerlands with an exhilarating speed that left dust clouds in their wake. They soared high above fields and forests, cutting across the continent with the wind whipping around them, racing past rivers and hills, their laughter ringing through the air.

By the time Storm’s End came into view, they were neck and neck, each urging their dragon forward with determined cries. But just as they neared the massive fortress, a shadow loomed above them—a larger, darker shadow. They looked up to see none other than Aemond and Vhagar, on their way to Storm’s End.

Alyssa and Daemon exchanged a look of pure, mischievous delight. “Half-uncle Aemond,” Daemon murmured, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Fancy meeting him here.”

Alyssa snickered, leaning forward to whisper to Grey Ghost. “What do you say? Let’s see if we can... distract him a bit.”

They veered toward Aemond, circling him with laughter as Viseron and Grey Ghost darted in and out of Vhagar’s path, causing the massive dragon to huff in irritation. Aemond shot them a glare that could have withered flowers, his single eye narrowing as he tried to keep control over Vhagar, who was clearly getting fed up with the antics of the younger dragons.

“Get out of my way!” Aemond shouted, his voice thunderous as he leaned forward in the saddle, trying to steer Vhagar back on course. But Alyssa and Daemon had no intention of making it easy for him.

Viseron swooped down beneath Vhagar, skimming dangerously close to the larger dragon’s wings. Grey Ghost took the opportunity to soar up and over, flipping in the air with a grace that made Vhagar growl in frustration. Alyssa and Daemon exchanged a delighted glance, enjoying every second of the chaos they were causing.

“Looks like Vhagar’s not as quick on her wings as we thought,” Daemon taunted, his voice carrying over the wind.

Aemond’s scowl deepened, and he jerked at Vhagar’s reins, trying to maneuver the dragon into position. But between the smaller, nimbler dragons, Vhagar was forced into a frenzy of awkward twists and turns, all while the two teenagers laughed from their respective dragons’ backs.

Alyssa leaned forward, her voice carrying a note of wicked delight. “Having trouble, Uncle?”

Aemond, red-faced with fury, tried to steer Vhagar into a dive to catch Grey Ghost, but Alyssa was faster, pulling up just in time to send Vhagar hurtling toward Storm’s End itself. With a horrified expression, Aemond pulled at the reins, but Vhagar’s momentum was too great. The massive dragon slammed into one of the towers, causing a shuddering crash that sent stones and dust cascading down into the courtyard below.

Alyssa and Daemon, now circling above, burst into laughter as they watched their half-uncle emerge from the dust, looking dazed and thoroughly disheveled. Vhagar, too, let out a disgruntled roar, clearly none too pleased with her rider’s poor navigation skills.

“Perhaps next time, watch where you’re going!” Daemon called out, waving cheekily as he and Alyssa veered away from Storm’s End.

Aemond, shaking his fist after them, was left seething as they soared back westward, still laughing. Alyssa glanced over at her brother, her grin as wide as ever. “Well, that was entertaining.”

Daemon nodded, patting Viseron’s neck. “And I think we won that little race, don’t you?”

“Oh, definitely.” Alyssa’s laughter rang out as they headed home. “I wonder how we’ll explain this to Father.”

Daemon shrugged, a wicked gleam in his eye. “We don’t. Let’s see if we can make it back before he even knows we’re gone.”

And with that, the two raced back toward the Westerlands, leaving a furious Aemond and a bruised tower at Storm’s End far behind.

Finally, with the children off on their adventures, Jason and Prince Daemon marching on Harrenhal, and the courtyard blessedly free of any sheep remains, you and Tyland had a rare moment of quiet solitude in your chambers at Casterly Rock. It had taken careful planning, but at last, all seemed blissfully peaceful.

Tyland had just poured two goblets of wine, his smile relaxed as he leaned back beside you. “It feels strange, doesn’t it?” he murmured, clearly savoring the quiet. “No dragons, no children, no unexpected intrusions…”

You grinned, watching him savor the silence. “It is rare,” you agreed. After a moment, you set your goblet down and reached for his hand, meeting his gaze with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Actually, there is one small piece of news I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Tyland arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? Something to add to our peaceful evening?”

You smiled, squeezing his hand gently. “Yes. I’m with child, Tyland.”

For a moment, Tyland was speechless, his face a mix of surprise and joy that quickly morphed into… well, something closer to panic.

“Oh... another child,” he stammered, his eyes widening as realization dawned. “Another… dragon.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his immediate thought. “Perhaps another dragon, yes. Or perhaps not. But I can tell you’re delighted.”

Tyland’s hand went to his forehead, his face a perfect mixture of pride, terror, and exhaustion. “Delighted, yes! Just... imagining what new chaos will ensue. As if Daemon and Alyssa haven’t given us enough adventures.”

You laughed, pulling him close. “It’ll be a new adventure. And you’ve proven yourself quite adept at handling dragons and Targaryens alike.”

Tyland gave you a wry smile. “I was hoping we’d conquered all the Targaryen surprises for a while.”

Just as he finished speaking, a loud, startled screech echoed from outside. You both froze, exchanging a glance, and Tyland’s expression shifted to one of reluctant dread. “That... was Silverwing, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, trying not to laugh as another, louder thud shook the window, rattling the shutters. Moments later, Viseron’s massive bronze head and wide golden-green eye appeared right at the window, peering in with intense curiosity.

Tyland let out a very undignified yelp and leapt to his feet, scrambling backward so fast that he bumped into a nearby cabinet, knocking over the wine and sending it splashing across the floor. “Seven hells!” he gasped, clutching his chest. “Must he always appear like that?”

Viseron gave a low, amused rumble, almost as if he were answering the question. You placed a calming hand on Tyland’s arm, stifling your laughter. “Relax, love. The children have simply returned home.”

Tyland shook his head, muttering something about Targaryens and their penchant for grand entrances. “Of course, they have,” he said, attempting to straighten his tunic. “Because gods forbid we get one peaceful evening alone.”

Viseron, clearly pleased with himself, gave a final low snort before shifting to one side, revealing young Daemon perched on Viseron’s back, grinning down at you through the window.

“Mother! Father!” Daemon called cheerfully, giving a wave. “We’re back!”

Tyland cast you a look of pure exasperation, though you could see the reluctant fondness behind it. “Yes,” he muttered, “I had gathered that.”

Alyssa leaned over from Grey Ghost’s saddle in the background, waving. “Did you miss us?”

You smiled, calling up to them. “Of course, we did. You didn’t cause too much trouble, I hope?”

Tyland muttered under his breath, “I’m sure we’ll hear all about the trouble shortly.”

But as he watched you smile up at the children, his panic from earlier melted into a look of resignation mixed with warmth. He wrapped his arm around you, shaking his head. “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as Viseron’s golden-green eye continued to peer in at you from the window, Tyland sighed, already bracing himself for the new adventures that lay ahead—whether he was ready for them or not.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Canvas of imagination (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: On the eve of Rhaenyra's wedding, Daemon decides the best gift he can give to the father of the bride is a dreamer. A shame said dreamer does not seem to share the joy of the occasion.

Warnings: Kidnapping. Period typical misogyny. Violence. Unflattering depiction of characters (You might hate me for this)

A/N: Remember please, Daemon is an unreliable narrator. Here is where things start to get dark. I researched genetics for this and ended up really insecure. Read the previous part here.

There are many ways of silencing women. Murder is, of course, one. It’s not an elegant solution, but it is an effective one. It ensures the victim takes her secrets to the grave. Daemon likes to think himself more elegant than that.

There is, too, the possibility of a ruined reputation. But that strategy is one that is only effective towards women of a certain standing. You can hardly ruin what are already damaged goods, and a bastard certainly counts as damaged goods.

Daemon still could chuck you off Caraxes mid-flight. Yet, it does not seem like a good idea, either. Each one of your servants saw you get chained to his saddle. Not even Viserys’s intervention could save him from the angry mob of commoners that would await his return to the Vale.

Besides, he likes you there, mounted on his dragon. For once, quiet, too scared of screaming and disturbing Caraxes. Daemon likes the lack of noise, but he likes your presence much more. It would be foolish to silence a dreamer forever.

You need other kinds of chains. To tie you to him. Silencing you, when he does not want to hear. One often used for Targaryen women.

Marriage. A Bronze Bitch for another. But not exactly, is it? Not if you can truly see the future.

Perhaps this was meant to happen, then. As a way of honoring his ancestors. Grabbing a pretty maid, one with Valyrian gifts and…

Well. Children are another kind of chain, right? He is still not sold on the perks of bedding you. You are wrong. Too dark, too different. Nothing like Rhaenyra, and slightly older than her. But Daemon knows the children you will birth him will be strong. The gift on you is, after all.

To be able to look so far into the future speaks of a power unseen before. Targaryens have not been blessed by many dreamers in the last generations, and the few times they were, their gifts were fickle and weak. Not far enough to allow them to see further than days. The last time someone was able to look further was in the age of Aegon the Conqueror.

It must mean Valyrian descent. Nothing else is an acceptable answer. Even if you don’t look it.

Daemon mounts behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You feel soft in his arms. Perhaps bedding you will not be as bad. He had been afraid that you would be like Rhea. Those inquisitive eyes of her, the body as hard as the body of any man. They were not features he enjoyed on a female partner. It always turned him off.

It was not that he had refused to consummate the marriage. He wasn’t able to bed her, the awful bitch. Not only were her features off-putting, but her attitude. She was constantly trying to sit on his hips, push him down, and he couldn’t stand it. Daemon felt trapped. Emasculated.

He had to chase the shame, the powerlessness away, somehow. That was how he got started fucking whores, collecting maidenheads. It was much better when women were maidens. Easier. He likes the contrasts, Daemon has realized. Half women, half children are always more entertaining to play with.

You are not Rhea. You feel different in his arms. Your body is soft, all sweet limbs. There are no harsh muscles on your arms, and you smell like fresh baked pastries. Rhea always smelled of horse.

You are a girl, not a warrior like your sister was. Yet, you share her wild spirit. All the delicious curves of womanhood are already formed, a delicious pair of tits and hips that could drive any man to insanity.

Your parentage is a bit more undesirable, though. As the daughter of a whore, your innocence could be sullied. Daemon would have to ask if you were passed around when younger. He doubted it, but just in case. If you had not, bedding you would be the most fun he had in years. Open-minded, hot-blooded, but pure. It was not often you found that in a woman.

You try to squirm, but are too well bound. Getting too comfortable for his liking.

“Soves. ” He orders. Caraxes obeys. You shriek in terror, and Daemon hugs you harder against him. That, too, he likes. The helplessness, the honest reaction of someone who was denied her birthright. The amazement, once you settle down and notice that Caraxes will not drop you.

Riding Caraxes is always a thrill. It’s even more thrilling when he has a captive audience. There is something about it that does it for him. Showing others the might of true Targaryens always makes him proud.

He wants to show you all the things you have missed, being born of a whore and a Royce. It’s clear you don’t belong here, among the bronze piles of the Vale. You belong with him, on dragonback. And no one is taking you away from him.

The servants, your servants, according to the Bronze Bitch’s will, can only watch as the dragon rises in the air. No one dares deny Targaryens anything, not when faced with the truth of their strength.

Daemon perches his chin right on top of your head, so close his chest is flush with your back. Your screams do not bother him. You might be terrified, after a life spent living on the ground. But Targaryens are born to be in the skies. You will get used to it.

“Oh, Lady Cuffs, you have much to learn.” He kisses your temple, once you have screamed your throat raw and finally quieted down.

The first time he had ridden Caraxes, Daemon had, too, screamed until his voice gave. He had thought back then, like many Targaryens did, that if his egg didn’t hatch, he would get no dragon. The moment is clear in his memory. Heart beating loud in his chest, screaming commands in High Valyrian, and the absolute certainty that Caraxes was going to burn him to a crisp. Then, as he came down from sheer terror to amazement, he understood why his egg didn’t hatch.

It was a lesson. To take what he wanted, what was his by right. Targaryens were conquerors, not whiny children. It was what had got him thinking about Lady Laena, in the first place. The amount of confidence one needed to claim a dragon that big, it spoke of a power within.

Not as yours was, of course. You may lack the confidence, but you had power in spades. Dreamers were often like that. Or they were supposed to be, according to his studies. Daenys had been. A fragile little thing, scared of shadows and set on leaving Valyria behind. It had been what saved them, in the end.

Daemon wonders what it must be like to be haunted by terrors in your sleep. Some real, some imagined. How could one possible tell the difference between the two? It would lead a fragile mind to insanity.

What had it done to you? Seeing your sister’s death, thinking it a nightmare, and then watch it come to life in front of your eyes?

Fear. Horror. A cornered animal reaction, wanting to fight an opponent that could crush you like a bug if he so wished. Your loyalty to Rhea was commendable, though.

The thought of you having to go through that makes him uncomfortable. Something about the death of a sibling upsets him. Viserys. Oh, Viserys. Can’t live with him, but can’t live without him, either.

No. He needs a distraction. He is not willing to go down that road now.

“Dracarys!” Daemon screams, fighting to project his voice over the wind. As expected, you flinch and let out a tiny scream. He hides his smirk in your hair. He wonders if you would squeal like that when he took you.

A bit of fear makes for a better fuck. Lovers tend to turn pliant in the face of pain. Women's cunts flutter delightfully when choked. And you are already so responsive.

