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cherriecove · 8 months ago

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Cregan Stark x Targ!Reader (Part 2)

Summary: As Rhaeynera Targaryen’s only daughter you always knew that your hand would be given to whomever aided your mother and her cause. It was something that you accepted but naturally you always dreaded the day your mother would send you to your future husband, fearing whoever it would be to be cruel and old. Fortunately your worries were unfounded as your twin brother Jacaerys suggests a potential union with the Lord of the North. Cherrie's note: Use of she/her. I have been dealing with a little bit of writers block so hopefully you like this! Also i love a good Cregan and Jace bromance.

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As Jace’s toast echoed through the hall, the atmosphere warmed with renewed camaraderie. Cregan’s eyes met yours, and you could see the genuine warmth in his gaze. The rest of the hall joined in the toast, raising their cups and filling the air with a sense of celebration. For a moment, the weight of your mother’s crown felt distant, replaced by the hopeful promise of new alliances and unity. The evening progressed with a welcome ease, a relief from the tension of the past few days. You found yourself drawn into lively conversation and laughter between Jace and Cregan. The developing bonds of friendship were evident, and Cregan’s ease with your brother spoke to his genuine character.

At one point, you retreated to a quiet corner of the hall, sipping your wine and observing the festivities. Cregan approached you with a warm, friendly expression. “Princess, may I have a word?”

You nodded, a flutter of curiosity and nerves in your chest. “Of course, my lord.”

He led you to a more secluded spot near the roaring hearth. “I hope you know that my request comes from a place of respect and necessity, not merely ambition. The North is a harsh land, and alliances like this could greatly benefit us both in these trying times.”

You met his gaze, feeling the sincerity in his words. “I understand, Lord Stark. I appreciate the honesty of your offer. I believe it will be beneficial for both our houses and the stability of the realm.”

Cregan smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I am glad to hear that. The North values its traditions and oaths deeply, and I trust that this union will strengthen the ties between our houses.”

Before you could respond further, Jace approached with a playful grin. “I see you two have already begun plotting the future of the North.”

Cregan chuckled and gave Jace a gentle nudge. “We were merely discussing the weight of our responsibilities.”

Jace clapped Cregan on the back. “Well, with that settled, I think it’s time for us to relax and enjoy the evening. We’ve made significant progress today.”

As the night wore on, you became engrossed in conversation with Cregan and Jace, discussing everything from politics to personal stories. The laughter and camaraderie were a welcome distraction, and you could feel the beginnings of genuine friendship and trust forming.

Eventually, the evening drew to a close. You and Jace retired to your quarters, the weight of the day’s events settling over you. Jace, ever perceptive, glanced at you with a knowing smile. “It seems you handled yourself admirably today. And from what I gather, Cregan’s quite taken with you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “It’s not just about personal feelings, Jace. This alliance is crucial for our family and the realm.”

He chuckled and patted you on the shoulder. “Of course. But it’s nice to see that amidst all the politics, there’s a chance for something more personal. I think you’ll find that Cregan is more than just a suitable match.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of anticipation and trepidation. “I hope so. The future is uncertain, but we must make the most of the opportunities we have.”

Jace gave you an encouraging nod before heading to his own quarters. You took a moment to reflect on the day’s events, feeling a sense of cautious optimism. The path ahead was fraught with challenges, but for now, you allowed yourself to embrace the hope of new beginnings and strengthened alliances. As you prepared for bed, your thoughts turned to Winterfell, Cregan, and the uncertain future. The world outside your window was quiet and still, a stark contrast to the turbulence you had just experienced. With a deep breath, you resolved to face whatever came next with determination and grace, knowing that the support of allies like Cregan would be crucial in the trials ahead.

The following morning dawned crisp and clear, with a fresh layer of frost covering the grounds of Winterfell. As you emerged from your chambers, the cold air was invigorating, and you marveled at the stark beauty of the northern landscape. The vast snow-covered fields and towering trees seemed to hold a strength despite the harsh weather, much like the people of the North.

You and Jace joined Cregan and his men for breakfast in the Great Hall. The hall was a warm contrast to the winter outside, with a roaring hearth and long wooden tables laden with hearty fare. The atmosphere was filled with ease and camaraderie, the earlier formalities now replaced by genuine friendship.

Cregan greeted you with a smile as you entered. “Good morning, Princess. I hope you slept well.”

You returned the smile, feeling genuine fondness for the young lord. “Good morning, Lord Stark. I did, thank you. The hospitality of Winterfell is most appreciated.”

Cregan gestured for you to take a seat next to him. Jace and Cregan were already deep in conversation. As you settled into your seat, the conversation turned to more pressing matters.

“Yesterday, we discussed the need for aid at the Wall,” Cregan began, his tone serious. “Given the current state of affairs, it’s imperative that we bolster our defenses. The threat from beyond the Wall is ever-present.”

Jace nodded in agreement. “I understand the urgency, and I believe our mother will be able to grant the request once she has secured her position. In the meantime, we must focus on forging strong alliances and ensuring that our support is as solid as possible.”

You took a sip of your drink, contemplating the implications. “Lord Stark, what more can we do to support the North in the meantime? Perhaps there are other ways we can assist while awaiting our mother’s response.”

Cregan looked at you with admiration. “Your willingness to assist is commendable, Princess. If you can lend your voice and presence to the cause as the princess of the realm and future lady of the North, it may sway others to offer their aid as well.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “I would be honored to assist in rallying support.”

The conversation continued with plans for how best to proceed. As the meeting wrapped up, Cregan took you aside. “Princess Y/n, if you’re willing, I’d like to show you more of Winterfell. There’s much to see, and it might provide some context for our discussions.”

You agreed, intrigued by the offer.

As Cregan led you through the sprawling castle, he pointed out various features, sharing stories and history that made Winterfell feel even more alive. The grand hall, the training grounds, the crypts—each part of the castle seemed to hold its own story and significance. As you walked together, you opened up about your own experiences and perspectives. Cregan listened intently, his thoughtful responses showing a deep understanding and respect for your views.

“This is a remarkable place,” you said, looking out over the snowy landscape from one of the castle’s high windows. “It’s clear that the North has a history of resilience and strength.”

Cregan smiled. “Indeed. The North is not just a land of harsh winters but of strong people who endure and thrive despite the challenges. I believe this strength will be crucial as we face the trials ahead.”

As the tour concluded, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The bond between you and Cregan seemed to be growing stronger, not just as potential allies but as individuals who understood each other’s burdens and hopes.

#hotd x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #targeryan reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #jacaerys velaryon #targaryen reader

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xo-cod · 1 year ago

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dad simon fluff because i'm sad. rushed and ooc ‼️

might be confusing to read because i didn't name the baby, i tried 🥲

it was early morning, too early for his liking as simon yawned before he spread the butter across the toast delicately. slicing up some fruits alongside it. it had been seven whole months since you both welcomed your pride and joy, seven whole months of a world he didn't think was possible to ever receive in this life. how he adored you and how he cherished his baby so deeply to his heart, in some ways it makes up for all the pain he suffered in his past to be able to have his two greatest gifts beside him every day.

he finished plating up, walking back to the living room and there his infant stood, big brown eyes gazing at the tv with delight. her eyes were one of the first thing he noticed when she had been born, they were one of the features that she had taken identically like his. and they looked absolutely gorgeous on her.

he never thought his life would turn out this way, spending the majority of his youth and his adulthood in the taskforce. at some point he grew to accept that the life price had offered him was the only one he would ever receive, he got used to the idea that perhaps love wasn't something everyone got to experience in this world. but then you came along and you gave him the greatest gift he could've ever possibly recieved, turning his world on its axis for the better.

a foreign feeling to simon whose life had been dominated nothing but by violence and loss.

"c'mere munchkin, breakfast" the soldier in him calling it out like a command only his voice was gentle, fatherly, as he picked her up securely before delicately placing her in her high chair.

and much like his features, his baby seemed to take his attitude too.

she huffed and squirmed on the chair, her tiny face crumpled in a frown having been taken away from her dear cartoons and made to eat.

"is this little girl trying to be stubborn, eh?" simon narrowed his eyes but his face showed pure amusement, his face leaning down to kiss her temple softly. she immediately relaxed and babbled softly while he smiled, sitting on the chair next to her as he fed her the food.

simon was still learning everyday what it meant to be a father, he promised himself he'd never turn out to be the way his own dad was. he vowed never to do that to you or his child. never to become the way his father had been.

but he had barely finished giving her the breakfast before she gasped excitedly at the cartoon once more, baby babbles falling from her lips. he watched, resisting the urge to coo and chuckle at her state. and then he watched as she mimicked the tv, pretending to be dinosaur while she blew raspberries at him.

it had been her new thing now and simon felt pure joy tugging at his heart, wishing forever she'd stay this way so he could protect her from everything. how innocent and carefree she was here in this moment, how time was cruel because he could already feel it escape and slip through his fingers. pretty soon she'd be turning a year old and it felt like just yesterday he was bringing her and you back home from the hospital

"now what do little dinosaurs say?" simon entertained her playfully, helping her down while she stomped around in her onesie looking at him with pure mischief.

"you have to roar at me for it to work, yeah?" he playfully growled back as he nuzzled his face up against hers and he started to gently tickle her on her side. she collapsed into shrieks of laughter, only deepening the smile on his lips as he laughed along with her. he watched her small arms flail about, trying to make her voice sound like the effects on tv but failing miserably

and how his heart ached in his chest as a result from it. he hoped she would never lose this spark, this streak of mischief, being so full of life and love. she was already growing much too fast for his liking but he was so excited for who she'd be, she was his mini after all

he heard your soft gasp and then a gentle laugh, turning back to look at you with a look of fondness at your arrival. you'd never looked better to him, half asleep and still as beautiful as the day he had the pleasure of looking upon you for the first time

"did you hear that, lovie?" simon grinned, looking back at you before he kissed his baby's small cheek as he set her down on the floor once more. he gently faced her towards you, helping her walk across while you made your way to the couch

"show mama how you roar like a scary little dinosaur" simon encouraged with a playful tone, poking her side softly. you followed his gaze and looked down at the baby who was roaring just as she had been before she hiccuped and stumbled on the floor. her soft grumbles fell from her lips which prompted the both of you to chuckle gently at your baby. she looked close to having a tantrum but simon was well acquainted with all her little moods, distracting her quickly

"oh no, my poor little dinosaur. whatever will it do now?" he feigned sadness which caused the infant to burst into giggles, almost tripping over towards his big arms as he caught her and held her close to his chest. his own gentle laughter mixing in with hers and you could only watch with a tenderness in your heart, always hoping deep down in your heart your little family would always remain this happy.

#simon riley #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #dad!ghost #dad!simon riley #dad!simon riley x reader

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lovelynim · 3 months ago

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ohmygosh my fav writer has requests open? time to cook >:}

lee!phainon,, i’m begging and pleading,, the ler can be anyone of your choice, i just wanna see phainon getting bullied (affectionately of course)

thank you so so so much in advance 🫶

- 🎰 anon

[Requests open]

Hello anon! This kind of bullying does seem fit for phainon, so I hope this is enough to ease your cravings

“Stop trying to run away, deliverer!” Mydei roared, yanking at Phainon’s arm as he harshly pulled the man back into his grip - probably with enough strength to rip off a regular person’s limb. “You asked for this, didn’t you?!”

“M-Mydehehei!” Phainon giggled, nearly tripping over his own feet after losing his balance. If it wasn’t for Mydei’s arm around his body, he would probably have fallen face-first to the ground. Well, if it wasn’t for Mydei’s hand tickling him, he wouldn’t have tried to run away in the first place.

Mydei was clearly annoyed to his very core. Phainon, on the other hand, beaming as bright as ever, almost having fun. ‘Almost’ because, at least according to his words, he was overwhelmed.

“I-I sahAHAhaid I’m sohorry!! M-MydehEHEhei!!” Phainon laughed, his feet stomping the ground and his back pressing into Mydei’s bare chest. “P-Plehehease!! MehehEHercy!”

“‘Mercy’? You dare to make such a claim before me?” Mydei grinned, his hand forcing its way to under one of Phainon’s arm while he hugged held Phainon even tighter. “The only thing fitting for a weakling like you it’s death, so take it with honor!”

It was hard to tell if Mydei actually meant those words or if they were just said in the heat of the moment. Phainon surely believed in them, however.

His laughter rose a pitch when the tickling shifted to his armpit, panicked cackles poured from his lips like the water from Phagousa’s chalice. Phainon shook his head, feeling his feet losing touch with the ground as the other man slightly lifted him, rendering him helpless.

