#Stair and Hand Rail Detailing

[miaountainmama]

capable

characters: jing yuan, fembodied!reader contains: pwp, shameless smut, gentle sex, lots of praise. he calls you beloved and bends you over his desk and also eats you out. also he's larger than you because he's like 6'3" so sorry if you're somehow his size. minors dni or i'll eat your bones

wc: 3829

a/n: FIRST HSR POST WOOOOO boothill is my man but i wrote this for my bf. he then told me jing yuan is talking to reader like a horse. everyone stone him

“The Cloud Knights are already stretched thin as they are, so I don’t think it would be wise to dispatch them for this.”

You stare unseeing at Yanqing as he reports before the stairs in front of the desk in the Seat of Divine Foresight. On a normal day, you were a gold star employee, the perfect picture of Jing Yuan’s assistant: attentive, well-mannered, and adept at many things. However, it’s impossible to focus on Yanqing from where you stand by the railing— impossible to focus on anything but the feeling of the General’s golden eyes resting upon your form. You feel yourself being picked apart by his gaze, and though you attempt to maintain a cool facade, leaning against one of the posts of the railing, you can feel your collar getting a little hot under the unwavering attention. You can feel his eyes traveling, alternating between your face and the plush of your thighs being squeezed by your shorts. It’s an exposing feeling… not that you mind.

Jing Yuan, on the other hand, seems to have no problem paying attention to two things at once. He leans forward against his desk, his honeyed stare finally moving off of your body and back to the poor boy just doing his job. You try your best not to think about the way his hands flexed around the wooden surface, try your best not to think about how they’d feel holding you down instead. Your mouth slowly twists into a sly smirk at the idea as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I see. I suppose I will take care of this matter personally, as it seems my assistant looks a little… preoccupied at the moment. I am more than capable.”

Your eyes snap to his, losing their unfocused haze, and they narrow, a little embarrassed but not entirely displeased at being caught thinking about him. He’s already looking at you again, eyes half-lidded and glinting with mirth and unspoken hunger, and you match his expression.

“Oh… more than capable? Are we underestimating me now, General? I don’t take kindly to that, you know. Perhaps I’ll need you to show me just how… capable you can be,” you purr, wrapping your fingers around the railing and tilting your head forward to look at him through your lashes. His eyebrows raise minutely before he lets out a low rumble of a laugh from deep in his chest, looking pleased at the way you responded. He shifts forward as well, lips curling upwards, and he looks about ready to tease you right back before a voice cuts through the tension.

“Of course the General is capable. He’s the General, are you crazy?” Both of you look at Yanqing, completely oblivious to the mood in the room, and you resist the urge to sigh (and/or strangle him). Still, you take the interruption in stride. You can’t fault him for being just a boy.

“Seeing is believing, and I’m sure there’s a lot the General hasn’t shown me,” you say, not missing a beat. Yanqing looks about ready to interject again, ready to defend the General’s honor, but before he can, you hear the smooth lilt of Jing Yuan’s voice interrupt.

“It seems I haven’t been entirely open with my assistant. Yanqing, you’re free to go. I’ll work out the finer details with them. We’ll take it from here.”

“Are you sure? You don’t need me here to-”

“Yes, Yanqing, I’m sure. You have the rest of the day to do as you wish. Please, leave us,” Jing Yuan says, eyes never leaving you, and Yanqing gives a short bow and a “yes, General” before following orders, softly shutting the door and leaving the two of you alone. The two of you don’t blink, staring into each other’s eyes as you hear his quick footsteps fading away.

The moment the echoes disappear, he’s on you.

He has one large hand on your thigh, the other pulling you close by the small of your back, and your eyes immediately flutter shut in triumph. Yes, this is what you’ve been thinking of, yearning for all day. Your hands are in his hair, tugging his face closer and capturing his lips in a heated kiss, thumb brushing against the mole on his cheekbone. He’s bent over, neck craning down to reach you, and he walks you back slowly to sit you on his desk. You barely notice the cool feeling of the wood against your thighs, too preoccupied with getting more, feeling more. You reach for one of the belts around his waist, wanting to waste no time, but are stopped by Jing Yuan grabbing your wrist.

“What’s the rush, beloved?” he asks in a low voice, the slightest hint of a laugh gracing his tone. He guides your hand back up to hold his face and hair again before tilting your chin up and to the side with a finger. 

Everything Jing Yuan does to you, he does slowly. Painfully slowly, at times. This was one of those times.

“General,” you whine as he goes for where your neck meets your jaw, pressing a long, lingering kiss there. Still, he remains unbothered, though he does lightly nip at the skin with his teeth.

“Jing Yuan. You know you can call me anything you like when we’re alone,” he corrects, soothing the new red mark with his tongue. Already, he’s leaving you breathless, and you nod, feeling the heat rushing through your body at the pleasurable sensation. It’s not enough, though, and you tell him as much, pulling him closer by the hips,

“Then, Jing Yuan,” you say. “Hurry up already.”

Another kiss to your neck, another gentle laugh. “I have a whole lifetime to do as I please with you. Besides, you haven't pleaded your case convincingly enough,” he says, though he does indulge you a little by unhooking the clasp around your collar. You whine again as he pushes the fabric to the side, now pressing his lips against the crook of your neck.

“Pleaded my case? What, do you want me to beg you?” you ask, hands threading through his long white hair and tugging lightly, and you feel his lips curl into a lazy grin at the thought.

“Now that doesn’t sound so bad,” he says, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your thigh. His other hand wanders, caressing the curve of your waist, sliding upwards until it reaches the cutout in your shirt above your breasts. He moves his face from your neck as he slips his hand under the fabric, returning to kiss your lips as he cups a breast and teases a nipple with a finger. Your entire body jolts forward at the touch, back arching, and you let out a small noise into Jing Yuan’s lips as he kisses you. Again, you can feel his mouth curve into a slight smile at the action.

You’re incredibly needy by this point, heart racing, and you swear you’re probably going to have a wet spot through your shorts if he keeps going at this rate. Your core is aching for sensation, for sweet release.

“Jing Yuan,” you pant, pulling away from his kiss slightly. His eyes flutter open, meeting your gaze with his own golden eyes before he closes them again and pulls you back in, seeming just as unhurried as ever. You pull back a second time, more insistently this time.

“Jing Yuan, please,” you say, and you see something flash in his expression as his eyes open to look at you again. He reaches up to touch your face, and you realize you’ve found a sensitive spot— and you’ll exploit it as much as possible.

“Please,” you repeat, lacing your voice with as much need as possible, making sure to look directly into his eyes. On the outer rim of your vision you can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows once, something sparking through his face a second time. Once you drop a hand down to trail along his chest, he’s done for.

“How can I refuse when you ask so sweetly?” he says, looking pleased, and he maneuvers you to stand with his hands. You follow his movements without complaint, though your face does burn as his fingers hook around the waistband of your shorts and pull down. He motions for you to sit back on the desk, so you step out of your shorts and do so, feeling the cool surface of the wood against your bare body. You swear you can feel your quickened pulse between your legs as he nudges them open and spreads them slightly, and you make a softly embarrassed noise as it displays how wet you are for him to see. However, his eyes sparkle with delight, and his right hand drops down to lightly touch you. When his finger pulls away from your core, it’s shiny from slick.

“Oh… now that’s a sight to see. Mind if I take a closer look?” he murmurs lowly, and you nod, not sure what he means but willing to let him do anything to you at this point. You blink in surprise as he drops to his knees in front of you, kneeling in between your legs, and you resist the urge to close them around his head in embarrassment as he comes face to face with your heat. He reaches out to touch again, gently spreading you open with his thumb, and your breath catches at the feeling. You say nothing, opting to let him do as he pleases, and he switches to tracing the lines of your folds with his middle finger. He’s slow, careful with it, and you feel incredibly lewd as his finger gets coated with your wetness. He traces his finger down again, and with one motion sends you reeling as he sticks it inside you to the knuckle.

He looks up at you from below, taking in your face as you watch him, your breath coming out in heavy pants as you feel your walls clenching and unclenching around his finger to adjust to the feeling. He gives you a moment of brief reprieve before he’s gently pumping it in and out, finding your clit with a thumb then leaning in to latch his lips around it. You let out a strangled moan at the feeling as he sucks on it, languidly stroking his tongue across the bud, your hands flying to his hair to steady yourself as he eats you out. It feels humiliatingly good, every slow drag of his tongue around your clit and every measured thrust of his finger sending you further into ecstasy. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand to muffle your sounds, but the moment you do so, Jing Yuan ceases in his actions, slowing to a stop and pulling away to look at you. 

“I don’t intend to hold anything back, so you shouldn’t either,” he says, coaxing you to lower your hand, and he hums in approval as you return it back to his hair. “Very good. Always so good for me.” 

He dives back in, sucking and swirling his tongue around, pumping his finger, and this time, you let your shaky moan of pleasure free. His hand tightens around your thigh when he hears it, going at you a little harder, and you respond in kind, tugging at the strands of his silky white hair. You’re so worked up that he’s getting you there embarrassingly fast— your walls begin to clench around his finger, and it doesn’t help when he slides a second one in, curled just right and hitting just the right places. His unhurried pace continues even as you suddenly jerk forward, a groan of his name leaving your lips as you release all over his fingers. Your head tilts back, mouth gasping and whimpering and making all sorts of wanton noises as your body twitches from the relentless stimulation. It’s not until your moans subdue somewhat that he pulls back, resting a cheek against your thigh and looking up at you with adoring eyes. You’re breathing heavily, eyes unfocused, though they twitch a bit when he removes his fingers from inside you. He wipes them on his pants, lightly caressing your inner thigh with the other hand. He presses a kiss to the skin there as you recover at least a little bit, though he doesn’t let you waste all the time he spent preparing you. After a few more seconds he’s smoothly climbing to his feet to tower over you again.

Jing Yuan grabs you by the hips, gently pulling you off the table. His grip is firm, and despite the slight weakness in your knees, he doesn’t let you fall.

“Careful, beloved. We can’t have you hurting yourself, now,” he says, still wearing that smug, lazy smile. You hum in acknowledgement, grabbing onto him to steady yourself, and he leans down to kiss you softly before turning you around so your back is to him. He pushes at the small of your back, carefully coaxing you to bend over at the waist over his desk and tracing down your spine as you fold over. You can feel his hands massage your hips for a brief moment before they’re gone, leaving you cold and wanting for his touch. You try your best to keep your eyes straight forward, though, looking out the window behind his desk as you hear the clink of his metal belt buckles. The belts are quickly tossed beside you on the desk, followed by the sound of fabric rustling, and your heart is pounding from anticipation as you hear him take a controlled, slow breath from behind. 

A warm hand returns to your hip, and you unconsciously lean into the touch.. “Are you ready, my love?” he asks, stepping closer, and you can feel the heat radiating from him— it makes you nearly salivate, imagining just what he’s going to do to you in a moment.

“Yeah. Please,” you reply, urging him on, and he chuckles lowly before you feel him slide his cockhead along the wetness between your legs. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head at the contact you’ve been waiting for for hours, hips bucking backwards.

“Easy, now,” he says, light laughter in his voice, though it sounds a little strained. Perhaps the need is getting to him too— it’s certainly getting to you, evident by the shallow, rushed breaths you’re taking. You don’t complain though as he coats himself in your slick, knowing it’ll help it feel better in the long run and knowing he’ll take his time no matter what you do. After he deems himself sufficiently lubricated, he holds himself steady, not quite inside you yet but prodding at your entrance. He holds still, just taking in the sight, the view of you at his complete mercy, and just when you’re about to turn around and tell him to hurry up he pushes forward, slowly, not wanting to hurt you. He’s always been large, but considering how much smaller you were than him, he feels he has to be extra careful.

Your breath hitches as he splits you open inch by inch, eyes fluttering half shut as you feel the stretch. A shaky moan leaves your lips as he bottoms out, his hands going to stroke your hips to soothe you.

“There we are. You’re doing well, beloved,” he says, voice smooth and soft, and you swear that him speaking just makes you feel that much better. He pulls back, leaving just the tip in, before lazily thrusting in again— it rips a heavy moan from deep in his chest, and, true to his word from earlier, he doesn’t hold anything back. As he sets a steady, slow pace, he’s not loud by any means, but he certainly doesn’t care to muffle his noises. His occasional groans and frequent words of praise make you clench around him, which just makes him groan even more. The room is filled with your noises, his noises, and the sound of slick skin against skin— and you get even louder when he reaches around you, swiping a finger against your wetness before beginning to gently rub at your clit. Your back arches further, head tilting back, as you let out the most debauched moan you ever have in your life. Jing Yuan chuckles from behind you.

“Does it feel good?” he teases, and your head lolls forward, a desperate whimper leaving your mouth from the feeling of him both inside and outside of you. 

“Yeah,” you whine. “So good.”

He hums in satisfaction, leaning over to press a kiss to your shoulder blade and upping his pace just a little bit. He’s certainly not going fast— it’s always been his style to carefully work you towards your climax, to enjoy the buildup rather than get you there immediately. Still, it sets pleasurable fire running through your veins, and your hands clench from where they’re holding onto the desk. Every drag of his cock inside you sends you closer to the edge, your body beginning to shake slightly. Your eyes are unseeing, too caught up in the feeling of in and out, in and out, circling around, rubbing, in and out. A warm feeling is beginning to stir in your gut, a tightness forming in your core, and you nearly salivate as you want more, need more. 

“Jing Yuan,” you whimper, wanting to convey as such but not having the capability to utter more than a few words at a time. “Jing Yuan,” you try again, and you hear the smile in his voice as he gently shushes you, thumb caressing your hip.

“It’s all right, my love, I understand. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and he begins to snap his hips deeper, still gentle but deeper. It rips a strangled moan from your throat, your eyelids fluttering, and that pleasured feeling grows tenfold. Your moans grow more frequent, more desperate, and you clench around him, trying your best to hold yourself back from cumming too fast. You’re breathing heavily, trying to control yourself, but then you feel him lean in over you again, murmuring close into your ear.

“You don’t have to hold back, beloved. Go ahead. I promise it’ll feel better,” he says, voice all warm and soft, and you take his words in stride— who are you to deny your General? A few more thrusts, a few more circles on your clit and you’re gone, neck snapping backwards as you let out a choked wail of pleasure, electricity flying through your entire body as your hands nearly leave imprints in the surface of the desk. Your vision blurs, likely due to the crystalline tears that have sprung to your eyes, and your back arches as your body seizes. Jing Yuan holds you steady, murmuring placating praises as your hips buck. He doesn’t stop his motions, fucking you through your high, and you swear your knees almost give out on you as the heat just doesn’t stop. Even once the ecstasy dulls somewhat, your moans subsiding by just a hair, pleasure remains, and you want him to keep going, keep going until you’re spent, until he’s spent, until the both of you collapse. You yourself are probably near the point of collapse at this point, legs like jelly, and, sensing this from where he’s half holding you up, Jing Yuan nudges one of your legs up so you’re half perched on his desk now.

“Careful, my love,” he says, still thrusting lazily into you, and you just whine back, now resting all your weight on the wood surface. He readjusts the hand that circles your clit to the new position, and the type of friction changes— all your nerves feel like they fry in response. Behind you, Jing Yuan’s breathing has deepened, though it remains steady and controlled. Only you know that it means he’s close— he only sounds this disciplined, this restrained when he’s trying not to cum. Occasionally, deep “mmmhh”s and “ah”s leave his lips, though they’re quiet, and Aeons, the thought of him letting go is so hot it makes your walls flutter and pulse around him. 

“Oh, beloved,” he groans at the feeling, hands tightening around your hips, and his thrusts are starting to get a bit sloppy, a little less rhythmic. The heat rises between the two of you, the air growing more frantic, and both of you are close, so close— you whimper his name, and his movements are getting shallower, a little more rapid. He leans down, pressing more of his body against yours, as if he’s suddenly desperate to feel you against him. One of his hands leaves your hip to brace himself against the desk, holding himself above you, and you can feel the feverish temperature radiating off his skin. His head lolls, a needy, strangled groan escaping his mouth, and that’s all it takes for the feeling to become unbearable again.

You come for the third time, and this time it’s the strongest it’s been— your noises reflect that. For a second you worry it sounds like you’re getting killed, but it feels so good you can’t even care. The noises are guttural, from deep in your chest, and as your hands tense you can feel Jing Yuan’s hand tense on your hip as well. 

“Ah, beloved,” he moans shamelessly into your ear, and then he’s gone too, delivering a thrust deep into you as you feel him spurt thick ropes of cum inside you. He doesn’t stop moving, still lazily grinding into you, both of you moaning, you whimpering as the pleasure plateaus and you become sensitive. Your hips jerk backwards, and he lets out a breathy, pleasure-coated laugh, following you and not letting up.

“Jing Yuan, too much, sensitive,” you gasp, and at this he finally slows, eventually coming to a stop still buried inside you. You’re panting, shaking slightly, and he hums in appreciation, straightening up with a groan and reaching forward to run a hand along the back of your shoulder. You both just stand there for a minute, breathing hard, before he sighs slightly in satisfaction and slowly pulls out, taking all his warmth with him. You make a disgruntled noise at the loss, though you know you can’t stay like this forever, and he gently rights you as well, tucking himself back into his pants. You turn to face him, sitting back on the desk while you recover, and watch as he leaves you to walk across the room, rummaging around for a second before returning with a glass of water.

“So, my dear assistant. Have I shown you how capable I can be, then?” he asks, that gleam in his eye returning, and you laugh, taking the glass from him and taking a big sip.

“Yeah. I dare say you have.”

