#bc there's no longer any forced proximity??

[lunarheslwt]

.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Chapter five | The American dream.

masterlist

universe : Reeves, the batman 2022

pairing : battinson!bruce wayne x fem!OC

words : +9k

author's note : Hello to my loyal readers !! If you’re new here, welcome !!! This chapter is packed with angst—seriously, a lot of it… So brace yourselves. We’ll delve into Maryam’s struggles, and I’d love to hear your thoughts. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes… As always, don’t hesitate to comment; I genuinely enjoy reading your feedback, and it motivates me to keep writing :) Also, this chapter is dedicated to @gaypoetsblog bc your reblog meant so much to me and helped me finish the chapter 🫶🏽

I’m thinking of starting a taglist, so if anyone’s interested, please let me know in the comments :)

cw : Maryam going through an existential crisis, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, depression, ptsd, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

THE NIGHT AIR slipped through the cracked window like a whispered secret, cool and heavy with the weight of unshed tears, brushing against Maryam's skin as if it knew the burden she carried.

She pushed open the glass of her kitchen window to enter her apartment, the familiar creak of the hinges barely registering in her tired mind.

Finally, she was alone.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, her hands went to the scarves draped around her neck and head, tugging them free. The fabric fell to the floor in soft waves, revealing sweat-slicked skin and disheveled hair. 

She didn’t bother turning on the lights; she knew the space by heart.

The shadows were her refuge, offering quiet sanctuary after the whirlwind of the night. She moved through the room like a ghost, her bare feet making no sound against the cold tile.

In the silence, her thoughts caught up with her—the weight of everything she had pushed down, shoved aside, now rushing back.

Her body felt heavier with each step toward the bathroom, the scent of Gotham's streets clinging to her suit like a second skin. She trailed her fingers along the edge of the countertop as she made her way in. Inside, the soft click of the door closing felt like a final seal against the outside world.

She flicked on the light. Its harsh glare bounced off the mirror, exposing a truth she could no longer avoid.

The violet bruise on her brow stared back at her, dried blood in a thin line across the cut, a crusted reminder of the night’s violence. She muttered a curse under her breath—it's going to be hard to hide that. Her skin was still smudged with dirt from the alley.

Bracing her hands against the sink, she leaned in to inspect the damage, touching the wound gingerly, wincing at the sting. It wasn’t deep, but still noticeable. 

Sighing, she straightened and began peeling away the rest of her clothing. First, her cloak, then her suit—her fingers moving methodically, though her muscles ached with stubborn fatigue.

The Wraith was shedding her armor, piece by piece. With each discarded layer, she felt a small part of herself return.

Next came the contact lenses.

Carefully, she removed them, blinking as her natural hazel eyes, tinged with a yellow-green sheen under the light, came into focus. 

But it wasn’t her eyes that held her attention.

Dressed only in her bra and panties, her eyes fixated on the constellation of bruises that marked her body—a silent testament to the fight, to the brutality of her return to the streets. Dark violet shadows bloomed along her ribs, and bruises traced her tibia. She lifted her leg onto the counter, examining them more closely under the yellow light. At least there were no cuts, save for the one on her brow.

For a moment, she simply stared at herself. The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger—scarred, beaten, but still standing.

But beneath the bruises, the cuts, the exhaustion—anger simmered.

And she knew tonight had only been the beginning.

Then, without warning, tears pooled in her eyes.

She hadn’t expected them, hadn’t realized how close they were to the surface until her chest tightened, and the raw ache began to spread through her throat. She placed a trembling hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sob that was clawing its way out, but it was too late.

Her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her, and the sob broke free, echoing through the cold, sterile bathroom.

It wasn’t just the physical pain or the exhaustion. It was everything. The years on the streets, the things she had seen, the violence that had become a constant in her world—it all came crashing down at once. It was too much.

She hated this life.

Hated every inch of the skin she had just shed—the suit, the cloak, the Wraith. It was a mask she’d worn since she was barely ten years old. It wasn’t some romantic notion of justice or a heroic vigilante life.

No.

It was a prison.

From the moment she was taken in, she had been molded into this.

She thought she'd escaped it two years ago, but somehow, she always found her way back—like an addict drawn to a drug. 

Her training was not empowering; it was soul-crushing torture, a brutal crucible that shattered her spirit and forged her into a weapon for the greedy hands that sought to control her. Each blow felt like a countdown, a clock ticking down to the moment she would either break or become something darker. 

Beaten and broken, she transformed into a tool, a phantom of vengeance, for those who saw her not as a person but as a means to an end. In the shadows, she learned to embrace the pain, channeling it into a deadly precision that left no room for doubt. Each lesson carved away at her innocence, leaving only a relentless hunger for survival and a chilling resolve to escape the chains that bound her.

Fish Mooney, the merciless gangster who had held the reins of her life from the very beginning, had stripped her of her innocence, her will, and her freedom. In the beginning, she wore the name Madam like a shroud, even as she felt the chill of its implications. Mooney's sweet words, laced with sickening honey, wrapped around her like a noose, promising a kind of safety that was always a mirage. 

She was the definition of a witch, weaving a web of knowledge and manipulation, knowing the darkest secrets of everyone, especially Maryam's. This power was her weapon, used to threaten and terrify, ensuring Maryam’s compliance with every command. 

To Mooney, she was a prized possession—a little spy, a puppet sculpted to perfection, a wraith in service of her sinister ambitions.

When Maryam first set foot on American soil with her family, she unknowingly crossed into a world where debts were owed and innocence was a luxury long expired. As the eldest, the burden fell on her—she was chosen to pay the price for dreams wrapped in deception.

Her family could do nothing but watch, their voices stifled by fear as threats loomed like shadows over their fragile existence. They warned her of the dangers, but what could they say to the merciless people who held their lives in the balance? 

Nothing.

Nada. 

So they stood by, hearts heavy, as she was engulfed by the seductive lies of the American dream, ensnared in the web of blackmail and veiled threats that hung like a storm cloud over their family.

They watched, helpless, as their little girl transformed into a hollow shell, caught in the very corruption that had promised freedom yet shackled her to a life of fear and deceit.

With each passing day, as she morphed into a mere instrument for the greedy, the weight of her family's helplessness settled over her like a leaden shroud. Yet, within this suffocating nightmare, a flicker of defiance began to blaze—an ember ignited by heartbreak and desperation, a fierce will to reclaim her stolen innocence and escape the clutches of a world intent on devouring her whole.

But amidst all this turmoil, becoming the Wraith was never a choice.

No— it was a matter of survival, stripped bare of all illusions and pretense, leaving only the raw, unyielding instinct to endure.

She had seen things no child should ever see. Blood, cruelty, the endless cycle of violence.

Gotham devoured its own, and she had been thrown into the thick of it before she even understood what it meant to live. 

The things she had done—things she had been forced to do—were never for any noble cause. It wasn’t about protecting the innocent or stopping crime.

It was about serving those who had power over her, doing their bidding, becoming their weapon.

The memories flooded back, each one more painful than the last. The nights spent alone on rooftops, watching the city eats itself of corruption. The cold steel of a knife in her hand, the way it felt when she was ordered to hurt someone. The screams, the fear in their eyes—those were the things that haunted her. Not the criminals, but the fact that she had become just as ruthless.

She hated herself for it.

Hated the Wraith, hated the mask, hated the world that had forced her into this life. Vigilantism wasn’t heroism—it was a cage.

A brutal reality where she had no choice but to become what others wanted her to be. And the worst part? She had never known another way.

Maryam Ben Halimi was the embodiment of the immigrant struggle, a quiet girl sitting in the back of the classroom with wide, restless eyes. 

She poured herself into her studies, each late night and early morning spent hunched over textbooks a defiant act against a world determined to render her invisible.

Yes, she made it to medical school, driven by the crushing weight of her family's dreams pressing heavily on her narrow shoulders. 

Yet, the emptiness remained, a chasm within her that no amount of achievement could fill.

Often, she found herself questioning how she managed to survive medical school while Fish Mooney lurked in the shadows, her suffocating demands as oppressive as Gotham's thick summer humidity. Mooney had her hands deep in Maryam’s life, ever ready to drag her back into darkness if she dared to stray too far. 

But somehow, against all odds, Maryam triumphed, donning the title of Doctor  like a hard-earned badge of honor— a promise she had made to her parents before their lives were cruelly extinguished.

The day she received her diploma was supposed to be a celebration, a moment of triumph.

Yet it felt more like a double-edged sword.

That piece of paper not only represented her hard work; it signified the end of her obligation to Mooney. 

That day, she was free of the Madam. 

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she drew in a breath untainted by fear, the shackles of her past finally falling away. It was a bittersweet victory, her heart swelling with pride even as the ghosts of her past hovered at the edges of her consciousness.

But beneath that fragile surface, weariness coursed through her veins. 

She was tired—tired of battling invisible demons that raged within her, tired of pretending she could shoulder the weight of her life alone, tired of wearing the mask that had been pressed upon her for so long. 

Though she no longer worked for Mooney or her clients, the memories lingered like an unwanted specter, always lurking just out of sight.

The nightmares, too, were relentless reminders of the wars that had marred her childhood, the chaos and destruction that had driven her from her homeland. 

Each night, she carried those haunting images and sounds into her dreams, a heavy burden coloring her waking hours. She woke up screaming, grasping at shadows, and even the therapists she consulted couldn’t unlock the depth of her torment. 

There were some truths too dark to share, especially with her remaining family, who could never truly understand. For them, the subject of Mooney was taboo, a whisper that could shatter the silence they clung to, while the past loomed as a silent monster, lurking in the shadows of their lives.

In her family, like many immigrant families, when something was wrong, silence reigned supreme. 

They had mastered the art of avoidance, burying their grief beneath layers of unspoken words, pretending nothing had ever happened. 

But Maryam could not shake the feeling that something was profoundly amiss, that her life was a web of contradictions—of duty, survival, and the relentless pursuit of an identity she could never quite grasp.

As she navigated the churning waters of her existence, the Wraith lingered in the background, a haunting reminder of the girl she had been and the woman she had been forced to become.

And so, for once, she allowed herself to cry.

Cry for the life she could never have.

Cry for the bruises on her body that told the story of a woman who had never been free.

She wept for the dreams that lay shattered at her feet, buried under the weight of expectations and the relentless demands of survival.

It was like a release, a desperate attempt to reclaim pieces of herself that had long been buried beneath the façade of the Wraith.

Her chest tightened, and her breathing became shallow.

Instinctively, she reached up to rub her neck, her fingers pressing into the tense muscles, trying to force herself to calm down. But it wasn’t working. The memories clawed at her, tearing through the thin layer of control she’d tried to hold onto.

Her hand slipped from her mouth, fingers trembling as she pressed them against her eyes, rubbing as if she could erase the blurry vision. But the world kept spinning, becoming more surreal with every passing second.

And then she heard it.

The screams—hollow, haunting, echoing in the silence.

Her heart lurched, and her breath caught as the sound of her mother’s voice echoed in her mind—a desperate scream that cut through her like a knife.

She could almost feel herself being pulled back into that moment—when everything changed.

Gunshots.

They rang out like explosions in her mind, and she gasped for air, her pulse racing wildly.

Serbian voices barked harsh commands—words she couldn’t understand, but their cruelty was unmistakable. They had been everywhere that night, flooding her home like locusts, devouring everything in their path. Her father’s face flashed in her mind, twisted with fear as he tried to protect them.

But the gunshots—the terrible, piercing gunshots—had silenced him.

Her vision swam. The bathroom lights were too bright, her breathing too loud. She could still hear the screams, the gunfire, the chaos of that night. She wasn’t here anymore, but trapped in that nightmare.

Her fingers dug into the sink, gripping it as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality.

But it wasn’t enough.

The Serbs’ voices, their boots pounding on the floor, her mother’s terrified cries—they overwhelmed her.

Her heart raced, breaths coming in short gasps. She wasn’t the Wraith now.

She wasn’t Maryam.

She was just a little girl again, watching as her world was ripped apart.

Her hands shook violently, her knuckles white as she gripped the sink harder.

“Breathe,” she told herself, but it didn’t help. The walls were closing in, memories consuming her. She saw her father fall, heard her mother scream—it all played out like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

Desperate, she opened the medicine cabinet and fumbled for her pills, her fingers trembling as she grabbed two bottles— Sertraline for PTSD, Prazosin for nightmares, and Lexapro for depression. 

She swallowed them quickly, chasing them down with an ibuprofen for good measure, ignoring the bitter taste that lingered in her mouth.

It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.

Next, she opened the glass door of the shower. 

Stripping off the rest of her clothes, she stepped in, wincing as the warm water hit her sore muscles and cuts. It soothed her aching body, but she didn't linger. She was too tired. She just wanted to sleep.

Before that, though, she had to take her diabetes meds—something she hadn't done in two days. With everything that had been going on, she'd forgotten to take care of herself, and the familiar wave of guilt rose in her chest. She quickly washed her hair and body, feeling the exhaustion seep into her bones.

When she finished, she stepped out of the shower and slipped into a bathrobe, pulling the soft sleeves over her arms and tying it snugly around her waist. The mirror was fogged up from the steam, so she wiped a hand across it. 

Her reflection stared back at her, and her stomach plummeted. The jagged cut beside her right eyebrow stood out sharply against her once sun-kissed skin, now a sickly shade of pale, swollen and inflamed.

She grabbed the first aid kit, her movements mechanical as she cleaned and dressed the wound, pressing gauze against the cut to stem any remaining blood. Her hands moved with a tired efficiency, applying a sterile bandage over the area.

When she was done, she slipped into her pyjamas, the soft fabric a small comfort against the cold air.

Then came the part she dreaded. 

She sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the case for her blood glucose meter. Pricking her finger, she watched the small droplet of blood form before pressing it to the test strip. The familiar beep from the meter told her what she already knew—her blood sugar was too high.

Sighing, she reached for her insulin pen. After attaching a fresh needle, she dialed the correct dose, pinching the skin on her stomach before inserting the needle and pressing the plunger.

The medication stung as it went in, but she was used to it.

When she was done, she placed the pen back in its case, rubbing her eyes as the fatigue finally hit her full force.

She snuggled under the covers, pulling them close as the warmth enveloped her aching body. Reaching for her phone, she quickly scrolled through the missed messages from the night. 

As expected, the family group chat was filled with the usual chatter. Aunt Meysa had sent more links to prayers, while Uncle Fawzi shared pictures from the local market—cucumbers were apparently at a low price.

She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her exhaustion.

And, of course, there were Aunt Jamila's long-winded voice messages, probably about something trivial.

Warda had shared pictures of little shoes she'd bought for her unborn child, prompting everyone in the group to coo in excitement.

Baya, Aunt Jamila's daughter, sent a few shots of Big Ben from her time in London—just the usual family stuff.

After a quick glance at those, she moved on to other messages. There were over a hundred from Sherine, and she sent a quick reply, telling her she was fine. Well, a lie, but Sherine didn't need to know the truth right now.

Tammi had sent an article about the drops, she skimmed through it. Nothing she didn't already know.

Setting her phone to charge on the nightstand, she turned her gaze toward the balcony. Outside, Gotham was its usual icy, chaotic self—couples arguing, police sirens wailing, people swearing at each other. 

Just another night in dear old Gotham.

Her apartment didn't offer a spectacular view of the city, but from her bed, she could still make out a few stars flickering in the night sky. Her eyelids grew heavier by the second. 

Exhausted to her core, she let sleep pull her under.

The dim light from the kitchen barely illuminated the cramped apartment, cluttered with unpaid bills scattered across the counter.

Batman's eyes lingered on one of the envelopes, its name reading Selina Kyle, before the TV caught his attention. The broadcast blared a grim headline :

‘Serial Killer Claims Credit for Second Victim in Two Days — GCPD Commissioner Murdered.’

His jaw tightened beneath the cowl.

Selina came in, visibly rattled, guilt shadowing her sharp features. "Jesus, what are they going to do to her? She's just a kid," she muttered, her voice wavering with worry. "And now they know who I am too. They took my phone, everything—"

She caught sight of Batman staring at the TV, which displayed a disturbing video.

The Riddler's eerie, altered voice filled the room as a newscaster warned viewers of the graphic content.

The screen showed the killer, his face obscured by a green hood and a question mark scrawled over his chest, taunting Gotham with another murder.

The camera panned to Commissioner Savage, bound and trapped with rats circling him, his muffled screams cut short as the video ended abruptly. A photo of the Commissioner, smiling in happier times, replaced the grim scene.

"Holy shit," Selina whispered, her eyes narrowing. "I've seen that guy too. At the club."

Batman tilted his head slightly. "The Iceberg Lounge?"

Selina shook her head, her voice low. "The 44 Below. It's the club within the club—where the real stuff happens. It's a mob hangout."

He stayed silent for a moment, then asked, "That's where you work?"

She shot him a glance, caught off guard. "I work at the bar upstairs, but yeah, I see them."

"Who?" he pressed, his tone unyielding.

"People who shouldn't be there. The ones who act all respectable in public... but they're not fooling anyone. I'm not stupid. I know what's going on."

Their eyes locked, his unrelenting gaze not letting her off the hook. "You're going to help me. For your friend."

She stiffened, then took a slow breath.

"Do you know the Wraith?" he asked, almost like it was an afterthought.

Selina blinked, clearly thrown by the question. "The Wraith?" She turned toward the fridge, grabbing a carton of milk. "Yeah, I've heard of her." She took a sip, the cold liquid contrasting the tension in the room. "Kind of a myth, though, right? Some people don't even believe she's real."

Batman's only response was a grunt, deep and unreadable.

Selina let out a faint smirk, shaking her head as she set the milk down on the counter. "It's funny, really. The rich, the mob—they call her 'The Wraith,' like she's some shadow they can't pin down. But the people on the streets? They call her 'Lady Justice.'" She crossed her arms, the leather of her suit creaking, her brow furrowing as she thought back. "I saw her a few times in the Narrows, years ago. Then she just... vanished. No one's seen her since."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Selina admitted, her voice softening. "But I used to look up to her. She didn't seem real, like something out of a legend."

Batman didn't respond, slipping back into the shadows as the faint sound of police sirens echoed through the streets outside. His cape whispered against the floor. "You're not safe here," he muttered before disappearing.

"I can take care of myself," Selina shot back abruptly, her voice sharp.

But he was already gone.

She turned her attention to the TV, the grim news continuing its endless cycle.

The newscaster's voice echoed through the apartment. "...with two public figures dead in just the last two nights, and only days before the election, police and city officials are left scrambling for answers, hoping to catch the killer before he strikes again."