“S-should… I help him?” Caelus asked, pointing at where Mydei and Phainon were. “He is not going to actually kill Phainon, right?”

“Don’t worry,” Tribbie nodded, a hand to her chin as she cocked her head to the side, “De and Snowy always bond like this. It’s almost like Snowy teases De just for these outcomes.”

#asks #🎰 anon #anon #requests #honkai star rail #honkai star rail tickling #mydei #mydeimos #phainon #phaidei #myphai #lee!phainon #ticklish!phainon #ler!mydei #tickle fic

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earthlybeam · 4 months ago

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Secret crush without the mistletoe can be interesting..? Love your writing by the way I really like your view on Legolas on point!

how would the elves react to this?

↓

Legolas Version below. (You and Legolas well secret have a crush but either of you acted till now.)

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

𖧧 The great hall was alive with the warmth of firelight and the soft buzz of conversation. Winter had tightened its icy grip on the world outside, its frigid breath pressing against the thick stone walls of the castle, but within, there was only warmth. The air was heavy with the scent of spiced wine and roasting meats, mingling with the steady hum of voices and occasional bursts of laughter from the gathered guests. Shadows flickered and danced across the high ceilings as the fire roared in the hearth, and golden light bathed the hall in a welcoming glow. Yet for all the merry revelry around him, Legolas’s attention was entirely elsewhere—on you. The two of you had found a quieter corner of the hall, tucked just far enough from the main crowd to feel removed from the festivities but still close enough to hear the hum of life around you. You were speaking to him, animated as always, your hands gesturing as you brought whatever story you were telling to life. There was a spark in your eyes that seemed to catch the firelight, making them shine even brighter, and your voice—light, lilting, utterly captivating—filled the space between you.

𖧧 Legolas, however, couldn’t hear a word you were saying. Not because he didn’t want to, but because his thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in the way your lips moved as you spoke, the way the soft glow of firelight kissed your skin, and the way your presence seemed to fill every corner of his mind. You had always been beautiful to him, but tonight, there was something about you that was simply… magnetic. And then his gaze drifted upward. Just above you, hanging innocuously from the archway, was a sprig of mistletoe, its pale berries gleaming faintly in the warm light. Legolas froze for a moment, his sharp Elven eyes narrowing slightly as he studied it, as if its presence alone were conspiring against him. His lips quirked into a faint, almost rueful smile. How convenient—and utterly maddening. The mistletoe dangled there like an invitation, and yet, you hadn’t even noticed it.

𖧧 Legolas tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking back to you. You were still speaking, your words tumbling out in a steady stream of thought that left no room for interruptions. He tried to focus on what you were saying—tried to ground himself in the rhythm of your voice—but it was no use. His thoughts were consumed by you. By the closeness of you. By the thought of what it might feel like to close that small distance between you and claim the kiss the mistletoe so temptingly promised. He cleared his throat softly, a subtle attempt to catch your attention. But you didn’t notice. Your voice carried on, weaving through one story and into another, your excitement undeterred. He smiled faintly, shaking his head to himself. Of course, you wouldn’t notice. He adored this about you—your passion, the way your words never seemed to falter, the way you could fill any silence with life. And yet, at this very moment, it was also driving him to distraction.

𖧧 Legolas shifted slightly, leaning just a little closer, hoping you might sense the change in his demeanor. When that failed, he cast another glance upward, as if willing you to follow his gaze and notice the mistletoe. Still nothing. You were utterly oblivious, your focus entirely on the story you were telling. Legolas let out a soft sigh, his heart pounding in his chest. He would have to act. His mind raced. What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if this ruined everything? But then his gaze found its way back to your lips, and his resolve hardened. Enough. If he waited for you to pause, he’d be here all night.

𖧧 As you launched into yet another animated anecdote, your hands gesturing to emphasize some point, Legolas stepped forward, closing the space between you in a single, deliberate motion. His movements were as smooth and graceful as always, but there was an uncharacteristic tension to his posture—a quiet urgency beneath his composed exterior. His hand brushed against yours, the contact so feather-light it might have gone unnoticed had it not sent a spark of warmth through your skin. The touch was enough to make you falter, your words catching for just a fraction of a second before tumbling forward again. But before you could recover or even register the brief interruption, his other hand came up, reaching for you with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. His palm cupped your cheek with a warmth that contrasted the wintry chill lingering in the room. His fingers spread gently, as if they belonged there, cradling your face with a reverence that made your heart skip a beat.

𖧧 “Legolas, what are you—” you began, your voice soft and uncertain as confusion flickered in your eyes. But the words never made it past your lips. Before you could finish the thought, he leaned in, his clear blue eyes holding yours for one fleeting moment, as if seeking permission—or perhaps steeling his courage. Then his lips were on yours, silencing you with a kiss that was at once soft and certain. The world around you seemed to stop. The golden warmth of the fire, the hum of laughter and chatter from the hall, the clink of goblets—all of it faded into the background, dissolving into a distant blur. All that remained was the quiet, intimate bubble of space the two of you occupied. His lips moved against yours with a gentle insistence, tentative yet undeniably purposeful, as if he were testing the boundaries of what you might allow.

𖧧 For a moment, you froze, your mind struggling to process the suddenness of his action. But the shock melted away almost as quickly as it came, replaced by a warmth that blossomed in your chest and spread outward until it filled every corner of your being. His hand on your cheek anchored you, grounding you in the moment, while his thumb brushed lightly over your skin in a touch so tender it made your heart ache. Slowly, almost instinctively, you found yourself leaning into him, your body responding before your mind could catch up. Your lips moved against his, hesitant at first but gradually growing bolder, matching the quiet yearning in his kiss. It was a mutual acknowledgment, unspoken but deeply understood—a shared step into something entirely new and uncharted.

𖧧 When he finally pulled back, it was as if time resumed its flow, though the moment between you still hung suspended like a fragile thread. His breath came shallow, and his clear blue eyes searched yours with a mix of vulnerability and determination. The expression on his face was unlike anything you had seen before—a delicate blend of hope, relief, and the faintest trace of nervousness. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the faint crackle of the fire and the distant murmur of the hall. Then, his lips curved into a small, sheepish smile, his composure faltering just enough to reveal the flicker of uncertainty beneath. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “But you weren’t stopping, and… well, the mistletoe wouldn’t wait forever.”

𖧧 Your gaze flickered upward, finally following the direction of his earlier glances. There, hanging innocuously above you, was a sprig of mistletoe, its pale green leaves and pearly white berries glinting faintly in the firelight. A soft, breathless laugh escaped you, and when you looked back at him, your eyes sparkled with a mix of incredulity and playful mischief. “You mean to tell me,” you began, your tone light and teasing as your lips curved into a grin, “that you kissed me just to stop my talking?” His lips twitched, his own cheeks tinged with a faint pink that made him look more human than Elf in that moment. “I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of playful earnestness that matched the glint in his eyes. “Stopping your talking was… a fortunate side effect.” A laugh bubbled up from your chest, incredulous and warm, as you shook your head in disbelief. “You could’ve just said something, you know,” you teased, though the warmth in your voice betrayed the fluttering in your chest. “Instead of ambushing me.”

𖧧 “Would you have stopped long enough to notice the mistletoe?” he countered, raising an elegant brow, his smile growing more confident now. His tone was gentle but carried a hint of teasing challenge, as if he already knew the answer. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. He had a point. Instead, you closed your mouth again, your lips curving into a grin that was equal parts exasperated and amused. Tilting your head slightly, you regarded him with a playful glint in your eyes. “Well,” you said softly, your voice tinged with warmth, “now that I’ve stopped, I suppose you should make the most of it.” Legolas’s smile widened, the relief and delight in his expression unmistakable. For a brief moment, he looked at you as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real, as if he had been waiting far longer than you could have imagined for this exact moment. “As you wish,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a tone that was both reverent and full of quiet promise.

𖧧 This time, when he leaned in, the kiss was different. Gone was the hesitation and caution of the first; this kiss was deeper, more certain, filled with the kind of longing that had clearly been held back for far too long. His lips moved against yours with a quiet passion, and his hand, still cradling your cheek, shifted slightly, his fingers tangling in your hair as if anchoring himself to you. The world around you seemed to fade even further, leaving only the warmth of him and the steady beat of your heart. In that moment, beneath the mistletoe and the golden firelight, everything else disappeared, leaving only the quiet certainty that this was just the beginning.

𖧧 The next time Legolas kissed you, it was not born of hesitation or surprise but something deeper—something deliberate. It came after a quiet moment, one in which both of you stood close together, the firelight casting flickering shadows across your faces. You were alone now, the hall’s festivities continuing on the far side of the room, the laughter and music muffled as if the world itself had given you this moment to be entirely his. His gaze lingered on your face, studying you with the quiet intensity that always made your heart flutter. The way his blue eyes held yours felt like a silent confession, a thousand unspoken words exchanged in the span of a single heartbeat. There was no mistletoe this time to urge him forward, no playful excuse to fall back on. This was different. This was him, choosing you, without hesitation.

𖧧 Legolas stepped closer, his presence a quiet but commanding thing, as gentle and sure as the forest breeze. He raised a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch so tender it sent shivers down your spine. You leaned into it instinctively, your breath hitching as his thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone with a reverence that made your chest ache. His other hand found its place at your waist, his grip firm but not possessive, as though he were anchoring himself as much as he was drawing you closer. You tilted your head slightly, meeting his gaze, and in that moment, the world felt still again. He leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to stop him, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both soft and searing.

𖧧 From Legolas’s perspective, the kiss was everything he had imagined and yet so much more. Your lips were warm and inviting, moving against his with an eagerness that matched his own, and he poured everything he could not say aloud into that kiss. His fingers slid into your hair, threading through the soft strands as he deepened the kiss, his movements deliberate yet unhurried. For him, this was not just an embrace—it was an act of devotion, a quiet promise that he would give you every part of himself if you would let him. For you, the kiss felt like stepping into the unknown, but it was anything but frightening. Legolas kissed with the kind of care and intention that made you feel cherished, as though you were the only thing that mattered in the world. His lips were soft yet firm, moving with a rhythm that was both patient and insistent, as though he was memorizing every moment, every sensation. His hand in your hair was gentle, his fingers tightening slightly as if he feared you might slip away.

𖧧 The warmth of him was overwhelming in the best way. It was in the press of his lips, the strength of his hand at your waist, the way his body seemed to align with yours as he pulled you just a little closer. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, matching the wild rhythm of your own. The intensity of it all left you breathless, and yet you found yourself wanting more. Legolas pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you. His hand stayed in your hair, his thumb brushing softly against your temple in a soothing gesture. His lips hovered close enough that you could still feel their warmth, as if he couldn’t bear to fully part from you just yet. His voice, low and steady but tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, broke the silence. “Do you know,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your lips, “how long I have waited for this?” Your chest tightened at the quiet vulnerability in his words, and you reached up to place a hand over his, the one still cradling your cheek. “Then don’t wait anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the meaning behind it clear.

𖧧 At your words, something shifted in Legolas. His lips found yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. The kiss was deeper, more consuming, as though he were pouring every ounce of restraint he had once held into this moment. His hand at your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the strength in him—not just the physical strength but the emotional depth, the quiet intensity that defined him. The room around you disappeared entirely, swallowed by the heat and tenderness of the kiss. Time seemed to stretch, the boundaries of the world reduced to the feel of him, the taste of him, the steady rhythm of his breath mingling with yours. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and relief, of promises unspoken but deeply felt. And when you finally broke apart, both of you breathless and trembling, you knew that nothing between you would ever be the same again.

#prince Legolas #Legolas #Legolas x reader #legolas supremacy #Legolas simps #legolas greenleaf #prince legolas x reader #Legolas greenleaf x reader #lord of the rings #the hobbit #lotr elves

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cgunderwearstories · 6 months ago

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The Lambda House Halloween Party

The Lambda house Halloween party at Ashford College was in full swing, the house decked out in its usual haunted decor—flickering lanterns, spider webs stretching across doorways, and a thick mist rolling from a fog machine. The music boomed through the rooms, and dozens of college guys dressed in everything from werewolves to gladiators packed the space, laughing and shouting. Some of the Lambda brothers had their eyes set on making the night memorable in a very different way. Every year, they prided themselves on pulling pranks that left guys feeling more than a little exposed—especially those who arrived unprepared or overconfident. Tonight, they had their eyes on Jason.