[actiniumwrites]

Not sure if you’re taking request still but if you are was wondering if you could right abt reader hiding their fever from Tighnari or Diluc (or both)

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

synopsis: in which you try to hide your sickness from them, just trying to stay out of their way, except it doesn’t quite go to plan

characters: heizou, thoma, tighnari, dottore, and childe x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, descriptions of being sick, a tiny bit of swearing, established relationships

notes: thanks for the request! i tried pretty hard to come up with something for diluc but i wasn’t able to so i just did tighnari. i also added in some other characters, hope that’s okay :) also reminder that this is a relatively old request and i’m not actively taking requests!

heizou:

you hadn’t intended to ever hide your sickness from him, honestly

you woke up with the incoming feeling of what you assumed was a fever. your temperature was high and you felt fatigued

still, when your red haired boyfriend came prancing into your shared bedroom excitedly shaking your shoulders begging you to join him on his day off, you felt as though you couldn’t refuse

he was just so happy and you didn’t want to ruin that, not when he had been so stressed recently

walking around ritou with him seemed to be alright

the weather wasn’t bad and he even took you to a few shops for some lunch and souvenirs

but as the time passed, your head felt dizzier and your eyes stung a bit. the red of the maple trees was blending with the blue of the sky and the shops around began to spin

“are you okay?” he had asked worriedly, noticing your eyes began to droop and the overall fatigue you seemed to be experiencing

he put a hand to your forehead and noticed the burning sensation and light sweat building quickly

“shit, you’re sick? why didn’t you say anything?” he asked as he began to rush you home. his arms were around you, steadying you against him

“you were so excited,” you mumble against his shoulder, “i didn’t wanna ruin that, but it looks like i did anyway.”

the detective’s heart ached as the words left your mouth, he couldn’t believe you would say something like that, “please don’t say that again. your health matters way more than my fun, don’t ever forget that.”

when you got home, you fell asleep quickly, all snuggled up in the warm covers

heizou dimmed the lights and brought some medicine and water to place on the table next to you for when you woke up

as he got in the bed with you, he made sure to pull the blankets snuggly over you and bring you closer to his chest and placing a small kiss to your forehead

“i love you,” he whispered before shutting his eyes and holding you close.

thoma:

thoma hadn’t asked you to help him with chores, but here you were…helping him with chores

although the weather was beautiful, it was spring and in influx of new leaves and all sorts of pollen was in the air and on the floors of the estate

you were kind enough to help your boyfriend out with all of the spring cleaning to prevent him from getting stressed

unfortunately, it only lead to you getting stressed and consequently sick

you had already felt the oncomings of sickness for the past week

from various headaches, lack of sleep, the inability to eat, all the way to a runny nose and sore throat — you knew it was only going to worsen, but still clung to the hope it was just spring allergies

still, you chose to help him anyway while also leaving out the details of your sickness

about two hours had passed since your last break before fatigue hit you hard. the rake you had been using to gather fallen flowers was now leaned against the wall

your arm was resting against the railing to balance yourself as you sat on the small set of stairs under the shade

“thoma,” you called out to him through shut eyes and rushed breaths, “i’m so sorry, i- i don’t think i can help you anymore.”

he ran to you almost instantly, dropping everything in his hands to check if you were okay

when he saw you weren’t, he rushed you inside to your guys’ shared room

“oh archons, i’m so sorry i didn’t notice! you really didn’t have to help me if you weren’t feeling good,” he apologized, urgently trying to help you

it was like that for hours after

he was constantly apologizing for not noticing and you could tell he truly felt bad

he even brought you fresh homemade soup and anything else you so desired. you name it, he got it

at the end of the day, he fell asleep alongside you, swearing to stay by you until you felt better.

he didn’t even care if he got sick. if it was for you, it was worth it

tighnari:

tighnari had been frustrated all week

you had noticed that almost instantaneously and even if you hadn’t, all of his grumbling, dark eye bags (which he never seemed to have), and the distance he was placing between you would have made it blatantly obvious

he didn’t seem himself as of late and that made you feel a bit down yourself

eventually it got to the point where his mood was dampening everyone else’s and you had fallen ill

the forest watcher was so stressed that he hadn’t even noticed

you had tried to tell him when he requested you help him with collecting samples of withered areas, but he was quick to shut you down before hearing you out, requesting that you, “please just help me without complaining.”

under normal circumstances, you would have told him off and not allowed him to dictate over you like that, but you weren’t feeling well at all and didn’t have the energy to argue

besides, it would only be an hour and a half right? you figured you could get through that

you should’ve known what you were getting into. your boyfriend always took longer than expected, though you hadn’t expected an hour and a half to turn into two, which then turned into three

when you realized the time, you began to ask to go home and just come back tomorrow. it was getting dark and was definitely a reasonable request of him

but tighnari wasn’t in the mood and he brushed you off, choosing not to answer your question

moments later, his equipment fell and broke — almost as if karma had struck him

he was never one to lose his cool so easily, but here he was yelling at nothing and kicking his bag over

when you had asked him to calm down, he refused and snapped at you too.

he didn’t mean it — you knew that, but you couldn’t help but feel like he did. like he meant to snap at you and that all his anger was somehow your fault

mixed with the fatigue and shivers from your now fully developed fever, your eyes drooped and you fell forward into unconsciousness

hours had passed before you awoke. but when you did, you found tighnari right by your side handing you a cup of water and some of his homemade medicine

“i’m so sorry,” he started quickly, stumbling over his words as he tried to apologize, “i was so selfish forcing you to go with me. i mean, what kind of boyfriend doesn’t even notice when their partner is sick?”

you cough before responding, “you were a little harsh, but it’s okay now. you were just stressed and no one was around to help you out when you needed it, so don’t feel too bad okay?”

he nodded sadly and fell against your lap, still guilt-stricken by his lack of awareness and clouded mind from just a mere few hours ago

he would take the next week off he decided. taking care of you was more important and he had a lot of making up to do

dottore:

you weren’t surprised the doctor had failed to recognize the fact that you were sick

while he was a doctor, he wasn’t one that cared for his patients or anyone besides himself

when he had called you to his lab early one morning to aid him in some lab work, you knew there was no chance of it ending well

you loved him, you really did, but your boyfriend was pushy. and when his mind was set on something, it became the most important thing to him

today he had asked for your assistance in his lab for whatever new experiment he had conjured up this time

initially, you refused as you weren’t feeling well and didn’t have the energy

but, as aforementioned, dottore is a stubborn man and wouldn’t take no for an answer

“dottore, i’m not feeling we—“ you tried to argue with him

“ah ah, i do not care what excuse you have this time. i need your help and only your help.”

he didn’t even hear you out

so you sucked it up and helped him

about an hour had passed when you began feeling strained

back and forth of reaching for different materials and finding information for him became too much

“can we just take a break?” you breathed out heavily, immune system weak from your sickness

“no, what did i tell you? it is imperative that we do not stop until this is finished,” he stops for a moment, tone softening as he turns to you, “i’ll take you out to that place you’ve been wanting to try later, i promise. just, help me with this and we can go.”

you smile at the offer, happy he was finally making the time to go out with you, but it wasn’t enough

as soon as he asked for the next object, your dizziness kicked in as your neck craned to see it up on the high shelves of his lab

and the next thing dottore heard was a thud with you on the ground

“dottore… i can’t— i’m so sorry,” tears pool at your eyes as your fever worsens

he helps you up with a stern look, his arms wrapped around yours as he pulls you closer to inspect your face, “why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“are you serious? i did tell you! you didn’t listen to me,” you exclaim

dottore softens in the way he only does around you, quietly offering you an apology and his coat to warm up your shivering body “i apologize, my love. i should not have been so neglectful of my own partner.”

he’s careful as he carries you to your shared bed and wraps you up:

“how about that restaurant? i’ll pick up whatever you want.”

childe:

sometimes childe can be a literal child. you knew that when the two of you began dating. sometimes you minded, other times you didn’t

he had a way of nagging when he wanted things and whining when he didn’t get them

you hadn’t gotten out of bed all morning and childe was getting impatient, hoping you would spar with him today for fun

you didn’t bother to tell him you were sick, thinking that he’d eventually realize later in the day

but childe was having one of those days and didn’t have a care in the world for anyone but himself

he came in to your shared room and collapsed on you, completely missing the pained grunt you let out as complaints flew left and right out of his mouth

things like: “spar with me, please!” and “c’mon we haven’t challenged each other in so long!” among many other complaints

he was right, it had been along time. and while you didn’t exactly want to spar with him today, you figured if you just indulged him for one round he would let it go

so you got up and got your equipment desperately trying to ignore the pounding of your headache

childe was beaming with excitement as he kissed your cheek and ran out to grab his equipment

when you got outside to join him, the chilly wind of snezhnaya bit at your skin and made your nose run faster than it had been before

childe quickly went in for a few hits, you dodged them and countered him quickly

it seemed to increase his determination as he charged at you effectively hitting you in the side

you didn’t let it affect you too much, aside from a bit of coughing which your boyfriend had chalked up to being from the impact of the hit

you had only lasted ten minutes longer before he landed one last hit, knocking you to the ground

“oh, c’mon! that one wasn’t even that bad. don’t tell me you can’t handle a hit that weak!” he laughed, just teasing you

you bent over on your hands and knees, violently coughing as tears poured out from your eyes

“hey hey hey, what’s wrong?” childe panicked as he dropped to his knees next to you with one hand placed on your back to support you

his hand reached your forehead, feeling a burning sensation, “woah, you’re burning up! why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“you were—“ you were cut off by your coughs, “so excited to spar. i figured if i just indulged you for a round or two i’d be fine…”

“hey, you didn’t have to do that,” he said softly, “i would’ve understood if you just told me. i care more about you than fighting, you know that.”

childe picked you up quickly and brought you back inside your shared home and to your bed, wrapping you up cozily under the covers before joining you

“childe, no— you’ll get sick,” you tried to push him away.

he smiled and firmly placed a kiss on your lips,“oh c’mon, when have i ever cared about that?”

[marsdql]

𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 & 𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Pairing: Boyfriend!Jake × girlfriend!fem!reader (featuring Sunghoon and Ni-ki)

Synopsis: You and your boyfriend's bandmates decided to surprise your lovely hardworking puppy for his birthday yuuuururrrr yup yup

Genre: teeth rotting fluff, little suggestive ending, jakes birthday!!

𝙈𝙖𝙧’𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: Happy Birthday Jake Skibidi i love that man... (requests are currently opened) Dont really have much to say since I posted yesterday but.... Ill be making a masterlist soon to organize my fics! ( Sorry for being inactive, I almost quit this morning i was having a moment,...) ENJOY !!!

You couldn’t contain your excitement. Today was Jake’s birthday, and you had something special planned with his closest friends, Sunghoon and Ni-ki. Jake was the type who’d do anything to make his friends happy, so this year, you wanted to make sure his birthday was one he’d never forget.

After a week of whispered phone calls and sneaky planning sessions, everything was finally coming together. You’d rented a cozy rooftop space downtown with fairy lights strung along the railings, a table set with his favorite snacks, and a small corner dedicated to photos of all the memories he’d made with his friends and with you.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you and Jake’s friends finished up the last-minute details. Ni-ki, as usual, was cracking jokes while struggling with the balloons, while Sunghoon meticulously adjusted the lights, making sure everything looked perfect.

“You guys ready?” you asked, eyeing the setup with a smile.

Sunghoon nodded, taking a step back to survey their work. “He’s going to freak out when he sees this.”

“He’d better,” Ni-ki joked, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “After all this effort, he owes us dinner for a year!”

Just as you all shared a laugh, you got a text from Jake. He was on his way, completely oblivious to the surprise waiting for him. The three of you scrambled to hide and take your places, shushing each other as you saw his silhouette coming up the stairs.

Jake opened the door, and as he stepped onto the rooftop, everyone jumped up and yelled, “SURPRISE!”

He froze, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. The fairy lights cast a warm glow, illuminating the table piled with his favorite treats and the wall of photos filled with moments of him laughing, goofing around, and sharing memories with his closest friends.

“Y/N? Sunghoon? Ni-ki?” he stammered, looking around in awe. “You guys… did all this?”

You stepped forward, beaming. “Happy Birthday, Jake! We wanted to make sure today was as amazing as you are.”

Jake's gaze softened, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “I don’t know what to say. This is… incredible.”

Ni-ki nudged him playfully. “Come on, Jake, don’t get too sappy. This rooftop rental wasn’t cheap!”

Everyone burst into laughter as Sunghoon handed him a small party hat. “Put it on,” he insisted, grinning. “Birthday boy rules.”

Jake obliged, chuckling as he let his friends shower him in confetti and hand him snacks. Eventually, he made his way over to the photo wall, his fingers brushing over the snapshots.

“Where did you find all of these?” he asked, his voice filled with nostalgia.

Sunghoon smirked, exchanging a knowing glance with you. “It wasn’t easy, but Y/N and I managed to dig some up from your old albums. Turns out, you have a lot of embarrassing baby photos.”

Jake turned to you, chuckling softly, his eyes shining. “I can’t believe you did all of this.”

“Of course I did,” you replied, stepping closer. “You’re worth every second of planning.”

As the night wore on, the four of you shared stories, laughed until your sides hurt, and reminisced about all the adventures you’d had together. Jake couldn’t stop smiling, his eyes lighting up every time he looked around at his friends.

Later, as the others gathered on the far side of the rooftop to argue over the playlist, Jake turned to you, his voice soft. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Your heart fluttered, and you looked up at him, feeling the warmth in his gaze. “I’m just glad you’re happy, Jake.”

He gave you a shy smile, his hand finding yours. “I am. And it’s all because of you.”

The two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth under the glow of the fairy lights, making a memory that you both knew you’d cherish forever.

The rooftop was quiet now, the fairy lights casting a soft glow over the scattered decorations as you and Jake stood side by side, watching the city lights below. Sunghoon and Ni-ki had just left, leaving you and Jake alone. You felt a flutter in your chest – the kind that only happened when it was just the two of you, sharing a quiet moment.

“Tonight was… perfect,” he murmured, his voice low. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he pulled you closer.

You looked up at him, your heart racing as you took in the soft look in his eyes. "I’m glad you had fun. You deserve it, Jake.”

He smiled, his gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy. And I think it’s mostly because of you.”

You swallowed, the intensity of his gaze making your skin tingle. The air between you felt charged, his thumb softly tracing circles on the back of your hand.

Jake gently lifted your chin, his face only inches from yours. "Thank you… for everything tonight." His voice was barely a whisper as he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was slow, tender, his hand finding the small of your back and pulling you close.

The world seemed to melt away as his hands slipped around your waist, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. His lips moved with yours, gentle at first but growing more insistent as he deepened the kiss. You felt your knees weaken as he pressed you back gently against the rail, his hands framing your face.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I could get used to this," he murmured, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, a little breathless. “Who says you have to stop?”

His eyes darkened, and his arms tightened around you. “Good,” he whispered, pulling you into another kiss, this time slower, more lingering – the kind of kiss that promised a night you’d both remember.

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

( marsdql ) >.< !!

[svearehnn]

black violets and baby's breath | modern!azriel x bridesmaid!reader

summary: feyre and rhys are finally getting married! the tension between you and azriel is palpable.

a/n: part two will be coming soon! once i get my essay done lmao. i hope you enjoy! (i didn’t edit this apologies)

Cobalt blue hugged your form in a silky sheen, falling just above your white ankle heels. You let out a shuttering breath as you smoothed the fabric down, fiddling with the sparkling jewelry that adorned your ears, wrists, and neck. 

You were nervous. Feyre was getting married, your best friend. It was so thrilling to be apart of her wedding party, but you couldn’t help the racing of your heart at the thought of being escorted down the aisle by none other than Azriel, your long term crush and childhood friend. You eyed yourself in the mirror. It was obvious that you looked stunning–cobalt was your color, and a polished look seemed to compliment your angelic fae-like features.

However, you couldn’t find it within yourself to step out of the room. You chuckled sardonically to yourself, fluffing your hair, reapplying your lip gloss, doing anything to delay your inevitable exit. You weren’t even the bride, yet it felt as though you had pre-wedding jitters.

A knock sounded on the door, and you closed your eyes. One deep breath in, out through your mouth, and you opened the oak door. Mor stood on the other side, her brown eyes dazzling.

“You ready?” She squealed, excitement palpable in her buzzing form. You nodded hesitantly and took her hand. She squeezed it, a comforting gesture that helped soothe your rampant nerves.

“It’ll be okay. Az is going to think you’re beautiful. I mean, he always does, but goddamn do you look like a goddess right now.” That forced a giggle from your throat, prompting a smile to form on Mor’s striking features.

“There’s that gorgeous smile! Now come on.” Your blonde friend dragged you down the stairs, causing you to stumble in your heels. Once you got to the wooden staircase, you descended hand in hand. Nerves encased your soul, bees buzzing and stinging in your stomach. 

Yet, once you rounded the curve of the stairs and your eyes locked on Azriel’s hazel ones, all the nerves seemed to fade away. His eyes widened, brows raising, lips turning upward in an imperceptible smile that only you could catch. You bowed your head, cheeks aflame as you continued your decline. 

Mor had disappeared, arms wrapped around Emerie, leaving you alone with the railing gripped between bone white fingertips. Azriel outstretched his hand and you took it gingerly, letting him guide you down the last few steps and onto the natural wooden floors of Feyre and Rhys’ River House.

The two of you stood like that for a moment, no words exchanged, just drinking each other in. Azriel wore a black tux, a cobalt tie adorning his neck, accentuating the tattoos that peeked through the black collar of his shirt. His ears held their signature silver hoops and secondary studs, his fingers adorned with bands of silver and stone. He had slicked back his dark hair and it looked nice, yet all you wanted to do was muss it up to its usual messy demeanor.

Azriel spoke first, licking his lips and smacking them before he spoke. “You look…wow. Just phenomenal, Little Star.” He hummed, appreciation coating his tone. He raised your hand, twirling you around in a slow circle, eyeing the slit that went up to your hip and the low V that showed off your collarbones. The blush that filled your features warmed your skin to a feverish glow from his compliments.

“You look wonderful yourself, Azriel.” You murmured, looking him up and down slowly, drinking in every aspect, every detail of the godly male in front of you. He smirked, biceps flexing ever so slightly beneath the fabric of his tux. He held out the crook of his arm as the music began to filter in through the hallway, signaling the start of the ceremony.

“Are you ready, my beautiful bridesmaid?” You accepted his arm gratefully, unusually quiet within this newfound adoration that he was throwing at you.

“Lead the way, my handsome groomsman.” You replied, swallowing thickly. His arm was rock hard beneath your touch, an obvious indication of his and Cassian’s daily gym ventures.

The two of you walked arm in arm to the french doors that lead to the backyard wedding that Feyre and the rest of the wedding party had set up beautifully.

Cassian and Nesta led the line, the oldest Archeron dressed in a stunning dark red dress that matched Cassian’s tie. Then came Elain and Lucian in sparkling gold akin to the setting sun. Mor and Emerie followed, adorned in midnight purple. Behind them trailed Amren and Varian in their signature North Sea blue.

At the strike of the piano, Azriel gave you a small smile and stepped forward, leading you through the glass doors. The sun was blinding, but even through your squinted eyes you could see the flower arch at the alter filled with calla lilies and black violets, baby’s breath dotted in between. You and Azriel floated on a walkway of white peony petals, eyes hardly leaving each other’s, unable to stop drinking each other in.

It was as if a tension had electrified the air between the two of you the second he had set his sights on you when you meandered down the staircase. Your heart was a doldrum in your chest, begging to break through your ribs, taut and strained. As if Azriel could sense your trepidation, he squeezed your arm in a comforting touch.

He leaned down, breath against your ear, the smell of cedar encompassing your senses. “Breathe, Little Star.” You did as told, lungs expanding, nerves unfolding into the atmosphere and disappearing on the wind. Azriel’s thumb traced patterns into the skin of your forearm, soothing you further.