Maryam had barely gotten three hours of sleep when the shrill sound of her phone jolted her awake.

Groaning, she blinked her heavy eyelids open, her muscles screaming in protest as she blindly reached for the phone on her bedside table. Her hand flopped around, knocking over her lamp, her alarm clock, and a book before finally landing on the ringing device.

She squinted at the screen.

Jamie G.

Great.

She glanced at the time: 5:20 a.m.

What the hell do they want now?

With a sigh, she swiped to answer. Before she could speak, Gordon's voice came through, rushed and stressed.

"Mar, I need you to come right now. I'm in front of your building—"

"What?" Her voice, hoarse from sleep, cracked as she sat up, still rubbing her face. Her caramel curls fell messily over her eyes, adding to her confusion.

"Listen, just hurry. The killer struck again."

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, irritation creeping into her voice.

"Wish I was, kid. I need you for the autopsy. It's urgent."

She ran a hand through her wild curls, pushing them out of her face, annoyance clear in her tone. "Who the hell dies at this hour, making me leave my warm, comfy bed?"

Gordon's voice was grim. "It's Commissioner Savage."

The doctor froze, her eyes wide. "What the fuck."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Now get your ass down here. We don't have all day."

With another exasperated sigh, she muttered, "Give me 15 minutes. I'm coming," before hanging up and tossing her phone aside.

Maryam sat on the edge of her bed, still processing what Gordon had just said.

Commissioner Savage.

Murdered.

"What the hell is going on in this city..." she muttered to herself, rubbing her temples as the weight of the news sank in.

She dragged herself out of bed, her limbs heavy with exhaustion from te night before.

In the faint light of her apartment, Maryam shuffled to her closet, grabbing the first clean scrubs she could find—black ones.

She threw on a gray undershirt since her scrubs had no sleeves and pulled on her trench coat. She quickly slipped into a pair of sneakers before heading to the bathroom.

The harsh bathroom lights stung her eyes, making her squint until her vision adjusted. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—dark circles under her eyes made her look just as lifeless as the people she examined. Her hazel eyes reflected green under the yellow light, and the bruise near her brow still hadn't faded. Great, she thought, another thing to explain to Gordon.

Fixing her face seemed pointless. She wasn't about to impress anyone while cutting open a dead commissioner.

Her hair, a wild mess of curls, was exactly how she'd left it. I should've listened to myself and straightened it, she thought, regretting not doing it earlier—more like three hours ago—but exhaustion had won that battle. Instead, she threw it into a quick French twist, ignoring the stubborn curls that escaped the updo.

After splashing cold water on her face and brushing her teeth, she grabbed her bag, keys, and phone, and rushed out the door.

The early morning chill hit her as soon as she stepped outside.

Gotham's streets were eerily still, save for the distant hum of police sirens—a constant reminder of the city's chaos.

As Maryam approached the curb, Gordon stood leaning against his car, the streetlight casting harsh shadows over his exhausted face. He straightened when he saw her coming.

"Fifteen minutes? More like twenty-five," he said, tapping his watch, his voice laced with weary sarcasm.

Maryam shot him a sharp look, pulling the belt of her trench coat tighter around her waist. "You woke me up at 5 a.m. You're lucky I'm even vertical."

Gordon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I know. Sorry, Mar. This one's bad. Real bad."

She could see it in his face—the strain, the weight of whatever mess was waiting for them. If the commissioner was dead, Gotham was about to spiral into chaos.

Without another word, she slid into the passenger seat, the cold leather biting through her scrubs. Gordon got behind the wheel as she buckled her seatbelt. "Worse than the mayor?" she asked, disbelief creeping into her voice.

He didn't answer right away, just shifted the car into gear and pulled onto the dark, empty streets of Gotham. "You'll see."

Gordon glanced sideways at her, eyes lined with fatigue. "You good?"

She sighed, pushing a stray curl from her face. "I'm here, aren't I?" She bit her thumb lightly, her gaze fixed ahead on the road. "But yeah, everything's just peachy." She turned to him with a raised perfect structured brow. "You?"

Gordon gave a hollow laugh, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "How do you think?" He didn't look at her, just focused on the road, eyes narrowed against the dim streetlights and the occasional flash of a police cruiser speeding by.

"Yeah, thought so." Maryam leaned back into the seat, letting her head rest against the cold window.

The rhythmic hum of the car as it cut through Gotham's early morning streets was almost soothing, but her mind raced, unable to shake the weight of what Gordon had said. Worse than the mayor? That didn't leave much room for optimism.

They drove in silence for a while longer, the city slipping past in shadows and flickering lights. The distant sirens and low rumble of Gotham waking up to another day of chaos filled the quiet, and Maryam closed her eyes, trying to gather herself. But no matter how much she loved her job, sometimes it was all too much. The pit in her stomach deepened.

Gordon finally broke the silence, his voice rough and low. "This isn't just about the commissioner. It's the way it was done." His jaw clenched as he shook his head. "It's like this city's being torn apart piece by piece. I don't know how much more we can take before it completely falls apart."

Maryam didn't respond, but a cold chill crept up her spine. Gordon wasn't exaggerating. She'd seen enough of Gotham's darkness to know that when someone like the commissioner was taken out, it was never just a simple murder.

There was always something more beneath the surface, something twisted.

"Did you see the livestream?" Gordon asked, adjusting his glasses with one hand as they waited at a red light.

"Livestream?" she echoed, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"That freak recorded it live. Streamed the whole thing on social media." His voice was tight with disgust as he shook his head.

"Are you serious?" Maryam pulled out her phone, opened Twitter, and immediately saw the trending post.

Her heart sank.

Commissioner Savage, bound and trapped in a small iron cage with rats circling his head, gnawing at his flesh. His muffled screams filled the car through her phone's speakers. It already had millions of views. She scrolled through the comments—some people panicking, others making dark jokes. 'Only in Gotham,' one read.

She locked her phone, shaking her head. "What the actual fuck is wrong with this guy?"

"I don't know," Gordon muttered, "but he needs to be stopped."

As they turned the corner toward GCPD headquarters, Maryam noticed fewer police cars than she had expected. Gordon pulled up to the curb and parked, then turned to face her. His face was pale in the streetlights, worry etched deep in his features as he rubbed his mustache.

"Just so you know, the Bat's coming," he said quietly.

Maryam groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation. "Oh my god, Jamie, you invited that autistic bat?"

Gordon shot her a look as he got out of the car. "Behave, Mar," he said, slamming the door shut behind him.

With a dramatic sigh, Maryam followed suit, shivering as Gotham's morning chill wrapped around her.

She shrugged her bag over her shoulder, muttering under her breath, "I'm always behaved..." Then, jogging to catch up with his hurried steps, she called after him, "You could've warned me at least!"

They didn't enter through the front, but slipped around to the back of the station. That's when Maryam saw him—standing in the shadows by his car.

Vengeance.

Even from the distance, their eyes snapped to each other instantly. Just hours ago, they'd been chasing and fighting one another, and now here they were again, face to face. Her, in civilian clothes; him, still in his suit.

Her fingers instinctively brushed the bruise behind her brow. Anxiety twisted in her gut.

What if he recognizes me? she thought, panic creeping in.

But she quickly shook it off. Don't be ridiculous. It was night, you were both fighting.

He. didn't. see. anything.

As they approached, Gordon led the way, walking straight toward the Bat, while Maryam held back, keeping her distance—just in case.

She stayed quiet, head down, but could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering on her.

Gordon nodded at the towering figure. "Right, let's get this over with. I don't want them to see you," he said before heading inside the station.

Maryam kept her head low as they moved past, still staying behind. But she could feel Vengeance's eyes on her, even though she avoided looking directly at him.

Inside, they were greeted by Officer Martinez, who shot a dirty look at the Bat before turning to Maryam. His expression softened as he leaned in, kissing her on the cheek and handing her a small cup of coffee. "For my favorite colleague," he grinned, his mustache lifting with the smile.

She returned the gesture, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Lucas. You're a lifesaver."

Gordon interrupted the brief moment. "Hey, Martinez, keep an eye out while we go check the body, will you?"

Martinez looked between the trio, eyebrows raised, but nodded. "Uh— Yeah, sure thing, Lieutenant. You got it."

Without further exchange, they descended into the cold, sterile halls of the medical examiner's rooms. The familiar smell of disinfectant greeted them.

Maryam squirted some alcohol on her hands and snapped on a pair of gloves. "Which drawer?" she asked Gordon, gesturing to the rows of body fridges.

Gordon pointed to the far end of the room. "Third from the right."

She walked over, her footsteps echoing in the quiet, and tugged open the heavy metal door. The cold air hit her immediately as she pulled out the slab with Commissioner Savage's body lying still and lifeless, the weight of Gotham's madness now reduced to just another corpse.

Maryam took a deep breath, steadying herself as she pulled the drawer fully open. The sight of the commissioner's body sent a shiver down her spine. He lay there, pale and motionless, a stark reminder of the brutality that had engulfed Gotham. She couldn't help but notice the way his hands were positioned—fingers curled as if grasping at something that was no longer there.

The medical examiner grimaced at the sight in front of her, and Gordon muttered a low, "Jesus," looking away and clenching his jaw. The Bat approached from behind, cold and calculating, assessing the body over her shoulder.

"Let's see what we've got here," Maryam said, reaching for the flashlight on the autopsy tray.

She waved it over the commissioner's eyes, checking for any reaction. "No pupil dilation," she noted. "Which means he was likely already unconscious when it happened."

"He waited for him. At the gym. Pete liked to work out late at night," Gordon said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Not the best choice in a city this volatile," Maryam added, raising her brows to drive home the point, continuing her examination. "This isn't just a simple murder... no, there's definitely a pattern."

"There's a needle mark on his neck," Batman observed, his tone flat.

"Son of a bitch injected him with—" Gordon began, only to be cut off by the vigilante.

"Rat poison."

"That seems to be his theme," Gordon replied, frustration creeping into his voice. He stepped back angrily, running a hand through his hair.

"It wouldn't have taken long," Maryam said calmly, her gloved hands moving over the body. "Depending on the dose, the poison would've shut down his organs in minutes. A cruel way to go."

Batman followed Gordon to the evidence table, while Maryam kept her focus on Savage. As she worked, something caught her eye—the creepy, hinged cage-like head box nearby. She moved closer, peering inside at the intricate network of channels.

"It's a maze," the Bat said, examining it over her shoulder.

"What kind of sicko does this to a person?" Gordon asked, disgust lacing his voice as he looked into the bloody maze.

Batman pulled out a violet light, flashing it over the channels. "More symbols." A crudely painted cipher ended in a question mark within crosshairs. "Another cipher."

"What kind of light is that?" Maryam asked curiously, her brow furrowing as she eyed the tool in his hand.

The Bat turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable, his eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke. ***

Her focus shifted back to the maze. She narrowed her eyes, her voice firm. "This isn't just torture. It's a message. A twisted game." She clicked on her own flashlight, carefully illuminating the channels in the gruesome head box. "Each path could represent something—maybe even the victim's fate."

Batman's gaze shifted to the surveillance photos Gordon was sifting through. "He blasted those out after his message went viral. This guy murders you and your reputation."

"That guy's pushing drops," Batman added, spotting a figure next to Savage in the photos, his gloved hand still holding the violet light. "On the East End."

Maryam frowned as she glanced at the photos, her heart sinking. The commissioner was emerging from the Iceberg Lounge, shaking hands with a shady figure. "This doesn't look good," she said softly. "Even in death, he's destroying reputations. This could ruin lives..."

Gordon sighed heavily. "Why would Pete get involved in this?"

"Looks like he got greedy," Batman replied.

Maryam scoffed, shooting Gordon a knowing look. "Come on, Jamie, we all know half the cops in Gotham work for you-know-who. It's not a stretch to think Pete crossed that line."

"Are you kidding me? After everything we did to bust up the Maronis? We shut down their whole operation, and now he's caving to some dealer?" Gordon's voice was incredulous.

"Maybe he wasn't who you thought he was," Batman said coldly.

"You make it sound like he had it coming," Gordon muttered, frustration evident.

"He was a cop. He crossed the line," Batman said flatly.

Maryam nodded. "Zorro's right, Gordon. Even if you arrested Maroni, the drops and drugs are still out there. New ones hit the streets every day. I've lost count of the bodies with this stuff in their systems." She glanced back at the corpse. "The system is failing us. And now, someone's turning it into a game. More lives are being sacrificed."

Gordon exhaled, weighed down by the situation. Batman noticed something taped to the back of the head box—an envelope labeled To the Batman.

He opened it, revealing another greeting card. A cartoon scientist mixing beakers smiled out at them with the words, I'm MAD About You! Want to Know My Name? Just Look Inside and See... Inside, a cartoon explosion with the words, But wait, I cannot tell you—it might spoil the chemistry!

Maryam rolled her eyes. "This is childish. Whoever did this thinks it's a game?" She leaned closer, studying the envelope with a critical eye. "But it's also an invitation. A challenge."

Batman scanned the scribbled message and read aloud, "Follow the maze till you find the rat—bring him into the light, and you'll find where I'm at."

"What the hell does that mean? Bring him into the light? Find the rat?" Gordon asked, unnerved.

Batman's eyes narrowed as he stared at his name on the envelope. "I don't know..."

Maryam crossed her arms, contemplating. "It's a metaphor, right? Exposing someone, forcing them to face the consequences of their actions." She looked at the Bat, her voice firm. "We need to figure out who this rat is before more bodies pile up." A dark look crossed her face as dread gnawed at her. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Suddenly, Martinez hurried down the stairs, snapping the trio out of their thoughts. "Lieutenant, they're coming back."

"We need to get out of here," Gordon said sharply, turning to his two companions.

The trio made their way out of the police station through the back, where the dim streetlights flickered over the darkened alleyway.

The heavy steel door shut behind them with a metallic clank, leaving them in the cool night air. Batman's shadowed figure was already scanning the surroundings, always alert, while Gordon fumbled with his phone, the screen glowing in his hand.

Just then, Gordon's phone rang urgently, the shrill tone cutting through the quiet. He glanced down, his brow furrowing. "I've gotta take this," he muttered before answering the call. His voice grew tense after a few exchanged words. "Yeah... Yeah, I'll be there. Right away."

He hung up, slipping the phone into his coat pocket, and turned to Maryam. "I need to go. Something's come up."

Maryam gave him a reassuring smile. "It's fine, Jamie. I can walk from here."

Gordon hesitated for a moment, his expression softening as he stepped closer. He pressed a quick, fatherly kiss to her cheek—a simple gesture filled with warmth and concern. "Just be careful, alright?"

"I always am," Maryam replied with a faint smile, the weight of the night still heavy between them.

Gordon gave Batman a nod, a silent acknowledgment between the two men.

Without another word, he strode toward his car, the tension of Gotham's unrelenting chaos pulling him back into the fray.

The moment he slipped inside, he flipped on the sirens. The red and blue lights burst to life, flashing across the walls of the alley, followed by the sharp wail of the siren as the car sped off into the distance.

Maryam watched for a moment, her expression inscrutable as the siren's wail faded into the distance.

She exhaled softly, her breath misting in the cold air, then shifted her gaze to the looming figure of the Bat beside her. As she expected, he was already watching her, his shadowed eyes piercing through the darkness.

Fumbling with the belt of her trench coat, she pulled it tighter around her waist, as if it could shield her from the weight of his presence.

That gaze—it was relentless, cutting through her defenses. She swallowed hard, her heart quickening as she forced herself to look anywhere but at him. "Well... bye, I guess," she muttered abruptly, her voice sounding smaller than she intended. She turned on her heel, ready to disappear into the night.

But before she could take another step, his voice—low, grave, and unyielding—cut through the stillness of the alley. It stopped her cold.

"What happened to your face?"

She sighed, knowing he had seen it.

Gordon knew better than to ask, but him? "What are you talking about?" she replied, trying to feign confusion as she turned to face him, his form now just a few centimeters away.

"This," he said, pointing with a gloved finger at her brow, where a cut was surrounded by a bluish bruise.

"Oh," she attempted a reassuring smile, letting out a small chuckle and raising a hand dismissively. "It's nothing, really. I just banged my head against a table yesterday."

He remained silent for a moment, still looking at her, while she found herself unable to meet his gaze.

Having had enough of the silence, she crossed her arms defensively. "Can you stop looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, his tone calm yet curious.

"Like you're dissecting me," she shot back, her voice carrying a hint of irritation. "I'm fine. Really."

His eyes narrowed slightly, a mixture of skepticism and concern flickering in the shadows. "You're not fine. You're hurt. And it's not just a cut."

Maryam rolled her eyes, her defensive posture making her shoulders tense. "It's just a bruise, Zorro. I've dealt with worse." She turned her back to him, taking a step toward the alley's exit, but his presence felt like a weight she couldn't shake off.

"Doesn't look like it," he said quietly, closing the distance between them.

Their eyes locked, and she crossed her arms defiantly. "You're doing it again—looking at me like you can see right through me," she shot back, her voice tinged with frustration as she held her ground against his piercing gaze.

Vengeance tilted his head, the shadows accentuating the angles of his mask. "You think you're hiding something from me?" he asked, his tone steady but edged with curiosity.

Maryam took a step back, her heart racing as she fought to regain her composure. "It's just a bruise. It's not a big deal," she insisted, trying to force a casual demeanor despite the tension crackling between them.

He reached out and took her arm, the contact eliciting a short gasp from her lips. Then, he pulled her closer, his breath warming her neck as he examined the cut. "It's too deep to just be from bumping your head on a table."

She clenched her jaw, gripping his muscular arm, feeling the fabric of his suit tighten beneath her fingers. "Stop it," she said, her voice firm, and she pushed him away. But he caught her hand this time, refusing to let go.

"Get on the bike. You're not walking home alone."

"No."

"This isn't up for debate," he said, his voice low and commanding, though there was a hint of concern beneath the surface. "The streets aren't safe, especially not for you right now."

She met his gaze, unyielding. "I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself. I'm not some damsel in distress."

He let out a soft sigh, the tension between them thick. "This isn't about being a damsel. It's about the dangers out there—the ones you can't see coming."

Maryam shook her head, frustration bubbling up. "I'm not afraid of whatever's lurking in the shadows. I'm not afraid of you, either."

"Is that what this is about?" he asked, stepping closer, his intensity unwavering. "You think you can handle everything on your own? You've seen what I can do. I'm not just some myth; I'm real, and I'm trying to help."

"I don't need your help," she shot back, her heart pounding from the confrontation. "You don't get to decide what I need. I can protect myself." Her voice was firmer than she felt, muttering under her breath, "I've been doing it for years."

