#but! i think he has a deep respect for him too

[always---wrong]

One of my favorite scenes from season 1

Gi-hun! Do you know why your life is so pathetic? Because you ask the dumbest questions even in this situation. Constantly minding other people's business with that pea brain of yours, not knowing your ass from your elbow.

[ateezscupid]

─── FEB FILTH FEST: I Wanna Be Yours - AGE GAP ♡

SUMMARY / You started to develop a crush on your college professor, but had to distance yourself from him when it turned into more than a silly "crush."

warnings ✩ SMUT, FLUFF, DOM/SUB dynamics, ANGST in the beginning, older!san (35), younger!reader (24), age gap, cliche student x teacher trope, soft dom!san, sub!reader, unprotected sex, vanilla vanilla vanilla, public sex? (nobody sees them but they're in a library), oral (f), praise, size kink, san is basically a gentle giant

word count ✩ 3,89k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @bbdeongi @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension @kitten4sannie @faeriehwas @lustfxq @ashistrashhhhhh @hwallazia

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

"Y/N? You're my highest ranking student. Do you know the answer?" San's voice cut through the dense silence of the classroom, his gaze landing on you. You felt your cheeks redden as all eyes turned to you. The intensity of his stare made your heart race, and you realized you hadn't heard the question. Panic set in, but you took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

"Um," you blink and sit up straight. "I-I wasn't--I wasn't paying attention." The words tumble out, and you can feel the heat spread from your cheeks to your neck. San's gaze lingers for a moment before he nods and moves on to the next student. You sigh with relief, dropping your eyes to your notebook.

You were only in your 20s, while San was well into his 30s so close to being considered middle aged. Even though, some people consider 35 middle aged, so it honestly didn't matter to you.

Every time you would do as little as fantasize having a life with him, you knew it would never happen. Why would he even date someone that much younger than him? And, even if by some miracle he did, you were his student. It was wrong, unprofessional, and you weren't ready for any rumors to start flying. Plus, he had his career to think about, and you had your future. You had to maintain a respectful distance.

So, one random day, you decided to distance yourself from him and you went as far as to drop out of his class. You switched your major, hoping that would help ease the ache in your heart, but it didn't. San's influence lingered everywhere, in the corridors where you heard his laugh echo, in the library where you had studied together, in the cafeteria where you had shared a table, and even in the quiet solitude of your dorm room where you had dreamed of a life beyond the confines of academia.

And here you were, eating by yourself in the empty library café, surrounded by the ghosts of your past happiness. The scent of stale coffee and dusty books filled your nose, a stark contrast to the fresh scent of San's aftershave that had once made your heart flutter. You pushed the textbook away, unable to focus on the words that blurred before your eyes.

"Y/N?" San's voice called out from behind you, and your heart skipped a beat. You hadn't seen him since the day you dropped his class, and now here he was, standing in the library café, looking more handsome than ever in his tweed jacket and glasses.

"P-Professor-?" you stutter, your voice shaking slightly. You swivel in your chair, trying to compose yourself, but your heart won't cooperate.

"I've been meaning to talk to you but it feels like you're…avoiding me?" San's brow furrowed with genuine concern. His eyes searched yours, looking for an explanation. You felt your throat tighten, unsure of what to say. The truth felt too raw, too embarrassing to admit.

"It's just…I needed to focus on my studies, Professor," you managed to say, hoping the lie wasn't too transparent. "Switching majors has been a bit overwhelming."

"Then why not stay with me?" San asked, his voice gentle but firm. "You had a knack for my class, and I was looking forward to seeing how far you'd go."

"I-It was something personal…" you murmured, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but you knew you had to protect him and yourself from the mess your feelings could create. San took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

He sits across from you, his eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of confusion. "Is everything okay?" he asks, his voice laced with care. You nod, trying to keep your composure, but his closeness is too much to handle. You can feel the warmth emanating from his body, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"I can't say, it's…" You stop mid-sentence, the words lodging in your throat. San's eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might see the truth. But instead, he offered a small, understanding smile.

"You can tell me anything." San's hand reached out and placed itself gently on top of yours, his thumb tracing comforting circles. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you had to resist the urge to pull away.

"…I-It's you." The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you felt your cheeks flush even hotter.

San's hand stilled on yours, and he looked surprised, then a soft smile spread across his face. "What do you mean, 'it's me'?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I mean… I had a crush on you," you blurted out, feeling your heart pound in your chest. The words hung in the air like a confession in a quiet church, and you waited for his reaction, bracing yourself for the worst. "Well, I thought it was a crush until it got…worse."

San's expression grew serious, his smile fading slightly. He removed his hand from yours and leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Worse?" he repeated.

"I know it's inappropriate and wrong," you rushed to explain, your voice barely a whisper. "But I couldn't help it. I had to get away, so I switched majors. I'm sorry if I disappointed you or made things awkward."

San leaned in, his eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, the world around you faded into the background. "Y/N, it's not awkward. It's…unexpected," he said, his voice filled with a hint of something you hadn't heard before—vulnerability. "But it's not unwelcome."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, and you felt your eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

San took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. "I mean that I've noticed the way you look at me, the way you hang on my every word. And I've felt something too." His voice was low, almost a murmur, as if he was sharing a secret.

The confession hit you like a sledgehammer, leaving you momentarily speechless. You stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. Could it be possible that he felt the same way?

"I've noticed it too, Y/N," San continued, his voice soft and measured. "But I never acted on it because I knew it would be wrong. I've always respected my students' boundaries, and I respect you more than anyone."

"San, please." You whispered his name, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. "I don't care if I'm your student."

He leaned back again, his gaze dropping to the table. "But I do." His voice was firm, yet tinged with sadness. "It's not just about us. There's the university policy, our careers, and-"

"I've literally fantasized about you." The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you felt the air thicken around you. San's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression softened.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and careful. "You know I care about you. You're an incredible student, and as your teacher, it's my job to support and guide you. But these feelings… They're complicated."

"Do you or do you not like me back?" You blurted out, unable to contain your emotions any longer. The question hung in the air, a silent plea for him to confirm what you hoped was true.

San's gaze remained on you, his eyes searching yours. "I do," he admitted, his voice a mere whisper. "But we can't let it affect our professional relationship."

"Then it won't, but please. I don't care if I have to date you in private." You looked at him with hopeful eyes, desperate for some kind of connection.

San sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving yours. "You don't understand, Y/N. It's not that simple."

You sigh and nod, standing up and grabbing your bag. "I understand," you say, trying to sound firm despite the shakiness in your voice.

He reached across the table and grabbed your arm, his grip firm but gentle. "Please, sit." His eyes searched yours, and you felt the weight of his gaze. You sat back down, your heart racing.

You snatch your arm away and walk around the table so you were face-to-face with him, looking into his eyes. "You don't have to say it," you whispered, your voice shaking with emotion. "Y-You want to stay professional so if all I need to do is stay away from you then I will-"

You were interrupted by San's hand, which he placed on your cheek and before you knew it, he was kissing you. It was a gentle kiss, but filled with so much passion and longing that it stole your breath away. Your eyes closed instinctively, and you melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck. The world outside the library faded into a distant memory, and for a moment, all that mattered was the feeling of his lips against yours.

He pulled away for only a moment, his eyes searching your face, looking for permission to continue. You nodded, your eyes brimming with unshed tears of joy. San leaned back in, his lips meeting yours again in a kiss that spoke of a longing that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

The kiss grew more intense, and you felt your knees tremble. It was everything you had ever dreamed of, and the reality was so much better than any fantasy. His hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and you felt the warmth of his body against yours. The scent of his cologne, something you had secretly come to adore, filled your senses, and you knew you never wanted to be anywhere else.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling his hands slide down to your waist as the kiss deepened. His fingers traced the curves of your body, sending sparks of pleasure through every nerve. San's eyes searched yours, and you knew he was just as lost in the moment as you were.

"Sir," you murmured, your voice muffled by his shirt. "W-We're still in the library-"

"And it's empty, right? No one's around," San murmured against your lips, his breath warm and comforting. He took another step closer, his body now pressed against yours, leaving no room for doubt or fear. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest so hard it felt like it might just burst.

He lifted you up without effort, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and carried you over to a quiet, secluded corner of the library. The soft cushions of an old armchair were a welcome relief as he set you down, his hands never leaving your body. San's gaze was filled with desire, yet tinged with caution.

He started kissing your neck, his hands moving down your body before grabbing your skirt and lifting it. You felt the cold chair against your bare skin and shivered from the excitement. You didn't know what you were doing, but you knew you wanted him.

San's hand slid up your thigh, his thumb brushing against the lace of your panties. You gasped, your eyes snapping open. The reality of the situation hit you like a cold shower. "W-What are we doing?" You whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled back, his gaze searching yours. "I couldn't help myself. If we do this," he said, his voice hoarse with desire, "we can't take it back."

You bit your bottom lip, contemplating his words. Your mind raced with the consequences, but your body craved his touch. "I know," you murmured, nodding slightly. "But I don't want to take it back."

San studied your face, his eyes filled with a mix of want and hesitation. Finally, with a low groan, he leaned in and claimed your mouth again, his hand moving to cup your breast through your shirt. You arched into the touch, a soft moan escaping you. His fingers deftly unhooked your bra, and his hand moved to caress the soft skin, his thumb flicking over your nipple. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt a warm wetness spread between your legs.

You reached your hand as far as you could, tugging at his belt and the buttons of his pants. San's hand moved from your waist to your wrist, stopping you gently. He pulled away from the kiss, his breath ragged. "Let me."

He knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushed your skirt higher and slid your panties aside. His touch was featherlight, sending waves of pleasure through your body as he kissed and licked at your inner thighs. You whimpered, the anticipation driving you wild.

Finally, his mouth found your center, and you gasped as he took you in. San's tongue danced over your sensitive flesh, tasting and teasing you until you thought you would lose your mind. Your hands gripped the armrests of the chair, knuckles white from the effort of not pushing him away.

"O-Oh my god, San-" you breathed his name, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. You felt your core clench around nothing, and the sensation was like nothing you had ever experienced before. His movements grew more deliberate, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

His hands caressing your thighs, his eyes remained locked on yours, watching the play of emotions across your face as he worked his magic. You squirmed, unable to hold back the moans that bubbled up from deep within your chest. The warmth of his breath and the flick of his tongue against your most sensitive spot had you teetering on the edge of a cliff, desperately craving release.

"Mmmh!" you gasped as San's tongue worked its way inside of you, stroking you with the perfect amount of pressure and speed. Your legs tightened around him, and you threw your head back, unable to control the sounds escaping your mouth. The pleasure was unlike anything you had ever felt, and you knew you were close to climaxing.

"I-I'm close," you tug at his hair, making sure to avoid his glasses. "Right there, fuck!" You didn't know how to be quiet, the pleasure was too intense. San's eyes flashed with something primal and he groaned against your pussy, the vibrations making you shiver.

With a final flick of his tongue and a suck on your clit, you felt your orgasm crash over you like a wave, your body convulsing as you rode the peak. You clung to the chair, your nails digging into the fabric as the pleasure washed over you in waves. San didn't stop, instead, he kept licking and kissing until you were panting and begging for mercy.

"Please," you gasped, your voice hoarse. "I can't-"

"One more," San murmured, his eyes dark with desire as he slid a finger inside of you, curling it in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head. The sensation was exquisite, and you could feel yourself climbing again, your muscles tightening around his digit. He watched you, his eyes hooded and focused, as he brought you closer to the brink once more.