“This cannot be happening.” You mutter, under your breath. Your voice sounds small and confused. Lost. “This defies all the laws.”

“Targaryens have married sisters before,” Daemon speaks over your ear. Despite knowing that's not how dreamers work, he can't help but taunt you. It's amusing to him, how you struggle and huff. “You must have seen this already. You will make a good wife, in time.”

“I am not a dreamer!” You scream, and if he could see your face now, he would bet you are scowling. It matters not, really. Whatever you say. You would do anything to get him to let you go.

Daemon knows the truth. He has done his investigation about you. It would be no good, if he were mistaken and presented Viserys with something less. His good gesture would be ruined.

You would earn him his forgiveness. Daemon is willing to share you with Viserys, if that's what Viserys wants. He wants to keep you, so Daemon wouldn't gift you to him. But share you? It's a good gesture to show the honesty of his words.

Let it not be said that Daemon Targaryen is not humble in victory.

“Deny it all you want.” Daemon turns a finger over the middle of your back, making you shiver and try to move away from the touch. Oh, such a fierce spirit. A shame it's wasted, with how well you are tied to the saddle. “You have some Valyrian blood in you.”

“I do not!” You scream, and tilt your head to the side to glare at him. You have pretty eyes and the most enchanting nose. Closer to a goddess than a woman. How can you not be a Targaryen?

Your hair is the wrong shade. So are your eyes. But most of the time, First Men features overpower Targaryen ones. Dammed your father. Useless rat, that Yohn Royce. But at least he had given him you.

“You will birth me silver haired babes.” Daemon can do the math. With you being half Valyrian, the odds of you giving him what he wants are higher. He places his hand on your stomach, sneaking it behind the apron and touching the soft linen dress you wear.

Daemon imagines what it will be like, to see you swell with his child. The skin over your womb is warm and soft. You are young, closer to Rhaenyra's age than his. You look healthy and strong. A good environment for a child to grow in. And by the look of your bosom, you would produce good milk, too.

The thought makes him suddenly hungry. His cock twitches in interest. Ah. Good to know that your coloring won’t bring forth the same performance issues Rhea’s had.

This time, you squirm harder. Your ass rolls against his hips. Daemon rolls his hips against you, delighting in the friction. "Oh, you temptress.” He laughs.

He can't wait to have you, pinned under him and forcing you to take and take until his seed breeds true. How you would struggle, hips trying to escape him before surrendering to the sheer pleasure of it all.

“You are disgusting!” You buck against him, all wild mare. You have yet to be mounted and it shows. He bets once he does, you will be all sweet. Daemon is not cruel enough to deny you the pleasure. But you seem upset, and so he tries to reassure you.

“Just think, how strong, how true our children will be. With the blood of Old Valyria, flowing through their veins.”

It seems like the thought is not as reassuring for you as it is for him, since you start tearing up. He will have to tread more carefully. It’s clear your time with the Bronze Bitch has affected you. Perhaps, too, growing up in a whore’s house. You must have some strange ideas of women not needing marriage, or men, to lead their lives.

It was good, that Rhea got you when she had. You could have been sold or auctioned like any other woman. Taken up the profession of your mother. But you hadn’t. He knows it by the way you flinch, when he trails his hands over your ribs, when he presses his lips to your temple. Whores are used to touches like those. They melt into them. Not you.

“I’m not Valyrian!” You scream, trashing. Daemon smooths your hair down, tenderly. Perhaps this will soften you, he thinks. Many bastards share the longing for learning about their origins, after all. You should be no different.

“Your mother was, though.”

“What? No, she wasn't!” Your shrill tone makes him flinch. Gods, what a pair of lungs you have. And you are so set on disguising your origins, too. As if Daemon can’t tell. As if he can’t recognize one of his own when he sees them.

“I asked the servants about you.” He squeezes your shoulder, trying to sound encouraging. He wonders what it must be like, to carry so deep a shame you are set on denying the obvious. If Daemon had been born of a whore, without his Targaryen blood, he would be ashamed too. “They said you bathed every day. Only whores do that. And you don’t keep male company.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Your voice comes out high and questioning, confused. Oh, his poor, sheltered girl. Thinking your behavior was normal.

“You must have learned it somewhere.” He brushes his thumb against the shell of your ear. It’s a tiny thing, and soft. You give a sweet shiver, and it confirms his suspicions. You have not been touched in such a way before. Not a whore. Only the daughter of one. "Your father was said to frequent a brothel in King’s Landing, one that I’m well acquainted with. They only have Valyrian stock.”

You splutter, and whip your head to the side. You are not allowed much movement, with your binds. But gods, you try. The sliver of your face he can see is twisted in righteous anger. Similar to when he confessed to finishing the Bronze Bitch.

“Stock? How can you refer to women like that!” And it comes out so righteous, so fierce. His little warrior. Yes, it’s clear he is right about your origins. No one else would launch themselves in such a passionate defense of whores. A shame, he can’t seem to resist to riling you up.

“Oh, I have much lovelier names for women. I called your sister the Bronze Bitch.”

You let out a fierce little scream, now bucking and twisting and shifting, trying to get any kind of retribution for the slight. What a joy you must be in the sheets, all that unbridled force and passion, turning into a single objective. You just have to learn to aim it right.

“Don’t you dare speak of her like that! She is the most…” And you choke up a sob, realizing that Rhea was, not is. You do not speak the words, curling into yourself like a scared child. Hurt and sad for the first time since he took you.

“Was.” Daemon says, very quietly, and this time he is unable to distract himself from the thought. Daemon thinks of Viserys, of how angry he would be were someone to hurt him. No matter if they had parted in anger, no matter if they had not spoken a word.

He hugs you to him. You fight him, at first, but then you are sobbing too hard, too panicked to do anything about it. He presses a kiss to your nape. Even in tears and sweaty with your efforts, you smell perfect. All sweet pure maiden.

Eventually, your body sags. Daemon wonders if you accepted your fate or merely fell asleep. He doesn’t ask. The rest of the ride is uneventful. You wake up, later on, squirming in your bounds before sagging in defeat. No more words are exchanged between the two of you.

Landing is quite the interesting experience. Lyonel Strong, wearing the Hand's brooch. Next to him, stands the Kingsguard and a couple of Citywatchs.

“Is that a serving girl?” Crispin, Chris, whatever his name is, asks. He must think himself so sly, muttering under his breath.

“You were vanished.” Lyonel deadpans, eyeing you with vague interest. You scowl at him and tug on your bonds, again. Admirable persistence.

“Ah, Lyonel.” He gets off the saddle and carefully unchains you from it, making sure that your hands remain bound. Daemon keeps a tight grip on the chain from your cuffs, as he pulls you down into his arms. You kick and scream. The Kingsguard look vaguely concerned, but the gold cloaks don't even blink. They had been his men a few years back. They are used to such things.

He is not getting any younger, Daemon realizes. With you, he might need to get a better training regime because he is winded from the struggle. It's almost thrilling. You will keep him on his toes.

Daemon addresses Lyonel once again, dragging you forward.

“Summon Viserys, would you? I have something to show him.”

Good thing it’s not Otto Hightower anymore, or else he would have been detained on the spot. Lyonel is slightly softer to him, too honor-bound to let his personal feelings get in the way.

“Another of your whores?” The man asks, face unchanged. He would look at ease were it not for the way he is pressing his lips together in a grim line. No doubt remembering the Mysaria episode.

You keep struggling, rubbing your poor wrists raw. Daemon will have to tend to that later.

“Help! Help! Please!” You plead to Lyonel, once he is close enough. His lips twitch. Ah, the Strongs. Always ready to jump in rescue of a fair maiden. Your cries seem to be weakening the resolve of the Hand, and Daemon can’t have that.

Daemon places a possessive arm over your hips, showing you off. The possessive gesture will distract Lyonel from his rescue attempt, he is sure. No one gets between a Prince and his lovers, willing or not.

“No, actually. This time, the Lady is still a maiden. Although she won’t be much longer.” He smirks.

You flinch, your whole body tensing under his grip. Lyonel looks torn. He can’t order Daemon to let go of you, as for all he knows, you are but a serving girl. If you were a Lady, what he is doing might mean war. No one here cares about commoners.

Surprisingly, your rescuer is another. The dornish knight, jumping in, without the bow of his commander or the Lord Hand.

“I’ll go get the King, Lord Hand.” Good gods, what were they teaching the dornish these days? Not an ounce of respect on that one. He was getting too cocky for Daemon’s liking. He might have unseated him, but he lacked manners.

Daemon glares at Lyonel. Lyonel glares right back. The Kingsguard square behind Lyonel, menacingly, but the City Watch remains undecided on the side. Daemon grips your cuffs harder.

Crispin, Chris, whatever, comes out again after a few minutes, with an aggravated looking Viserys. You start shrieking, again, and trying harder to escape. No one pays you any mind.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you again.” Viserys says, but his eyes crinkle. He has cooled down. Daemon lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He still has everything to play for. Forgiveness is on the way.

“I think she might earn my forgiveness.” He tugs at your cuffs, bringing you slightly forward. You scowl, fiercely. “A gift, brother.”

“You come to offer me a whore? You are insane. Or drunk. Or both.” Viserys arches an eyebrow, but takes a good look at you. Daemon can’t blame him for it. You are a pretty thing, young and healthy.

Despite someone who claims offense at being offered a whore, Viserys surely looks interested. He steps closer to him, trapping you between them both. It’s Viserys, in quite the bold move, who tilts your chin up with a finger. You snarl at him, bucking backwards and right into Daemon’s chest.

“Careful. She bites. Special breed, from the Vale. All bitches.” And it’s not even funny, but it makes Viserys laugh, and that’s all that matters to him. Viserys’s laughter prompts the rest of the sycophants knights to do so as well. Only Lyonel and the dornish man remain disapproving.

“I’m quite busy at the moment, brother.” Viserys steps back, giving Daemon a long look. Unable not to twist the knife because otherwise they wouldn’t be related, he adds. “I’m in the middle of planning a wedding.”

“Ah. Congratulations are in order, then. Think of this as a wedding gift to the father of the bride.” Daemon pushes you forward, and then, insistently, to kneel. You resist, impudent little thing that you are. He pushes harder, until you kneel in front of Viserys with a sullen expression. “What better omen for a marriage than a little dreamer?”

Viserys goes suddenly serious, the hint of a smile at his antics long gone. This time, when he looks at you, his eyes are much more searching. First, to your hair. Then, your eyes. Then, to his face, incredulous.

“If this is your idea of a joke, Daemon…”

Daemon gives him a look. He would not joke about it, knowing how much Viserys has longed to be connected to that side of their heritage. He never understood it. Dreams were a powerful tool, but could be hard to differentiate from just nightmares. And what had made them conquerors had not been dreams, but dragons. That had been the part that interested him.

They had talked, once, of sharing a woman. Back when they were much younger, much less troubled. He tried to let that shine in his eyes, too. This was not something he was keeping to himself, it was a gift to his brother. If Viserys asked, Daemon would say yes in a heartbeat. Anything to make him happier. To protect him. Your dreams might not get him another kingdom, but would help keep Viserys safe and secure Rhaenyra's claim.

The silence stretched. Then, Viserys, looking absolutely fascinated and dumbfounded, stepped aside.

“Inside the throne room. Anyone else, leave us!”

As the guards scrambled to obey, Daemon tugged you inside. Viserys entered the room first, and grabbed the chain, as Daemon made sure to close the door after them. Working together with a fluidity not seen since the days of their youth.

Daemon smiled. Not even a day in your company, and you were already fixing things in the way he had wanted you to.

Viserys let go of your chain, eyeing you with quite a bit of precaution. All for naught. Instead of attacking, you tried to flee. Daemon grabbed you, and spun you to face him.

“You say she is a dreamer.” Viserys sits down on the throne, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“She is. The bastard sister of my newly deceased wife.” Daemon can’t help but boast. He is proud of finding you. Of the smile that has formed on Viserys face. “You know how it was. Yohn Royce and his precious Silver Dragon.”

“Lady Rhea is dead?” Viserys frowns. Still, he doesn’t look too upset. Perhaps a bit angry, but Daemon knows he will forgive him for it. What is the murder of a woman no one loved to the acquisition of a dreamer?

“He killed her!” You scream, unable to help yourself. Ah. Curse him, he was mistaken. Someone loved the Bronze Bitch. But it didn’t count. You were her sister and she had rescued you from a brothel. You were morally obligated to. It didn’t count.

“Shut up, little girl. I didn’t.” Which, yes, he had, but it would be better to give Viserys plausible deniability. Safer that way.

“Yes, you did. I saw.” You grin at him, menacingly. Daemon arches an eyebrow. It seemed your nap had given you the energy to be defiant. Again. Good gods, you were like a child. Having to be put to bed, pacified, taken care of. On and on the list went. Daemon was not sure that he was ready for the responsibility of parenting a recently legitimized Targaryen. Your manners were atrocious, and you were so young and so soft.

Rhea had taught you nothing of use. Perhaps to read books and ride horses, but it was clear she hadn't hardened you as she was. You had no idea of politics or respect for your King. Soft. Sheltered. A blessing in disguise? Or a curse?

“That will be a problem, dreamer or not.” Viserys interrupts. It’s clear what he means. Daemon has to fix it. Because the Seven forbid Viserys is the one to get his hands dirty. He likes to believe he is above Daemon, in that sense. That he has some sort of morals that go beyond caring for Rhaenyra.