Silence hung heavy between them.

"Just get on the bike," he finally said.

Frustration surged within her. "Oh my god, are you deaf or something?! I can handle myself, thank you very much!" Her hands punctuated her words, a familiar gesture when she felt cornered. "And why do you even care? We barely know each other!"

His gaze narrowed as he absorbed her words. "I won't stand by and watch someone get hurt when I can do something about it."

Maryam clenched her jaw, the defiance in her eyes flickering like a dying flame. "I'm a medical examiner. I've faced danger before. I don’t need someone babysitting me."

He shook his head slowly, frustration seeping through his tight-lipped expression. "This isn't just about you anymore. Gotham's a dangerous place, and you're already in over your head. You need someone watching your back."

"Maybe I don't want anyone watching my back," she retorted, taking a step away. "Maybe I'd rather take my chances on my own than rely on someone who thinks they know better."

He exhaled sharply, the tension between them thickening. "It's not about knowing better. It's about keeping you safe."

"Safe?" Her voice rose, anger sharpening her words. "You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You think you can just swoop in and—"

"I know enough," he interrupted, his voice low and steady. "I know enough to see that you're hurting. And I’m not going to let you push me away because you’re scared."

Her heart raced, caught between anger and something softer. "You think this is fear? This is me standing my ground."

"Then stand your ground on the bike," he said, his voice calm but laced with concern. "I'm not asking you to give up control. Just let me help."

She paused, torn between her stubborn pride and the truth hanging in his words. "I don't want to be a burden," she muttered, her earlier defiance weakening.

"You're not a burden," he replied, though his words came slower, more deliberate. "You're... an ally."

Maryam bit her lip, weighing her options. After a long pause, she exhaled, her resistance faltering. "Fine. But this doesn't change anything."

He almost smiled—just a flicker of amusement in his usually stoic expression. "I wouldn't dream of it." Then, his expression hardened slightly. "Wait here."

She nodded suspiciously, watching him disappear into the shadows of the alley. Minutes passed, her gaze darting around anxiously. He was gone for at least ten minutes before he reappeared, but this time, the suit was gone.

In its place stood a drifter, or at least, that's what he looked like—his lower face hidden behind a bandana, black sunglasses covering his eyes, and a cap pulled low over his brow. The baggy clothes he wore made him unrecognizable, a stark contrast to the imposing figure from earlier.

She narrowed her eyes, studying him, but she still couldn't piece together who he was. His disguise was too good.

Without a word, he gestured toward the motorcycle parked nearby, a sleek, black machine that fit the man of mystery he was. He handed her a helmet, and she hesitated for only a moment before taking it, slipping it over her head.

Once she was seated behind him, she felt the rumble of the engine beneath them as he settled in front.

Through the hum of the engine, she spoke up, giving her address. "I live on—"

"I know," he interrupted, his voice steady but muffled through the helmet.

She blinked, surprised. "What? How?"

"Just hold on," he replied without explanation, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Maryam frowned but didn't have much of a choice. She reluctantly wrapped her arms around his abdomen, feeling the solidness of his frame beneath the loose clothing.

The motorcycle roared to life, and they sped into the early morning, the city blurring around them as she tightened her grip, wondering just how much he really knew about her.

The wind whipped past them, the early morning chill biting at her skin even through her clothes.

Maryam's heart raced, not just from the speed of the bike, but from the thoughts swirling in her head.

The city lights streaked by in a blur, the darkened streets and shadowy alleys blending together as they tore through Gotham's chaotic maze.

She felt her grip tighten around him instinctively, her cheek nearly pressed to his back, sensing the calm rhythm of his breath against the wild beat of her own heart.

The streets were far from calm, even in the early hours.

She caught glimpses of figures huddled in makeshift shelters, a couple of homeless men crouched by a fire in a barrel, their faces hollowed by hunger and hardship.

Shadows flitted between the crumbling facades of abandoned buildings, home to those whom Gotham's elite had long forgotten. Maryam swallowed hard, her chest tightening with a blend of embarrassment and discomfort.

It wasn't the people that embarrassed her; she had once walked in their shoes. No, it was the man on the motorcycle—a figure that felt foreign, as if he had never known the grit of these streets.

The bike began to slow down as they neared a slightly quieter corner, still rough around the edges but not quite in the heart of the Narrows.

Maryam's heart was still pounding, her fingers curled tightly around his jacket, but she forced herself to loosen her grip as the motorcycle came to a stop.

"You can let go now," his voice broke through the rumble of the engine, a hint of amusement mixed with something more unreadable.

Exhaling shakily, Maryam removed her arms from around him and slid off the bike, her legs unsteady on the gritty concrete.

She stood there for a moment, watching him as he kicked the stand down, turning off the engine. With slightly trembling fingers, she fumbled with the helmet, removing it and shaking her head to loosen her hair.

A few stubborn curls had escaped her carefully pinned-up hair during the ride. She tried to brush them back in place, but they were wild, framing her face in soft, unruly waves.

Her cheeks were flushed from the wind, the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, but it only made her look more striking.

Despite the smudges of fatigue and tension etched around her eyes, there was a sharp beauty in her features—a hint of vulnerability hidden behind the determination in her gaze.

"How—" she began, her voice still hoarse from the ride. "How do you know where I live?"

He turned to face her, his lower face still hidden behind the bandana, his eyes obscured by those dark sunglasses. "I make it my business to know things," he replied, his tone casual, though there was an underlying weight to his words that set her on edge.

Maryam's frown deepened, her lips pressed into a thin line. "That's not an answer."

"No," he admitted with a slight tilt of his head. "But it's the one you're getting."

Her frustration flickered, and she crossed her arms tightly, struggling to calm her racing heart. "You can't just—"

"You're safe," he cut her off, his voice sharp and final. "That's what matters."

Maryam clenched her jaw, her pride stinging. "I can take care of myself."

He didn't argue, just stood there for a moment, as if sizing her up. Then, without another word, he turned back to the bike, preparing to leave.

"Wait." The word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

He paused, turning his head just slightly, though he didn't look at her fully. "What?"

She hesitated, feeling the weight of the tension between them. "Why are you doing this?"

There was a long silence before he spoke again. "Because someone has to."

And with that, the engine roared back to life. Before she could react, he sped off into the gloom, vanishing into the shadows as if he'd never been there.

Maryam stood in the dim light of the street, watching the empty space where he had been moments ago.

The cold air stung her face, her mind buzzing with unanswered questions. She shook her head, muttering to herself, "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

As the engine hummed beneath him, Bruce felt the familiar tension ease slightly from his body.

She reminded him of someone.

Actually, she reminded him of himself.

He could still feel the ghost of her arms around his waist, the way her grip had tightened instinctively when the bike picked up speed.

She hadn't trusted him—he could feel that—but she hadn't had much of a choice, either.

The same way he hadn't had a choice but to intervene.

But why? Why had he stepped in tonight? It wasn't like him to involve himself so deeply, especially not with someone like her. Someone with a past she kept hidden, someone fiercely independent who clearly resented any intrusion.

Bruce's gloved hands tightened on the handlebars as the streets blurred past him.

There was something about Maryam that nagged at him, something he couldn't shake.

She had secrets—just like everyone else in Gotham—but hers felt especially tangled. That bruise on her face? He knew it hadn’t come from a table, no matter how convincingly she tried to spin her story.

And he actually had an idea of how... he just had to watch and analyze the night that he has captured through his contact lents.

He had a sense of how it had happened; all he needed to do was watch and analyze the night captured through his contact lenses.

But it wasn’t just the physical injuries that caught his attention.

He had seen it in her eyes—the quiet pain, the weariness that she tried so hard to mask with that bravado. She was running from something, even if she wouldn't admit it. But what? And why did he care?

Bruce shook his head, focusing on the road ahead. He wasn't supposed to care.

The mission always came first—Gotham came first.

That was the only thing that mattered. Yet, there was something about her—something about Maryam Ben Halimi—that he couldn't quite let go of.

He turned down a narrow street, heading toward the Batcave, the night wrapping around him like an old, familiar cloak.

His thoughts lingered on her words, the fire in her voice when she insisted she didn't need help. He knew that feeling, the instinct to push others away, to rely only on yourself.

He had been doing it for years.

But it was different now. She was different. He wasn't sure why, but he felt drawn to her in a way that made him uneasy. It wasn't just about protecting Gotham this time.

He pulled into the cave, the cool, dark expanse opening up around him. The bike's engine echoed off the stone walls as he came to a stop. He took off his sunglasses and slid the bandana down, revealing the familiar, stoic mask of Bruce Wayne.

But even as he shut down the bike and removed his helmet, he couldn't shake the feeling.

He couldn't shake her.

She had gotten under his skin in ways that made him question his own instincts.

Pacing toward the center of the cave, Bruce's mind kept circling back to her—her sharp words, her defensive stance, and the way her eyes had softened for just a split second when she gave in. Fine. But this doesn't change anything.

Of course, it didn't change anything. It wasn't supposed to. But something had shifted. Maybe not for her, but for him.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.

This was why he worked alone.

This was why he kept his distance.

Attachment—any kind—was dangerous.

It clouded judgment, made things messy.

Yet, here he was, thinking about Maryam again, about her bruised face, about the vulnerability she tried to hide beneath her sharp tongue.

Maybe it was because she wasn't afraid of him.

Or maybe it was because, despite everything, she was still standing her ground.

She wasn't running from him.

And she didn't see him as a myth, a legend, or a hero. She seemed to saw him for what he was—a man, flawed and just as tangled in this city's web as everyone else.

Bruce exhaled slowly, his breath heavy in the stillness of the cave. He couldn't afford distractions.

Not now.

Not ever.

But as he stood there, in the familiar shadows, one thought kept gnawing at him:

He wasn't just trying to protect Maryam from Gotham's dangers.

He was trying to protect her from becoming something like him.

Or perhaps it was too late; perhaps, unbeknownst to him, she had already shed the city's sins, leaving her pure and untouchable.

And maybe, just maybe, he was ready to plunge into the depths with her, surrendering to the darkness that beckoned.

previous chapter | next chapter

[lumi077]

jealous jealous girls and boys~

You’re gorgeous, everyone knows this. Your partner, bless their heart, are very crudely aware of just how jaw dropping you are when their insecurities mingle with their protectiveness when they see, or hear, you get hit on. It wasn’t something you were unused to, and they know you love and want only them, but can they really help it if they…overreact?

Warnings; Unwanted advances, , possessive themes, hotd/got canon incest, infidelity (Loba), potential ooc.

Characters (multifandom): Walden Darling (WH), Astarion (BG3), Daemon and Rhaenyra targaryen (HOTD), Scaramouche/Wanderer (Genshin), Leliana (DA; I), Loba (Apex)

A/N: Take this as a peace offering till I can get the next chapter of Winters’ Servants out T^T I’ve been busy, I got a new job and my dog died bc of my other dog and my mom is crazy :( Also, Baldur’s Gate 3 y’all I’m getting it and I’m so excited! I mayhaps rushed Loba’s part so sorry not sorry 😛

_

Rainbow Factory Wally (Walden) | (Welcome Home AU)

It was a normal day in the factory for all intents and purposes, making your daily rounds and supplying your husband with your infamous coffee whenever you needed to. And that’s why you found yourself in the breakroom, making a fresh pot of coffee for your caffeine addict of a spouse. 

Your name was spoken softly from behind and you blinked, moving your head to peek over your shoulder to see the owner of the voice smile sweetly at you. Jeremy was an infamous flirt in the office, but you were spared due to the fact your husband very much owned this factory. “You look gorgeous today, you know.” He hummed, eyes raking over your body.

You raised an eyebrow. You were wearing a black turtleneck, a lab coat with your name, and leggings. You looked exactly like you always do, and it’s not like any curves you possessed could be seen over the baggy lab coat. Deciding to just play it off, you laughed. “I look how I always do.” You point out good naturedly, shooting him a rather amused look as you turned your body to look at him. 

“Exactly.” He almost purred out the words, slinking closer to you with a sly smile. You have to admit the new found proximity did nothing but amuse you more. Jeremy was 5’5, rather bland, and wasn’t even the brightest. You found it absolutely amusing to think that he believes he can compete with your husband in anything.

“I see. Then thank you for the compliment.” You mused, turning back to pour the coffee into the “world’s most decent boss” mug you got him as a gag gift last christmas. Mixing in just the right amount of sweeteners, you turned. “Now, is there something I can do for you Jeremy?” you asked as you began to walk out, hearing his awkward footsteps signaling that he was following you.

“I know about you and the boss…” He trailed off, and you hoped for his sake that he wouldn’t say what you knew the next few words were. “But me and you could still happen.” Seemed he was dumber than you thought. 

You were now outside Wally’s office, an amused smile painting your lips. “Oh, is that so?”

Jeremy must have been oblivious as to where you were, because he gently put his hand on your shoulder and proclaimed rather boldly “I’ve been in love with you, for a very long time now. Dare I say, longer than that man you call your husband.” 

You sputtered then. He basically yelled that! Right outside Wally’s office. “I-”

A loud bang resonated as the door to the office swung open, effectively interrupting you, the hinges almost breaking at the sheer force he used to open the door. “What. Did. You. Just. Say.” Wide angry eyes met scared downcasted ones.

Jeremy looked like he regrets his decision very much right now, and you very dully felt a small tinge of sympathy but it was gone faster than it came.

“Nothing! I was just say-” Jeremey sputtered, trying to find a defense only to be interrupted crudely.

“Get your goddamn hand off my wife, and I’ll consider this as your letter of resignation.” He growled, grabbing his forearm and forcefully yanking the arm you weren’t even aware was still touching you off.

Jeremy, upon getting his arm released from a death grip that was sure to leave him bruised, ran away.

You couldn’t help but let laughter bubble out from your throat before clearing it. “Oh, that was something.”

Wally turned to you and growled again, grasping your jaw softly but roughly at the same time, angled your head up, and kissed you. The kiss left you breathless, your hand squeezing the coffee mug in surprise as he pulled away.

“You’re mine, dollface. And only mine.”

_

Astarion (BG3)

The tavern was bustling with life, music, and song as they normally do, and happiness threatened to suffocate you and your party as soon as you all stepped foot into the establishment. Mead, wine, and an assortment of other alcoholic beverages were held tightly in almost every person’s hand. You shrugged when your party gave you a questioning look, looking back over the tavern with a keen eye.

“Have fun?” Was all you supplied before walking to the barkeep for the first time of what would be many. 

Karlach wasted no time in going to mingle with the other patrons, eager to relieve the stress of battle by telling tales of them to strangers who watched with eager eyes and ears.

Gale was never one for all this merriment, so he politely claimed a table in one of the few secluded corners as he normally does. That table would soon be taken up by Astarion as well, who was content to just watch you mingle with the people of the tavern.

Time flew by rather quickly, the drinks making it hard for you to truly grasp just how much had gone away from you. Astarion was readying himself to get up and cross the tavern to get to you, tell you that you and your party had spent a sufficient amount of time here, and that it was time to head back to camp for some rest.

But he was quickly blocked from you by two drows. Tall, dark, imposing, yet handsome in their own right. Nothing that compared to Astarion, not even your alcohol muddled mind thought so.

“Hello gorgeous.” The woman spoke, tone smooth with lust and desire. This weirded you out, as you did nothing to suggest you were wanting *that* kind of relief. You really just sat at the bar, talking with the barkeep and the man next to you.

“What’s a delicate flower like you doing with no company at a place like this?” She asked, hand moving to rest on top of your own that was laying on the solid surface of the bar.

You wrinkled your nose at the unwanted touch, but the female drow seemed to not notice or simply not care. You’re unsure which one was the truth, it could even be both for all you know at this point. Alcohol made it hard to discern anything really, and you found yourself craving the presence of your beloved. 

The male spoke this time, his tone gruff despite him trying to sound sensual. “Perhaps we could keep you company for the night?”

Astarion’s blood boiled as he heard what those two heathens were saying to you. It took him months of carefully crafted flirts for you to even get comfortable with HIM flirting with you. And he was someone you had trusted enough to be a traveling companion and to watch your back. He knows that surely, when he sees your face it will be riddled with tell tale signs of uncomfort. 

You cleared your throat, hoping to rid it of the bile that crept up it the more and more they talked and crudely flirted with you. “Ah, no.” You mumbled, eyes searching for your sanguine lover. “I’m taken.” you managed to slur.

The female drow cooed “That doesn’t have to mean anything, not for tonight at least.” 

Astarion finally emerged right next to you, red eyes boring into the female drows. “Excuse me.” His voice, normally smooth and flirtatious, was anything but now. “I see you met my partner, exquisite aren’t they?” his tone softened as his hand went up to caress your cheek, cherishing the way you leaned into the touch immediately.

The female and male drow looked to each other before looking back at Astarion and smiling. “Why yes, yes they are.” 

Astarion hummed, rubbing his thumb on your cheek absent of mind, before remembering these people dared to flirt with what was his. “How unfortunate for you that this masterpiece is all mine, yes?” He sounded calm and almost teasing, but his eyes showed just how much he wanted to murder them.

Deciding that words weren’t enough he delicately moved your head up so he could plant the sweetest kiss on your lips, which you eagerly returned with drunken enthusiasm that made his heart swell with love. 

“See how eager they are for me?” He cooed, rubbing your cheek after pulling away. “That’s something you couldn’t even dream of receiving.” Picking you up bridal style for fear you drunk yourself into a stupor, he turned and left.

“That’s enough tavern for tonight my sweet.” He hummed softly as you laid your head on his shoulder

“Astar-” You mumbled sleepily, nuzzling your face into his neck “I love you- so so much.”

He chuckled, placing the softest kiss to your cheek “I know my darling, I love you too.”

__

Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen (HOTD)

Your family, the true Targaryens, were visiting the red keep for the first time in so many years. The difference of it all from the red keep you grew up in startled you to your core. It makes your mind ill to think this was only allowed to happen because of a usurper of your family’s rightful throne. 

Really the entire castle makes you ill, absolutely sick to your stomach truthfully. So you were trying to find comfort in the place where you resided most of your innocent years. The garden. But even that was different now, the flowers you used to pride yourself on had all wilted and been changed. The color green makes you sick now.

While you were preoccupied in your musings of sadness and trepidation, a man had slinked his way beside you and broke the silence you relished in. “Good morrow, sister.”

You blinked and looked to your right, being met with Aemond. He was only your half brother, sharing your father’s genetics while looking all Hightower. His last name should have been hightower, yet you cannot claim to hate or even dislike him. Just a faint feeling of mistrust that had been planted since the night his mother had left a scar on your arm. “Aemond.” You greeted slowly, almost defensively. “Good morrow.”