With a final, deep thrust of his finger, you came again, your body shaking and quivering as the orgasm ripped through you. San sat back on his haunches, his face flushed with arousal as he took in the sight of you, sprawled out on the chair, panting and glowing.

"W-Where'd you learn to do-" you pause, pointing below. "…That…"

San's eyes crinkled at the corners with a hint of amusement. "Sweetie, I'm ten years older than you." he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a fresh wave of heat through your core. "I've had time to learn a few things." He leaned in, kissing you gently before sitting up.

He undoes his tie with swift, practiced movements, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with need. You feel your heart race faster, his words a sweet aphrodisiac.

"Forget what I said earlier about staying professional." he almost growled, fiddling with his belt now. "I could give you everything you need."

You nodded, feeling your own need pulsing through your veins. "But we should be quick," you managed to say, though your voice was thick with lust. "Someone could come in."

"Then you're going to have to stay quiet," San warned with a smoldering look, his eyes dark with desire. He stood up, his pants now unbuttoned, revealing his erection that strained against the fabric of his boxers. You felt your mouth go dry as you stared at him, unable to believe that this was really happening.

He pushed his boxers down just enough for his cock to come out, and you felt your mouth water at the sight of him. San was well endowed, and the way his cock stood proudly before you was incredibly arousing. He stepped closer, and you reached out tentatively to touch him.

Your hand wrapped around his shaft, and he sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're so big," you murmured, your voice filled with wonder. "And so…strong."

San's hand covered yours, guiding you in a gentle stroking motion. "Yeah," he said, his voice strained. "But I'll be gentle."

You nodded, feeling a thrill of excitement at his words. He stepped closer, his cock now brushing against your stomach, leaving a trail of wetness. He moves it toward your entrance, and you grip the armrests of the chair tightly, bracing yourself.

"Ready?" San asked, his voice a low growl. You nodded, unable to speak as he pushed into you slowly, filling you up inch by inch. You felt a slight burn, but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming feeling of fullness. He was so much larger than anyone you've been with before, and it was a bit terrifying but mostly exhilarating.

He paused, giving you a moment to adjust before pulling out slightly and pushing back in. You let out a soft whimper, and he leaned in to kiss you again, his hand moving to cup your cheek. The gentle gesture helped to ease the tension in your body, and you started to relax into the sensation.

"You feel amazing." San whispered against your lips, his eyes searching yours as he began to move his hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You nodded, biting your bottom lip to keep from crying out as he filled you completely. His movements grew stronger, each thrust sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body.

The sound of the chair creaking under the weight of your passion filled the quiet library, the only other noise the muffled sounds of your breathing and the occasional soft whine that slipped from your mouth. San's grip on your hips tightened, his pace increasing as he lost himself in the moment.

"F-Fuck-" you try your best to stay quiet, but it's getting increasingly difficult as San's hips piston into you. The chair squeaks underneath you, and the thought of getting caught is almost too much to handle. You lean back, arching your back, giving him deeper access. San's eyes never leave yours, his strokes becoming more and more demanding as he chases his own release.

He leaned forward, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your nipples. The added sensation was too much, and you bit back a moan as your orgasm began to build once more. San's eyes widened at the sight of you, lost in pleasure, and he picked up the pace, his strokes becoming more urgent.

"Fuck, I love you," you murmur, the words slipping out unbidden. San's eyes flash with something akin to surprise, and then his expression softens.

"I love you too, Y/N," he says, his voice thick with emotion. His thrusts become more urgent, his eyes never leaving yours as he drives you closer to the edge. You feel your body tightening around him, and you know you're about to come again.

"I-I can't-" you whimpered, your voice strained as your second orgasm built up. "Too much-" San's eyes never left yours, his movements becoming more erratic as he felt your muscles tighten around him. You felt his cock swell inside you, and he groaned against your neck.

With one final, deep thrust, San came, his warmth filling you completely. He stilled, his breaths coming out in harsh gasps. You felt your own climax peak and crash over you, your body quivering in his arms. For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the beating of your hearts.

San leaned in and kissed you again, this time more tenderly. "I'm sorry," he murmured against your lips. "I didn't mean to go that far. I really just…couldn't help myself."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "It's okay," you whispered, your voice still shaky. "I didn't either."

"You're, uh, on birth control right?" San's voice was filled with concern, breaking the momentary silence.

The reality of the situation washed over you, and you nodded. "Yes, I am."

San let out a sigh of relief, his body relaxing slightly as he pulled out of you. You felt the warmth of him leave you and immediately missed the connection. He bent down and kissed you softly before helping you to stand, adjusting your clothing with gentle hands.

"You, um, really love me?" San's voice was a mix of shock and hope. He held you at arm's length, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. The question was a knife to your heart, but you couldn't lie, not now.

"Yeah," you whispered, the truth finally out in the open. "I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't anymore."

San's eyes searched yours for a moment before he sighed happily. "You're adorable." He kissed you again, a smile playing on his lips. "But we have to be careful." He pulled away, looking around the library, reminding you of the precarious situation you were in.

"Whatever, old guy." You playfully punched his arm, trying to lighten the mood. San chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

[hisfavegirl]

Hey girl, I love your HOTD reactions sm! What about like how they would react if you did a VS or Skims collab for a Valentine’s day set or something??

HOTD Characters Reaction To Your Campaign With Skims

Aegon was in the middle of scrolling through his phone, lazily lounging on the couch when his screen suddenly froze.

The SKIMS Valentine’s Day campaign.

Your face. Your body. Draped in lingerie so sheer it might as well be a second skin. Red silk, lace, curves accentuated perfectly—a vision of absolute sin. The shot that made his blood boil the most?

You, on a plush pink bed, biting your lip, fingers tangled in your hair—wearing nothing but a dangerously tiny bra and lace garters. The caption?

“Indulge yourself this Valentine’s Day. ❤️ #SKIMSLove”

The likes and comments were flooding in, men thirsting over you in real-time:

“THIS is what I want for Valentine’s Day.”

“Bro, she’s actually unreal.”

“Forget flowers, I’m sending divorce papers to my wife.”

“I just know her man is LOSING HIS MIND.”

Yeah. He was.

Aegon shot up, phone clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. His jaw? Tight. His eyes? Dark. His entire body radiated possessiveness, his breath coming out in ragged bursts.

His first instinct? Call you. Right. Now. But then he thought—No. No, you fucking knew what you were doing. Posting this without telling him? Letting the entire world drool over you while he was just supposed to sit there and take it?

His next move? Damage control.

The internet absolutely lost its mind.

The moment Aegon dropped the video on his Instagram story, everything went insane.

The clip was short but devastating—you, bent over his bed, skin flushed, your bare back marked with his claim, trembling, moaning his name like a prayer, wrecked beyond comprehension. Aegon’s hand came into view, gripping your waist, his voice low and smug, whispering,

“Didn’t think I’d let that SKIMS stunt slide, did you, baby?”

The internet? BROKE.

Twitter/X Exploded:

“THIS MAN JUST ENDED THE ENTIRE MALE POPULATION WTF”

“Aegon Targaryen is the pettiest, most unhinged man alive and I respect it.”

“She posted SKIMS, he posted HER. This is WAR.”

“HOW is this allowed on Instagram? WHO reported it? WHOEVER YOU ARE, WE FIGHT AT DAWN.”

“Bro turned Valentine’s Day into a public execution.”

Instagram Comments on His Last Post:

“Sir. Some of us are SINGLE.”

“That’s it. I’m deleting my boyfriend.”

“Y’all seeing her LEGS SHAKING??? Nah this man is different.”

“I’m not okay. I will never be okay.”

“We were thirsting over her SKIMS shoot and Aegon said ‘bet.’”

TikTok Reactions:

POV edits of Aegon with captions like “When your man reminds the world who you belong to 😵‍💫🔥”

Audio clips of “I want what they have” over slow-mo replays of the video

Girls fake crying into the camera with captions like “Me realizing I’ll never be this girl”

Reddit Threads:

r/popculturegossip

“Aegon Targaryen just HARD LAUNCHED his revenge arc, and I’ve never felt so single.”

“This is the most unhinged flex of all time, and I need therapy.”

“So we all agree he’s the pettiest man alive, right?"

Instagram eventually took the video down—but it was too late. Screenshots, edits, and memes had already flooded the internet. Aegon had won the war, and the internet was never recovering.

The second Aemond saw the photos—you, draped in delicate lace, barely covered, staring into the camera with that knowing, sultry look—his jaw clenched so tight it could snap.

His phone nearly cracked in his grip as he scrolled through the thousands of comments under the post:

“Mother is mothering.”

“Aemond is officially the luckiest man alive.”

“The male species has been defeated. We are but peasants.”

“You’re telling me this woman goes home to HIM??? Jail.”

A deep, dark chuckle left his lips—but it wasn’t amusement. It was pure, seething possession.

His eye twitched, his breathing heavy as he saw the likes flooding in—from men. From verified blue checks. From random nobodies who had no business looking at you like that.

“The fuck is this, darling?” His voice was deadly calm, but the way he stalked toward you, phone in hand, told you everything.

“A campaign.” You blinked at him, innocent. “For SKIMS.”

“A fucking campaign?” He scoffed, throwing his phone onto the table as he cornered you. “So that’s what we’re doing now? Letting every goddamn man on the internet see what’s MINE?”

He was pissed. Jealous. Possessive. His fingers traced up your arm, then gripped your jaw, tilting your face up to him.

“Tell me, did you enjoy it?” His voice dropped lower, dangerously soft. “Did you like having them all drooling over you?”

His eye burned into you, jaw tight as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Because now you’re going to remind them who you belong to.”

Aemond never lost control—but tonight? You were in for it.

The second Aemond posted the video, the internet broke.

It wasn’t just a thirst trap. It was a declaration. A warning. A final nail in the coffin for every man who thought they had a chance.

The clip was grainy, filmed through the dim light of his bedroom—his signature aesthetic. You were wrecked on his bed, wrists bound, body shaking, barely able to form a word except his name—moaned like a prayer, like a confession.

And Aemond? His signature smirk could be heard in his voice when he murmured:

“This is what happens when you forget who you belong to.”

Instagram Exploded :

“IS THIS EVEN ALLOWED???”

“So we’re just posting full-course MEALS now????”

“The way she’s literally trembling… yeah, I lost.”

"‘This is what happens when you forget who you belong to’ BRO CAN WE BREATHE???”

“The SKIMS campaign was for US. This? This was for HIM.”

“Aemond said, ‘You wanna model lingerie? Fine. Now model MY BED.’”

“The way she’s just a mess for him… If my man doesn’t love me like this, I DON’T WANT IT.”

Within minutes, Twitter (X) was on fire.

#AemondTargaryen

#SheBelongsToHim

#TiedUpForAemond

#OneEyedKing

Trending. Everywhere.

TWITTER/X MELTDOWN:

“I HAVEN’T EVEN RECOVERED FROM HER SKIMS SHOOT AND NOW THIS????”

“This man really said ‘revenge’ and ENDED US ALL.”

"Aemond Targaryen is a MENACE. I hate him. (I’m lying. I love him.)”

“THIS IS THE MOST POSSESSIVE, FILTHY, UNHINGED, HOTTEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN. HELP ME.”

TIKTOK COMMENTS UNDER THE VIDEO:

Pinned by Aemond Targaryen : “Revenge is sweet, baby."

“My FBI agent just logged out. This is TOO MUCH.”

“This is NOT just a revenge post—THIS IS A WARNING.”

“Imagine posting a SKIMS campaign and your man drops THIS as a response… She WINS.”

“Her Skims photos were for US. Aemond’s revenge was for HIM.”