Jason is wearing a toga that is supposed to drape down to his knees, but it barely covers his meaty thighs. The material is a thin, gauzy white that shifts easily with movement, lifting higher and showing more with every step. As he moves, the toga flutters, and the sides part to reveal a glimpse of his underwear—a skimpy pair of lacy blue panties. The lace pattern is intricate, with small floral designs that contrast sharply against his skin, and they’re cut high on the sides, exposing a lot of his hips. The waistband is thin, and when the toga rides up, you can clearly see the blue lace riding above his thigh.

The guys at the party erupt into laughter. “Nice toga, dude, but I think you forgot to dress for the occasion!” one of them shouts. “Those are some fancy panties you’ve got under there!” another guy adds, grinning. A guy nearby shakes his head and laughs, “Guess you wanted to be the ‘Greek god of lingerie’ tonight, huh?” They lift the back of his toga, exposing the full lace design. “Oh man, you’re showing off more than you think!”

Jason, feels his face heat up as the frat guys start pointing and laughing at his predicament. His toga, already too short, has ridden up enough for everyone to see his blue lacy panties, the thin material barely covering anything. He desperately tries to adjust the fabric, pulling it down, but every time he does, the lace waistband peeks out even more. The frat guys are relentless, crowding around him, their laughter echoing through the room.

“Hey, man, nice choice! Are those lace panties?” one of the frat guys jeers, reaching over to lift the side of Jason’s toga even higher. “Looks like someone’s got a secret.”

Jason, flustered and trying to save face, stammers out an excuse. “It’s—it’s part of the costume! You know, like ancient Greek underwear, uh, they wore—fancy stuff back then, you know?”

The guys roar with laughter at his attempt. “Greek underwear, huh?” one of them scoffs, tugging at the back of the toga so it rides up higher, giving a full view of the lace against his skin. “Sure, dude, because all Greek warriors fought in their girlfriends’ panties.” Another guy doubles over, clutching his stomach, “Oh man, next you’ll be telling us you’re wearing a bra too!”

Jason tries to pull the toga back down, but the frat guys aren’t letting him off that easily. One of them pulls at the waistband of his panties, snapping the elastic against his skin. “Nah, man, if you’re going to wear something like this, you’ve gotta show it off!” he laughs. Another guy joins in, lifting the front of the toga to expose the full lace detail. “Check this out, boys—looks like Jason’s gone all out tonight!”

Jason’s face is burning red now as he feels the lace cling to his skin, the panties barely hiding anything. “It’s—it’s a joke, okay? It’s just for fun,” he tries to say, but the frat guys are having none of it.

“Yeah, right,” one of them sneers, pulling the back of his panties and letting it snap. “You’ve been caught, dude. Just admit you like it!”

Another mischievously smiles, “Why not just take the whole thing off if you’re so proud of your ‘costume’?”

He grabs the side of the toga and gives it a tug, pulling it off entirely. The group hoots with laughter as Jason stands there, desperately trying to cover himself. One of the frat guys holds up his phone, snapping pictures. “Smile for the camera, lace boy!” he says, grinning.

“Yeah, show everyone your ‘ancient Greek’ look!” another guy taunts, pushing him forward so he stumbles in his lacy panties.

Jason’s attempts to regain his dignity are futile. “You know what, maybe he’s right,” one guy says, pretending to consider Jason’s excuse. “Maybe this is just how the Greeks did it. All lace, all the time. What do you think, boys?”

As Jason tries to make his escape, one of the frat guys steps up behind him, snickering. Without warning, he slips his finger into the waistband of the panties. His finger lingers for a moment, running along the waistband as if inspecting the lace pattern. “You know, this lace really suits you,” he teases, giving a slight tug that pulls the fabric into a wedgie. “Bet you didn’t think you’d be showing off your cute little panties tonight, huh?” he adds with a smirk.

Jason’s face burns as the guy continues. “Honestly, dude, you should just own it. Walk around and show off those cheeks—you’ve got nothing left to hide anyway.” The other guys around him burst into laughter, egging on the one who’s teasing Jason.

Feeling the humiliation, Jason doesn’t dare reach back or try to fix his wedgie. He walks away, face down, while the guy shouts, “There you go, show off that lace! Everyone’s loving the view!”

As Jason tries to make his way through the crowd, cheeks burning with embarrassment, one of the frat guys steps up behind him. Slowly, he slips his finger into the waistband of Jason’s lace panties, tugging them just enough to expose his ample behind. Jason feels a shiver run through him, his body betraying the thrill he feels as the lace is lowered. He knows he should push the guy away, but he’s frozen, heart racing.

The guy leans in, his breath warm against Jason’s ear. “We can all see your pretty little panties, man…and your pink hole” he whispers, his finger brushing against Jason’s sensitive hole. The light touch sends a jolt through Jason, and he bites his lip, struggling to suppress the excitement he feels. The teasing touch moves closer, grazing areas that make his knees weak. The lace panties hang below his buttocks, intensifying every sensation.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, grinning as he sees Jason’s reaction. “Bet you love showing off for all the guys.”

Around them, the other frat guys laugh, their voices echoing in Jason’s ears. “Dude, looks like you’re really enjoying this!” one shouts, and another adds, “Guess he wanted everyone to see what he’s packing under that toga!”

The guy’s finger continues its teasing journey, lingering on Jason’s hole. The sensation is electric, and Jason can’t help but let out a soft, involuntary gasp. Jason’s head spins, caught between humiliation and the undeniable thrill of being teased and exposed. The frat guy behind him presses a little closer, his finger still teasing along the edge of the panties. “I think he loves it,” he says loudly, making sure the whole room hears. “Let’s see just how much.”

Jason’s body feels alive, every touch amplified by the attention from the group. He knows the guys are watching, laughing, taking it all in—and, deep down, he loves every second of it.

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angelofsmalldeaath · 1 year ago

Note

your slice of life style has become such a comfort for me i pick one out to read before i go to bed and they make my heart all warm

if you feel like taking requests/want inspo I’d love to read a rainy day in the life vibe (no pressure tho!! genuinely would read something about watching paint dry if you wrote it)

mwah xx

reading this ask made me feel all warm and fuzzy, you are so so sweet!! 🥹 no like i love it when people tell me they enjoy my writing, it's such a good feeling!! so thank you sm for this ♡︎

i really hope this was what you wanted it to be ♡︎

cw: references a previous fic, suggestive

“jesus fuck!” i jump in my seat and glare at him when he snickers. the thunder rumbling is unexpected and loud—louder than it has any right to be.

“scared?” he teases.

“of a little thunder?” i turn my nose up at him, faking bravado, “never. i just don’t wanna get stuck in the rain.”

“too late,” he tsks, and together we look out the cafe window as the light turns watery. the wind picks up, so does the footfall of people running to find shelter. some gather under the awning of the cafe we’re in, some run across the street and find shelter in other establishments.

he takes hold of my hand. “we could still make it if we ran…”

i look down at our table—at our empty coffee cups and breakfast plates—and then back up outside the window. fat drops of rain hit the glass, one after the other, racing down until they all converge into a tiny puddle.

“could we?”

“what’s the harm?” he points at his jacket, “we could use this as cover.”

i contemplate it for a second, picture it in my head and laugh—the two of us dashing through the rain under a jacket that isn’t nearly big enough. another rumble from the skies makes me jolt. this time he manages to stifle his laugh.

“so?”

“alright,” i nod, gathering my things and wiping my hands on the tissues. he holds my hand the moment we scramble to our feet. the door chimes softly as we push it open, and immediately the wind and rain rush to greet us.

“fuck!” i squeal, “‘m freezing my tits off!”

i groan the moment i hear his little juvenile giggle—an uncharacteristically boyish sound from a giant of a man. “i could warm them for you, you know?”

“you’re such a man!” i roll my eyes, trying to stifle a smile but he pulls me out from under the awning and right into the torrential rain.

under the thin shelter of his jacket, we huddle close, our bodies pressed together to keep as dry as possible. the rain is colder than i expected, and the pavement is already slick beneath our feet. we take off running, his laughter ringing in my ears, mingling with the roar of the storm.

“shit, we’re so unhealthy,” i huff, breathless and barely a street down from the cafe.

he raises his brow at me. “we?”

“shut up,” i punch his shoulder lightly. he’s barely out of breath though, looking at me with amusement and mostly drenched from the rain now.

his hair is plastered to his face too. the water clings to his eyelashes and a drop falls on his nose, making its way down to his lips. it’s mesmerising, in a way—a drop of water on his lips and suddenly he’s the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen.

when the thunder rumbles again—much louder than before—i stagger to a stop, right in the middle of the pavement like a deer caught in headlights. this time he doesn’t laugh, he just pulls me into him and pulls us into a little alley that seems a bit shielded than the main street.

“you’re okay,” he tucks a wet strand of hair behind my ear.

“we always end up in alleys somehow,” i try to wipe my face on my sleeves but it’s useless.

“we do,” he nods. we stare at each other—me, completely breathless, him, breathing in this odd rhythm that makes me think of all sorts of things.

he moves towards me, our toes touching, his wet body pressed into mine. it’s darker here, in this alley. the buildings tower over us, but the rain is just as relentless.

“we should hurry up and go home,” i point out but it holds no conviction at all.

“we should,” he nods and bends down to kiss me.

on his lips i taste the raindrop from before. it’s sweet—or perhaps it’s just the taste of him, sweet and familiar and like home. and even when the rough wall digs into my back and thunder echoes all around me, i melt into him, fist my hands into his jumper and pull him so close that no air can pass between us any longer.

“you…” he swipes his tongue over my lip and i shiver, “should have listened to me.”

“the breakfast date was your idea!”

“in bed!” he protests against my mouth, kissing me a little harder.

“and who was going to make the food?” i challenge, holding back a moan.

“who said i wanted to eat food?”

my cheeks heat up. i laugh and hide my face in his chest—something he always finds particularly endearing. “so we should hurry up and go home then… i am dying to get out of these clothes.”

this time when he nods, there’s a twinkle in his eyes. he pulls away and i shiver from the cold until he holds my hand again and pulls us back on the main street. the jacket is back on our heads, drenched and utterly useless but i like how the world looks from under it and from by his side.

when the thunder rumbles again, i don’t stop. i only hold onto him tighter and we run through the streets faster.

#requests #hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #andrew hozier byrne x reader #writblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #mdni #minors do not interact

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eepyuii · 8 months ago

Text

to embrace and consume

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to enemies to lovers?

cw ; violence, choking, frequent mention of injuries and blood, blood drinking, hurt/comfort? angst??? kinda???

notes ; sorry folks, not a new frostbite chapter!!!! life still pretty hectic, preparing for college now but i’ve had this idea for a while now and i thought trying out a oneshot would be cool!!! :3

this is kinda like an alternate reality of frostbite where the reader and childe still grew up together but they do actually grow to hate each other instead of that pussy shit i wrote before LMFAO. perhaps in this instance the reader didn’t join the fatui or maybe moved away from snezhnaya??? idk and they face off like they did in the golden house

also bear with me with this idea… i got it from that video of the boxer’s laying down and rubbing blood all over each others faces IM SORRY I JUST THOUGHT IT WAS RLY COOL ;w; this is the steamiest thing i can write that’s not smut, i don’t think i could ever write smut

ANYWAY I HOPE U LIKE IT

small tip-taps of two children running simultaneously. uncontrollable giggles echo from either side. they run circles around each other, in an infinite futile attempt of catching one another— they care not, for the point isn’t to win.

silent, calculated footsteps. they’re slow and careful, like a predator and its prey rounding each other, or perhaps even two predators— they only serve to postpone the inevitable clash of claw and teeth, in which only one will leave alive.

ajax tackles you into a bed of snow that steadily cushions your fall. he falls on top of you with a ‘puff!’ and you’ve both gone past the point of any hope in containing your laughter, chests shaking against each other as you cackle. you feel your head grow warm from the excitement and exertion, the fluffy snow that surrounds it creating a pleasant juxtaposition.

right as the two of you have finally managed to catch your breaths, panting out the last few giggles remaining inside you, ajax’s mouth grows into a devious grin. he leans back above you, arms winding back behind him… and lunges down at you— his small skittering fingers tickling your sides in a vicious attack. you roar in unceasing laughter as you shake from side to side in a futile effort to evade your best friend’s tickles.