Your eyes left his, landing on Rhys at the altar. His eyes were alight, a slight smirk on his lips. He glanced between you and Azriel with a raised brow. A blush rose on your cheeks. His smirk widened, shoulders peacocking as though he knew he was right. Which, he usually was, you thought. You wouldn’t dwell on it–at least, not now. It was Feyre’s day, not yours.

The song came to an end as you and Azriel reached the dais, parting to reach your respected positions with you on the left and him on the right. As you turned, he grabbed your hand, extending your arm and bringing it up to press a kiss to the soft skin. Without another word he turned, leaving you stunned. Mor had to pull you to her side, her excitement palpable.

“Oh my gods!” She exclaimed, but you hardly heard her as the music started back up and the doors opened. Feyre stepped out, her black dress sparkling in the sun. Sheer fabric covered her arms and her her chest, flowing down into an intrinsic pattern of swirls similar to that of hers and Rhys’ tattoos. It was skin tight down to her knees, the skirt billowing out below, covering her black heels. She looked exquisite. It was impossible for you to take your eyes off of her, and if you were able to look around, you would notice that it was the same for everyone else.

When she reached the altar, Rhys took her hands, helping her up the marble steps with tears lining his waterline. They lined yours, as well.

Gwyn stood behind the couple, hands clasped in front of her, a smile etched onto her face. Words flowed out of her lips, Feyre and Rhys repeating every syllable as salty water flowed freely down their cheeks until the final I do.

Rhys dipped his wife in a passionate kiss, oblivious to the ovation happening around them from their closest friends. When they rose, Feyre raised her bouquet in the air, pride hanging heavy around her, a glow emanating from her skin.

Everyone rose in unison as if in prayer.

“To the new Mrs. and Mr. Carynthian!” Mor called out next to you, her voice carrying through the garden. Voices echoed after her, singing reverants to the newlyweds. As she walked back down the aisle, hand in hand with Rhys, bouquet in hand, everyone cheered as they passed. They congregated behind them, tears flowing, applause echoing through the space as if it were an ancient cathedral. 

Feyre stopped before she entered the house. She turned towards everyone, a grin plastered on her lips, a wink highlighting her stormy eyes. She threw her bouquet high up in the air. Hands reached up toward the Mother, itching to be the one to catch the bundle of violets. 

They fell gingerly into your waiting palms as if there was some kind of divine interference. You blinked slowly, locking eyes with Feyre. They sparked with mischief before her and Rhys disappeared behind the French doors. 

Your heart pulled taut again as you fiddled with the black petals, their touch akin to a feather within your fingertips. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the shadow towering over you until a hand landed on your chin, tilting your head so your eyes met Azriel’s. 

“How was that for a ceremony?” He asked, breathless, eyes wide, pupils dilated. You swallowed, chest fluttering.

“It was beautiful.” Your voice came out within less than a whisper. He smiled, one only reserved for you, as he tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear. His hand stayed there for a moment before pulling back, as if he were debating about running his fingers along the length of your cheek.

“You caught the bouquet, too.” You glanced down at the flowers in question, their fragrant smell filtering through your lungs every time you inhaled. 

“I did. I don’t know why the universe gave it to me though, I’m not even close to getting married.” The words fell out of your mouth haphazardly before you could stop them. Azriel chuckled, hands shoved into his pockets, tensing within the linen slacks.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?” Heat rose from your neck to your cheeks. You hadn’t, honestly. The only person you could dream of marrying was him, yet you knew that was far fetched. Even with the energy buzzing around the two of you, the idea would fade within a week. It was just the presence of a wedding, you thought. Nothing would change. Azriel’s hazel eyes were intense, gazing directly into your soul for what seemed like eternity until Mor bumped your arm.

“Come on! We have to get ready for the reception.” You smiled at him as Mor dragged you away by the arm, your eyes never leaving his even as you disappeared behind the same doors that Feyre did. As you and your blonde friend climbed the same steps you had descended only an hour ago, the thought of marrying Azriel swirled through your mind like a tornado, wreaking havoc on any other thought that was there. Maybe it was possible. Maybe Azriel was interested in you. Only time would tell, and maybe, at the reception, the tension between the two of you would lift and reveal the secrets that were hidden beneath hardened hearts.

tags: @kayjaywrites

[ebodebo]

i have a benedict bridgerton idea for you queenie! okay so reader works for the bridgerton family and she and has a huge huge huge crush on benedict. so one night she goes to his room (for whatever reason you pick) and she hears him jerking off and she's like !!! and then he moans her name and she's even more like !!!

you can fill in the rest wink wink

Illicit Affairs

NSFW CONTENT

—benedict bridgerton x reader

—2.2k+

wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !

Graphite pencils, quill pens, and an inkwell lay spread across the mahogany wooden table in the corner of the drawing-room, close to the bay window that overlooked the gardens. 

Several pieces of rag paper were spread across the table, and some even crumbled onto the floor, tainted by lead and ink. Judging from the messy lilacs and composition of a forest on the papers, you guessed Benedict had tried his hand at scenery drawings. 

The head maid had asked you to clean up his things, and you were, but surely there was no shame in seeing what kept the man occupied seemingly all day and all night.

You brushed your hand over the sketches, taking note of each delicately drawn petal and leaf, up to the bark on trees that looked so existent you swore you could feel the harshness of the wood along your fingertips.

As you scanned the sketches, gently picking them up, your eyes dilated as you noted a familiar face before you. Surely, it couldn't be, but it was hard to succumb to that idea when it was the same face you stared at in the mirror every day, your own.

He had drawn your eyes, lips, jaw, and even minor details, which you didn't even know anyone noticed, in his precious ink. You grasped the paper by the corner, holding it in eye view, unable to comprehend what you were seeing.

"Have you yet finished, my dear?" Your mother's voice echoed off the walls as she entered the room. You jumped back slightly at her voice, turning quickly to face her, clenching the paper behind your back.

"I…um…have to deliver a particular…thing to Mr. Bridgerton," you gab as you attempt to move past her, tucking the drawing into your apron pocket, though she's quick to grab your arm.

"Dearest, tis' late. It would be best if you did not wake him," she furrows her brows before glancing at the mess still scattered on the table and giving you a disapproving look. "You have not yet done cleaning, I see."

"I must make haste, mama. I do not wish to keep him waiting any further," you urge, putting your hand over hers to pull it off. She gives you another disapproving glance. You sigh, becoming slightly orated by her disagreeable state.

"Do you really wish for me to keep a Bridgerton waiting, mama," you raise a brow, a knowing look plastered on your face.

"I suppose—" She begins before you kiss her cheek and exit the room, heading towards the grand staircase to ascend the stairs, feeling the paper burn a hole through the cloth of your apron.

Your heart pounded as you reached the end of the stairs, clammy hand slipping off the end of the railing to rest against your side. You took deliberately slow steps down the corridor, slowly inching towards Benedict's room.

You stand in front of his door, deciding to simply slip the sketch under his door so as not to wake him. As you bend down to your knees, head close to the door, you hear something curious.

Ragged breaths slip through the crack under the door and hit your ears. You lean closer so you can hear the noises more clearly. He's muttering curses and spewing prayer after prayer—a soft 'shlick,' 'shlick,' 'shlick' repeated in a synchronized pattern. 

You had not a single clue what he was doing. Perhaps he needed assistance?

"Mr. Bridgerton," you tentatively question, though you receive no answer. The sounds in the room halt. You lean even closer.

"Mr. Bridgerton, are you in need of assistance?" You repeat a little more persistently. Again, no answer. Your hand moves to grip the door handle.

You tell yourself that if he fails to answer once more, you will go in to ensure he is alright.

"Are you quite well, sir?" You ask. Once again, there was no answer. You turn the knob quickly, pushing the door open to see him. Your eyes take in the view. Benedict was unclothed from his waist down, with a sketch in his hand. A sketch that looked eerily similar to you. His cock rests in his hand, his face gleaming with a light sheen of perspiration that made the front pieces of his hair stick to his skin.

Your eyes widen as you stumble back.

"Mr. Bridgerton, I—I am quite sorry. You seem quite…occupied," you avert your eyes awkwardly away from him. "Pardon my intrusion," your voice is unstable from embarrassment, and you feel your face heat as you turn on your heels towards the door. He quickly outstretches his hand to grasp at your own.

Your breath feels like it has been sucked from your diaphragm as you feel his skin on yours. You flick your eyes to him in an instant. His pupils are dilated. "You have not a thing to apologize for," he finally speaks, his voice steady. It was odd, considering you had just walked in on him pleasuring himself, and his cock was still out.

You pay no heed to the words coming from him as your eyes drift from his eyes to his hand on yours to his erect cock mere inches away from you. Your lips part slightly as you exhale a small sigh at the sight of such an intimate part of him that you should not be seeing, now or ever. Though, you couldn't help the knot that formed in your lower stomach at the view.

"Are you curious?" He asks, though his voice is low and rough this time around. You flick your widened eyes to him, mouth agape at his insinuation.

"Pardon me, Mr. Bridgerton, but you are truly mad," you laugh out, pulling your hand away from his and turning away from him.

"Am I?" He smoothly questions. You swivel your head towards him, letting out a huff.

"You are, sir," you confirm, your voice containing humor.

"No need for the formalities," he quips, the corners of his lips quirking at your perplexity. "Call me Benedict, I insist."

"I cannot," you shake your head as you cross your arms over your chest.

"Tell me," he inches closer to you, making sure to take in your body language. He raises his hand to reach for yours, pulling it from its place tucked under your forearm. "Is this formal?"

"Well, I—I suppose it is not," you stutter as he brings your hand to rest against his cheek, allowing you to feel his freshly shaven skin. His eyes are light, you notice. Lighter than you initially thought. 

"Then, there is no need for the formalities," he shrugs casually.

This was preposterous. You are a mere housemaid with blasphemous conceptions about someone you work for. It was unprecedented and unacceptable. Your only job was to aid the Bridgertons when they needed help, not fantasize about one of them in a compromising position.

"I am only to help you when you need assistance," you piously say, dropping your hand from his face, though he can read through you. You considered his offer; your eyes and clammy hands said it all.

"In truth, I need your assistance greatly," he tuts.

"Oh," you raise a brow, as the corner of your lip lifts to form a soft smirk. 

"You see, I am in a great deal of pain," his voice was sardonic. "Could you find it in your heart to aid in taking the ache away?"

"Pain, you say?" You bring your finger and press it on your chin, plastering a thoughtful expression. "That might constitute for my help, I suppose," you begin. "I am here to aid you in all your endeavors. Am I not?" You smile smugly, watching his eyes drift to your plush lips. 

You don't know why, but the way his eyes gloss over, taking in a feature so simple makes you feel a sense of confidence. You gently raise your hand to tilt his chin slightly, making his eyes lock with yours.

"Am I not?" You repeat, slightly more assured. His eyelids lazily close over only half of his eye as his mouth opens slightly.

"You are," he murmurs out. A self-satisfied smile spreads across your face at his compliance. You find yourself placing the palms of your hands on his chest, gently nudging him to a nearby wooden chair to sit. He leans his head back to rest his neck on the back of the chair, breathing labored at your touch.

As you move to sink to your knees between his spreading legs, out of the corner of your eye, you see another loose paper lying just next to you on the floor. You turn fully to look at it, grasping the corner of it with your hand to examine it.

It was similar to the sketch of yourself you found in the drawing room. Though, this sketch's ink seemed much more messy and tainted.

"Poor man," you flip the sketch to show him, a phony frown on your face. "You were using just this?" His eyes lazily dragged over the sketch in your hands to your face right next to it.

"I am afraid so," he tuts. You push the simple sketch into his hands before you bring your hands to his soft linen shirt, slowly slipping it off until it falls somewhere off to the side—his eyes on you the entire time.

"Do you wish to look at your sketch of me or the real me?" You ask, placing your hands on either of his thighs as you see his eyes bounce from you to the sketch and back to you.

His lip quirks as he crumbles up the sketch, tossing it to his side. You let out a light chuckle, bringing your face closer to where he aches. Your lips nearly grazed his erect cock.

"Whatever will you use now?" You breathe out, hyper-aware of his cock so close to you.

"I will find you," he breathes out, bringing his hand to grip your plump cheek. You smile before sticking your tongue out to swirl around the head softly. He hisses at the contact, moving his hand to rest in your hair.

"Dear God," he groans out as you sink him further into your mouth, flattening your tongue and tilting your head back slightly so the head slides across the roof of your mouth and skims against your teeth. His hand in your hair tightens as you suck gently as he slides in and out of your mouth.

You suck for only a short minute before you pull your mouth off, replacing it with your hand carefully and slowly pumping up and down the length of his cock.

"Is this not just satirical?" You question, paying close attention to his eyes, nearly rolling to the back of his head.

"How do you deduce?" He groans, pushing his head back further and his body up more so his cock moves more in your hand.

"In normal circumstances, I am at the mercy of your family, including you," you say, licking the seam of the lips. You continue your movements, though now they are antagonizing and slow-paced. His eyes shoot back to yours as his mouth widens, releasing ragged breaths and throaty moans.

"Though," you begin, tugging him a little bit harder as he throws his head back against the chair, "in here," his eyes peer into yours, "I am singularly and wholly in control. I have you at my mercy." 

"I quite like being at your mercy," he immediately says. You stroke him a little faster, satisfied with his response.

"Is that so, Benedict?" You inquire as he begins pushing himself into your hand faster, desperate for even more of your touch. 

Your movements continue until his body is convulsing and his mouth hangs open, moaning as he comes all over his thighs and your hand. His head hangs low as his heart palliates and his chest heaves.

You even find your own chest heaving alongside his. He picks his head up slightly to make eye contact with you, bringing his hand to brush against your bottom lip, which unbeknownst to you, was covered in blood from sinking your teeth too deep.

"Are you alright?" He questions, taking in your perplexed look. He hopes you didn't have regrets of what had just occurred since it was taboo in nature.

"I am. Are you?" You regurgitate his question, and he nods, a small smile pulling on his lips. He reaches to the table next to him to grab tissues to clean you and himself up.

Once he wipes you clean of any remnants of himself, he instructs you to make your way back before anyone notices, but not before pressing a light kiss to your temple.

You stand and turn towards the door, reaching out to grab the door handle, but before turning it, you turn your head to face his.

"Glad I could be of assistance," you murmur, not awaiting a response before you fully turn the knob and step out the door.

It may have been unbecoming. Perhaps, unlawful and unconstitutional. And substandard in every sense.

The immorality of the situation does nothing to stop you from slipping your fingers underneath your nightgown that night in your room all by your lonesome, reminiscing of the image and sound of Benedict being subdued by you, a mere housemaid. What a glorious night, indeed.

a/n: benedict is such a bottom idc also regency dirty talk is so hilarious

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 2

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: Setting your plan in motion, you flaunt your new "relationship" in Scott's face. However, you didn't think through what happens next as you find yourself in the middle of nowhere alone with Tyler. Word Count: 4401 TW: Family Conflict, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Tears, Brief Mention of Reader's Clothes, Reader's Past/Childhood Explained in Detail, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

Later that night at the motel Tyler had given you directions to, you were just finishing applying a fresh coat of lip gloss when you heard the hoard of storm chasers and their groupies pull up outside. 

Showtime.

Stepping back to look at yourself in the mirror, you wondered if you might be taking this a bit too far. Your sleeveless top had a deeply plunging neckline, the practically sheer material hugging every curve, while your jeans were cut so short even you felt slightly uncomfortable with how much they revealed from behind. It was far from your usual attire and you had only packed it on a last-minute whim.

This outfit would have you out of your comfort zone on the best of days when you were only hanging out with friends, but tonight you were wearing it to meet up with a guy you didn’t even really know. It was very possible that Tyler was a total perv planning on taking advantage of you the moment you climbed into his truck. Yet even as that thought crossed your mind, you dismissed it. Though you had spent less than an hour with him as the two of you discussed your plan for revenge, you didn’t think he was that kind of guy. In fact, he had only continued to impress you with how respectful and down-to-earth he seemed, contrary to your original assumptions. 

But what did you know? Hell, you already tried to figure him out once and were way off the mark. It seemed like the only way to know for certain was to trust your gut and find out for yourself.

You took one final look at yourself, grabbed your purse off the bed, and headed towards the door.

Stepping out of your motel room and peering over the railing to the ground below, you could see the Storm PAR vehicles clustered at the end near the stairs while Tyler’s truck was parked almost directly below you. That meant you would have to walk past the group of Storm PAR guys filing out of their vehicles in order to reach Tyler.

Perfect. You couldn’t have planned that better if you had tried.

Making it to the end of the walkway, you took a deep breath, held your head up high, and arranged your face into what you hoped looked like a confident—slightly flirty—facade, and headed downstairs. You paused for a second at the bottom to straighten your top and run a hand over your hair, but then you strutted forward towards the red Dodge.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw several members of the Storm PAR team stop in their tracks as they noticed you. One nudged the guy next to him and a few pointed in your direction. Only Javi seemed uneasy as he caught sight of you. His eyes quickly darted from you to one of the trucks labeled “Scarecrow” and then back to you before he turned, running his hand through his hair with a big sigh. 

Then Scott climbed out of Scarecrow.

At first, he didn’t notice you. He was looking at a tablet with his head down, but as you got closer and the murmuring got louder, he glanced up to see what the commotion was about. As he did a double-take, you watched the gum drop from his mouth and any doubts you had about this plan instantly evaporated. No longer was the smile on your face forced or the swagger in your step manufactured. Holding your head slightly higher, you let this fresh rush of adrenaline and excitement spurn you forward. 

As you reached the front of Scarecrow, Scott stepped out in front of you, blocking your way. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“What do you care?” you scoffed, placing one hand on your hip, cocking it slightly. “You told me to leave you and Storm PAR alone so I’m respecting your wishes. But since I had planned on staying for the next two weeks, I found someone else who’s interested in having me around.” You looked over your shoulder at the rest of the Storm PAR team and wiggled your fingers in their direction. “You fellas have a good night. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

You pushed past Scott, not so gently shouldering him in the chest, and continued on your way. The rest of Scott’s team snickered and “ooo”ed behind you but based on how they suddenly stopped, you guessed Scott gave them one of his death glares. 

Sashaying the rest of the way to where Tyler was leaning over the side of his truck, rummaging through a toolbox in the bed, you place one hand on his bicep. Giving it a light squeeze, you asked, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me—” Tyler lifted his head and his eyes grew wide as he saw what you were wearing. But then he blinked a few times and cleared his throat. “Um, just let me finish putting these away and we’ll be all set.”

“Sounds good.” You leaned against his truck, discreetly glancing back at the Storm PAR team. Scott was staring daggers in your direction but you just pretended to examine your nails like you hadn’t noticed.

A moment later, Tyler slammed the toolbox closed and straightened up. “Done.” Grabbing his hat and pulling it low over his brow, he stepped back to have a better look at you. Letting out a low whistle, he said, “Damn, sweetheart. If I had known you would come down looking like that, I’d have dressed up for the occasion.” He wrapped his arm around your waist, tugging you flush against his side. “You look gorgeous.” 