Meanwhile, Aemond? He just sat back, smirking at his phone as he watched the world come to terms with what they already knew.

You were his. And there was no escaping it.

Jace never had an issue with you modeling. Until now.

He was in a meeting when his phone started blowing up. At first, he ignored it—until Aegon sent him a link with nothing but:

“LMAO. You good, bro?”

Frowning, Jace clicked.

And there you were.

Draped in red lace. Skin glowing. Eyes hooded. Posing in a way that had every man on the planet foaming at the mouth. The SKIMS Valentine’s campaign had dropped, and you were the star.

The moment he saw the lingerie—saw the way your body looked in it—his jaw locked so tight it could crack.

And then he saw the comments.

“I just KNOW Jace is punching the air rn.”

“She’s too fine. If he won’t wife her, I WILL.”

“Jace, be so serious… How does it feel to lose?”

“Why does she look single in these photos???”

“Jace, if you fumble, I’m RIGHT HERE.”

The moment the meeting ended, Jace stormed out of the office, grabbing his phone and calling you immediately.

You picked up, cheerful—which only pissed him off more.

“You having fun?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You giggled. “Jacey, baby, did you see the campaign?”

“Oh, I saw it. So did the rest of the fucking world.”

You hummed, unbothered. “And?”

Jace ran a hand through his curls, breathing hard. He could see the photos in his mind—how every man was lusting over you.

His girl.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly what you were doing.

“And,” he growled, “you better be home when I get there.”

“Why?” you teased, voice all sweetness and sin.

Jace let out a dark chuckle. “So I can remind you who the fuck you belong to.”

One minute, people were thirsting over your SKIMS campaign, and the next?

Jace dropped a bomb.

A video.

A very explicit video.

You, bare, ruined, trembling on his bed. Voice completely gone. Every breath ragged. Body shaking violently. Jace’s hand on your ass, smacking every time you tried to move away. His voice? Dark. Dangerous. Possessive.

“Was it worth it, baby? Hm? Letting the whole world see you like that? Look at you now—can’t even talk, can’t even move. Next time you wanna tease me, remember who the fuck you belong to.”

And his caption? Head Shot.

“Since y’all were so thirsty for her SKIMS campaign, here’s what happened after. Enjoy.”

Instagram Comments :

“JACE, WTF IS THIS? I CAN’T BREATHE.”

“He saw the SKIMS campaign and said ‘bet.’”

“NAH, THIS IS BIBLICAL. HER VOICE? GONE. BODY? FINISHED. JACE?? LAUGHING IN HER EAR?”

“This man took it PERSONAL LMFAO.”

“I ain’t never seen a man HUMBLED this fast 😭”

“THE WAY HE’S WHISPERING TO HER AND HIS HAND?? Y’ALL. I NEED HOLY WATER.”

“Her body shaking and his palm smacking down… Yeah. Yeah. That’s a man.”

“Jace saw the SKIMS campaign and said ‘MY GIRL. MINE.’”

“You just KNOW he was PISSED when he saw those lingerie pics 😭.”

“She went from SKIMS model to Jace’s favorite meal real fast.”

“THE WHOLE VIDEO IS JUST HIM RUINING HER LIFE AND HER LETTING HIM 😭.”

“I need everyone involved in this video ARRESTED.”

“Bro uploaded this like a warning. Like, ‘you thought you were single in those photos? Here’s your reminder.’”

“HE REALLY POSTED THIS AS REVENGE FOR SKIMS. THIS IS A POWER MOVE.”



TWITTER REACTIONS : Trending Topics:

#JaceVelaryon

#JusticeForHerVoice

#SKIMSRevenge

#IsSheAlive??

Comments :

“Jace is actually insane for posting this. HER BODY IS SHAKING. HER VOICE IS GONE. AND HE’S JUST THERE, WHISPERING AND LAUGHING??? HELLO???”

“You KNOW he was mad about SKIMS cause why is this video a whole RESPONSE??? 😭”

“If my man doesn’t ruin me like this after I piss him off, I don’t want him.”

“Jace: ‘You wanna do a lingerie campaign and let men thirst over you? Cool. But they’re gonna watch you break for ME.’”

“Jace really saw those SKIMS pics, picked up his phone, and said: ‘hold my beer.’”

“THAT MAN POSTED A WHOLE MOVIE. AMAZON PRIME COULD NEVER."

TIKTOK REACTIONS: Viral TikTok Caption

“POV: Jace Velaryon took his SKIMS revenge to another level and now we’re all screaming, crying, throwing up.”

Sound: Cardi B screaming “WHAT WAS THE REASON?!”

“Y’all, Jace didn’t just claim his girl. He PLANTED HIS FLAG.”

“Her legs shaking and him laughing about it…? Yeah. I need therapy.”

“Jace’s hand on her ass, the way she arched, the way he smacked down??? I HAVE NEVER KNOWN PEACE.”

FINAL VERDICT:

The internet is absolutely UNWELL. Jace won. You? Finished. The SKIMS campaign? Irrelevant.

The moment Daemon sees the SKIMS campaign, his entire demeanor shifts. He had been lounging in his office, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone—until your face, your body, wrapped in delicate lace, fills his screen. His jaw clenches, his grip on the phone tightening as he watches you pose effortlessly, seductive and stunning, every inch of you made to be worshipped.

And so were the thousands of comments under the post.

“She’s an angel AND a sin. How is that fair?”

“I need her. No, actually, I’ll die without her.”

“Whoever her man is, I hope he knows he lost her to the world today.”

Daemon lets out a dark chuckle, but there’s nothing amused about it. His blood is boiling, his possessiveness clawing at his insides. Lost you to the world? They had no idea who they were talking about.

With a sharp inhale, he slams his phone down on the desk and gets up, pacing the room. His mind races. He knows you love teasing him, knows you like pushing boundaries—but this? This was a direct challenge. A test. And Daemon Targaryen does not lose.

Grabbing his car keys, he heads straight for you. No calls. No texts. You knew what you had done. Now? Now, you’d deal with the consequences.

The internet exploded within minutes of Daemon’s post.

No caption. No explanation. Just you, completely wrecked—your expression dazed, mouth parted as soft whimpers left your lips. His hand cradled your face, slapping your cheek with a teasing, mocking rhythm. And though his other hand wasn’t in frame, the wetness sounds that filled the video left no room for imagination.

Twitter/X:

“WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST WATCH???”

“Daemon just said ‘she’s MINE’ without saying a single damn word.”

“This man saw the SKIMS shoot and said ‘bet’ 😭”

“HELP ME I CAN’T BREATHE WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE SOUNDS???”

Instagram Comments:

“Okay but the way she looks at him?? That’s not just lust, that’s ruin.”

“He posted this just to remind everyone he owns her and honestly? It worked.”

“WHO ALLOWED THIS TO BE ON MY FEED??? I have work in the morning.”

“I feel like I just saw something I shouldn’t have… and yet I can’t stop watching.”

TikTok Reactions:

Edits of the SKIMS shoot transitioning to Daemon’s video with captions like:

“She teased him, and he answered.”

“SKIMS said ‘sexy’—Daemon said ‘MINE’.”

Compilation of reactions to the sound alone, with people throwing their phones across the room or covering their faces in shock.

Reddit Threads:

“Daemon Targaryen just changed the internet forever.”

“The SKIMS campaign was a declaration. Daemon’s video? A WAR CRIME.”

“How do we recover from this? WE DON’T.”

While some were losing their minds over the intensity, others were spiraling at the undeniable claim staked in that video. Daemon wanted the world to know—you were his, and no amount of cameras or campaigns would ever change that.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @ashblooddragons @callsignwidow

Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for letting me using your dividers ❤️‍🩹

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

chat what are we thinking about readers first smoke with Jay and she gets too high and he has to take care of her 😜 (thank yew queen)

Press F in the chat to pay respects for reader

(hello my name is teeth and I’m something of a stoner. But only a little.)

swearing, gn reader (no pronouns used) no use of y/n

————

“I think this is a bad idea.”

“What?” You look up from the table where Jason’s rolling you a joint. “Why?”

“You’ve never smoked before.” As if he’s convincing himself more than you, Jason takes his hands off the rolling paper and folds them across his chest, looking at you seriously.

“Jason, are you serious? You smoke all the time, it’s fine!”

“I kill people all the time,” he shoots back, and you roll your eyes.

“You have to stop bringing that up, it’s not the trump card you think it is.” You gesture at the table. “Come on, keep going.” Jason raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah, I’m giving you an order. Roll me a fat one.”

He bursts out laughing, covering his mouth so he doesn’t scatter the weed on the table. “Baby, I am rolling you the skinniest, most weenie-ass joint you’ve ever seen in your life.”

You start to argue, but then reconsider. Seeing your face, he adds: “this joint’ll touch your lips and you’ll keel over, high as a kite.”

“Shut up, I’m not that much of a lightweight.”

“Whatever you say, princess.” He finishes rolling with a flourish, handing it to you. “Alright, baby, this is where rubber meets road.”

You eye it, almost fearfully. “It’ll be fine?” You’ve heard enough stories of people having panic attacks to be nervous.

His face softens. “Yeah, doll, it’ll be fine. I’ll be here to make sure.”

“Okay.” You take it from him and stand up, moving toward your window. “Can we do it on the fire escape?”

Jason cocks a glance at your window. “Yeah, wait a second.” He moves your plant and candle off the windowsill and drags a chair to help you climb out.

“I’m not made of glass, Jay,” you say reproachfully.

“I know, I know.” He takes the joint from you and climbs outside, turning back to offer you a hand. “Just wanna make sure you don’t trip on your way back in.”

You take his hand and follow him outside. It’s late at night, almost two in the morning, and the ground seems very far away from your apartment on the tenth floor. There are people milling about, but you feel separate from them, floating in space high above. The night air has you suspended.

Making yourself comfortable in the close space, you lean against the brick of your building’s wall and hug your knees to your chest. Jason sits beside you, and you pluck the joint from his fingers, sticking it in your mouth. You look around, realizing you forgot a lighter.

Jason chuckles at you, reaching into his pocket for his carton of cigarettes and pulling out his lighter. “Here, sweetheart.” You try to take it out of his hand, but he holds it out of your reach. “Uh, fair warning. It’s going to hurt.”

“Well, yeah, I’ve heard that you, like, cough your brains out.”

“Yeah, okay. It feels like shit. Just so you know.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I know, relax.”

He smiles softly at you, holding up the lighter and clicking the flame alight. You hold up the joint to it, but he stops you. “Here, put it in your mouth and breathe in, that’s what gets it going.”

You nod, doing as he says. Jason holds the lighter to the joint, eyeing you carefully. You hold his gaze and take a deep, deliberate inhale.

Dust fills your lungs, and you rip the joint from your mouth as you cough loud enough to wake the dead.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Jason rubs your back as you hack up a lung, waiting for the feeling to go away.

“I’m okay,” you wheeze, and he smiles at you, disbelieving look on his face. “I’m okay. Gimme, I want another pull.”

He hands the joint back to you cautiously, and you raise it shakily to your lips. You take another hit and start coughing all over again, but it’s not as bad this time around. Eyes watering, you pull for a third time and exhale, blowing out the smoke so that it drifts over your heads.

You take a break, drawing in breaths of clean air. “Will you have some?”

“Naw, sweetheart,” he shakes his head. “Don’t want both of us to be stupid, what if something happens?”

You let out a wet cough. “Classic Jay,” you smile at him.

He grins back. “Here, I’ll have one of my own, keep you company.” Jason pulls out one of his cigarettes and lights it, taking an easy drag. You do another hit, then two. Jason watches you carefully. After your third, he puts a hand on your wrist.

