#boy do I have a tale to tell

[fanvoidkeith]

you know what, i DO want to rant about this actually.

because the more i watch 3Below, the more i'm like, you're dealing with fucking ALIENS. extraterrestrial beings. people who DID NOT COME FROM THIS PLANET. and yet everyone somehow STILL has time to make low-brow fat jokes pointed at one single funny, delightful, passionate, sometimes silly teenage character. just because being fat was a negative character trait back in the 2000's and 2010's. what the hell???

what has Toby done to deserve this?? he's literally just A Guy. a teen boy who's excited that trolls and aliens and weird stuff exists. he literally has a personality beyond being fat, but literally everyone makes jokes about it the second they get a chance. it's unfair.

he's friends with the guy who used to be the only Human Trollhunter and is now the Half-human Trollhunter. he's a redhead. he's friends with a gal who defeated a thousand-something-year-old god. he loves his nana. he likes sci-fi movies. he's an orphan. he's friends with possibly one of the Coolest Trolls Ever (in my opinion), who lives in his room together as a roommate, and they play non-violent video games together. he has braces. he's confident in himself, for the most part, besides the usual teenage insecurities. he wields an awesome cursed warhammer. he trained himself to climb through windows and it's treated casually. he has a girlfriend who's the daughter of a cop, and he fell for her when she was wearing his school's purple mole mascot costume. he has a pet gnome who has a plastic doll for a girlfriend-turned-wife. he loves the spiciest kinds of burritos he can get his hands on. he's literally befriended aliens/extraterrestrial beings/celestials.

AND HE'S TREATED, FOR THE MOST PART, LIKE A JOKE.

Everyone Shut Up About My Darling Son Toby, Who Definitely Has Done Some Things Wrong, But Has Also Made Up For Them By Literally Helping To Save The World Multiple Times (And Is Overall A Delightful Person)

[prince-liest]

I have officially hit a "too stressed to write" state of affairs that I suspect will last until this Sunday. Kinda hoping folks aren't too disappointed in the sudden change in regular update schedule - sorry. :(

[prosebushpatch]

Okay so I recently, finally, watched Wish and I have some thoughts. Overall, not as bad as everyone makes it out to be, but still has a lot of fundamental story problems and I've got to get them off of my chest. I'll mostly be focused on Magnifico because I think his motivations and arc largely represent the problem with the overall theme.

Okay so my biggest problem with Magnifico is his motivation. His tragic backstory. How on earth does he go from losing his whole family to thinking, the only way he can prevent that from happening again is to grant wishes? The logic doesn't track. It almost makes sense in his creating a kingdom where he protects everyone and "doesn't even charge rent," but it does not make sense with his wish granting. Having a great need to be control to make sure he doesn't lose anyone ever again can be a compelling motivation for a villain, where we see lines crossed that don't justify the intent, but in the movie, he's too self-absorbed to seem to have any actual care for the people of Rosas.

I think if the motivation was changed to something like Magnifico had once been a bright-eyed, enthusiastic wish granter who blindly believed all wishes were good but learned the hard way that that wasn't true could have been a better fit for the overall goal of the movie. Imagine that he granted a wish for a wicked person who used that wish to hurt others, or if Magnifico granted a wish but that wish ended up ruining the person's life because what they wanted wasn't what they needed (i.e. Remember The Princess and the Frog? Dig a little deeper) and that person could have went after Magnifico and blamed him for their troubles (harkening back to We Don't Talk about Bruno). This would be an understandable tragic backstory for Magnifico, and better explain why he's so careful about the wishes he grants. And, perhaps the reason he keeps the wishes he doesn't want to grant is to keep the people in his kingdom docile. No one will be angry with him for not granting their wishes if he makes them forget them and lose that drive and motivation, which makes more sense than the unexplained hording them like he does in the movie? Why does he keep them in the movie other than admiring the wishes? It doesn't make sense to me.

This would give Asha more of a reason to oppose him, if it's shown how his desire to not get hurt or to inadvertently cause hurt turned into a paranoia where he drains people of wishes to fly or play music that inspires others. And, as a side note, we need to see more of how Rosas is a kingdom of people who lack drive and motivation, where only those younger than 18 have that special part of them that inspires them to chase after a dream (something that Astor Rhymemaster touched on). Because that's the point of wishes, right? That's the point of the entire Disney canon. A dream is a wish your heart makes. That star can only get you so far, it takes hard work and determination. It's wanting something better in life, it's dreaming of leaving behind all you know to chase after a tangible light. It's finding a new dream, it's finding a new wish as you grow and learn about yourself and the world.

I don't think the movie Wish understood what makes wishes so important in Disney stories. You know what wishes do? They ignite change. It's not about getting what you want, it's about finding the courage to chase after something better. Ariel wants to be where the people are, but really she wants to be somewhere where others are willing to understand her and in the end, she finds that and makes amends with her father, who finally is willing to see her for who she is. Rapunzel wants to see the lights, and that desire pushes her to leave a tower she's been trapped in her whole life, learning that the world is not as cruel and cold as her abusive mother told her. Cinderella wants to go to the ball, to dance with people who treat her as a person and not a servant of cinders and ash. That wish is granted by a fairy godmother and gives her a hope that is worth fighting for, a hope that helps her reclaim what is rightfully hers; a glass slipper that fits only her and the love that comes with it.

Wishes inspire change. The movie should have been about that. Magnifico could have been right, that some wishes inspire negative change that can drag down multiple people. The kingdom of Rosas could have been so placid because change is scary. Maybe Magnifico could have convinced people, after taking their wish, that it wasn't worth it. Maybe the wish ceremonies could have changed so it wasn't portrayed as some sort of lottery everyone looks forward to, but Magnifico would grant wishes on the spot if he decided they were good and worthwhile, and he would lock away the wishes that would cause trouble and tribulations. 18 year olds could be enthusiastic to give him their wishes, thinking they were surely good and worth granting, only to forget their wish and be told that their wish would have only brought about their unhappiness, this would have justified a more solemn tone in the kingdom, setting up a world where people are mostly downtrodden, thinking their wishes are bad and pointless and they're better off without them. Imagine Cinderella or Rapunzel being told their wishes weren't good, reinforcing all the things their abusive families tell them, taking away that hope and courage to find something better for themselves.

Here's where the true conflict could come in. Asha could be onto this from the beginning, and her opening song could have been about this concern that the people who didn't get their wishes granted aren't willing to try at all. (Because, after all, why doesn't Sabino play music at all? Having that taken from him would take so much joy and creative expression from his life!) But why does Asha know something is amiss?

Simon.

Imagine that Magnifico has a strict rule not to ever share your wish with another person because then it wouldn't come true. It makes sense with our own superstitions, and then makes it so that no one knows anyone else's wishes. Maybe your best friend changes so drastically after giving up their wish, but you believe, like everyone else, that their wish would have only caused suffering. What can you do about it? Well what if Simon told Asha about his wish? What if Asha knew his wish wasn't dangerous and couldn't imagine a way that it could go wrong? That would give her a reason to doubt Magnifico and put more emphasis on how Simon has lost his drive like all the other adults in the kingdom. And it can also emphasize in the end that sharing your wishes and dreams with others can be a powerful thing. Just the act of sharing your dreams can inspire others to go after their own, and they can give you the encouragement to chase your wish too. Wishes inspire change, love gives you the courage to make it happen.

Imagine if the star boy used to be a human, who wished to help others and lost his humanity to do it. Imagine his wish confirms Magnifico's belief, that wishes cause suffering because star boy lost his tether to earth and is separated from the people he loves. Imagine how he foils Asha who also wants to grant everyone's wishes. Imagine him ensuring she doesn't make the same mistake he did while she gives him a reason to change again, to anchor himself to humanity again because he loves her enough not to leave for forever.

Imagine the movie confirming that, yes, change is scary. Chasing your dreams won't always make things better. You might fail more than you succeed and some wishes cannot coincide with each other, leading to grief and strife. But some wishes are worth it. Sometimes, chasing after something better and failing is worth leaving a worse situation. Sometimes taking that chance is worth it, and, like in all fairy tales, if you are kind and generous and act with love, that will make all the difference in the end.

Also, I know everyone wished for a Magnifico and Amaya evil power couple, but imagine if Magnifico was truly in love with Amaya, as he is in the movie, but that love is eventually his undoing. Like Amaya leaps in front of Asha, and Magnifico stops or redirects his attack because she's the one thing he loves more than himself and that is the weakness that Asha and co can take advantage of. Imagine Amaya keeping Magnifico in the mirror and he gets to dote on her from his imprisonment for forever. I'm just saying. At least 30 sickos like me would be into that. Imagine the depth it would give to the themes of love and change and wishing and how acts of love make all the difference.

Alright, I'll get off my soap box. I just really wish Wish could have been stronger because these fairy tales Disney is famous for matter. They really do. But the movie feels too stale and shallow and too much of a cash grab that knows the outline of a disney musical, but is unable to understand the heart of why they work.

[britneyshakespeare]

I feel like certain people on Tumblr have really been fighting for backwards progress when it comes to how we talk about mental illness and abuse. I see posts at least several times a week on my dash that seem to have the purpose of implying people with insert-mental-illness and/or insert-symptom are not abusive when they do insert-action-that-makes-people-uncomfortable, often times meaning to promote a more positive image of people with particularly stigmatized conditions, like personality disorders, mood disorders, psychosis, addiction, or neurodivergence. And I really really hate it because these posts almost always have the ultimate purpose of telling people not just "This thing is not inherently abusive," but often it comes across as "You were not abused."

I just find that to be really unhelpful and unintentionally hurtful, and for what? I believe that destigmatizing various mental conditions is a worthy cause, but at the same time this type of rhetoric seems to be so protective of people in whichever stigmatized group they're trying to advocate for, that it comes back around to a sort of respectability politics. Anybody can be an abuser. And someone's means and methods of abusing can very much be influenced by a condition they have. Why wouldn't it be? Their conditions will affect every aspect of their life and their interpersonal relationships. Especially if these issues are going untreated or being insufficiently managed. I don't understand why anyone would want to make it appear as if abusers are mostly neurotypical and mentally well people, or that if they aren't, then their conditions have nothing to do with it and the overlap is merely incidental. What? It makes it so hard for anyone who is a victim to come to terms and identify the dynamics of what they've gone through.

Addicts and mentally ill people don't have to be unproblematic in order to be humanized and accepted. And nobody profits from writing hard and fast rules about how abuse apparently works, drawing clear lines between which behaviors can, and cannot, ever be abuse.

[avocado-frog]

The most difficult part of the first day of school for me is convincing myself that I do not need to tell the truth during icebreakers. i can lie. i can lie and nobody can do anything about it .

[neonacidtrip]

[text ID: Black image with purple text showing the tags from Tumblr user lyriumrain. The tags read as follows: #i’ve been thinking a lot about how you really can just tell whatever story you want #there are components that your story *can* include if you want to #but you don’t have to #there’s a billion trillion stories out there #might as well tell the one you want to tell how you want to tell it. End ID]

Every 21st century piece of writing advice: Make us CARE about the character from page 1! Make us empathize with them! Make them interesting and different but still relatable and likable!

Every piece of classic literature: Hi. It's me. The bland everyman whose only purpose is to tell you this story. I have no actual personality. Here's the story of the time I encountered the worst people I ever met in my life. But first, ten pages of description about the place in which I met them.

[attractthecrows]

man i'd really like for revallen to encounter the ghost of his father but with his skillset it's just not likely

[targaryen-dynasty]

REDAMANCY.

Cregan Stark x female Targaryen!Reader (Part 4 here)

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept your younger brother’s offer to return to the capital for your child to receive his blessings. And when you‘re finally on the way, it’s your husband‘s duty to take care of you.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant sex, pregnancy, slight breeding kink, praise kink, slight degrading, angst, fluff

WORDS: 3.3 K

NOTES: Redamancy means A love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you, and let me tell you: these two are in love. Thanks to @sylasthegrim, it‘s always good to know you help me with my zero grasp on English!

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Ravens from Winterfell flying all the way down to King’s Landing has always taken quite some time. And therefore it was no wonder you were surprised that one of your younger brother’s ravens reached the castle not long after you'd informed him you were with child, inviting you to birth it in the Red Keep for it to receive the young king’s blessings.

Being the ever dutiful Lord of House Stark, there was no way your husband would refuse the offer, and once your pregnancy had crossed the seventh moon mark, a carriage and your husband’s entourage were sent south.

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept the offer. Westeros’ capital has brought nothing but pain and grief to you, and you’re afraid coming back ruins the comfort and peace you’ve found far, far away from the castle in the North, in Winterfell. But a part of you misses and longs for your siblings and the part of your family that’s still left, hence it didn’t take too much convincing from your husband.

You’ve lost count of the days you spent in that damned carriage by now, solely accompanied by your maids as your dear husband rides at the front of his entourage, joining his men on horseback. But there’s one thing all days have in common: it’s you being exhausted beyond relief once night comes.