His voice was a little louder than necessary and you know it’s all for your brother’s benefit. Yet, between his words and the feeling of his firm chest beneath his flannel shirt, you couldn’t stop the heat from rushing to your face. A small part of you secretly hoped it wasn’t all for show and he actually meant it.

You flashed him your most flirtatious smile and cooed loudly, “Thank you. But you don’t need to change a thing. You look amazing.” 

And it was true. 

Not every man pulled off the cowboy look without seeming like he was trying too hard or was going to a costume party. But Tyler must have been born in boots and a cowboy hat because you couldn’t imagine him any other way. His jeans were comfortably worn and seemed molded to his frame from constant use. His flannel long-sleeved button-down was tucked into his jeans, displaying the enormous belt buckle with “Tornado Wrangler” engraved on it. Topped off with his white cowboy hat and dark leather boots, he looked like he had just stepped off the cover of a Western romance novel. 

The heat in your face grew stronger.

Tyler squeezed you closer as he asked, “You ready to go?” You nodded so he led you over and opened the passenger door. Holding out his hand, he helped you climb in before slamming the door shut. Watching out the window as he turned around, you noticed all the Storm PAR guys staring at him. Tyler must have noticed too because he touched the brim of his hat and nodded in their direction. “Fellas…..Scott.” 

Then he walked to the driver’s side and climbed in. The truck rumbled to life, the vibrations of the powerful engine reverberating throughout your body. Tyler pulled out of the parking lot and onto the dark, empty highway before reaching up and turning on the radio. Low country music filled the quiet cab and he began to hum along, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. You weren’t sure where he was headed or if he even had a destination in mind.

Now that you had properly rubbed your new companion in Scott’s face, you realized you hadn’t thought about what happened next. You were kind of in the middle of nowhere with just a few scattered diners and gas stations within a reasonable distance, and it occurred to you that you had no idea if Tyler already had plans tonight before you barged into his life. 

Shifting slightly in your seat, you spoke up. “Um, thanks again for doing this. If you wanna just drop me off at the nearest restaurant and come pick me up later, that’s fine. And take as long as you want. I need to be gone long enough for Scotty to really sit and stew in it.”

Tyler stopped humming to glance over at you for a second and then looked back at the road. “Did you really think I’d just dump you somewhere and take off?”

You blinked. That was exactly what you thought he might do. “Oh…I mean, you’re already doing me this huge favor. I don’t need to take up more of your time than necessary.”

“Sweetheart, I told you, you are doing me a favor by letting me mess with your brother. All those Storm PAR snobs are a pain in my ass, but deep down they seem like alright guys…. except for your brother. He’s the worst kind of hypocrite, and if all I have to do to rile him up is take a beautiful woman out to dinner, my life is going pretty good.”

You turned and looked out the window so Tyler couldn’t see the effect his words had on you. You still couldn’t tell if he actually meant any of the nice things he said about you, if it was all part of the ruse, or if he was the kind of guy who said those things to everyone, But whatever the reason, it was nice to hear.

Once you had composed yourself, you sat up a little straighter, turned back to him, and said, “Okay, but I’m buying dinner. Wherever you want, wherever you want. It’s the least I can do for you helping me out.”

Tyler smiled, his bright teeth shining in the darkness. “Alright, sweetheart. We’ve got a deal. I’ll take you to my favorite spot.”

Thirty minutes later you were sitting next to Tyler on the back of his truck, both of you holding burgers and iced teas as your legs dangled over the end of the tailgate. When he had first stopped for takeout before driving out into a random empty field, you had your doubts. However, you had promised to let him pick so you sat quietly as he stashed his cowboy hat on the dashboard before jumping out of the truck and jogging around to open your door. And as he had led you around to the back of the truck and your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you understood why he had brought the two of you here.

Taking another bite of your burger, you looked up at the clear sky, still in awe of the sheer number of stars that danced and sparkled above you. Growing up where you had, you always thought the night sky was black or maybe dark blue, but seeing it now in the middle of nowhere, far away from any man-made light, you realized that it was in fact a swirling mix of blacks, blues, purples, greens, and yellows surrounding millions of brilliant stars. It was stunning to see.

“So,” you asked around your mouthful of burger, “this is your favorite spot, huh? I can see the appeal.”

Tyler smiled, leaning against the side of the truck bed. “Well, it doesn’t have to be this spot specifically, but yeah. There’s something about the night sky a few hours after a storm has gone through that just can’t be beat.”

“Wait, a storm went through here today?” You looked around. It was hard to tell now in the dark, but thinking back to before Tyler had turned the truck headlights off, you did remember noticing a jagged path off to your right where the grass had been torn up. However, you hadn’t thought much about it at the time.

“Yep. We were out here right before heading to the diner where you found me. It was a pretty big one too. We got some great footage.”

“Guess I could look it up on YouTube, huh, Mr. Tornado Wrangler,” you teased, grabbing a fry from the bag next to you and tossing it at him, which he dove for and somehow caught in his mouth.

Chewing it, he grinned, “I didn’t know you knew about that.”

You shrugged. “I’ve watched a few videos. Scotty wouldn’t stop bitching about you guys and how unprofessional you were so I had to see for myself. Personally, I like your content. It’s fun.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want to find out I was going out with someone who hates what I do. Guess I owe your brother a thanks for introducing you to us…and indirectly to me.”

Just like when he had complimented your appearance, you felt a warm glow inside when he said you were going out (even though you knew that’s not what he meant…or at least, you didn’t think that’s what he meant). 

Quick to change the subject, you asked something that had been on your mind for a while. “Speaking of my brother, you said earlier that Scott was the worst kind of hypocrite…what did you mean by that?”

Hesitating, he sighed, “I don’t really know your brother—not personally—so I’m not sure how much I should say…”

You laughed. “If you’re afraid of saying something about him that might offend me, don’t. I know Scotty and I’m sure whatever it is, it's warranted.”

“Well, when you put it like that...” Tyler set his drink on the tailgate next to his leg. “I don’t know how much you know about Storm PAR but they aren’t the humanitarian group of scientists trying to help the world that they try to make themselves seem like. I haven’t figured out all the details yet but I know they’re doing some backdoor business with some not-so-great people. Yet, meanwhile, your brother looks down his nose at us Wranglers, calling us sell-outs and fame-seekers. And yeah, I do use my platform to make money but we put as much of it as we can back into these communities affected by the storms. We try to do what we can to help—he can’t say the same.”

You considered what Tyler said for a moment before nodding. “Yeah…somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Scotty’s always kind of seen the world in 1s and 0s, as an equation only he can solve. But he doesn’t really care what happens with that solution or how it might affect the people involved once he’s found it. As long as he gets the credit and compensation, he’s happy. So if the only way Storm PAR has been able to get funding is by doing something shady, I don’t doubt for a second he would do it.”

“Damn. He seems worse than I thought.” Tyler looked out into the darkness, the two of you sitting in silence for a moment. Then he asked, “If your brother’s so bad, why did you come all this way to see him?”

“He’s still my brother and I love him.” Under your breath, you added, “Even if he does make it hard to like him most of the time.”

“I wouldn’t know what that’s like—never had any brothers or sisters—and the family I do have has always been really close and supportive. But it seems to me you shouldn’t have to love someone just because you’re related. Just like you don’t have to be related to love someone like family. ”

“I know, but…it’s complicated—or maybe it’s not, I don’t know.” You pulled your knees up into your chest and rested your chin on them, sighing as you wished you had never brought Scott up in the first place.

“You wanna tell me about it?”

“What?” You tilted your head sharply to look at Tyler, your brow furrowed. “You really want to hear me moan about my childhood and how it fucked up my relationship with my brother?”

Tyler shrugged. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t wanna, but I have been a little curious. Like, why is he treating you like shit and why are you still trying to get his attention despite that?”

“I’m not trying to…” The words felt so hollow in your mouth you trailed off instead of continuing to deny what he said.

“Tonight—us being out here together—I can see it’s not only about revenge. Maybe you don’t even realize it, but I saw the way you looked at him in the parking lot while you were waiting for me.” Tyler poked you gently with the toe of his boot. “You’re still holding out hope he’ll change his mind and ask you to join him and his team. Why?”

“You really want to know?” He nodded, staring at you patiently. Popping a french fry into your mouth, you contemplated where to start your story. Then, with a sigh, you began, “Of course, I don’t remember any of this, but I’ve heard the story enough times: When my mom was pregnant with me, there were some complications and I was born a few months early. I had to stay in the ICU for a long time and, for a while, they weren’t sure if I was going to make it. Obviously—” You held your hand in front of yourself as if to say “ta-da”. Dropping it with a thump onto the bed of the truck, you continued. “My entire life my parents referred to me as ‘their little miracle’ or ‘their angel on Earth’ because they had been so sure they were going to lose me but I didn’t realize until I left home how much my almost dying actually fucked up their relationship with both me and Scotty.”

“What do you mean?”

“In their eyes, I was this precious little gift that was almost taken from them, but at the same time, there was Scotty. Their other kid. Nothing had happened to change how they saw him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we have great parents who love us both deeply but they treated us very differently.” 

“How so?” Tyler asked, tilting his head slightly. 

You shifted on the hard metal. It felt a little strange spilling your guts to this random guy you had only met earlier that day, but what felt even more bizarre was how invested and engaged he seemed in what you were saying. He stared at you as if you had his complete attention, his expression curious yet encouraging, silently urging you to continue. 

Clearing your throat, you said, “Scotty was expected to get perfect grades and place first on the track team and help around the house and have an after-school job on top of all of his advanced classes and pay for all his own things. I, on the other hand, was given a car for my fifteenth birthday—about a week after I was nearly expelled from school for multiple counts of cheating and truancy. I couldn’t even have a learner’s permit at that time! My parents gave me literally anything I asked for and let me do whatever I wanted no matter how much I screwed up all while riding Scotty’s ass to ensure he was perfect. In their eyes, he could do no right and I could do no wrong…and I did a lot of wrong.” 

“But how your parents treated either of you wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t change that.”

You gave a half-hearted shrug. “Maybe. But I didn’t have to take full advantage of it either. Once I realized I could do whatever I wanted without consequences, I ran wild with it. I partied, went on extravagant trips with my friends that my parents paid for, ignored my curfew, brought boys home with me to spend the night right down the hall from my parents, almost flunked out of school. I know it must sound so stupid but while it was happening…” 

Shaking your head, you stared down at your hands, tears beginning to blur your vision. “I was so absorbed in my life, I didn’t see how differently Scott was being treated or what it was doing to him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Scotty is still Scotty, even back then. He looks out for himself before anyone else and the only emotions he really knows how to convey are pissed off or sarcastic. Yet I can’t help but wonder if he’s only like that because of how unfair things were.”

You paused for a moment to wipe your eyes and collect yourself, then cleared your throat before continuing. “It wasn’t until I moved away to college and got some distance from my parents that I looked back and realized how messed up it all was. And I changed. I stopped asking them for anything, I got a job and worked my ass off to pay for school, I began aceing all of my classes…but I still haven’t been able to make it up to Scotty. I was hoping this trip would be that chance. That I could finally show him I’ve grown and changed. That I understand why he may be hurt and try to heal those wounds. But he wouldn’t even hear me out.” 

You scoffed bitterly, burying your face in your hand. “So to show him how much I’ve matured, I came up with this childish plan to throw you in his face. Once again, I thought I could just get what I wanted without thinking about how it might affect my brother or what he would want.” Letting out a deep sigh, you collapsed back into the bed of the truck, staring at the stars dancing high above you. “I guess deep down I’m still that spoiled, self-centered brat I’ve always been.”

The truck jostled beneath you and, a second later, Tyler was lying down too, his face directly across from yours. Without breaking eye contact, he reached out and took your hand. “I might have only just met you, but the girl I’ve seen isn’t anything like the one you described growing up. And if that was how you used to be, you should be proud of how much work you’ve done to become this new version of yourself. Change is one of the hardest things a person can do. It's not an overnight process and we all backslide from time to time. So, yeah, maybe us going out just because you knew it would infuriate your brother isn’t the most mature thing you could have done—” you snorted and Tyler smiled before reaching over to brush a tear off your cheek, his fingers making your skin tingle as they swept across it “—but Scott deserves some blame in this too. Maybe it wasn’t fair your parents treated you both differently, but that doesn’t give him the right to behave the way he did today. He��s a grown-ass adult and should have acted like it instead of throwing a hissy fit when he saw you. So you need to stop blaming yourself for his actions.”

“Why are you being so kind to me?” you muttered, a few more tears slipping down your face. “You don’t even know me.”

“I think I’m beginning to.”

“And?” You tried to chuckle but it came out sounding more like a sniffle. There was no telling what Tyler thought when he looked at you right now—face stained with tears, nose running, eyes bloodshot and watery. You were so embarrassed you had let yourself devolve into such a complete mess in front of him and you were sure he was regretting ever meeting you. “You like what you see?”

Surprisingly, instead of retreating, his hands reached out and cupped your face, his fingers stroking soft circles across your cheeks as he wiped more tears away. “More and more by the minute.”

That broke you.

Whatever composure you had been managing to cling to shattered, and you fell apart. It wasn’t just his words that did it, it was the complete sincerity in his voice that you felt down to your soul. He wasn’t just trying to comfort you or make things better. He had listened intently to every word you said, heard about the side of yourself you tried so hard to forget, and still saw something he liked. Something he said you should be proud of.

Until that moment, you hadn’t realized how much you had needed to hear those words. Your parents never saw themselves as treating you and Scott differently so they couldn’t understand why you wanted to become independent of them or see all the progress you had made while making that happen. And Scott was never around so he hadn’t seen how hard you had worked either. Maybe that was what this trip was really about after all. Maybe, on some level, you had needed Scott to tell you he was proud of who you had become. But he hadn’t even tried to see it. Yet Tyler—this man you had met only hours earlier—had given you all the time and attention you needed to show him how far you had come and he was proud of it. 

For a moment, you cried, laying alone on your side of the truck bed under the Oklahoma night sky. But then, you heard Tyler whisper, “Come here, sweetheart” and felt him gently pulling you towards him. 

Once he had closed the distance between you, he positioned you so your head was resting on his shoulder, one of his arms nestled underneath you while the other held your hand, his thumb circling the back of your hand just as it had your cheek seconds before. He smelled earthy yet clean, almost like that brief moment just before a rainstorm. It was so perfectly him, that you couldn’t help but smile through your tears. 

As you settled against him, you felt his lips ghost briefly against your temple before he rested his chin on the top of your head. And, laying here in this stranger’s arms, the sound of the wind drifting over the plain blending with the beat of his heart against your ear, you had never felt more safe or more seen in your life.

Part 3 coming 8/26!

[thevoidstaredback]

The tale tell signs of the Batmobile pulling into the Cave reverberated for nearl a minute before it even pulled into the garage. Once parked, the driver side door opened and NightBat (Nightwing as Batman) got out before closing the door.

"B!" Red Robin waved, "Welcome back! How'd it go?"

Not even surprised that Robin had gotten tired of babysitting the Leaguers, NightBat walked to join the group. "As usual. Batwoman could've handled herself."

Everyone on comms ignored the woman's indignant call from where she and Selina had joined Barbra and Jason in the Clocktower.

"Bats!" Green Lantern called, "You left us with Robin, right?"

"Mhmm."

"This isn't Robin! He says he's been here the whole time, but he hasn't because he's not Robin!"

NightBat was trying very hard to keep his amusement to himself. It didn't help that he had people laughing in his ear. He could tell RR and Spoiler were having the same issue. "Red Robin."

Green Lantern threw his hands in the air. "I give up!"

"Seriously, man," Spoiler said, concern lacing her tone, "If you're too paranoid or you aren't feeling too well, we can cut this short."

Wonder Woman glared at the man. "No, thank you, we are fine. You were showing us the med bay?"

"Right this way!" Red Robin guided them to the large room that wouldn't look out of place in a hospital. It was closer to looking like a mix between an ER, a Post OP, a Pre OP, and a waiting room. Somehow, it worked. Somehow, it was better than the one on the Watchtower.

Martian Manhunter took the lead in this room. "This is better equipped than the Watchtower's own medbay," he turned to NightBat, "Why is that?"

"Oh, oh!" Spoiler jumped in place, "I can answer that!" When everyone's attention was on her, she said, "It's because we're all human."

"Excuse me?" Superman quirked an eyebrow.

"Eloquently put, Spoiler," Robin smacked her arm, "Show a bit of decorum, will you? Honestly."

"Again?!" Green Lantern shreaked. He was ignored.

"It's true," she shrugged, "Anyway, I gotta bounce." She turned to jog out of the room, "It was nice meeting you all!" she shouted just as the door closed behind her. After a minute, the sound of her bike revving and fading told them all she had left.

The tour of the large med bay soon ended and Robin led the group back up to the smaller med bay. It was outfitted as a small clinic and not an ER, a few chairs being the only hint at a seating area. It was, like the larger one, also completely enclosed in bullet resistant glass.

Taking seats at the meeting table, none of the visiting Justice Leaguers noticed Signal taking his suit and leaving to finish Batwoman's and Catwoman's patrol, nor did they notice Cass sneaking Spoiler's suit back into its case before she took the stairs up to the Manor. Tim had also managed to put his suit back where it belonged before going back to the Manor with Cass.

Flash was the only one not sitting, having too much anxious energy to be able to sit still. So, he wandered around the upper area, careful not to touch anything. He was, however, looking very closely at everything. Something just felt...off. "Wait a minute," he stopped the small talk at the table, "Where did those books come from?"

"What are you talking about?" Green Arrow asked.

"The books, on the table! They weren't there when we got here!"

Robin made his judgement known from behind his mask. "There have always been books on this table, Flash."

"No, there haven't!"

"I think you should sit down," Superman stood to usher his fellow hero over to the chairs, "You're obviously anxious about something-"

Flash didn't let himself be touched, focusing on every little detail now. "And, the suits!" he ran down to the displays, "Two of the suits that were missing earlier are here now! And a different one is missing!"

Green Lantern and Aquaman jumped over the railing to join the Flash. "He's right," the Atlantian announced.

"What's going on here, Bats?" Green Arrow asked as he, too, jumped the railing.

Robin muttered, "We have stairs," under his breath as he followed the adults in jumping over the railing to the lower level.

"I have so many questions." Green Lantern added on.

Wonder Woman stood at the front of the group, "Why did you change your mind to invite us here?"

NightBat raised an eyebrow under the cowl. "I didn't. The others who operate in Gotham did. I just happen to be in charge."

"And how many people, exactly, operate in Gotham?" Superman asked.

Robin was the one to give a non-answer. "How many do you think?"

"This isn't funny, Bats," Cyborg glared. "What's going on."