He has not. His tastes are the same as Daemon's. Fire and blood and all that came with it, but with the delusion of having some great sense of morality.

“Give her to me. The Bronze Bitch left her everything she had. I can keep the Vale and the little girl in line.” Daemon quickly says, ignoring your indignant yelp and trashing. “I’ll marry her.”

“Allow you to own a dreamer?” Viserys raises his brows, looking doubtful. “Don’t you think it’s too much? If she truly is one, of course…”

“Show him, Lady Cuffs.”

You remain in obstinate silence. Daemon feels the urge to scream. Clearly, the Royce genes ran strong because Seven Hells you were infuriating.

“Didn’t you say you could keep her in line?” Viserys taunts, amused. Oh, if Daemon could, he would spank your pretty arse red from that defiance. Little brat that you are, it would be a fitting punishment.

He can’t do much more, not without endangering you. Neither Viserys nor him are experts on dreamers. They have been oddities during the history of their house. Their lessons on them were far less detailed than on dragons.

The upkeeping and care of one would require research. But some things are clear from the start. Dreamers shouldn't be hurt. Or too traumatized. They might get nightmares, and that would make their powers wane.

Daemon needs to scare you into thinking he will hurt you, but not actually do it. How to scare you into compliance and punish you, but not hurt you? He looks at the Iron Throne, and suddenly, an idea sparks into his mind. You are, in many ways, a child. And a man is allowed to discipline his wife.

Daemon unsheathes his sword, making as much noise as possible. You flinch, clearly recognizing the sound. He bangs it against your vulnerable behind, making you jolt forward and yelp. Not only it must have hurt, but the sound echoed in the throne room. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, surprised and a little teary-eyed. Viserys smiles.

"Answer his question. Properly." Daemon orders. You look between him and Viserys, clearly unsure. He gives you a few moments, but when you are taking too long for his liking, Daemon raises his sword again. The words nearly tumble out in your haste to speak.

"I… Your wife. Aemma, she held on to you and begged you to not let them cut her. You held her down. Monster.” You say to Viserys, now openly crying. Daemon blinks. Now that was something he didn’t know.

Viserys’s anger at the “heir for a day” comment is suddenly framed in a new light. Guilt. The fool. Daemon would never do something like that to you. A dreamer is too valuable of an asset.

“Something more pleasant.” He orders, swinging the sword. You try to dance away from the hit, but you are unable to. You give another cry.

“You have a dagger. With Aegon’s dream. And the Lady Alicent visited you in your chambers, wearing one of her mother’s dresses, after Aemma passed.” This time, Daemon keeps a close eye on Viserys’s face, instead of you. His face is slack, jaw hanging open. Apparently, you are telling the truth. He wonders what other seedy secrets about him you know.

Daemon raises his sword, ready to hit your bottom again.

“That’s enough, Daemon. You proved your point. You can marry her.” Viserys says, voice shaky. He is clearly overcome by what you know and by the methods needed to extract the information from you. Viserys is about to give you to him. He has realized he will not be able to handle you.

Daemon doesn't mind. To be kept safe, every King needs someone willing to get their hands dirty. He has done much worse, and that was not even in the hopes of protecting Viserys and Rhaenyra.

“No, no, no…” You protest, pitifully. Your whole face is streaked with tears.

“Thank you, brother.” Daemon answers, smirking. Never has he felt more victorious. He gives another slap to your behind, this time with his hand. Viserys nearly smiles at your indignant shriek. “Oh, Lady Wife, no one asked for your opinion.”

[oliveisme533]

My dad’s neighbor is a dilf

Chapter 1

Joel Miller x you

Summery: You had decided to spend your summer in Austin with your dad. You used to spend almost every summer there, but hadn't spent a summer there since you were a teenager. Which means you hadn't seen a certain Joel Miller in years..

You were a teacher so the summer months were nice and slow. As you packet your suitcase, you thought back to the phone call with your dad just a few weeks prior. "Hey babygirl, why don't you come on down to Austin for the summer? I know your roommate has been driving you a little crazy lately...wouldn't hurt to get a break ya know? Plus I miss you sweetheart... would love to see you"

You smiled at the memory of his words. He was right about your roommate being annoying lately. Nothing crazy...just normal roommate things. But most of all you missed your dad. Your college summers were all spent with your mom in Boston, so this visit was long overdue.

There airport was fucking packet of course. Airports made you anxious and you always got to your gate a couple hours early for fear of missing your flight. You sent a quick text to your dad letting him know you made it to the airport and would let him know when you safely landed. He loved the message and moments later your phone buzzed again.

Venmo: Dad sent you $50 for "Uber 🚗"

Your dad definitely did well for himself, He was a financial consultant and never missed out on an opportunity to splurge on you and your sister. You knew you wouldn't be swiping your card a single time once you stepped foot in his house for the summer, and you weren't complaining...teachers don't exactly make a ton of money. There was one thing nagging at the back of your mind that you hadn't let yourself think about until now. You always had kind of a girlish crush on your dad's friend and neighbor. You hadn't seen him in years and you wanted to believe he could find you attractive now that you were actually a grown woman. It was a fantasy you know would never come true even in your wildest dreams, but it was still fun to think about from time to time. You put your headphones and closed out the world.

You smiled as the warm air hit your skin as you walked across the tarmac with one hand shading your eyes from the Texas sun. Austin was where you spent your childhood. Before their divorce, your parents had brought you and your sister into a comfortable lifestyle that you were forever grateful for. Your mom headed to Boston after the divorce, you and your older sister followed suit, but Texas never stoped feeling like home. "Uber for y/n?" You slumped down into the air conditioned car with a sigh of relief. "Yes." You looked out the window as the familiar scene flew by. By the time the car turned into your neighborhood your mind had drifted far from Boston. Your stomach lurched slightly as you passed Mr. Millers house. His truck was in the driveway. You remembered a recent phone conversation with your dad where he mentioned Mr. Miller having kind of a hard time spending his first summer without his daughter Sarah. She was with her mom for the summer, a new arrangement you were pretty sure. Maybe you would go and visit him. He was the kind of family friend that had a key to your dad's house . What if he didn't remember you? You were being stupid. Mr. Miller didn't need to entertain a 20 some year old girl. He had friends his own age, a life, and for all you knew maybe a girlfriend. You brushed the idea off as the car slowed in-front of your dad's house.

Your key clicked in the door and you were promptly greeted by Lea, your dad's new kitten. Your sister and you joked that this was his first symptom of his mid life crises. The second being the fact that he now had a girlfriend. You flung your suitcase aside and sunk into the window seat of your bedroom. You have many memories of a younger version of yourself sitting here in the summer days, reading or just watching. In the evenings you were too busy sneaking out the back gate to do such things. You smile as you recall your reckless, teenage activities. You sigh and look down at your watch. Your dad won't be home for a couple more hours. A nap probably would serve you well. Before you get up, you feel your phone buzz again. It's your dad.

"Hey sweetheart I see you made it to the house. I completely forgot Joel said he was picking up some tools I borrowed from him last week. He knows the garage code, but didn't want you to be alarmed if he's there before I get home. See you soon xx"

You found yourself staring at the text... would Mr. Miller ...Joel, you correct yourself, would he even remember me? In the spirit of southern hospitality you decide to get dressed in something that does smell like the airport and go downstairs when you hear the garage opening. You walk through the front door and out towards the driveway where Joel is loading some tools in the back of his pick up truck. He glances up at you and a wide smile forms across his face. "Well hey!" He says. "Your dad told me you were coming in... welcome home!" The words warm your heart. This was home for sure. "Thanks, I'm glad to be back. Even just for the summer!" God his arms look good in that t-shirt... "well I know your old man is happy you're here. Hasn't shut up about you comin' for the last few weeks. 'Course I get it, countin' down the days 'till Sarah gets back myself." You giggle at the comment of your dad's excitement about your arrival. "Yeah dad told me she's with her mom for the summer right?" Joel nods closing the back of the pick up. "Yeah that's right." You noted a twinge of sadness in his voice. "I'm sorry I'm sure that's hard...I mean I know she loves being with her mom and you too. Of course she'll be back for school in the fall, but still I'm sure the summer feels different with out her. I'm not a parent though so I really have no idea what I'm talking about." You fumbled through this response and ended with a nervous laugh. Joel didn't mind. He looked at you with those fucking puppy dog eyes that could make you melt. He laughed too you were pretty sure the laugh was more at you than with you, but you kind of deserved it you figured. "You're sweet, yeah she's having a blast with her mom and that's all that really matters. Your dad has been putting up with me a lot. With an empty and quiet house it's just not the same, and he's been havin' me over lots" "Well I'm sure he appreciates the company too" you couldn't help but feel a little guilt that you had possibly made your dad feel the same emotions as Joel. "Well I gotta run, but I'm sure I'll be seein' you around. Good to see ya Darlin'" you waved as he pulled out of your driveway, grateful that he was probably too far away to see the blush on your cheeks.

The next few days went by with not much to remark on. On Friday your dad mentioned that Joel would be coming over for dinner tomorrow. You told yourself it was time to act like an adult and put this girlish crush out of your mind. Joel was at least 10 years your senior and he was a close friend of your dad, In fact these fantasies are simply degrading to him or disrespectful. You're not sure of the right word, but he's a person with a life and feelings and things he's going through. To make him the object of your fantasies was wrong, you decided.

Saturday evening came around and your dad was in the back grilling and playing his country music on the speaker you had gifted him last Christmas. There was a knock and the door and the sound of Joel's voice echoing through the entry way. You didn't bother coming out of the kitchen, knowing he would come to you. Your back was turned, focusing on the sangria recipe you were sure wouldn't turn out the way you wanted. "My dad's outback." You said gesturing to the back door. " I'm sorry, where are my manners!" You turned to open the fridge and pull out beer for Joel. "You ain't gotta make a fuss darlin' is just me" Joel chuckled. You wished he would stop calling you that, but you also hoped he never would. Joel y through the utensil draw to find the bottle opener. He asked about your day and you asked about his. "I can't get over how much you've grown up" he said at one point. "Yeah o guess the last time you would have seen me I was a lanky teenager with braces" you laughed and so did he. "I think you're right... if I recall you were just about the death of your old man when you were that age." You shrugged. "Yup that's about right. I had a nack for getting into trouble." He laughed that wonderful deep laugh and said "well you turned out alright, kid"

The rest of the evening you debated whether Joel saw you more as a grown woman or a kid. He had referred to you as both in a matter of minutes...so which was it? "What's on your mind kiddo?" Your dad's voice snapped you back to reality. "Oh ..um, nothing honestly. I'm just kind of tired today for some reason." You were both in the kitchen, Joel was still in the back yard getting ready to light a cigar. "Baby why don't you go upstairs and rest. I'll make sure to kick Mr. Miller here out if we get to rowdy." He said that last part loud enough for Joel to hear. "Dad jokes.." you mutter to yourself as you climb the stairs to the second floor of the house. Your bedroom is on the front end of the house, so by they time you get there, no noise from your dad and Joel can be heard. The sound of the shower in the bathroom drowned out the noise of your phone buzzing on your nightstand. When you exited the shower there was a missed call from "Ben" Ben Sinclair was your on again, off again boyfriend for the last 4 ish years. This time you were done. You had been broken up for a month this time and you told him (in no uncertain terms!) this was it. So what could he possibly want tonight...

[daydreamvalley]

October Sunsets (2) - nanami kento

𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧Summary: You accidentally stole Nanami’s phone, unaware about the dire situation he is occupied with in Shibuya.

Contents: Anime-only safe. Angst + mentions of extreme bodily injury & death.

Read part 1

11:36 pm. Way to go. Nanami must think I’m an obsessed freak. One that forces situations to happen, so he’d think about me. You thought to yourself if he didn’t think you were clumsy before, he should now. For the past twenty-two minutes you’ve been goggling at his phone, that had already lost power. Yours, however, could be a saving grace right now. Taking it out of your tote bag you texted Shoko, the only colleague at Jujutsu Tech you were acquainted with. The message was split into multiple inane short texts: Hello. I know you guys are busy right now, but please let Nanami know I’m sorry I took his phone! I promise I only realized, like, right now and-

Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.

Your mother’s contact appeared on your screen, previewing messages that contained videos. She called right before departing to wish you safe travels and the promise of funny videos to help you stay entertained, so you swipe away her texts assuming they were just unfunny skits from somewhere.

Continuing your imploring to Shoko: Please just say that first. That I’m sorry. Also, he can meet me on Monday, November 5th. I’ll return it then fly back to Denmark. Tell him he’ll get lots of pastries and souvenirs! After hitting send, it did register that the last bit of the message was unnecessary, but the nerves of the situation got to you. Going into your mother’s chats, you see an influx of exclamations. “Shibuya is being destroyed!”, “Are you still in the plane?”, “Answer me!!”, “Your uncle sent me this one”, “Please be safe out there, love you”. You watch a low-quality video, hearing your family member’s voice in the background crying out in fear. A plane was being set ablaze mid-air, hurling a loud roar as it dropped from the sky into Shibuya. The tragedy was clear as day, even though the video is taken at night. Highlighting the combusted object. Your hands tremble. Were you safe? Unable to hold the phone upright, you felt like this was wrong to watch. He’s on call, but where? No. stop thinking like that, he’s obviously saving civilians right now. Nanami’s far too competent to be a victim to that destruction. Thumping tortured your head as you catastrophized.