For the longest time you thought your unborn babe to be no-fussy and calm, which proved to be false just one week into the travel. It’s restless, kicking and moving especially when you finally find rest in the bed of the receptive inn you stay in for the night. Your feet are swollen, just like your breasts, and your body provides milk as though the babe has been long born already, and all you crave at this point is for the pregnancy to be over already.

As the wheelhouse comes to a stop, you rub your swollen bump with a sigh, looking toward the door with heavy footsteps approaching. Your beloved husband opens the door, and even though he won’t admit it, he looks just as exhausted as you do.

“Is it time?” you ask, slowly rising to your feet with another sigh. You place your small hand in his large one, allowing him to help you out.

He nods, bringing a hand to the small of your back. “Indeed. We have reached the crossroads. From here we are only ten days away from King’s Landing, which means the end of our journey is in sight,” he replies. “How are you and our son feeling?”

Cregan guides you away from the wheelhouse, escorting you through the crowd of his men towards a large inn sitting right where the river road crosses the kingsroad. And from old tales of your uncle you know it has to be the Bellringer Inn, a place where even your great-grandfather and great-grandmother have stayed at before.

“We do not yet know if this babe will be a boy or a girl, husband,” you chastise him in a teasing manner.

“You are right, we do not,” he says. “But I feel it in my bones. Just call it a father’s intuition.”

You roll your eyes at his words and nudge his ribs with your elbow, yet there also pulls a smile at the corners of your lips. He chuckles at that. “Careful, my love, I am not as nimble as I used to be.”

Shaking your head, you giggle softly. “Do not tell me that you are an old man now, Lord Stark.”

As you make your way through the courtyard and towards the inn, you can feel the curious glances of the passerby; a man of Cregan’s caliber always drew the attention toward him, just like your hair did. But you’re unbothered by it all. You carry a piece of your husband within you, and that thought fills you with a sense of fulfillment and pride.

He looks for the innkeeper as you reach for his hand, pulling it from your back around your frame, squeezing it softly. “Might you join me tonight? I know that you can not leave your men alone, but one night will surely do no harm. I must admit that I have hardly found sleep without your warmth for the past weeks.”

With a gentle, intimate gesture, Cregan brushes his fingers over your swollen bump, before pulling you against his side. “How can I ever be expected to refuse anything my beautiful wife asks of me? Of course I will join you tonight.” Leaning a bit closer toward you, he adds with a quiet whisper: “Your presence has been missed in my bed as well. The nights feel cold and lonely without you by my side.”

Heat crawls onto your cheeks at the proximity and the slight implication that comes with his words, solely interrupted when a stout man with a bushy beard but otherwise pleasant demeanor walks around the corner and welcomes you two.

Upon Cregan’s inquiry about the availability of a room, he hands over the keys and leads you toward your place of retreat for the night. More than once have you told Cregan you’re perfectly fine with sleeping in a tent with him, yet he always came back to your delicate condition, stating he only wants the best for you and his unborn child, and you eventually have given up and accepted it.

The room is decent. Not as big as your chambers at home, but still larger than what you’ve slept in for the last few weeks. Your maids already scurry into the room to bring some of your belongings and clothes to get you ready for the night, while Cregan leans in to kiss your temple. “Let me arrange for my man to sleep outside the inn for the night,” he mutters against your skin. “And then we shall spend the night in warm beds.”

Even with your maids bustling around you, you can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at his words. The prospect of sharing the night with him is enough to make you forget the soreness of your swollen curves that has become a constant companion over the past few moons.

“I will freshen up in the meantime,” you say, leaning into his touch before he pulls away to take care of his men’s sleeping arrangements for the night. Once everything was adjusted in the chambers, your maids moved to help you out of your clothes, but you refused them, having planned something very special.

Standing in front of the small window, overlooking a stable with a thatch roof and a bell tower, you all but admire how quietly Cregan opens the door, and with the lock falling right into place behind him, the room grows even quieter and the atmosphere becomes charged with anticipation.

“Is everything sorted?” you ask, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“All set,” your husband replies with a low voice as he approaches you.

He comes to tower over your frame from behind, moving his hands over your hips up to your waist. Lifting your head, your eyes lock with his. “Alone at last, hm?” There’s a sultry smile on your lips now, and you gently reach behind you to cup his cheek with one hand. “Now you’re all mine for the night.”

You lean against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths against your back. Cregan seizes the opportunity and brushes your hair over one shoulder before he presses his lips to the crook of your neck. The touch makes you sigh, stirring something inside of you you have had to keep at bay for quite some time. When he brings his large hands to your swollen breasts, fondling them through the thick fabric of your dress, you can’t help but moan, the slight squeezing aiding against the heaviness.

But then his hands and lips leave your body, and he slightly leans around you to look at you – or rather your breasts – and you immediately know the reason why.

The gray fabric has become damp under his touch, two dark spots prominent in the front of it. While it brings a bit of shame to your cheeks, the low rumble that escapes his chest sends a fire straight down between your legs. “I should have warned you I started leaking a fortnight ago,” you admit ashamedly, biting your bottom lip.

“I quite enjoy the sight of it, you know,” he says, voice laced with a combination of awe, adoration and burning need. His hands shift to the lace in the back of your dress. “But let us put this to good use.”

The dress comes undone with ease, falling to the floor in a puddle around your feet. Damp spots are decorating your smallclothes, but this time you don’t mind the sight. Cregan’s hands now roam over your body, tracing the curve of your waist and your growing bump.

Although you know exactly what it is his words are meant to imply, you choose to tease him. “And what is it you have in mind right now, hm?”

His gray eyes briefly flicker to the bed close to you, before meeting yours again. “I have a few things in mind. But for now…” He cups your chin, tilting your head up so he can claim your lips in a slow, deep kiss that’s full of desire and passion. It makes you feel as though the air is sucked right out of your lungs by him, as if you can’t survive without his lips on yours. “How about we make the most of this night, my love?”

“I’m all yours,” you breathe against his lips.

His large hands roam your curves, helping you out of your undergarments, until they settle at your thighs, wrapping around them to effortlessly hoist you up. Although Cregan is quite the bull of a man and appears to be a brute, he possesses a tenderness you wouldn’t expect from him, gently keeping your body against his and lying you down on the bed not far away just as carefully.

Soft, gentle kisses are pressed to your collarbones, igniting a fire within you that has been smoldering for too long. As his fingers glide over your skin with featherlight touches, leaving a burning trail behind, he finds his hands drawn to your full breasts, cupping and holding them, and eventually squeezing them.

More droplets of your milk trickle into his calloused palms, wetting his skin, but he does not care–not when he has you writhing and whimpering beneath him at just the faintest of touches.

Your husband’s eagerness would have almost made you chuckle, watching him rise from the bed to rid himself off his clothes hastily, if it wouldn’t match your own desire and greediness. With his breeches falling to the ground, his cock stands to full attention, hard enough for it to almost seem painful.

His hungry gazes devours your bare form, tall frame slightly hunched forwards as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“Will you just stand there and watch, my wolf?” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What happened to ‘let us put this to good use’?”

It’s the teasing lilt in your voice that pulls him out of his stupor like a wave, the chuckle he releases low and throaty. “You are a temptress, my love,” he replies. “You are lucky I am a man of my word.”

“Then touch me,” you whine, words coming out more desperate than actually intended.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Slowly approaching the bed, Cregan bows forwards and grabs one of your feet. He lifts your leg and starts to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses along the inside of your leg, occasionally nibbling on the skin of your inner thigh.

Your back slightly arches off the mattress, body thrumming with desire. Entangling your hands in his dark curls, you use the grip as reigns to where you want him most, but your husband acts completely unfazed, not allowing you to tug him higher up.

He takes his time, kissing and nibbling your thighs, before he boldly presses a kiss to the apex of your legs, tongue briefly dragging through your folds. It elicits a shudder in its wake, and you can’t stifle a moan.

Making his way up, he licks your navel, and eventually traces the curve of your full breast, circling your hardened bud. Cregan laps up every drop of milk that oozes out of your bud like nothing else than a starved wolf, the edge of his teeth applying just a faint pressure to the sensitive skin to stimulate the flow.

But when his other hand comes up to fondle and squeeze your other breast, that’s the moment you lose your composure, shamelessly smothering him with your breasts. “Gods, Cregan…” you whimper, immediately bringing you relief. There isn’t even time to waste a thought about the indecency of it all, not when it feels just so right.

It’s your mewls, your whispered whines and moans, the sound of you saying his name in such a desperate manner that drives him to continue. “You make me ache for you,” he rasps against your skin, voice thick with desire. Your husband never falters to ignite a fire inside of you with his words, especially when there’s an innuendo hidden between his praises.

Bringing his hand from your breast down between your bodies, he aligns himself with you, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds in a way that makes you bite back a moan and grind against him. You grip his dark curls harshly as he finally eases inside, pushing into you inch by inch, agonizingly slow to make sure you feel him enter you.

His suckling falters with the tightness of your walls embracing him, overwhelmed by pure bliss and a feeling he’s missed for the past few weeks.

Every gasp and whine that escapes you only serves to embolden him further, continuing to tease and taste your breast with unrivaled enthusiasm. It juxtaposes the slow, sloppy thrusts of his hips, and brings you two different kinds of sensations at once.

Cregan has made himself home between your legs, rocking his hips leisurely back and forth. He has dropped his weight on one elbow and leant his upper body to the side, determined to not put any weight on your swollen bump. His lips are firmly wrapped around your bud while his hand teases the other, pinching and squeezing it between his fingers. The proximity is unmatchable, feeding into your constant desire to be as close to him as possible.

You can practically watch him lose every ounce of self control, his suckling becoming more intense and the thrusts growing in determination. His groans and grunts are muffled, and droplets of your milk trickle idly down his chin, getting lost in the dark, coarse hairs.

You fully expect him to say something when he releases your bud, but he’s far too eager to get his fill again. Pinching the perky bud of your other breast harshly, droplets of milk run down the curve of it, only to be traced by his tongue, liking a flat stripe over your skin. He chokes on a groan as the sight has you clenching tightly around his hard cock.

“Please– do not stop,” you whimper, applying a bit of pressure to his head to urge him towards your breast again. “... not yet.”

Dark-blown eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours, and a shuddered breath leaves your lips. “My my, what a greedy wench I have for a wife,” he chuckles to himself. You don’t take offense, but the statement does make you duck your head and bite your bottom lip sheepishly. “I do not intend to.”

Despite the teasing, it’s obvious your pleas fall upon eager ears as he heeds your command and closes his lips around your bud again. Every hungry pull of his lips draws more and more milk from you, and while relief makes itself known in your breasts, a different kind of pressure starts to settle in the pit of your belly.

Squeezing him so well, you make it impossible for Cregan to move on his own accord, and quickly take over, rolling your hips against his. It’s a race for completion, making your pearl throb with anticipation.

The coarse hairs of your husband’s beard drag over your sensitive skin with his eager suckling, tickling you and causing you to arch against him even more. You have your arms wrapped around his neck at this point, keeping him tightly against you.

A string of yesses falls past your lips like a chant, and the pace of your hips increases as far as your bump allows you to. Your mind grows hazy with pleasure, until your peak washes over you with a loud gasp.

You haven’t noticed Cregan watching you through it all, too focused on the sensations coursing through your body. His gaze is mesmerized, clearly relishing in the relief that’s etched onto your features and the way your walls flutter around his cock.

He pulls back, droplets of milk resting in the corners of his lips, and lifts his body to tower over you. The thrusting of his hips grows sharper now, determined to help you through your pleasure.

“That’s it,” he rasps, one hand resting on the mattress next to your head while the other gropes at your now relieved breasts.

“Once this pup is born,” he emphasized the words by rolling your sore bud between his index finger and thumb, drawing out just a few more droplets of milk. “I shall put another in you to keep you round with my seed.”

Your head grows dizzy, lightheaded even, and you can’t do more than whimper and whine through your peak, not fully comprehending what he’s said.

Cregan snaps his hips into yours once, twice before he topples over the edge with a loud groan, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of you. Cupping your breast, his fingers dig harshly into your flesh.

You continue to roll your hips against his, prolonging his pleasure. Switching roles, it’s now your turn to milk him for every drop, taking everything his cock spills inside of you. Every muscle in his body tenses, until eventually, he collapses to the side, careful not to put his weight on your swollen bump.

With his cock slowly becoming flaccid again, the sensation of his seed leaking out of your cunt is more apparent, causing heat to spread throughout your body. If it wasn’t for you carrying his child already, you would have mounted him to make sure his seed would bear fruit.

Cregan eventually lies down on his back, and you seize the chance to rest your head on his chest. It’s hard to keep your eyes open as his hand softly entangles into your hair, scratching your scalp in the manner that usually lulls you to sleep. His breath is slower now, his chest rising and lowering your head.

“I can not bear to spend another night without you by my side,” you all but whisper, bringing a hand to his stomach.

Your finger trails the contours of his muscles, before following the dark trail of coarse hairs down.

“You needn‘t worry about that,” he says. “We shall not stay in King’s Landing for too long. And I highly doubt that anyone could get me out of your chambers during the time we stay there. Once we arrive, we shall stay together.”