NightBat said nothing. Instead, he turn away from the group with a swish of his cape and headed to the locker rooms next to the training area.

Now the only Gotham vigilante there, Robin was the focus of the JL's attention. Wonder Woman knelt in front of him to talk. "Will you tell us what's going on?"

Robin scoffed, crossed his arms, and tilted his head up to look down his nose at her. "Do not be so patronising. We invited you here to prove that we do, in fact, trust you all, and you have accused us of trying to trick you?" He expertly hid his satisfaction at the guilt that took over the adults' faces. "Perhaps we should not have let you come here." He turn with just as much dramatics as both Batman and Nightwing. "Come, I'll-"

"What're you all still doing here?" Batman glared as he came out from the locker rooms, several things in hand.

"I was just showing them to the Zeta Tubes." Robin answered.

"Hn." Batman grunted, walking back to the upper level first. The visiting heroes followed him sullenly. Robin took up the rear. Nightwing chose that moment to ride back into the Cave.

"Where you all going?" He called from the garage as he parked his bike.

"Robin was just showing them out," Batman didn't raise his voice above what it normally was, even as he walked away from everyone and into the less echo-y chamber of the lab.

Nightwing pouted. "Boo," He was quick to join them on the upper level. "Why don't you pack it in for the night, Baby Bat? I'll take these guys home." His wink to the adultier adults was not hidden by his mask. How does he do that?

Robin nodded. "Very well." He promptly turned and left for the locker rooms.

"C'mon," Nightwing ushered, "B's run outta patience. I'm glad he lasted this long, though! It took forever to get him to let me and Robin show you around! And, when Spoiler heard we had company, she just had to come say 'hi'. Though, I'm sad you couldn't meet Agent A or O or Signal."

"Who?" Superman asked.

Nightwing laughed, the sound echoing in the Zeta Room. "Agent A's the one who makes sure we're all still alive at the end of the day. O is our eye in the sky, our ear to the ground, our guy in the chair. She knows everything. Nothing happens in Gotham without her knowing. And Signal is our newest addition. He's the only meta allowed to operate in the city, proven by the bat on his costume. He's our daytime hero, though, so he's out on patrol right now. A shame you couldn't meet him."

"And Batwoman?" Wonder Woman mentioned as she stepped up to the Zeta Tubes.

"Who?" Nightwing joked. The others didn't find it amusing. "Tough crowd," he mumbled. "Batwoman doesn't normally work with us. She's B's cousin. She's usually with the Birds of Prey, but she decided to come help us out for a bit."

"Birds of Prey?" Flash wondered.

"A story for another time, I'm afraid," Nightwing sighed, "The Zeta's are all set for the Watchtower. It was nice having you guys here, even though I had to leave so soon after you get here."

Cyborg patted his shoulder. "It's alright, shit happens. Is everyone at the bank alright?"

Nightwing nodded, "Yeah, no one got hurt."

"That's good."

With the final word said, the eight visiting heroes left Gotham. Nightwing was careful as he left, resetting the traps and security measures.

"And that's a wrap!" Jason called over comms.

Barbra took over just long enough to say, "Movie night at Wayne Manor!" before Selina cut everyone's comms.

Part 6 Part 8

[tojivu]

would u do satoru who actually has six eyes with the reader scenario? it could be anything, like the reader going through his baby pictures and cooing at how cute he looked with one set of eyes open, but the other two werent. or comforting him cuz people think they're freaky. anything fluffy :D

# SIX ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note stop this is so cute.. i changed the prompt a bit i hope u don’t mind. hope this isn’t too long for your taste as well zzz

✰ — cw / tags satoru with literally six eyes , sfw , gn!reader , use of pet names ‘baby’ etc , briefly proof read ( i tried )

✰ — playing n side by steve lacy.

✰ — word count 1.2k

✰ — part two click here.

it was a lazy sunday morning when you decide to wake up early. it was unusual of you, because you usually woke up later than your boyfriend—but you remembered the state of your shared apartment and knew something had to be done.

it was a mess. a complete and utter disarray.

moving in week was finally done, at least technically. some of your stuff was still in cardboard boxes. you knew gojo had some unpacking to do as well, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt to help him—you knew about the long hours he endured.

you’re still groggy when you make your way down the stairs, holding onto the railing for support. you rub your eyes until the sunlight doesn’t hurt anymore—but you glance into your living room and see the piles of tiny boxes, full of trinkets from your previous house and it hurts your eyes all the same.

you yawn and sit yourself down on the couch, scissors in hand and ready to take on the workload. you meticulously cut the tape sealing a particularly damaged cardboard box, deciding you would eliminate the smaller stuff first; gojo would wake up sooner or later and you certainly weren’t going to carry the bigger boxes by yourself.

you turn the flaps over and the sunlight spilling in through the living room windows help visualise how dusty it really is—you don’t think it’s yours. the box must’ve not been opened for quite some time.

it’s a photo frame you find in the box, but there’s way too much dust for you to really see anything. you bring the frame to the kitchen, grabbing a wet rag and wiping the plastic film to the best of your ability. you think this must have been hidden from you on purpose, you’ve never seen this photo in your life—no picture of satoru escapes you, after all. he must’ve not wanted you to see it.

it’s your boyfriend as a child, at a strawberry farm. he’s wearing a sunhat and a basket of berries are being shown off to the camera; his smile undoubtedly huge, and his eyes are glistening in the sunlight the hat failed to deter—all six of them.

you’re wondering why he ever ought to hide this photo from you. you knew about his eyes, and you’ve made it clear that you loved them. though, you can’t really speculate—gojo’s told you briefly about his childhood, but not really in detail. “i didn’t really like showing them when i was young,” was all you got out of him when you asked about his middle school days.

you’re startled when you hear a yawn coming from the stairs, and you shift your gaze from the photo to gojo—adult sized gojo with only one pair of eyes open—who’s making his way towards you. quick reaction time enables you to hide the photo behind you, just as gojo enters the kitchen.

“good morning baby,” he says while rubbing his eyes. he plants a kiss on your forehead, then blinking slowly at you in an attempt to wake himself up completely. “what’re you doing up? it’s 8 a.m.”

you scoff at him, jokingly. “what, am i not allowed to wake up at 8 a.m?”

gojo lets out a chuckle, his voice still raspy. “didn’t say that.”

you smile up at your boyfriend, who’s eyes are still not fully open yet. the slits on his cheek and forehead from his other two pairs of eyes further intrigue you—perhaps, if you dig a little more… would you be able to find photos just like that one?

you feel sneaky, looking through your boyfriend’s things without his permission. of course, you couldn’t help yourself—how could you? his smile looks priceless.

and so, something in you is determined to find every single one.

your mental scheming is stopped, though, when gojo makes a loud gasping noise. you’re snapped back into reality, and you realise he can see the photo frame you’ve hidden behind your back. “y/n!”

gojo is fully awake now, his expression a mix of shock and embarrassment. “how did you find that? i swear i put all those boxes away in my office. . .”

you point a finger at him, accusingly, with your eyebrows furrowed for dramatic effect. feeling offended, you gasp as well. “so you did try to hide them from me!”

he lets a laugh slip through his lips, much too flustered that this is how you discover his childhood photos. he shakes his head, “i’m sorry, y/n. didn’t think it would matter much.”

“why did you hide them? is it because of your eyes?”

gojo nods his head, taking a closer look at his younger self. “they were a bit weird for a six year old to have, no?”

you gasp again, hurt by his statement. the first thought you had when you found the photo was how adorable his eyes were, the different tints of blue shining in the sun—and the missing teeth which were shown so proudly in his smile. how happy he must’ve been to smile like that.

“i love them, ‘toru.”

it was always heartening to hear that coming from you.

when gojo satoru first met you, he was unsure if you’d be weirded out—like how everyone else was when he was younger. he’d learned how to keep the pairs on his forehead and cheeks closed in his teenage years, so it was muscle memory by the time he knew you.

the first time you saw them was a few years ago, an unremarkable tuesday morning: at least that's what you thought, but to satoru—it was everything.

you awaken next to him, and gojo's perplexed. why you were staring at his face so intently? was his bed hair that bad?

“i didn’t know you could open all of them.”

gojo internally cursed himself, thinking it was game over—you’d probably tell him you’ve got to go and never call him back; but you did.

you called him and told him you missed him the following day. that sweet voice of yours he was so relieved to hear.

as a child, people would often call gojo strange looking—his piercing blue eyes already made him intimidating. people would barely look at him; so when there were six of them, it was even harder to make conversation. you guessed a long time ago that that was why he started wearing shades.

people could never look at him directly, but with you—it was a different problem altogether. you just couldn’t stop looking, always telling him how pretty his eyes were. he would find it hard to believe with the way he’d grown up, but it’s undeniable he feels comfortable showing it to you; sometimes feeling all right to go out without his sunglasses on.

“yeah, i know.” gojo’s smile is soft. he leans down and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his jaw on your shoulder and swaying you left to right. “you tell me that all the time.”

it’s cheesy sunday mornings like this you look forward to.

it’s been an hour since you’ve woken up and gojo insisted on helping you finish cleaning—it’s pointless, though: because you two end up on the couch, looking at childhood photos of yourselves—with the occasional embarrassing story time.

at the end of the day, nothing is clean and you two are still on the couch: except gojo is snoring and you’re on top of him with your face buried in his chest, trying to fall asleep despite the inconsiderate noise—photo albums sprawled out on the coffee table.

211023 — this is so bad i’m sorry… TT

[hometoursandotherstuff]

If I was filthy rich...I'd buy this gilded age, limestone, Beaux Arts 1910 mansion on the Upper East Side of New York City. I posted it once before, so I guess it's hard to sell a home that's this expensive, (one of the hazards of being too rich, I guess). 7bds, 12ba, 18,000 sq ft, $54.5m. Open the gilded front door and step inside.

Love the rounded walls in the foyer. What is the stuff they have on the walls? I would have to take that down- it looks like some kind of carpeting.

But look at the magnificent marble stairs. I wonder what that is on the side- maybe it was a fountain or something at one time.

Carved marble and sculpted newel post.

Isn't that a lovely staircase? This home is 8 floors! 6 are above ground.

Details of the railing.

The sitting room is nice and light.

Look at the details!

This home is a work of art.

I would glide thru these room in a freakin' ball gown.

You can tell that this was all hand-sculpted.

I don't even know what level we're on.

The walls in this room have black & gold marble wainscoting and the wood panels have intricately carved crown molding.

I can see why this home is so expensive.

The artistic detail is crazy.

So beautiful.

This is all they show of it. And, the description says that the sale has to be approved by the court, so it must be an estate sale or something.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/15-E-63rd-St-New-York-NY-10065/344214383_zpid/?

[lunarmango]

Flickering Lights

Demon Alastor x Human reader fic? ON IT. I'm so siked to make this a series and I hope who reads this enjoys this as much as I do. I wanna get into writing. (I don't write, I draw) and I was thinking of making a longer fic, the details were so hard to piece together. I really enjoy the concept of demon Al with human reader. So here we go!

Word Count: 2k

TW: None for now? Pretty mild stuff haha.

Chapter One: Moving in

New Orleans, Louisiana

1946

Where wandering spirits were said to roam, walk and explore more frequently, being an area where people would find it easier to communicate with them, or so you were told. You were convinced it's utter nonsense to be completely honest. The whole notion of spirits was so far fetched you just couldn't bring yourself to even fathom them. Though not opposed to being proved wrong.

It's been years, saving for a house. Your apartment was small, cheap and far too crowded with furniture and items you just can't let go of. From a suffocating apartment to a house. You were practically buzzing from excitement. Like, literally almost shaking.

A new chapter in your life.

When you walked in, you suck air through your teeth in anticipation, the cool air hitting your teeth invigorating you, fingers fumbling with the old metallic keys that jingled in response, finally able to slot the correct one in the door and push open the dark wood hastily, the hinges swinging and the door practically flying.

You winced at the loud thud when it slammed on the white painted brick wall. Taking a few deep breaths, you decided it was best if you didn't wreck your new house on the first day. You think you would actually cry if you did, and you were not willing to test that theory. Checking the wall where the door hit with a small grimace of anticipation, you close the door behind you, relieved to see the wall is fine, your face relaxing again as you take yet another deep breath through your nose.

House tour!

Kicking off your shoes at the entrance, you begin wandering from room to room, you take in the spacious kitchen and living room. Though it lacked a certain homey touch. But you were aware why. There was no furniture after all. You had a vision for the house. Just had to wait 3 days before you could make it happen and the furniture would arrive. You had big plans, that did not pair well with your lack of patience. You already had multiple shitty sketches of how you roughly wanted each room to look. The furniture is all you need, it'll arrive soon enough. Hopefully.

You're going to need to find a way to pass the time.

First things first, you still haven't explored the upstairs! Running your hand gingerly along the wooden railing as you hop upstairs, the hard floor creaking occasionally under your feet every few steps, you take a sharp left and step into the master bedroom. It was massive. You feel a grin etch at your face as you peek your head inside. You're definitely getting a king sized bed. With a nod you left the room, confident you were going to be a pro napper at least a month within getting your new bed.

You open the door to the bathroom. Spacious enough, room for a decent sized tub and shower. Although you never really saw the point in baths if you wanted to get clean. You step out and look into the spare bedroom. Maybe a potential study? That or the attic. You always were sure that the environment can heavily affect the quality of ones work.

Was such a big house going to make you feel small? Possibly alone? You scoffed to yourself. Who cares when you have such a house?! Expensive too. Ho ho you were going to have fun "subtly" showing off this house to your friends.

With a quick, dismissive peek to the spare room you turn on your heels, going up the stairs to the attic with cautious steps, the worn wooden panels making such loud noises in retaliation to your steps that you were afraid that they would give in. Your hand gently opens the rattly metallic doorknob and open the door, squinting only to see a small switch on the side of the door. You flick it on and hear the buzz of a weak warm light turning on above you, fully illuminating the room the best the small warm light can.

First thoughts? Dusty. Very Dusty. Every box, book and the long desk and chair at the end of the room practically black and gray from the abundance of dust. A sigh escaping your lips, realising just how long you were going to be cleaning for, a task you were not mentally prepared for yet. Making your way to the desk, you approached a large wooden desk, most of the surface blocked by a large panel with knobs, switches, dials and little doodads that slide up and down. The sliding doodads having small, mini light bulbs at the top of each. You look at the corners and edges of the panel, looking for an on switch or something.

Nothing.

It was probably unplugged?

Nevertheless, as foreign as the panel seemed to you, a surge of determination drives through you to figure it out. It seemed expensive. Whoever used this probably cared deeply for it, the text of the brand faded, showing the love and use the panel had been provided with. If it was so well used, you had to figure out just why it was loved so much.

To begin, you had to figure out just what it is. Turning it on seemed like the obvious option.

Crouching under the table to look to where the cables lead, you notice a microphone on the floor. Wrapping your hand just above the flat base of the microphone, feeling the coolness of the metal and the sandy texture of the dust between your skin and the metal, you try to lift it. You were suprised to find your hand faltering slightly at the sheer weight of the microphone, dropping forward onto your knees to provide a better position to pick it up in, using both hands to stand up and set it in front of the panel with more ease. It wasn't that heavy. But you didn't want to drop it. Wasn't this supposed to have headphones...?

Once more, you go down on all fours, looking under the desk, when no sign of somewhere to turn on the panel or headphones appears, you circle round to the back of the desk, finding a wire and an unplugged plug. With a small huff that caused far too much dust to fly in the air, triggering a cough from you. Slotting the plug in the panel above you hums to life and flickers on once more. A small hushed yes emerges from you as you slowly stand up, brushing the dust from your knees, then your hands.

You walk back in front of the desk, flipping some random switches for the hell of it, satisfying metallic clicks and clanks as a result of your tampering. Then proceeding to tap the microphone, you blow on it to rid it of the pesky dust, stepping back to let the dust fall.

You took a moment to appreciate just how expensive this radio setup must have been, so big and complicated it made your mind whirl just trying to decipher what each control did. You brush away some more of the dust from the panel, running your finger between the buttons, trying to look for labels, or some sort of guidance, only to find them worn out, white writing so etched and scratched at on the metallic reddish-brown surface that it was unreadable. A soft smile tugging at your lips in realisation of just how loved this equipment really was.

You’ve seen the basics of what a radio setup should look like, without having to remember the separate into bitty details of the control. Panels, a microphone. Where were the headphones? You look below the desk, bending at an uncomfortable angle to the shelves situated under the left of the desk.

Nothing.

Not like you could broadcast anything even if you wanted to. Why do they use the headphones? To listen to the sound of their own voice? How proud and snobby must one be to love their voice that much? An audible scoff from you. You know you wouldn’t be able to put up with anyone of the sort.

Using both hands, stabilising the microphone properly, you pick it up, with a smart smirk, looking at the empty wall you begin speaking to your imaginary viewers, mocking the accent radio people had to use to the best of your ability. “Hello my dear viewers! Welcome back to my boring ass show, talking about shit that probably serves as background noise” A snicker escapes your lips as your smirks stretches wider in amusement, gently putting the microphone back down.

Eager to make your made up show more believable, you move away from the desk, eyes scanning the worn wooden panels of the floor. Remembering you looking earlier you let out a hefty sigh. Were you really going to spend hard earned money for a few minutes of make-believe mucking about like a child?

Oh definitely.

Lost in thought, still staring at the floor, chuckling in thought a distinct noise snaps you out of the haze of your mind.

Click

You look over your shoulder to the direction of the noise, the desk, trying to place the exact location.

Another click

It was from the panel? You turn back to the panel, looking down on the panel as the clicks increase in frequency, switches being flicked, dials turned. A particular pattern caught your eye being the fact that during the abundance of alterations to the controls of the panel, no knob or slide was altered twice, almost if it was altering itself the clicking now a steady rhythm. What a ridiculous idea, as clueless as you were about the technology you were almost certain it wasn’t that advanced.

The clicks slowly come to a stop, one last slider slowly going upwards to a certain line before it stops completely.

“Eager to hear my voice?” You mutter under your breath, a dial slowly turning, one of your eyebrows quirking up in response. Spirits and ghosts don’t exist.

There’s always a what if.

What if they do exist?

What if you’re the first to fully realise this?

What if you’re living a ghost story?

After all, things moving on their own in the dusty attic of an old house was never a good sign.

Yeah no who were you kidding.

But just to make sure.

You bend at the waist, your lips as inch away from the crosshatched metal of the top of the microphone.

“Can you hear me?” You say in a teasing low purr, holding back a laugh in your lungs, helping to alleviate the tension you’re beginning to feel rising up in you, pressing in on the sides of your head. Jokes always help. Well. Not always. However you can’t exactly help it either.

A flicker of the small light bulbs, emitting a warm light above the sliding controls. You couldn’t help but still be sceptical. Your voice now has a newfound edge, the whole situation making you uncomfortable.

“You- can?”