“Okay, doll. Cuttin’ you off. That’ll be enough to get a you high.”

“Yeah, okay.” You let him gently put the joint out on the metal of the fire escape and lay your head against his shoulder.

The minutes tick on as you wait to feel your buzz. You watch Jason’s cigarette smoke curl up to the sky. After a while you realize you’ve been staring, slack jawed, for what feels like forever. The night has taken on a weird film, bubbling happily at the edges.

“Whoa.”

“Yeah?” You tip your head back to see Jason glancing down at you. “You feelin’ it?”

You stare at him blankly, a slow smile growing on your face.

“Oh, yeah.” He snickers, hugs you tighter to his side. “You’re zonked.”

“Mmh.” You look around again, taking in the night around you. Every small movement of your head or eyes takes you forever, like you’re shoving boulders out of the way as you get a better glance. You feel like all your energy has been pulled to the crown of your head, making it wobble on your shoulders.

“You feel good?” Jason’s words float down to you.

You nod, realizing your lips are still stretched in a wide smile.

“Good.”

You lean on him for what feels like hours. When Jason checks in with you again, you frown at him. The flimsy feeling hasn’t gone away, and you worry you’re stuck in it.

“Feels so much. Will it go away?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, it will. C’mon, let’s go inside.” He directs you through the window, and you climb inside, flopping onto the floor.

“You want a snack?” Jason asks.

Your eyes open wide. “Yes,” you answer fervently.

“Thought you might.” Jason looks at you fondly. “What do you want?”

You think for a moment. “Chip.”

He laughs at you. “Yeah, okay, chip comin’ right up.” Jason walks away, and you stare at the ceiling. A bag of chips appears in front of your face.

“Chip.” You rip it open and pop one in your mouth, but chewing is harder than you thought. “Ugh. My mouth is so dry.”

“Yeah, that happens.” Jason falls onto the couch, and hauls you up next to him. “Let’s watch something.” Jason clicks on the TV. “Anything you want to see?”

You scrunch up your nose. “Finding Nemo.”

Jason laughs. “Alright. Finding Nemo.”

He puts it on and you burrow into his side. Focusing on the movie makes you feel better, and soon, you’re nodding off.

“Hmm, that was fun,” you sigh right before you pass out. “Thanks, Jay.”

He gives you a kiss on the head. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

———

Nothing sexier than saying “will you roll me a joint?” to a hot man, and then having him roll you a joint

Also I don’t think Jason would smoke with you unfortunately, I think he’d be too nervous that something would happen, like someone would connect the dots between you and red hood and then try and hurt you while he was schlonked out

Didn’t focus too much on reader being too high bc the one time I greened out was Not Pleasant. But if y’all really want me to maybe I’ll write about it…….

[xi4oyan]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Teacher Tigress (=මᆽම=)Part 1 Part 2

: ̗̀➛ MK

: ̗̀➛ He tries to act normal around you, but it's obvious he's nervous. You have this intense aura that makes him feel like any wrong move could result in a punch (which… isn’t entirely wrong).

: ̗̀➛ “Are you like… stronger than Macaque?” “Do you want to find out firsthand?” “No, ma’am.”

: ̗̀➛ At first, he tries to break the ice with jokes and banter… You don’t laugh. That hurts his pride a little.

: ̗̀➛ He realizes that the only way to earn your respect is through dedication to training. So, for the first time, he stops talking and actually focuses.

: ̗̀➛ When he finally manages to block one of your attacks, he gets so happy he yells, "I DID IT!" … And then you take him down in one swift move.

: ̗̀➛ After a while, he starts following you around like a puppy. He wants to hear your stories, learn your techniques, and understand how you became so incredible.

: ̗̀➛ One day, he casually asks, “Were you always this tough, or did something happen?” The look on your face makes him instantly regret the question.

: ̗̀➛ MK doesn’t know exactly what Wukong did, but he feels like it was something big. He tries to mediate, only to realize you don’t want mediation at all.

: ̗̀➛ He shivers a little when you call him by his full name in that warning tone.

: ̗̀➛ He starts seeing you as an older sister—one he respects a lot but is also slightly afraid of annoying.

: ̗̀➛ Mei

: ̗̀➛ Mei becomes completely obsessed with you the moment she meets you.

: ̗̀➛ “WAIT, WAIT, YOU’RE A REAL TIGRESS??”

: ̗̀➛ She has absolutely no fear of bombarding you with random questions. “Have you ever hunted anything? How does your bite compare to a shark’s?”

: ̗̀➛ After seeing you in action, she starts calling you “Sensei Tigress” and refuses to stop.

: ̗̀➛ She desperately wants to see a fight between you and Wukong. When she suggests it, both of you look away.

: ̗̀➛ “What? What?? What am I missing?!”

: ̗̀➛ You respect Mei’s energy, but sometimes she talks too much.

: ̗̀➛ When you finally praise one of her moves in training, she freaks out.

: ̗̀➛ You overhear Mei and MK whispering about your past once. Your ear twitches, and they freeze.

: ̗̀➛ She places mental bets on when you and Wukong will resolve this tension.

: ̗̀➛ She feels proud when you call her by her name without sighing first.

: ̗̀➛ Pigsy

Pigsy isn’t surprised when he meets you. He’s seen too much to be shocked anymore.

: ̗̀➛ “Ah. So, you’re a tigress. Big deal. Want some noodles?”

: ̗̀➛ He treats you with quiet kindness, no questions or judgment.

: ̗̀➛ You don’t usually accept gifts, but you accept his food. It’s the one offering you allow.

: ̗̀➛ He notices the tension between you and Wukong on the first day. But unlike the others, he doesn’t try to understand or ask.

: ̗̀➛ You respect that.

: ̗̀➛ “I don’t like people who talk too much.” “Then why are you surrounded by them?”

: ̗̀➛ He notices how your eyes look more tired when you think no one is watching.

: ̗̀➛ When he senses you’re too tense, he simply places a plate of food in front of you without saying anything.

: ̗̀➛ One day, he says, “If you ever want to talk about it, it doesn’t have to be now.” You never respond, but something in your posture relaxes slightly.

: ̗̀➛ He knows that, deep down, you’re just waiting for a reason to trust someone again.

: ̗̀➛ Sandy

: ̗̀➛ Sandy loves you from the moment he meets you.

: ̗̀➛ He doesn’t mind your silence. In fact, he enjoys it.

: ̗̀➛ You feel comfortable around him because he doesn’t fill the space with unnecessary words.

: ̗̀➛ His cat likes you, which makes you lower your guard a little faster than usual.

: ̗̀➛ He notices that you never truly relax. You’re always in a defensive stance, even when you seem at ease.

: ̗̀➛ He tries to teach you breathing techniques to ease your tension. You resist at first, but eventually, you try.

: ̗̀➛ “So… you and Wukong have a long history, huh?” You narrow your eyes, and he raises his hands. “No judgment.”

: ̗̀➛ He sees how Wukong watches you when he thinks no one is looking.

: ̗̀➛ He never pushes you to talk, but he makes it clear that if you need a safe space, he’s there.

: ̗̀➛ You appreciate that more than you can express.

: ̗̀➛ One day, he sets a cup of tea beside you and just sits there. No conversation, no expectations. Just silent company. You don’t admit it, but it makes you feel… better.

: ̗̀➛ Tang

: ̗̀➛ Tang has so many questions.

: ̗̀➛ “YOU WERE PART OF THE JOURNEY TO THE WEST???”

: ̗̀➛ He freaks out and starts listing all the stories about Wukong, trying to figure out where you might have been.

: ̗̀➛ You stay silent. This makes him even more curious.

: ̗̀➛ He quickly realizes that your issue with Wukong runs deep.

: ̗̀➛ He tries to bring up legends, but you don’t seem interested.

: ̗̀➛ He tries, tries, and tries again—until one day, you casually drop a small, insignificant piece of information. To him, it’s like winning the lottery.

: ̗̀➛ “A-ha! So, you really fought demons!”

: ̗̀➛ He respects your strength, but he wants to know more about your story.

: ̗̀➛ One day, he catches you looking at Wukong’s statue with a complicated expression. He pretends not to notice.

: ̗̀➛ You think he talks too much, but deep down, you get used to it.

: ̗̀➛ Macaque

: ̗̀➛ Macaque lives for the tension between you and Wukong.

: ̗̀➛ He can tell the moment he sees you that there’s a lot of unresolved history.

: ̗̀➛ “So… The Great Sage had a partner in the past?” “I was not his partner.”

: ̗̀➛ He teases Wukong about it every chance he gets.

: ̗̀➛ “You know, she has every right to hate you.” “SHUT UP, MACAQUE.”

: ̗̀➛ He tries to get details out of you, but you don’t take the bait.

: ̗̀➛ However, he knows Wukong hurt you somehow.

: ̗̀➛ “If I were you, I’d make him crawl a little more before forgiving him.”

: ̗̀➛ You roll your eyes but don’t respond.

: ̗̀➛ Deep down, he respects you. Maybe because, on some level, he understands your pain better than the others do.

: ̗̀➛ “When you want revenge… just call me.” You don’t answer. He smirks, because he knows you considered it.

: ̗̀➛ Sun Wukong

: ̗̀➛ WHAT CAN HE DO TO FIX THIS??? HE DOESN’T KNOW!!!

: ̗̀➛ You avoid eye contact. He avoids it too, but for the wrong reasons.

: ̗̀➛ Every short answer you give feels like a dagger to his chest.

: ̗̀➛ He tries to act casual, crack jokes, but it doesn’t work anymore.

: ̗̀➛ “Are you still mad about that?” The glare you give him is so cold that he nearly shrinks back.

: ̗̀➛ He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know how.

: ̗̀➛ Worse yet: he doesn’t know if he deserves forgiveness.

: ̗̀➛ For the first time in centuries, Sun Wukong is scared. Not of you. But of losing you forever.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . to be continued

[writingwisterias]

Omg!! Can u do a Chris Redfield x !readerfem and the reader is a BSAA nurse taking care of Chris when he comes back from a mission

(need them biceps ughhhggnmhjhagh)

Please and thank uuu ;) (sorry if my idea is boring lol pls forgive)

Hi!!

I am incredibly sorry this is so late, I wanted to work on a few of my longer fic ideas before filtering through my requests!! I hope you enjoy 😘

Warnings: Injury, Fluff, Comfort,

Fem!Reader

Chris was always an interesting one, he was quiet kept to himself nowadays unless he was with you. You bought some sense of comfort he seemed to lack in his life, you office was warm and welcoming. It was probably to do with the heater you kept by your feet under the desk. Always claiming that base was cold despite the numerous other layers that covered you. You were sweet - something stable consistent and most of all trustworthy. In the chaotic life he has always lived it was something that he craved and wished he could have.

You smiled at him sweetly as he entered the door, a bloodied bandage on one arm and the other carrying the usual apology coffee. "What have you done now?" You smiled at him guestering with a hand wave for him to sit next on the bed. He watched as you gathered the usual supplies, lining them up neatly on the tray next to the bed. The wound wasn't bad, just a stray bullet from a rookie who got spooked in a rocky situation. The usual but it could have been worse, the new wasn't his old one and never will be. China was a mess, the loss piled up too high for him.

Nothing could replace the team he lost, Piers and the others leaving a gap in his life he wasn't sure he could fill. "Just a stray bullet, nothing serious" he said. You lifted up the shirt, trying desperately to keep your cool as the gloves fingers examined the wound. Chris was attractive, there was no point in denying it. His smile and gruff voice was enough to make your brain go to mush. He was respectful unlike the other soldiers you had to deal. Chris never flirted, never pressed you with personal questions; it wasn't even until a few weeks ago that he started to talk to.