“Miss. Are you feeling ill?” The flight attendant sounded like she was under a body of water. “Hold my hand and follow my breathing.”

The video continued playing, showing a city turning into hell. The lens turned to reveal the shocked faces of people witnessing the horror. It never stopped playing until a pair of hands whisked your device away from a weak grip, then lightly turned your head so you could meet a women’s calm face.

~

8:00 am, November 5th, Monday, Tokyo. You hug Nanami’s blazer tighter against your layered outfit, when then the breeze enters the cafe. A cold gust sings alongside the crackling sounds of an old espresso machine. Elevating the emptiness and lack of conversation in the room. How could anyone start a conversation? It feels like the moment anyone utters a word; we all expect the events of Shibuya to pour out. No one wants to talk about. At least for a little while. Not while the wound is still fresh. In your peripheral you see the screen of a phone turn on, next to you on the leather couch. The red dusk of the sunset on your friends lock screen includes a notification, telling you its fully charged. You unplug and bring it to your face to have a closer at the photo, but the phone unlocks from facial recognition. Taken aback you immediately turn it off, shutting your eyes. You hold a tighter grip on it, because it’s a reminder of how you aren’t ready.

Not yet.

You decide to lean into the couch, to stay longer at the establishment. The jetlag is kicking in and it doesn’t help that you ran into an unwanted conversation with a coworker when you walked in. The one-sided chat consisting of the only depressing topic everyone is taking part in. It left your coffee cold, and now you needed to rest for a bit. If not, you could walk out of the café without a clear mind. Looking either drunk or sleep deprived. Most likely the latter. The insurance company was next door and the possibility of running into more people is a headache. To call your flight back to the city a miracle, would be an understatement. From October 31st, flights coming in and out of Japan were prohibited, just when you desperately needed to come back home. Only five days have passed since the incident.

For four days, you found yourself alternating between locking yourself up in a Denmark-airport hotel, then running around pleading with the airport’s many front desk’s about when you could leave. Not caring if you’d get fired for abandoning your work trip. Your mothers’ yells across the phone would be a comforting reoccurrence, in which she is begging you to stay in Denmark, since the situation was getting worse back home. For four days, only your mother would call, while you unfortunately entertained the thought of your loved one’s death once you came back. Even as you arrive back, the chaos resumes. No warm hugs from a worried family greeted you.

You colleagues were radio silent, dealing with their own grief. Your mother and uncle were evacuated to a different city. Leaving you with one more fear. No sign of Nanami. Shoko didn’t answer your calls from Wednesday to the early mornings of today, until the dreadful call. The call you had with her just one hour ago, which somehow led you to instinctively catch a taxi to this very café.

Just as you settle into drifting asleep, a ring awakens you. It’s coming from your phone. “Shoko”, displayed on the lock screen, and hesitantly you pick up.

“I can see you from here. I’m crossing the light pole to the café entrance.” Shoko says, as you see her tall figure approach, dressed in a lab coat. She stops outside the door to throw her cigarette into a bin. Chimes can be heard as she walks in. You stiffen. Staying seated on the coach, you can’t help but feel nauseous as she walks up to you. She stops above you, striving her best smile. “So quiet in here. Wish it were like this outside.” She gets comfortable next you on the couch. Making sure to observe the blazer as she continues, “You must have been in disarray; your luggage is here.”

You face her in silence, nodding your head in acknowledgement. The two of you stare at each other, competing to see who will address the matter. Inhaling deeply, you try, “Thanks for meeting me here. Why’d- ‘’

You clear your throat to not get choked up. “No.” You straighten your back to speak clearer, “What were you doing when you called me?”

“Sorry?” Shoko inquires, and you stay silent, reading her eyes. “I was…sitting at the park.” She says pointing in the direction behind her, confused.

“So, you weren’t occupied with something urgent or intense?”

“Not really.”

“You didn’t think to wait for my arrival or ask us to meet somewhere. You were just going to causally call me and tell me that “I’m sorry. Nanami didn’t make it”, hang up on me, then leave me to go with the rest of my day!” You shakily burst out.

Shoko looks at you with widened eyes and observes around the room self-consciously. You two were the only customers in the café, now filling the silence. She places her palm on your shoulder, to ease the tension, but you non-aggressively remove it.

“I admit, you didn’t have to hear it that way. I just didn’t know who to call. Everyone was pestering me. They still are and I couldn’t handle it. I only saw your messages yesterday and the burden of telling you the news was too much. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just…a lot.” Shoko was now tearing up. The pressures of her position were breaking her, as each day passed by, with more wounding alerts of her dying colleagues.

You stand up from your spot. “Let’s talk outside, I’m getting dizzy in here.” You respond half-heartedly.

Shoko follows you into the chill winds hoping for a smoother flowing discussion.

“Please, Shoko. Where is he? I know I’m a non-sorcerer so I can’t even enter your facility, but at least tell me-“

“Even if I could. I can’t let you see that- him I mean.”

“That? Shoko help me out here, please! It’s the least you could do. God, this is so unfair.” You lament to her.

“There’s nothing I can do. He’s- its bad. His lower body is the only remaining part we can recover from Shibuya.” Shoko winces and covers her mouth, shocked by her own blunt words.

You bit your lip as tears marked your face. His lower body. Her mechanical way of describing things made sense in her occupational context, but this was too harsh. With staggered breaths you ask, “Where is he?” You ache as you reiterate. You now know the answer. He was still in there. That hell. It was never a possibility in your mind. Nanami not making it back home. While the world just begun to know about sorcery after the massacre, it wasn’t unfamiliar to you. In detail, he’d go over his workday like it were any other mundane job. The stories of the students he so greatly cared for, the loss of his dearest friend in high school, and all the dangers of the mystique of this world he was in. Never, did you imagine you’d have to worry about his potential death. In his eyes, he is someone who simply strives to do the best he can. You wish he could see himself in your eyes.

Jujutsu Sorcerers are shit. He’d boldly reaffirm that to you with sunken eyebags, every time you two would talk about your workday in the café. Yet, he never left sorcery. Everyday you’d be reassured of how hard-working he really is. That same attitude that you admire in him, is one of the many traits that made you want to be a permanent part of his life. Whether he accepted your affections or not, wasn’t the point, everyone deserves to have such a dependable force in their life. Now, you cannot accept that this is happening.

“I understand him now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hate how the higher-ups do things. What’s happening right now is showing their true colors.”

“You can do unimaginable things compared to most doctors. The ability to reserve techniques, right? That’s what Nanami told me.” You ask her, not expecting a response. Maybe this was a way for you to cope with the fact that even people as powerful as her can’t fix everything.

“Yes. I know there’s nothing I can do to make you feel better. I can’t even begin to tell you why we can’t save the rest of his body right now. I don’t want to hurt you more. I know how much you mean to him, it’s only right that I informed you.”

You chuckle at her words, “The damage has already been done. No?”

She looks to the ground in defeat. Agreeing that nothing was going to assist the emotional affliction.

“You want to know what hurts more? Is that I’ll never know why. You could try to explain it to me, though I doubt you would. Still, I’m too far removed from it all. I don’t want to know who did it, or what.” Wiping your face, you make your back the door, “I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. Take care.” Not looking back, you head straight for the bathroom. Hiding yourself in one of the stalls, you drop down to your knees. One hand on the stall wall, as the other opens the toilet seat while you begin to hurl. His lower body is still there. It’s an unsettling scene. You hurl and cry simultaneously. The chronic exhaustion was making a physical appearance, yet the object of your sorrow was thinking about how tired he must have been. Meeting his end, without getting to grow old, but by the pressures of his sorcery.

~

7:00 pm, November 12th, 2018, Kuantan, Malaysia. The ocean sends shimmering beams of light into your bedroom. You sit on your bed in a daze, taking in your flat’s perfect view of the ocean’s peaking sunset across the horizon. Now it’s been twelve days since the Shibuya massacre and the beginning of a new era of havoc. Other than frequent check-ins with family, you haven’t spoken to anyone else since your last conversation with Shoko. Most of all, you won’t bother yourself with the current events taking place in Shibuya. This isn’t a retreat. You were abandoning your duties to escape, with the illusion of closure. It made you worse. Your way of grieving is running away to the place Nanami raved on about. Where is the closure?

“Jujutsu Sorcerers are shit.”

His words echo when you think about home, but not in a negative way. You just can’t help but recollect these words because they represent your overall memory of him. Nanami always had this weird way of saying bold and sometimes controversial statements but in a well-mannered way. You miss his politeness. How much of a gentleman he was to you and all women around him. You miss the safety. You loved knowing that your coworkers thought he was boring and uptight, because with you the formalities would drop, and you’d be left breathless from his jokes. You would give anything to hear his dry jokes again. You loved knowing that you saw that side of him. When he was not burnt out by work and had the energy to send you two out and about in town to shop, try food, or take aimless walks in the city. You love him, and he will never know.

I think I’m ready.

You grab Nanami’s cream-white blazer from next to you, to take out his phone. He trusted you enough to be another recognizable face on his device. Claiming he had nothing to hide and whatever he had on it most likely was cleaner than yours. You only used this privilege to take pictures of yourself and make it his wallpaper. Every now and then, those same pictures of you would remain on this lock screen. You think back to when you asked him if he wasn’t worried his sorcerer friends would ask who you are, then he’d reply that they wouldn’t ask, because they already know you. Such memories now cross your mind. That comfortability is now missing.

You used to doubt your importance to him. Having each other’s extra apartment keys and phone passwords was not enough for you. When his reason for these two instances was to ensure you both have someone to depend on in case of emergencies, your mind was clouded with romance. You face the front camera to unlock the phone, revealing a typical home screen. Organized and easy to navigate. Since you’ve been in possession of it you never opened it. Where would you even begin. What was the point. Would you forget him that quickly without his phone? His camera roll consisted of you, screenshots of songs, meals and a substantial number of sunsets. Chime. A reminder displays on his screen. It has two exclamation marks indicating it is high priority. Deciding you didn’t want to go into his apps anyway, you read the reminder:

Send the birthday message on notes tomorrow!!

Tomorrow is your birthday. Without thinking you navigate to the notes. You scroll down completed grocery lists and to-do lists to reach one note titled, “Her birthday plans”. In bullet points he writes: Returns from work trip November 12th. Haneda Airport. Plan A, surprise flowers? Cook dinner for her at my place (might seem pushy if she doesn’t feel that way)?

If Plan A fails, aquarium. Obsessed with stingrays. Early Christmas presents! Christmas plans?

Weeps escape your mouth as you read the notes. These notes started to make you feel less insignificant to him than you thought you before. You didn’t just lose Nanami. You lost a potential future of longer city walks, Christmas dinners, and more nonsense-bred conversations. His relatives probably don’t know what has happened. You may have felt unimportant in the midst of his complex and action-filled life, but this circumstance would force you to introduce yourself to his family in the worst way. You aren’t merely an ex-coworker. You are his dependable companion and friend during an emergency. Those emergencies may be mundane compared to the danger he faced daily, but he still trusted you to follow through.

How would you introduce him to your mother? If he was also merely the ex-coworker her daughter hangs out with. Can she understand this profound grief?

You hang around the note app, noticing one more titled, “For her.”

There is no one else more deserving of delighting in this day than you. You tell me you do not care much for today, which I understand the reasons, but I am grateful for another year of you. Every time you feel like abandoning it all because you’re so tired I want you to remember your birthday. Yes, a reminder of the gift of time. When it all becomes too exhausting for you, there is my door. Waiting for its only other owner to arrive when she’s ready.

We are becoming so much more. I sometimes wonder if I carry this desire of wanting to become more with you, a bit more than you. With the gift of time, I will try to express my feelings better.

You bring ease to those of us around you. You are lovelier and more perfect than tranquil seas. A calming force which the drifting autumn leaves cannot try to compete with.

I love you. Wholeheartedly.

You hug at the blazer on your lap. Staining it with tears. Picking up your cellphone to walk to your bedroom balcony, opening the camera app, you hope. As you take an image of the rosy horizon, you hope. You hope that these memories won’t become such a painful occurrence in the future. With every passing day, signs of a day turning into evening would make it difficult for you to forget him.

The end! I'm sorry like really sorry. I wanted to see a realistic story depicting the aftermath of his death but I couldn’t find any. So I wrote it??

I have a happy story in mind if anyone is up to read it<3

Taglist for the sweethearts who were looking forward to to this: @akstormm @rain-moto @salimahbicharara-comun 💕

[thirstnotes]

| Rivals To Lovers - Clark Kent - Part Twelve - Clark Kent, Superman|

Pairings: Clark Kent x AFABBlackCurvyReader

Warnings: abduction, Red Hood, mild confusion, language, minors DNI, violence, Dark Clark, Murderous Clark, manipulation, Jason being angsty

I'm so sorry this took so long, ya'll. Life is happening and I was at a loss for what to write at the same time. I'm very sorry to ya'll that are in love with this. I haven't forgot about you, I promise! Thanks for all the likes and love and reposts!

If you don't like it, don't read it.

No one could've predicted that Clark would actually have gone through with it. Not even he himself. But there he was, standing in a room full of men he never even bothered to even speak to, blood splattered across his chest from their attempt to destroy him.

The Gatling gun was a solid touch too.

Arguably this could've been spun as a case of self defense by any of Bruce's army of lawyers. They'd defended way worse. But really, there was real no reason to involve them, seeing how no one was left alive and no one was going to report lack of harassment from the local assholes. So it was win/win.