Nodding your head slowly, you hum a ‘mh-mh‘, too engrossed in the feeling of his hand in your hair and the other rubbing soothing circles over your back. Having trouble staying awake, you’re hardly able to process his next words, already drifting off to sleep.

“Let us sleep now, my love. We have another tiresome day ahead of us.“

Cregan Taglist: @nats-whore @aemondsbabe

[sonolynn]

Forbidden Fruit

summary | Jace didn't want her, but Aemond did.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

tags | 18+ MDNI, Jealously, Aemond yearning, explicit sexual content, mentions of bastards, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, size kink (?), oral f!receiving, Angst if you squint. "Technical" infidelity but is it really if Jace started it? (yes). ooc!Aemond (probably). NOT PROOF READ (its one am, leave me alone).

w.c | 3.8k

note(s) | My first smut fic!! Ah I'm scared...I also think I have a problem with making Aemond want fem!reader when he rightfully can't have her. Also I swear I'm not a Jace hater!! I love Jace, but in this fic specifically I made him long and wish for Baela.

____________________________________________

“Why don’t you marry her then?” 

Aegon’s voice was taunting, as if pushing Aemond to say something. Aemond stared down at the cup in front of him; even with a stoic expression, his mannerisms betrayed him. He tapped his finger against the edge of the cup, he picked at the skin around his nails on the opposite hand-all the tell tale signs of thinking, a mind that cannot be stopped. 

“Because she is betrothed to Rhaenyra’s bastard.” His voice dripped with malice as he spoke. Aemond hated that Jacerys would inherit the throne enough; What his bastard nephew didn’t need was the girl Aemond had wished for his entire life. Ever since the two of them were children Aemond had a…weird infatuation with her. When he was a boy, he would pick flowers from the garden and he would purposely do good deeds for her, just to have her hug him or smile graciously at him. 

But now, everything was different. She was a woman grown, and him a man grown. She was to be engaged to his bastard nephew, and he would have to sit and watch as they shared a kiss, held hands, smiled and danced as newlyweds. He’d have to hold a straight face as the two of them left to Jacerys’ bed chamber, only knowing the connotations that came with what would happen on their wedding night. 

Ignoring his brother's tedious rants about hells knows what, Aemond stood from his chair, opting for a walk in the gardens.

____________________________________________

Aemond walked, hands clasped behind his back, and his gaze drifted into nothingness as he walked with just his thoughts, and the cool breeze that accompanied the summer evenings. He tried to distract himself from the thoughts of her, for they were all almost too painful to ever truly think about. 

But he couldn’t help himself. He thought of her as a sickness, one that lingered and grew stronger by the day until it fully consumed your every waking moment. He thought of her laugh just as contagious as the plague, her eyes as intoxicating as the finest of wines. He thought her to be a type of sickness, and he so desperately wanted to be affected. 

Aemond was never one to smile-one to truly-smile, his half smirks or half smiles were only ever in a sarcastic sense, but for some reason his smiles were real with her. With her he laughed a little more, with her he walked a little faster. He knew it was stupid, perhaps perpetually idiotic-to ever think, let alone long for such a pure and innocent creature. 

As Aemond walked, he noticed her sitting by one of the fountains in the garden. She looked breathtaking, he thought to himself. Her hair was down and cascaded down her shoulders, her face was just the perfect amount of shaded with the moon's light. And above all, she held that intoxicating smile that she always held. He never knew why she was always smiling, nor did he wish to find out. 

She turned her head, her smile widening at the sight of Aemond. 

“Aemond!” Her voice was cheerful, slowly standing as he walked towards her. 

“Princess,” Aemond smiled-a half smile-at her as he looked around, then slowly back at her. “It’s quite late. Should you not be in your chambers?” 

She always thought the way he cared for her, even if he didn’t show it outright, was extremely enticing. She knew how he was with others, but she knew the differences he had with almost everyone in court-so what made her so different? Why her, the object of the second son's affection. 

“Perhaps I do not wish to sleep. Perhaps…I quite like the quietness of the garden.” She smiled innocently, looking back towards the fountain as she started to walk. Aemond knew her well enough to see that this was a quiet plea for him to join her; Because no matter how much she enjoyed the quietness of the garden, she enjoyed it much more when he was with her. 

Aemond stared at her, as he often did, but this time, it was different. The stare he held was nothing short of primal. He watched the light in her eyes as she smiled up at him and for some reason, now, he wished to watch as the innocent light in her eyes slowly dwindled as he claimed her. 

“Aemond? Is something wrong?” Her voice snapped his thoughts back, if only for a moment. She stopped walking to look up at him and she crossed her arms underneath her chest. His eye trailed down slowly, fixating on the way that her cleavage just slightly out of her dress. He was like a man starved; Clinging to the littlest of details that would make his imagination run wild. 

She seemed to notice the way that his eye raked over her chest like a starving man, and her face flushed with embarrassment. She-though subconsciously-reached up to place her arm over her chest, but to her surprise, Aemond gently took her hand, and when she looked up, his one sapphire eye was locked with hers. 

“You needn’t cover up. Not around me.” He spoke calmly, though his heart was racing and his head spinning. He let out a shaky breath as he lowered her hand and looked into her eyes. 

She watched him carefully, searching his gaze for anything that would betray him. In truth she didn’t know what she was searching for, but she felt as if she should be searching for something. 

Aemond lifted a hand, placing the back of his knuckles against her hot cheek. The gesture was gentle, and slow, something he was not known for. His eye slowly trailed down her face, and his eye caught on her lips, his breath heavy as he reached his hand up and gently placed his thumb over her plush bottom lip. 

Her eyes followed his, big, and full of longing. She stared at him as his thumb pushed against her lip. She didn’t know exactly what to do; She knew that this moment was intimate, far too intimate to be happening between a betrothed woman and a bachelor. But, the way he gazed at her made her feel hot, and the way he trailed his hand over her face and body made her want to see where this could lead. 

His free hand shakily went up to her waist, cupping it firmly as he brought her closer. He leaned forward, just slightly, till his nose was pressed against hers. Her breath hitched, and her eyes instinctively closed. She waited for him to press his lips against hers, to feel his mouth on hers like she had (shamefully) always wished for. But, it never came. 

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Aemond breathing heavily, desperately trying to restrain himself. He pulled away slightly, and he shook his head,

“I shouldn’t take advantage of you…not like this.” Though his words held conviction, it seemed his body betrayed him. His hand stayed on her waist, slowly trailing up and cupping her breast in his hand. She gasped softly at the feeling, and his thumb went to her lip again before he connected his lips to hers. She responded immediately, putting her hands on his arms. 

He kissed her like he was dying, his body subconsciously reacting more to the kiss then he’d wish it to. He pulled her flush against him, his strong hands coming to cup her face, his shoulders shrugging in a futile attempt to have her closer. He opened his mouth, causing her to gasp at the feeling of his tongue against hers. Her mouth moved with his as if it was known to her; As if this was a dance she had practiced for years to perfect, as if the dance of her lips was a song that Aemond had mastered just for her. 

She practically melted in his arms. She had been kissed before; Jace was a good kisser but he was soft, and the kisses were never not chaste. But, kissing Aemond was like walking through fire. Her entire body reacted to the way he clung to her body, how he pulled her impossibly closer. It was like a fire had escaped through his lips and was now coursing through her veins and settling in her abdomen. 

Even though she didn’t know exactly what to do, it seemed her body did. Her hands slid down his arms and slowly made their way to his chest as she moaned softly. 

The moan grounded him, like he had been falling from the heavens and down to earth. He suddenly pulled away, breathless as he stared down at her. Her eyes opened steadily, and she looked up at him with confusion while a frown graced her kiss swollen lips. 

“We shouldn’t have done that.” He spoke breathlessly, his hand still gently stroking her side. 

“Maybe not..but it felt good.” Gods, the way she spoke held him in a chokehold. He wished desperately to dive back into her; To drown in her lips and never come up for air, but.. 

“Not again. You are to be married.” He suddenly pulled away and at the feeling of his hands leaving her body, she frowned deeper. 

“Aemond-” “Goodnight, Princess.” 

And with that, the prince turned and rushed back into the keep. 

____________________________________________

Aemond couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, picking at his nails, biting his lip-genuinely anything to help stop the incessant thoughts of her lips. 

The thoughts started off sweet and innocent. The way she looked up at him as he trailed his thumb over her lip, the way her lips pursed just slightly when he leaned forward. 

But then the thoughts got venereal fast. He thought about how he felt to finally kiss her. The way his lips practically burned when they pulled away. He knew that as he gazed at her kiss swollen lips his night would be harbored with thoughts of what they’d look like doing gods knows what else. 

His hand slid down underneath the sheets, firmly grasping at his length as he let out a shuddering breath. He hated doing this; Feeling so pent up and so desperate that he had to resort to using himself. But as of right now he couldn’t care less. 

He imagined her lips around his cock, her innocent eyes gazing up into his. He’d imagine the way she’d gag around him, how her lips would look kissing the head of his cock. 

He groaned at the thought, his head tipping back as he closed his eye and let his thoughts wander more. He’d think about how she’d look with his seed covering her lips and her chin, how she’d moan his name as he devoured her between her legs-

He peaked with a gasp, and a low moan of her name. The minute his orgasm washed over him, and he started to slowly come down, he felt an intense feeling of guilt, shame, but most of all pain. 

Guilt and shame because he hated himself for touching himself to someone who couldn’t be his. 

Pain because she’d never be his. Pain because he knew that no matter what he did, she’d still be betrothed to Jacerys. 

____________________________________________

The next morning, she sat alone at breakfast, supposedly liking it more that way. With her fiance practically ignoring her, and her father too entranced with kissing the king's ass, she learned to enjoy the solitude of just…nothing. 

Plus, she always had her thoughts. Even if they were only occupied with Aemond. 

She played around with the food on her plate as her mind trailed. She remembered the way he kissed her, how he held her. She felt happy, something she so rarely felt with Jacerys. 

She knew how he felt, how he longed for and wished for Baela. She did not blame him, she was beautiful, but she also didn’t feel sad, which, at a point did bother her but, not so much. 

At least, not after last night. 

She smiled to herself as she thought about the kiss, wishing that he would do it again, longing for the way the heat escalated through her body. 

She didn’t register the voice next to her until it spoke her name. 

She looked up, surprised. But, when her eyes met with Aemond’s, her heartbeat quickened, and she smiled. 

“Aemond.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“What?” “You’re not eating.” “Oh,” Her cheeks flushed red for a reason unbeknownst to her, and with a soft huff, she pushed the plate away, “It seems as though I have lost my appetite.” 

Aemond looked concerned at that, and he looked down at her. Despite himself, he found himself worrying yet again for her comfort, her needs. 

“Is something the matter?” She shakes her head, but for some reason, Aemond was persistent. “If this is about what happened last night, then I should apologize-” 

“Apologize?” She interrupted, sitting up straighter at the mention of the word. “Why?” 

“Yes…apologize. Because we should not have done that-”

“But I wanted it to happen.” 

Aemomd stopped and he slowly looked towards her. His eye pierced into hers as if to read every thought and emotion that crossed her brain. He just simply couldn’t believe her. 

“You shouldn’t say things you do not mean, Princess.”

“You don’t know that I don’t mean it.”

“Princess-”

“Aemond.” She said his name as if to challenge him, and he knew that he truly could never challenge her. He saw it in her eyes, he saw by the way she looked at him and smiled that she wished for him just as he wished for her. But these feelings-these blockages-would only cause unnecessary trouble. 

“Please, do not give me a hope that cannot be upheld.” Her heart broke a little at that, and, as he stood to leave, she instinctively stood with him, taking his wrist in her hand as she pulled on his arm. As if the small gesture would stop him from walking, (it did). 

“Aemond please..You do not know what I wish for.” 

His lip curled down into a small frown as he looked at her. He knew what she felt-at least he thought he did-but even if his suspicions were right, even if she did wish for him like how he longed for her, he couldn’t. He may dislike, perhaps even hate his nephew, but he was better than stealing his fiance. 

Right?

“We cannot. To be with you would disgrace your family and the alliance-” 

“Fuck the alliance!” She swore, her eyes boring into his as she studied his face. “Fuck the alliances Aemond, I wish for you. Desperately, I wish for you. Jace does not see me like how you do. Jace does not make me feel the way that you do-”

“It does not matter if Jace makes you happy or if he makes you feel desired-” “He does not wish for me as you do!”

“Princess-” “You do not understand! We are speaking of breaking it off. Neither of us wish for this.” Aemond went quiet at this and he sighed heavily, turning his full body towards her. He pried his arm away from her, staring at her incredulously, his body language giving no open window to how he was truly feeling. With no words coming from him, she continued. 

“I love you.” At those words Aemond showed his shock. He took a step back from her and he raised an eyebrow. 

“You do not mean-”

“Oh for the love of-Yes! I mean it! I love you, Aemond! I love you as if it is breathing! Instinctively, not thinking about it….I love you.” 

Aemond couldn’t hold it anymore, he walked to her and gripped her face tightly, her cheeks squishing slightly in his grasp as he smashed his lips against hers. She initially was shocked at the sudden kiss, but she kissed him back fiercely, holding his wrists as she leaned up to kiss him deeper. 