"Did the mission go alright though?" You asked him, you fingers barely wrapped around his arm as you held it still. Carefully swiping the disinfectant over it earning a few grumbled hisses from him. "It went as good as it could I guess, nothing terrible happened" He grumbled watching you carefully. You nodded, smiling briefly at him before moving to place the butterfly strips. "I tell you what went wrong"

Chris only raised an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

"A stray bullet damaged this gorgeous bicep. Which ever did it Rookie should be punished" You smiled so innocently after admitting it, keeping your features neutral to hide the growing embarrassment that wanted to seep its way out. Chris however was taken aback, a laugh threatened to bubble its way. His broody exeritor finally crumbling after what felt like years. You were always so sweet and kind a flirty gesture like that wasn't something he expected from you. "I'm glad that you think they are nice enough for a scrap to be that damaging" He chuckled.

His hand was warm when it landed on your wrist, his eyes scanning for something you didn't quite know. There wasn't any hesitation from you when he leaned forward, finally caving and giving himself something. Ignoring the fears deep inside that if you got close enough he might lose you like he lost everyone else. "Can I?"

The words ghosted over your lips, the smell of his latest cigarette and bitter coffee filled your senses. You nodded, entwining your fingers with his before finally closing the gaps. He was more passionate than you thought, like you could feel all his unspoken feelings. You made sure to match his pace, the exchange of love becoming messy as you grew heated. It wasn't until his phone chimed in that you stopped, the vibrations of the call interrupting the moment. You both knew what it meant, who it was. Duty always called for Chris. Moments alone would be far and few between. Yet, despite that you still couldn't resist and that's what he needed. Craved for in a relationships. Someone that understood the responsibilities he had gained over his hardened years.

Some to trust that not even a stray bullet would prevent him from crawling back to you.

"You owe me a coffee date when you back...one that doesn't involve butterfly strips and disinfectant"

Chris only smiled and nodded, the softer interior being hidden as he opened the door to head out again. That side only on reserves for you. "I'm sure you'll hold me to it when I get back"

It was only when he left you let out a giggle, fingers ghosting over your lips as if you could still feel his. Chris however instructed his team kindly, patting the nervous Rookie on the back as they all boarded on the heli. "Come on guys let's do this quick today...I've got a date"

[airandyeah]

Work Whispers

It was a chilly February morning, and the office was buzzing with excitement as Valentine’s Day approached. Nanami Kento, a reserved yet respected employee at a prestigious company, walked into the office with his usual composed demeanor. His sharp suit and the slight frown that never quite left his face made him a figure of authority. However, today, something was different.

Underneath the sleek desk where he typically worked, a giant bouquet of deep red roses lay nestled in a pristine box. Beside it was an elegant package of high-quality chocolate. Nanami carefully arranged the items, adjusting the bouquet just so, his eyes briefly softening when he thought no one was watching. He couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something about her that made his heart race in ways he couldn’t ignore.

The moment he had been dreading and eagerly anticipating was coming closer.

All morning, Nanami had been lost in thought, his attention more on the clock than the spreadsheets on his screen. Every time he heard a footstep or a rustling sound, his gaze instinctively flicked toward the door. His colleagues were oblivious to his distracted state, but he knew they would eventually notice the extravagant display.

As the clock struck 9:00 a.m., the office doors swung open with a light chime, and there she was. Y/N. Her presence seemed to illuminate the room, and Nanami could hardly contain the warmth that spread through his chest. The soft click of her heels as she walked through the door seemed to amplify, and the whispers around the office started almost immediately.

“Do you think she’s the one?” someone murmured.

“Has to be… I mean, who else would get that?” came a voice from across the room.

Nanami didn’t turn to see the source of the chatter, his focus solely on her. He had prepared for this moment, but now that she was here, standing mere steps from him, he found himself frozen in place. His heart pounded in his chest, his palms slightly sweaty as he stared at the bouquet and chocolates.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Y/N made her way toward her desk, eyes catching the conspicuous display of affection at Nanami’s side. Her gaze shifted from the flowers to Nanami, confusion flickering in her eyes.

Nanami swallowed, his throat dry. With a swift, purposeful movement, he stood up, his chair scraping lightly against the floor. As if on instinct, his feet carried him forward, and within moments, he was standing right in front of her. He gently extended the roses and chocolate, his expression unreadable but with a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

“Y/N… would you… would you be my Valentine?” Nanami asked, his voice low but sincere. He bowed slightly, a gesture of formality that felt strangely tender in this moment.

The office fell eerily silent, and for a brief moment, all the whispers stopped. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as her eyes widened, a blush creeping up her neck. The bouquet was stunning—too beautiful to be a mere gesture of friendship—and the chocolates… the chocolates were the finest brand, the kind reserved for someone special.

She stared at him, at the tall man in front of her who so rarely let anyone see the softer side of him. The man who always exuded professionalism now stood before her, vulnerable, offering not only flowers but something much more valuable: his heart.

Y/N took a deep breath and smiled, the warmth in her chest growing. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’d love to be your Valentine.”

The office erupted in whispers and cheers, but Nanami paid them no mind. His focus remained on her, on the smile that now tugged at her lips as she held the bouquet to her chest. It was a perfect moment, and in that brief, quiet exchange, Nanami knew that the Valentine's Day surprise he had planned was worth every ounce of effort. ~~~

Five years had passed since Nanami Kento had nervously presented Y/N with a bouquet of roses and the finest chocolates at the office. That day had marked the beginning of something beautiful, something neither of them had expected to find. Over the years, they had grown closer, shared laughter, faced challenges together, and slowly, their bond had blossomed into a love that had turned into marriage.

Now, on Valentine’s Day, the once-formal office environment was replaced with the warmth and comfort of their shared home.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the room. Y/N stirred gently beside Nanami, her fingers brushing against his hand as she woke up. The memories of that first Valentine’s Day were still fresh in her mind, a memory she treasured dearly, but now, things were different. They were no longer colleagues who shared quiet moments across a desk. They were partners, companions, and they had built something extraordinary together.

Nanami, still half-asleep, turned over to face her with a sleepy smile.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he murmured, his voice deep and warm, the kind of tone that always made her heart skip a beat. His usual reserved demeanor was gone, replaced by the more relaxed, affectionate side she had come to love.

Y/N smiled back, her eyes twinkling with the same affection. "Happy Valentine's Day, Kento."

She leaned in for a soft kiss, her lips lingering for just a moment before pulling back. Nanami’s hand moved to her cheek, brushing away a few stray locks of hair. He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the same woman who had made his heart race all those years ago, but now there was so much more—so much more love, understanding, and trust between them.

"I’m not going to let you get away this time," Nanami said with a playful grin, his fingers trailing down to her hand. "I’ve got something for you."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. She had been expecting something sweet, but when Nanami got up and left the room, she could only wonder what he had planned. A few moments later, he returned with a large bouquet of roses in hand. But this time, there were no chocolates—just a heartfelt card, wrapped in a ribbon.

Y/N gasped in surprise. "Kento... these are beautiful! You didn’t have to."

Nanami sat beside her, the roses now resting between them. "I did. They were the first thing I ever gave you, and I thought it would be nice to keep the tradition."

He reached for the card and handed it to her, his expression soft but serious. "Every Valentine’s Day with you has been better than the last. I thought this year, I would give you something more than roses. I wanted to give you my heart, just like I did that day."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat as she opened the card. Inside, in Nanami’s neat handwriting, were the words: “To the woman who made my world brighter. Forever, Kento.”

Her heart swelled as she looked at him, her eyes welling up with happy tears. "I love you," she whispered, her voice shaky with emotion. "You’ve made every day feel like Valentine’s Day. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Nanami smiled, his hand slipping into hers. "I feel the same way. I love you too."

The two of them sat there in silence for a moment, the soft hum of the world outside mingling with the steady beat of their hearts. After five years together, things had settled into a rhythm of mutual understanding and love, but there was still that spark—the same one from the very beginning. They had found their forever.

Y/N leaned against Nanami’s shoulder, the warmth of his presence making everything feel right. "So, do you have any other surprises for today?" she asked, her voice light and teasing.

Nanami grinned, a small, mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I think it’s time we had breakfast together. I’ve already set everything up."

[callipraxia]

What do you think of Dipper and Ford’s relationship? I definitely see it as a positive thing, and it benefits them both in many ways. They find kindred spirits after years of feeling like loners, they enjoy their time together, and Dipper helps humanise Ford and helps brings him into the family, while Ford boosts Dipper’s confidence and treats him with respect.

But there are some possible issues there. That Dipper’s hero worship might blind him to Ford’s flaws, and that Ford might be so focused on seeing Dipper’s potential that he forgets he’s still a child and might be unintentionally pushing him before he’s ready.

That could cause problems in the future, especially for Dipper. He’s got enough stressors without struggling to live up to his hero’s expectations.

I’m never one to shy away from arguing with Mr. Hirsch’s interpretations of his own characters, but I do sort of agree with one thing he said about Dipper and Ford: that if Dipper had stayed behind as Ford’s apprentice, it would have been McGucket all over again, sooner or later, or at least something similar. An interesting thing about Ford is how he’s perhaps not traditionally charismatic, but once the occasional person is drawn in, their lives can very quickly start to revolve around him, and how things are going in his world becomes how things are going in their world. If things had played out as originally planned, in a circumstance where the Rift was contained but not permanently sealed and where Bill was still alive, this could not have ended well, no matter how well-intentioned anyone was in the beginning. Killing Bill was not, in and of itself, enough to resolve his many, many psychological problems, but it was probably the clearest route he had to an opportunity to do so. While Bill lived – that was some ‘neither can live while the other survives’ kind of stuff, to steal a line from elsewhere. There wasn’t really a lot of room in his life for other relationships until that one was resolved. It would have been worse with Dipper than other people, though, because Dipper also had a history with Bill. Add in the hero-worship from Dipper, and, well, to borrow from Bill himself on the TBOB website:

“The truth was, [Ford] was half a genius. The other half seemed to be frozen at the age of 18, still a child, totally dependent on outside praise”

One of the reasons Stan and Ford can both get on so well with children is due to the ways in which their emotional and psychological developments seem to have arrested at some point in adolescence. And Dipper would, for at least a good while, have been a pretty constant source of that praise, and…well, we saw what happened the last time Ford had someone who fulfilled his need for outside praise. In a case where I did argue with Mr. Hirsch:

“He’s aloof, and distant, and he’s too perfect. And it’s like, ‘oh! I think he’s also aloof and distant from himself.’ I think he is, uh, deeply, deeply hiding from his real feelings about things, because at some point early on, he decided that he could run from hurt by achievement and by creation, and has dug that hole so deep that he has no relationships” (Hirsch, “Alex Hirsch Interview Transcript”).

One thing that almost immediately becomes apparent upon even a casual examination of the texts, though, is that Ford does at least very much want to have relationships...Whenever he has the chance, this supposedly aloof, relationship-less character can’t seem to stop himself from trying to form relationships…[redacted is a massive list of examples]. We are told by the writers that Ford is a loner, but throughout his life, the parts of his actual behavior that we are shown seem to betray a fairly consistent desire for collaboration, and one which is strong enough to override his belief in the solitude of great men (Hirsch and Renzetti) far more often than not.

Someone who understands at least a glimmer of what he’s been through, who reminds him of everything he likes about himself and not that much of the things he doesn’t like about himself, who wants to impress him more than anything in the world, and who, in that circumstance, would be basically the only person who he interacted with for long stretches of time? Recipe for disaster, one way or another. Eventually ceasing to see Dipper as a child would only be one of the issues.