His one eye scanned the garden ahead before going back to focus on you, a delicate and almost faux looking smile on his face. Or perhaps it was just too real. “How are you? It has been many moons since I last saw your beautiful face.”

You blushed despite yourself, compliments always left your cheeks the faintest of reds, even if you mistrusted the person who spoke them. “Kirimvose” You muttered, changing to High Valyrian. You don’t know why, it just felt too right in this situation. And instinctual gut feeling that you have long since learned you should heed.

“You are welcome.” He hummed, eye suddenly showing keen interest “Do you normally use High Valyrian interchangeably like that? What a smart lady you are, Mandia” 

It was your turn to be surprised, he knows of the language of your family? Even being half bred like he is? “Yes, mostly for my children to pick it up better.” You stressed the word children to him, as if he could forget. One of your sons did give him that painful affliction afterall.

“Ah yes, my nephews.” He mused, not looking at you anymore but through you. “How are they doing these days?”

You smiled, your first genuine one not born of needing to be respectful to a lord or lady. Aemond thought it looked beautiful on you, like the finest dress. “Wonderful. My boys Luke and Jace are bonding excellently with their dragons.” You hummed, motherly love oozing from your tone. “And little Joffery is quite taken with the babies.” you put a hand on your stomach “Especially our baby Visenya. I think he likes having a baby sister to protect.” 

He was surprised “You were with child?”

You nodded “Maybe she’ll grow up to steal Vhagar from you.” You chuckled, hand over your mouth.

Aemond laughed as well “I’m sure she’ll be a brilliant rider, just like her Muña”

“You flatter me.” Your blush grew a tad bit redder. Aemond felt a pang of affection that he was able to make that happen. You were too good for his sister and uncle, deserving of someone more well read with a dragon to match the size of your own. 

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted his musings of what he could have had with you, had his father stepped up and demanded you wed him. “Is this a small reunion?” Daemon joked, leaning on a wall. His eyes looked anything but full of mirth, annoyance and possessiveness shined brightly in his eyes like dragon fire.

“Uncle.” Aemond scoffed out the word like it meant little to him. And it probably did, you know he was never close with Daemon. Jealousy slithered in his veins like blood did, burning him.

“What are you and my wife talking about, hm?” He asked casually, walking leisurely to you before wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a soft kiss to your temple, looking down with fondness Aemond could never imagine being gazed at with. “Hello my love.”

“Hello Daemon.” You giggle gleefully, resting your head against his own while your arms go to rest on top of his. Aemond’s veins burned worse.

“Simply catching up, it’s been quite a while since she has been to the red keep.” He spoke, jealousy dripping from his words like venom, eye glaring at his uncle’s arms that was wrapped where he longed his to be. Daemon tightened his grip slightly. “I was just about to offer a tour of the grounds, much has changed.” he smiled twistedly at Daemon, using that as a taunt.

Daemon narrowed his eyes, and somewhere you could hear the roar of Caraxes and Vhagar. You hope that they aren’t fighting because their riders have bad blood. “That won’t be needed. She grew up here just as you did Aemond.”

You soon grew uneasy, eyes shifting to the side, “I have.” You assented.

Daemon smirked unbeknownst to you, smug because it was him who you would always back. Always Daemon, never Aemond.”Of course my lady, apologies.”

You smiled uneasily “No need for apologies Aemond. It was a kind offer.” That soothed the burn within his veins slightly. You thought he was kind.

You felt yourself almost suffocating before your lovely wife walked into the garden with Alicent “Ah, my beloveds.” Nrya smiled kindly at you two, eyes shining with love before she nodded to Aemond respectfully. 

“It is almost time for the feast, you two would be wise to get ready.” She looked at you knowingly and winked.

Daemon let out a hearty groan “yes yes my wife, very well.” he let his arms fall from you and stepped back, offering you his hand.

“Shall I help you get ready, my darling?” He asked teasingly, eyes glinting with lust as you laughed and took his hand. Rhaenyra already has an excuse for both of your tardiness, rest assured. Cannibal will have to take blame for your lack of proper walking.

___

Wanderer (genshin)

Wanderer was stuck wandering, as one does, around the bustling streets on Liyue. It was the lantern rite, something you had continuously told him you had wanted to go to many times and he decided there was no harm in it. How crudely wrong he was, as soon as he entered the city of contracts with you, the crowd had swept you away from him. 

So here he was trying to find you like a puppy separated from their owner, and it continuously made him more and more irritated as more time passed that you were not in his eyesight. His hands, that were balled into fists, relaxed immediately upon hearing the soft sound that was your laughter. It was quiet, barely heard above the chattering of these imbeciles that surrounded him, but he was able to follow the sweet sound where he found you with some man.

The man was short, close to Wanderer’s own height, with white hair with a red streak. He looked to hail from Inazuma. Anger boiled deep within his veins, eyes glaring at the man who dared to talk to you.

“Your eyes shine like the lanterns in the sky, your skin as smooth and unbroken as the purest piece of porcelain.” he mused, smiling softly at your red face. Wanderer has never said anything close to that to you, always just quick grumblings about how you looked decent. And it didn’t bother you much anymore, you grew to love him after all. But having this kind of attention on you was thrilling simply because it was new! Kazuha’s eyes bore into yours with a soft intensity that oddly fit in this moment. But he was simply supposed to help you find your beloved, not make poetry about you. No matter how lovely it made you feel.

Wanderer barged over, not sparing the man a glance as he grasped your wrist in his hand and dragged you away. He could barely hear you say your goodbyes to the traveler from Inazuma over just how angry he felt. Were you going to leave him? Go to someone who he just witnessed really could treat you better? No, he won’t allow it. You're his, you’ve been his for centuries now, and if you could remember and love him despite all he has done in his past then you must be his soulmate.

He hissed out your name, stopping in a darkened alley before pushing you against the wall, trapping your head between his arms as he leered at you. “What do you think you were doing, you idiot.” this wasn’t the way he wanted to do this, not at all. He wanted to have a softer approach but for some reason he just can’t. He loves you, he promises he does. He just can’t show it.

“Scara…” you cooed, hands going up to cup his face “I was looking for you.” You assured gently, thumb massaging his cheek as he ever so slightly leaned into your hold. “Kazuha offered to help me find you since I’m so unfamiliar with Liyue Harbor.” You could always see through his brass actions, being able to see the softer side through all the boundaries he put around himself to hide in.

“Is that so?” His words lacked his mocking bite that it would have for anyone else “Then why was he flirting with you?” He asked, pressing a chaste kiss on your thumb.

You giggled, a sound that made him relax more. “Maybe he just thinks I’s pretty. But you're the only one for me.”

He smiled then, liking the concept that you knew you were only “Yes, yes I am.” He hummed, cupping the hand you had on his face with his own. 

“You’re mine, not even the gods could take you away from me.” He sighed happily as he felt your lips start pecking around his face, closing his eyes in bliss. “They could try, but I would move the very heavens to keep you by my side. Always.”

“And forever.” You finished as Scara finally connected his lips with yours, savoring the rare softness in which he kissed you with.

___

Leliana (DA; I)

The sky was clear, not a cloud dotted the open sky of Skyhold and the sun beamed down in soft warm rays. You were sitting on the railing of the balcony that belonged to the upper tower that housed your partner Leliana, as well as her ravens and spies. It was a cool day, which wasn’t abnormal seeing as this stronghold was built into the mountains. Construction was going very well, the ramparts were now open to patrol and the rooms were looking better and better.

The inquisitor was running around down on the lower level, and you watched from your vantage point with amusement. You were unsure why they were in such a hurried state, seeing as there wasn’t really anyone rushing them in the least. But you’ll leave them alone about it for now. 

Looking up as you heard the door clank open, a scout you had never seen before stepped out and joined you on the terrace. Turning your body to face him, you tilted your head in confusion. Normally Leli’s spies were too busy to do all that much around Skyhold. Perhaps he was just recouping after a tough mission.

“Hello madame, nice evening ain’t it?” He had a strong Fereldan accent, so he was from there and arguably is mostly stationed there because the accent hasn’t faded even a bit.

“Yes, it is.” You spoke skeptically, normally one scout isn’t stationed at one nation for too long, lest they be found out and compromise the entire spy network your lover has spent years perfecting.

“The nightingale wishes me to look after you.” He saluted, before going back to ease and leaning on the wall.

You raised a brow, why would you need to watch over here of all places? Leli was right through that door, and there isn’t many places of entry here that aren’t very loud.

“I see.” You doubt grew, but you would give him the benefit of the doubt. Your Leli was very paranoid, and with good reason you suppose. It must be hard to have all those enemies, those known and unknown that are hiding in the shadows with a dagger or poison. 

“You're beautiful, you know.” He broke the silence again, your lack of an answer must not have been deterring at all for the spy. “A true masterpiece.” he mused.

“Thank you.” You were starting to get bored now, eyes lidding due to boredom. Any second now.

With tactful grace the door opened silently, you could hear the faintest of footsteps take 3 steps before pausing. Another minute of the spy not noticing her, she coughed. It was fake and sounded way too smooth and dull for it to be real.

That made the man jump, his attention snapping to your lover. “Lady Nightingale!”

“Charts.” Her smooth voice riddled with Orlesian accent was sour sounding now. Like she ruined her new pair of shoes in the blood of darkspawn. “At ease, were you?”

His eyes looked everywhere but her as his body froze up under her intense scrutiny “Forgive me, lady nightingale.”

“I’ll see what to do with you.” She stated dismissively, waving him away with her hand “Now run along, I’m sure Charter will find some use for you in the meantime.”

He did not need to be told twice, quickly exiting the balcony with a loud slam to the door. “Lousy company, my dearest?” she teased gently with a small, walking next to you and letting you lean on her.

“Somewhat.” You agreed, resting your head on her shoulder and you looked to the mountains. “Seemed tired. Have him running?”

“He’s new.” She shrugged gently as to not disturb you. “Fresh out of redcliff.” 

“I could tell he was Fereldan, his accent is very noticeable.” You hummed, hand coming out to trace random little patterns on her arm. “Strong.”

“It is.” She agreed. “We will have to rid him of it before we send him out in the field.”

You raised a brow “He’s that new?”

“Yes. he is training under Charter at the moment, and hopefully she will be able to help.” Leli slowly removed herself from you.

“I have to go my beloved. Work is neverending when you’re trying to save the world.” She hummed and kissed his cheek delicately.

You sighed but nodded “I know my love. I’ll see you tonight?”

She smiled sadly “I’ll see you tonight.”

You sighed again as she walked away.

__

Loba

It was duos day! A glorious chance to win with whoever you shall get teamed with to achieve glory and fame. On a bigger note then being a legend already grants you.

You were paired with one of the newer Legends. New Castle you think his name was, but you can’t be bothered to remember.  He seemed to be quite sweet on you, much to Loba’s irritation. You were hers goddamnit! Why couldn’t he see that.

So here you were, on the dropship talking to your duo as wells as your other friends like Lifeline, Octane, and Bangalore.

“Are you excited, amigo? I mean you are with the newbie, so me and Lifeline will take it easy on you if we find you.” Octane laughed, patting you on the shoulder affectionately. 

“I’ll be the one taking it easy on you, tane!” You protested with a giggle.

New Castle clasped his hand onto your other shoulder and laughed deepily. “I promise I won’t be any dead weight to a beauty like them.” 

High heels clacked against the iron flooring of the ship, you were approaching your destination and would soon have to prep to get ready to drop and land for the games to begin. You assumed it was Loba, so you two could have your usual good luck kiss but was surprised when it was Wattson. Loba’s partner.

“Hey.” She smiled and waved “Loba wanted to say she’s too busy to see you before the drop, so she’ll be looking extra hard for you on the ground.” She spoke cheerily.

You blinked. This was the first time she’s done something like this. Was she really so jealous that she’s taking it out on you now? Does she think that you’re too receptive about it? Was that the problem.

Wattson frowned “Are you alright?”

You shook your head and offered your best reassuring smile that you possible could. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little disappointed ya know? But you get heading back Wattson, I don’t want you to miss drop.”

She looked at you, calculating and unsure before her frown only deepened. But she nodded “Yeah ok. See you around, yeah?” and with that she left as quick and out of nowhere as she came. 

Finally it was time to drop, the arena was Olympus. Easy enough, it was your personal favorite because your abilities served you every well here. You don’t how New castle was going to fare though, so you kept an eye on him. Even if he is part of your relationship problems, he was still your duo and you still wanted to win.

“I’m the jump master.” You called out, laughter bubbling in your throat “Hope you brought an extra pair of pants newbie.”

“Wh-” he was cut off as you unexpectedly jumped, a yell bubbling out from his throat and into the air that you two were descending in.

You chose a little area that you knew has enough supply bins to give you both some weapons and a few syringes. Maybe a better evo shield too, hopefully.

“So.” he started “How do you prefer to fight?” he asked as he picked up a Hemlock Burst AR.

“I’m a sniper.” You spoke quietly and hushed, hoping he’d take the hint and do the same. Enemies can be anywhere, and with Wraith’s abilities you wouldn’t even see her coming till she was here guns blazing. She was smart, and has good hearing.

He hummed “So I’ll need to man the front. Can do.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up a wingman and some sniper ammo. “You better. Though you probably won’t see enough action. I’m a damn good shot.”

“Better be.” he laughed quietly, loading his burst.

“There’s a care package near us.” You reported, looking to where it was going to land. “Let’s head over.”

And so you did, you getting your favorite gun ever the Kraber, and New Castle getting a\\ prowler. With these new found weapons and some new Evoshields after some kills, you two quickly climbed the latter till it was the last 3. Only six other legends at most. 

You were kill leader with a stunning 12 kills, and perched high up as you looked through the enhanced scope on your Kraber. You killed Octane and Lifeline before they even knew what happened, same with bloodhound and Fuse. You killed Ash but Revenant got away, and Bangalore and Valkyrie left as soon as they heard a shot from your Kraber, knowing that with your aim it would be a death sentence. 

Caustic and Mirage were easy to pick off when they got distracted arguing with one another, and you killed Wattson as well. 

So it was probably Loba and Revenant still out there. New Castle was antsy before you heard it. Revenant’s totem and gun shots. He must have found Loba in one of the buildings, and given their history it’s unsurprising he would waste his ult on her. 

Clicking a button, a visor was put over your eyes and you could clearly see that Loba was the victor. 1 squad left, it was just her. You felt bad about this, of course. But as soon as she poked her head out, you were the victors.

The follow up party was the usual, and you were looking for Loba and of course you found her. You were the best sniper ever seen, your senses honed completely. So when you heard her and turned the corner to apologize, you saw the last thing you had ever wanted to see.

Loba and Valkyrie were kissing.

[bonkwosher]

Gus Fring Jealousy/Possessiveness Headcanons

A/N: Aka Gus dealing with assholes that flirt with you. I'm so absolutely down bad for Gus it's insane. Also, x male reader bc Gus is gayyyyyy.

Contains: Implied age gap relationship, possessiveness, creepy man (Not Gus), jerk, LYLE CONTENT

Pairing(s): Gustavo "Gus" Fring x Reader

I would say let's take it on a "how long have you been dating" basis but Gus is possessive from day one, maybe even before that. He doesn't often have the opportunity to feel jealous, he's much older than you so you two don't really go to parties or clubs. He keeps you in his proximity as often as possible & that wards most off.

He had even gone out & bought you a necklace with his name on it, if he's feeling particularly moody & you aren't wearing it he'll point that out. If you forget to put it on when getting dressed up for a dinner he'll come up behind you & slowly put it on you, looking into your eyes through the mirror that stood in front of you.

Speaking of fancy dinners, that was the first time Gus got jealous. It was your second date & he had invited you to an elegant restaurant. You looked out of place even while wearing a suit. Gus walked briskly up to you & offered you his hand, leading you back to his table. You were a blushing mess.

Everything was fine until a drink appeared at your table, your favorite drink. You noted that & thanked the waiter before they said, "The gentleman over there ordered this for you." Gus looked up to see a man practically drooling over you from the bar. His smile dropped, only returning when you held eye contact with him.

"That's so nice of them, hey, free drink!" You chuckled. 'You're gullible' Gus thought to himself. Thinking the man wanted nothing more than to be nice. He felt his fists clenching, now under the table to hide his anger. Yeah, maybe Gus needs a little longer to process his feelings for you but that doesn't mean someone can waltz in, buy you a drink, & whisk you away before he knows what he wants. On the inside he loves you, he'll deny it because memories of Max will come up, but his heart knows. He tells himself the root of his possessiveness is that he wants to get to know you without other influences.

"What would you like off the menu?" he asked, quickly trying to change the subject. Gus sat in silence as he read through the menu, you pointing out all the things that sounded good. Finally, you found something. The only problem, it was terribly expensive. Your voice went high, "Oh- um, I don't think I'm hungry."

Gus placed his menu on the table, "What do you mean?" You closed the menu & sat back, arms crossed. "I insist that you get something to eat, Y/N. You do know this is my treat right?"

"Are you sure?' You feel almost bad that this man is offering to pay so much for you to eat. "Absolutely. Plus, if some sleazy bar-goer can buy you your favorite drink I have to top that somehow." You pointed out the item on the menu quietly. "Oh! Very good choice," Gus chimed before returning to his own menu.

You guys had a long period of peace right up until you were about to finish your food. The man from the bar had come up to your table, probably a bit buzzed. "Hey there, handsome. I'm about to go but I wanted to get your number." You froze, beginning to stammer out a response. Gus set his utensils down on his plate & wiped his hands on his napkin as you continued to babble. He stood up & faced the man, yeah he was shorter & probably less built, but his cold stare was deadly.

"You should get home before you embarrass yourself any further," Gus spoke, looking directly into the man's eyes. The man felt a shiver but persisted, ignoring Gus, "I have to admit, from the bar you looked amazing but now that I am up close... you are breathtaking." Gus places a firm grip on the man's forearm, forcing your admirer to turn to him. "What is your problem man?" Made Gus' grip tighten, the man let out an "Ow!"

"What do you think you are getting at here, can't you see that he & I are here together? On top of that, he is clearly uninterested! Buying a drink for someone & giving them a rapey look from across the room, get some class! Hitting on a taken man? Clearly, you lack the spine to even close on a relationship so you have to attempt to destroy other's love. I gave you your chance to leave. Take. It. Now."

The man ripped his arm from Gus & put his hands up in surrender before running off. Gus sighed & fixed his coat before sitting back down, "So, are you hungry for dessert?"