He led her back until he pressed her back against the table, holding her thighs as he pushed her onto the table. His body fit perfectly in between her thighs, just like he imagined it would. His hands gripped her thighs, one of his hands traveling up, feeling and savoring the soft skin as he groaned. 

She pulled away from the kiss to leave small kisses along his jaw. He bit his lip at the feeling, the action presumably so innocent and so sweet it almost made him chuckle. 

He pulled back slightly, his gaze intense and lust filled as his hand trailed underneath her breasts. 

“Tell me to stop.” He demanded. His head was spinning with the lust that clouded it. He waited for her to push him away, or to whimper a soft “I do not think myself ready”- But she shook her head, bringing his head back to hers swiftly to connect their lips in another passionate kiss. 

He pulled away from the kiss, groaning to himself as he left hot, open mouthed kisses against her jaw and neck. He looked down, his breath heavy as he stared down into her cleavage. He wished for nothing more than to rip her dress open and kiss every inch of her body, but being in the dining room came with its disadvantages. So, he settled for kissing her cleavage, before trailing his lips down the fabric of her dress till he came to her thighs.

Aemond pushed her dress up as far as he could, staring at her the whole time. He slowly pushed her thighs about, giving her time to stop him but she never did. Gently kissing the inner side of her thigh, he tried to reassure her. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes; The way she looked at him with both anxiety and lust. He stared up at her searching for any sign or signal that would make him stop. 

“Is this okay?” Once he saw the light nod of her head, he disappeared underneath her dress. 

She had never been intimate with a man-courtesy of her father, enforcing the “Women should be pure” melodramatic speech into her head ever since she could stand. She always thought it to be a chore, only having heard stories from unhappy married women who hated their husbands, and much less disliked their children a little less, but this? This was exciting, this felt good. 

She placed a hand on his head, moaning his name under her breath as he ate her like a beast. His hands gripped her thighs as if to ground himself-He had tasted women before but for some reason she was so much sweeter, so much more divine. His eyes practically rolled back just from pushing his tongue into her heat, sucking gently on her flit before he pulled away slightly, focusing his attention on her clit as he dipped a finger inside of her. 

The sudden stretch made her jump, and gasp loudly. She may have pleasured herself before but it really never felt like what Aemond was doing to her. He eased his finger in slowly, dragging it back out, and then slowly pushing it back in. Hearing the moans that graced her lips, he continued the slow thrust of his finger for a moment before he added another one. 

She let out a loud moan, a hand on the back of his head as she pushed his head closer to her heat. She felt him chuckle against her, the vibrations only adding to the pleasure. She moaned loudly, perhaps too loudly for comfort, but Aemond only seemed to want more of those noises to come from her. 

He slowly curled his fingers, his mouth praising her clit. The added pressure with the curl of his fingers, and the sucking of her clit made her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Oh gods Aemond, I’m going to-” Just as her orgasm was going to consume her, it stopped. With her heavy breathing, and slightly shaky legs, she slowly sat up. Aemond smirked up at her, holding her gaze as he nipped at her inner thighs. “You stopped..” 

“Yes. Because if you are going to peak it should be on my cock.” 

Her face flushed at the words, and she stared at him with wide eyes as he pulled his trousers down slightly to free his throbbing cock. As their eyes met, he seemed to notice the slight anxiety in her eyes, because he pressed his forehead against hers and lined himself up with her entrance. 

“Tell me to stop if it hurts too much.” She nodded in response, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as he pushed into her. She let out a gasp; The feeling was new, discomfiting but..new. Her face scrunched up at the stretch, and Aemond shushed her quietly as he started to move. After a few thrusts, her body relaxed, and she started to moan his name. 

Hearing his name fall from her lips was like a prayer answered, like a lifelong dream he had been waiting for. He grunted as he started to rock his hips back and forth into her slowly. It took everything inside of him to not pound into her, to fuck her like he had fantized about. He wished that her father could see her now, her maidenhood gone and her body fully submitting to the pleasure he so gracefully gave her. 

“Aemond..Aemond oh gods-” Her voice broke as he went faster, her moans only getting louder. She tried to wrap her mind around the pleasure he was giving her, the way his hips moved slowly yet deeply, the way the tip of his thick cock rubbed against the spot so deliciously. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she held him close to her. 

One of his hands was on her thigh, the other on the table as he thrusted into her, as if holding the edge of the table would stop the creaking sounds, or the way she moaned his name, or how his groans got louder as his climax approached. 

White splattered her vision as her orgasm washed over. She cried out his name in pleasure, holding him close as his legs trapped him inside of her. The feeling of her core pulsating and tightening made Aemond’s head spin, and he grunted out a moan of her name as he came himself, spilling his seed inside of her. 

As the two sat there, basking in the afterglow of being intimate, neither of them would move for what felt like hours. Even though the position that they were in was compromising, they smiled, and laughed softly at the situation itself. 

Once they both got cleaned up-the best they could get cleaned up for just having sex on the dining room table-Aemond took her hand. She smiled softly at Aemond, her heart racing in a new, and exciting way. The two stared at each other for a while, trying to wrap their minds around the fact that now, they could truly be together, or at least, now, they had a hope that they could be together.

____________________________________________

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny always knew tax evasion ran in his veins. His parents hadn’t been the most… morally sound of people, and less so as ecto-scientists.

He just didn’t think their lessons would ever result in a criminal empire that spanned the entire city and then some. Danny hadn’t seen it coming. His parents definitely wouldn’t have.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Fox.”

Danny ‘the Phantom’ Fenton sat down across from a rather tense looking (to Danny’s enhanced senses, anyways) Brucie Wayne and his right hand, Lucius Fox. He smiled pleasantly, matching Brucie’s vacant smile with that touch of Midwest suburban mother smile.

With his acquisition of multiple Gotham companies, his rather newly established Fentom Co. became one of the largest holding companies in Gotham, the first being Wayne Enterprises and the second being Drake Industries. After months of constantly working his butt off while fending off assassins, reforming Gotham’s slums and cleaning up some of the streets, and taking care of his nest of street kids, Danny garnered enough power to even stand close to Wayne Enterprises in terms of financial powers.

The topic of this meeting was, of course, the proposed merger of Wayne Enterprises’ Medical R&D division with Fentom Co.’s pharmaceutical department. Usually, Wayne Enterprises wouldn’t even consider such an offer, as their Medical R&D division was the most well funded and least likely to be part of a Rogue’s scheme- and therefore most beloved- department of the same nature in Gotham. However, Danny had something the other offers didn’t.

Blackmail.

His overly polite smile widened as Bruce’s mask twitched. His eyes slid over to Lucius Fox.

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve heard much about your genius in… research and development.”

By that, Danny meant that he knew Lucius Fox helped develop Batman’s tech.

He did a lot of stalking that week. It felt rather… invasive, even if he did get a bunch of juicy secrets.

You know what they say: dead men tell no tales… but halfas are generally blabbermouths.

“Is that so? It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Fenton.” The man quickly glanced between the youngsters, accurately predicting that this might have something to do with Bruce’s active nightlife.

“Yes, it is such a pleasure to meet you.”

Wow, Danny didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone sound both so perky and dead inside at the same time, except for Susan at Gotham High’s bake sale.

Bruce wishes he could be a Susan. He’s at best a Becky.

“Will you be staying, Mr. Fox? You’re the head of the R&D department, correct?”

“Ah, yes-”

“Oh, Lucius! I think you had an appointment with the finance department right now! I heard Sally talk about it, you know!”

Lucius Fox sent an unreadable look at Bruce before rallying.

“Oh, it must have slipped my mind. My apologies, Mr. Fenton, it seems as though I can not skip this appointment.”

“That’s alright. I suppose it gives you… plausible deniability… should things go wrong, haha!” Danny allowed his smile to widen a little further than natural. Bruce tensed but Lucius Fox simply politely smiled and left the room.

Ignorance is bliss and all that, Danny amusedly thought.

As the door shut with a click, Bruce dropped the vacant Brucie smile and sighed.

“What do you want,” he gritted out. Danny wasn’t about to let that slide, not after he spent the better part of this month wrangling Bruce’s problem children.

“Ah, it must be because I’m from the Midwest, Brucie, but where I come from, we value these things called manners.”

You uneducated jerk, he doesn’t say.

Danny leaned back in his chair, loosening his smile into something relaxed and sharp.

“…” Oh, boy, Danny could just hear the other man’s blood pressure rising. “What is the purpose of your visit, Mr. Fenton?”

“Relax, Brucie,” Danny sing-songed in a non-relaxing way. “I’m just here to discuss a possible merger that I’m sure you’ll agree to, and give you a couple of updates on your… wayward bird.”

He heard Bruce take a slow, controlled breath. “Very well. Where. Would. You. Like. To. Start.”

Danny ignored the gritted out sentence. He passed a contract to Bruce, who took it like he was handling a live bomb.

“Here’s the proposal, Mr. Wayne. Please, look it over.”

He watched as Bruce looked over the contract with an eagle eye before lowering it, scrutinizing Danny.

“This is… very fair.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. Of course it was fair. Danny wasn’t interested in exploiting the Waynes, despite them being very able to afford it.

He’d brought fifty manufacturing sites for pharmaceuticals, and offered up a building where both companies could send their workers. He provided top notch security- that definitely didn’t have any talons on staff, what were they talking about?- that came from his own security division. Granted, most of them were reformed and trained goons, but hey, creating jobs can only help Gotham’s economy and help break the cycle of poverty, right? Guaranteed by the Wayne name and, most importantly, uncompromised medicine that was accessible to everyone would be a damn good start. He’d also have Penguin’s empire to distribute it to those who couldn’t make it to a clinic or a store, and there were plans in there to work with and establish contracts with Gotham’s welfare department. Well… once Danny finished replacing them with people who wouldn’t try to take a cut of the funds and actually cared about the people. He was thinking… the multitudes of poor grad students and parents that need income. He’s in the process of building childcare centers and…

It’s a good thing he managed to save money from the taxes (thank you, Gotham’s morally ambiguous tax experts that were in desperate need for clients! He could do it himself but having a team of accountants at the ready was seriously so helpful.) because ancients knows the government weren’t about to step into Gotham and help the people here. He needs so much money to pull all of this shit off and a lot of it has to be clean.

Danny inwardly sighed and marked another thing onto his to do list.

Make money laundering fronts.



“Of course, Mr. Wayne. You didn’t think I’d come in here demanding money, did you?”

“I considered it.”

“I am, in fact, trying to help Gotham. You might not agree with my methods, but I’d rather not damage Wayne Enterprises when it’s doing so much to help the people.”

Ugh, he was doing too much work. Danny just wanted to- hah- chill at home and read bed time stories to his kids.

Bruce Wayne, the specific blend between Brucie and Batman, regarded him silently. Danny felt like he went up a few notches in the respect ladder.

Nice.

“You’re a criminal.”

“Says the man in the bat-suit breaking into places and assaulting people.”

Bruce’s hands spasmed around the contract. Danny smiled at him, taking a sip of the coffee they’d prepared. Oo, nice!

“Ah, I heard you’re adopting- pardon, fostering- Tim Drake. Getting empty nest syndrome, Brucie?” He slipped back into using Bruce’s first name. The proposal was formal. This… was very much not.

“What about it?”

“That’s very kind of you. Speaking of which, well, of your birds, I was wondering if you remembered what I asked you to do.” Danny continued, not giving Bruce a chance to reply. “Didn’t I ask for you to keep your birds in line, Brucie?”

The CEO straightened even further, form filling out to be Batman’s imposing figure. “I did.”

“No, you didn’t. Do you know where your charge is, right now? No, not the formerly dead one,” Danny tilted his head, smile shrinking.

“Don’t you dare do anything to Tim. I swear, if you even lay a hand on a strand of his hair, I’ll-”

“Sit your Armani clad ass down, Bruce.” Danny snapped. “Your son’s in your office. I don’t harm children, and your assumptions are deeply insulting. Threaten me again, Bruce, and I’ll make sure you know exactly how much I know about your birds, your cousin, and the commissioner’s daughter.”

Bruce snarled but leashed his anger just enough to sit back down. He itched to go check on Tim, but leaving a threat like Phantom unwatched felt inherently wrong.

“Your other son,” Danny continued. “Is doing quite well. He’s learning that he has hobbies again. He’s actually working under me, you know.”

“He’s what.”

Oh, yeah, that tracks. It figured that Jason wouldn’t tell Bruce about anything. He’s still conflicted about his death. Danny got it.

“Ah, that’s precious information. You’ll have to offer something of equal value if you want to know. There is, on the other hand, a piece of information I’ll give you for free.”

Danny paused for the dramatic effect. It was lost on Bruce, the ultimate drama queen of this world.

“The League of Assassins are hanging around Hotham lately. It’s getting tedious, getting rid of them. I suggest talking to your old flame, you know, with words and what little communication skill you’ve got rattling around in your noggin to get them to pull back. Her interest is… unnaturally focused on Jason.”

Danny read the dark agreement swimming about Bruce’s face and inclined his head. “Should negotiations fail, rest assured that Jason will be protected.”