Not, of course, that I disagree with your statement about the relationship ultimately being good for both of them. Dipper needed the ego reinforcement of being treated with more respect, which both Ford and the town itself give him, which has increased his confidence immensely by the end of the summer; Ford needed a sort of ‘starter relationship’ to ease him back into the world of, well, relating to anyone after thirty years as an outlaw and fugitive. I even think they could work well together at some point in the future, once they’ve both sorted themselves out a little, and when Dipper has the perspective and maturity to deal with Ford as a fellow human being instead of as this Ideal that Dipper can never really live up to or stop trying to live up to. Otherwise…well, Dipper understood about getting tricked by Bill, but eventually, Ford would disappoint Dipper in some way, and even at the very end of the show, I don’t think Dipper’s quite mentally ready to deal with that. We see a lot of growth in Dipper in season two – he takes to the role of town hero very well, and by the end of the summer is even becoming something of an orator/natural leader-figure; I’ve never seen anyone discuss it, but if Weird Science doesn’t work out, I could see Dipper having a future in politics or activism of some kind – but he is, after all, still a young kid, and one who is still to an extent growing into a better version of himself. At the very least, I think he needs to confront Piedmont, where it's implied he's been pretty unhappy his whole life, as the new, more assertive Dipper and prove to himself that he can still be that person without the outside reinforcement of being surrounded by a public that by that point pretty much universally thinks well of him.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

MVP

Pairing: Tom Brady x Daughter!Reader, Gronk x Reader, Julian Edelman x Reader

Summary: As the daughter of Tom Brady, she has always been in the public eye—but now, she's stepping into her own spotlight. A chart-topping musician and the most sought-after woman in the NFL world, every player wants a chance with her, but she’s focused on something bigger: headlining the Super Bowl Halftime Show. On Dudes on Dudes with Gronk and Edelman, she opens up about her new rock album, growing up in the NFL, and the relentless rumors surrounding her love life.

She knew stepping onto Dudes on Dudes podcast would be an event, but she didn’t expect the intro to be this ridiculous.

"Alright, people! We have the most sought-after guest in NFL history—" Gronk bellows into the mic.

"The legend herself, the icon, the one every single NFL player is losing sleep over—" Edelman chimes in.

She shakes her head, laughing. "Y’all are ridiculous."

Gronk grins. "But are we wrong? I mean, come on, half the league has gone on record saying you’re their dream girl."

"And the other half is just too scared to admit it," Edelman adds.

She sighs, sarcastically. "Should I start charging them for wasting my time in interviews?"

The guys erupt in laughter. "Honestly? Might be the smartest business move you could make," Gronk says.

The conversation shifts to her music. "Alright, so let’s talk about this album," Edelman leans forward. "You went full rock star mode—what inspired the sound?"

She leans back, considering. "Honestly? I just wanted to make something that felt real to me. No filters, no expectations—just raw, loud, and unapologetic. I grew up in a world of structure and pressure, so this album was my way of breaking out of that."

"And it slaps," Gronk says. "I’ve been blasting it in the gym. I think I set a new personal record the other day because of track three."

"That’s ‘Maybe (Live),’ right?" Edelman asks. "I knew that one was gonna hit."

She nods. "Yeah, that one’s about longing, regret, and the hope of reconcilliation. It expresses a deep sorrow and a desperate with to undo past mistakes. Very deep Gronk."

"Speaking of desperate," Gronk smirks, "How does it feel knowing every single NFL rookie is hoping they run into you at a game?"

"Oh my god," She laughs, rolling her eyes. "I mean, it’s flattering? But I don’t really think about it. They're just a bunch of horndogs anyways."

"So you’re saying there’s zero chance for any of them?" Edelman teases.

She grins. "I’m saying I decide when and if there’s a chance. And right now? I’ve got a halftime show to prepare for."

"Respect," Gronk says, nodding. "But just know… the entire league is still gonna shoot their shot."

"Let ‘em try," she smirks. "I like watching them sweat."

Gronk suddenly claps his hands together. "Alright, we gotta do this. We’ve seen the debates, we’ve heard the rumors, and now we need answers. It’s time for… Rate That Quarterback!"

Edelman cackles. "Oh, this is gonna be good. We’ve got a lineup of NFL’s finest, and we need you to rank them on pure attractiveness. No football skills, no contracts, just vibes."

She groans, shaking her head. "Oh my God, you two are impossible."

"It’s the content the people want!" Gronk insists. "C’mon, first up—we got Joe Burrow."

She rolls her eyes but smirks. "Okay, I’ll give Joe an 8.5. He’s got that cool confidence, and people say he dresses well but I don't think he does. He knows he’s good-looking, he knows he's Joe Shiesty, which takes him down a little."

"Ooooh, Burrow loses points for self-awareness," Edelman laughs. "Alright, next—Josh Allen."

She hums, thinking. "Josh is a solid 9. He’s got the big, goofy golden retriever energy, and he has a pistacio farm, I respect it. Plus, he’s tall."

Gronk shakes his head. "Brady’s gonna kill us for this."

"Next up, TJ Watt," Edelman continues, rubbing his hands together.

She smirks. "TJ gets a 9.5. Dude looks like he could throw me over his shoulder and walk through fire, and that's the kind of energy I need in my life."

Gronk pretends to wipe a tear. "I’m so proud of you for saying that."

Edelman pulls up another picture. "Okay, last one—Dalton Kincaid and Dawson Knox. You gotta rate them as a duo."

"What are they testicle left and right?" She bursts out laughing. "Fine. Together, they’re an 8. But if they keep sending me Bills merch trying to get me to go to a game, they might move up."

Gronk and Edelman are howling with laughter by now. "NFL Twitter is gonna explode after this," Edelman says, shaking his head. "We might’ve just ruined the locker rooms."

She grins, leaning back. "Well, that’s their problem, not mine."

"Alright, we gotta ask—what’s your favorite NFL or Super Bowl memory with your dad?"

She leans back, a nostalgic smile crossing her face. "Oh man, there’s so many. But if I had to pick one? It has to be Super Bowl LI. I was on the verge of a panic attack the whole game and I ended up on the sidelines when the Pats pulled off that historic comeback against the Falcons. The energy in that stadium? Unreal. And after the game, my dad found me in the chaos, hugged me, and said, ‘Told you never to count us out.’ I’ll never forget that."

Gronk grins. "That’s a good one. I remember seeing you running around on the field after, looking like the happiest kid in the world."

She nods. "Yeah, it was surreal. But honestly, some of my favorite memories aren’t even on game day. It’s the little things—like throwing the ball around in the backyard, or sitting in the team box watching him do what he does best. I grew up in this world, but those moments made it feel personal."

Edelman smirks. "Okay, but real talk—who gave better post-game speeches, your dad or Coach Belichick?"

She laughs. "Oh, my dad, hands down. Belichick is legendary, but let’s be real—he’s not giving us emotional monologues. My dad, though? He knows how to fire people up."

Gronk nods. "Respect. Alright, we’ll let you off the hook—for now."

Edelman leans in with a smirk. "Alright, but what about us? What’s your favorite memory with me and Gronk? And be honest—we know we were probably a nightmare at some point."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Oh, absolutely. But I think my favorite memory has to be one of those team parties after a win. Gronk, you were leading some ridiculous dance-off, and Jules, you were trying to teach me how to trash-talk properly. My dad was just standing there, shaking his head."

Gronk claps his hands. "That’s right! And don’t forget—you crushed it. Future Hall of Fame-level trash talker."

Edelman laughs. "She learned from the best."

Gronk raises an eyebrow. "Alright, real talk—how hard is it dating now, with the entire NFL openly thirsting after you?"

She groans. "Oh my God, it’s exhausting. It’s like I can’t go anywhere without someone bringing it up. My DMs? A disaster zone. Every game I go to, there’s at least three guys trying to shoot their shot."

"And?" Edelman presses, grinning. "Any prospects?"

She smirks. "Well I can't kiss and tell."

Gronk leans back, whistling. "Man, she’s keeping the league on their toes. I respect it."

The podcast ends in laughter, but as the cameras stop rolling, she knows the headlines will be everywhere by morning.

[lady-of-endless]

Squid Game matchup trade for lovely @nicaeno 🌹

Author's Note: I'm excited about this trade because the choices for you were so clear, damn. I hope you'll enjoy it. Thank you so much for messaging me about it, you're amazing!

I match you with...

Hwang In-ho

- Your introverted but rational and analytical personality is something he can resonate with so well. You two even have the same mbti! But it's not what you two will connect over with at first.

- You'd meet him during the games. Of course, he is focused on Gi-hun and everyone else's reactions to every game he already knows. However, he gets the feeling that someone is analyzing everything just like him, and that's when he notices you for the first time, sitting alone, looking at everyone and everything.

- In-ho will respect you for trying to come up with a strategy and a way to protect yourself.

- He starts trying to get under your skin but in the process, he gets more interested than he planned. He received info about every player, and he cursed himself for not paying attention to your description when he could. Now you're a mystery and he wants to find out more about you and how he can benefit from it at first.

- At night, when the nights are still somehow calm (before the fights start), In-ho truly feels alone. Everyone somehow started to bond over the chaos and trauma, but because he was busy keeping himself guarded and analyzing others, he befriended no one, not even for show. No one got close to him. Those nights are the worst for him. He was sitting in the dark, staring at the bunk ceiling while hearing others talk before he heard your whisper one night. For some reason, you decide to talk to him and find out more about him. You two would bond over your favorite book authors (In-ho would love Dazai) and vinyl records (he also has a collection of old ones).

- However, his attachment is not what you'd expect. In-ho's type of attachment is derived either from fascination or competition. Enemies to lovers kind of dynamic for a little. He knows you're smarter than the other players, more observant, but he is too and he knows how it goes. In-ho wants to get rid of this inconvenience but also keep it and preserve it. Protect you.

- His dark interest turns into respect and then into attachment. Slowly, In-ho finds himself getting more attached to every vulnerable and natural reaction you have after a rough situation. He falls for your natural, honest reactions.

- He has a list of plans, a schedule, let's say, but since you got on his radar, additional plans appear. Plans like protecting you without you even noticing it, dropping tips and tricks only to you, waiting to talk to you about what you two have been through... He's on thin ice with all this, and he knows it, but it's addictive.

- In-ho, too, doesn't open up to people easily, especially not now when he has to play a role, so it's going to be a slow burn.

- He doesn't get to see your aesthetic during the games but before, when he's doing a recap of all players. In-ho doesn't think it's an important detail, but he can't deny that he likes it; he likes your style and silently wishes to see more of it and not that typical green tracksuit.

Runner-up: The Salesman/The Recruiter

- there's going to be an interesting (darker) dynamic with him. Your rationality and cautiousness won't let you accept playing anything with him despite his smooth insisting methods. Deep down, he secretly doesn't want you to accept. He admires the way you stick to your choice when others don't and easily fall into the trap.

[lukaskyle]

Baldur's Gate 3 (2023) dev. Larian Studios

[dykedvonte]

I never even considered that parallel, that Anya would have an ignorance to (or at least, vain hope against) Jimmy abusing Curly with his meds. Because they're friends, because she hopes he wouldn't be as callous with Curly as he is with her, because Curly even said himself "I know him." Incorporating that into my world view.

I don't think Anya thinks Jimmy is a good man, but I do believe she would think he'd be reasonable enough not to raise tensions in a situation this bad. She genuinely wants to believe that in their worst moment Jimmy won't be a monster.