Bruce's dirty work was done. By someone willing to kill.

More specifically willing to kill for you, but semantics.

He picked up what Bruce asked for, looked at his phone and started typing.

Done.

It wasn't long before he got a response.

That was quick.

They weren't too bright.

They never are. Anyway, assuming you're headed to her apartment, I think it's wise to let you know that Y/N isn't there at the moment.

Clark stopped mid-flight.

Bruce's phone began ringing. Bruce exhaled.

"Where is she, Bruce?"

"She's at a high-rise on my side of town. A colleague of mine is entertaining her."

He neglected to tell him that Jason had her with him. Given Jason's record, Clark was likely to panic even more. Granted, telling him it was a colleague of his probably didn't ease his thoughts. It was quiet for a moment on his end before the phone hung up.

Shit.

He was angry. Angry and homicidal. He had to get to Jason first.

Which was going to be a challenge since Clark was now heading in that direction.

Broken shards of his phone rained into the river he flew over as he sped towards Gotham. He had no idea what Bruce had planned, but he was furious. Why did he feel the need to have you taken from your apartment when he'd already decided to do what Bruce had asked? He was doing far too much.

Had he not have crushed his phone he could've asked about why you were taken

Maybe Bruce didn't know about it

Then again, Bruce usually knew about everything.

So he didn't want to hear it.

He'd had enough of Bruce's bullshit.

As had you.

You eyed the masked man sitting across from you. He seemed very amused by your anger towards him. At that point, you hadn't said anything more to each other after his talk with Bruce, but he seemed pretty content about it. He was pretty well armored, so hitting him with anything in the room was probably useless. That and his reflexes were probably on point if he worked with Batman, so you knew it was useless to try.

In the first place, if he worked with Batman, he must have been a "good guy", so it was strange that he had decided to kidnap you. But you didn't know the motivations or morals of superheroes. In the back of your mind, you reminded yourself about Clark and his intent to "steal" Lois from what'shisface.

Y'all know his name

Anyway, it reminded you that Clark was just as human-like as the rest of you, despite his alien origins. He often hinted that Bruce was dangerous, but maybe your bae was dangerous too.

No, he was definitely dangerous

The thought of it excited you more than you wanted to admit. A powerful, deity-like being choosing you to be his everything didn't sound like a bad deal, but you had never really considered the baggage that came with it. It was also terrifying.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he interrupted in a tone that suggested he was definitely smirking. Your eyes rolled to him, but rolled back to the window that you half expected Clark to crash through any moment.

"Just thinking. What are you getting out of all this? Why abduct me for Bruce when you know 'Golden Boy' is probably gonna kill you for it?"

"So you acknowledge you're important to him. Interesting," he said in the same tone which made you want to smack him.

"You wouldn't have taken me if you knew I wasn't, so cut the shit. What's this whole thing about?" you demanded in a less edgy tone, as you did when you conducted your interviews.

"If I haven't made it abundantly clear, it's about you and Bruce. Like I said, you've been driving him to distraction. So much that his focus has been on Metropolis lately. Which isn't a problem, unless you're Gotham's protector. Whether you know it or not, you're a liability for us unless..."

"I'm here," you said, completing his thought. You couldn't believe this stupid ass plan. Was he seriously planning to make you choose between Clark and Bruce? The whole thing felt incredibly pre-school and immature, but this dude seemed as impulsive as they came. Especially since he was risking life and limb to convince you to choose his favorite.

He seemed content to your understanding of his goal in this, but you were still unsettled as to why he was so calm about a potentially murderous Superman heading there to destroy him and probably everything he loved. Something didn't sit right.

You continued to mull over the thought until your eyes caught a familiar form in the distant sky. Clark. He hadn't seen you yet, but you guessed that all you had to do was say anything aloud and he'd hear you.

"You have something up your sleeve."

It was mostly to catch Clark's attention but it was a genuine theory that you were curious about. He didn't respond, instead looking at his phone. Clark hadn't budged either, but from the looks of things, he hadn't heard you.

"So now you don't have a smartass retort?" you provoked a bit louder, trying to catch his attention. You had no idea the range Clark could hear at, but apparently it wasn't as far as you thought.

"I mean, I could mention how your ploy to catch his attention isn't working, but I think you might be figuring that part out already," he said, still looking at his phone.

You're eyes flickered between him and the window. True enough, Clark hadn't budged, but you were realizing it wasn't because you were out of range.

"I'm broadcasting a high pitched frequency from several places that only he can hear. It doesn't do much, but it makes it a bitch to try and find you by listening for your voice. But seeing how he does that whole x-ray bullshit, I'd say we have a few minutes longer to hang out."

Your eyes floated to the phone in his hand, which was in a heavy, most likely shatterproof, case. He put it back into his arm plate, which closed it off from your access, so there was no point in trying for that either. Your blood boiled.

No. There was no use in losing your temper.

That'd only give him more of the upper hand. He expected that of you

You damn sure weren't in the habit of giving assholes what they wanted

You took a deep breath, straightening the skirt of your dress as you sat back in your seat. "Say I do choose Bruce. What's to say I don't change my mind?"

He was hesitant at your sudden cooperative shift. "Not my business. I'm only here to set the stage for you to choose. Bruce is a big boy. If you say enough, he'll back off."

You raised a brow. "If he's such a 'big boy', why'd you do all this instead of letting him approach me instead?"

Sensing you were levelling with him, he plopped down across from you again. "Bruce drags his ass. Especially when it comes to women. Sometimes drastic measures have to be taken to force his hand. To be honest, Bruce is the only choice here. Either you choose him, or I put an end to all this right now."

You didn't like the sound of "put an end to all this"

Not because of the grammatical phrasing either

His tone implied he had plans to keep you from "distracting" Bruce ever again

Was it really that deep???

Your eyes rolled to the side. "With friends like you-"

"Shit gets done," he finished, subtle laugh slipping from behind his mask.

As if on cue, the wall behind him violently seemed to be blown to pieces. The pictures and lamps fell with a helpless crash while you ducked as best you could on the sofa, covering your head for added protection. You were vaguely aware of your captor hovering a bit closer, shielding your unarmored body from any debris--not something a person bent on unaliving you might be concerned with--but your eyes were mostly focused on the figure walking through the hole in the penthouse.

"Clark," you breathed, a relieved feeling rushing over you. However, the Clark you knew wasn't there. This was Superman. A very pissed off Superman. His cold gaze swept over the armored man in front of you.

"Get away from her," he demanded, his tone sharper and colder than you'd ever heard from him. You've heard him be sarcastic, even a little cold and vindictive. But this. This was deadly.

"Easy, Flyboy. I haven't laid a single finger on her," Jason smirked.

He didn't respond. Instead, using his lightning speed, his powerful grip was around the man's throat, lifting him from the floor. You watched, polarized by the sight, unsure if he was bluffing or really about to snap his neck.

Sure, he'd abducted you and put you there and part of you was thinking he got what he deserved

But you didn't really want to see him die for it

Though, something wasn't right. Clark stumbled and his grip weakened around his throat until he'd dropped him altogether.

"Clark?!" you gasped, rushing to his side as the Red Hood corrected himself and caught his breath.

"See now that....That's why I prepared this little contingency," he said, one of the compartments in his wrist gauntlet overturned and revealing a glowing green stone in it. Kryptonite.

You'd heard and written about it's effects before, but it was the first time you'd seen it first hand. It looked radioactive almost. It was a sickening green, but you weren't the one feeling its effects. It was Clark.

His breathing was steady, but he looked drained, his forearms shaking from exposure to even that small bit. The chamber rotated shut again and Clark looked to breathe normally.

"You okay?"

He flashed you a soft, but brief smirk. "Are you okay?"

"A little rattled, but nothing I can't handle," you joked smoothly, not wanting the masked asshole to think he'd gotten the best of you.

Jason straightened himself and plopped on the sofa across from the both of you again.

"Now. Since I have your attention-"

"Jason," Bruce's voice called from across the room with every authority of a father. Jason didn't seem deterred a bit. In fact, he relaxed further into his chair.

"Bout time you got here."

"What you're doing isn't necessary," Bruce said evenly. Not unlike someone talking someone from a ledge.

You got the sense that you were a subject that was talked about before, though you didn't really know the context.

This time, he took his mask off, his eyes fiercely aimed at Bruce. He tossed a bitter chuckle at him.

"It's not necessary? Funny, for a while there, I thought this little tryst was all you seemed to fuckin' care about. You couldn't even come to see her when she called you."

You looked between them. Was he referring to Selena Kyle? Whoever that was.

Bruce exhaled. "I was busy-"

"Right. We're all supposed to understand how you piss off to play playboy while she's fighting for her life right now-"

You jumped when he screeched suddenly, his body stiffening as a jolt of electricity hit him. As he collapsed, a smaller, curvier form stood just behind him, taser in hand. Catwoman.

"Tantrum's over, Junior," she said, stepping over his body and meeting Bruce across the room.

"I might've known you'd keep your eye on him," Bruce said, eyeing her with an eerily similar look he was giving you in the park.

Your reporter senses were tingling, sensing the obvious history the two of them had.

The soap opera had taken a sudden left turn

At this point you didn't care anymore

You had a headache

(was Jason okay, or...?)

(he's breathing. it's fine.)

"So I take it the dress-" Bruce said, his eyes flickering over to you. You suddenly felt self conscious and exposed being brought back into the conversation.

"His idea, my execution. I mean. I couldn't very well let him undress an unconscious woman like a creep," she said.

You found yourself liking Catwoman quite a bit

Of course, you wondered why she'd help him if she knew what he was doing was wrong in the first place

But, truly like a cat, she had her own logic and reasons

Still, you were relieved that Jason hadn't seen all your business while you were out cold

"After I heard he was speeding off towards Metropolis, I couldn't bring myself to let him make a dumbass of himself. Call it a favor for my favorite Bat," she winked, though he looked less than amused to be owing her anything. She tapped the tip of his nose before exiting through the generous hole in the room made by Clark.

Then it was quiet. You helped Clark to his feet, though he seemed to be regaining his strength fairly quickly after the stone was securely back inside Jason's armor.

"You must think the worst of me," Bruce said, running a hand through his hair.

"I never really though much of you to begin with, but I'm sure you have an explanation," Clark said, still sounding thoroughly pissed.

Though not homicidal, so that was something

Bruce seemed to be wrestling with idea of telling you everything, but given the situation, it couldn't be helped. Jason had forced his hand.

"Strange's goons poisoned Barbara with a synthetic drug."

"I'm guessing that's why you needed this," Clark said, handing Bruce a vial.

Bruce took it, immediately scanning it with his watch. "The compounds in the poison is the only way to create an antidote. She left a tracker with one of them as they fled the scene and it pinpointed them being in the outskirts of Metropolis. Going in alone might've meant suicide, or worse, them smashing the vial. I needed to send someone they weren't expecting."

Your eyes drifted to Clark, who looked to have simmered down considerably. He was definitely not someone you'd expect. Your eyes swept down his solid form in his blood-stained spandex- Wait...

Did he kill for that vial?

When you'd imagined Superman, you always pictured a dude that always knocked out bad guys and sent them to jail, not to the cemetery

"What did you do?" you asked quietly, turning towards him. He didn't look at you immediately, instead taking a deep breath.

“When I saw you two on the street, I knew it was the perfect way to get him to do what I needed,” Bruce spoke up, sounding oddly like he was trying to defend him.

Clark’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Bruce didn’t say anything more, surrendering the situation to him.

Clark turned to you, his eyes softening considerably.

You knew what he wanted to say. What he was ashamed to admit. But you were done.

“Take me home," you said before he could even find the words to offer.

He quietly lifted you in his arms and effortlessly sailed from the window, leaving Bruce and Jason behind.

(Part 11)

[sanjoongie]

Release

✯Pairing: Kang Yeosang x Reader (f) ✯Au: E-sports Au, professional gamer au, mile high club au ✯Trope: established relationship ✯Rating: 18+ MDNI, smut ✯Word Count: 856 ✯Warnings: jealous sex, penetrative sex with no barrier, consensual free use, manhandling, public sex, creampie, aftercare ✯Summary: You piss Yeosang off on the way to a competition and he fucks you miles high in the sky ✯Dedication: @anyamaris the need to write this was high and so here it is for you, darling. thanks to @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland the unholy trinity beta team 💞

“Sang--” Yeosang’s palm muffled your moans, the other hand busy with pinning your hands above your head. His eyes shot back down to where his cock was mercilessly fucking your cunt. “I don’t wanna hear it,” He said gruffly.

Still, your noises of utter pleasure bubbled from behind his hand, unable to keep quiet for even a second while he was fucking you good and hard and rough. 

How did you get in this scenario? Well, Yeosang was an Esports player, a very famous one, in fact. Tomorrow was a big competition for him and you were accompanying him for ‘moral support’ and ‘strategy guide’, read: Yeosang needed an outlet for his stress. 

So he decided to be a nice boyfriend and go get you two coffees before the long flight. You, however, decided to watch his competition. There was a streamer who played mid too, one who you personally enjoyed watching, if you were being honest. So you settled in, planning on studying the streamer’s strategies and typical moves to help Yeosang. It was apart of your job, before you let him fuck your mouth one practise night while training with his team. 