“aja- ahahah.. s-stop! i can’t- hahah.. can’t breathe!”

the first arrow is fired, you dodge— then the second, then the third. they’re shot almost rhythmically, very predictably into your previous position, like childe is expecting you to dodge them. his expression is unreadable, unrecognizable even. he’s entirely unrecognizable to you. thinking about it nearly distracts you from the woosh of his arrows around you and the sound rushing water as he charges the next one with hydro energy, but your instincts thankfully take the wheel and allow you to evade childe’s onslaught of arrows almost subconsciously.

you’ve long since given up on maintaining a poker face, as your expression had slid down into a frown of pure resentment. you hate him, whatever he is right now— not ajax for sure. it feels as though it’s been an eternity since that name last left your mouth, the fond familiarity that it set on your tongue long dead, much like the boy the name once belonged to. he’s dead now, he must be.

within a flurry of varied attacks, a particular sharp wave of water finally outsmarts you— you’re a breath away from successfully evading it when it slashes your bicep in a cut as thin as a hair strand with a sting that feels cold and ruthless against your skin. the coldness of the cut is quickly replaced with a seeping warmth, your blood slowly making its way out of the incision as you huff with frustration and finally decide to get on the offensive. your polearm swooshes through the air with heavy, vicious swings hellbent on landing on your opponent.

a millisecond after one of your swings lands on childe’s shoulder, he’s already reacting with a near animalistic growl and unforgiving slashes of his transformed hydro blades.

and so ensues a bloodthirsty back-and-forth.

it’s akin to a battle between birds of prey, or africanized bees— violently and ceaselessly, the two of you clash at the center of the battlefield and the sheer force of your exchange in hits and counterattacks pushes you back apart, sending either one to opposite poles of the arena. two magnets on the wrong end that insist on approaching each other by the pure drive of utter hatred.

childe, much like his namesake, still manages to find a window to be cocky and throws taunting words at you with an overconfident smirk. even as a living weapon of war, he doesn’t forsake his immaturity.

after feeling like you might die from laughing too hard, you finally obtain the advantage on ajax and his fierce onslaught of tickles and manage to push him off of you— he lands on the snow behind him with an equally cushioned ‘puff!’. you stand over him, half-triumphant and half-malicious with the intent of paying him back in full for his sudden attack.

ajax comprehends your wordless intention immediately and kicks his feet into the ground to slowly back away from you as nervous giggles leave his lips. like a reversed déjà vu, you wind your arms back to prepare your own tickling power— only now, as your in the midst of lunging down at your best friend, he disappears and you land face down on the snow, ajax’s roaring laughter ringing out from a distance behind you.

it doesn’t take much to spot the fiery blur of ginger hair, plus his favorite red scarf, zooming through the trees. you start chuckling once again and take off after him.

“get back here, ajax!”

“you’ll never catch me, slowpoke!” he taunts.

“all you do is run!” you retort.

a raspy grumble escapes childe, one that sounds a lot like the words ‘all you do is run!’, but you’re far too simultaneously tired and pumped with adrenaline to process it properly. thinking those words are truly what he said brings a burning to your chest, one unlike the physical injuries you’re sustaining— no, it feels more like the ache of a fond memory now long lost. you can’t bring yourself to remember why that would be the case.

you’re both exhausted at this point, panting uncontrollably, movements turning sluggish.

childe’s steps falter, knees shaking as if he’s about to fall, and he braces himself to summon the power of his delusion as violet sparks of electricity emit from him. you feel the hairs on the back of your head rise to attention as you tense up and prepare for the new challenge your opponent seems to pose— only for him to utterly fail.

being far too weak, the electro particles dissipate and childe’s legs finally give in when he falls to the ground with a miserable groan. shouldn’t have left his delusion as a last resort.

that previous seeping warmth of blood has since taken over your entire body as you’re practically dripping in your own blood, soon enough it’s far too much for you to handle and you join childe as you slump on the floor pathetically. the silence becomes deafening as both you and your opponent become far too incapacitated to do anything but pant and stare at each other with burning glares ridden with loathing.

you utterly despise him. how far he’s fallen, how much he’s done. all for the sake of a loveless ruler and the thrill of the bloodshed she promises him.

“i-i…” you mutter, voice strained and shaky, yet it still catches childe’s attention in full. “i hate you.”

those three words seem to irk childe to his very core, as his anger grows into seething growls completely rid of any previous composure. he roars ferally as he uses his remaining strength to launch at you, slamming you down into the cold floor. your head painfully lands against the hard surface and leaves you with an overwhelming ache in your cranium.

a shaky but determined hand rises to your throat and tries its mightiest to squeeze. your own hands immediately rise to fight back and push him away, feeling the air in your throat grow thinner and thinner. you instinctively panic and thrash under him, terrified that you might actually die by childe’s hands, like pathetic prey. your heart is drumming in your ears like it itself is drowning in a panic attack. oh god you’re going to die.

miraculously, your protests prove to be needles as the harbinger himself doesn’t have the strength to properly choke you to death—he gives up and resorts to just looming over you while choked, heaving breaths and coughs leave you, filling in the silence. within the dizzy haze that your head injury brings, your vision blurs for a moment and you’re almost able to see the shining face of a grinning, ginger-haired young boy above you. it’s gone within the next second.

you wonder if childe sees the same thing you do. you wonder if he, even for a millisecond, sees your giggly younger self beneath him. you wonder if that’s what makes him falter in his attempt to strangle you.

your questions seem to be sensed by him and wordlessly answered as he slowly lowers his forehead to yours, tired eyes falling to a close. his nose drips blood like a faucet and it lands warmly onto your face. you’re far too tired to bring yourself to care about it, you just close your own eyes instead. you remain like that for a while, just breathing in the metallic scent of each other’s blood. your wounds scream at you, you don’t listen— you listen to childe’s journey into regulating his breathing instead and subconsciously follow suit. you’re so unbelievably fucking tired, you’re 99% confident you’ll pass out underneath childe any moment now. there aren’t enough words in the world to explain what happens next.

a sudden wetness drags itself across your face and you perplexedly open your eyes to discover that it turns out to be childe dragging his blood-soaked face against yours, cheek rubbing onto your own and spreading crimson all over it— like a slobbering puppy. it’s utterly inexplicable.

just like how it’s utterly inexplicable that you don’t pull away. no, you laugh. you’d like to blame it on your delirious exhaustion, how you just stay and accept it. allow your blood to mix with his, more than it ever would’ve if you had just killed each other and been done with it. childe soon joins you with his own weak giggles and the two of you, for even a fraction of a moment, feel like children again.

it’s mindless, it’s silly, it’s uncaring. like you’re merely playing in the snow again and rubbing the melting snow that clings onto your faces on each other.

your hands irrationally rise to cup childe’s cheeks but you still don’t think to push him away, nor does he think to leave your touch. it’s utterly familiar and completely foreign all at once. though not as much as what happens next— in the harbinger’s mission to slobber blood all over you, your lips brush several times but neither act upon it. until childe finally decides to firmly clamp his mouth onto yours, like a parched man desperate for water.

he kisses you. and it’s okay, you’re okay. you’re both okay.

the sanguine soup that you two create inevitably to slither into your mouth and you gulp it down— it feels like the freshest sip of water you’ve ever taste. you must’ve hit your head catastrophically hard. you feel childe’s content sigh blow over you from his nose and realize you’ve got your own sigh of utter fulfillment to let out. perhaps this is more familiar than it is foreign, this subconscious affection. perhaps if you had had more time together, grown up together, you would’ve noticed the effortless childhood connection the two of you had would’ve blossomed into something more at some point. you know it would have.

you know this because you and childe seem to only kiss harder and deeper, pulling away only when breathing seems to be absolutely necessary and falling back in. drinking more of each other’s blood, intertwining further. the taste makes you nearly delirious.

you pass out from exhaustion in each other’s arms, both thinking that it might not be so terrible to be killed by the other’s hand if it means you’d get to consume each other so purely once again.

#accidentally wrote this with no mention of y/n LMFAO #childe genshin x reader #genshin impact fic #childe imagines #childe x reader #childe x y/n #childe x you #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #childe fic #tartaglia x y/n #tartaglia x you #childe tartaglia ajax #tartaglia x reader

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cheriecelestial · 1 month ago

Text

War of Hearts Pt.I

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Knight! Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

synopsis *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ A gravely wounded knight, haunted by his past and hunted by his own legend, is pulled from the brink of death by a mysterious alchemist with secrets of her own. Bound by debt and drawn together by danger, they forge a fragile alliance, navigating a world of monsters, betrayal, and hidden truths—where survival demands trust, but trust could cost them everything.

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ canon typical violence. poison. mild angst. technically hurt/comfort.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ So my first batman piece. Honestly it's cuz of a certain Bruce Wayne crazed gremlin(you know who you are). Regardless, i hope y'all like it. Comment, Like and Reblog(⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

Comment to be added to the taglist.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, a plea to no one and nothing. The chimera's sting had struck true, piercing through the weak point in his armor, and now the poison burned through him like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path, and his breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. He could still hear the beast's guttural roar echoing in the distance, a reminder of the battle he had barely survived. His vision swam, the cave walls twisting and undulating as if alive, the dim light from the entrance flickering like a dying candle.

He dragged himself forward, each movement an agony, his armor scraping against the stone floor. His sword slick with the creature's blood, still clutched in his trembling hand, left a trail of blood behind him—his own, and the chimera's. He didn't have the strength to sheathe it. The beast was now dead, its monstrous form lying broken in the valley below, its final act of vengeance coursing through his veins, relentless and cruel. He could feel it spreading, a cold, creeping numbness that began at the wound and radiated outward, stealing his strength, his clarity, his very will to fight.

The cave was his only refuge, a shallow hollow in the side of the mountain, but it offered no comfort. The air was thick with the stench of damp earth and decay, and the shadows seemed to press in on him, alive with whispers he couldn't quite make out. He slumped against the wall, his back scraping against the rough stone, and fumbled for the pouch at his belt. His fingers, slick with blood, struggled to open it, and when he finally retrieved the vial of antidote, half of it spilled onto the ground before he could bring it to his lips.

The liquid was bitter, burning his throat as he swallowed, but it did little to ease the fire in his veins. He knew it wouldn't save him—not now. But the poison was merciless, and the void was patient. It waited, its tendrils wrapping tighter around his heart, his mind, his soul. He could feel it pulling him under, dragging him into a darkness that was more than just the absence of light.

His thoughts began to fracture, memories surfacing like shards of glass—his father and mother's faces, the weight of his first sword, the laughter of his friend around a campfire. They flickered and faded, replaced by visions of the chimera's glowing eyes, its claws tearing through his shield, its tail lashing out like a whip. He could still hear its roar, a sound that seemed to echo not just in the cave but in the depths of his mind.

The shadows around him shifted, taking on forms that shouldn't exist—figures with too many eyes, too many limbs, their shapes twisting and writhing in the dim light. He tried to raise his sword, to defend himself against the phantoms, but his arm refused to obey. The weapon slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground, and he could do nothing but watch as the darkness closed in.

He tried to focus, to remember what he was taught, but the voices were distant, muffled. He knew the signs. Delirium was setting in. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, but the darkness behind his lids was alive with visions. He opened his eyes again, but the cave was no longer the same. The walls seemed to pulse, the air thick with whispers he couldn't quite understand. He thought he saw figures moving in the shadows again, their forms indistinct but familiar. Were they friends? Enemies? He couldn't tell. His mind was unraveling.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible, slipping from his lips like a final confession. He wasn't sure who he was apologizing to—his family, his comrades, the kingdom he had sworn to protect, or perhaps himself. The faces of those he loved flickered in his mind, their expressions etched with sorrow, their voices silent but their eyes pleading. He wanted to tell them he had tried, that he had fought with every ounce of strength he had, but the words caught in his throat, choked by the poison and the weight of his failing body. His thoughts were slipping away, grains of sand in an hourglass, each one carrying a fragment of who he was.

As the darkness tightened its grip, he thought he heard a voice—soft, gentle, calling his name. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it cut through the chaos in his mind like a blade through fog.

“What for?” the voice said, sharp and clear, shattering the incoherent whispers that had filled his head.

The knight's eyes fluttered open, though his vision was blurred and his body felt like it was made of stone. He forced himself to focus, to turn his head toward the sound. A figure stood before him, silhouetted against the dim light of the cave. It wasn't like the shadows that had taunted him earlier—this was real, solid, though its features were indistinct. He tried to speak, to ask who they were, but his tongue felt heavy, useless. Was this another trick of the poison? Another cruel illusion?

“Well, regardless of that, let's see what we have here,” the figure said, their tone casual, almost amused. The knight heard the clinking of glass, the sound of bottles being shuffled and uncorked. “Chimera venom, hmm? Interesting.” There was a pause, and the figure leaned closer, their face still obscured. “Though it's gonna cost ya', handsome.” The voice was light, almost teasing, but there was an edge of seriousness beneath it. “But I have a feeling you can afford it.”

The knight wanted to protest, to demand answers, but his body refused to obey. His vision darkened again, and the world slipped away.