Everything has gone wrong. Curly is gravely injured and she is doing everything she can to keep him clinging to life, despite believing he caused this. Swansea has relapsed and is constantly arguing with Jimmy. Daisuke is trying to stay positive but in a way it just reminds everyone of how hopeless it all is. And to top it all off Jimmy is defiantly losing it with all he's trying to do and the responsibility he can't handle.

Anya wants to believe that no matter how angry, how bad and awful he could get with her, he'd at the very least show decency to one person who tried to show some semblance of care to everyone. The one person that always stuck by his side. The person who confided in him and maybe told him how he was struggling instead of her. I don't think it's guilt but she regrets not prying more with Curly, making him admit what's wrong because it was her responsibility to help and she gave him the okay. I like to think even if she never realized Curly didn't crash the ship, Jimmy was the real reason or a big part of why he did and is why she tried to keep Curly from him in death.

It's Curly's worse moment and she's hoping Jimmy will be less of a monster for it. She knows she's hoping on what would basically be a miracle but it's the only thing she has left keeping her going.

[phlegm--princess]

my honest tierlist

[gauzemer]

Chapter 2: Soap

Jason comes in through the Cave, hoping to avoid Alfred, and obviously fails, because Alfred has eyes everywhere all the time in perpetuity. He’s lying in wait in the garage entrance with the vehicles– “You’re not wearing your helmet,” he says lightly, but disappointment is all but radiating off of him.

“It makes me look stupid,” Jason tosses back. Tough shit. Alfred’s been disappointed in him ever since he first came back. This is just… how they are now, he supposes. It’s fine. He’s not bitter. “Where is everyone?”

Alfred wordlessly gestures deeper into the Batcave, and Jason starts to follow the motion in that direction when he’s quietly interrupted. “How are you handling the news?”

He stops. “The news about Ra’s?”

“Unless there’s something I’m not privy to.”

Jason feels his shoulders fall. Memory weighs heavy on him now– or perhaps it’s all the time since he returned that they’ve spent not forgiving each other. “It’s weird,” he finally says, trying to make sure his voice doesn’t echo through the interior of the cave. “I didn’t think he was the type to off himself.”

Alfred doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. His silence speaks volumes. Jason rolls his eyes, an imaginary conversation already moving in his mind. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, turning away. “Shut up.”

He finds Dick and Bruce at the assembly of computer monitors, Bruce in his suit and Dick in street clothes– one of them quickly dismisses what might be an image of Ra’s al Ghul’s body, but it’s gone before Jason can tell. “I wasn’t sure I should expect you,” Bruce says by way of greeting. He’s not smiling. “You came to get your mail?”

Jason nods towards the screen and shoves his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. “Well, Dick said I could see the autopsy photos.”

“Yeah, they’re gross,” Dick tells him enthusiastically. “He’s all bloated.”

“Can we try to be respectful?”

“Maybe if he hadn’t tried to kill us so many times,” Jason mutters as he takes a seat, but Dick’s face settles back into a serious neutrality. “Fine, yeah. Whatever. What’s the autopsy say?”

“Excessive fluid in the lungs,” Bruce tells him, pulling up the details– and not, Jason notes, the image they were looking at before he stepped in. It’s full of jargon he’s usually on the practical end of. Bruce continues. “And I do mean excessive fluid– the autopsy classifies the cause of death as a noncardiogenic pulmonary edema. It suggests that our victim was trying to breathe in as much water as he could.”

“Ra’s,” Jason interrupts, squinting at the screen as he turns that piece of information over in his head. Something doesn’t feel right about this. A lot doesn’t feel right about this, but something about that, specifically, especially doesn’t feel right. “You don’t have to be so clinical, Bruce. I’m pretty sure you two were on a first-name basis.”

Bruce shoots him a piercing look. Jason stares back. After a while, Dick tries to break the tension by clearing his throat. “So do we want to talk about that, or…”

Jason doesn’t answer. He’s still looking at the screen. “I’m not squeamish,” he finally says. “I won’t freak out. Can I see his lungs?”

Bruce tries to exchange a glance with Dick, but Dick doesn’t look back, already pulling up the images from the autopsy. It’s just like he says– the lungs, now free of al Ghul’s chest and resting indecently in a medical container, are ghostly-white with water decay. “Do you have a theory?” Bruce asks as he pulls up a 3d representation of the lungs for them to examine.

“I might.” It’s not a question of whether or not he has a theory, it’s just a question of whether or not he wants to share that theory with the class. It’s a question of whether or not they’ll understand. He taps his nails absentmindedly against the bottom of the table. “Who found him?”

He’s stalling. Bruce starts speaking about the composition of al Ghul’s security detail, but Jason isn’t listening, too busy spinning his wheels in deep mud. Memory presents itself: one of the first nights of his new life, so many years ago, when he was a guest of al Ghul’s, when he could do nothing but shiver under the blankets of a fine bed with the bone-deep chill of death.

Thinking had been difficult. His brain had started to rot, he’d found out later, the fine tissue already breaking down when he’d been brought back, and though the Lazarus Pit could put it to rights again, it could not fill him with thought or purpose. He had been little more than a corpse that could breathe in those first nights, void of anything that might once have been his humanity. It had been terrifying and miserable, a prelude to so much more terror and misery to come, but there had been strange kindness, too: in the dead of night, unaccompanied by bodyguard or daughter, Ra’s had paid him a visit.

He hadn’t seen it as a kindness at the time, of course. Even half-alive, Jason had held nothing but contempt for Ra’s al Ghul. All he could do when the man came through the door and pulled out the chair from the desk was tremble with what he hoped was a defiant air and try to burrow deeper in the blankets. He hadn’t even been able to tell Ra’s to fuck off.

Ra’s had watched his pitiful display for a moment before discarding a hardcover book on the desk he had taken the chair from. “It gets better,” the man had said lowly. “I have seen you in the daylight, Robin. You are a fighter. I know this.”

Jason had bared his teeth at the title, but he’d been unable to look away as Ra’s choreographed a slow motion that ended with his hand on the covers of the bed. “I have been where you are now,” he said, his eyes gleaming like a housecat’s in the firelight. “I promise you, Jason, there is nothing to fight. All is as it should be.”

Jason hadn’t believed him, of course. He’d wanted to spit, to scream, to flee this terrible place– but Ra’s had only picked up the book from the table and, in an unwavering, gentle voice, started to read. “‘It was a dark and stormy night,’” he began smoothly. “‘In her attic bedroom Margaret Murry, wrapped in an old patchwork quilt, sat on the foot of her bed and watched the trees tossing in the frenzied lashing of the wind.’”

Jason had known those lines, and he’d almost wept with the familiarity of the story. He had clung to Meg like she was real, like she was watching over him, thorny and determined. It had hurt less than the reality of knowing he was alone

He had lost himself in the cadence of al Ghul’s voice, letting it break over him like the waters at the edge of the Pit, and it had taken him almost a full chapter to realize what was right in front of him: Ra’s was pausing appropriately for periods and commas, but he wasn’t stopping for breath. Jason had focused on that, too, as his shivering gradually subsided, just to confirm what could not be possible, just to come to the conclusion that, indeed, it was.

Ra’s wasn’t breathing.

Now, under the drone of Bruce’s voice echoing through the cave, he looks over al Ghul’s lungs, bathed in blue hologram lighting. Ra’s shouldn’t have drowned like this. He would have had to consciously decide to take on water, and while Jason’s chest aches in sympathy, he knows that just taking on water shouldn’t have killed him, either.

That’s the thing about the Pit, the thing that made Ra’s so uniquely terrified of growing old– it doesn’t fix the body, not really. It just makes it work again. It’s like taking a car to the world’s worst mechanic: they don’t buff out the dents, they don’t put gas in the tank. They stop the engine from wheezing without opening up the hood.

The car might work, but actually un-wrecking it takes time.

The bruises in Jason’s brain took weeks to heal, but the Lazarus Pit kept him alive, brought him back slowly and agonizingly from the brink of dissolution and held him there until the cliff’s edge stabilized beneath him. His bones knitted back together, his blood cells replenished. Nevermind the fact that he treated breathing as a voluntary activity; if he was submerged in the waters of the Lazarus Pit, Ra’s al Ghul could not have died of a noncardiogenic pulmonary edema. He couldn’t have died of anything.

“Jason?”

“I’m here,” he says, almost before he knows what he’s responding to. Right. Bruce has been talking. “Sorry. Yeah, this is…”

He has information– but he doesn’t voice it. If the great Batman hasn’t realized by now that Ra’s al Ghul didn’t need to breathe, then really, what can Jason do to convince him otherwise? He shrugs. “It’s weird. I don’t know, sorry.”

“You said you had a theory?”

“I thought I did,” Jason half answers. It’s not technically a lie. He shrugs. “I guess not. Can I have my mail?”

Bruce glowers at him suspiciously, but Jason’s played this game before. He’s very good at keeping his face neutral. Pain’s a great teacher. “You don’t know anything that could help us?”

“Nope.” He pops the P and leans back in his chair. “Nothing.”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t change, but he nevertheless produces a heavy, wax-sealed envelope and slides it down the table. Jason takes it– there’s no address, of course, but that’s his name spelled out unmistakably in al Ghul’s fine calligraphy. He checks, but there’s nothing else on the envelope, so he runs his thumb under the wax seal and opens it up to find a piece of thick paper inside.

The letter is similarly unadorned, save for a series of numbers and letters that Jason immediately recognizes as coordinates. There is no greeting, no explanation. Were it not for the fact that he so easily recognizes the handwriting, the letter would be entirely anonymous. “Huh,” he says out loud. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“What–”

“Coordinates,” he answers, because Dick is going to catch fire if he gets any more curious. “Bats, can you pull these up?”

Jason rattles them off, and the hologram of al Ghul’s bloated lungs disappears, replaced by a map that swoops in on a tiny town in Gilliam County, Oregon. It’s little more than a few shelters built around what appears to be a running creek and miles of rural roads that drift aimlessly through deadwood forests. There’s nothing here that screams ‘I’m hiding the world-ending plot of a six hundred year old mastermind, gentlemen, come and get it!’ There’s nothing here that screams at all– and if there were, the houses seem too far apart for any of the neighbors to hear. “Maybe he left you property,” Dick jokes. “You know, some nice riverside real estate.”

Bruce stares up at the map with him, the little of his face that’s visible bathed in ghostly blue light. “You don’t need me to tell you this is a trap.”

Jason squints for a name, and finally finds it: Thirtymile. “Oh, definitely.”

Bruce looks over at him, entirely unamused. “Then I don’t need to tell you that you shouldn’t go.”

Jason frowns dramatically, and just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “You’re such a killjoy.”

“Jason–”

“Ra’s is dead,” he reminds Bruce, still looking up at the map. His eyes burn against the side of Jason’s head. God, this is always easier with the hood on. “And I’m sure Talia’s too busy to deal with me right now.”

“Are you willing to gamble on that?”

Jason grins wolfishly, and Dick groans. “Oh, god.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No.” Bruce is catching on now. He looks almost off-guard with surprise. “No, it’s– Jason, this is a bad idea.”

“Yeah, it is.” He gets up, still grinning, and playfully salutes the table. “See you guys in a week or so, I guess!”

“Jason!”

It’s too late. He’s already heading back to the mouth of the cave, putting his earbuds in and pressing play. Pipe organ rushes through his brain as he gets back on his bike, displacing Bruce’s voice: “There's all this dirt under my nails / Wouldn't you like to see where I went to high school? / Blood under my knuckles / You should've heard the way I spoke last night.”