Yeosang wasn’t in the mood to entertain you watching another esports player. In fact, he was absolutely livid when he came back with your order and his, seeing you watching his competition. You didn’t help matters when you teasingly said, “You could never be him, darling… he’s a legend.”

“Sir…the jet’s ready,” A flight attendant intervened at just the right moment.

Yeosang, with your upper arm in a firm group, escorted you to the jet, lips tight with suppressed anger. He didn’t say a word as you walked the asphalt. He didn’t look your way as you two settled into the plush seats. The staff talked to you more before everyone were tucked away into their spots and it was just you and yeosang in the cabin and the plane miles high in the sky.

It took you a moment to realize what was going on when Yeosang unbuckled you and turned your chair towards the walkway. Once he pushed down his sweats, nursing a pretty thick boner, it clued into you that Yeosang was angry but Yeosang was horny.

“I’ll show you who’s a fucking legend--” Yeosang cursed, angrily yanking your leggings down your legs.

“Yeo-Yeosang!” You stuttered, unprepared for your boyfriend to strip you right then and there.

Yeosang shook his head angrily, causing his hair to get in his eyes, only fueling the rage. He pushed your thighs so that you were bent over, leggings and underwear still trapped on your legs. “Better mid than me my ass,” He continued to grumble.

It dawned on you that Yeosang had moved to a head space of simply overpowering you and taking his fucking anger out on you. Which you had already given him the go ahead if he ever needed it. With a quick glance towards the thin doors that separated the cabin from the staff, you moaned as Yeosang sucked on his thumb and harshly began to strum your clit. 

You licked your lips but could find no moisture in your mouth. Apparently it had gone all to your lower lips because Yeosang was grinning angrily when thumb plunged into your eager, wet hole. “Sometimes I think you say that shit to piss me off,” He grunted, pulling his thumb out after making your groan loudly when he touched your g-spot.

“No spindly armed, lazy mid player is gonna replace ME,” Yeosang muttered to himself as he pulled his cock through the slit of his boxer-briefs. 

You whined as he lined himself up with your cunt and pushed forward. He used short, powerful thrusts to open you up, making you squirm with yearning. He slapped your ass, making you squeak. “Stop it, and take my cock,” He commanded.

You watched with bated breath as Yeosang’s face stayed stormy and his thrusts grew choppy as he fucked his tension and frustration and anger into you. You took it all, happy to have inadvertently pushed this on yourself. 

Which brings us back to where you were now: your hands pinned above your head and Yeosang’s hand over your mouth. You knew, by the glossy-eyed look, that Yeosang was searching for his own release and not looking to take care of your own, but his powerful thrusts were sending you over the edge nonetheless. With your pussy clenching down on his length, Yeosang came with an angry grunt, full-tilt deep in you, back arched and head cast back. 

“Fuck, I needed that,” Yeosang sighed, pulling his hat off and pushing a hand through his hair.

When he pulled out, you whimpered as your legs were lowered and you could feel his cum seeping out of your still-fluttering hole. He scrunched up his nose. “I’ll get you some wet wipes.”

You were pretty sure you were about to become a puddle on the floor, let alone be able to walk off this jet, but you had no regrets. Especially when Yeosang came back with a cute awe-shucks grin and some water. Totally worth it.

[prttylilbunny]

NEW STUDENT PT.2

--------------------------------------------------

part one

plot: the big school field trip is finally here and you hazel share a room

warnings: none, not proofread but I don't think I made any errors:)

word count: 0.9k

notes:thank you fruity ppl for the attention on pt.1🌚this is again boring so:3 anyways this if the last chapter y'all but I'm write smth else soon!! anyways I hope you enjoy this lame follow up🔥🙏🏼

--------------------------------------------------

for every senior class there was a special school trip, this year your school saved up money for it instead of taking you guys to a cheap motel an hour away like they've done the other years.

this year you guys are going to Venice. I mean sure you're staying at a hotel with no heater or locking doors but it's better than what they did last year. the flight was an excruciating 12 hours of students screaming, singing and trying to keep each other entertained, but when you got there it was sorta worth it...

when you got to your hotel everyone rushed out of the bus making your bag fall into a puddle of water, already off to a great start. inside it was very fancy looking...but also old looking, the walls were cracking and it smelled like a creepy old neighbor. the guides explained how the rooms would work, they were dividing it in boys and girls with each room having a king sized bed.

"okay so everyone is going in twos so partner up!" the teacher explained, everyone quickly chose their partner, you looked around and saw hazel alone, the only time you guys talked was her first day of school, sure you guys did exchange numbers but no one actually texted first. walking up to hazel you were building up the confidence to ask her to partner up, you tapped her shoulder and she turned around looking you in the eyes before dropping her gaze down to the ground.

"hey do you wanna stay in a room with me?" she looked up at you and nodded with a smile, you both went to your room and settled down, there was a knock at the door before the teacher peeked in telling you guys everyone was going out to dinner in an hour, after accepting the invite the door closed leaving you guys alone once again, "so are you going hazel?" you questioned hoping you had an excuse to sit by her and talk more.

"i don't know, I mean are you going?" she asked her voice cracking mid sentence, "yeah I am, if you don't wanna go that's fine I'll just tell the teacher tha-" you were quickly cut off by hazel, "if you're going I'm going so uhm..." you swear you could see her blush just a bit. after a good twenty minutes of getting ready, it was time to go, you and hazel walked out and met everyone else down stairs.

the restaurant was again fancy but old, is everything here fancy and old? you all sat down at your assigned seats, you obviously next to hazel, the waiter came by and you ordered something simple nothing too expensive. as people started talking and things got a little louder you thought it would be a great time to actually have a full conversation with hazel.

you turned to hazel and spoke,"how are you hazel? you know you never texted me" she turned to face you and got eyes slightly widened at what she would call your boldness, "oh sorry I forgot I guess...but uhm I'm good, how are you" hazel let out a breath she didn't even know she held in, you were shoked at her full not very awkward phrase.

"well I'm pretty good, life is pretty boring but I think this trip is gonna be fun" you smiled at an attempt to add some positivity to the conversation, so it's not just awkward lesbians trying to talk. "oh yeah they have some cool art museums here you know? I think we're going to some while we're here" you were not surprised by hazel's interest in art, you chuckled at hazel's enthusiasm about museums.

"well maybe you could tell me more about your interest mh? you thought letting her rant about things she likes would keep the conversation going and well it did! for the rest of the dinner she talked about her skills and other cool things about herself, you learned she can build a very "small" bomb and knew taekwondo, who knew she was so interesting?. when you got back to the hotel somehow it was already 10pm, you both got ready for bed and got into your guys shared bed.

you kept thinking about wanting to do something, like maybe kiss her? or maybe just share your feelings with her? you didn't know what exactly but you just had to do something, "hey haze?" you thought maybe using a silly nickname would maybe show her you've loosened up, she looked away from her phone and looked straight into your eyes, suddenly you wanted to back out but you couldn't, I mean what were you gonna tell her If not that you like her.

you put your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them, "I think I like you" you quietly blurred out, her eyes widened before relaxing them, "oh well...I think I like you too" she couldn't contain the smile on her face and she felt her face get hot, you smiled back at her and moved closer to her, "can I kiss you" you said so quietly it was almost not even a whisper.

she moved closer to you and gently put her hands on the sides of your face, "yes, please" she whispered back, you leaned in and finally connected her lips to yours, her lips were soft and warm against yours, after a few more seconds of a sweet kiss she pulled away, you couldn't help but giggle a bit and smile, "does this mean we're like girlfriends now?" she asked you, you thought about it for a moment before responding, "yeah it does".

[mommahughes19-23]

long distance - J.S

@swayman.mrs : my #1 reason to get on a last min flight @ 4 am

tagged : @jswayman1

location : swaytown

jdebrusk : finally youre back

jake30ottinger : too bad we crushed them , sorry u had to see that 🥶😬

jakub_lauko : we get it ur a WAG welcome to the club girlyy

hampuslindholm27 : oooooooooooooo are you here to stay ??

↪ swayman.mrs : no , sadly I am leaving again , dont fret ill be back my good sir

tfreddy42 : how do you consider jeans "comfortable" flight attire at 4 am?!?!

↪ swayman.mrs : bc unlike u I prefer to look presentable at any hour

↪ tfreddy42 : idk about that mrs covers face in every pic ever

↪ swayman.mrs : I WILL GET J ON YOU SO FAST

↪ jswayman1 : uhm lets be nice in the comments kids

matt.grzelcyk : those are my 2 best friends ever omgomgomg

lullmark : uncle and auntie sway gracing us

africkk : the wife section is so much more entertaining with your stories Maddie !

↪ jswayman1 : uhm... what stories???

jswayman1 : my #1 reason to cry mid game - thanks for surprising me baby girl! 💖💖💖

amandacorvenius : so nice to finally meet you , considering youre alllllllll Jeremy talks about!

moaullmark : finally the kids can stop asking when youre going to be in town! come visit us !!!!!!!! @swayman.mrs 😜😜😜❤️❤️

emmageekie : beautiful girl!!💝

ezzybow : 💖💖💖💖

miavoyatzis : still so happy to have met you! hope we see more of you!

spoonzz79 : 😘

morgangeekie : 🤯

A.N :

this probably sucks bc I only wrote this as a some what request. I typically dont have any positive feelings for the bruins unless it is Jeremy Swayman & Linus Ullmark sorry. I am not familiar with any bruins players so idk if this is how interactions would be but I hope its kinda ok .

I like this idea so I might use it for other players too

xoxoxoxoxoxo, M

tags : @quinnylouhughesx43 @noahkahansorangejuice @skylershines

[joleneghoul]

Booster Gold! ...but a middle aged father of two.

I mentioned back when I made my Macromia Who's Who inspired page that I wanted to do other Time Masters (that exists in my mind) character sheets too so here is this man.

Text from picture under cut In case it's hard to read

Personal Data

Name: Booster Carter-Kord (He/She/They) Alias: Booster Gold Height: 6’5  Eyes: Brown  Hair: Blonde/White Marital Status: Married Occupation: Superhero, Public Personality, Secret Time Master. Base of Operations: Vanishing Point, Metropolis, New York Home origin:  25th Century Texas

Powers/Abilities  Legion Flight Ring, Power Suit with time travel modifications, Gauntlets (Booster Shots). Super Nova costume: Temporal Displacement

History Once a star quarterback fallen from grace, now a star studded superhero. His hair may be going white and there may be wrinkles at the corners of his eyes (that he swears aren't there) but Booster Gold is still (some of) the public's sweetheart. Through the years he has worked to establish a name for himself, a brand. Modeling, talk shows, advertisements, secretly saving the world— he's done it all. 

During the first few decades of his time in the 20th century Booster found his place in the Justice League International. There he met Ted Kord, the second man to hold the title of Blue Beetle. From the 80s to the mid 90s the two were a nearly inseparable heroic duo, and when they were apart they always found a way back to each other. Their partnership became romantic through the years.  Though, with the combination of Doomsday nearly throwing Beetle out of the game and The Overmaster cutting Booster’s arm off, their lives drastically changed. By 1996 The Blue and Gold was just The Gold…in a hero sense.

The days of Blue and Gold's brand of superhero adventures may be over but that doesn't mean the dynamic duo aren't still taking the world by storm. Booster continued his life as the hero Booster Gold and Ted shifted focus to building the brand of Lightspeed Entertainment- A videogame company founded by the two of them. Together they rebuilt and shaped their public image into a story of success.

Though none of that is as important to Booster nowadays than his family. Michelle Carter, his sister, found her way back out of being trapped in time leading to Booster spending his free time converging with The Time masters and butting heads with The Linear men. During a temporal mission to Daxam, he ended up saving and adopting a newly orphaned girl named Rani. With this Booster and his husband Ted shifted their focus to being fathers. Following the Birth and attempted temporal assassination of his second child, Ripley Carter-Kord, Booster created The Vanishing Point island that became the family’s home. Creating a life lived officially inside and out of time itself. 

[explodingchantry]

hi sorry to come into your inbox for this but i just need. to gripe. every new bit of info we get about the new DA game is making me more and more preemptively tired lol. mostly the way it's looking like eeevery bit of lore that's been revealed has something to do with such and such book. or this comic over here. or this podcast from two years ago. or THIS podcast that is happening now that's a ~discord exclusive~. or this youtube series. or this random VA talk show. etc etc ad nauseam. i am so tired of videogames coming with HOMEWORK you're expected to do just to know what's going on

Please never apologise for sending messages!!

I think its honestly REALLY funny how bioware just doesn't know what it wants. On one hand they say that the new game is fine for newcomers, the way they did for dai, and use this as an excuse for how dumbed down some of the writing is - but then in the other hand the majority of the characters and plot beats have origins hidden behind pay walls.

It was already bad enough when, to understand each game properly you had to have paid for the previous one's dlc (want to know anders' past as a warden? Buy awakening! Want to know wtf is up with Morrigan and the eluvians? Buy witch hunt! Want to know who tf corypheus is and what hawke and varric even have to do with him? Buy legacy! Want to understand ANYTHING about veilguard? Play the descent AND trespasser, our epilogue that we hid behind a paywall!!!!!) and you know at least the dlcs were pretty good on their own so I could forgive it a little bit.