When he woke, it was to the sound of humming—a soft, melodic tune that seemed to weave through the air like a thread of light. The scent of herbs and something sweet filled his nostrils, a stark contrast to the damp, earthy smell of the cave. For a moment, he thought he had died, that this was some strange afterlife. But then the memories came rushing back—the chimera, the poison, the cave, the voice.

His eyes fluttered open, heavy and reluctant, and he found himself lying on a makeshift bed of furs and blankets. The cave was still around him, but it felt different now—warmer, less oppressive. His hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of his sword, which was still clutched in his grip, though his fingers felt weak and unsteady.

“Try to take it easy,” the voice said, the same one he had heard before. It was closer now, clearer. He turned his head, his muscles protesting the movement, and saw her.

A woman, perhaps a few years younger than him, sitting on a rock a few feet away, her back to him as she worked over a small fire. Her hair was a cascade of H/C curls, tied loosely with a strip of cloth, and she wore a patchwork cloak that seemed to be made of countless scraps of fabric and glass bottles of varied colors hanging from her waist. The firelight danced across her features, revealing eyes with an amused mirth and a faint smirk playing on her lips. She stirred a pot that hung over the flames, the source of the sweet, herbal scent that filled the cave.

“You've been out for a while,” she said, her back still turned to him as she stirred the pot over the fire. Her voice was calm, almost casual, as if she dealt with half-dead knights on a regular basis. “Chimera venom's no joke. Burns through you like acid, they say. Lucky for you, I've got a knack for poisons.” She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes locking onto his. They were a striking shade of E/C, sharp and calculating, but not without a glimmer of warmth. “You're not out of the woods yet, though. So don't go playing the hero again. Not until I give the word.”

The knight tried to speak, but his throat was parched, his voice barely more than a rasp. “How...?” he managed to croak out, the single word heavy with unspoken questions.

“How did I find you?” she finished for him, turning back to the fire with a faint shrug. “Pure happenstance, really. I was on my way to a nearby town when I came across a very distressed black stallion. Poor thing was pacing near the valley, snorting like it had seen a ghost. And then there was the stench—gods, the stench. A dead chimera reeks like nothing else. Followed the trail, and there you were, half-dead in a cave.” She paused, glancing at him again, her smirk widening. “Fighting a chimera with just a sword? Foolish, if you ask me. And one as old as the one living here? A sure death sentence for a lesser man.” Her gaze sharpened, piercing through him. “But you're no lesser man, are you... Your Grace?”

The title hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. The knight stiffened, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword despite his weakness. How did she know? But her tone left no room for doubt—she knew exactly who he was. He opened his mouth to respond, to deny it, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Save your strength,” she said, her voice softer now, though no less knowing. “Your secrets are safe with me... for now. But you'll have to do better than a cave and a half-empty vial of antidote if you want to keep them.” She ladled a steaming liquid into a wooden bowl and turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable. “Here. Drink this. It'll help with the pain. And then we'll talk about what comes next.”

The knight hesitated, his instincts warring with his desperation. The pain in his side was a constant, searing reminder of his vulnerability, and the weight of her piercing gaze left him with little room to refuse. Slowly, he reached for the bowl, his fingers trembling as they brushed against hers. He half-expected the concoction to be poisoned, some cruel trick to finish what the chimera had started. But when the warm liquid soothed his throat and dulled the fire in his veins, he felt almost annoyed that it worked exactly as she said it would.

“How do you know who I am?” he asked, his voice still rough but steadier now.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. “There's only one person in this kingdom reckless enough to attempt something like that,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the cave entrance, where the chimera's corpse undoubtedly still lay. “And well, you've got your family crest right there on your sword.” She tilted her head, stating matter-of-factly. “Duke of Gotham, Lord Bruce Wayne. There isn't a child in these parts who doesn't know your name.”

The knight—Bruce Wayne—said nothing, his jaw tightening. He had hoped the crest, small and worn as it was, would go unnoticed. But she was sharp, sharper than most, and her words carried a weight that made him uneasy.

The woman leaned back, studying him with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. She had heard the stories, of course. The heir to one of the wealthiest duchies in the kingdom, orphaned at a young age, disillusioned by the corruption and decay that festered in the courts. He had left it all behind, they said, to wander the land as a knight-errant, protecting the weak and striking down monsters. It was a tale that had been romanticized in tavern songs and children's tales, but seeing him now—broken, poisoned, and barely clinging to life—made her question the reality of those stories.

“Just what were you thinking?” she said, her tone laced with disbelief. “I'm aware you've got a reputation for taking on impossible odds, but this...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Even for you, it seems a bit much.”

Bruce remained silent, his expression unreadable. He had no defense, no explanation that would satisfy her—or himself, for that matter. The truth was, he hadn't thought much beyond the moment. The chimera had been terrorizing the valley, and he had been the only one there to stop it. That was all that had mattered.

The woman sighed, her skepticism softening into something more tempered, though her tone remained critical. “You're lucky I found you when I did,” she said, standing and brushing her hands off on her patchwork cloak. “But luck doesn't knock twice. If you're going to keep throwing yourself at monsters, you might want to rethink your—”

“What is your name?” Bruce interrupted, his voice low but steady.

The woman paused, her lips curving into a faint, amused smile as if she were debating whether to answer him at all. After a moment, she shrugged. “You may call me Miss Alchemist,” she said, her tone light but deliberate. “Or, if you're feeling generous, Madame Alchemist. Though I'd rather you be generous in other ways.” Her eyes flicked pointedly to the coin pouch at his belt, the meaning clear.

Bruce understood immediately. She was one of those traveling alchemists—potion brewers and remedy peddlers who roamed the land, selling their wares to whoever could pay. He had never put much faith in their craft, dismissing most as charlatans or opportunists. But she had proven him wrong, and for that, he owed her more than just coin.

“As for how much you owe me,” she continued, her tone businesslike now, “let's see. Four bottles of anti-venom, two bottles to stop bleeding, and three to restore your vitality and speed up recovery.” She folded her arms, watching him with a raised eyebrow. “I'll let you do the math, Your Grace. I'm sure a man of your standing can appreciate the value of such... specialized services.”

Bruce mentally calculated the cost, though she hadn't listed specific prices. Alchemical remedies weren't cheap, and the quantities she mentioned suggested a significant sum. Still, he nodded, acknowledging the debt. “You'll be paid,” he said simply, his voice firm despite his weakened state.

The woman's smile widened, and she gave a small, satisfied nod. “Good. I'd hate to think I wasted my best stock on someone who couldn't afford it.” She turned back to the fire, stirring the contents of the pot once more and pouring more into his now empty bowl. Bruce watched her for a moment. She was an enigma, this self-proclaimed alchemist for alchemy was a highly coveted craft and practitioners were often much well off than having to travel on foot and wear clothing like hers. Despite that her knowledge was undeniable, her craft genuine, but there was something about her—that made him wary.

“Why help me?” he asked suddenly, the question slipping out before he could stop it. “You could have taken my coin and left me to die. Few would have blamed you.”

“A duke who owes you his life is far more useful alive than dead,” her reply was simple and intention clear as day. "Or maybe I just have a soft spot for fools with a death wish." She joked, turning back to the fire as if the matter were of little consequence. “Either way, you're alive, and I'm getting paid. Let's leave it at that for now.”

Bruce didn't press further. He lacked the strength to argue, and deep down, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the real answer. For now, the simple fact that he was alive was enough. He leaned back against the rough cave wall, his body still throbbing with pain but no longer consumed by the venom's relentless fire. The woman's humming began again, soft and melodic, weaving through the silence as the fire crackled between them, its warmth a small comfort in the dim, damp cave.

Bruce's eyelids grew heavy, the warmth and the woman's humming lulling him into a fragile sense of calm. But even as exhaustion tugged at him, his mind refused to fully rest. Questions swirled—about her, about her motives, about what came next. She had saved his life, but trust was a currency he rarely spent.

“You should sleep,” the woman said without turning around, as if sensing his struggle. “Your body's been through enough. The potions will do their work, but they need time. And so do you.”

Bruce's gaze lingered on her back, her silhouette framed by the firelight. “And what about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, edged with weariness. “Will you still be here when I wake?”

She paused, her stirring slowing for a moment. “I'll be here,” she said simply. “Someone has to make sure you don't bleed out or decide to go hunting another chimera in your sleep.” Her tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness that didn't escape him.

He wanted to say more, to know more. But the weight of his injuries and the lingering effects of the venom were too much to fight. His eyes closed, and this time, he didn't resist the pull of sleep.

When he woke, the cave was brighter, daylight streaming through the entrance. The fire had died down to embers, and the woman—Miss Alchemist, as she’d called herself—was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, panic flickered in his chest. Had she left? Taken his coin and disappeared? But then he heard the sound of footsteps outside, accompanied by the soft clinking of glass bottles.

He pushed himself up slowly, his body still stiff and sore but far stronger than it had been the night before. His sword lay beside him, clean and polished, the family crest on its hilt gleaming faintly in the light. He frowned, reaching for it, but before he could stand, the woman appeared at the cave entrance, her arms laden with herbs and small pouches.

“You’re up,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Good. I was starting to think I’d have to drag you out of here.” She set her supplies down near the fire and began sorting through them with practiced ease.

“Where did you go?” Bruce asked, his voice still rough but stronger.

“Gathering more supplies,” she replied, not looking up. “You’re not the only one who needs my services, you know. And besides, I figured you’d want to be on your way soon. Can’t have the great Duke of Gotham wasting away in a cave, can we?”

Bruce ignored the jab, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You never told me your real name.”

She paused, glancing up at him. “Hmm are names really all that important? You can call me Miss Alchemist or if you insist on a name then you may pick out a nice one. I don't really mind.” She returned to her work, her hands moving deftly as she began mixing something in a small mortar. “Though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go shouting it from the rooftops. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all.”

Bruce let out a low, barely audible grunt of dissatisfaction, the sound more a release of tension than anything else. It irked him—more than he cared to admit—that she knew exactly who he was while he remained in the dark about her. He had spent years carefully crafting his anonymity, moving through the world as a shadow, a nameless knight who appeared only when needed and vanished just as quickly. Few ever recognized him, and even fewer dared to tell the tale. But she had seen through him in an instant, her sharp eyes catching the crest on his sword, her sharp mind piecing together the fragments of his identity with frightening ease.

It wasn’t just her knowledge that unsettled him; it was the way she wielded it—casually, almost teasingly, as if his secrets were nothing more than a game to her. And yet, despite his unease, he couldn’t deny the facts: she had saved his life. The venom would have killed him if not for her intervention, and though he wasn’t foolish enough to mistake gratitude for trust, he had to acknowledge the debt he owed her. For now, at least, he considered her a non-threat—or at the very least, a necessary complication.

After a long moment of silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the faint rustle of her movements, he finally spoke. “Thank you,” he said, the words feeling strange and heavy on his tongue, as though he hadn’t uttered them in years. “For saving my life.” The admission was reluctant, almost grudging, but it was sincere. Gratitude wasn’t something he offered lightly, and he could only hope she understood the weight of it.

She looked up again, her expression unreadable. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “You still owe me, remember? And I intend to collect.” Her smirk returned, but there was something in her eyes—something that made him wonder if she was talking about more than just coin.

Bruce nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I always pay my debts.”

“Good,” she said, turning back to her work. “Then let’s get you back on your feet. You’ve got monsters to slay, Your Grace. And who knows? Maybe I’ll even tag along for a while. Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

Bruce’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he met her gaze. “I don’t take partners on my quests,” he said, his voice clipped. “It’s dangerous, and I work alone.” What he didn’t say—what he couldn’t bring himself to say—was that trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Too many times, he’d seen alliances crumble, seen blades turned by hands that were supposed to be allies. And then there was the guilt, the gnawing fear that anyone who fought beside him would end up broken—or worse. His path was a solitary one, not by choice, but by necessity.

Miss Alchemist raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his stubbornness. “Well, that’s too bad,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. “Because the anti-venom needs to be administered every two hours until you’re completely healed. Otherwise, the effects come back—and trust me, you don’t want to go through that again.” She held up a small vial, the liquid inside catching the light as she gave it a little shake. “So, unless you’ve suddenly become an expert in alchemy, you’re stuck with me. For now, at least.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. She had him cornered, and they both knew it. His body was still weak, his movements sluggish, and the thought of the venom’s fire returning was enough to make his stomach churn. He couldn’t afford to refuse her help, no matter how much it grated against his instincts.

“Don’t look so grim, Your Grace,” she said, setting the vial down and returning to her work. “I’m not asking for a lifelong partnership. Just a temporary arrangement. You get your strength back, I get paid, and we go our separate ways. Simple.”