The door groans open, but Jason’s gone into the cold Gotham evening before it’s stopped moving. His bike rumbles under him as he speeds away, starting back to his apartment to pack a bag and find his wallet.

He doesn’t look back– he never does. He’s always been good at making an exit.

I'll Eat You Up (I Love You So)

Chapter 1: Feel Better

Summary: Ra's al Ghul's body is found under extremely fuckin' weird circumstances. Jason is normal about it. 2197 words.

Somewhere deep and forgotten in the reaches of the Swiss Alps, the snarling Head of the Demon, the dreaded Ra’s al Ghul, is writing a letter.

It is not the first letter he has written tonight, but he is fast approaching the end of the matter, and he knows with certainty that this letter will be the last. It will join the stack of fine stationery he has created on his desk, and it will be found in the morning, after the alarms have sounded, after his security detail has searched the compound, after he has disappeared in earnest. It is all arranged. The letters are the last piece of the jigsaw image, and they fit neatly into the hole that Ra’s perpetual life will leave.

Talia is prepared for her role as the grieving heir apparent, but even so, hers is the letter at the bottom of the stack, the ink now fully dried. There is a letter to young Damian Wayne, so that he will understand when he is older, when the time comes. There is a letter to the boy’s father, Bruce, who Ra’s was never able to sway– he does not trouble himself to attempt the feat now. The time for it is long since past, the letter likewise already finely sealed. Ra’s could not take the sentiment back now if he tried.

Besides, he does not need understanding from the Wayne family. Not anymore.

Ra’s slips his fine pen back into its inkwell and studies what he has written upon this final and most crucial letter even as he prepares the wax for its seal. There is much he wishes to say, but there are eyes upon him, both in this compound and in this delicate world. This will have to do.

He does not doubt his decision. He has not always been a good man, he knows, both by way of being more and less than good and likewise more and less than a man, but in this, at least, he has done right. He nods to himself, and then he pours the wax, closes the letter, and stamps the envelope simply with his signet ring as it cools. 

There. He places it gingerly upon the pile with the other letters. The work of six hundred years, finally done.

Ra’s taps the letters together and gets up from his fine desk chair. Yes. The work is done– and now, there is only one task remaining. For a moment, he stands in silence and watches the wild snow whirl past the window, blanketing the compound in pure droves. He does not breathe. He does not blink. After six hundred years on the fine and leveled face of this world, he is at last able to think of nothing at all.

And then, as he leaves the room, one final thought presents itself: that it is a good night to drown.

Under the heavy, foreboding clouds of Gotham, a tinny bass guitar rumbles and crashes out of a phone speaker in a shitty apartment, and the room’s sole occupant sings along  to the best of his ability as the introduction ends: “I don’t wanna feel better /”

This is, of course, Jason Todd, dressed in his boxer shorts and doing his best to make a smoothie out of whatever the hell he’s found in his freezer. Most of the food he’s pulling out is in plastic bags, and it’s all too covered in ice to really discern the shape of, so it’s a very slow process, and it’s not going well. He’s currently trying to tell if this latest item is cooked chicken or pieces of banana.

Shit. Oh, god, he really can’t tell, but he’s got a fifty-fifty shot, right?

“No one’s ever gonna love me like that again / I don’t wanna get over it / I wanna sit with you–”

“Hang on,” Jason mutters to himself, pausing the music so he can consider the contents of this bag more seriously. Whatever it is, it’s been cut into little discs, which implies that it’s a banana, but it could also be some of Alfred’s really fancy chicken that he stole a few weeks ago. Jason frowns.

He still empties the bag into the blender.

He’s examining what’s probably a bag of strawberries when his phone pings with Dick’s ringtone. He doesn’t check it at first, not until it pings again, and then with Tim’s ringtone, and then with Bruce’s, all in quick succession– the family group chat is raucous with recent activity when he finally abandons his smoothie to look.

DGrayson: I have news

DGrayson: Starting a video call I need everyone to be so extremely cool right now

RDrake: I’m cool I’m cool what’s up

BWayne: Ra’s al Ghul is dead.

What the fuck? Jason stares at the screen for a long time waiting for someone to tell him fucking anything else, but no one does. He opens Dick’s video call.

Tim is, predictably, already losing his shit, and has, predictably, angled his phone camera so that everyone can see up his nose. Jason steps in halfway through him freaking out. “–fucking way. There’s no way, this has to be a– a trick or something, there’s–”

He turns off his microphone and lets Tim finish his thought as he closes up the blender and presses the button to start it. “Like, have we gotten the autopsy report? Do we know anything except where he was found?”

Bruce and Dick seem to be coming in from different rooms of the house, with Bruce in front of his display in the cave, and Dick coming in from… his old room, maybe? He’s clearly using his laptop, because his microphone is shit. “Tim, can you cool it?”

“I’m cool! I’m so cool!” 

Jason’s smoothie is about as smoothie-d as it’s going to get, so he turns off the blender and activates his microphone. “What happened?” he cuts in, because he’s clearly the only one who’s capable of taking this seriously right now, nevermind that he’s in his boxers. He puts his phone down on the counter and angles it so everyone can only see his top half, anyway. “S’this a power play? Is there someone new we need to be worried about?”

Bruce’s face might be carved in stone, but he’s wearing a very strange expression, and he doesn’t answer for a minute. In his absence, Dick takes point. “It looks,” he says carefully, “like it was a suicide.”

That shuts Tim up, but Jason only squints. Hm. “You guys aren’t convinced, though.”

Bruce’s expression gets weirder. He still doesn’t say anything, though, so Dick continues, his voice still oddly careful. “His security detail found him floating dead in a Pit yesterday morning.”

Oh, yeah. That’s why they’re being weird– mystery solved. Jason starts looking for a clean cup to pour his smoothie into. “Isn’t that kind of like blowing your brains out with a hairdryer?”

Over the camera, Bruce’s neutral expression splits into confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Because you’d, like, put it to your head, but it’s a hairdryer, so you’d…” He stops just shy of demonstrating. “It doesn’t work, is what I’m saying.”

Everyone is staring. “What?”

“Jason,” Bruce says levelly, “can you please put some clothes on?”

Jason grumbles, but that’s a pretty fair request, all things considered, so he turns off his camera and goes to find some pants. He can hear Tim through the phone, still trying to puzzle everything out. “Do you think maybe someone, like, hurt him and he tried to get the Pit to bring him back?”

“The official autopsy found water in his lungs,” Bruce tells him as Jason opens the door to his bedroom. Paper rustles over the phone. “Quite a bit of water, actually, but I’ve checked the report. All the evidence points to death by drowning.”

“Which shouldn’t be possible,” Dick clarifies. “Right?”

“It shouldn’t be possible,” Bruce echoes pensively. “It shouldn’t be possible at all.”

Jason picks up a pair of worn jeans from the floor and starts to put them on. There’s a spattering of blood around the hem of the left leg, but that’ll probably come out with some bleach. It’s fine. He’s able to take advantage of a quick lull in the conversation. “Why do we think it was a suicide, anyway?”

“Because he left notes.”

Shit, that’s pretty convincing. Jason makes his way back to the kitchen. “Which I assume we know because we got one?”

“Yes, I got one.” Paper rustles again, and Jason checks his screen just in time to see Bruce hold up a wax-sealed envelope. “So did you.”

Jason turns his camera back on so they can have this conversation face to face– or, at least, as face-to-face as the phone will allow. “We weren’t penpals or anything,” he preempts, but Bruce’s face only grows stonier. Jason rolls his eyes, but he thinks back, considering. “If you’ll recall, Bruce, we’re not exactly on speaking– wow, I haven’t talked to him in years.”

Ra’s is– was, apparently– a weird guy. Impeccably put together (and maybe responsible for Jason’s post-resurrection bisexual identity crisis), but also six hundred years old and obsessed with wiping out most of the planet, so, yeah, pretty weird. Their relationship, or whatever it was, could probably best be defined as ‘cordial,’ like a father towards his daughter’s boyfriend, except the daughter in question was an ancient, toxic fountain of youth. Pretty standard stuff.

Scratch that, actually. That makes it sound like Jason was sleeping with the Lazarus Pit. Gross. Reiterated: for several reasons, gross.

Jason opens the cabinet, wrinkling his nose a little at the thought, and pours his smoothie into a cup that’s mostly clean, just a little dusty. It’s weird thinking that Ra’s is gone, especially in light of the circumstances. “Isn’t he pretty notoriously hard to kill?”

Dick pipes up before Bruce can speak. “There’s still a lot we don’t know–”

“There is,” Bruce agrees, “which is why I’d appreciate it if everyone could make their way over so we can discuss this.”

Tim immediately raises a hand. “Can I be excused if I’m on patrol?”

“Tim–”

Jason sips his smoothie. Fuck yeah. No chicken. “Yeah, I’m actually hosting my book club today, so…”

Dick hides a grin, and Bruce doesn’t roll his eyes, but he very clearly wants to. Double nice. “If you won’t be here, I reserve the right to open your mail.”

Checkmate. Damnit. He scowls, and hangs up before anyone can stop him. “What are we, Communists?” he says aloud to himself as he opens his messages.

Dick is already typing.

DGrayson: JFC drama queen are you coming over or not

JTodd: yeah obviously

DGrayson: oh cool nice

DGrayson: so are you ok?

JTodd: yeah why wouldnt I be

A pause. Jason finishes his smoothie. Look at him go, getting his daily servings of fruits. He’s crushing this.

DGrayson: do you want that alphabetically or chronologically?

JTodd: very funny

JTodd: yeah im so ok im the oldest guy i know

JTodd: *okest

DGrayson: you’re just historically weird abt hole stuff

JTodd: .

JTodd: Dicky do u want to rephrase that rq before I screenshot it

DGrayson: don’t you dare

Jason takes a screenshot.

DGrayson: youre the one who fucking named it the bad decision hole

DGrayson: do not pin that shit on me

JTodd: too late

He immediately sends it to the family group chat.

DGrayson: how could you do this to me

JTodd: easily lmao

JTodd: yeah fr I’m fine tho

JTodd: fuckin weird as hell that he drowned I didnt know you could do that

DGrayson: weird as hell indeed

DGrayson: do you want to see the autopsy report when you come over?

JTodd: are there photos

DGrayson: yeah

JTodd: are they gross

DGrayson: yeah he’s all pruney and junk

JTodd: fuckin bet

JTodd: yeah I’ll be there in like 20

Jason tosses the empty cup into the sink, grabs his earbuds off the counter, and makes his way out to his motorcycle. He’s so fine. The Lazarus Pit is like an old ex, one that he didn’t even sleep with– which is to say he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t. It’s fucking nothing to him. He puts his earbuds in and presses play on his music, and lets the distorted bass guitar snarl like a junkyard dog as Penelope Scott’s singing-speaking voice drowns out anything he’s definitely still not thinking about. For the first time in days, his mind is stillwater placid as he mouths along. “I don’t wanna feel better / I’d do anything to miss you again / I don’t wanna get over it /”

He does not think about Ra’s al Ghul, or, indeed, about his Lazarus Pit as he turns the engine and starts at a breakneck speed towards Wayne manor. There’s just the silence of the wind and the rabid bass guitar. “I wanna get under it instead /”

Jason Todd thinks of nothing at all until one final thought presents itself: that Dick is absolutely going to kill him for not wearing his helmet.

[tittyinfinity]

No seroquel means no sleep for me I guess. I've been trying for hours

[silverselfshippingchaos]

j.oongi is so fun because he gets introduced as this cold cool assassin type but really he's just a dork that has the goofiest chats