Bonus bc I'm amazing /j:

As much as it worried Gus, especially after Hector & Lalo frequented his restaurant, you would visit him sometimes at work. Of course, he didn't voice his concerns because he wanted to wait as long as possible to tell you about his real work, if ever. To attempt to make you stop visiting, he would ignore you as much as he could, using the excuse, "I'm sorry Y/N, I have a lot of work to do."

You would chat with Lyle, getting free food & sitting at the booth with the best view. On breaks, Lyle would sit with you & talk about random things or whatever you wanted to talk about. Surprisingly enough, Lyle didn't worry Gus. You would absentmindedly play with your necklace that had his name on it & Lyle must've gotten the hint at that point.

It wasn't until Lyle's friends showed up to check out his work & the quote "food that's to die for." Lyle's two friends sat with you him once they got their food, a man named Jake took the spot next to you. He said something stupid that made you laugh really hard. At that moment, without anyone noticing, a camera stopped while facing your booth. Gus was watching.

The four of you spoke & you kept laughing. Laughing so much your cheeks & core hurt. Normally, Gus would be swooning, mentally remarking that you were the light of his life. Though knowing it wasn't him that was making you happy struck a cord. It didn't help that the man was your age, your age gap being something that made Gus feel guilty.

As you were telling a story to the boys, a cup was placed in front of you. Your favorite drink. Gus took note of it from your second date, trying to take something good out of that encounter. You looked up to see him with his customer service smile & thanked him. You could tell he was about to ask if the food was good.

"Hey asshole, can't you tell we're talking here? Get me a coke while you're out here giving everyone drinks," Jake took Gus' interjection as a rude interruption, arguably going too far. "Jake, he was just being nice. Why are you so-"

"It doesn't matter, Y/N. This guy is some minimum-wage loser that interrupted my conversation with you. He gets paid to make chicken & serve decent members of society like me!" You couldn't help but smirk to stop yourself from outright laughing in his face. Lyle buried his head in his hands, regretting associating with someone like this (Not like Lyle knew, he's best boy).

You looked back up to Gus who now had his cold, soulless stare. You made eye contact with Jake, "That is my boyfriend, the owner of this whole franchise. Decent member of society my ass." The shock on his face from your statement doubled when Gus grabbed him & dragged him out of the restaurant, throwing him outside.

"Do not show your face in a Los Pollos Hermanos ever again," he spoke before wiping his hands together. He turned to you & grabbed your arm, pulling you into his office. You gave him a big hug, but the fact that he didn't hug back scared you a little. You quietly apologized, "I didn't know he was like that. From the looks of it, Lyle didn't know either."

Gus pulled away & brought his hand to your necklace, staring at it silently while brushing his thumb over the lettering. "Gus, I hope you don't think I was into the guy. I love you, only you."

He looked up at you wordlessly before looking back at the necklace. His mind was churning, fighting back every urge to manipulate you into never talking to another man ever again. He promised himself he'd never hurt you but watching you naively satiate every man's need for your attention drove him mad. His intentions weren't to freak you out with silence, rather to protect from the words he could say.

He knew how to stop himself & you from talking. You rambled on about how you were sorry, "Gus, I promise I didn't mean to-"

"Be quiet." Gus gripped the necklace tightly & pulled you forward into a kiss. You were shocked by how this turned around but can't say you were complaining, you thought just a second ago that Gus was going to break up with you.

It was far, far from that.

[comphy-and-cozy]

If possible to combine prompts, could I request fluff prompt #15 (kissing to shut them up) & #20 (laughing into the kiss) with Josty? If only one, I'm good with just #20. Love you and your writing so much and I can't wait to read everything you come up with!!! -senditcolton

stop I wish I could tell you how hard I fangirled at this bc I adore you and your writing @senditcolton 🤍

Prompt: Kissing to shut them up / laughing into the kiss

Pairing: Tyson Jost x gn!Reader

Word Count: 778

Warnings: Alcohol use/mention, language, one (1) very brief mention of injury/stitches

The tension between you and Tyson Jost surely had to be a record. Everyone knew that you two had a thing for each other, but both of you were too shy to do anything about it. No matter the gentle nudging from friends, the subtle hints and secret attempts to get you together, it always ended up crashing and burning.

Like the time that not five minutes after JT had left you two alone at a party, Tyson ended up spilling his entire glass of wine on your white shirt. Or the time that you dropped a plate, sending shattered shards of glass flying across the kitchen and cutting Tyson’s hand, earning him six stitches and a game in the press box with his injury. Or — well, you get the idea.

Needless to say, it wasn’t often that you two spent time alone together. And the times that you did, more often than not, you ended up a bumbling, rambling idiot, with warm cheeks and mentally kicking yourself for something embarrassing that slipped out of your mouth. Either that, or you’d get distracted, zoning out and instead watching his lips move as he talked, wondering what it’d be like to kiss him.

In short, your relationship is a bit of a disaster, though not for lack of trying.

Until today. When he’s maybe been fed one or two too many shots, pink-cheeked and a dopey smile on his face. Something’s struck his confidence on this Friday night — the high from scoring the game winning goal might have something to do with it — but whatever it is, you know that you certainly like the way it looks on him.

He saunters up to you, the all-too-familiar butterflies flitting in your chest like they always do in his proximity.

“Have you been to that new sushi restaurant on 5th?”

Resisting the urge to laugh at his blunt question, no introduction or lead-in, you just shake your head. The way he asks, spitting the words out, give you the impression that he’s practiced, memorized the simple sentence so that he doesn’t mess up.

“Cool,” he says, “We should go sometime.”

You stare, mainly because you’re in complete and utter shock that he’s actually verbalized it, uncertain if he really means a date or just a meal between friends. Either way, you’re more than eager to accept, but unfortunately Tyson takes your pause for disinterest.

“Uh, I mean, like, you know, to dinner — or, like, lunch, if you’re not that hungry — or — fuck —” he stammers, the visible discomfort on his face as he nervously runs a hand through his hair. This part he clearly hadn’t practiced.

Part of you wants to put him out of his misery, while the more mischievous side of you wants to keep letting him stutter until he gets his point across, amused at his suffering.

“—I just, you know, think you’re pretty cool and — no, I’m sorry, cool sounds so fucking lame and you’re way hotter — I mean cooler than that — I mean, fuck –”

Whatever he’s about to say, you don’t hear the rest of it, instead lunging yourself forward to kiss him. It’s an instinctual reaction, one that you don’t even think about the consequences, unable to handle looking at his tempting lips any longer without knowing what his perfect pout felt like against your own.

He’s taken aback, a stuttered step backward before he catches himself, his own instincts kicking in and kissing you back. Judging by the force of his mouth against yours, you think you’ve made the right choice – if you can even call it a choice.

It’s only after the euphoria of his kiss settles slightly that you feel his lips curling into a smile against you, grinning against your mouth in a way that has yours mimicking his actions, unable to stop even if you wanted to. You begin to pull away, but his lips chase yours, unwilling to let you go just yet, and it makes you smile even harder.

Eventually, he does let you go, only enough to say, “So, I’ll take that as a yes?”

You giggle, nodding, leaning back in to kiss him again, because now that you’ve tasted him once, you don’t want to stop. But this time, you’re interrupted by the sound of shattering glass, both of your heads turning quickly toward the noise. Apparently, upon seeing the two of you kissing, JT had lifted his arms in celebration, only to knock an entire shelf off the wall, sending a vase crashing to the floor.

Tyson grins at you, not missing the opportunity to chirp his best friend. “At least it wasn’t me this time.”

[rengineer]

[Hehehehehehe

🚢 >:)

Specifically just the @soldier-tf2-america blog bc we can (it's okay if you don't want to do it though 👍)

Not really sure what else to put here because my memory is absolute shit *cries*]

Re: meme

do i ship our characters together?: yes | no | not yet but maybe soon

would i like to ship with you?: yes | maybe, i'm willing to try | no

type of relationship i could see: childhood or high school sweethearts | exes | engaged | married | long-term relationship | crushes | unrequited love | fling | long distance | online relationship | just dating | new relationship | toxic lovers | friends with benefits

tropes i'd enjoy writing for them: friends to lovers | enemies to lovers | exes to lovers | fake relationship / dating | forbidden love | grumpy and sunshine | star-crossed lovers | surprise pregnancy | second chance | soulmates | amnesia / mistaken identity | forced proximity | secret relationship | slow burn relationship

would i rather plot first or jump right in and see where it goes?: develop their relationship first | jump right in | something in between ( what specifically? )

what now?: let's plot something | send me shippy memes | i'll send you shippy memes | write me a random starter | i'll write you a random starter

anything else i want you to know about me / my character / my shipping habits: Engineer would very unlikely to confess his feelings — not out of embarrassment, but simply because he’s never given much thought to romance or dating before. It would take him a long, VERY long time to recognize that his feelings run deeper than friendship. For a man so focused on his work and practical matters, love just wasn’t something he expected to encounter. So, realizing he cares about someone in a way that goes beyond the platonic would sneak up on him, slow and steady, until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. ♡

[wallpaper-inside-my-heart]

💛Smoshblr December Asks Day 21💙

Top 3 tropes in media/fanfic

So in terms of general concepts/tropes I enjoy in all media, there def any iteration of (Enemies/Rivals to) Friends to Lovers; then Found Family <3 and hurt/comfort -> especially in combo with one of the other two tropes!

When in comes to which types of fanfics I specifically seek out most of the time:

(putting these answers and the fanfic recs under the cut, cause this is once again getting way longer than I intended)

I know this is super unpopular, but I love well done miscommunication in fanfics! Hate it in most movies tho!!

-> also what I think constitutes “good” miscommunication basically boils down to “ is the miscommunication plot or character motivated?” cause in a lot of media the miscommunication feels forced and only meant to prolong or escalate the story

-> but if the miscommunication happens bc the characters are, for example, insecure about sharing certain info/feelings it is way more captivating and relatable (to me)

-> so this is ofc directly related to (Mutual) Pining <3 (plus also connected to another fave of mine: Memory Loss/Amnesia & also secret identity)

2. Forced proximity!!

-> I’m counting both sharing a bed and stuff like fake relationship under this umbrella

-> I just love when characters are forced to interact with each other in a different and typically more intimate way than they usually do! (and what it reveals about themselves and their relationship to eachother!)

3. Fix-it fanfics

-> I actually love original stories that have tragic endings! But there are many ways a story can end in a disappointing way and make me immeditaly turn to what all the wonderful fanfic authors have come up with in order to clean up the mess!

I have way too many favourite fanfics tbh... SO I'm actually gonna do both general and smosh ones I enjoyed a lot recently!

Multifandom (I am a huge podfic girlie, so I'm gonna give them a shoutout here!)

Harry Hart and the Honey Pot: An Indiana Jones Adventure - reena_jenkins, samanthahirr - Kingsman (Movies) [Archive of Our Own] -> I love me a good movie based AU from time to time and the kingsman fandom has so many great writers!

2. [podfic] tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) - Matriaya - 9-1-1 (TV) [Archive of Our Own] -> this fic changed me as a person istg; like it is such an incredibly well done take on the timeloop trope, I'm-

3. Be My Savior - Chapter 1 - jessebee - Supernatural [Archive of Our Own] -> this is me coming out as lowkey more of a Sabriel than Destiel fan 🙈 Like ofc Destiel have the better canon story, and I do love them very much; However Sabriel fanfics captured my heart when I was a teenager and are still hanging on by a thread! (also I can still make myself cry instantly via a headcanon I created for them ages ago and that's gotta count for smth 😹)

Smosh Fanfics &lt;3

In general of course any and all fics by Katie @jovenshires 🩷🩵 (love you and your writing to death istg🫶) but having to choose one for this, I'm gonna go with right where you left me - jovenshires (imdeansgirl) - Smosh [Archive of Our Own]

2. doing something like this right on the first try - halfwheeze - Smosh [Archive of Our Own] my most recent bookmark and 100% my fave fic I've read these past few weeks! But Mer 🖤💜@tommybowefuneralattendee has so many banger fanfics, it was super hard to choose! <3 But this fic made me truly ship nintendogs, so it deserves this mention

3. I abstained from choosing any of the amazing spommy fics by the lovely ppl I mentioned above, bc I might have spommy brainworms 24/7, but I cannot lose my multishipper rep! 😹🙈 But here is one of my other fave spommy fics from a different author! maybe my animals live in your zoo - creepysounds - Smosh [Archive of Our Own] edit: by the lovely @tommybones 🫶

[f1nalboys]

1, 3, 8, and 26! 💖💖💖

HAIII thank you<3

1. What fic of yours would you reccomend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

i think 100% my simple pleasures masterlist! it kinda has all my little niche writing stuff in there so i think it’s a good way for a reader to know what i write like!!! (in chapter 5 or 6 especially, whichever chapter takes place in the club bathroom i think it shows off my Current Smut Writing Style fr hehe😋😋) another one is my sinclair brothers fic, memory! it shows off my character based fics and i think it’s one of my strongest fics that isn’t smut TEEHEE OH ALSO!!! together?, my ghostface!randy and ghostfsce!reader fic shoes off my darker writing pretty well i think! it gives people a good idea of the weird freak shit i be writing

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

hmmm this is such a tough question truly JFNWINDN ok so….i think detail wise it’s fics that r just. plot heavy. i try my best to do porn without plot but a bitch likes to set the scene sadly 😔 and adding onto that, fics that r longer than necessary JFNWONDIW. i think also a lot of dialogue, it’s what i’m most comfortable writing and i def include a lot of it in my fics jdjwkdjd, i also do lots of character based fics!

to trope wise, def fucked emotionally constipated mc, toxic relationships, forced proximity, and i do a LOT of first time sex fics IFNOWNCOWN i an a simply lady that’s all

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

GOD ok i gotta choose an ethel song as well, honestly, either crush or sunday morning! for both id rather read them bc i would absolutely fuck it up JDJSJJD but the lyrics and vibes of both songs r so !!!! it would be great to read

to WRITE…i had an idea a while ago to write a bunch of fics for diff characters based on hozier songs and so far only did one LMFAO but eat your young and it will come back (that one is so bo core that’s all i’ll say) are ones i’d love to write hehe

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

ONLY DIALOGUE BABEY!!! i think it’s my strong suit (mostly-) and i’ve toyed around with the idea of writing a short little thing of just dialogue but it has not come to fruition yet D: i think people who write fics that have 0 dialogue r witches (affectionate) and i’m jealous and scared of them

[yougobunny]

hello :) you probably won’t recall but it’s the “ace moves around purely by unnecessary flips” anon frommmmm last year I think….? It’s been a while lol, anyway I recently got back into LU and I was wondering if u had any language headcanons for the team? My own take on this is that Lexi is probably fluent in French or Spanish or something like that, bc I’d imagine her as the type to take a language course for the mental & cultural ~enrichment~, and Rev probably knows how to speak/understand/read/write like 23 different languages just bc he has so much spare time and gets so bored that he started learning a few to keep himself occupied. I also think Ace would know how to say so many completely random & useless phrases in a BUNCH of different languages solely bc of some multilingual roles he’s had to play, but he isn’t actually fluent in any of them. I can’t see slam or duck as being interested in that sort of stuff, and I feel like tech would be way too busy to pick up new dialects, but I’m curious to hear ur thoughts on it :)

Hiiiii I remember you!!

But yes in general my headcanons are in line with a lot of what you said. In my head I imagine that they're all at least (to some degree) bilingual because of the close cultural proximity of a 'city planet'. Lexi 100% has taken up language courses and is fluent in at least two other languages other than English.

Ace picked up a lot from being on movie sets and yes he knows a bunch of useless phrases but also could do things like order food or ask for directions in some of them. @intheyear2772 suggested that Ace is a huge anime fan (which I love) and so I imagine that he picked up Japanese from that.

Yes Rev does speak/understand/read/write like 23 languages and counting. Nothing can stop his search for enrichment. He's also a fan of historical linguistics and knows a lot about how languages evolved.

Duck!! Ok so another one of @intheyear2772's headcanons was that Duck did a lot of odd jobs pre-meteor and some of which took him out to sea on ships and stuff. So because of that I headcanon that yes he doesn't have much interest in languages but his time away from Acmetropolis sort of forced him to... well not learn lmao but understand super basic words/phrases. He doesn't retain much memory of it afterwards and tbh a lot of it was purely context clues, but some words last longer than others. Like this:

Languages aren't really Tech's thing although I think he probably can do conversational Spanish. You're right I think he's probably too busy and with too much on his plate to devote time to languages, and it would be interesting if Coyote Genius struggles with it, so when it comes to translating runes or anything on missions Rev gets to step up.

And yes I agree with you on Slam! I think that he could sign in more than one language though. Also that everyone on the team could sign ASL but with different levels of proficiency.

[mayahawkins]

thanks nic @messrsbyler for tagging me in this wip game. it seems super fun so here we go. i realised that i had more wips than i thought i did lmao. some are from the same fic though, just different file names but yes i will be including them.

rules:

post up to five (5) file names of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post.

after you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. you must then write 3 sentences in that file

that’s it! you can invite others to join in or just post

wips:

fd - wedding

fd - driving

kisses to shut them up

force proximity in UD

common interests - stonathan

snippet (from fd - wedding):

Steve's eyes flicked down to Jonathan's lips. It was so quick that Jonathan wasn’t sure it had actually happened. He kind of hoped it had. At that thought, he had a moment of internally freaking out, hoping it didn’t show on his face. Is he about to kiss me right now? Jonathan thought wildly. Why do I want him to? They were standing so close. Jonathan was hyper-focused on how their arms that rested against the railing were touching now. He wasn’t sure when that had happened. They were still staring at each other, the moment stretching on longer than Jonathan thought possible. He thought Steve might’ve started leaning in when suddenly there was a rush of sound as someone opened the balcony door. They immediately leapt apart, both turning to see who was coming outside. Dustin stood in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob, looking between the two of them.  “Am I—“ he paused, unsure, “Am I interrupting something?” “No!” Jonathan said, slightly panicked. “Yes,” Steve said at the same moment. Jonathan thought he heard some annoyance there but wasn’t sure if that was just wishful thinking or not. Had Steve actually been about to kiss him? That wasn’t possible, right? This was just business to Steve. There was no way he liked Jonathan the way Jonathan liked him. Right?  “Okay…” Dustin drew out the last syllable and Jonathan was quickly brought back to the present. “I was just getting some fresh air.”  “Yeah,” Jonathan said, “It’s a little crowded in there, huh?” “Just a bit,” Dustin agreed. “What’re you two talking about?” He came and stood in the space that had been created between them when they had jumped apart. Jonathan immediately regretted moving so far away from Steve. He needed to get a grip.