But Bruce knew better. Nothing about this was simple. She was clever, resourceful, and far too perceptive for his comfort. And yet, there was something about her—something in the way she carried herself, the way she met his gaze without flinching—that made him wonder if she might be different. Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Fine,” he said finally, the word heavy with reluctance. “But the moment I’m healed, we part ways. No questions, no strings.”

“Deal.”

The first day of travel had been slow going, the dense wilderness stubbornly resisting their progress. The narrow trails they followed wound through ancient forests and across rocky outcrops, the terrain making it impossible to maintain anything resembling a proper pace. Their single horse - Bruce's massive black war stallion, Ace - carried their combined gear with visible effort, the weight of armor, weapons and alchemical supplies making it impractical for both to ride simultaneously. They'd developed an unspoken rhythm, alternating hours in the saddle with those on foot, though Bruce noticed the alchemist always seemed to find reasons to extend her walking stretches whenever the path grew particularly treacherous.

Every few hours, she would produce another vial from her seemingly endless collection, administering the anti-venom to Bruce with clinical efficiency before turning her attention to Ace. The warhorse accepted her vitality potions with an eagerness that bordered on suspicious - Bruce had never seen the normally temperamental stallion take so readily to a stranger's ministrations. The alchemical brews worked with remarkable effectiveness; Ace's gait remained strong and steady despite the heavy load, his dark coat gleaming with unnatural vitality under the dappled forest light.

What Bruce did mind was her relentless chatter. She filled the quiet forest air with observations about everything from the quality of the soil “Too much iron content here - see how the oak leaves are stunted?” to the migratory patterns of birds “Those finches are flying east late this season - means the mountain passes will freeze early”. When his terse responses and pointed silences failed to deter her, she simply shifted her attention to Ace, carrying on what appeared to be a shockingly coherent dialogue with the warhorse.

"Hmm, you aren't wrong,” she mused after one particularly animated snort from Ace, crouching to examine a patch of grass the stallion had pointedly refused to graze upon. “The grass here is bound to be more rancid than in the northern meadows. The blood of the beasts born and slayed here runs too deep in this soil.” Ace responded with a complex series of head tosses and snuffles that somehow managed to convey both agreement and profound culinary disappointment.

Bruce observed this exchange with growing bewilderment. “I wasn't aware you could communicate with horses,” he muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

The alchemist turned, her H/C locks catching the sun as her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I can't,” she admitted freely, running a hand along Ace's muscular neck. “However, it isn't difficult once you understand the nature of who you're conversing with.” Her fingers found the precise spot behind Ace's ears that made the massive stallion lean into her touch like an overgrown puppy. “And let me tell you, Your Grace, your Ace happens to be an exceptional conversationalist. Perhaps you ought to take lessons.”

Ace chose that moment to bob his head vigorously, blowing a loud raspberry that sounded suspiciously like equine laughter. Bruce found himself torn between annoyance and reluctant amusement, a feeling that was becoming frustratingly familiar in her presence. The woman had somehow, in less than a day, not only earned his normally suspicious stallion's trust but appeared to be winning him over to some sort of conspiracy against his master's dignity.

The settlement that came into view was barely more than a cluster of weathered buildings clinging to the edge of the forest—too small to be called a proper town, too sparse to warrant more than a passing glance on a map. The wooden structures sagged under years of neglect, their roofs patched with moss and their walls darkened by smoke.

Miss Alchemist stretched her arms behind her head, tilting her face toward the weak sunlight filtering through the trees. “Where to next, Your Grace?” she asked, leaning in with playful exaggeration, her hands clasped behind her back. There was always something about her tone—a teasing lilt that made it impossible to tell if she was mocking him or genuinely curious.

Bruce exhaled through his nose, refusing to let her antics distract him. She was an enigma, and that unsettled him. He had spent years learning to read people—their tells, their lies, their fears—but the alchemist was a shifting puzzle. One moment, she acted with the carefree mischief of a child, the next with the sharp calculation of a seasoned mercenary. The only thing he was certain of was that she was an opportunist. Loyalty, for her, was a currency, not a principle. And that made her dangerous.

“There’s a tavern a couple of miles from here,” he said, his voice low. “We need information on our next targets.”

The woman's lips rounded in an exaggerated 'O' of understanding, though her eyes glittered with amusement. “Ah, the classic 'ask around in a shady tavern' approach. How very knightly of you.”

Bruce ignored her jab and kept walking.

The tavern was exactly as expected—dim, crowded, and thick with the stench of stale ale and unwashed bodies. The air buzzed with overlapping conversations, the occasional burst of drunken laughter, and the clatter of tankards against rough wooden tables. A haze of smoke from the hearth clung to the ceiling, casting everything in a murky, amber glow.

Bruce pulled his hood lower over his face before stepping inside, his posture deliberately unremarkable. He chose a table in the far corner, where shadows clung to the walls and the chatter of patrons was just loud enough to mask quiet conversation.

She slid into the seat across from him, her fingers drumming impatiently on the tabletop. “If we’re here for information, shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, asking for it?”

Bruce didn’t look at her, his gaze methodically scanning the room. "Approaching the wrong person risks identification. We observe first—assess who might have useful knowledge before making contact.”

The alchemist arched a brow. “So we just... sit here? Silently? For how long?”

“As long as it takes.”

She groaned, slumping forward until her forehead hit the table with a dull thud. “Ugh. You’re insufferable.”

Bruce didn’t react. “We’ve been here for less than fifteen minutes.”

Another groan. She peeked up at him through the curtain of her hair, her voice muffled against her folded arms. “Fine. Since you’re so observant, what have you figured out so far?”

Bruce’s eyes flicked toward the bar. “The innkeeper is ex-military—notice the way he stands. He’s used to giving orders, not taking them. The man in the corner with the scarred knuckles is a bounty hunter. The woman near the fire is a smuggler—see the way she keeps adjusting her sleeve? She’s hiding something beneath it, likely stolen goods.”

Miss Alchemist lifted her head, intrigued despite herself. “And the group by the door?”

Bruce’s expression darkened slightly. “Mercenaries. Hired blades. They’re waiting for someone.”

“Not bad, Your Grace. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

Bruce ignored her again, but the corner of his mouth twitched—just slightly.

She clapped her hands together with sudden enthusiasm, pushing back from the table with a scrape of wood against stone. “Now, my turn,” she declared, her voice laced with mischief.

Before Bruce could react, she flicked open the clasp of her cloak, letting the heavy fabric slide down her arms in a practiced motion. She caught it before it could hit the floor, draping it carefully over the back of her chair. Next came the belt of glass vials around her waist—each one meticulously crafted, their contents shimmering faintly in the dim tavern light. She tucked them beneath the folded cloak, hiding them from casual view.

Bruce watched in silence, his sharp eyes tracking every movement. He didn’t stop her—didn’t even shift in his seat—but his attention was absolute.

Beneath the cloak, she wore a faded white linen shirt, its sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms marked with faint scars—some thin and precise, others angry red splotches and jagged, as if from burns or cuts. She shook out her hair, fingers combing through the strands to loosen them from their usual tie. Then, with deliberate care, she retrieved a small vial from her hidden stash.

He tensed—just slightly—but she didn’t hesitate. She unstoppered it and downed the contents in one swift motion, her nose wrinkling at the taste.

Almost immediately, the rich color of her hair began to shift—darkening, lightening, until it settled into a shade entirely different from before. Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

She caught his look and grinned. “I make these for noble ladies who like to reinvent themselves for courtly intrigue. Turns out, vanity pays very well.”

Bruce had already deduced as much. Despite her wandering lifestyle, The Alchemist carried herself with an air of someone accustomed to finer things. Her cloak, though unassuming at first glance, was woven from heavy, durable material—expensive for a traveler. Her boots were supple, well-made leather, and her glass flasks were too precisely crafted to be anything but custom work. Every detail told a story of connections, of dealings with people who had deep pockets.

Bruce filed each observation away, storing them for later consideration.

The Alchemist sauntered up to the bar, her posture relaxed, her steps just a little too confident for someone who had just walked into a den of mercenaries and thieves. She leaned against the counter, resting her elbows on the worn wood, and flashed the bartender a dazzling smile.

“Pour me the best you’ve got, mister.”

The bartender—an aging man with a face carved by years of hard living—paused mid-wipe of a tankard and gave her a long, assessing look. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—recognition? Amusement?

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” he rumbled. “Might be a bit much for you.”

Before she could reply, a deep voice cut in from behind her.

“I’ll have the same.”

She turned just enough to see the man who had spoken—broad-shouldered, with the unmistakable bearing of a sellsword. His knuckles were scarred, his stance loose but ready. One of the mercenaries Bruce had pointed out earlier.

The Alchemist’s grin sharpened. “I can handle more than you’d know, big guy,” she said, tilting her head. “And, as a matter of fact, I can probably handle more than you.”

A chorus of ooohs rose from the mercenary’s companions, their laughter rough and mocking. The man’s face darkened with embarrassment, then irritation.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a growl. “I hope you can follow through on that, doll.”

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she held his gaze, her smile never wavering. Bruce, watched from the shadows, letting out a sigh of exasperation.

This was going to be trouble.

╰┈➤ Masterlist

╰ ┈➤ Tags: @hana-no-seiiki @sophiethewitch1 @joekitsu for listening to me yap about it for 2+ hours.

#batman #batman x y/n #batman x reader #knight!batman #knight!bruce Wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman fantasy au #dc fantasy au #dcau #dc #dc comics #knight!bruce Wayne x reader

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i2rizz · 6 months ago

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Atlanta Lock AU Pt.4

Fandom: Blue Lock | masterlist

Characters: Atlanta lock!Shidou x reader

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The moon hung low over O’Block, casting a silver glow on the graffiti-covered streets as Shidou Ryusei leaned against his patched-up car. The vehicle screamed chaos—like its owner—with spray-painted flames, missing hubcaps, and a horn that sounded like a banshee’s wail. You sat on the hood, arms crossed, already regretting letting Shidou talk you into this madness.

"Okay, let me get this straight," you said, narrowing your eyes. "You wanna crash their wedding—the people who literally tried to jump you last week for stealing their snacks?"

Shidou’s grin was wide, wild, and unapologetic. "Exactly, babe. What better way to say, ‘no hard feelings’ than showin’ up uninvited and makin’ it unforgettable?"

"By unforgettable, you mean ‘starting a war,’ right?"

He shrugged, pulling a stolen bottle of cheap champagne from his car. "Tomato, tomahto. C’mon, live a little. You love chaos."

Before you could argue, he popped the cork, sprayed it in the air, and strutted toward the venue—a dimly lit community center with bass-heavy music vibrating the cracked windows. He shoved the doors open with a dramatic flair, startling the crowd inside.

The reception was in full swing: trap music blasting, kids running under tables, and a group of guys arm wrestling by the buffet. Shidou’s entrance was like throwing gasoline on a simmering fire. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. The bride froze mid-dance, her rhinestone-studded veil glinting under the flickering lights.

"WHO INVITED HIM?" someone shouted, pointing at Shidou like he was a walking felony.

"No one," Shidou replied, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "But y’all looked like you could use some entertainment."

He grabbed a mic from the DJ booth, ignoring the furious glares from the bride and groom. "Alright, listen up, O’Block! Congrats to the happy couple, blah blah, love is great, yada yada. But let’s be real—y’all didn’t come here to see them smooch eachother all night. You came here to party."

He dropped the mic—not figuratively, but literally. The mic hit the floor with a deafening screech, and before anyone could stop him, he was already moonwalking toward the buffet table.

"Shidou," you hissed, trailing after him. "Can you not make enemies out of everyone in this room?"

"Too late for that, babe," he said, grabbing a Styrofoam plate and piling it with ribs, mac ‘n’ cheese, and cornbread. "But don’t worry, I’m a people person."

The groom, a mountain of a man with tattoos covering every inch of visible skin, stormed over, veins bulging. "Shidou, you got three seconds to get outta here before I—"

"Relax, big guy," Shidou interrupted, shoving a rib into his mouth. "I’m just here for the vibes."

The bride, now fuming, screamed, "GET HIM OUT!"

Shidou, unbothered, smirked at her. "Aw, don’t be like that, chick. You’ll thank me later when this party goes viral."

And that’s when he made his move. He grabbed the champagne tower—a precarious stack of plastic glasses filled with cheap bubbly—and chugged the top glass before kicking the whole thing over.

The room erupted.

"THAT’S IT!" the groom roared, lunging at Shidou with fists flying.