“…Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. Go ahead and discuss the contract with Mr. Fox, I am sure you’ll find little problems with it. Ah,” Danny stood up, fixing his suit jacket. “And you should probably check up on Timothy. He’s probably having a great time in your office, Mr. Wayne.”

“I’ll see you out.”

“Of course.”

Having Batman escorting him out should probably be more intimidating.

Danny stood in the elevator, waiting for Bruce’s contemplative silence to put itself into words.

Sure enough, “What… what kind of hobbies does Jason have now?”

“I’d tell you to ask him, but you two aren’t on speaking terms, are you? He likes books, of course, but recently, he’s found an interest in glass blowing. He made quite a bit of progress on his attempts at sun catchers.”

“I see.”

Well, Danny’s not about to step on that landmine any more than he has to.

——

“Danny.”

“Oh, hey, Jason. Sit down, we were about to have dinner.”

Jason clambered into the window. Danny sighed. He had a door, but by the way Jason never used it, it was like the door didn’t exist.

“Mind telling me why the old bastard showed up on my rooftops with a bunch of glass and glassblowing tools?”

Danny smiled. “No idea.”

“Uh huh.”

Danny placed a hand on his chest and put on his best woe-is-me expression. The teen’s face twitched in annoyance. “Doubt? At me? Why, I never!”

A bread roll thwacked him in the face.

[ithebookhoarder]

Could you write an Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader fic? They are newly weds and the reader wishes to pamper Anthony while he is bathing. He’s a bit cautious about it at first because he is not used to such affection. Thank youu I love your writing a lot especially the truth or dare fic.

In Your Hands (Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader)

A/N: First of all, thank you so much! And I hope you like this. Thanks for sending this ask in, luckily I was already toying with a few Bridgerton ideas thanks to the new trailers so this came surprisingly easy.

Also, if any of you guys enjoy my work, or just feel like it, then consider buying me a cup of coffee here: https://ko-fi.com/ithebookhoarder ☕️

Warnings: Nudity references, the start of sexy-times, alcohol 

Masterlist

Anthony was someone who hated routine. After all, as much as he was devoted to the day to day duties that came with being the head of his family, if he had his way he would escape the city and the ton, choosing instead the peace and tranquility offered by the countryside, at Aubrey Hall. He dreamed of being able to be just a brother, son and - as of recently - a husband. 

Only married a few months, your new husband was keen to seize each and every opportunity to escape his duties when they appeared - whether it was sneaking off for long rides in the countryside, or making an early exit from whatever social gathering you both had been forced to attend as the new Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton; Whatever allowed you both to be alone and back in one another’s arms (usually sans clothes) as soon as possible, was a good idea to him. 

It was no surprise then, that there was one part of his daily routine that Anthony actually relished: bathing. 

Oh, yes. There was little more in the world that could bring your fully-grown husband such child-like joy as being able to soak in a tub of steaming hot water for an hour or two. The sight always made you smile as you entered your bedroom: Anthony, half asleep, looking as if the stress had physically melted away. 

It was your favourite sight - and not just because of the exquisite view it granted you of his sculpted form - but because of how calm and peaceful he looked. It was as if he had transformed back into the mischievous and carefree boy you’d first fallen in love with all those years ago. Back when your only concerns had been not tripping on your skirt at your presentation, making sure you were actually asked to dance at a ball, and surviving the social season without embarrassing your family or getting yourself roped into some scandal. 

Whilst you knew neither you nor Anthony would ever change a single thing about your life together, you knew it came with a cost. In fact, today it had been enduring hours of talks with local tenants, the family’s book keeper, estate managers, and even several possible suitors looking to secure some kind of marriage contract with one of his younger sisters. (You’d been informed by several members of the household staff that those meetings had been remarkably swift, however, with each unfortunate man looking rather dejected as they were shown from the house). 

If you’d been able to spare him the pain or share his burden you would have, but unfortunately you’d been occupied with matters of your own. Being the lady of such a grand estate came with duties of its own, and you were quite done looking over seating arrangements, replying to correspondence, and paying social calls for one day.  

Still, at least you’d both survived to tell the tale - no wonder Anthony looked half asleep. Then again, maybe it had something to do with the open bottle of whiskey that sat on the table beside the tub. You knew without looking at the label which bottle it was, having smuggled it out of the library yourself to enjoy together. 

“Anthony Bridgerton!” A fake gasp of horror escaped your lips as you appeared in the doorway, a hand pressed to your chest. “You are a sneak and a traitor. That whiskey was for me too, you know.”

“And a good evening to you too, my love. Never fear, there’s plenty to share,” he teased, head relaxed, tipped backward as he took a sip from the glass in his hand. Your eyes were transfixed on the hollow of his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Besides, I would apologise but I simply couldn’t wait a minute longer. Not when I couldn’t feel my back from sitting at that desk all afternoon.”

The moan that escaped his lips was almost sinful as he sank a little lower in the water.  

“Well, you’re forgiven. You look far too content for me to even dream of being mad,” you sighed, drawing close and perching on the rim of the tub. Anthony handed over the whiskey glass with a soft smile, letting you take a sip of your own before you placed it back onto the table. 

You could feel the warmth seep into your bones immediately, even if that was also likely in part to your proximity to the tub and your naked husband. 

“Do you want me to wash your hair?”

Anthony’s eyebrows rose at the question, the surprise written across his face. “What?”

“You heard me,” you teased, reaching up to run your fingers through the soft strands of hair atop his head. “I can wash your hair, and get your back for you. Unless you’d rather do it yourself, or I can ring for someone?”

“What? No, that’s uh, that’s not necessary,” he chuckled, visibly flustered - which was amusing and perplexing. After all, it wasn’t as if you two hadn’t seen and touched every single inch of the other in the weeks since your wedding. However, he looked almost confused at the idea that you would offer such a thing. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to,” you soothed. “Let me take care of you, for once. Husband.”

It was probably below the belt to purr his title like that, but you knew how that one little word had the power to reduce the great Viscount Bridgerton to a puddle. That, along with the warmth of the water and the buzz of the whiskey, made him almost pliant to your every whim. Still, you knew him well enough to recognise the lingering hesitation in his eyes as he nodded in agreement. 

He very rarely let his guard down or allowed anyone to assist him in any way. You sometimes believed that had the servants not been dependant upon their work to make a living that Anthony would have dismissed them long ago and tried to run the entire estate single handedly just to prove he could. That he was worthy of the title he bore, and that he was every bit as great a man, brother, and husband as his father. 

It appeared he was the same way when it came to letting himself be taken care of and it made your heart ache for the man you loved. 

Pressing a triumphant kiss to his lips, you swiftly manoeuvred yourself, pulling up a stool and grabbing a jug from the dresser.  

“Just relax… trust me,” you murmured, waiting until he did as he was bid. The gesture alone said volumes, more so than any words ever could. 

Waiting until his eyes were shut, you reached for the soap, tilting his head against your chest as you began to massage the mixture into his scalp. Yet again, your husband seemed to transform into a cat, purring with every touch in a way that made it suddenly very difficult to resist the urge to strip off and join your husband in the water instead. 

“Enjoying yourself?” You giggled as Anthony barely managed more than a groan in reply. 

It was taking every ounce of your self control to focus your attentions solely on Anthony, and not on the way his body seemed to be reacting to your ministrations. Thankfully, you were able to last long enough to finish the job, using the jug to rinse the water through his hair, making sure to angle his head upwards so the water ran off him instead of into his eyes. 

But you were only human; the minute you were done washing the last suds from his scalp you made your move. Sliding off the stool, you knelt beside him and reached out to caress his cheek, causing him to open his eyes almost sleepily. Leaning forward you planted a soft, delicate kiss to his lips, causing him to groan in response.

Without saying a word, his hands rose, twisting their way into your hair as he deepened his kiss. It was clear what he wanted next. 

“Now, wife,” he growled, pulling back just long enough to reach down and tug teasingly at the tie of your dress-robe. You could feel the warmth of his touch as his wet body began to dampen the material. “I think it’s your turn to let me take care of you… so you’d better get in here, before I drag you in here.”

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: you’re used to me disappearing for months but I hope by now you can trust that I’ll always come back x

warnings: reader is a victim of misogyny (aren’t we all)

In A World Of Boys

Doctor Spencer Reid. His name alone sends your heart thrumming as the elevator ascends, your shoes tapping against the metal ground with excitement and impatience in equal measure. It isn’t unusual for a case to have called the team in at the crack of dawn, but that was not something you ever imagined you’d actively look forward to. Then again, you couldn’t have counted on the sunrise casting a soft pink, almost heavenly glow to illuminate the office that seemed to converge around one man in particular the moment you saw him.

He approaches you with a warm smile, one mug held to his lips and another held in an outstretched hand, for you. Made just the way you liked it; not that you ever verbalized such details, someone’s eidetic memory just thought to pay attention to how you prepared your hot drinks until it was a task that could be taken off your hands entirely.

“Good morning.” Spencer greets you, a playful lilt in his voice at just how early this morning is.

“Morning, and cheers.” You share a light chuckle as you clink your mugs together in a gesture of soft comradery, your gazes locking as you take a simultaneous sip.

Such a thing is officially a symbol of trust, but the look in Spencer’s eyes is enough to hold you still if the ground was ripped out from beneath you. His curls are a little disheveled, as always, and his tie is as crooked as ever. Ruggedly handsome would be an accurate description, if you didn’t know Spencer better than that, know him to be so much gentler than such a roughened description. And your heart sings for him.

A tradition you’ve come to appreciate amongst the BAU during longer flights is sharing stories of their shared pasts. The tales are typically hilarious at the expense of one team member or another, but it is all in jest, and as the newest member of the team, you love hearing about their funniest moments from before you had known the people who have welcomed you so openly.

“Oh, we have to talk about the pool incident! What was her name, Spence?” JJ asks with a mischievous glint in her eye, the team’s attention pulled entirely to Spencer.

You can’t withhold the shocked expression on your face, you’ve not heard of any previous romantic encounters in Spencer’s life; this should be interesting.

“It was Lila, wasn’t it? C’mon, Spence, it’s been years, you can tell us now!” JJ presses, the rest of the team egging her on, but you stay quiet, your interest piqued to the extent that you can’t utter a word.

“Lila was an admirably strong woman, but as much as I hate to disappoint, there���s really nothing more to tell.” Spencer shrugs, smile unreadable.

In his former years, such a question would have flustered him, but not anymore. His answer is enough to fluster you, however. A man who doesn’t kiss and tell, and is so quietly firm in such a resolve, is one to keep in mind.

As if to make matters worse, Spencer then rises from his seat on the jet and strolls past you, making the effort to lean away from you - in case any sudden turbulence should unsteady him, he won’t risk even nudging you - on his journey to the galley. And the way he walks, the delicate trail of his cologne lingering in his wake when he passes your seat, it’s dizzying.

This is a moment that you know you will never forget, and you can’t help envying the fact that Spencer can so effortlessly recall every moment spent with you in the depths of eidetic memory. It’s almost ritualistic, how you lie in bed every night and replay your most treasured moments with Spencer, to send yourself to a peaceful sleep in which you hope to dream of him. Part of you wonders if he ever replays moments with you in his mind, with more clarity than you can ever hope to possess.

Little do you know, you are his favorite film.

On nights when insomnia strikes, you are the guaranteed remedy. When it is for you, Spencer’s eidetic memory is nothing short of a gift. He has a library dedicated to you, containing every look in your eyes, every micro-expression, every variation of your laugh, your smile, every word you have ever said in his presence. Sometimes, it takes him hours to decide which memory of you he’ll replay before he allows himself to sleep.

Neither of you are aware of how many nights you have spent lying awake in the same hours, focussing on the very same memories. While you absentmindedly play with the little flower charm on the necklace that Spencer bought you for your birthday, his gaze will drift to the special edition of Frankenstein that you bought him, for no reason other than it made you think of him. Of course, Spencer already had a copy, but the one from you lives on his bedside table. He had the edition completely memorized in a matter of minutes, but he has devoted more time to rereading that book than he has any other, because you gifted it to him. Sometimes, Spencer traces the spine and wonders where you’d held it before gifting it to him; if that will be as close as he ever comes to the blessing of one day holding your hand.

One of your most vivid memories with Spencer - and one that you frequently use to fall asleep with a smile on your face - first came to be during your second week working with the team. You didn’t know Spencer very well then, but you knew enough to be besotted by him; you knew that from the moment his eyes first met yours. A case required an undercover mission centered around you, as the only member of the team to fit the unsub’s type. While you could have handled the mission on your own, Spencer insisted that he be placed undercover inside the club you were set to enter, posing as a member of the public, to ensure you had immediate backup if you needed it. The undercover mission itself went without a hitch, though Spencer spent the duration of it trying his very best not to crush the glass he pretended to nurse in his hand as he watched the unsub flirt with you mercilessly, and without an ounce of respect. When the unsub was arrested and dragged out of the bar, you and Spencer followed, and he went to one of the government-issued vehicles to grab his FBI jacket for you while advising you to stand in the doorway and wait. He didn’t want you getting cold in your pretty dress, but that was a detail he kept to himself.