I'm not gonna tag anyone bc nic tagged most of the people i'd tag so anyone feel free to rb this and do it!! fr, i wanna read your wips!!

[bright-and-burning]

what landoscar wips do you have! can you share deets i would loooove to hear!!!

oh man. like far too many if we’re honest. several longer aus, most recently including kid fic (terrified single dad lando x equally sleep deprived grad student oscar. they’re neighbors! sparks fly at 3am), teachers au (photography/art teacher lando x cs teacher oscar forced to share the sole computer lab classroom ft meddling teenagers), a longer kind of silly plot as an excuse for porn a/b/o thing (forced proximity medical emergency type of deal. also clothing theft), soul bond au (i WILLLL come back to this i swear to fucking god. came up w in the aftermath of miami i posted some snippets abt it actually). despite mostly having posted porn, at any given moment no joke 6+ full au PLOT HEAVY wips rotating in my head. but i never finish anything and im constantly like omg you know what would be soooo good (k and wren get a lot of lengthy texts abt my ideas im afraid… someday i will finish some). oh also my kind of . well more than kind of. angsty not-quite-exes to lovers thing. that is more of a playlist and a vibe than anything w a plot (go listen to best intentions by hodera. for kind of the vibe) but sometimes u gotta meditate on the closure-less situationship besties to exploded friendship to lovers scenario.

in terms of shorter stuff… potentially mildly dead dove-y a/b/o stuff depending on your comfort levels (idk where the dead dove line is. could be as minimal as a dove that got the shit scared out of it ? anyways it’s somno but it’s dub-con for suresies. uhhh at Least.). oh also couch napping !!! which is complete and utter fluff abt sharing couches for naps lol. and maybe another edition of curly girl lando…

i’m def forgetting stuff my brain and notes app are a graveyard for fic ideas and really i need to get comfortable w like . writing scenes i like from them and being satisfied instead of never touching the idea bc im agonizing over crafting a fic that perfectly encapsulates every aspect of an idea that would take 60k words to get across the emotional impact lol. this was more of a broad overview type of deal but if anything is of interest drop on in !

[acowardinmordor]

Just. Steve meeting this guy who is back and forth between being scared of his own shadow, and acting like nothing bad has happened to him ever in his life, and recognizing that he wants things to be normal. As close protection, yes, he keeps Eddie safe, but a witness that scared ends up doing stupid things, or ends up too afraid to testify. Steve doesn't know what the case is, only that his superiors said this guy was critical to it.

He does what he can to make this seem like normal. Like he's just Eddie's roommate, which is the cover.

They're already in forced proximity, which intensifies everything. Then add in that they're mutually attracted and click well, and its a recipe for -- well, Steve lets it push Eddie into a healthier place. He lets Eddie flirt, flirts back, and meticulously keeps them from breaking any professionalism.

That isn't just because they absolutely Should. Not. Steve studied the psych aspects of this for a reason.

Being the one to pull them back each time lets Eddie be a little looser, more relaxed, bc he trusts that Steve will keep him safe from that too, so he can flirt as hard as he wants. He can also get drunk or high, and not be ultra paranoid about it.

Plus, the six month minimum estimate for the FBI to finish assembling the case means there's plenty of time for Eddie to readjust after the month that Creel had him. By the end of month two, Steve has changed the way he talks when he pulls them back. No longer saying versions of 'that isn't appropriate between us' He starts adding in the word 'yet' and neither acknowledge it, but Eddie's holding onto that word like a promise.

7. Person A is the star witness in the case of the year and they may not like it, but it’s Person B’s assignment to protect them and get them to testify in court and they will not fail.

That prompt from This List.

Eddie managed to get away from Henry Creel, a big shot mildly famous celebrity, who has also been murdering people for years without getting caught. It’s always psychological torture first. He and Chrissy got taken, but only Eddie got away. Steve is brought in to protect him, and the thing is so secretive, Steve doesn’t even know what the guy saw, or what the case is, just that it’s important. And that it will be at least six months before the trial starts. There’s a larger team watching out for Eddie, but Steve is the close protection. 24/7 live in type protection.

Turns out that Steve went into this job because Will got grabbed when he was a kid, he and El managed to escape together, but they didn’t see enough/were too young for their account to pin him.

Eventually something leaks from the FBI investigation, they have to arrest Creel early, before they have the case tight enough to prevent him getting bail. Creel has a lot of money, and a charming personality, so the press doesn’t believe the accusation, the public doesn’t either, and the judge grants bail. And sure, it’s a 10M bail, but Creel has the 10% of that. Creel finds where Eddie is. Steve realizes who the killer is, and how it connects. Sends his superiors information to contact El, who has wanted revenge for years. Steve took an oath, and he would have honored that even if it wasn’t connected, even if he wasn’t falling for Eddie. So when Creel finds them, he keeps Eddie safe, and gets grabbed instead.

This is a hot potato fic. Got an idea? Continuation? Expansion? Bring it on.

[written-in-flowers]

Hi!! Could you do a drabble for Aemond x lowborn reader (fem), where Aemond is torn bc he fell in love for the first time but also feels a sense of duty to marry a highborn lady bc he’s a prince? And maybe he even comes to his father Viserys for advice? 😩 I think we were robbed of father/son interactions on the show

Ooooh, I sense forbidden romance in the air! Lovely, hope you enjoy!

Marks That Bind Us

He already felt stupid for asking. What answer is he possibly expecting to get? 'Yes, son of mine, you may marry the lowborn servant in the kitchens.' It sounded ridiculous even saying it to himself. But, the fool in his wished to try. The same fool who'd paused when you'd first entered the room, holding a tray of food to serve at their table.

He'd never seen you before that moment. Granted, the Red Keep is full of servants working day and night to serve the royal family. But, he recognized faces and remembered names well. Your face was one he'd definitely have remembered. He kept himself composed, cold and unfeeling, as you placed a bowl of greens nearest him. He did not let his eyes linger on you long, and he drank wine to find something to do. You unsettled him, but not in an unpleasant way. He then watched you leave without saying a word.

He saw you again walking across the yard. You had a basket of vegetables freshly pulled from the earth, and on your way to the cook. He'd kept on sparring with Ser Cole to not bring attention to himself, but his one eye kept you in view. He couldn't help noticing the sun shining your hair, and the sparkle in your eyes. You were lovely in the general sense; the same way any woman would be lovely, but it still caught him off guard. Just like Ser Cole's shield when it slammed into his chest.

He found out who you were, and that you worked in the kitchens. Aemond suddenly decided he no longer liked the serving girl who tended to his chambers, his linens, clothes, and cups. You were brought to him the following morning, carrying a breakfast tray for him. He let you serve him, without saying anything as he nibbled on this and that. You'd changed from the grubby scullery maid dress into the serving one, a red dress with a white apron. It looked nice on you. He tried finding something to say as you moved about fixing his room and changing out sheets. Aemond finally spoke to you when he claimed he had trouble tying his jerkin. He pretended to have a shoulder injury, and therefore needed assistance. You'd appeared reluctant at first, unsure of his real intentions, before he urged you to come over.

He watched you deftly tie each piece of clothing. His eyes took in the shape of your nose and lips. He saw the large dark mark around above your left eyebrow and curling onto your temple down to your cheekbone. He'd never noticed it until now because your hair kept it covered, but being closer, he inspected it further.

"That's an interesting birthmark," he commented, nodding to it as you finished clasping his doublet together.

"Um, thank you, Your Grace," you replied shyly, finishing up his doublet. "Some people tell me it's shaped like the moon."

"A crescent moon."

"A what?"

"The moon when it's shaped like your scar."

"Oh, I see. I always wondered what that was called..." you then realized your proximity to him and backed away. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I-"

"-You haven't done anything wrong," he insisted. "Only talk, nothing more. You may go now."

He watched you leave, and wished he'd made you stay. The days carried on like this: you helping him with his routines in the morning and at night, occasionally making conversation until he's forced to dismiss you. He particularly enjoyed how you never seemed to stare at his sapphire eye. You acted as if it he were whole, a full man with all his parts. Women always noticed it first, and their faces of disgust or distaste bothered him. He tried not caring, but it grew under his skin. You dared to ask him about it once.

"How'd it happen, Your Grace?"

"How did what happen?"

"Your eye..."

He took a drink from his cup and told you the story. Well, his version of it. He said he'd been attacked by two boys, they got into a scuffle, one of them pulled out a blade and slashed his eye. You were enraptured by the story.

"It must be difficult," you said after, "Having to live with only one eye. I imagine lots of people stare and..." you stopped talking, realizing you'd move onto sensitive grounds.

"It is hard," he nodded. "But, I like to think it gives me an advantage. My opponent thinks he can come at me on my left, but then is instantly proven wrong when I strike him with my blade."

"I didn't mean simply for fighting, Your Grace," you replied. "I mean for normal things as well. I imagine lots of noble ladies don't want to marry a man missing an eye. I hear the lot of them say you're scary and intimidating."

He stood up from his table, walking over to you. You did not back away from him. Staring into your eyes, he asked, "Do you think I'm scary?"

You looked over his face, then said, "I've met scarier men than you."

"Have you?"

"There was this brute I met on the Street of Silk-"

"-You worked there? Before coming here?"

"No, Your Grace, I lived there with my mother. She was a whore, who had me in the brothel where she bedded my father." You spoke so plainly to him. He liked it. "The brute was missing an eye, had sharpened his teeth to fine points, cut his nails into claws, and ate raw meat. They called him The Beast."

"Sounds terrifying," he replied in an unimpressed tone.

"You wouldn't talk like that if you'd seen him."

You both talked throughout the night. You told him stories of your childhood in the city and of your family. He recounted tales of him flying on Vhagar and about the other dragons of old. You made him feel human. He liked that. Finally, one night after a few cups of wine, he bedded you. It'd been gentle, slow, and passionate. The both of you became one soul, one body. Aemond realized, as he watched you quake underneath him, that he did not wish for anyone else.

But, you were lowborn. A bastard girl of a whore in King's Landing, who never met her father and works as a servant to the prince. You were not marriage material to anyone who mattered. His duty as a prince was to marry a high born lady from a noble house to strength his family's alliances. He always stood by his duty; he refused to be like Aegon, who liked shirking away from his as much as possible. He'd do right by his family, and be the good soldier who did what was expected. Yet, he desired something more, something real. He'd done many great things for his family; he'd burn down cities for them. Perhaps, just perhaps, they might let him have this one thing.

Walking into his father's bed chambers, he found the old king sitting by his model of Old Valyria. Shaky hands whittled away at a new dragon piece. Aemond could smell the sickness being masked underneath incense burned by the maesters. His father still had some of his mind left. He'd not completely lost himself yet.

"Father?" he called to him, standing by the door with his feet apart and hands behind his back. Be a good soldier, son. Let him see you are serious.

"Ah, Aemond," he smiled softly, rotting teeth starting to show on the bottom half, "My son...How good to see you."

"Yes, um," he stepped forward, "There was...there was something I wish to ask you."

He'd normally go to his mother for this request, but he knew what she'd say. She'd tell him 'no'. His father, a man and the king, had better sway. If he can break laws to make Rhaenyra, a woman, an heir to the throne, then he can break a law for him, his trueborn son.

"What is it, son? Sit, sit down."

Aemond took a seat across from his father. He watched brittle hands work the dragon into its shape. He must know. Even if he gets what he expected, he must ask. "Father, you once broke tradition and law to make Rhaenyra your heir-"

"-Not this again," he groaned. "I told Hightower that I will not change my mind-"

"-No, no, it isn't about that, Father. It's..." he took a deep breath, "I wish to marry, Father."

His eyes lit up, "Is that so? Who is she?"

"Well, her name is Y/N. She is clever, charming, gentle, and kind. She...She's wonderful," he replied. 'And, I wish to marry her."

"Who is her father? Her house?"

"She...well, you see..."

His father nodded sagely, "I see. She is lowborn, I take it?"

"Yes."

"Bastard born?"

"Yes."

"Comely?"

"Very. I love her, Father. I love her, and I..." he exhaled deeply, "I have always done everything you and mother ever wanted. I trained myself in sword and shield. I studied history, philosophy, art, and war. I have been cordial to my half-sister and her children when you've asked. I have always maintained the respect, and uphold the values and traditions of our house," he said, "But, for once, Father...Let me have one thing. Let me have her hand."

"You may have her," Viseryes said after a long pause, "But, you may not wed her."

"Father, I-"

"-You will marry a noblewoman and have noble children. You may keep this girl as a bedmate or a paramour, but marriage? I am sorry, but I cannot allow this."

"Why not? You allow Rhaenyra to do as she pleases! To seek her pleasures and always turn a blind eye to anything she's ever done." Rage began burning inside him. He stood up, fury burning at his father. He should have known.

"Rhaenyra married in her bloodline and had children as expected of her station. You must do the same, to keep peace and prosperity going."

He scoffed at these words. Aemond did not know what answer he expected. Perhaps he'd expected his father to be on his side for once; to care about Alicent's children rather than only his first wife's child. "I..." he balled up his fists, "I understand, Father."

"I'm not saying you can't keep the girl."

"I wanted a life with her. I want children with her."

"Which you can have."

"It is not the same, and you know it isn't!" he snapped at him. "I should have suspected as much from you. If our name isn't 'Rhaenyra' then we go unnoticed by you."

"Aemond-"

He stormed out before his father could see the real fury. Aemond did not tear up or feel weepy. His fire burned. It roared. He stormed into his apartments where you stood, putting his mended doublet on a table.

"Your Grace, I-"

"-We're leaving."

"Leaving?"

"Yes, leaving."

"You talked to your father then?" you smiled expectantly.

"Yes, and it went exactly as I expected, but," he cupped your cheek and brought you close, "That won't stop us. I don't need his approval. I don't need any of this. I only need you."

You stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. You left him for a corner of his bedroom by his bed. Tapping the wall, the side cracked open and he saw the secret passage door. He watched you bend down and show him two rucksacks with disguises. He smiled.

Yes, he would marry you and damn it all.

[cinnamonest]

//non-intercourse forced orgasm hcs literally no one asked for but I'm forcing upon you anyway, oral + rimming + fingering, some mild bondage, scent/taste kinks

 I made a post a long time ago about being eaten out against your will and it has caused me brainrot ever since and I have been thinking about it again so let me present the fact that each boy does the whole forcing unwilling orgasms/eating you out to the brink of exhaustion thing a little bit differently.

  ----

Venti is, as always, a nasty lil perv in his own way, likes the idea of literally anything conceivable, especially anything that involves stuffing his face near any part of your body.

 He chooses to interrupt at an inopportune moment while you're working, mumbling something about stress relief you can't quite hear because he's already being muffled by the proximity of his mouth to your flesh. He takes that opportunity while you're busy, thinking that way you're more likely to welcome the interruption and thus allow it -- after all, that is his specialty, looking for windows of opportunity to pressure and guilt his way into what he wants, after all he's not a forceful person you know, he would never do something you don't want... or at least, something you strongly reject... but your subtle little no, wait-- and the way you try to scoot the chair back is just momentary hesitation, like everyone has, it's more words that come tumbling out of your mouth as a natural reaction to surprise rather than what you actually mean. And the sad look he gets on his face when he tilts his head up and makes a soft hm? is just giving you the opportunity to clarify that it's okay, not an attempt to guilt you into feeling bad for rejecting him.

 So he just sort of kneels down on his knees, grabs the sides of your thighs and pulls you closer. Unfortunately, the fact that you're sitting down makes the angle a little difficult to reach everything, but he makes up for the lack of available space with enthusiasm, running his tongue over your clit to the best of his ability. Poor thing cranes his neck so hard it hurts afterward, but he doesn't notice at the time because he's too high on adrenaline and hormones to feel anything other than how hard his cock is throbbing. Thankfully, the position makes it easy to get himself off too.

 ----

Gorou has impulsive urges due to the smell. He can smell you from a good distance away and he hates when it's in public bc the only thing he wants to do is just bury his face between your legs, so he just sits there with a frustrated look on his face and his ears all flattened to his head until he can finally get you alone. And when he does, it's immediate, just pushing you down without a word -- he tends to get nonverbal like that when he's operating more on instinct than logic.

 Likewise, his ears kinda flatten back when he's going at it, his tail wags back and forth, not that he realizes he's doing either. He likes to really lick, just running his tongue over and over in long lapping motions. Equally subconscious and unintentional is the sounds -- if you try to pull back, press your elbows into the ground and pull yourself away, it earns a high-pitched whine... or if he's really into it at the moment, the slightest, softest throaty noise, just short of a growl, as he follows your movements and shuffles forward. Latches his fingers onto your hips, too, he doesn't mean to hurt you, but if you're pulling back he may dig the nails into your skin without realizing... sorry.

 The unfortunate thing is that the longer it goes on, whether you like it or not, he gets more and more encouraged the wetter you get -- the more there is for him to lap up, that is. The same is true of your squirming, it lights up that predator sense in his head, that the more something struggles, the harder you have to grab it.

  ----

Childe is aggressive about it, certainly one of the most truly forceful rather than guilting or pressuring you into it. Has to literally throw you onto the bed, lock your hips down to the bed with force so hard it'll bruise. As always, he likes it if you struggle, and that much more so if it's also a matter of you being self-conscious and embarrassed of the whole thing. It's really adorable, especially to tease you about it, he likes to alternate between playing dumb type of teasing and being bluntly vulgar for how it makes you squirm. What, you don't like him having his face so close? What are you so worried about? Don't worry, your pussy's so cute, of course he likes it.

 Likewise, he mocks you bad when you start giving in and raising your hips up to meet his mouth. Cute. It's the word he always uses, the one that makes your face hot with humiliation and your chest burn with anger, and he knows that full well. You really put up so much of a fight, when it's so obvious you're into this, just look at how you're rolling your hips now, not even the slightest sense of shame huh? Okay, well, some shame, the little tears in your eyes and the way you whimper and the faces you make when he says so make that clear. You're just too prideful, really, he's working on getting you out of that. He talks while he does it, a throaty, low voice, a voice filled with heavy breaths as he speaks between lapping his tongue over your clit, makes up for the time he talks with his fingers inside you, curling in a way that makes you shiver. He draws attention to your reactions too -- what was that? Aw....

 And each movement, each little gasp for breath, each twitch and whimper, it'll all be used against you after, too, in a description of exactly how you came undone under him that he can use against you whenever you decide you've forgotten how things work between you two. Don't you remember how you sounded? Yeah, you were all-- He always gets that glint in his eye when he smirks, right before he makes those obnoxiously overexaggerated noises, a fake-high-pitch voice, that sort of mockery that makes your chest feel tight and your eyes water. The worst part of it all is, of course, that he's entirely right.