Another flicker from the same small light bulbs.

A nervous laugh rumbling from your chest.

You had to figure this out, because you wouldn’t put going insane past you. Maybe a break from the attic would be good. Probably buy some headphones. As unsettling as the panel is, having the set incomplete irks you unnecessarily, and it was an enigma you couldn’t help but feel determined to figure out.

[materlux]

Fragile Flower.

Okay so, I came across two artworks on pinterest where Argenti just looks so pathetic, and I felt inspired. So, this is very self indulgent, the reader is meant to be perceived as Idrila the aeon of beauty, but reader is gender neutral (refered to as you).

Enjoy, I guess, I enjoyed this.

Honkai Star Rail | Main Masterlist

The room is made up of white marble floors and walls, and a detailed and ornate ceiling held up by pillars of the same material. The throne you sit on is made of stone and wood, a red cushion covers the cold wood. Red fabric is draped along the walls and over the windows, warm sunlight scatters across the white floors and walls that cast a blinding gleam, like sunlight on snow. Red roses grow in alcoves under the windows and behind the throne, they lean in your direction and bow under your stare.

   Before you stands a knight, honoured in your title and searching your name. He is clad in well polished silver and gold armour, decorated with roses and carvings alike. His hair is a piercing red that puts your roses to shame, they know this and turn away at his presence. His eyes are pale and green, a small dot of magenta makes up his pupils, it is an artistic contrast, one you appreciate. His skin is fair and clear, unmarked despite his duty as a knight, you wonder how he managed such a feat.

You beckon him closer, he hesitates and stops before the steps to where you sit. You tilt your head at him, he fails to meet your eyes, you laugh quietly to yourself. His shoulders stiffen and he takes a shaky breath, your laugh quiets and you look down at him.

“Please, come up and stand before me,” you beckon gently. He moves up the steps slowly, taking great care in every step, unlike you every sound he makes echoes across the walls. The temple does not dare to mimic a sound you make, just as the roses bow for you and the sun gently strokes your skin, never burning. 

   Once he reaches the top of the stairs, he kneels down and bows before your feet, the tips of his bangs barely graze the skin of your thighs. His breath hitches and he lets out a quiet apology, if he expects you to condemn him, he is going to be surprised. You suppose you can’t be too surprised by such an expectation, it is rare that anything touches your skin, only the finest silk made out of stars may graze your body.

   “There is no need to apologise.” You reach down and gently run a finger along his bangs, moving them aside to see his face. His shoulders stiffen, but his hands remain at his sides, he doesn’t look up. You think it’s a shame his eyes are covered by his lashes, you wish to see them.

   “Look at me, please” you ask gently. He hesitates and takes shaky breath after shaky breath, he raises his head before he raises his eyes. He goes silent the moment he locks eyes with you, for a moment you worry he’s stopped breathing, until he takes in a stuttered breath and looks away from your eyes.

   Tears like pearls line his eyes, you worry you may have pushed a limit. Mayhaps his mortal eyes couldn’t handle the godly gleam of your own, you hadn’t considered that. A tear runs down his cheeks, more follow and they drip down onto the cold floor, the walls mimic the sound like rain. Your face saddens and you reach out, gently you cup his cheeks and rub at his tears. By the way his breathing stutters, his eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly, you’d think his heart had stopped. The way he barely reaches for his heart and the choked sob he lets out, certainly don’t help this conclusion.

   “Oh my knight, please, it was not my intent to sadden you,” you apologies.

   “But my flower, you do not sadden me,” he gasps out between breaths and quiet sobs, it all echoes along the walls, the temple mocking him.

   “Then why do you cry?” You tilt your head, flowers flow down your hair like lilies in a stream. He breathes in deep, an attempt to compose himself you suppose. His hand flattens along his chest, and he looks up at you, still avoiding your eyes.

   “I have dedicated my life to following you.” He breathes every word. “I have searched for you across the cosmos.” His features soften. “I have met many beautiful souls,” he says these words with sincerity. “I believed you to be just as beautiful as the cosmos, but now I see you are more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.” His voice begins to waver, his words of flattery echo off the walls, and they resonate in your chest and a gentle smile crosses your face. “I am quite overwhelmed, why would such beauty as yourself ever let a mortal like myself look upon you?” His question is one you expected, you do not allow many to look upon you, even the stars you weave into fabric to not dare to let their glow gleam on your skin.

   You smile down at him and gently stroke his cheeks, his skin glistens in the sunlight and the stars in his hair are highlighted by the light.

   “Because you, my knight, are exceptionel.” His skin warms under your fingers, you giggle softly as his cheeks turn red at your praise. “One as beautiful as you, who rivals my own roses, belongs nowhere else but in my temple.” His face nearly matches his hair, and he attempts to hide in your hands. You wonder if he realises what he’s doing, or if it’s involuntary.

   “Your words are too kind, I for one have never had a way with words, combat is more suited for a knight such as myself.”

   “It is a wonder your skin has stayed so clean and unmarred, truely a feat I admire.” While your praise is honest, a part of you is only voicing it to watch him squirm and blush. Quite quickly, maybe even alarmingly quick, the battle wise knight at your feet melts into your hands. You quietly coo at his soft expression, and he shies further into your hands.

   “I may be godly, but I still feel I ought to ask; do you wish to stay by my side? As a part of my temple?” You ask quietly, his gaze lifts to look into yours, there are remnants of shock in them. The walls stop echoing his uneven breaths and the roses raise their heads cautiously, for only a moment even the sun warms on your skin.

   He smiles wide, rosie lips pull at laugh lines across his skin. “I would be honoured to stay by your side, wherever you’d like me,” he answers after a beat. You remove your hands from his skin, he lets out a quiet noise and nearly pouts. You smile and coo again, how cute, already addicted to your touch. You summon an ornate sword, its details are carved and layered in gold, it reflects rays of sunlight across the room.

   “With this sword I, the aeon of beauty, hereby knight you.” With your words you lay the sword down on both his shoulders. “You, my dearest, are now the only true knight of beauty.” These declarations are the only words of yours the walls dare echo, ingraining them into the stone.

   “I am truly honoured, I shall guard this temple with my life, as long as I can stand no one shall pass those doors without your permission. I shall bring every soul, beautiful or not, to their knees for you, only for you.” He must be feeling bold, for he leans over and softly kisses the blade still resting on his shoulder.

[a-killer-obsession]

Bite [Killer x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

Killer pisses you off, and you go on the attack.

CW: violence, bloodplay, femdom, sub!killer, vaginal sex, oral (m recieving), marking, pain kink, praise, restraints,, hate fuck, aftercare

WC: ~4k

Masterlist || A03

The seas were calm today as the Victoria Punk made its way through unfamiliar waters, following the log pose to a new, mysterious island on the Grandline. There wasn't much to do on afternoons like this, chores had already been completed and there was no rush to help with making resupply lists, the next island still being several days away at least, if the wind kept this pace. The air was perfect for sitting out on the deck, the sun not too harsh or hot, but just warm enough to be comfortable, with a cool refreshing breeze that ruffled your hair slightly. It was the perfect opportunity to fill the time with one of your favourite hobbies. 

So here you sat, back against the railing as you scribbled in your leather-bound sketchbook, alternating between drawing from life and drawing from memory. You'd been doing this for an hour or so but were growing bored of the subjects you had in front of you, so you recollected yourself to move to a slightly different spot. You made your way up the stairs of the rear cabin, parking yourself on a barrel near the front rail. From here you could see a great deal of the ship, from the main deck stretching out to the front raised platform and the top of the large dinosaur skull that encompassed the bow of the Victoria. 

Sat upon the skull you found a new subject, who sat with his scarred side facing you, staring out to the portside to watch a passing group of flying fish as they followed and danced in the rippling waves caused by the movement of the ship. From this angle you had a perfect side profile of him, the silhouette of his mask making a clean cut against the blue, gently clouded sky that was laid out in front of the ship. 

Pencil to paper, you diligently worked at sketching him, his grand mane of hair posing a particular challenge that you relished in. You enjoyed capturing the way the light bounced off his helmet, and the texture of his scarred arm. With the values blocked out, you lost yourself in the shading, your tongue poking out just a tiny bit from the corner of your mouth as you rested the lead of your pencil on an angle against the page to cover more surface with a soft layer of graphite. The drawing was coming out well, you were growing quite proud of it in fact, you thought you may even gift him the drawing afterwards if it continued to go this well. 

In your focus you didn't even notice him move, nor the way he silently stalked towards you, alerted to your staring by his observation haki. Killer didn't like being watched, and he certainly didn't appreciate you drawing him without permission. It made him uncomfortable to be perceived with such detail, even if the drawing was quite good. It almost made him feel bad for what he was planning to do. 

“What are you doing?” His baritone startled you out of your focus and you audibly gasped. 

“Uh, I'm uh, drawing,” you stuttered, and held your book up for him to see, “do you like it?”

You were very proud of your drawing, but it was impossible to gauge Killer's reaction past his mask. You hoped his silence was because he was so stunned with your incredible artistic skills. He made it pretty clear what he thought though when he grabbed your sketchbook quite roughly, yanking it from your hands and throwing it off the side of the ship. You rushed to the railing to save it, just in time to watch your precious, very expensive, sketchbook sink under the waves, gone forever. 

You gripped the railing hard enough to hear a slight crack as your vision went red. You were a Kid Pirate, so of course not only were you incredibly strong - you also had some serious anger issues. Killer had already started to leave when you turned and rushed at him. He began to scoff, ready for you to yell at him and to bite back at you that drawing was a wasted skill for a pirate if you weren't going to use it for maps. He certainly didn't expect the swift kick to the dick he received instead, nor the kick to the head that followed and knocked him down as you took advantage of him bowing in pain from the first kick. He cursed himself for not expecting or readying himself for physical violence, he should have known better, and in his smug confidence had left himself open for attack. 

He fell to the deck on his side, slightly curled in on himself as he grabbed at his sore groin. You'd kicked him pretty fucking hard both times, and he was dizzy from it. Before he had time to recover you jumped on top of him, forcing him to roll to his back and hovering over him with your knees planted either side of his hips. You were still seeing red, instincts guiding you as you unleashed your fury upon him, and right now your instincts were telling you one thing - go for the fucking jugular. 

You bent and zeroed in on his exposed neck, sinking your teeth into it till you tasted iron on your tongue. He groaned under you, trying to push you off, but you clamped him with your strong thighs and sunk your teeth in deeper, one hand wound hard through his long hair and pulling at it. You swore you heard him whine as you withdrew your teeth and sunk them in again at a slightly different spot, marking his neck over and over again. 

There was a quiet whimper from inside his mask, a sound entirely unexpected from the Massacre Soldier, and it sent electricity straight to your core, triggering a different kind of instinct. You lowered yourself, resting against him while you still straddled him, his hands finding your waist and his hips pressing up against you. Your eyebrows raised as you released his neck from your teeth - his clothed erection made it clear, he was enjoying this. 

You growled against his neck, you weren't sure if it was possessive or a warning, running your tongue over the bleeding bite marks along his exposed neck before sinking back in, gentler this time, more playful. You rolled your hips, grinding your clothed core against him, eliciting a deep groan from him as he raised to meet you. 

“Fucking hell, what the fuck is happening here?” the captain spoke up beside you. Neither of you had noticed his heavy footsteps approaching, your mind swimming in lust and rage. You looked up at him with a feral growl that sent a shiver down his spine, your eyes almost black with how blown out your pupils were. Killer's blood was dripping down your chin and coating your teeth as you barred them at Kid, his eyes widening at the way you looked right through him like he was nothing. He looked down at Killer, laid out on his back, panting slightly as blood dripped from the many marks you'd made on his neck. It was not often someone got the better of Killer, even less common was letting himself show any hint of lust in a public setting. You were, afterall, both out on the deck for all to see. The first mate tried to move, and you pushed down against him, growling in clear warning. 

“Christ, she got you good Killer,” Kid barked out a laugh, “get a fucking room though, you’re getting blood on the deck” 

You blinked a little in realisation as you came to your senses. Looking down at Killer you realised how precarious this situation was, but you'd had a taste of power over him, and you didn't feel like giving it up, not while your core ached with need from the hot, heavy encounter. You grinned down at him, and he shivered at the dark look in your eye, before you stood quite suddenly and pulled him up by the front of his shirt. You didn't let go of it as you dragged him, the blue fabric balled tight in your hand. He probably could have fought back, but in his daze he chose not to as you dragged him towards his own room, Kid roaring with laughter behind you as you both disappeared under deck, unbelievably surprised and amused at how you'd tamed his friend. 

The door to Killer's cabin was unlocked, as it always was. You'd never been in here but that was the point, nobody dared enter his room, so he had no need to lock it. You pulled him inside, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it before turning back to him. You shoved him backwards towards the bed, sinking your nails into the fabric of his t-shirt and showing off your strength by tearing it open, before giving him a hard shove so he fell back against the bed. His legs still hung over the side, his bare chest heaving as you climbed over him and clamped your hand around his neck, forcing him up further on to the bed as you shifted with him, from the threat of suffocation if he didn't move. 

“Stop me any time, Massacre Soldier,” you whispered at the side of his mask before running your tongue shamelessly over the front of it, following the blue stripe that ran up the centre. Killer only groaned in reply, raising his hips off the mattress in a desperate attempt to find friction. 

“I don't.. want you… to stop,” he wheezed between heavy breaths.

“No?” You purred, “you gonna be a good boy for me then?” Your teeth ran over his neck where his skin remained sensitive from your earlier bites, making his hips buck. You pressed back down against him, forcing him to still. You were making it clear to him that you were in charge here.

“Y-yes..” he stuttered. You sat up while you still straddled him, untying the light blue sash he wore around his waist and pulling it from underneath him. 

“Give me your wrists,” you commanded. He obeyed willingly, holding them together in front of you. You looped the sash around them several times, binding them together, before pulling them up over his head to secure against the headboard. He groaned under you, trying to roll his hips up against you as you hovered slightly to reach the headboard, your breasts hanging above his face. He pulled experimentally at the fastening, you'd bound him tight, probably too tight, but it was purposeful - you hadn't forgotten how mad you were. This was, at its core, a hate fuck, but Killer wasn't in the headspace to deny you. He'd never been bound or dominated by a woman like this before, and it had him in a needy haze. He was ready to get on his knees and worship you, should you ask him to. 

Satisfied with your work, your teeth returned to his neck, nipping and sucking, leaving more marks and licking over them. Your mouth made its way further down, leaving a trail of bruises and teeth marks down his chest, over his pecs and abs, rubbing his hardened nipples between your teeth in turn and tugging at them. One hand supported your weight next to him, the other slid down to his groin, still tender from your earlier kick, and you palmed him over his jeans. He groaned as you stroked him teasingly, running your finger over the tip where his precum was beginning to soak through the fabric. 

“Mmm, so eager for me,” you mumbled against his chest, “you love me marking you that much baby?”

Killer writhed under you, desperate for more, desperate to be inside your wet heat. His cock throbbed, whether from arousal or pain from earlier, he wasn't sure. Both, probably. You sat up again, taking in the rare delicacy of the dangerous Massacre Soldier, marked up and powerless underneath you, begging for you to do more. You bit your lower lip as you trailed your hands over his torso, feeling the hard, well sculpted muscles, watching him fight against the sash that kept him from touching you. Your deft fingers finally found the closure to his jeans and freed him, his thick cock springing free as he lifted his hips so you could pull down his pants and boxers. 

“Look at you, already spilling out for me,” you purred as you ran a fingertip through his precum and spread it over the head, “so desperate for me, such a mess for me” 

Killer practically whined as you wrapped a hand around his base and dipped your head to lick a wide stripe along the underside. The headboard threatened to break as you finally took him in your mouth, bobbing your head and stroking what you couldn't take yet of his impressive length. You let him slide further into your throat, breathing through to your nose to repress your gag reflex, taking him deeper and deeper till you could bury your nose in his soft blond pubs. He groaned as you swallowed around him, pulling away and releasing him to take a much needed breath. 

“Fuck… please… fuck,” he could barely form a coherent sentence, the way you had him lost in his lust. 

“Please what baby?” you purred, still fully dressed as you crawled back over him. You ground your clothed pussy against him while you watched him with a coy smile, his mask tilting back against the bed and his hands tugging at the restraints uselessly. “Use your words, Massacre Soldier” 

“Fuck me, please,” he whined, “please”

“Why should I?” You lent over to speak right next to where his ear would be under the mask, your fingers trailing down his torso, your centre raised to deny him any friction. “You really pissed me off, you know? That sketchbook was fucking expensive, and full of some of my best work. Why the fuck would I give you what you want?” you growled, digging your nails into his chest till they broke skin. His chest jolted at the sudden pain, but his dick twitched in response as well. 

“I'm sorry… please… I'll replace it,” he tried his best to press up against you, but you continued to hover just out of reach, “please, I'm sorry, please just fuck me, please”

“Mmm…” you mumbled, sitting on his thighs and running a fingertip along his needy cock, “you're so cute when you beg…” 

You stood up and stripped your clothes, before straddling him again, this time sitting against his abdomen. You leaned back and spread your legs wide, and his mask lifted and tilted towards you, trying his best to see your naked pussy. It was glistening with arousal and you started to touch yourself, playing with your clit the way you knew you liked best before dipping your fingers inside yourself. He grunted as he watched you play with yourself on top of him, salivating as he caught your scent. 

“Is this what you want, Killer?” you dipped a third finger inside yourself, spreading yourself open and removing your fingers occasionally so he could see your hot hole gape. He cursed the damn mask, and the restraints, wishing he could tilt just a little further up, close enough to run his tongue over you and bully it inside your pussy. He wanted to taste your release, feel it coating his chin and soaking his goatee. 

“Yes, fuck, please,” he moaned, “please, please” 

You dipped your fingers inside yourself, before removing them and sliding down Killer's body. Your slick coated his cock as you thread your glistening fingers under the brim of his mask, till you found his soft lips. He eagerly allowed you access, moaning as he sucked your slick off your fingers and ran his tongue over them. You let them drag back out, running his saliva down the front of his neck, leaving a trail that felt cool as the air breezed over it. 

“You've been such a good boy for me,” you purred, your pussy sliding up and down his hard length, “but if you cum without my permission, I will flay you. Do I make myself clear?” You ran your nails down his front, leaving a deep set of scratches to drive home your threat. His body rolled underneath you in response.

“I'll be so good, I promise,” he groaned as he tried his best to roll his hips in just the right way to catch his tip against your entrance, failing each time as you purposely shifted just as he would have had it, “please let me inside you, please” 

This time as he rolled his hips, you rolled too, letting his cock catch against you and slide inside. He cried out as his cock buried inside you, and you pushed down, taking his whole length and moaning at the way he stretched and filled you. He was panting hard, doing everything he could to not immediately cum, so worn already from your teasing. 