As you stood in the doorway, leaning against a wall with your arms crossed over your chest, the wind caught the thigh-high slit in your dress, exposing the skin of your thigh only momentarily, but it was enough for some sleazy, drunk middle-aged man to leer out you.

“Sexy lady!” He had called out to you in a slurred voice, opening his arms to you, beer bottle in hand.

And, as every woman has learnt to do, you gave him your best, tight lipped, polite smile.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” You answered as evenly as you could.

In an instant, the sleaze’s smirk was gone, replaced with an almost disgusted frown.

“Stupid slut.” He muttered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him, but in the time it took for your eyes to widen, Spencer had pinned the man’s hands behind his back and sent the beer bottle shattering on the ground - collateral damage from shoving the sleaze into the nearest wall.

“You are under arrest for drunk and disorderly behaviour, as well as sexual harassment, and absolutely any other charge I can find when I dig up every morsel of your existence.” Spencer’s words were eerily quiet, but they were sharper than any you’d ever heard, dripping with a venom you didn’t imagine he was capable of possessing then.

After tossing the drunk misogynist into the back of one of the police cars still on the scene from your undercover mission, Spencer walked over to you and draped his FBI jacket over your shoulders, tugging it around you with a gentleness that completely juxtaposed what you had just witnessed.

“I’m sorry.” He’d said quietly, warranting a confused frown from you, that urged him to elaborate. “I’m sorry that you were treated in such an abhorrent way, and that you had to see me like that.”

Your frown melted into an adoring smile. “Spencer, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. Thank you for defending me from a man that I doubt realizes he even did anything wrong. While he might be the scum of the earth, you-” You gently poked his chest through his shirt, “-are a gentleman.”

Spencer had thought then that his heart couldn’t possibly soar higher than that, but oh, how wrong he had been.

Coincidentally, one of Spencer’s favorite memories of you is one you can recall very little of. It was the only occasion on which Spencer had politely declined the team’s invitation to a local bar for drinks in an evening. He had been rereading the copy of Frankenstein you’d bought him, comfortably nestled on his couch with a lingering smile as he sought pieces of you in between the lines of text, when his phone rang.

Seeing your name, Spencer picked up in a microsecond.

“(Y/N)? Is everything alright?” His mind was immediately reeling. Had something happened? Were you safe?

A sniffle came through the phone, and his heart shattered.

“Jus’ so lonely.” Your voice was slurred by the alcohol you’d consumed, but in the sweetest way. Your words did little to ease the anxiety swirling in Spencer’s mind, because every time he had seen you drink, you had been the giggliest mess he’d ever known; you had never been the stereotypical sad-drunk, as far as he knew.

“Lonely? Aren’t you at the bar with the team?” He questioned, because he could hear other voices in the background of the call and alarm bells were ringing. Had the rest of the team left? Or, worse, had you drunkenly wandered off somewhere and gotten lost? He was already putting his shoes on and grabbing a jacket.

“Yeah, but they’re not you.” There was an urgency and an aching sadness to your words, Spencer could hear it even through the distortion of a phone call, and your words stumped him. He blinked once, then twice, before replying.

“Well, no, they aren’t me.”

He felt that had been an obvious distinction, but perhaps you needed him to make that clear in your drunken state.

An equally dramatic and exasperated sigh came through the phone. “I know that, and that’s why I’m sad. I miss you!”

Spencer was out of his apartment door in record time, racing down the stairs until he reached the parking lot beneath his building.

“You miss me? Really?” He had asked you because he wanted to hear you say it again, he had to, the smile on his face growing exponentially.

“Lots.” Your voice broke on that one word, and it was enough for Spencer to risk several speeding tickets to reach you in a time he would never, ever tell you, because you’d lecture him about road safety. Perhaps someday he will tell you, just to hear you speak to him for a prolonged period of time, even if it’s a lecture at the expense of his reckless adoration.

By the time Spencer arrived at the bar, you were a blubbering mess in Rossi’s arms. It was only when you were transferred to Spencer’s arms that your drunk mind registered his presence, and the sheer joy on your face despite your tears was something he knew would be his only remaining memory if he lost everything else in some freak accident. Amidst your incoherent mumblings of compliments and praises towards Spencer - each and every one under lock and key in his heart ever since - he carried you back to his car and drove you home with your body wrapped almost entirely around his arm from where you sat in the passenger seat of his car. Once at your house, he carried you to the door bridal style, lowering you temporarily so that you could clumsily unlock your front door, before he picked you back up again and carried you inside, all the way to your bed. And there, he laid you down, slipped your shoes off, tucked you into bed, and wiped your face with your skincare products efficiently, from what you’d told him of your nightly routine. He fetched you a glass of water and sat you up to drink the whole thing, then refilled it and set it on your bedside table - in case you woke up thirsty in the night, or if you needed it first thing in the morning. Lying you back down, he left a little kiss on your forehead, and due to your eyes being closed, he assumed you were already falling asleep, until you reached for his hand when he tried to go.

“Stay.” You pleaded in a barely-conscious and far-from-sober tone.

Spencer smiled at you like you were the stars in the sky.

“Alright.” He almost whispered, taking a seat on the edge of your bed, while you laid under your covers, practically curled around where he sat.

With one of his hands on your shoulder, Spencer sat with you, spelling out words you’d never register on the back of your shoulder blade with his thumb and index finger.

So beautiful.

Everything.

To be yours.

And as his thumb curved the last letter “s” on the back of your hand, Spencer heard your breathing settle to a rate that told him you were dreaming. Very slowly, he tucked you under the bedcovers, stood himself up, and left, but not before leaving you with a message he intended for you to comprehend later. You had not consented to Spencer staying the night with you, and you were in no position to give that consent in your state, but you had asked him to stay, so he stayed until you wouldn’t know that he’d gone.

The next morning, you awoke to a little note on your bedside table that simply said:

Good morning, angel. Please drink some water and let me know you survived drinking enough alcohol to fill the Hoover Dam (not literally, that’s not biologically possible).

-Spencer x

It was enough to make you laugh, and despite your immediate pounding headache, you reached for your phone.

You: hahaha, very funny. thank you so much for last night, I’m sorry for the mess ❤️

And, to your accustomed surprise, Spencer started typing back immediately.

Spencer: I’m glad that you survived to enjoy my joke. You are always welcome, and you have nothing to apologize for.

You went to set your phone down on your bedside table again, when it lit up with another text.

Spencer: ❤️

Surviving the alcohol you consumed was nothing compared to the way you had to fight for your life upon receiving that.

That morning, when you were called into the office for a case, you’d expected to be greeted with an onslaught of teasing from your coworkers, but Spencer had enough time before you arrived to plead with the rest of the team not to embarrass you. Surprisingly, they had agreed, but on one condition: Spencer had to do something about his workplace crush, because the rest of the team were losing their patience with the tension between you. To save you the embarrassment, Spencer sacrificed his own dignity in agreeing to that, and it’s been hanging over his head ever since.

The clouds beneath the jet serve as an interesting background to your thoughts, your headphones blocking out any and all sound beyond your music. You are away in your own little world, save for the part of your brain that is acutely aware of your elbow touching Spencer’s with the only barrier being your jacket and his. Does he spend as much time dwelling on these things? Does he ever wonder, like you do, that this connection between you could amount to something else, something more, if either of you were willing to take the risk? The risk is, in itself, a great one. While the risks surrounding any love in general are an obvious factor, in your shared field of work, that is exacerbated. Neither of you can explicitly trust that you would be able to act professionally if the other was harmed in any way, and you could bear witness to any degree of harm against the other while in the field. If that wasn’t enough, should it not work out, you would have no choice but to leave your dream job to work and live elsewhere, uprooting the life you’ve built here in its entirety; while Spencer would stay with the family he has worked with for so many years, the building would never feel the same to him without you in it. Whoever took your desk after you, he would be unable to withhold a small amount of resentment towards - he would never act on it, but he would feel it. And the guilt of being with him having caused you to have to restart your life somewhere else? That is a weight he is terrified of carrying. So many have faced worse fates as a result of getting close to Spencer, but when it comes to you, he cannot think of any worse than that, or his chest will start to hurt.

Perhaps this case is the perfect opportunity, he wonders to himself while a female cop converses with him, barely occupying even half of Spencer’s brain as he focuses on thoughts of you.

“I think it’s great you guys have come down here to help us!” The local cop grins up at Spencer.

A case in Vegas, where he could use some time once the case is closed to show you some of his favorite places. You’d like that, he thinks.

“Thank you, we’re always happy to help when requested.” Spencer answers casually.

But from the little office you’re working in, you can see the way that local cop is ogling at Spencer, and you feel a twinge of jealousy. It was only a few minutes ago you were looking at the hazel in his eyes up close in the same way she currently is, but you like to think you’re a little less obvious than that. You are not.

“Some of these guys, you can tell they don’t know what they’re doing, but you definitely do, don’t you? I’ve heard the rest of your team calling you a genius!” The local cop babbles to Spencer, eyes like an animal in heat.

Perhaps a tour of the casino’s? But a certain card-counting ability resulting in a certain state-wide ban would make that somewhat difficult. That probably wouldn’t be a very good date. Would it be a date? Spencer wonders, before he shrugs, feeling a little awkward.

“I don’t believe intelligence can be accurately quantified given its diversity in both person and circumstance, but I appreciate your faith in the BAU, who I’d better get back to. Thanks.” With that, he steps away from the officer, thinking nothing of the conversation given that his focus had been elsewhere for the duration of it.

You, however, cannot let it go. To your detriment, you assume a seasoned profiler like Spencer can read flirtatious intent a mile off (his unreliable grasp on social cues begs to differ) and from a distance, it didn’t look to you that he outright rejected the advances of another woman (his unreliable grasp on social cues left him unaware there were even advances to reject), and that left you feeling…upset. You had thought your relationship with Spencer to be special, that he didn’t reject the warm, sweet tension between the two of you because he liked you, specifically, but if he didn’t reject the flirtations of another woman, are you just a more regular occurrence of what she offered him?

Little do you know, if Spencer heard your thoughts suggest he only merely “liked” you, he may very well go into cardiac arrest under the pressure of the weight to correct you, adamantly. There is not a string of words in his vocabulary to adequately describe what he feels for you, and to imply “like” conveys them is salt in the wound you cause in his heart for each day you’re not his.

Naturally, for the rest of the day you are accompanied by a cloud hanging over your head to consistently remind you of that very same fact - that you are not Spencer’s. It is hardly surprising you do everything in your power to avoid him, offering to assist every member of the team with whatever task they’re doing to take you out of his reach and prevent him from talking to you. Of course, you know he’ll notice, and you’ll apologize when you’ve recovered enough to not cry at the thought of him, but for tonight are destined to bury yourself in hotel bedcovers that you partially hope suffocate you into unconsciousness to save you further torment.

Most unfortunately for you, only an hour into your tears, there is a soft knock at your hotel room door. By now, you are beyond the point of being able to hide the extent to which you have already cried, so you formulate a number of excuses pertaining to allergies or hormones on your way to the door. All of those lies evaporate on opening your door to find Spencer standing there, looking down at you with pleading eyes that quite frankly make you want to launch yourself from your hotel room window.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, (Y/N), I just came by to-“ His eyes widen. “You’ve been crying.”

It’s not a question; Spencer knows you well enough to not need to doubt himself when he reads your physical tells.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Did you need something?” You brush off his concern, hoping to distract him with whatever his original reason for coming here was - it wouldn’t be the first time Spencer materialized in your presence to ask your opinion of something obscure or a social situation he was uncertain of because he felt comfortable enough to come to you about it, you just wanted to get this over with so that you could return to your crying pit.

“I- what? Don’t worry about it? You’ve been crying, of course I’ll worry about that! Extensively!” Spencer exclaims, his voice rising in pitch slightly with his distress, before he clears his throat. “I came by to check on you because your behavior today confused me, and it appears I was right to be concerned.” Seeing the apprehension on your face, Spencer is quick to amend the question he was going to ask. “If you’d prefer not to talk about it, I understand and won’t pressure you, but please don’t force yourself to suffer alone if you can help it. There’s nothing I’d rather listen to than you.”

The sincerity in Spencer’s words brings fresh tears to your eyes, and it’s physically painful to look away from him and stare at the doorframe.

“It’s nothing, Spencer, just getting in my head about things that-“ You begin, and in a moment that is completely unlike his usually overly-polite self, he interrupts you.

“Is it something I did?” He asks, his eyes widening with the same plea as before.

Spencer’s question surprises you so much that you hesitate to answer him, only for a second before your lips part again, but your delay is enough of an answer to him.

“(Y/N), please tell me I did so that I can fix this. I don’t understand- I’ve already gone over our every interaction over the past 48 hours, 30 times each, and I’m not smart enough to have been unable to determine a conclusion on my own. Please tell me.” Spencer begs, his voice hoarse with the weight of having hurt your feelings without ever intending to.

Knowing he isn’t going to forgive himself without an explanation and that he’ll see through any lie you give him now, you are left without a choice.

“That cop you spoke to today, was she flirting with you?” The words fall from your lips freely, and Spencer blinks.