Shidou ducked, his laughter echoing through the chaos. He grabbed a folding chair, wielding it like a WWE wrestler, and swung it wildly. "C’MON, WHO WANTS SOME?!"

The guests didn’t need an invitation. Someone threw a plate of collard greens, another person launched a cake slice like a frisbee, and the DJ tried to escape but got tackled into the punch bowl.

You, stuck in the middle of the mayhem, ducked under a table as a full-blown food fight broke out. "Shidou, you lunatic! Do something before they kill us!"

Shidou, covered in frosting and grinning like a demon, slid under the table beside you. "Doing something is boring. I’m here for the drama."

A bottle shattered nearby, and the groom’s voice boomed, "SHIDOU, YOU’RE DEAD!"

Shidou grabbed your hand, yanking you toward the exit. "Time to go, babe!"

"About time," you muttered, dodging a flying platter of ribs.

But Shidou, being Shidou, couldn’t leave quietly. On the way out, he made a beeline for the towering three-tier cake and plunged his entire face into the bottom tier, emerging wirh frosting smeared across his face and a chunk of cake in his hand. "DELICIOUS!"

The groom lunged at him again, fists flying.

Shidou dodged effortlessly, laughting like a maniac. "Yo, chill! Ain't this supposed to be the happiest day of your life?"

You ducked as a chair flew past your head. "Shidou, now we really need to leave!"

"Not until i get a souvenir!" He yelled back, grabbing the wedding cake topper—a gaudy figurine of the bride and groom—and stuffed it into his pocket. Then, for good measure, he flipped the DJ’s table, sending equipment crashing to the floor.

"Y’ALL HAVE A GREAT NIGHT!" he yelled, sprinting to his car with you in tow.

The second you were both inside, he floored it, tires screeching as you sped off into the night. The sound of chaos faded behind you, replaced by the roar of the engine and Shidou’s uncontrollable laughter.

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#anime #anime and manga #blue lock #x reader #bllk x y/n #bllk #x y/n #blue lock x reader #manga #bllk x reader #bllk shidou #blue lock shidou #shidou x reader #shidou ryusei #bllk au #one shot

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sillysturns · 3 months ago

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⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒚 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒃 ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆

The spotlight hit me like a confession, a blinding truth as you walked onstage. I scan the crowd, the realization hitting me like the ton of bricks. Tonight was different. Tonight I was opening for Madison Beer at the Spinnin Tour. Tonight, I was laying out my soul, pink and glitter-dusted.

I grabbed the glittery microphone, its cold metal a familiar comfort against my already sweating palm. A ripple went through the crowd. Some knew. Some were about to.

"Alright, guys," I murmured into the mic, my voice a little shaky at first. "Tonight, we're doing something a little different. Normally I open with Hot To Go, but I'm singing a song most of you probably know, " A nervous laugh bubbled up, and I forced it down. "This one's for anyone who's ever felt like they belonged in a place that didn't exist."

The opening chords of "Pink Pony Club" started, raw and unapologetically feminine. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over you, letting it possess me. This wasn't just singing; this was a fucking exorcism, a declaration, a homecoming. Because the Pink Pony Club wasn't just a place; it was a state of mind, a rebellion, a celebration of being unapologetically yourself.

The soft opening chords blared through the speakers, an explosion that vibrated in my chest. Spotlights hit me, bathing me in a warm, almost tangible light. I gripped the microphone, took a deep breath, and launched into "Pink Pony Club."

"I know you wanted me to stay, but I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA..."

The crowd roared. I saw them instantly in the sea of faces. Matt, my boyfriend, standing tall and handsome, a smile plastered across his face that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Beside him, Nick and Chris, my other two best friends, practically bouncing with excitement. They knew this song, knew the story behind it. Leaving Tennessee, the whispers, the raised eyebrows - they knew it all.

"And I heard that there's a special place, where boys and girls can all be queens every single day,"

My voice soared and tears of happiness filled my eyes, fueled by the energy of the music and the love radiating from the front row. I winked at Matt as I sang "I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee," and he waved goofily, his eyes sparkling with pride. He understood, even if mom and dad back home never would.

The chorus hit, a tidal wave of sound.

"God, what have you done? You're a pink pony girl, and you dance at the club! Oh mama, I'm just having fun! On the stage in my heels, it's where I belong down at the Pink Pony Club!"

The crowd sang along, every single word. They were my people, they understood this beautiful, slightly chaotic world of West Hollywood. Tears sprung to my eyes as I pointed the microphone towards the crowd during the refrain, and they screamed the lyrics back at me, their faces flushed with joy.

The song pulsed with a raw energy. I strutted across the stage, my shimmering pink dress swaying with every move. I was lost in the music, in the lights, in the collective joy of everyone in the room.

During the second verse, I let my eyes sweep across the audience. There were girls with bows, cowgirl hats, beautiful dresses, and people dressed completely normal, all united by their love for music, (and Madison Beer). This was the "special place" I'd been singing about.

"I thank my wicked dreams a year from Tennessee, oh, Santa Monica, you've been too good to me." I belted out, feeling a surge of gratitude.

As the song neared its climax, I saw a couple making out passionately near the bar, bathed in the glow of the disco ball. I saw a group of friends taking selfies, their faces lit up with laughter. I saw someone crying, tears streaming down their face, lost in the emotion of the moment. Their stories are all different, but it brought them here nonetheless.

And then came the bridge, my favorite part of the song, the part that always brought a lump to my throat.

"Don't think I've left you all behind, still love you and Tennessee, you're always on my mind. And mama, every Saturday, I can hear your southern drawl a thousand miles away, saying..."

I paused, letting the silence hang in the air. The entire stadium held its breath.

"...God, what have you done?"

The chorus exploded again, even louder than before. I threw my head back and let the music wash over me, the feeling of belonging so strong it brought tears to my own eyes.

As the final notes faded, and the lights dimmed, the crowd erupted in applause. I bowed, breathless and exhilarated. I looked back at the front row. Matt was so amazed, clapping wildly. Nick and Chris were jumping up and down, beaming proudly.

This was it. This was my dream come true. This was where I belonged. And as I walked off stage, the echoes of "Pink Pony Club" still ringing in my ears, I knew, with every fucking fiber of my being, that I was going to keep on dancing.

authors note: this is from the pov of content creator and singer reader!!!

im at rock bottom writing wise, so the only place to go is up (Matt's ass)(jk jk)!!!

also ever since I watched Chappells grammy performance this song has had me in a chokehold

divider creds to the icon: @bernardsbendystraws

love ya, from maya [happy]

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew bernard sturniolo #sturniolo fandom

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devochive · 1 year ago

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Reader who is just as much of a jackass as Jax is. Both of you are competing for the “best prank” on the rest of the circus members. However, one day Jax decides to ask Caine for a “massager” claiming you complained about muscle aches. Jax gives it as a gift, the reader not knowing the outfit contains the toy. He wants you to wear on the next adventure and hopes to push your buttons. Whether the reader gets revenge is up to you.

i think i get it! hopefully this is okay 🫶🏽

tags: make shift vibrator, fingering, outdoors, cursing cause i didn't feel like censoring it.

more below the cut. | minors dni.

"You're kiddin' ... there's no way Zooble would sleep through that." Jax grinned, at you .. a hand on his hip as you both walked through the halls at a moderate pace.

"Mhm, wait til you see them." Was all you said, clearly confident of your own doings.

Like clockwork, Zooble appeared, "What are you two assholes staring at?" Zooble squinted.

Jax couldn't help it, a thunderous roar of laughter erupted from his mouth and held his stomach. Pointing at Zooble with the opposite hand.

"What the hell is so funny?" Zooble didn't notice , they were so used to switching and swapping parts on their body that they failed to notice the comically bouncing googly eye on their face, replacing their usual left eye.

"N—Nothing, Zoobs. You look great.." You giggled and yanked Jax away before he gave away the joke before it had its time to play out.

You guys rounded the corner, "That puts me ahead three points, bunny boy." You said smugly.

"What? No way." He rolled his eyes, and the laughing fit quickly wore off.

"What do you mean, no way? Those were the rules !" You huffed, and relished in your frustration.

"The rules, of my game, dollface."

"Should've known you'd cheat.."

"Look, how about this, next adventure we go on. Double the points. Whoever comes out on top wins. Simple." He shrugs his shoulders.

"Hmp. Fine, you've got a deal." You were planning to get the one up on him. Even if it meant humiliating the other members in the process. There was nothing else to do in this digital world, so why not have some fun at the expense of others?

You two parted ways for the night, and unbeknownst to you Jax had a devious plan already cooked up.

"Hey, Caine."

The ringmaster was cleaning up the mess from the last adventure, "Oh , hello there Jax! What can I do for you?" His voice boomed like usual.

"You know, y/n said they've been havin' some trouble with... uh, back aches. real bad back aches. Needs, I dunno.. a massager or something. Got anything like that?" He gestured.

"Hmm.. I suppose I can cook something up!" He pretened to dig in his pocket, his arm disappearing all the way down to the forearm until he pulled out a make shift massager that had multiple vibrating parts.

Jax's grins grew wide, it was almost creepy how narrow his eyes got. "Thanks , Caine. You're the best." He caught the massager such Caine tossed to him. Jax waved and quickly went to his room. He spent the entire night carefully crafting an outfit for you, though right in the crotch the vibrator was hidden inside the cloth. The things you could make happen here we almost comical. But, Jax took whatever advantage he could get. No matter how ridiculous.

Now lastly. The remote. He'd be able to control whenever the "massager" turned on and off , plus fluctuate its intensity.

The next morning came in a flash, maybe because he was up throughout the night.. no matter. It's not like they get tired anyways.

He showed up at your door, outfit in hand. He knocked until you opened it.

"Jeez, Jax first thing in the morning and— ..... whats that..?" You pointed at the clothes folded in his hands, it was a one piece outfit but it cut off to make shorts at the bottom.

"For you, dummy." He teased and shoved it into your arms.

"You must be out of your mind if you think I'm wearing this Jax." You scoffed and held it up in front of you. It wasn't too provocative.. you just didnt trust him.

"C'mon doll, don't be a loser. Just wear it,— wear it and successfully pull one prank on a member and the winning title is all yours." He spiced up the deal, grinning at you.

You knew there had to be a catch, but if he thought you weren't going to take advantage of this he'd be wrong. "Fine. I'll win, and when I do. You have to anything I say for the entire day."

"Deal." He responded a little too quickly and you shut the door in his face. His smile remained and he hummed to himself as he went looking for the others while you changed.

It was odd how well this outfit fit you, snug but not too tight.. just when did he get your measurements..? Ugh, whatever. It was a little uncomfortable in certain areas , but what were you expecting? Jax to be some master tailor?

"I can't believe I'm doing this.." You muttered before exiting your room, meeting up with the rest of the lot just in time. Caine was explaining the ins and outs of todays adventure. Something about fishing at the digital lake. You weren't paying attention, trying to figure out a quick prank to pull on an unsuspecting member so you could get out of this outfit.

BUZZZZ.

You jumped and yelped, covering your mouth as you felt something vibrating against your clit. Your cheeks went red and you tried to keep still as a few eyes darted to you, but only for a moment. 'What the, fuck?' You thought, and immediately looked at Jax. Unfortunately he wasn't even looking at you.

"Alright, now go on my little superstars! Good luck!" Caine ended his speech and disappeared in puff of smoke.

You all exited the tent and headed towards the lake.. just then you fell another buzz and stumbled to a stop, Kinger and Gangle walked past you with concerning looks... followed by Jax. You walked with him , cheeks still red.

"Jax. I'm taking this stupid outfit off."

"Fine, you'll lose immediately though.. don't say I didn't warn ya." He said and seemed completely unbothered, clearly aware of how competitive you can be.

"Th.. That's not fair and you know it." You growled under your breath.

"Lighten up doll, maybe this is just what you need. A little fun and pleasure." He shrugged before the buzzing started again, and you let a whine slip past your lips before biting down on your bottom lip.

"Whoops.. hand slipped."

"You're going down you, little pervert."

You felt like steam was going to erupt from your ears. You pushed past him, flustered and frustrated. He just chuckled as you stormed off. Clearly pleased with himself.

The buzzing stopped and you breathed , you had to come up with something.. maybe you'd hook Gangle's fishing line to one of her ribbons so when she tries to cast it, it'll go all wrong and make her unravel.

The plan was nearly perfect .. except everytime you tried to distract gangle Jax pressed that damn button and the vibrator buzzed against your thobbing clit.