You began your motions, raising and lowering yourself with strong legs, moaning as you used him for your own pleasure. You couldn't care less about what he wanted, you were using him like he was nothing but a toy, existing only for your pleasure, fucking yourself on him so he hit every delicious spot inside you. You admired his body as you fucked him, observing every dark, inflamed mark you'd left on his skin, strings of now drying blood leaving trails over him from some of the deeper marks. Teeth prints and half moons from nails and long, deep scratches. It would take days, maybe even weeks, for some of the marks to heal, and in the meantime everyone would know that this was your doing. You were the one who tamed the first mate of the Kid Pirates, the supernova, the man who was now moaning and writhing underneath you as you took your selfish pleasure from him. 

You threw back your head as the dirty thoughts of him belonging to you drove you to your edge, and you ground down hard against him, shaking as you came hard. As soon as your orgasm was done, you pulled off, letting him slip from inside you. He cried out as soon as he felt the cool air on his slick covered cock, his own orgasm having been so, so close. 

“NO, fuck, PLEASE,” he cried out as he desperately tried to bury himself back inside you. You almost laughed, he looked so needy and pathetic like this. His cock twitched helplessly and you ran a cruel finger up the sensitive underside before wrapping your hand around the base. 

“Beg for it,” you growled. 

“Please let me cum, please, please,” he was practically whimpering and it fueled your already massive ego. You wondered how far he'd go, letting him have one slow stroke, before stiling your hand at the end and running your thumb through the pre on his tip. 

“Who do you belong to?” You purred, running your thumb in circles as he tried his best to thrust up into your hand. 

“You, you, only you, please,” he whined, “please let me cum”

“Do it yourself,” you growled, sliding him back inside you but making no effort to move, “show me how bad you want it”

He wasted no time in planting his feet and driving up into you, fucking you with a messy, furious pace, desperately chasing his high. Your head was thrown back again as you moaned, enjoying his thick cock pistoning inside you. 

“Fuck, I'm gonna come again,” you moaned.

“Cum for me, please,” Killer replied between heavy breaths, putting all the strength in his legs in to fucking you as hard as he could without the use of his hands, “cum with me”

“Fuck-” you whined, “Killer-” 

You let out a deep, carnal moan as your legs began to shake, and Killer followed suit, his groan long and deep as he finally found his release inside you, doing his best to keep moving despite how oversensitive he was now, trying to be good for you and work you through your orgasm. He finally stopped as you dropped your weight on him, your head slumped against his chest as you both panted. 

You stayed like that for a few minutes, catching your breath, before coming back to reality and raising yourself off him. He sighed as you let him slip out of you, his release dripping on to his pubes as you hovered over him to unfasten the restraints. His wrists were red and raw from fighting against them, and you felt a pang of guilt, knowing full well that you'd made them too tight in your anger. You took his hands tenderly and brought them to your mouth, kissing each wrist gently where the marks looked the most painful. 

Looking down at the rest of him, more guilt followed, seeing how injured you'd left him. You knew he'd enjoyed it, but many of the wounds had been made in anger, and you felt bad now for marking him so badly over something replaceable. You leaned over him and he made soft, surprised breaths as you kissed down his front, starting at the bites on his neck and working your way down, leaving tender kisses over his wounds. 

“Stay here,” you mumbled, sliding off the bed and going to the door you assumed led to his bathroom. He obediently stayed where you left him, still in a daze, confused a little as to what had even transpired. 

You went to the toilet and cleaned yourself up quickly, before finding a hand cloth and dampening it with warm water. You returned to the bed, kneeling next to him, pressing the cloth gently to his skin to clean off the blood and sweat, and all the other fluids that had ended up over his torso and thighs. Satisfied with your work, you returned to the bathroom, discarding the cloth in a laundry basket and filling the glass that sat by the sink with water. You noted that there was no straw, which made sense. This was his room, he probably didn't usually wear his mask in here, so no straw was usually required. 

You brought the glass to the bed, and he sat up against the headboard as you handed it to him, before turning away to give him privacy. “I won't look,” you assured him, “but you really should drink some water after the amount of blood and sweat you lost”

You heard him make a soft hum, followed by a small metallic click of his mask unlatching and the gulping of water. The mostly empty glass was placed on the side table, and you felt the mattress shift as he moved behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you carefully, his warm chest pressed against your back, his bare face resting in the crook of your shoulder where you still couldn't see him. 

“I'm sorry,” he sighed, “I shouldn't have thrown your book in the water like that. I'll get you another, an even nicer one. I'm sorry about your drawings though, I know I can't replace those”

“I'm sorry too,” you admitted, “I know you're self conscious, I should have asked before drawing you” 

“You don't have to ask next time,” his breath was leaving hot, damp spots on your skin as he spoke, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles on your waist, “the drawing was really good, I'd like if you drew me another” 

“Yeah?” you perked up, surprised. 

“Yeah, I'm sorry for overreacting,” he pressed soft kisses against your neck and you moaned, your head tilting to give him access, “you're so hot when you're angry though” 

“Ass,” you pouted, “I'm always hot, you're just blind” 

“I'm not blind,” he hummed, “I just… I didn't think you wanted me. Like this I mean.”

“Well then you must be blind,” you hummed, “I've been flirting with you for years, dumbass”

“Oh..” 

“Idiot,” you tsked, then quieted as you sat deep in thought. All these years of unrequited feelings, and it turns out he was just oblivious. “Killer… can I see you?” 

He was silent for a moment as he thought about it, before finally coming to a resolution, “Only if I can taste you again"

You giggled a little at his words, before eagerly turning in his arms to observe his beautiful face and blue eyes for the first time. He gave you a few moments to look at him, before making good on your side of the deal and capturing your mouth with his, lost to a new wave of need and lust. 

[fandom-junkie2020]

Hello! I see your requests are open, and you're wanting to write for Aemond. Could I request something comforting and fluffy? Anything from an injury or a nightmare? I'm not super creative I'm just recovering from surgery and deeply back on my Aemond Targaryen bullshit.

Fish Queen

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Kings Landing is starving due to the war. It isn't until Y/N takes a stroll outside that she is able to see how the war is affecting the small-folk.

Warnings: Mild Violence?

Date Uploaded: 12/1/24

Word Count: 1,479

Unedited

Masterlist

Requests are open! (response time is going to be slower than normal)

Here are some prompt ideas and a character list!

(sorry this took so long I've been drowning in work)

There was no doubt that King’s Landing had been struggling. With the start of the war and Aegon taking all of the livestock in order to feed his dragon, the people have been left with little to no resources. Because of the need for livestock, those who rely on them for income weren’t able to buy from those who grow crops. Now, because of the withering economy, all of the smallfolk of King’s Landing were starting to riot. Typically, they gathered in front of the Red Keep, meaning Alicent, Helaena, and Y/N could sneak off to the Great Sept of Baelor to pray. With the recent death of Helaena and Aegon’s child, Alicent wished to frequent the Sept. 

On one particular day, after many battles had continued, the three had no need to sneak out of the Red Keep, an unusual thing really. Everyone, including the three women, overlooked this detail, enjoying the lack of chaos outside their home. So, they continued on, feeling as though their lives might be returning to normalcy. This joy, however, was short lived. 

As they were Y/N was lighting the candles that sat in front of her and Alicent recited a prayer, a knight entered. “My queens, we must leave, now,” his voice was stern, alerting the women to the seriousness of the situation. They didn’t ask questions as they rushed out of the Sept. The commotion that surrounded the Sept grew louder and louder as they reached the door. “Get the queens to the wheelhouse,” shouted the knight. 

As they ran down the stairs, the voices of the smallfolk became more clear. They were shouting about food and conditions. Their voices were filled with rage. Each and every one of the smallfolk that surrounded the Sept were either screaming or throwing their hands in the air. Some of them were expressing their anger in both ways. 

Unfortunately, the queens couldn’t avoid the railings that hundreds of smallfolk were pressed up against. The only way down those stairs was to pass by the railings. As they raced down, a man raised his hand. In his hand was a fish. He hurled the fish toward the women, yelling, “Tis the Queen of Fishes,” as he did so. The fish, not properly aimed, landed on Y/N’s face, covering her with the thick, slimy liquid that covered and filled the fish. Y/N raised her hand to her face, wiping some of the goo off, gagging as she did so. 

They all continued down the stairs, weaving through the crowds of people and enduring their insults. It wasn’t until they reached the wheelhouse that they were truly safe. Even then, the carriage shook from side to side, continuing to be rocked by the flocks of people rushing by, some of them stopping in an attempt to enter it. Alicent, Helaena, and Y/N all sat in the carriage, holding their breaths, wishing for the chaos to stop. It wasn’t until the carriage pulled away that the sounds of screaming faded away from them. 

Aemond had been in the throne room discussing how to attend to Rhaenyra when a panicked knight approached Aemond. “Your grace, there’s been an incident.” Aemond raised his eye from the table, staring daggers at the knight. “What could be so important as to interrupt me?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “Pardon, your grace, there was a violent incident–a riot–while the queens were at the Sept.” Aemond raised from his chair and approached the knight. A scowl was edged deep into his features. “Sir knight,” he said mockingly, “you ought to be more specific with your reports, seeing as there are multiple queens and a princess you seem to be forgetting.” The knight’s stature got weaker as he was disciplined by the Prince Regent. His brow started to sweat and his armor felt as though it was getting tighter. 

“The Princess Regent, you grace, she was part of those who were attacked.”

The air was tense. After being given the information from the night, Aemond raced to his Princess Regent’s chamber. The knight indicated that she hadn’t been injured too poorly, but it wasn’t something Aemond wouldn’t believe until he’d seen her with his own eyes. Upon entering her chamber, swinging the door open violently as he did so, he saw his Princess Regent surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, each of them trying to help the Princess. Y/N stood, leaning against the end of her bed. Her breathing was staggered and tears were streaming down her face. The ladies-in-waiting attempted to help her by loosening her corset, but Y/N wouldn’t let any of them near her. Aemond approached them and dismissed the ladies-in-waiting. They seemed reluctant knowing that their princess was in such distress, but being given orders from the Prince Regent, they didn’t dare argue. 

Aemond shifted toward his princess as the ladies-in-waiting excited the room. He laid a hand on her shoulder which caused her to swing her arm against his, releasing his grip from her. Aemond was taken aback, his face reflecting one of shock. She’d never shown such rejection toward him. 

“Love,” he moved so that she could see his face more clearly, “what’s the matter?” He of course was aware what had happened, but he couldn’t understand why she had been reacting in such a way. He had been told she hadn’t gotten hurt. Yes, it was a riot and the timing of them being at the Sept was inconvenient, but he hadn’t expected such a visceral reaction from her.

“They,” she started then stopped, moving a hand to hold her stomach which was now filled with nausea. “What happened?” Aemond asked, hoping that she’d answer him. “I don’t know,” she cried. This obviously hadn’t helped Aemond any. He realised then that the information that he seeked wouldn’t come from her unless she calmed down. “Alright, why don’t we take the corset off, yeah?” She shook her head violently, not wanting to be touched. Aemond sighed, “It’ll help you breathe. Will you let me help you?” He moved a piece of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He then, once again, took hold of her shoulder. Instead of holding it there, he twisted her body to face her bed, allowing for her to put her hands against it for support. Aemond reached for the strings of the corset while her body still shaked. Y/N’s head tilted down to look towards the stitching on her comforter. The tears that had been streaming down her face were now falling onto the thick cotton fabric. 

Once Aemond had undone the corset, he asked, “Would you like to sit down?” Y/N thought for a moment before spinning to put her back against the bed. She then sank to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. This was new for the both of them. For Aemond, he’d never seen his wife in this state before. For Y/N, she’d never expressed this much emotion in front of someone she cared so deeply about. They were, after all, still figuring out how to be husband and wife. Now they had the additional responsibility of being Prince and Princes Regent, a title that was sprung upon them.

Aemond joined Y/N on the floor and the two sat in silence for some time. To the two of them, it felt like hours, but it had been mere minutes. While they were beside each other, Aemond gazed over at his beloved, but she kept her stair towards the floor. Her breathing had begun to sound and feel more regular. Despite this, tears were still pouring down her cheeks. 

“They threw a fish at me,” she said softly, “They’re starving.”

This is when Aemond broke his gaze toward her and looked toward the ground, “That was Aegon’s doing–the starving I mean.”

“Does it matter whose doing it was?”

“I suppose not. There isn’t anything to be done now. We haven’t got the resources,” his tone then shifted from one of logic and reason to one of anger, “Besides, had then been so starving, they wouldn’t be throwing their food at the people who matter in their economy.” He looked back up at Y/N, his face showed a tinge of irritation. He reached toward Y/N’s face with his hand and twisted her head so he could see all of her. As he examined her face, he noticed that the right side of her cheek was more red than the left. He assumed that this had been the spot she’d been hit. He leaned in and kissed that cheek. Y/N gave him a light smile in return, but then it quickly faded. “But what about the people?” she asked. 

“I don’t give a fuck about the people as long as they never harm you again.”

[sanguineterrain]

if you give a spider a pastry... | miguel o'hara

Summary: Mango turnovers and a bloody Spider-Man. Basically, a regular night in New York. 

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x baker!gn!reader 

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings/tags: injured Miguel (he's okay dw), brief arguing. mostly fluff and sass. first meeting.

A/N: hi y'all! I watched ATSV yesterday and the Miguel brainrot has advanced <3 this is my first time including Spanish in a fic. Since Miguel is Mexican, I did research and tried to incorporate Mexican slang. It's not the responsibility of any reader to correct me—however, I appreciate corrections of the Spanish, if offered. :) 

A/N 2: also, the timeline/universe details are vague in this one, but I pictured that the reader is not in Earth-2099. 

If you enjoy this fic, please let me know through comments and reblogs ♡

the divider

Something is trying to crawl into your dumpster. 

You've armed yourself accordingly (got a dust broom out of the closet) and after fifteen minutes of agonizing over whether you should go outside or go to bed, you have decided you are going to deal with the pesky raccoon once and for all. Or cat. Or opossum. Whatever. You just hope it doesn't have rabies. 

Slowly, you edge open the back door of the kitchen to the bakery. You tap the outside railing a couple of times with your broom. Clink clink. There's no sound in response, so you step out a little further, hitting the broom bristles against the stairs. 

"Ba-boom, ba-boom!" you shout into the alley. You'd read you're supposed to make noise to scare off raccoons. Or was it bears? 

No, that doesn't make sense. When's the last time you saw a damn bear in New York? 

You wait, heart rate climbing. There's no more noise, so you open the door all the way and quickly shut it behind you, gripping the broom with both hands. You jump out into the open. 

The dumpster is covered, which is wildly embarrassing for you. However, right next to the dumpster is a giant dude in what you assume is a Spider-Man costume, though it's not like the one you've seen. 

His stomach is covered in blood.

"Holy fuck," you say, dropping the broom. "Shit. Fuck! Oh my—uh, s-stay right there, don't move."

"Sound advice," he says dryly, startling you. "I was going to do a little dance for you."

Okay. Blood loss has different effects on people. You can't take it personally; this dude has half his guts in the alley. 

You grit your teeth and pull out your phone, shakily typing in your passcode. As soon as you do, a glowing orange rope—web?—shoots out and yanks your phone right out of your hand. 

"No," he grits out. "Todo bien."

"Everything is not fine. What is wrong with you, dude? You're bleeding out!"

"I'm not bleeding out, dude; most of the blood isn't mine."

"Yeah, that's definitely not true," you say. "Look, I don't know what would possess a person to come out here ten o'clock at night and do… whatever this is, but I'm not letting someone die next to my dumpster. Give me my phone!"

"No," he says, hissing in pain as he shifts his weight. "You're overreacting and hysterical."

"Hysterical?" 

You can't see his face but you know he's rolling his eyes. 

"Can you relax?" he asks. "Chale, I'm not itching to bleed out next to your dumpster. I'll be on my way as soon as my body repairs itself enough for me to move."

"You're literally insane, man. Absolutely bonkers. You've lost your Silly String."

"Silly String…" he echoes.

You strut up to him and try to snatch your phone. He dodges you a couple of times, then swats at you like a cat. 

"Enough," he snaps. "Don't make me web you."

"Web me? Okay, you know what? Screw you, man. I'm not gonna call anybody. Bleed out for all I care. Keep the goddamn phone, I'll get a new one. Christ."

You pick up your broom and stomp up the stairs, yanking open the back door and slamming it behind you. Fucking New Yorkers. First rule of living here: mind your business! You try to be a good Samaritan and get verbally accosted by Spider-Man on steroids. Typical. 

You fume for about two full minutes, glaring angrily at your shelf of baking trays. Then you hear the bane of your existence groan in pain outside. All the anger leaves you. 

You can't just ignore him. Accelerated healing or not, he's vulnerable. What if someone tries to attack him? 

This is probably the worst idea you've ever had. You walk to the fridge anyway and pull out two mango turnovers. You nuke them in the microwave, which physically pains you to do, but you're in a time crunch, so. 

You open the door gently this time and step outside. 

"Spider-Man?" you ask quietly. 

You hear him sigh. 

"¿Qué quieres?"

You go down the stairs and walk so you're in view again. He hasn't moved from his position. Your phone rests on his uninjured thigh. 

"Sorry for yelling at you," you say. 

He stiffens, then looks away. 

"You don't need to apologize. I… Soy un cabrón."

"Yeah," you say, walking over and sitting across from him. "Little bit." 

He sniffs the air, his suit's eyes narrowing at you. You set the paper plate with the pastry on his thigh and take your phone back. 

"What's this?" 

"It's a mango turnover," you say. "I've been experimenting this week."

"Why is it on my leg?"

"What, did you think I was gonna feed you?"

"Take it," he orders. "I don't want it."

"Are you allergic? I have other flavors."

"The flavor is not the problem."

You bite into your own pastry. You puff out air, trying to cool it down. 

"Ih hah," you tell him through a mouthful. 

"Oh, really?" he deadpans. 

You swallow. "I'm trying to extend an olive branch here, Spider-Man. I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"Why did you come back out?" he asks exasperatedly. 

"I didn't want you to be alone," you say. "What if someone tries to pull off your mask and ruin your secret identity? That's, like, totally devastating in the superhero world, right?"

"And what exactly would you do if they did? Throw a pastry at them? Whack them with your broom?"

"I'm wily," you say, biting into your pastry. "You should eat it before it gets cold."

"No."

"They came out pretty good, if I do say so. Priya—she's my other baker—had her doubts, and I did too, honestly. But this seems like a success."

He remains stoic, likely glaring at you. You finish your pastry and flick the crumbs off your mouth. 

"You'd be doing me a favor, taste testing," you add. "Gotta make sure it suits other people's palettes." 

"I already did you a favor by getting rid of the people who did this," he says, gesturing to the blood. 

Your mouth pinches unhappily. 

"I wish you'd let me take you to the hospital."