Once, twice, then a third time.

“Which…female officer? In the past 8 hours I have spoken to three.” He asks so carefully, like he’s walking on glass.

You have to resist rolling your eyes, because you know Spencer isn’t being clueless on purpose, but it doesn’t ease your pain.

“Just after midday, the one who was looking up at you like you were the best thing she’d seen all day.” Now, you can’t resist rolling your eyes; an involuntary reaction that makes Spencer frown in confusion.

“The conversation consisted of her thanking us for assisting them with the case and enquiring as to whether I’m a genius- to which I said I don’t think intelligence can be accurately quantified, and that was it.” Spencer has never been more confused in his entire life. He feels there is something obvious staring him right in his face and he is mortified at being completely blind to it, but he is treading very carefully over this invisible minefield.

“She was flirting with you, Spencer, didn’t you see the way she was looking at you?” Trying to read his expression and only finding confusion is not helping.

“I wasn’t really looking at her.” Spencer answers truthfully, because his eyes had been glazed over as he thought of places he could show you while in Vegas, where posed the highest probability of a successful date, should you accept the offer he had every intention of presenting you with.

“You didn’t notice…” You murmur, your heart sinking in your chest.

You had been upset that Spencer hadn’t rejected the advances of another woman under the presumption he understood her advances, but if he truly did not when she was being so obvious, he most likely doesn’t notice yours, either. He hasn’t been reciprocating the energy you thought was between you for that reason, he’s just been continuing the conversation without a clue. A lump forms in your thought.

Meanwhile, Spencer is even more confused.

“I’m not certain I understand what the issue is. Was it the flirting? Or the fact I didn’t register it? Should I have?” He is lost and in desperate need of guidance. As soon as he knows what he’s done to upset you, he’ll beg on his knees for your forgiveness, but at this time he is still unable to determine the problem. If you had not realized he didn’t acknowledge the flirting until now, that couldn’t be the issue, but if the issue was simply that he’d been flirted with, you now knowing he wasn’t aware of it would have fixed that - so why do you look more upset? This just in: Doctor Spencer Reid loathes social cues.

“Do you notice when anyone flirts with you?” Answering his question with your own question is only sending him further into a spiral.

You are the only person he ever wishes would flirt with him, but Spencer is absolutely convinced you never would. If he answers “no” to your rephrased version of the same question you had just asked him, that appears to be the answer you are assuming to be true which is making you look sadder. He does not understand this at all.

“How do I answer that in a way that won’t upset you further…” Spencer frowns, focussing very hard on your every micro-expression, trying to use your face as a cheat sheet.

“I don’t think you can, Spencer. Thanks for coming to check on me. Goodnight.” You give him a weak smile and go to close your hotel room door, but Spencer places a palm against the door with an expression of alarm.

“Please-“ He starts, then stops himself when you meet his eyes, his tone softening. “Talk to me.”

You take a deep breath and decide to bite the bullet. What do you have to lose? Your heart’s already been hit with every weapon of mass destruction you can think of.

“I thought- I thought you knew there was- it wasn’t flirting, but there’s been something between us that I thought you knew as well as I did. Stupidly, I thought you were reciprocating it, but if you couldn’t tell that cop was flirting with you, there’s no way you knew…” Your weak smile wavers. “Like I said, just getting in my head over things. Doesn’t matter. You haven’t done anything wrong. Night-“

Once again unexpectedly, Spencer interrupts you, but this time for a very different reason.

“I need to sit down.”

It’s only then you realize how suddenly pale he’s become. Paler than you’ve ever seen him, in fact. Your eyes widen, and you grab Spencer’s forearms, guiding him into your hotel room and over to the armchair in the corner of the room, the door clicking shut behind you while Spencer stumbles with the most shell shocked look in his eyes.

“Spencer, what’s going on? Are you alright?” You ask him worriedly.

“Indeterminable.” Spencer answers in a distant voice.

“Okay, okay, uh-“ You flit from him to the sink in your hotel room to grab Spencer a glass of water, that you’re quick to bring to him. “Here.”

His eyes don’t even focus on you or the glass, but he takes it from your hand and gulps it down. Spencer makes the mistake of glancing at you mid-sip, and starts choking, resulting in you patting his back.

“Something between us…” He coughs out. “You said, something between us. What.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and your face feels hot.

“You know, mutual pining. Like in movies.” You feel very awkward having to explain that.

“Books, first.” Spencer corrects you quietly, his breathing finally steadying.

“Yeah, okay, books first.” You can’t help chuckling lightly and taking the empty glass back over to the sink, then returning to Spencer, but stopping in your tracks when you find him now standing instead of sitting in the armchair.

“A study has shown that on average it takes men 88 days to fall in love, while it takes women 134 days. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t believe every aspect of love can be reduced to facts and statistics, but in moments of self-doubt I fall back on what I know. I knew what I knew of how I felt about you on the day we met, but I waited 88 days to be certain, and then it was only logical I waited 134 days to give you the chance to develop even the vaguest pleasant feeling towards me.” He takes a breath. “It has only been 120 days; I had not yet decided how I was going to broach this topic with you, and the question remains as to whether I’ve waited long enough for you to be as certain as I am. If the answer is anything other than yes, I promise, I’ll wait as many days as it takes, even if it’s a number I can’t reach.” Spencer’s voice is that of a man swearing an oath he has no doubt he’ll live to honor in every sense, and you are certain your heart has stopped beating.

You stare at him with wide eyes, feeling like time has frozen around you, the only sounds being your breathing to fill the suffocating silence of your hotel room. A microexpression of terror flickers across Spencer’s face, and you are brought back to yourself in an instant.

“I wish you’d asked me 120 days ago.” You say breathlessly.

“I didn’t ask anything.” Yet, Spencer adds internally, his heart pounding.

“But you’re going to.” You clarify softly, and Spencer nods, so you nod back at him.

“Would…” Spencer clears his throat. “Would you allow me the honor of taking you on a date? With me? Together? Here? Or anywhere- anywhere we can realistically travel to, that is-“ As he rambles and gets ahead of himself, your expression of shock evolves into a smile, and it’s your turn to interrupt him.

“Yes. Anywhere, anytime. Yes.” You answer.

There’s a beat of silence as Spencer catches his breath.

“Now?” He dares to whisper, and you’re grinning, glancing between him, and the provisions of a TV, bed and phone that this hotel room provides.

“Would you be opposed to a first date of takeout and shitty hotel room cable?” You offer playfully.

A bashful smile curls at the corner of Spencer’s mouth as he smiles back at you.

“Anything with you.” He says, but is quick to amend his own words. “Provided it’s an entirely safe scenario, obviously.”

That makes you snicker. “Obviously.”

Spencer looks between you and the bed, nervous of how to proceed. You make the first move, taking a step towards the bed, and Spencer offers you his hand - somewhat needlessly, but if he ever misses an instant in which he can deliver a gentlemanly action upon you, he would suggest that’s the instant you shoot him dead - to assist you onto the mattress before he follows suit and sits down beside you, kicking off his shoes.

“I’m completely underdressed for our first date, sorry.” You joke, looking between your pajamas and Spencer’s suit.

“You’re beautiful.” Is all he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it as he gazes down at you with the most gentle smile.

You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers, and Spencer doesn’t hesitate to lift them to his lips to kiss each of your knuckles tenderly.

“Takeout?” He murmurs against your skin, and for a second you’re lost to the daze of his kisses that you wonder if he’s asking whether the act of them has taken you out (to which you’d answer with a resounding yes), but remembering the nature of your date, you nod wordlessly.

Spencer smirks against your knuckles.

“I meant, what kind of takeout?” He amends, and your face feels hot again.

“Anything at all.” Is all you can think to respond, because to be completely honest, you do not care what you eat tonight.

Spencer chuckles quietly at that, keeping his hand holding yours while his other hand reaches for the hotel room phone, to dial for reception and request their recommendations for the best local takeout places.

“What’s so funny?” You ask him, but you’re smiling regardless of not yet knowing, just seeing him laugh while his thumb caresses your knuckles.

“I was just thinking, ‘Anything at all’ is exactly what I’ve thought every time I’ve looked at you.” Spencer muses as he brings the phone to his ear.

Anything at all to make you smile again, anything at all from you, if you asked he’d anything at all for you.

And much like the last time, you don’t even realize he’s spelling out words against your skin with the caress of his thumb. This time, though, it’s just one phrase, repeated.

To be yours.

To be yours.

To be yours.

[fabrickind]

I know the joke is that Ghost Trick fans can't tell you why to play it, just that you should, but here's some spoiler-free reasons to play it:

It's an incredible puzzle game. The puzzles are basically Rube-Goldberg machines, where you manipulate objects in a series to effect change in the overall situation. Do you like complex mechanisms and the concept of the butterfly effect? Play this.

The basic gameplay: you are a ghost. You have the ability to posses and manipulate objects, and move from object to object. Someone bas died. You can go to four minutes before their death to change their fate using your Rube Goldberg powers. Also! The puzzles do a great job of ramping you up in difficulty and teaching you the gameplay, but wow do they get HARD in late game. You can replay any puzzle, and also rewind time as you wish. You can't lock yourself out of things by doing it wrong, since you can redo.

The story is SO GOOD. There's a reason why everyone tells you as little as possible -- it's a compelling mystery that sucks you in. The basic idea: you are dead. You need to figure out who you are and who killed you. This spins out into a tale of political intrigue.

It's by Shu Takumi, the creator of Ace Attorney. It has very similar vibes, in that it's absolutely bonkers characters and situations but also WILL make you cry once it's all revealed. Great mix of serious and humorous tones. Seriously, someone dies when a giant roast chicken statue falls on them and the root cause is because of [serious political events]

The aesthetics. Great music, great character design, have you SEEN what the game looks like? Really good use of color and stylization. Character animations are often hilarious.

Missile is there. You WILL love bestest boy. Don't google him. Just trust.

[britneyshakespeare]

i have been working with kids for four years and i had to write my first ever note just now about a seventh grade boy being inappropriate towards me. i don't know what the hell this could possibly lead to or what. he was trying to feel my legs repeatedly to the point where i had to stop sitting next to him (and i was subbing for his one-to-one para!!!). he's got high support needs. in that kind of job, you're supposed to sit next to them all day and look over their work.

the teacher whose classroom this was happening in could also tell something was wrong. the whole class was acting kinda crazy because it was the day before school vacation week and there was another class coming in to share projects. so like, he was swamped with keeping order already. but we were sitting two feet away from his podium at the front of the room. the kid was giving him and me a hard time when he wouldn't take out his chromebook as he was instructed. and then when he did take out his chromebook, he immediately, for some reason, places it on my lap. he had been ogling my legs the whole time. he puts his computer ON MY LAP. and i'm just like, stunned, because what the hell? can you not keep it on your own lap, for some reason? i don't even know what to say, i just hold it a little above my lap while i'm thinking why on earth would this be happening? he would NOT do this to his regular para if she were here, would he? this can't be normal.

and the teacher sees this and within a minute places a stool in front of the kid for him to put his laptop on. and i'm like. oh ok. yeah. he notices exactly what's happening and that that's not appropriate. and then when the other class comes in to share projects he tells me "miss b——, you don't actually have to sit next to c—— this whole period if you don't want to." and he grabs me a chair for me to go sit with the other paras in the back opposite corner of the room. like he KNEW. and thank you mr. d—— for recognizing that because i was just kind of shocked and didn't know if i was overreacting in my head to all of this.

when there's a point in the class where the kids are discussing stuff, i privately mention what's happened to the para who's sitting closest to me. and she says that the thing about him calling me pretty is something he's been known to do, but the fact that he kept trying to touch my legs is new behavior. and that's a completely different class of behavior. i was telling him NO, don't do that, and he kept doing it. and the fact that he was calling me pretty repeatedly, even when i was giving him instructions that he wasn't taking. and this is the second to last class before the end of the day, so she says she'll take a walk with him before learning center and talk to him about it, and i'm grateful for that. she does. the kid apologizes to me as soon as i come into learning center. but like. WHAT the hell.

i'm STILL like what the hell. this is unfathomable to me. the other adults who i told about this or who witnessed it were supportive of me. but. what to do??? i wrote a long note to his regular para about this, because i knew she was going to hear about it at least from the first para i told. the second para i told about it after school had a kind of... i'm not gonna say enabling reaction, but i suppose since it had already been "taken care of" (or at least, he had been spoken to and apologized) she didn't really have much to add in the way of discipline. i told her what happened after school and she was just like... a little bit, laughing? like oh, yup, that dog. she at the very least confirmed he KNEW what he was doing, that that was not an accident. she said to me "i had a feeling he was going to develop a crush on you" (me and these other paras were together for most of the beginning of the day too). but it's like. it's not about that.

i have worked with children for FOUR years. children have had crushes on me before; i'm quite unfazed by it. boys from the ages of 5-to-15 have told me i'm so pretty before and asked me to marry them. i've never had them feeling up my legs before. i've never had them making me physically uncomfortable. it's NOT about this seventh grader having a crush on the pretty substitute. he is NOT unusual for that, at all. but i've never had a boy of any age or education level repeatedly touching my knees and thighs. THAT is problem behavior!!!