Every time you tried to initiate your plans , it was always interrupted. The buzzing didn't even stay on long enough for you to reach your climax so you were constantly being edged.. you had to take a break, you could feel your lewd jucies running down your inner thighs..

"I'm going to kill him.." You said, but the words left your mouth pathetically. You leaned against a tree, far from the others.. maybe if you came then you could .. function at least.

"Oh, wondered where you ran off to. Havin' some trouble there doll?"

"N.. No, Jax you'd better not—"

BUZZZZZ.

You almost crumpled to your knees but Jax was right in front of you, holding you against the tree. "Poor thing, can't even stand. How ya gonna win like this, huh?"

Your eyes were glassy, legs shaking. "Y.. You asshole.." Your legs were trembling and you could feel Jax's hand sliding up your torso.

"How about this, give up and I'll let ya cum dollface. No strings attached." He stared at your helpless form. Eyes clearly foggy with lust.

"N.. No way, hhck..!" The buzzing got more intense and you finally collapsed to the floor.

".. O..Okay , please..! please let me cum, Jax.." You whined, your cunt puffy and throbbing with need.

"Heh, that's what I thought.. good game, y/n." He croutched down in front of you. His body pretty much blocking yours fron any eyes that could possibly end up seeing you two.. he pushed aside the shorts and your panties and plunged two fingers inside of you without a second thought.

You yelped and instinctively scooted back but the tree kept you in place.

"Shh.. someone might hear ya, babe. Just cum on my fingers real quick yeah?" He whispered into your ear and your cunt convulsed around his fingers at the thought. You grabbed his arm but he didn't stop, still hammering his fingers in your squelching cunt.

"Fuck... you're so wet." He muttered and stared at your cunt as it swallowed up his fingers.

"Jax!" You yelped and your body jolted as you came on his fingers, panting a little.

"Ya good , doll?" He asked, slowly removing his fingers from your dripping snatch.

You nodded and helped you adjust your clothes, before assisting you to your feet. "How about you go get changed.. I'll make up an excuse if the others say something." He said in a more gentle voice now, his eyes were still wild with lust but he figured now may not be the time.

"R.. Right .. thanks, Jax." You still felt numb down there, your legs still a bit shaky.

"Oh, you still lost by the way. Heh."

Of course you did.

#the amazing digital circus #ask #minors dni #jax tadc #jax x reader

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baebiii · 15 days ago

Text

SPOT! was the digital single of the former it couple BAEBI&JHOPE release by BIGHIT ENTERTAINMENT on October 13th 2024.

Teaser Images for SPOT! released on October 3rd 2023.

At the time, JHOPE and BAEBI had been dating publicly for a measly three months, but both their companies were foaming at the mouth to capitalize on their notoriety. Revealed by both JHOPE and BAEBI during behind-the-scenes content, neither of them wanted to do SPOT! out of fear of more backlash and scrutiny of their relationship.

SPOT! hit the chart like a nuke. It would instantly hit number one on the MelOn Daily Chart, BUGS, Melon Realtime, Melon HOT 100, Genie, Spotify, Apple Music, and iTunes. The music video would also break records, hitting a whopping 23 million views in just 24 hours.

The couple would promote SPOT on music shows for three weeks, but would go on to win seven music show awards throughout its run.

SPOT! Promotional Outfits, 2024.

1 ) SPOT'S FIRST WIN ... The second the MC calls their name, Yoonah freezes. It doesn’t register at first ; her mind gets stuck between “JHOPE & BAEBI” and the deafening roar of the audience. Then she feels it: Hoseok’s hand brushing gently against hers, grounding her as her excited fingers wrap around his palm. She turns, wide-eyed, just as he grins and mouths, “We did it.”

They step forward together.

SPOT’s first win.

Hoseok stands beside her, bowing low, his shoulder pressing lightly into hers. Yoonah swallows hard, trying to stay composed, but he glances over at her again, eyes bright, smile soft. “Don’t cry, babe. You’ll mess up your mascara.” Hoseok teases, nudging her cheek with his knuckle and a playful pout on his lips.

Their thank-you speech is polished, the kind of thing their companies drilled into them, clean, composed, and distant. But when the music cues for their encore, the lights shift, and something loosens in her chest.

Their fingers lace together, and Hoseok spins her in a slow, lazy twirl that has Yoonah's head falling back with laughter. Hoseok laughs into his microphone, making her laugh harder and hit his chest playfully, causing him to take a few steps back. He turns to the crowd, clapping his hands along to the beat.

"Up and down, round and round, hit the spot, spot, spot!" Yoonah booms into her mic, vocals steady, but it's clear she's just having fun now as she sings towards the crowd that cheers so loud it gets picked up by the microphone.

2 ) THE DEMO REACTIONS ... They’re sitting on opposite ends of the studio couch like two kids waiting outside the principal’s office. The demo for SPOT! plays through the monitors, unmixed and echo-y, with guide vocals that are a little too enthusiastic for how much is not happening in the beat.

“Up and down,” the voice sings.“‘Round and ‘round,” it continues.“Hit the spot, spot, spot, spot—”

There’s a pause.

Yoonah turns her head very slowly to look at Hoseok. He’s already looking at her. They hold eye contact for a second too long.

“…Be honest,” she says.

“That was insane,” he answers instantly.

She bursts into laughter, throwing her head back so far her baseball cap falls off. “Oh my god. No, like, what is this?” Yoonah giggles as she looks into the camera that zooms in on her as she covers her mouth. Hoseok's laugh causes the camera to swivel towards him as he points to Yoonah, then at the door.

“I thought I was being punk’d,” Hoseok says. “I was waiting for like, Bang PD to walk in with a cake and be like, ‘Surprise!’”

Yoonah wipes under her eyes. “No, because when it hit the fourth ‘spot,’ I got dizzy. They seriously sent this with a straight face. Oh my god.”

Hoseok lets out this tiny wheeze that sounds like a dying balloon. “Up and down,” he mimics, doing a limp little body wave. “‘Round and ‘round-” He spins his finger in the air and dramatically collapses against the back of the couch. “Hit the spot spot spot spot!”

Yoonah chuckles into the sleeve of her hoodie at her boyfriend's dramatics, but at the same time looks unamused with what she just heard.

The camera cuts to a talking head: Yoonah sitting on a folding chair, no makeup, hood up.

“They sent us the demo and I legit thought it was for someone else. Like. A pre-debut group. From 2012.”

Another cut: Hoseok in the same room, sipping an iced americano, looking as if he’s discussing war crimes.

“They told me it had ‘mass appeal.’ I said it had no appeal. I said it sounded like… cardio Zumba.”

Back in the studio, the demo plays again. They don’t even pretend to nod along this time.

Yoonah pauses it midway through the second verse.

“Okay. What if we just… didn’t?” she offers.

“Like didn’t record it?” Hoseok asks.

“Didn’t acknowledge its existence. Like if no one addresses it, we can all move on.”

“Gaslight the entire nation.”

“Exactly.”

They fist bump.

3 ) BEHIND THE SCENES ; SPOT DANCE PRACTICE … Yoonah’s crouched in front of the studio mirror, hair pulled back in a messy bun and hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up her arms. She’s catching her breath, pretending she’s fine, when Hoseok claps his hands behind her and says, “Alright, one more time from the top!”

She whips her head around so fast her bun nearly unravels.

“One more time,” she echoes, eyes wide with betrayal. “You said that three times ago.”

“I meant it each time,” he says with a bright grin, tossing her a water bottle. “Come on, dancer of the year. Let’s hit the—”

“If you say ‘spot’ I’m leaving,” she threatens, already unscrewing the bottle.

He snickers and shrugs, stepping back into formation. The instrumental kicks in again Up and down, ‘round and ‘round…

They go through the motions: hips, turns, synchronized steps, until they hit the chorus. Hit the spot, spot, spot, spot.

Right on the last “spot,” Yoonah loses her footing from spinning too fast and nearly crashes into Hoseok. He catches her instinctively, hands at her waist, stabilizing her like it’s muscle memory.

“You good?” he asks, raising his brows down at her with a dumb smile that takes over his entire face.

“I’m dizzy,” she mutters, but she’s already giggling, leaning into him because it’s easier than trying to stand up straight again.

They don’t move for a moment, swaying slightly in place, pressed close, still halfway in formation. The mirror reflects them back, a little flushed, a little breathless, caught somewhere between dance partners and something a bit softer.

Then the speaker glitches and blares the opening “Up and down-” at full volume.

They both scream, jumping apart from each other. Staff can be heard laughing off camera as Yoonah covers her mouth, clearing giggling as she slowly walks back into her starting position as Hoseok shakes his head, hands on his hips as he looks at the speaker in betrayal.

4 ) OH, THEY STARTED DISCOURSE … The lights are hot, and the studio is too quiet. Yoonah can already feel the question coming before the host even finishes smiling. It’s the kind of smile that stretches too wide. Polite. Controlled. The kind that always means trouble.

“So…” the host starts, folding his cue card with a casual flick. “When your relationship went public, the reaction was… well, passionate, especially from fans who maybe weren’t ready to see one of their idols with someone else. Yoonah, a lot of that was directed at you. How did you handle it?”

There it is.

Yoonah straightens her shoulders, smooths her skirt with a practiced hand, and opens her mouth.

“I’ll answer that first,” Hoseok says gently.

She glances at him, surprised, but he’s already looking forward, calm and collected, like he’s done this in his sleep.

“I think it’s unfair, the way she was treated,” he says. “Really unfair. People acted like she did something wrong by… what? Being human? Dating someone? Me?”

There’s a trace of bitterness under his warmth, but it’s controlled. He keeps his voice measured, but his fingers twitch in his lap like they want to ball into fists. Yoonah glances down at them, but doesn't move to hold them like she wants to do.

“People love the idea of idols being in love,” he says. “Until it’s real. And when it became real, they turned on her, not me. Her.”

Yoonah gnaws on her bottom lip, nodding along to his words that resonate in her bones. She lets herself breathe for a second. Then she turns toward the host.

“I knew dating a BTS member would come with heat,” she says, calmly. “I’m not clueless. I knew it wouldn’t be easy.”

She shifts in her seat, feeling Hoseok's protective gaze on her as she does so. It makes her more nervous, running a hand through her dark hair with a clear of her throat.

“But the way people reacted? The hate I got? The things people said about me, like, about my body, my talent, my worth?” She tilts her head, blinking slowly. “That went way past ‘not easy.’ That was cruel.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I worked really hard to be here,” she continues. “And I won’t apologize for falling for someone I connected with. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hoseok lets out the smallest breath beside her, almost like a laugh. Like he’s proud.

She doesn’t look at him, but she feels it. The warmth of his smile turned in her direction, the way his leg bumps against hers under the table.

The host clears his throat, trying to find a way to pivot. “Well said. Both of you.”

“Thanks,” Yoonah says, smiling now, just a little. “We’re doing great, by the way. Just in case anyone was wondering.” She tells the camera as if they're friends at coffee with a proud nod and a laugh through her nose.

That makes Hoseok laugh softly and genuinely.

5 ) THE AIRPORT MOMENT … The arrivals gate at Incheon is already chaotic when they step off the escalator, a blur of flashing lights, low grumbles from security, and the muffled hum of excited fans behind barricades. Yoonah tightens her grip on her tote bag and keeps her head low beneath her Yankees cap, black mask pulled snug over her face.

She’s practiced this a hundred times before: neutral walk, calm pace, eyes down. Don’t trip, don’t wave, don’t look.

But Hoseok’s there, just ahead of her, moving with that casual, unbothered grace like none of it touches him. His hoodie’s pulled low, sunglasses covering half his face, but she knows that walk. She knows it so well.

Their stylists had sworn it wasn’t on purpose: the matching gray sweats, the white sneakers, the identical black duffle bags. Coincidence. Nothing more.

But the moment fans start snapping photos and the first few shout their names, it's over.

Yoonah slows for a second, flinching slightly at the sound. Before she can get swept up by a manager or lose herself in the rush, she feels it.

A pinky, brushing hers.

Barely there, soft. Just enough to make her glance up.

Hoseok doesn’t look back at her. He doesn’t have to. His voice is quiet, low enough that only she hears him over the noise.

“Stay close,” he says.

She nods.

Their dedicated fansites catch everything. Cute HD photos of them walking in sync, hoodie and cap low, security flanking them, their pinkies not quite linked but close. Enough for fans to zoom in and draw little hearts between them.

#˚₊‧꒰ა music .#˚₊‧꒰ა development .#bts addition #bts imagines #jung hoseok #jung hoseok imagines #fictional idol community #jung hoseok fanfic #idol oc #jhope imagines #kpop oc #bts fanfic #fictional idol oc

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