But there's so much extra media now omg I haven't touched a single one of the comics because I'm not rly into American comics, I've read almost all the books and some of them are genuinely fucking mid. And at least back in the day the books were more... Bonuses? You DONT need to read the stolen throne to understand anything on the games, but it's INTERESTING. it explores characters you mightve been curious about. I love that ! Or the last flight is really interesting, just, to see how the 4th blight was beaten, to get to know those legendary heroes, and know why griffons went extinct. A bit annoying because you do need to read it to also understand how the hell they're coming back - but it still feels a bit more like a bonus than a necessity.

But then we have asunder, which also in general just kinda sucks as a book, that is really really needed to understand the mage rebellion, Fiona, Cole, and the cure for tranquility. The characters will explain a lot of those things to you in game, but it leaves you with the certain feeling that you're missing something. It's a huge advertisement for asunder.

Similarly wicked eyes and wicked hearts is hollow if you haven't read the masked empire which is also my least favorite book because it's so damn fucking boring I literally never managed to finish it, but it's mostly because I hate Trick Weekes' writing lmfao. Gaider was wildly misogynistic but my god at least he was entertaining as a writer whenever he didn't butcher female characters.

That's two major plot beats in inquisition that require reading one of the books. And ofc it's major villain and another major plot beat that require having played the previous game's dlc to properly understand.

And since then we've had so much more. I don't know. It's just complicated because I *like* book characters showing up and the books having importance in the sense that, I like reading and I'm a lore nerd lol. But I think there's a lot of frustration to be had as to the sheer quantity of extra media you need to consume if you want to be invested in the story. Because you could say "well just don't buy them then" but I LIKE dragon age, it's story, and plot, but omg some of the books and comics are also so hard to find and so EXPENSIVE. I think tevinter nights costs like 20£ if you want it on paperback rather than Kindle, and don't get me started on the dozens of comics.

At least the podcasts and discord only content isn't nearly as offensive, imo, because they're free. But also there's another issue with all of this extra content - it's that it doesn't get fucking translated. Not often, anyway. Not in as many languages as the games do. That means there are many, many many many players and fans who are just not allowed to learn more about their favorite game series because they don't speak English, because theyre not rich enough to buy 10 books and 20 comics. It feels a bit wrong

[trashyswitch]

Two Idiots and a Plumber

SMG3 is watching TV when he comes across an old, but now-iconic show: The Super Mario Bros. Super Show. There, SMG3 learns something crazy about Mario that he didn't know! And now he HAS to try it out!

SMG3 is back! Cause I'm a sucker for the guy...Let's be honest... I hope you all enjoy!

SMG3 was sitting at the TV, bored as all hell. He was flipping through the channels, trying to find something half decent to watch. He wasn’t desperate for anything on the TV…he just wanted something slightly entertaining to make the time pass by a little quicker. 

Wheel of Fortune…boring…

Big Bang Theory…not in the mood…

Grey’s Anatomy…Kinda stupid…

Spongebob…Nah, not today…

No, no. 

South Park? Nah…

Boring, Stupid- Wait, was that Mario? 

SMG3 went back a couple channels, and found a rerun of the Super Mario Bros. Super Show. SMG3 raised his eyebrow as he saw what looked to be a baby version of Peach, being babysat by Mario, Luigi and Toad. SMG3 decided to keep this on for a bit, wanting to see where this episode goes. It’s actually kinda funny seeing the low-quality show being played on live TV. 

SMG3 widened his eyes as he watched Mario make a hang glider out of sticks and a leaf. He watches as ‘Sky Mario’ saves baby Peach from the dangling branch, and carries her in the hang glider. But while they’re gliding, SMG3 raises his eyebrows and drops his jaw as baby Peach starts tickling Mario mid-flight! 

Wait, Mario’s ticklish?! 

SMG3 tilted his head. Not just ticklish too…Apparently he’s ticklish enough that he lets go of the glider and falls into…A bunch of mud?! It’s enough to make SMG3 smile with laughter. It was a silly little clip on its own, and presented him a whole other side to the strict, slightly violent Peach he knew today. As it turns out…Peach was a little shit as a baby! 

SMG3 opened up his phone, and texted his brother. 

[Hey. Watching Super Mario Super Show. Didn’t realize Peach had such a silly streak. And Mario’s ticklish?! Who would’ve thought] 

SMG3 watched as the three typing dots turned into a message. 

[2 Plumbers and a Baby?] 

SMG3 checked the guide and replied. 

[Yup.] 

SMG3 looked at the phone as a message showed up. 

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UkaGw8sGyeU] 

SMG3 raised an eyebrow, and clicked the link. It took him to a youtube video of the same episode he was watching! SMG3 chuckled and replied to the message. 

[Yup. That’s it. So it’s true then? Mario’s ticklish?] He replied. 

SMG3’s anticipation turned to excitement almost immediately the moment he saw SMG4’s answer. 

[Yes…Mario is ticklish. Why?] 

SMG3 threw his phone into his pocket and sprinted right out of the room. He ran out of his cafe, and straight to SMG4’s castle. He HAD to find Mario and try this out. If this clip is true…then SMG3 MIGHT FINALLY HAVE A NEW REVENGE TACTIC! 

Yes, making Mario scream will always be a whole other level of entertainment. And yes, tickling is a more childish option…But, come on! Maybe SMG3’s getting bored of hearing Mario’s painful screams. Maybe he’s looking for a new involuntary response from him…Or maybe the curiosity is just killing him…

Whatever, doesn’t matter! Because it didn’t take long for SMG3 to find Mario screwing around on SMG4’s computer. 

“Mario!” SMG3 yelled, sprinting into the room. 

“WAH!” Mario screeched and turned around. “SMG3?” He said in a multitude of clips merged into one. 

SMG3 took one glance at the computer screen and sighed. Predictably, Mario was looking at pictures of spaghetti again…

Whatever. Not important. “Okay. Do you remember the Super Show?” SMG3 asked him. 

Mario hummed and thought for a moment. Slowly, several clips from the show began to fill his mind. He looked back at SMG3. “Yeah! I quote that show all the time!” He proceeded to raddle on about the quote Mario had told Luigi about where babies come from. 

SMG3 widened his eyes. “...Huh. Right, I guess that makes sense.” SMG3 muttered. He quickly shook his head. “Anyway, I may or may not have watched a rerun on TV.” SMG3 told him in a slightly teasy tone. 

Mario went starry-eyed. “Oh boy! You can still watch it?! Which-a episode?!” Mario asked. 

SMG3 giggled a little and crossed his arms. “Two Plumbers and a Baby. The one where Peach gets turned into a baby, for some reason?” SMG3 asked. 

Mario thought for a moment. “Hmmmm…” He narrowed his eyes as he struggled to remember that story. “Oh! Right! Peach was-a thrown into the fountain of youth, and became a baby.” a slight blush appeared on his face. “Mario had to-a babysit…” He admitted. 

SMG3 smirked and pulled out his phone. “Out of the whole episode…” He started the youtube video and handed Mario the phone. “-This part stuck out to me.” 

Mario watched the moment with pure happiness. “Ah, yes! Mario had to save her!” He told him. “waAH!” Mario’s eyes widened with horror the moment he saw it…

The part where Mario was being tickled by baby Peach while flying a homemade hang glider…

Mario slowly blinked. “Hehehehe…” He giggled awkwardly. “Right…” 

SMG3 smirked. “I didn’t realize Peach was so mischievous as a kid.” SMG3 reacted. 

Mario scratched the back of his head. “Gliding with-a baby Peach was a big mistake.” Mario told him. 

SMG3 let out his villainous giggle. “Yeah, I can tell.” SMG3 walked up to take his phone back. But the purple man just couldn’t resist the urge to poke Mario’s ribs a couple times. 

“eeEEK! Hey!” Mario reacted, his face morphing into shock and annoyance. “No!” 

SMG3 chuckled. “Are you really that ticklish?” SMG3 asked, before poking Mario’s ribs a few more times. “To the point of nearly falling to your death?!” He asked next. 

Mario kept squeaking and jumping, struggling to cover up his sides. “Noooo!” Mario yelled before trying to slap his hand away. 

SMG3 paused and took a moment to study the video again. “According to the video…” SMG3 muttered out loud. “You seem to be ticklish on your neck and armpits?” SMG3 asked out loud. SMG3 widened his eyes as a gloved hand stole his phone away. “HEY!” 

“Stop-a watching it!” Mario ordered. 

“Give me back my phone!” SMG3 ordered back. 

“No!” Mario shot back. “You’re not my Dad!” Mario’s voice changed to match the meme he was referencing. “Anyway, why do you care so much?! It’s just a stupid TV show.” Mario reacted. 

SMG3 raised an eyebrow. “I think the real question is; Why do YOU care so much?! Was the show correct?” SMG3 asked him. 

Mario widened his eyes as he felt the blush on his face deepening. “Uh…” 

SMG3 sighed and put out his hand. “We can stop talking about it if you give me my phone back.” He compromised. 

Mario narrowed his eyes at him and hummed with hesitation. But not even a second later, Mario smiled and closed his eyes. “Okay!” He gave SMG3 his phone back. 

“Thanks.” SMG3 put it into his pocket. “Now where was I?” SMG3 suddenly slid up to Mario and wrapped his arm around his middle. Knowing that the video was now true, SMG3 went straight for his neck first. 

Mario guffawed and immediately tried to move his fingers away. “NO! Hahaha! Leave me alone! Hehehe- Stop it!” Mario’s voice kept changing to references as he struggled within his grasp. 

“Jesus, you’re stronger than you look.” SMG3 reacted. “I might have to get Eggdog in here to hold you down.” 

“You bastard!” Mario attempted to kick SMG3 off him, but to no avail. 

“Jesus!” He somehow managed to catch Mario’s ankle. “Keep kicking me, and I’ll go for your foot.” 

Mario widened his eyes at SMG3. “....Piss.” He muttered, imitating yet another meme. 

SMG3 smirked and pulled on his ankle, bringing Mario slightly closer to him. With Mario closer, SMG3 sat on his big waist and wiggled his fingers at him. “Now you’re mine~” SMG3 teased. 

Mario guffawed. “HA! GAAAYYY!” He shouted. 

SMG3 rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself.” He grasped and raised Mario’s left arm above his head. 

“NO WAIT WAIT WAIT-!” Mario shouted before guffawing. “BAHAHAHAHA!” Mario busted out cackling the moment Three’s fingers even touched his armpit. Mario squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head rather helplessly. “LET ME GOHOHOHO!” He shouted. 

“Nah, I’d rather not- BaHA!” SMG3 jumped and let go, hugging himself and throwing his head back with cackles. “STAHAHAP WHOHO IHIS THAHAHAT?!” SMG3 asked. 

“Oh, I think you know EXACTLY who this is.” A familiar voice replied rather proudly. 

“SMG4!” Mario reacted with a big smile. 

“You really thought you could ask me if Mario’s ticklish without explaining why?!” SMG4 asked as he dug his fingers further into his sides. 

“YEHEHEHES! LEHEHEAVE ME ALOHOHOHONE!” SMG3 shrieked as he tried to push his brother’s hands off. 

“Nah, I don’t wanna. You deserve this.” SMG4 replied with pure brotherly triumph. 

Mario had gotten up, and pulled out his phone. Eager to save this moment, Mario pointed the camera towards the boys and clicked the ‘record’ button. 

“MAHARIO, YOHOU ASSHOLE!” SMG3 shouted. 

SMG4 looked up at Mario and guffawed. “HA! You’re brutal! Talk about blackmail!” He reacted. 

“PUHUT THE PHONE AWAHAHAY!” SMG3 attempted to order. 

SMG4 chuckled. “What’s wrong, Three? Too ticklish to hold your smolder?” He teased. 

Mario chuckled. “Imagine how the girls would react seeing this side of him~” He teased. 

“PLEHEHEASE STOHOP!” He finally let out. 

SMG4 widened his eyes with shock. “Uh…Maybe let’s keep the fans out of this.” SMG4 offered. 

Mario rolled his eyes. “Ugh, fine!” He looked down slightly and mumbled the words “party pooper”. 

SMG4 smirked a slight bit. “Though, I will show you something else.” He told him. “Come here! And bring the camera!” He commanded excitedly. 

Mario tilted his head and walked closer. “Hmmm…” He hummed softly. 

“Hey! Get that camera out of my face!” SMG3 yelled. “I swear to god-” SMG3’s blushy anger slowly changed to shock as four grabbed his hands and placed them above his head. “Uh- NO! Dude, I will KILL YOU!” His voice was getting abnormally higher with a large hint of desperation.

“Nah.” SMG4 declared, following it up with a poke to his belly. 

SMG3 squeaked and attempted to curl up his body further. But no matter how much he wanted to cover up his sides, he just couldn’t! It was driving him absolutely insane! “SHIT!” He shouted. 

“Damn, I’ve never seen you so powerless and scared before.” SMG4 admitted as he wiggled his fingers dangerously closer to his side. “Any last words?” He asked him. 

SMG3 slowly looked up and narrowed his eyes at Four. “I hope you fucking-...Fuckin’...You little-...I swear-…F…Fuckin-...Fuck you.” He finally spat out. 

SMG4 hung his head and snickered. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He dropped Three’s hands and shoved his hands into his ribs. SMG3 shrieked and threw his head back. “BAHAHAHA! FUCK! FUCKING SHIHIHIHIT!” 

“Watch your profanity.” Mario said in the same voice as the original memed moment. “FUCK YOHOHOUU!” SMG3 shouted back at him. 