because what if i wasn't assertive enough with him to tell him to stop? what if i was a girl his age? worse, what if i was an adult who encouraged this behavior? i don't come to the middle school to be a seductress. i had no intention in putting on a pair of tights and a skirt this morning of being viewed as an attractive object, especially not by a pubescent boy. what if i did though? what if his interpretation of me wasn't so incorrect and offensive? what if i let him keep touching me inappropriately and saying flirtatious things to me? me, an adult in my mid-twenties, towards a middle school boy?

in no world would that be ok. if i had been feeling up and overly-complimenting a CHILD at my place of work, holy shit would there be reports about me. so a child acting that way could never be ok either. if it'd be firable for me to be reciprocating that action, then that action should not be happening to me. ever. and that child should never repeat that action again to any other adult again.

like i am simply not there to be treated as an attractive young woman. i put on a skirt that shows too much knee and get paired with a boy, though, and that's apparently just a natural consequence. hooo-ly shit. like i don't know what to do. first of all, the more time passes since this has happened, the more i am just unable to stop thinking about it. i wasn't "hurt" or too emotional in the moment but i'm just still processing it and it gets worse. i'm just more and more disgusted.

i don't know what i expect to come out of this, or the email i sent to his regular para. like, am i gonna have to attend a fucking meeting? what is the precedent that this sets for him? WHY do i feel BAD for him about this? well, because he's a child, of course. a child who has done wrong he may not be able to understand. but he knows WHAT he did. he just doesn't know WHY it was wrong.

and i couldn't even say something to him that was like, "well, how would you like it if i was touching you like this?" because young boys do not understand how inappropriate it'd be. i'm sure this kid thought he was gonna get away with what he was doing at the very least. but probably not unlikely he (being a child with no concept of how wrong it'd be) thought he could get some sort of "positive" attention for treating me like this. either way he was simply doing what he wanted to do, with no perspective of how it would make me feel or that it could be classified as harassment. teenage boys think it'd be awesome if the older attractive woman would reciprocate their affections. they're wrong. i, as the older attractive woman of his affection, cannot be the one to convince him of that, though.

i don't know. i don't know. like it's just so not ok. but if i didn't tell another adult about this, he would've gotten away with it. he would probably do it again. and him being in trouble for it is not the same as him understanding that it was wrong. unless someone has a REAL talk with him about inappropriate attention and consent, it's not unlikely that he'll just repeat the behavior in a setting where he thinks he won't be caught or told on. THAT'S the problem. me, i could just never have to be this boy's para again. in my email, i didn't say that i would never be ok working with or around him ever again. he already knows i didn't like it and i'm not afraid to tell on him; as far as that lesson applies to me, individually, i think he's become too ashamed to repeat that.

i don't know. i don't know. i very much expressed that i, i guess, "forgave" him in the email that i wrote. i clarified that i was writing it for the sake of having it on the record. i think that could potentially be very important for the purposes of preventing further similar or escalating behavior from him in the future. i don't want him to be in trouble. i don't think i will be blamed for this, especially not with how promptly i acted, although i don't know to what extent this will be framed as me thinking i'm a "victim." i'm not... i don't feel victimized. i feel disgusted. i feel afraid for the sake of what could happen to or with him in the future, if he thinks behavior like his towards me today is ok.

i feel like if i end up having to further respond to this, this will be made about me. in a way it kind of was. is? in the moment it was happening, it was certainly about me. because i was the one this boy was giving all this unwanted attention to. but to make the consequences of this about me and to involve me any further, i also don't want. because i said what i said already, i don't care if a student has a crush on me. this isn't about me being the pretty substitute. i'm the pretty substitute all the time, to tons of people. that's not really something i've been concerned about up until now.

but do i have to reexplain my personal embarrassment? that i was wearing a skirt? that he was ogling my legs? really? what more do i have to gain from sharing that, other than having the adults at my place of work confirm or deny me in their heads as the pretty substitute? i don't know. perhaps that's REALLY overthinking it. but i don't want to be the substitute that caused a problem for this special ed kid. i don't wanna be the reason that he can't be around me anymore, the person people think of when they're monitoring how he's acting around girls and young women. i DON'T want to be the one people think of when they think of his past misbehavior. i'm NOT here for that.

that's just fucking humiliating. and in this being a thing that could follow him, i have to be ogled and touched over and over again in people's minds for this to be taken seriously. but for this to be swept under the rug would be even worse, no? i don't know. i hate this. the principal is a nice guy; i wouldn't be surprised if he and/or people from the special ed department reached out to me sympathetically about this. but i don't wanna be reached out to. i don't wanna have ppl i work with tell me "sorry that kid was just so attracted to you he couldn't help himself" like come on. if the kid himself doesn't change then i don't really care to remember this incident. and no one reaching out to me and saying they've talked to this kid will actually prove to me he understands. this is the kind of inappropriate behavior it takes years for people to understand why it was wrong, especially a child who has no idea. i mean come on.

[teamatsumu]

L&DS BOYS - LOVE LANGUAGES

content warnings: fem!reader, fluff, sfw headcanons

XAVIER - PHYSICAL TOUCH

Xavier knows he is smart, and witty enough. But when things get a little too real, he finds it hard to express himself.

And the feelings he has for you are the most genuine ones he has felt in his long, long life.

While he might not be someone who can wax poetic about his affection for you, he shows it in other ways, and physical touch in his favorite way to get his feelings across.

When you walk next to each other, he sticks close, arm brushing against yours. Occasionally, the back of his hand makes contact with your own. It's almost as if the tension builds and builds, until he finally connects your fingers, either intertwining your hands together or linking his pinkie with yours. No words leave his mouth. His touch says enough.

If the train is too crowded, he will pull you closer to him with a firm touch on the small of your back, making sure you don’t receive any unwanted bumps from strangers.

For a few weeks in your relationship, he developed a strange habit of pinching your cheeks and lightly pulling on them. You let him do it, knowing he would eventually move on and find some other part of you to focus on. Though the action did make your face heat up.

Another weird hyperfixation he has is nibbling at your fingertips absentmindedly. He plays with them often, but when he is distracted by a movie you two are watching, he will bite at them every so often. Sometimes, he is so focused on the screen that you doubt he even realizes what he is doing.

(He realizes. He just thinks every part of you deserves love. Don’t question it. It makes sense in his head.)

Cuddling with him is the perfect gift for your senses, stimulating you wonderfully.

Small nips on your skin, little lingering touches. He traces your skin with eager yet gentle hands, as if trying to memorize every curve and dip.

He buries his face in your neck and breathes in deep, and in that moment, bodies tangled with each other and the sheets, vulnerable and open, he will whisper, “I love you”.

It’s an affirmation more than a revelation, since his actions up until this point have all shown you that he really, truly does love you. So you whisper it back, trying to pour all your love into it, before slotting your lips together and using physical touch to convey your feelings right back.

RAFAYEL - WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

Rafayel is, in the simplest of terms, a yapper.

This man could talk for hours if you don’t stop him. About his art, about the meaning of life, about his experiences. He can express so much while also having an impeccable talent of being completely vague. Sometimes, you don’t even understand the things he says. And you’ve given up trying to decipher his every word.

But when Rafayel is talking about you, he makes himself abundantly clear. There’s no ambiguity about it; he loves you. And he will say it a million different times in a million different ways. Whether it be a bold declaration of how much his heart yearns for you, or endless teasing that is meant to rile you up and get a reaction out of you.

“I don’t think your talent lies in art, babe. It’s a good thing you’re a walking art piece yourself. No wonder I’m in love with you.”

“You’re leaving so soon? But I don’t think I’ve admired you enough for today. Don’t leave me!”

I’m impressed, Miss Bodyguard. You’re talented, and easy on the eyes. No wonder you captivated me from that very first day we met.”

Expect to wake up with a lot of voice notes on your phone. Minutes long. Sometimes rambling, sometimes actual ideas for new pieces that he wants to run by you. You better reply to all of them individually.

When you cuddle at night, you can talk for hours. No topic on earth is off limits with him. He will lay you down on a blanket on the beach, and as you watch the stars, he will tell you stories from olden times about star crossed lovers and tragic fairy tales. And he will turn to you, tell you how beautiful you are, how ardently he loves you, how he will never forget any moment he spends with you.

It’s almost like you can tell the exact moment he falls in love with you. Because he tells you. He never stops telling you. He voices his fears of you leaving him, he makes you promise you will never go away. He is clingy and he is whiny, and he is so endearing.

It’s hard to dismiss him when he is so loud about his love. And it’s hard to not fall for him just as he falls for you.

ZAYNE - ACTS OF SERVICE

This is an indisputable fact. Dr Zayne shows his love through acts of service.

He is intensely aware of your needs, and is miles ahead of you in determining what you require at any given moment.

It’s his way of showing you that he cares. He worries for you, and born from that worry is the urge to take care of you.

If you have had a long day, you will come home to a text from him saying he has ordered takeout and it will arrive at your house shortly, since he knows you are too exhausted to cook anything. It is always something different, but it is always food that he knows you enjoy. He will mix it with some healthy options too.

If you ever crash at his place, you will wake up to a tall glass of water and two aspirin on the side table, along with a note in his neat handwriting telling you that there is fresh cooked breakfast in the oven (he made it before he left for work).

Once you two are in a steady relationship, he keeps his house stocked with products you use. A spare shampoo and conditioner, toothbrush, a bathrobe of your size, a hair brush, you name it.

When you mumble something about the hand cream in your purse that is nearly running out, you will find a brand new tube next time you open the purse, and there is no need to even ask. You know Zayne put it there.

He is intensely observant. Even after knowing him for so long, it catches you off guard. He knows which of your clothes need to be dry cleaned and which ones are good for the washing machine. He knows which scents you use. Which products are harsher on your skin. He knows that contacts irritate your eyes after long hours of wearing them, so he keeps a small bottle of eye drops in your side table for that very purpose.

He scolds you for neglecting yourself, and he won’t hold back the harsh tone if he thinks your behavior is particularly destructive. To him, the best way to show love is to make sure your beloved is living the best life they can.

It is the littlest things, the tiniest details. And it shocks you, even after so long.

[violetszone]

High-school Sweetheart

Charles x fem!reader

From this request

Summary: You had been dating Charles since high school, and you had just gotten engaged this year. Of course, that's what everyone thought; in fact, it had been four years since you got married.

A/n:No proofread was made. But i loveeeee this theme.

Actually, it had been almost four years since you married Charles. You were 15 and he was 17 when you first met and started dating in high school. You've been dating ever since. Of course, when you turned 20 or 22, both of you thought it was a very good decision to vow not to leave each other and got married in court. You woke up on a Monday, went to court, and got married. Only two people knew about this: Charles' older brother, Lorenzo, and his best friend, Pierre. Since you started living together after high school, no one actually noticed anything.

You were very close to his family, and people regarded your relationship as a real fairy tale. Arthur was even always joking about how he was still surprised that his brother hadn’t lost you.

This year, you were officially engaged to Charles. You were now 24 years old, and Charles was 26 years old. It actually made you very happy to finally be able to wear the ring given to you by your husband of 4 years. As usual, you were sitting and having Sunday breakfast with Charles's family and your friends, having a good time. You were helping Charles's mother, Pascale, in the kitchen with Kika. As you returned to the table with plates in your hands, you walked up to the men to call them from the poolside. Charles stood up, smiling, and placed his arms around you, kissing your cheek.

""How's my beautiful wife?" Forgetting that the others thought you two were engaged, you smiled and hugged Charles back. Arthur spoke as he stood behind you, "Soon-to-be wife. Charles, you immediately got into the mood." He laughed. As Charles looked at you lovingly and brushed your hair out of your face, he raised an eyebrow at Arthur and spoke over his shoulder, "What makes you think she's not my wife?" You narrowed your eyes and gently tapped Charles on the shoulder. Arthur frowned. "The fact that you just got engaged?"

Charles and you looked at each other and laughed. Pierre stood watching the events nervously. "Here we go," he said while rubbing his face. While Pierre was holding Arthur, who looked surprised, by the shoulders and walking him to the table, Arthur objected, "What do you mean, Charles? Wait a second...." Charles held your hands and led you to the table. Pascale got angry at Arthur in French and then turned to Charles. "What did you say to your brother again? Now the boy won't be silent all day."

This time, Pierre hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Oh no," he groaned. You smiled softly at Charles. "Tell them," you shrugged. Charles walked behind you and put his hands on your shoulders. "Y/N and I have actually been married for four years." Everyone looked at the two of you in shock. Arthur fell off his chair. Lorenzo was trying not to look at anyone while stuffing bread into his mouth. Pascale turned to him. "You knew about this!" she exclaimed. As Pierre slowly turned his back to the table, Kika pinched him. Pascale looked at Pierre this time. "You too?!" she asked in disbelief.

"We were the only ones who didn't know!" Of course, though they were shocked at first, they were actually very happy. Both approached Pascale, hugged her, kissed her, and tried to win her heart. Pascale still kept telling you that they were going to have a beautiful wedding, then she smiled at the two of you.