"It's unnecessary. I'll be fine soon."

"You're nuts, Opossum-Man."

"Opossum-Man?" he asks, sounding comically offended. "I'm clearly a spider."

"I think that's subjective," you say. "But I'm only calling you that because I thought there was an opossum in my dumpster. Turns out it was you." 

"That's ridiculous," he says. "Wait, what do you mean it's subjective? I'm obviously Spider-Man." 

"Well, what are the pointy things under your eyes?" you ask. "Those throw me off. They look like fangs. I thought you were supposed to be a spider. Those are, like, bat features." 

"Spiders do have fangs," he says with a huff. "How do you think they incapacitate their prey?"

"I think you're giving the New York public school system way too much credit here, dude. I didn't learn all that. We had a unit about bees. How come there's no Bee-Man?" 

He scoffs. "What would that even entail? A guy who flies around pollinating the city?" 

You giggle. 

"You're kinda funny, Spider-Fangs."

"I do stand-up in my spare time. Speaking of…"

He pushes himself to stand with a quiet grunt. You stand with him, arm outstretched in case he needs help. Not that he'd take your help. But still. 

He's a big guy. You'd figured as much by his giant shoulders, but standing in front of him really puts it into perspective. You have to crane your head to see his face. 

He hands you the plate. You pull the saddest pout you can muster.

"You're not even gonna taste it?" you ask. 

"No."

"Okay," you mumble, defeatedly taking the plate.

He looks at you for a long moment, then tilts his head forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

"Mierda—okay, fine. One bite."

You bounce on your toes as he takes the turnover and lifts his mask up to his nose. You're transfixed by his exposed skin, the dark freckle on his jaw, his full bottom lip. Wow. 

He barely opens his mouth, biting the corner. He chews, swallows, and pulls down his mask. You miss the view immediately. 

"It's good," he says. 

"Holy crap, was that a compliment? Did Spider-Man call my pastry good?"

"I take it back." 

"You can't," you inform him cheerily. "I'm going to put it on my advertisements. Opossum-Man approved! Sales will skyrocket."

He walks away, limping only slightly. Well, you suppose that's better than how he was half an hour ago. 

"Good night!" you call after him. 

He pauses, then turns. 

"How are you getting home?" he asks. 

"Oh, I live right above," you say, pointing behind you. "No worries."

He nods. 

"Órale. Don't visit uptown for a while."

You salute. "You got it, Opossum." 

He flings a web string and then he's gone. It's only then that you look at the plate and realize he took the pastry with him. You can't help your little grin.

[matcha-milkies]

WELL, YOU DID ASK

Summary: Aboard the Stan-O’-War II, Stan finds out and confronts Ford about his past relationship with Bill.

Alternatively: “Ford, why did Bill call you babygirl?”

Relationships: Sea Grunkles, Bill Cipher/Ford Pines (Mentioned)

Content Warnings: Implied/Referenced Sex

Tags: Humor, Light Angst, Banter

Inspired By: This Meme and This Comic

Word Count: 2,489

Link to AO3: Here

A/N: Yeah it’s been a HOT MINUTE five years since I watched Gravity Falls, and I’m still waiting on my copy of Book of Bill, so I’m sorry if there are any inconsistencies with canon in this. I was riffing hard off of secondhand material lol

Stan stares up at the top bunk as the room gently sways from side to side, a cabin cradled in the bosom of the ocean. He’s lying face up on his cot, hands on his abdomen, and he’s contemplating something very deeply. It’s unnerving, this thing. He almost wishes he could forget all about it. Almost.

He bites his bottom lip and deliberates over what to do about this. He could just leave it alone. Things have been good lately. Why rock the boat, so to speak? They could go about their day, have their coffee, cast their lines into the sea, fry that leftover kraken meat for dinner. Blegh, he’s so sick of kraken meat. He’s going to have to find a way to season that thing to spice it up a bit or else he’s gonna go crazy. Why do krakens have to be so enormous anyway?

Yeah, he could do that. He could be normal.

After all, if the answer is no, then there’s nothing to worry about in the first place. And if the answer is yes… does he really want to know about it? What is he going to do, where is he going to go from there? Ask for details? He’s racked by a fullbody shudder. As if.

But deep down, he knows he’s kidding himself. If he doesn’t confront his brother, then this is going to linger in the back of Stan’s mind for all of eternity. He won’t be able to look at his twin without pondering all the ‘why’s. Why him? Why didn’t you tell me?

Stan hauls himself to a sitting position and swings his legs over the side of his bunk. He stares at the wall for a little bit, mouth quirked to the side. The Stan-O’-War II creaks, as if it’s also pondering to itself. He can hear his brother rustling papers a ways away in the other room. It’s a small boat. Of course it is. There’s only two of them to man it.

Stan starts to walk into the other room, then turns around and changes course at the last second, heading above deck instead. Hopefully his twin was too preoccupied with his work to notice. Stan walks over to the port side and leans his arms against the railing with a sigh. It’s a nice day out, at least. The sun is shining high in the sky with only a few clouds drifting overhead. They’re somewhere off the coast of Canada.

Somewhere further south but still along the same coast are his great niece and nephew, going to school again. He wonders how they’re doing. He wishes he could call them. He misses them, but he also wants to take his mind off of this. He hears footsteps pacing below deck, probably to grab a book off a shelf or something, because they soon pace right back to where the desk would be. 

Stan lowers his head until his forehead is against the railing and sighs. He’s probably going to have to ask. The thing he’s dreading is knowing that it’s not gonna go over well. He gives it maybe another ten minutes to psyche himself up, then turns and tramps back down the stairs.

Ford is situated at his desk (it’s not anyone’s desk but really it’s Ford’s desk), sifting through some old creased pages that look like they’re about to disintegrate at the slightest breeze. On his right-hand side is a cold, half-finished cup of joe. Occasionally, he mutters something to himself and pens something in his new journal. He’s entirely absorbed. He doesn’t even seem to notice when Stan appears in the doorway and leans his elbow against it.

“Uh, hey, Sixer, how’s it goin’ in here?”

Ford starts. The pen drops from his hand and rolls around on the swaying floor. “Stanley, how many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up like that?”

“I didn’t sneak up on you. I’m notoriously loud. You’re the one with your nose glued to that journal.”

“I–” Ford’s breath catches in his throat before he lets it out in a sigh. “I suppose you have a point. I’m sorry, Stanley. I’m just frustrated at how little progress I’ve made with this. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“You know you say that, like, every time we find some weird thing, right?”

“I didn’t think we would encounter this many paranormal phenomena outside of Gravity Falls.”

“Maybe you’re the weirdness magnet.”

“Perhaps both of us are. After all, you were the one living in my shack for all those years pretending to be me.”

“Ha, yeah…” Stan musses his own hair. “Must run in the family.”

“Anyway–” after stooping to pick up the pen, Ford seats himself at the desk again– “you know I always appreciate your company, Stan, but I’d like to make some real headway before dinner if at all possible.”

“Uh, well, actually,” Stan says, and Ford glances up with a raised brow.

“What is it? Don’t tell me you accidentally dropped something overboard,” replies Ford, testing the temperature of his coffee. He looks displeased at the result but nevertheless continues to sip it anyway.

“Relax, relax, it’s nothing like that. Sheesh, are you ever gonna let me live that down?”

“It happened yesterday.”

“Ancient history!” Eh, might as well spit it out, right? “Hey, speaking of ancient history, what was going on with you and Bill?”

Ford makes some sort of choking sound and dribbles coffee back into his cup. He casts about for a napkin or a towel. “What do you mean by that?”

“Were you like, just a fling, boyfriend-boyfriend, married? What was going on there?”

Ford sputters, gives up and rolls up his sleeve to wipe his mouth on his bare arm. His voice cracks a little as he speaks. “What- What do you- What do- Why would you–”

“Look, don’t play dumb with me, IQ. When he was in my head, he said some things. And I didn’t think much of it at the time, but see, now I got nothing but time out here on this tin can, and I…”

His twin finally manages to school himself back into neutrality, although they’re both well aware it’s too late. He’s already shown his hand. All he can do is pretend, deny, for whatever that gets him. He spares Stan a glance over his spectacles, and it seems to last an eternity, before the man finally returns his gaze to his notes. “Now is not the time to talk about this.” Oh. Okay. So not even a denial then.

“Uh, right. Sure. And when exactly is the right time gonna be?”

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs with a kind of bone-deep exhaustion. “I don’t know, Stanley, any time I’m not trying to decipher the code that we found etched onto the side of that washed up precolonial artifact last week?”

“Well, I don’t know why it needs to be a whole song and dance, Einstein, it’s a simple question.”

“Yes, we were… romantically involved. Obviously. Now please leave me in peace.” Not that he had expected that answer to buy him anything, but he still finds himself chagrined when Stan stubbornly continues his line of questioning.

“Why didn’t you tell me about that?”

“I didn’t think it pertinent.” Ford closes the book on his left-hand side, resigning himself to the unfortunate reality that this conversation is happening, and there is no walking away from it. Where would he even escape to? They’re stuck on a boat together until they land at the next port.

“You didn’t think I’d wanna know you were getting… close with the literal demon that tried to kill us?”

“He wasn’t trying to kill us when I was getting to know him. Again, this should be obvious, Stanley. I don’t know why you’re making me spell it all out for you.” He strangles the air, vibrating with more frustration than he can dissipate. “Unless it’s just to torture me, which I wouldn’t put past you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? After all the things I’ve done for you, all I’m asking for here is a little honesty.”

Ford very graciously decides not to dwell on the “all the things I’ve done for you” bit and reopen that particular wound. Instead, he doffs his glasses, the better to massage his forehead.

“Oh, for the love of… We’re in our 60s, Stan.” He unfurls his arms on the table, palms upward. “What did you want me to do, honestly? You wanted me to sit you down and tell you about my crush like we’re still in high school?”

There’s something in the sincerity of his tone that throws Stan off kilter, disarms him.

“I’m not sayin’ that! I just— You’re makin’ it sound more unreasonable than it is! I’m still your twin and I thought you trusted me with this kinda thing.”

Ford pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He stares at a point just past Stan’s shoulder, mouth flattened into a line. “Oh, god,” he laments, as it dawns on him that the emotionally mature thing to do is to be vulnerable. He sighs, busying his hands by straightening all the papers on his desk. “It’s embarrassing. It was already embarrassing, don’t you see? And this just makes it so much worse.”

“What?” Stan pulls up a chair and sits across from his twin. “Sixer, come on. You think I came in here and brought this up just to laugh at you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it is objectively very funny, hilarious even—” he grins in the face of Ford’s glare— “but the last thing I’m gonna do is judge you. Between you and me, I think your relationship with that freaky triangle was more stable than anything I’ve ever had with any human.”

“Stable is not the word I would use to describe anything that went on in that shack in the 1980s.”

“Yeah, that just goes to show how low the bar is. Anyway, my point is, while I’m not gonna laugh at you, I definitely will still laugh.”

The scientist raises an unamused brow. “With me, you mean?”

“No, I’m just gonna laugh. Ha! Ha-ha!” Stan reaches across the desk to nudge Ford with his elbow. “Come on, it’s funny! You had a relationship with a triangle! Oh, the kids are gonna be so traumatized!”

“Wh- D- Stan, don’t tell them!”

“Why not? Dipper worships the ground you walk on. This won’t change anything for him. And Mabel… well, Mabel will laugh too actually. Very hard.” He brings a hand to his chin and narrows his eyes. “Or worse, she’ll start shipping you.”

“What does that even mean? She’s going to ship me? Where? How?”

“Uh, not important, and for all intents and purposes, I do not know what that word means either. Look, I’m just pulling your leg, Poindexter. I won’t tell them if you don’t want me to. It’s your business.”

“You honestly mean that?”

Stan sweeps an arm through the air with finality. “It’s your own business and nobody else’s. Look, I’m—” He finds himself rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for pushing you about this. It’s not something you’d wanna look back on, I get it.”

“Oh.” Ford doesn’t really know what to do with that so he resumes straightening papers even though they’ve been straight for the past three minutes. “I’m not used to fights ending like this.”

“Yeah, me neither. It’s weird. It’s like we emotionally matured or something.”

“Something like that,” Ford agrees.

They lapse into awkward silence. That should've been the end of it, and yet.

“I guess I just don’t get it,” Stan admits.

“What don’t you understand, Stanley?”

“He’s a— Well, he’s a little two-dimensional, don’t you think?”

“It was an extremely intellectual affair, Stan. Physicality had very little to do with it.” Well, that isn’t entirely true but his brother doesn’t need to know about any of that.

“You know what, I’d believe that. I’m just having trouble envisioning what it… what it was like.”

“Why are you trying to envision that?”

“Because it’s weird, Ford! It’s weird and morbidly fascinating. It’s like a train wreck, I can’t look away.”

“Do you have any more questions? So that I can answer them and we can be done talking about this forever?”

“So you… you never… y'know…”

“No,” Ford says about five seconds too late. There’s heat rising to his cheeks and he smothers his face with his hands as Stan sits slack-jawed in abject horror.

“What? Wait, seriously? How did that even work?”

“Ask me something else.”

“Okay. For scientific purposes, hypothetically, in a hypothetical situation, how would a human with glasses and a triangular demon go about—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Stan!”

“God had nothin’ to do with it, I know that much.” Stan leans back in his chair, then eyes Ford suspiciously. “Wait. He didn’t possess someone else, did he?”

“No!” Ford sounds genuinely horrified. “How depraved do you think I am? That would be tantamount to— I wouldn’t do that. Do you really think so lowly of me?”

“I mean, they could’ve consented beforehand anyway, right? That’s all I’m saying. Although, Sixer, I cannot stress this enough: You locked yourself in a cabin in the middle of Nowhere, Oregon and started drawing freaky symbols on the floor and communing with a literal demon. I think I’m allowed to be a little concerned.”

“Well– Sure, when you put it like that, it sounds more occult than scientific, but I can assure you my methodology was very sound.”

“Oh, okay, good. I’m glad your methodology was sound. That was the main thing I was worried about.”

“May I return to my cipher now?”

“Your Cipher, huh?”

Ford stares pointedly at his twin, trying to telepathically communicate how exhausting this conversation is.

“I just need to know how you did it. It’s gonna keep me up at night.”

“I fail to see how that’s my issue.”

“And then I’ll keep you up at night.”

“And then I’ll throw you overboard so that you can find that notebook you lost!”

“And then I’ll haunt you from the watery grave, you know I will. Besides, it’s laughable you think you could throw me overboard, Poindexter.”

“You really want to know?”

“For my own peace of mind, please.”

Ford sighs deeply, eyes shifting from wall to wall, as though afraid someone’s eavesdropping. Maybe he’s paranoid that a mermaid is listening in from outside. He gestures for Stan to lean in closer, cups his hands to his ear and whispers for a few seconds. Stan’s expression becomes unreadable.

“Oh. Wow. Creative. Okay. Welp. That answers that.” He claps his hands together as if to dispel dirt. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have another one of those memory-wiping guns?”

[gimme-noodles-please]

If you're still taking requests for Lovebrush fics and hcs could you write about the first date which each of the LIs? It can be short and all the details are up to you!

First Date Headcannons

characters x gn! reader

—— characters; Aiyin/Ayn, Luchen/Alkaid, Luoxia/Lars, Silan/Clarence, Yexuan/Cael

——————————————

Ayn

he would definitely take you to cafe-hopping! we all know how much he loves sweets heh

at first when he asks you out, he asked where you would like to go. he would go with whatever you suggest!

however if you are unable to decide he would suggest to go cafe-hopping :3

being the gentlemen he is, he would pay for everything

he does not really initiate any physical contact, the most he would go is reach for your hand as you both walk down the pathway, only to retract his hand and stuff them in his pocket if you didn’t notice. (he likes to hold your hand 🥺)

“Hmm, the chocolate cake looks delicious. And so does the cheesecake. Oh? You want to try both? Sounds good to me”

Alkaid

he lets you make the decision! however if you can’t decide, he would take you to his favourite hill to stargaze and of course a picnic with food he made himself personally!

there are sandwiches, cupcakes and blended fruit juices, just for you! he’s got everything prepared for a perfect date

it is cute how he seems so contented talking about the constellations you both see while talking about the stories behind it

at the end of the day he would escort you back to your home, hesitantly leaving a gentle kiss on the top of your head as his soft voice bids you goodnight

“Whenever i look into your eyes, I see the whole universe of stars. It’s beautiful, just like you”

Lars

amusement park. he would immediately suggest to go to the amusement park. there isn’t one on the island? no worries, he got his yacht and helicopter at his beck and call. are you worried about the ticket price? don’t worry, he’s got everything covered, just relax and enjoy

he would take your hand in his with no hesitation as he leads you to one ride after the other, resembling an excited puppy going out to play

he likes to go on more thrilling rides but would go on whichever you would like to too! he would prefer to be with you at all times. if you are too scared to ride any thrilling rides, he would not force you, though that does not mean he won’t tease you a litte

he spoils you a lot. if he notices your eyes lingering a little too long on something, like example a huge cotton candy. he would buy one for you despite your protests

“Oh come on, is my little painter scared of a rollercoaster like this~? It’s okay, if you are scared, you can grab onto my arm, I will always be by your side.”

Clarence

he would love to go to the cat cafe! he loves cats and he doesn’t wish to go with something typical like the movies or a fancy restaurant. plus he doubts you would like to go fishing with him.

he is very gentle and respectful throughout the date. like offering his hand when you are walking down the stairs with no railing to hold on to

you might be surprised by how natural clarence is with cats. cats love him for some reason. he teaches you the basics of cat behaviour, how to pet a cat properly and most importantly, asking the cat for permission before patting it

overall it is the chill happi vibes hehe. (he was worried that the date would be too boring for you)

he would definitely buy something for you, like perhaps a matching set of merchandise from the cafe as memory of this day

“I had a great time today, any time spent with you is enjoyable. What about you?”

Cael

dude literally knows you so well considering he was with you throughout your teen years. at some point in time there is an instance when you mentioned to him about your ideal first date

he doesn’t tell you the location and just asked you to prepare, when you asked where you’d be going, he would mysteriously smile and shake his head, saying it is a surprise

you are taken by surprise just how well prepared the date was (he would literally do anything just to make you happy, no matter the cost or methods needed to achieve it. i mean, ‼️SPOILER ALERT‼️ he literally built a cinema before with futuristic technology to show a possible future you might have, there is nothing this man can’t do)

you could tell he was nervous, after all he has never been on a date with someone. the only experience he has is hearing stories from your mom when she was still alive and possibly fangirling about your father

aside from his well-concealed nervousness that only you were able to observe from his slight change in his normally serene expression, you would’ve thought that he had some sort of experience with this considering how flawless and smooth the entire date went.

“My greatest happiness is seeing you happy, seeing you smile makes all my efforts worth it.”