“...Okay.” He said in the exact same voice as the vine. 

SMG3 was wiggling as much as his body could. Which wasn’t a lot, but it was honest work. “IHIHI’M GONNA KIHIHILL YOU TWOHOHO!” He shouted at them. 

“Awww!” SMG4 reacted with a chuckle. “How cute!” 

“I know, right?!” Mario responded. 

SMG3 shook his head as he kept failing to stop his hands. If you thought SMG3’s face was red before…It certainly was now! 

“Who knew SMG3 could be so adorable!” Mario teased with a snicker. “I’d even say this is cuter than Eggdog’s whimpers!” Mario added. 

Oh god…Cuter than Eggdog? That’s…

Wait! Eggdog?! EGGDOG! THAT’S IT!

“EGGDOG? EGGDOG-HEHELP MEEHEEHEE!” He screamed. 

In no time at all, Eggdog came running into the room. The only thing Mario was able to get out, was an “OH FUCK-” before bracing for impact. As a large crash filled the room, the camera Mario was formally holding, could be seen floating in the air for a couple moments like a looney tunes cartoon before it also fell to the ground with a little clonk. 

“WAAAHAhaha! Ohshit-ohshit-ohshit-ohSHIT-OHSHIT!” Mario could be heard wheezing as he felt Eggdog lick his neck and chin. 

“Yeah! Get ‘em, Eggdog!” SMG3 yelled eagerly. 

“Well, you got Mario down…” SMG4 admitted. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped me-” SMG4 teased. 

SMG4’s proud words were quickly shot out the window the moment SMG3’s purple body dashed towards SMG4 and tackled him to the ground. “OW!” SMG4 sat himself up, only to be pushed back down to the ground. “HEY-” SMG4 threw his head back and wheezed the moment three’s hands went for his armpits. “DUHUDE WHYHYHYHY?!” He yelled. 

“Because I wanted to contradict you!” Three admitted. 

“FUCK YOHOHOU!” SMG4 yelled. 

“No need. Already done.” SMG3 teased with a wink. 

This comment alone, prompted a punch to the face to get Three off him. And thankfully, that’s all it took to stop the revenge. 

Meanwhile, Mario didn’t seem to catch Three’s reference due to still being tickled by Eggdog. It was only when Three directed Eggdog, that Eggdog finally stopped and got off Mario. Mario laid somewhat limp on the ground for a second. 

“So…” SMG4 looked at SMG3. “You proud of yourself?” SMG4 asked. 

SMG3 smirked a little. “I’d say so, yeah.” He replied. 

SMG4 rolled his eyes at the response before getting up onto his feet. 

The whole group seemed to disperse after this. Mario went back to doing whatever he was doing. SMG4 went back to whatever he was doing earlier, while SMG3 went back to the couch to watch TV. It was almost like the moment never even happened. 

So what did SMG3 learn today? Well, Mario’s ticklish. It’s confirmed by the tv show, and it’s now confirmed in the Glitchy World too. And as weird as it sounds, SMG3 can now rest easy knowing that Mario has a weakness he can exploit to keep him in line. 

After settling on an episode of 9-1-1 Lonestar, SMG3 sat back and attempted to gather the plot partway through the episode. But his attention would be cut short by a text message from his phone. 

[Glitchy Bitches - Mario: Funny video of SMG3! :D] 

[Glitchy Bitches - Mario: IMG_9087] 

SMG3 widened his eyes. Did-did Mario just send the video of him being tickled?! 

This single video was so momentarily distracting, that SMG3 didn’t even notice the shadowy figure shaped like Mario, who was slowly raising itself up from behind the couch…

As it would turn out, revenge could not have been more swift. 

[elizabethrobertajones]

FFXIV Write 2024

6. Halcyon

“Aha! I found you!”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Erenville said calmly, paused mid-stroll across the Sharlayan Aetheryte Plaza in the bright midday sun.

“Nevertheless, I have something for you.” Bounding Frog smiled at him, and there was a strange glint in her eyes.

That made him pause. The Warrior of Light had been popping up around him all month since she’d recovered from her unspeakably epic quest to save the universe. For some reason she appeared to be coping by demanding to know if he knew about various Gyr Abanian river frogs and toads. He heard she’d had a rather intense confrontation and the various versions floating around in Sharlayan gossip of how she’d got that far all spoke to a gruelling and emotionally fraught struggle filled with loss and pain; he had to assume this new hobby was a manifestation of a healing mind and so he had been as gentle as he could with her strangely aggressive requests.

However, he was on his lunch break, and if she handed him an enormous fire-breathing rock toad to care for, he was not going to have time to eat his sandwich and make sure a surprise amphibian was handed off to someone who could catalogue it and find space to safely house it in the collection. He was going to have to draw a line somewhere.

“What is it?” he asked, narrowing his eyes to look her up and down. Her arms were behind her back but she didn’t appear to be struggling against holding a living creature.

She brought her arms forward with a little flourish, to reveal a three yalm long green feather, curling gracefully and dappled with many iridescent flashes of colour along its incredible length. “Guess what this came from!” She handed it over with a huge grin.

It was heavier than he had expected, the whole thing glossy with a sheen of oil and the barbs thick and a little crystalline; the greenness seemed to be a wind aspected coating, presumably to help hold the creature aloft, since the shaft was too thick, the hollowness inside only as narrow as the average dodo quill scholars bought in bulk. It wouldn’t have been able to fly without the aetheric adaptation.

He turned it in his hands, and glanced up. Bounding Frog’s face had gone from smiling to rather smug.

“This is from your adventures,” Erenville said slowly, weighting the feather in his hands again. “I know you went to the far edge of the universe and saw many alien things… But this feather is too like the ones our own birds on Hydaelyn grow. I doubt it’s alien in nature and you’re hoping I get swept up in the tales of the Scions’ great mission.”

She looked surprised. “Where then –” she rallied.

He held up a hand. “I also heard from Dickon that you alone went to the very birth of our Star, and saw the cradle from where life was made. As fanciful as that sounds, I would not doubt this feather was an early attempt at Creation before flight was fully perfected as a mechanical process, relying instead on plying it with aetheric advantages to become airborne. This is from an early bird.”

Bounding Frog visibly deflated and sank down several ilms. “Aye, ‘tis from a Bird of Elpis,” she mumbled. “Do you want it or not?”

“Of course. I am not prone to extravagance but this will make a most entertaining quill.”

“Ugh, fine! I’ll get you one of these days.”

“What?”

“Huh? Never mind!” She threw her hands in the air, and strode away, as suddenly as she had arrived.

He shook his head, baffled, and carefully threaded the long tail feather through the side of his pack for safe keeping. Still, he couldn’t help smiling. It reminded him of the incomprehensible way a cat might bring a gift, only to become furious when you let the mouse back out the door rather than eat it yourself.

It was almost cute, except for the veiled threats.

[kybercrystals94]

CONGRATS ON 333 FOLLOWERS!! 🧡 Can I have something Tech-centric? Perhaps you can double it with a whumptober prompt because I was going to ask for something along those lines. Maybe try one of the alt. prompts… friendly fire? Survivors guilt? Dunno, but I know it will be awesome whatever it is :D

Thank you so much! 🥰

For you, a 333 word, Tech-Centric fic with the Whumptober Alt. Prompt “Survivor’s Guilt”…

[Slots still open for requests to celebrate 333 followers!! 🥳]

Gimmick

Read here on Ao3!

(Rated: T just to be safe)

Clone Force 99 did not work alongside regs often. It was better that way, for everyone involved really. While Hunter and Tech maintained a certain level of civility, Wrecker and Crosshair were less inclined to even try. They were entertained to see how far they could push before achieving a reaction. Which is frustrating to Tech, given that, even behaving himself, he inadvertently irks regs in his proximity.

Hunter gently tried to speculate that Tech’s predisposition to verbalize his mental processing was not well received.

Crosshair eloquently translated, “You’re kriffing annoying sometimes.”

This particular mission, Tech is delegated to work alongside another engineer. The reg is friendly enough, even going so far as to introduce himself by his chosen name.

“Name’s Gimmick,” he says, putting out a hand.

Not typically one to shake hands, it feels incredibly rude to refuse, so Tech clasps his hand briefly. “Tech.”

Gimmick nods. “Tech. I like it.”

“Your name means trick or ruse.”

Gimmick winks and thumps Tech on the shoulder, in a very Wrecker-like way. “It can also mean a tool or gadget.”

The two are hacking a mainframe at a Separatist outpost. The droids have been neutralized by the other members of the infiltrating unit. Tech explains his process as he works, and, to his gratification, Gimmick contributes his own insights conversationally.

Tech is mid-sentence when Gimmick moves, shoving Tech away from the control panel. Simultaneously a blaster shot sounds. Reacting intrinsically, Tech pulls his weapon and shoots the droid through the neck.

Tech turns to Gimmick. The clone isn’t moving, the hole in his backplate lethally located. Tech confirms the death, several times more than necessary. He calls it in.

Afterwards, he asks Hunter to cover the flight to their next post.

“Sure, Tech,” Hunter says.

Tech stays in the quiet cockpit, dark data pad in hand, not withdrawing to where Wrecker and Crosshair argue in the hold. Breaking the silence, Tech asks, “Why him, Hunter?”

But like Tech, Hunter doesn’t have an answer.

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99 @heidnspeak @dreamsight73 @royallykt @merkitty49 @blackseafoam @illogicaalbraindump

[emedvs]

Day 3: Canon

Amidst the chaos and drama that perpetually surrounded the contestants in the latest season of Total Drama World Tour, an unexpected and heartwarming moment was about to unfold.

Noah, renowned for his sharp wit and relentless cynicism, possessed an entirely unanticipated facet to his personality. When sleep overcame him, he unwittingly became "the cuddler," an endearing nickname bestowed upon him by his fellow competitors. Noah had a tendency to snuggle up to anyone or anything within arm's reach, a quirk that had provided much amusement during the competition.

In an unusual twist of fate, Alejandro, the suave and manipulative contestant, found himself seated next to Noah during a long flight. Alejandro was accustomed to female contestants vying for his attention, using proximity to him as a strategic move in the game. However, what he was about to experience was a very different kind of attention.

As the plane soared through the skies, the hum of the engines and the rhythmic turbulence began to lull Noah into a slumber. His eyelids grew heavy, and he yielded to the temptation to close them. Gradually, he let his head fall onto Alejandro's shoulder, his gentle snores blending with the plane's ambient noise.

Alejandro, who had initially been composed and aloof, felt an unexpected warmth envelop him. He cast a sideways glance at Noah, who had now encircled his arm around Alejandro's, gently holding it in a vulnerable and innocent embrace. It was a side of Noah that no one had witnessed before—a side devoid of sarcasm and cynicism.

Ordinarily, Alejandro would have seized upon this situation, attempting to manipulate it to his advantage in the game. Yet, on this occasion, he found himself uncharacteristically flustered. His heart quickened, and he couldn't resist stealing furtive glances at Noah's peaceful countenance. Alejandro observed the rise and fall of Noah's chest with each breath and found himself intrigued by the person behind the cynical facade.

As time passed, Alejandro's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Should he awaken Noah and end this unexpectedly intimate moment? Or should he allow it to persist, secretly relishing the unforeseen connection that had blossomed between them?

As Alejandro grappled with his flustered state, the situation took an entertaining turn. Owen, the lovable prankster, couldn't resist the opportunity to tease Alejandro.

Owen, with a mischievous grin, noticed Alejandro and Noah in their unique predicament. He gave Alejandro a sly thumbs-up and began making exaggerated kissing noises, setting off peals of laughter from his equally eccentric partner, Izzy.

Alejandro's glare intensified, and he shot Owen an irritated look. However, he bit his lip, determined not to awaken Noah. He couldn't afford to let the other contestants see him rattled or off his game.

Izzy, blissfully unaware of Alejandro's inner turmoil, joined in Owen's playful antics, mimicking kissing noises and adding to the laughter that had now spread throughout the plane. The entire cabin seemed to be reveling in this unexpected spectacle.

As the laughter and teasing continued, Alejandro couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief.

Summoning his courage, Alejandro attempted to reciprocate Noah's gesture, feeling his heart racing in his chest. The tension in the air was palpable as he raised his trembling arm, intending to place it around Noah and create a more comfortable sleeping position for him.

Just as Alejandro's arm was on the verge of making contact, Noah began to stir. His eyelids fluttered open, and he slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Alejandro froze in place, his arm suspended awkwardly in mid-air. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he fervently hoped that Noah had not noticed his intentions.

Luck, however, did not favor Alejandro on this occasion. Noah, now fully awake, stretched and yawned, deciding to head to the bathroom, completely unaware of the close call he had narrowly avoided.

Alejandro remained seated, his mouth slightly ajar, his arm still trembling in the air. He couldn't believe how close he had come to revealing his vulnerability, and he was left in a state of confusion regarding his own emotions.

Meanwhile, Owen and Izzy, thoroughly amused by the situation, couldn't contain their laughter. They exchanged gleeful glances and shared hearty chuckles at Alejandro's expense. Alejandro, feeling flustered and frustrated, couldn't help but berate them in Spanish, expressing his irritation.

Amid the laughter and commotion, Noah, who was in the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face to wake himself up fully. The distant sounds of yelling and laughter reached his ears, and he couldn't help but wonder what had transpired in his absence.

(i saw Braindo's art so i want to write sum about it )