 He also likes the after-effects you leave on him, especially if you're at a point where he can leave you unbound and you know better than to fight too much. Your hands involuntary motions mess up his hair, sometimes you scratch the back of his neck or his shoulders. He likes pointing it out to you afterwards, a humiliating aww, see what you did? and chuckles as he lets you get an eyeful of how badly you ruffled his hair or the pink marks your nails left on his skin.

----

Kazuha... cannot force you to sit on his face. Unfortunately. He has entertained the idea of trying -- suspend you from the ceiling or something, like a pulley on your wrists, and work his way underneath you? Eh, that would be too complicated... but he can do it just as well any other way, he supposes. It's sort of an act of desperation from him, reminding you he loves you whenever he feels like you might not return that sentiment, or even understand his. It's reassuring to him, after all if he can make you cum then you have to at least love him a little, right? So goes the logic in his head. So he, as with other things, likewise rationalizes that it's not really forceful or bad to tie your hands behind your back. Your problem, see, is that you tend to overreact, react too soon, and react in a way to preserve your pride and dignity and all that, which is why you try and fight him, even though you want it deep down. It's cute, it really is, it makes him chuckle and smile and pat your head when you try to writhe and struggle. But he knows it's not real, because if it was, you would summon way more strength than that. The fact that you're so easy to overpower is how he knows you're not really trying to fight him on it, you just have too much pride. And that's okay, he'll work on that over time.

 But he also knows having your hands behind your back would make it uncomfortable to lay on your back and thus cut off the circulation to your arms, and most of the time you're not sleeping in real/full beds, so he can't tie you to a headboard or anything like that either. So he just rolls you over onto your stomach, lifts your hips up a bit, holds them firmly in place. Because it's such a desperate, longing act for him, filled with so much emotion, he gets really intense about it, this boy eats you out like a man starved -- no nice slow buildup, just full intensity from the get-go, so much so it hurts at first because he's pressing his tongue to your clit with such force. He's so into it you can literally hear him have to pull his head back for a split second just to take a gasp for air before going back to it. But no matter how much you may squirm or whimper, he takes it as a good sign.

 In terms of skill level... well, the aforementioned intensity and dedication makes up for what he lacks. Sure, he may not have a solid grasp on buildup and technique or anything, but you'll cum all the same just from the intense friction. Don't worry about him, either, he doesn't listen to concerns for his comfort or well-being.

 ----

Kaeya also tends to tie your hands up behind your back, but rather than flipping you over, he grabs your hips and lifts them upward until you're nearly vertical, leaving you more or less laying on your upper back and shoulders, lower half up in the air under the support of his chest and arms, making cute little noises of surprise while he sort of folds you over. You've already been working on your flexibility by that point, so he can contort your body like a pretzel whenever he so desires. It's an odd position, the blood rushes to your head a bit, but the sensation is there nonetheless, and it leaves you all squirming and vulnerable.

 Immobile, too, at least in terms of positioning, and that's the best part. The position means that you can't really writhe or risk toppling over, so you're more or less forced to hold still. The angle lets him see all the cute expressions and contortions your face makes, too. You even hook your legs over his shoulders all on your own, a subconscious action so it doesn't feel like you're going to fall over. He thinks it's cute, but reassures you he's got you anyway (although you were asking the 'what are you doing' more referring to the act in general, not the positioning), the grip on your hips is firm enough to keep you still.

 He tends to suck really hard, rather than licking and lapping so much, just latches his mouth onto your clit and sucks at the flesh and it makes you shudder. His fingernails dig into your hips holding you in place the whole time, you feel the vibrations of the chuckling from his throat on your most sensitive flesh. The odd position can't hold forever, but he manages to make it work very, very quickly. Which is kinda impressive, considering how you insist on squirming around and struggling -- if you really fight back hard enough, he just flips you over onto your stomach instead to finish you off. But ultimately, no matter what you appeal to to get him to stop (you always whimper out plenty of different excuses), each time you try and shuffle your way forward, you just get harshly yanked back.

 But he likes it if he can finish you in that first position, especially to watch the slick drip down your stomach to your chest. He's sweet afterward too, says you're so good... he makes it out to be like something you were simply nervous about trying that turned out well, rather than something you fought every second and finally gave in to. Except, of course, during random arguments at a later date... then, suddenly, he seems to recall the events much more clearly, reminding you that even when he has to force you, your body still loves whatever he does to you.

 ----

Albedo does it from behind, with your face downward and hips fully up in the air, rather than on your back. He doesn't like being looked at either, so this is more comfortable... also he can just jerk off directly, too, rather than having to rut into the bed. It's just spontaneous. Hey, come here a second... You don't get any kind of warning, as per usual. He tends to bounce back and forth between non-sexual and sexual moments in the blink of an eye like that -- one moment you can think you're both just going about your normal tasks and there isn't so much as a drop of sexually tense energy in the air, and the next you're getting pounded over the nearest surface, it's just how he works. At least he mutters something about just being curious about something as an excuse.

 But rather than lapping and sucking, he likes to tongue-fuck you. Don't worry, he'll still run his hand (the one that isn't holding your hips in place) up underneath you to sort of rub at your clit, but he's focusing most of his attention on just thrusting his tongue in and out of your holes. It gets nice reactions out of you -- you really squirm and squeal the most if he tongue-fucks your ass though, sliding his thumb into your cunt instead, it's too much stimulation all at once, and the way you're so embarrassed about it all is cute.

 Unfortunately, he's more about the journey and not the goal. That meaning, he's not in a rush to actually make you cum. He's going to take his time with the new experience, slowly taking in each aspect and experimenting around with what makes you squeal the loudest and twitch the hardest. It's horribly embarrassing, you can feel his eyes on you and his face is so close to everything, it just makes you feel horribly self-conscious. For which there's no need, he says, but he's very bad at comforting, says nothing more than that.

 And likewise, once he decides that this is what you're doing today, it's the whole day. Because he is both determined to get those same orgasms out of you as the others are, but takes his time with each one, and thus the process stretches on for hours, bringing you to the edge over and over just before you even get one orgasm, then again and again before the next, and so on, seeing what brings you so close to climax the fastest. Any protest is met with a mere reassurance that it won't be much longer (it will) and he's going to be nice and let you cum soon (he's not) if you're good.

 Also, you certainly can't get out of it with any appeals to your dignity or comfort. Any 'this is humiliating' or the like is just met with a blunt mm-hm, or I know. Kinda part of the point, you know, he says. Bastard.

 ----

Bennett is a flexible boy, actually. It turns out that no matter what position you're lying in, he can manage to get his mouth between your legs somehow. Lying on your side and spooning (only after having given in since he's pestered you so much you stop trying to get away from him all the time), it's soft and quiet and sweet for a little while until you feel him kinda slide downward underneath the covers. It's unprompted, sure, he does it very spontaneously, but it's like, an act of service, so it's not like you wouldn't want it. That's why he doesn't feel guilty about just pulling your hips back, running his tongue over anything it can reach.

 But seriously, any position, any place. On your side? He can pull one leg up and over his shoulder, tilt his head to reach. On your stomach? He can kinda pull your hips up and bury his tongue inside you at least. Out adventuring? Here, he's stronger than he looks, just lean back against this tree and he can hold one leg up over his shoulder. He has such an eagerness and a bright smile on his face, he just wants to make you feel good, how can you say no? Not that he's subconsciously aware of his power over your sense of guilt and utilizes it or anything... not consciously at least. And maybe, maybe you don't always feel like it at the moment, but you enjoy it in the end and that's what matters... what gets you closer to him.

 He likes to alternating more of a sucking motion versus a licking motion, but puts the entirety of his effort into every second, the kind of intensity of effort you can notice... in fact, he's going so hard and fast immediately it's almost a bit painful, he has no concept of pacing. But what he lacks there, he'll make up for with that effort, since you can't bring yourself to tell him no, and he'd suffocate to death before he'd give up on getting you to cum on his face. So in the end, he basically just keeps his mouth latched on and goes until he can get what he's after, and will keep trying with the same vigor (although guidance from you certainly helps) as long as needed.

 ----

Diluc likes having his tongue on your tits the most. Buried between your legs is fine, but he's better at that with his fingers, keeping you laying down on your back, curling them inside you while sucking on your tits like his life depends on it. He gets too self conscious being looked at, so he just ties something over your eyes. He's uncertain about it at first either, each movement is a bit cautious and hesitant, he has to figure out what earns the best reactions. He lays to your side, sort of propped up on one elbow to get enough leverage to suck while moving his hand between your legs, stays mostly wordless throughout. He just sort of ignores whatever you say, unless it's positive, or merely a sound that tells him he should keep doing whatever he just did. He's surprisingly really soft and gentle about it, too, takes it so slowly that there's a nice buildup... although it's actually out of insecurity and uncertainty of what he's doing rather than actual considerateness.

 And speaking of that uncertainty, at first he tries a motion more like pumping his fingers in and out of you, after all that's the same way actual intercourse works right? It's not until he curls them once and feels the way you jolt and shiver before he realizes that works better. The other hand is, of course, holding you down by your shoulder, since you insist on squirming around even though you're already spread with your hands and feet tied to each corner of the bed. After all, this is only because he's trying a new approach... Getting mad doesn't seem to do any good, so he's recently decided that something like this is the best way to deal with you being mouthy and mean. Which is why you have the gag, just to prevent you from saying something worse and setting him off... For your own sake. One of the maids he sought for advice said he's supposed to express how he feels without being interrupted, and this was what came to mind.

 The suckling feeling makes you shudder. His mouth is warm and he likes to move his tongue in circles around each nipple before moving back and forth between the two. He doesn't know exactly what he's doing, but the way your walls clench on his fingers is taken as a sign that he's going in the right direction. Of course, you make a bunch of muffled noises that he presumes are attempts to speak, but decides you're probably still not ready to be nice yet, so it can't be anything important.

 He's silent, though, more or less the entire time. That was the point, that he's not good with words, so this was supposed to be the expression of feeling and all that... You can hear his breath hitch, though, once you make those telltale signs of approaching orgasm he's learned to recognize by now. He's so unusually soft about it when you do, kisses your neck and nuzzles his face to your chest, it's one of the softest moments you've had from him so far.

 ...Not that you can rest just yet. He has a set number in mind you have to reach first, before he's willing to take the gag off. By the time he plans to, he hopes, you'll have a very different tune than when he put it on, and he will just keep repeating this process until he's certain he's gotten that intended result.

  ----

Xingqiu is selfish with it... it's not fair if he's not getting anything in return, you know? That's why he has to have you sucking him off at the same time, and he gets to be nice and comfortable on his back. You insist you don't need anything in return (really, please, you just want to give him what he wants so you can go lay down and rest at this point), but he insists!! It's only right... he likes it best this way too. You can fight it, but you should probably know better by now than to argue anything, he tends to get... unpleasant in attitude if you don't give into whatever whim strikes him at the moment.

 He tends to use his mouth alternating back and forth between inside and outside, both running his tongue in and out of your holes for a few moments before moving back down to lap at your clit instead. Not that his hands are idle, no, he sort of kneads the flesh of your hips in his hands, uses his thumbs to spread everything and get better access.

 He also tries to talk way too much. You would think it would be the one thing that could get him to be quiet for a lil bit, but no, he's still trying to form articulate, descriptive sentences, as if you're even listening, or as if you'd even hear him considering how muffled his voice is, all things considered. And, of course, the vibrations of his voice up against your cunt makes it that much harder to focus on your own task.

 But as always, he can be a little bit of a brat both in terms of neediness as well as pride, so don't get too distracted by the sensation or let it make you go numb, because he's quick to pull away -- why did you stop? Heh, well, of course he's good at it, he's glad to see you're reacting so well as expected, but that doesn't mean you can just stop sucking him off too, you know. Likewise, even if he cums and you insist it's okay, you don't need it (please you just want to lay down...), he gets a bit frustrated (insecure, really, how come he came and you didn't yet?), and insists on getting you flat on your back (telling himself the position is the only reason why he came first), and ensures you follow suit.

 ----

Zhongli, like Diluc, can do either, but really likes having his fingers inside you the most. More specifically, with you sitting in his lap, back pressed to his chest, and nice and exposed and spread wide open so you can see yourself in the mirror in front of you.

 The restraints themselves are simple, each side ties around your knees, but it then wraps behind your neck, keeping your legs nice and open and pulled back. The same part where it connects around the back of your neck, also connects to the leather tie keeping your wrists bound behind your back. It's perfectly immobilizing and so very, very vulnerable, and the best part is that you can see everything so perfectly that you normally wouldn't be able to. You can see your pretty, pretty little holes, and you can watch his fingers slip in and out and curl inside you. You can see the way your pussy twitches and the way your bite your lip and squirm. You can see the fluid that leaks out of you and runs down your flesh, soaking into his pants, since you're fully naked and he's fully clothed... after all, this sort of thing is always done as more of a punishment, so the humiliation of that is deserved.

 Specifically it's whenever you're talking back, saying awful, mean things you know you shouldn't, just because you want to lash out -- saying you're not his, not property, that you don't like it here and you don't want to be with him forever -- defiant little things like that. You do like to talk, so now you can say it again if you want. You just have to be able to stare straight ahead into the mirror while you do. Look at yourself and your face, your half-lidded eyes and chest heaving with breaths, look at your body spread open and vulnerable, look at the slick dripping down your ass and coating his gloved hands and say the same things you were saying before. Even if you try, why is your voice like that? You were talking so firmly and angrily before, now your voice is wavering, higher. You were standing so straight and firm and now you're shivering and shuddering with each little movement.

 It's so slow, though, just enough to bring you pleasure, but not enough. It's not enough. Your body only naturally craves more of it. More intense. Maybe if you change your tune and say some different things, nice things, true things, and beg enough for it, he can go a bit faster... only specifically what you say, of course. You have to very explicitly say exactly what you want, and no dodging certain words you're too embarrassed to say. Any nonsense of 'my...' with a mere gesture or expression is just met with 'your what?' Come on, how is he supposed to know what you mean if you won't say it? Not that it's just the one -- that's where the forcing comes in. You need several orgasms to get your head back on straight, you'll just end up having to beg for each one before you can finally rest.

 ----

Thoma, unsurprisingly, sees it as a sort of service thing. Well, it's not really much of a service when he enjoys it so much, now is it? If anything it's more like a reward, a motivation he thinks of to get him through the day's responsibilities so he can get back to you... and your pussy. And you! Most importantly you... but it's also a part of you, so it all sort of counts as one package deal.

 But it's legit his favorite thing. He assumes that any reluctance on your part is just you being sweet and considerate (no don't worry! He likes doing it, really, so just stop slowly shifting away from him and come closer...) or self consciousness (there's no reason to be!! You're fine it tastes good so stop worrying about that already...), rather than, you know, the lack of desire, or an unwillingness to show him that kind of vulnerability. He just sort of moves as he's talking, you're too focused on the reassuring words coming out of his mouth to realize he hasn't stopped moving to go through with it until you feel him grab your knee and push one leg to the side, and get himself in between your legs before you can utter a word.

 He takes advantage of your guilt -- he's not bad at it, right? You don't hate it -- don't hate him -- that much, right? He just wants to show you he loves you, so why are you trying to pull yourself back...? Those sad puppy eyes he gets feels like it's crushing your heart, and most likely, you find yourself giving in, not wanting to hurt the poor thing's feelings... as planned, albeit not consciously, everything he does like that is more of a subconscious act. What is very much a conscious (and eager) act is that, once given the green light, he's actually rather good at what he's doing. He's mastered the art of measuring tiny reactions as a means of what to do next, he notes the slightest trembles and twitches and sounds from you, and repeats what earns the best reactions. So his "method" really depends on you -- he tries a bit of everything, and sticks with what works. If sucking doesn't work, try rolling his tongue in circles, and if pumping his fingers in and out isn't working, trying curling them more, he changes each little detail until he knows what makes you tick perfectly.

 He's also very happy afterwards. After he's made you cum a few times (earning each successive time by begging with those same irresistible pleading eyes and voice), he feels like it's a sort of mission accomplished, you know? It makes him feel reassured. He's all smiley, hugs you tight and lets you finally rest from the exhaustion... might jerk himself off if you fall asleep though.

  ----

Razor tends to lick, similar to Gorou, but he tends to go for longer movements, long, upward laps at the flesh... it can be a bit infuriating, because it can easily bring you close, but comes just short of what's needed to push you over the edge. Thus, you end up rutting your hips up against his mouth, once you've lost whatever sense of restraint you might have had initially. This does, thankfully, subconsciously trigger him to go faster, more of a reaction to the squirming motion rather than actually realizing what the intended goal is. Not that he has a goal in mind at all, the process was a rather simple one: you were laying down and trying to sleep, he can smell something that smells good, his brain (and the rush to his dick) told him he should move down there and lick it, so he did, it tastes good, and therefore, obviously the only sensible thing to do would be to continue repeating the motion. He tends to listen to whatever his brain and hormones say to do without much questioning like that.

 Also similarly to our other canid boy, he tends to make a lot of deep, throaty noises as he goes about it, growling at the slightest movement of an attempt to back away. In all honesty, his brain is actually muddling the processes of actual eating with sex, it kinda registers as both at the same time, and I mean, have you ever tried to interrupt a dog and it's food? Of course he's going to be aggressive about it. He tends to dig his fingers into the sheets or ground to sort of stand his ground, but if you pull yourself back it earns a frustrated growl and a harsh jerk, grabbing your hips and thighs and yanking you back to where you started. Words are not going to do anything, he's in that state where he doesn't really process human language due to intensity of the heat of the moment and lack of blood in the brain. He doesn't question why it makes him so hard either, just occasionally ruts his hips into the surface beneath you two. Nor does he really draw a distinction between your holes, it's all really the same to him, he just sort of licks everything within reach, from your dripping cunt to your ass to your thighs and every patch of flesh he can, regardless of whether you're on your back or your stomach.

 But this also means that just because you're done doesn't mean he is. You quiver and squeal and pull on his hair, whimpering from the overstimulation of his tongue now that you came, but you're just making it worse, it's just a command to the predatory instinct to go harder. You'll just have to accept that it's not going to end until he's had enough, or gets too hard and decides he needs to be inside you instead. Also, he won't understand any attempt to communicate that it's embarrassing for you, trying to explain such is just met with a blank stare. He doesn't understand what you're saying exactly, but if you ask him, it sounds like what you need to resolve this problem is to get used to the feeling, which just means he should do it more, yes, that sounds right.

 ----

Chongyun cannot actually get through the act without going into an episode. I mean, how could you expect him to? It's a very... exciting matter, he literally has his face pressed up against your holes and it's right there and that's just too much.

 Not that he thinks of that from the get-go, no, at the moment he's not really thinking of anything except that you're doubting him. You said something that gives the impression that you doubt his devotion or loyalty or love for you. You tell him he's just hyped up on hormones and horny, it''s not real love, he doesn't really care about you... the sentiment cuts deep, and he can't think of many ways to show you otherwise. Unfortunately for you, you finally decided (or rather, snapped) to have this confrontation alone, laying in bed (since he always insists on sleeping beside you to protect you). He gets that doing things people don't want is bad, but this isn't like that. That sort of thing, that's when you do something like this for your own benefit. This is for your benefit, if anything he's being left blueballed in the process, which means that this can't be the same thing as forcing oneself on another, no, those are completely different things. This is good and you'll be happy about it.

 Which is why it's so easy for him to be suddenly forceful, something you thought you'd never see out of him. You try to prop yourself up on your elbow mid argument and he shoves you back down, suddenly disappears under the blankets. You don't even get to voice the confusion before he's already grabbing your hips with determination, running his tongue over your folds through the fabric... that, too, would make him feel like he was... violating you or something, to take them off, so he just pulls them to the side instead. He really, really should have thought better, but he's so caught up in the sudden worry and wanting to make you happy that he doesn't think about the fact that he's not going to last but a few seconds in a stable state of mind when his tongue is buried in you. You might get a few mere seconds of a soft, gentle, hesitant sort of lapping, but if anything, the way you gasp and kick your feet into the bed, the way you squeal and sputter in shock and pull his hair to try and get him off, it only accelerates the process. The grip on your hips tightens up, the pressure from his tongue grows firmer, the motions more intense and fierce, he's practically rocking the entire bed, pulling your hips back and forth in time to meet the motions of his head and mouth. It's sloppy and messy, not with any specific technique, just sucking and rubbing at anything he can. Unfortunately, he can't really use his hands for anything, seeing as he's putting his full strength into keeping your hips locked in place with that iron grip the entire time.

 ----

It should be a given that Scaramouche is not going to do anything of the sort for your sake, nor focus attention on the matter... He passes it off as boredom or punishment or something of that nature. A side activity and not the main focus of his attention at the moment -- you can barely see, your eyes are covered with a cloth just thin enough to leave you to see shapes and outlines, and your mouth is gagged, hands and feet bound together so that your legs are spread open and you can't close them either. It's just because you were causing problems and now you still are being a distraction and a nuisance by whimpering.

 And... Leaking. Very obviously, your entire cunt practically glistens in the light. Is this the kind of thing you get off to? And if you get off to it so much, why are you whimpering like that as if you're not? He just sort of shoves his fingers into you, moves once and watches you squirm, and sighs. Goes back to whatever he was doing, but keeps them inside, making just the slowest and softest of movements.

 Painfully slow. Painfully light. Just lazily curling his fingers over and over. It's so far from enough but just so much that you find yourself rutting your hips forward to try and meet the touch anyway. Really, it's more like he's forcing you to get the orgasm out of yourself, it's only a matter of time before physical pleasure overrides any humiliation, and you find yourself more or less fucking yourself on his fingers until you cum... all while he has his head turned, reading this or that (pretending to, at least), as if barely casting any attention your way while you lose any sense of dignity in favor of wantonly finger-fucking yourself. Not that the horrific shame doesn't settle in immediately after, of course.

 But he just makes that scoff and expression of disgust when he slides his fingers out and spreads them apart to see the glistening strings between them -- gross, you got it all over his hand... and since you're still gagged, you can't even clean it up, so he just sighs and wipes your own slick off his hand and onto your face instead. Maybe now you can be quiet for at least a little while. From the exhaustion, that is, you're not going to be given anything to do or anything like that... after all, if he took the blindfold off, you'd probably see how red his face is, or that he didn't even realize he was holding his paper upside down the entire time....

 ----

Xiao gets... frustrated, huffy. Stop squirming. Hold still. You're making this difficult.

 It's not for any reason, nor prompted, it's just something he spontaneously discovers. It's warm and nice. He wants to bury his face in it. Is that too much to ask. It doesn't even start out with the urge to lick or suck anything, he just finds himself gravitating in that direction, resting his head on that soft mound of flesh in between your legs, both of you all sprawled out for one of your 'naps' (for him at least, for you, pretty much the entirety of every day is just laying in bed anyway) the scent once he gets his head close does make him hard, but he doesn't know why. But gradually he gets the urge to just. Put his mouth on it. You see him kinda turn his eyes and cautiously, slowly stick his tongue out, and the shudder it earns from you (who had just given up on understanding why he likes lying like that so much and had finally closed your eyes to go to sleep) likewise gets a twitch out of him.

 He's wordless, just sort of shifts a bit, maneuvers his head back to the right spot (see, he told you that you not having clothes makes things easier!) and presses his mouth to it again. You squirm and sputter, face hot as you try to sputter out some words or saying to wait. 'Wait?' For what? It's not like there's anything you have to do, just -- just -- stop that, stop pulling yourself back so much. It's not a big deal. He's not trying to put his dick in you like normal, since you always seem to freak out over that, so this shouldn't be a problem, right? You're already on your back so just... relax and ignore it or something. It's not until he feels the way you shudder and your walls spasm on his tongue that he makes the connection that it must feel good for you. And yet you still squirm and struggle. So confusing.

 He couldn't tell you why he likes it, really. But it feels nice, tastes good... and he finds himself occasionally rutting his throbbing cock into the bed too. He really has a thing for feeling your thighs squeeze around his head. Don't worry about this "can you breathe" nonsense you keep interrupting him for. If suffocation in pussy is how he goes after eons of near-death experiences in battle, he will die happy and fulfilled, and continuous interruption to worry about his comfort or whatever just annoys him, so eventually he ignores it. It's very messy, he also tends to suck more than lick, quickly discovers the most sensitive spot and latches his mouth on. It's not really for your sake, either, he really just likes doing it, so even after you've cum, any attempts to pry his mouth off are unsuccessful, you'll just have to wait and endure it. Eventually he gets to where you can sort of predict it -- you see his gaze fall downward and before you can get out the 'wait-' he's already got his tongue buried in you without so much as saying a word.

[deathbyloomy]

Honestly, you don’t need to know that much. The AU doesn’t contain any spoilers for the Hunger Games

I’ll just add some context that you may or may not already know: the hunger games (event) are an annual event held by the Capitol (Panem, the nation where the Hunger Games (book) takes place is comprised of the Capitol surrounded 12 outlying districts). Two tributes—one male and one female—between the ages of 12 and 18 are selected at random from each district, and are forced to fight in the Hunger Games (event). These Hunger Games (event) serve both as entertainment for the citizens of the Capitol and as punishment for the 12 districts for rebelling. When the Hunger Games started, some people made a pool of special rules that all have their own meaning. Every 25 years (a quarter century), there’s a special Hunger Games, called a Quarter Quell, where they draw a paper from a box. These papers dictate twists in the reaping (The reaping is when they draw names to choose tributes). One example of this is (not a major spoiler I think): “On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes that who would represent it.”

Oh, and another thing I almost forgot is that in districts 1, 2, and 4, participating in the Hunger Games is an honour and a chance for glory (poorer districts like 12 do not see it the same way). These districts are called “Career Districts,” and the residents of them often train for the Hunger Games (event) for years, despite this being against the rules.

Anyways, that should be all the context needed rn. The AU focuses on two Hunger Games, but mostly on one, which is also a Quarter Quell (I just made it a Quarter Quell bc I wanted to have some reason for half of the district’s pairs of tributes being siblings).

Here’s the list of tributes for this Quarter Quell (Sunny & Kel are both transfem btw):

1. Charlene & Pretty Boy

2. Mincy & Jock

3. Katie & Jesse

4. Kel & Hero

5. Sarah & Brent

6. Joy & Michael

7. Sunny & skinny boy

8. Bebe & Billy

9. Daphne & Mikhael

10. Kim & Vance

11. Aubrey & Basil

12. Angel & Artist

(Honestly, I’m using the minor NPCs as throwaway characters. If you don’t recognize an NPC on this list, they’re probably going to serve the sole purpose of dying)

I don’t have a list of tributes for the other one, but Mari & Hero we’re both in it, met each other, started to fall for each other, Mari died, Hero won the hunger games. Normally past victors can’t be chosen as a tribute but I just made an exception in this Quarter Quell’s twist

I honestly don’t have much yet, but here’s a few bullet points:

- Faraway Friends meet and form an alliance

- At some point, the group either completely disbands or just Aubrey is kicked out

- Aubrey then forms another alliance with the hooligans who have all miraculously survived this long (normally, a lot of tributes die at the start of each Hunger Games bc they start in close proximity and there’s resources between them. This is called the bloodbath)

I bring this AU up, because even though I haven’t yet gotten to the sad/traumatizing part, it will happen inevitably. It’s the nature of the Hunger Games (event). Only one tribute can remain

Sorry, this came out much longer than I was expecting

On the basis of sad/traumatic AUs, do you want to hear about my WIP Hunger Games x OMORI crossover AU?

sure ^_^ i dont know. a loottttt abt the hunger games but :] wouldnt mind hearing abt ur au

[uhnomahlee]

them seeing you for the first time // fire force headcanon

pairings: agender!hibana x black gnc plus-size reader & agender!benimaru x black gnc plus-size reader

{mdni/f}

a/n: dese my faves so most fire force imagines/headcanons gon pertain to dem…reader=oc bc i shan’t type (yn) we gotta have substance thank yewww. as always the ocs have a lil background to dem. i loveeee maki and hinawa they otw sewn. my eyes + mind don’t apply gender like det to cartoon characters seww,,,enjoy🧌might be proofread perhapn’t

hibana

ime never associated theirself with any infrastructures seeing as their ability to have so much control over individuals propped the people of tokyo up to be puppets

they knew of the white-clad and evangelist, keeping their abilities hidden. one slip-up and they would have to fight that entire factor and more

however the rapid and random appearances of infernals tested them each and every day

on a particular day while on a leisure walk, ime heard the recognizable wails of a human turning into an infernal in an alleyway, eyes flitting to the direction it came from

not even a second later, an individual behind them burst in flames as well, falling to the ground in agony as the flesh burned off

it was hell on earth—the fire, screams, souls no longer tied to an earthly vessel

ime didn’t associate with the fire force, holy sol temple, or haijima. but they did associate theirself with the people affected by the appearance and action of infernals

the accumulation of infernals in the area put ime into gear, their dark brown irises disappearing to only show the white of their eyes glowing

an infernal clamped onto ime, arms wrapping around their body.

the creature was turned to dust from the single touch

a white flame flickered inside ime’s body, growing to an unimaginable temperature

checking their surroundings, they saw most of the people had left the premises

company five made their arrival a couple seconds after the infernal was put down

the focal point of the fires were located near ime, making the vehicles turn down the street where they stood

a beam of a white flame emitted from ime’s mouth, mowing down a good portion of the internals coming their way

“and who is that?” hibana inquired, their interest piqued immediately

the lack of fireproof gear and proximity to the creatures either proved an unpowered civilian’s stupidity or posed the immense power of a pyrokinetic teetering the line between idiocy and bravery

either way, hibana wanted them cleared from the grounds immediately

“not sure captain. i’ve never seen them before,” tokuyama replied, bringing the vehicle to a halt. “what should we do?”

hibana was unresponsive, petal pupils enlarging. fascination etched itself into their features

ime finished off the rest of the infernals on the block using hand to hand combat. their hits never connected due to the overwhelming heat of their body dissipating the infernals’ vessels instantly

“captain hibana?” tokuyama repeated, concern growing. “we should act now. more infernals were reported across the town.”

blinking theirself from the trance, hibana spoke, “take the squad down the parallel streets and take out any infernals you see. make sure the civilians are evacuating correctly. don't let them get in a frenzy and make things worse.” they opened the passenger door and stepped out, heels clacking against the ground.

“captain, what about you? i know you love your research but approaching pyros you know nothing about is very different from capturing an infernal”

“lieutenant, i believe i gave you orders.” hibana shot a glare at the man. “do you need to be disciplined in the middle of an emergency?”

tokuyama diverted his gaze. “...no. sorry captain. we will secure the streets immediately.” face reddening, the soldier pulled off, leading the rest of the squad to the other roads

hibana continued their strut towards ime, confidence wafting from them with every step

sensing the approaching human energy source, ime dampened their own inner flame, reducing the heat they were emitting.

one look at the fire force garment worn and irritation swelled up

they walked past hibana without a word, searching for any more infernals wandering the area

the captain fell flush with embarrassment then quickly gathered theirself reaching out their fan and tapping ime’s shoulder

“excuse me. any particular reason you aren’t in uniform? which company do you belong to?” hibana probed, eyes shamelessly scanning the broad full-figured individual

ime turned around, making hibana’s confidence resurface for a moment before the captain set their eyes on the individual

piercings were centered in the middle of their shaven brows as well as a single stud in the center of their bottom lip. the bridge of their nose was adorned with a jewel too

a hardened expression contorted ime’s face, a small scowl and dark eyes directed at hibana

yeah….the words hibana were going to say got swept the hell away

there was this aura that flowed from ime and caressed hibana’s entire psyche and gently brought them to their knees—mentally—with no hesitation

okay bc hibana x tsundere dom byeeeeee these niggas would be too much

“i wouldn’t let myself belong to a company, that unhinged cult, or those engineering shitheads at haijiima even if my fucken life depended on it,” was ime’s response, voice modulated and low

hibana was stuck between finding the reply arousing and disrespectful, the two emotions tussling wildly as they stared at ime, trying their best to sustain their supreme demeanor

“well then…well then you-” hibana’s mind struggled to form a sentence under ime’s unwavering glare. “get out of the area. our squad can handle it. you’re just a civilian and you need to evacuate,” they demanded, proud their voice stood its ground

but that shit did not matter

ime’s browbone rose, piercing glinting

“fuck that.”

ime’s eyes flickered to white and they began hovering off the ground.

hibana blinked once and ime was taking off into the sky descending into the road nearby, ready to aid the civilians

a very disoriented hibana stood, skin hot with embarrassment and the prominent arousal churning in their abdomen

“that…motherfucker”

benimaru

“for the last time old lady, your sweets have too much damn sugar. you tryna kill me or what?” benimaru stopped walking, irked

the lady gave them a wide smile, wrinkles protruding, persistent in her attempt to offer the youngin some delicacies

a staring match ensued as always

the breeze grazed benimaru’s black tresses before they sighed, grumbling thanks as they took a hold of the basket

“have a good day benimaru-chan!” the elderly woman yelled after them

benimaru smacked their lips looking at the basket. “at least she made a bit less this time. maybe a new recipe too? hell if i know…i’ll let the twins get to it before-”

their nose twitched, a scent making their steps falter, eyes flitting to their right

the individual caught benimaru’s attention, gaze’s meeting each other’s

kayode’s fully black eyes crinkled as they gave a smile, gesturing to the pastries at their stand

“would you like to try a cup of degue? i will let you have the first cup for free,” their silvery voice spoke, black henna decorating their exposed dark brown skin

benimaru diverted their gaze, an unfamiliar thump in their chest kickstarting their heart into turmoil

they nearly ran off into the direction of their home, not giving a response

benimaru wondered why they weren’t alerted of the new resident’s presence considering their position as the town’s representatives

also yes, a part of beni needed to know who that was soon and konro would most definitely have that knowledge if not anyone else

stepping into the household, hika and hina hopped into view, ready to pounce on the snacks

“these goodies better be up to par or the grim reaper’s not letting her slip through their hands again!”

beni furrowed their brows as they set the basket down. “seriously, who the fuck teaches you to talk like this. shit.”

catching a glimpse of konro, beni left the twins to food while they called out to him

konro turned, a soft smile on his face. “back from your walk? how many times were you stopped this time?”

“do you know the new vendor?” benimaru interjected needing to get straight to the point. too forward, they thought. “why don’t i-we know about them?”

konro smiled, heading towards the entryway of the building. “you’re right. we don’t know much about them. and as protectors of the town we should find out more right?”

“why are you talking like that?”

konro shrugged. “dunno what you’re going on about.” he cleared his throat, side by side with his friend as they moseyed down the sidewalk. “so this vendor. did you taste the food?”

benimaru narrowed their eyes. “no. are you drunk or something? why are you acting like that?”

konro waved a hand dismissively. “just that you usually don’t ask about new vendors. you get told about them. ya know they don’t interest you much. but...i guess things can change with you.”

beni narrowed their eyes at konro, caught in his inquisition. they went silent until they came across the familiar vendor stand

kayode handed a customer a cup, laughing at something that was said

“i’m guessing this is it.”

beni blinked. “what? you-” their jaw clenched. “it’s just our job to know who resides in our town.”

“oh yeah, definitely.” konro crossed his arms, cocking his head slightly. “so, why don’t you go ahead and get that job done. i hear the twins fighting again.“

breaking off their stare at the new vendor for the third time, benimaru readied a rebuttal.

but the older nigga had skedaddled, figure running off into the distance before beni could speak

“fucker,” they muttered, fists clenching

kayode had turned around, fixing up some more cups of the different beverages and desserts

“that offer is still up if you want” back facing benimaru, kayode declared before pouring a thick substance into a small mug

“who are you? when did you move here?” smooth benimaru, interrogating instead of accepting a kind offer. nice start.

kayode set the cup down, turning around. they set their black eyes on benimaru, features mellow

their garments differed from that of tokyo, traditional west african garments adorned their wide frame, black and gold designs printed onto the clothing

“have you ever heard of the divine flame shinmon benimaru?”

the captain grew rigid, their name spoken with a tone that made their chest tighten.

they found theirself walking closer to kayode. “i…i haven’t.”

“it predates the very sun we live under and countless others.” they stepped out from behind the merchandise, grabbing a cup of degue, hands supporting the cup from beneath and the side. ���my ancestors were born from that flame and have passed down that essence for billions of years”

speechless, beni fell into kayode’s black gaze, feeling a scorching heat envelope them in comfort

benimaru dipped into another consciousness for a moment, a darkness surrounding them, their pyrokinetics stifled

“how did it taste?” kayode pulled benimaru from their domain, a warm smile stretching across their face

beni looked down at the empty cup, the remnants of the sweet liquid on their tongue making their body tingle. then they raised their gaze to kayode, a blush creeping across their skin when they felt the desire to be entrapped in that heat again

“um…it’s…” mind blank, beni felt their face rush with more blood and only handed back the cup. “thank you.” shit, just talk, at least say something else

kayode murmured, “have a good day, shinmon benimaru”