#dumb comfort art i suppose

[pink-key]

Do you sometimes make an oc for ai chat stuff to self-insert in? I sure did for some reason. Janitor ai sure has some cool bots.

[gifti3]

i streamed today (link to the video)

anyways i decided to try using a different brush:

[sim0nril3y]

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon hasn't been able to stop thinking about your relationship and how not making a commitment to you might lead you to running off with someone else. He needs to solve this.

Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), suggestive thoughts, canon-typical swearing.

It was strange to Simon that the two of you had settled into routine together. Most nights he’d pick you up after finishing work, he’d bring you back to his home or drop you off at your flat. More often than not Simon would cook you some good food to fill up your empty tummy, then roll around in the sheets together. The next morning you’d wake up beside him and he’d set to making you a hearty breakfast and discuss plans for the days. Those plans typically of doing exactly what you’d done the day before, spending time together and… though he’d never say it aloud Simon enjoyed it, he looked forward to it.

There was the times when Simon was left feeling lonely because you weren’t around. It was when he wouldn’t see you from one day to the next because you were busy working on an art project or work had left you exhausted. Simon was a solitary person, not needing or even wanting other people around him, or… at least that was how he’d felt before meeting you.

So, what was this? A question that Simon had never asked himself before, but now it was burning inside of him. Never before had Simon desired clarification, but as it currently stood you were just two people living independent lives that slept with each other and spent time together. That left opportunity for you to find someone else and bring them into your life. He hoped that wasn’t the case, it certainly wasn’t something you’d mentioned before but it still left that door open for someone to take you from him.

The thought of losing you filled him with utter dread. How was he supposed to sleep at night with your body to curl around? He’d started buying extra food when doing his weekly shop, who was going to help him eat it all? Plus, all your favourite snacks were filling the cupboards, if you weren’t here then they’d just go to waste… Besides, there wasn’t another living soul out there that would be able to make you fall apart as quick as he could.

Bloody hell. He was in deep here.

That night after a long shift at work you were curled up beside him on the sofa, blanket draped over your legs, snacks between your lounging bodies and eyes fixed on whatever dumb show you’d thrown on the TV. You hadn’t seemed to notice that from beside you Simone was stewing silently, mind racing with how to broach the subject in the most subtle way.

These questions and that anxiety was beginning to build up inside of Simon, his knee was bobbing relentlessly, muscles wound tight, fingers tapping furiously against the arm of the sofa like a metronome. How was he going to do this? How was he going to ask for clarification on what you were to each other? What did he actually hope the answer was going to be? He wanted you, right? Only you. He didn’t want another living soul to have you… fuck, the thought of someone else having their hands and their lips on you. It made him seethe.

“What are we?” The question tumbled from his lips, short and frustrated. It caused you to look up at him, brows furrowed. “Sorry?” “You… do you ever do this with anyone else?” He looked down at you through intense dark eyes. “Do I… watch TV with other people?” You questioned, almost not following his line of questions.

Further frustrated Simon bit out. “Do you fuck anyone else?” That made you begin to fight a little smile, finally figure out what he was trying to ask. “And the rest of it… everything we do together… like going for walks, or to dinner… or just watching TV like this…” He gestured to the way you were lounging so comfortably behind him, sans any make-up and looking so relaxed. “Do you?” Simon asked, you simply smirked as you flitted you gaze back towards the TV and muttered easily. “Would it bother you if I did?”

This question only made him stew and simmer again at the thought of someone else being in your life like this. The thought of them kidding and making you fall apart only mad his anger bubble further. “Mm.” He grumbled out, keep his dangerous eyes locked on you.

Reaching across to rest a delicate hand on his tattooed forearm you mentioned softly. “I don’t do this with anyone else, Si.” You informed him, watching the tension leaving him body in that moment. “Only you.” You quip with a little shrug of your shoulders, before continuing. “If I’m not here with you then I’m at work and I’m wishing that I was here with you or counting down the minutes until I’m going to see you again or wildly ignoring all of tasks and remembering all my time with you.” There was vulnerability to your tone as you informed him that. “Then I see you and I’m happy in all those hours before I’m back to being on my own and wishing it’ll happen all over again.”

You were in deep too. With the way that Simon was looking at you, you could have been convinced that there wasn’t anyone else in the world. “Simon, are you trying to ask me something?” Reaching up you brushed your fingers against his face delicately before following with a gentle few kisses against his cheeks and temples and jawline. Every action made forced his body to relax, coaxing his anxiety away before finally the words came. “What if… we did do this everyday? Just… us two…”

You gnawed your lower lip. “I could get behind that.” You agreed with a tiny shrug of your shoulders. “So… if we did do this… what would I call you?” You quirked a brow at him. “My boyfriend?” Simon grimaced. “Love, I’m not a boy.” He muttered, snatching some of your snacks and beginning to munch away. “How about my lover?” You purred playfully and once again Simon groan and threw you a look. “So… just my Simon?” You raised your brows at him, this time he didn’t seem to fight your suggestion, simply smirked.

“Mm…” Then he nodded, much to your surprise. “And you’d be mine.” It was like your heart exploded in your chest, smiling at him and trying not to act overly excited and frighten him off. “I guess I would be~” Then leaning forward you kissed a couple sweet kisses. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Not moving too fast?” You ask, concerned that Simon might change his mind all of a sudden and end up hurting you both. “M’sure, babe.” He responded, pressing a sweet kiss to your nose. "You're mine."

Masterlist | Ask | 29-01-2024

[carolmunson]

i'm the best thing at this party | e.m.

up and coming rockstar!eddie munson x girlfriend!reader (is that a picture of slash? sure, but we can pretend it isn't.) aka the first time carol ever wrote a fic based off a taylor song. but in my defense, it was a chase petra cover of 'you're losing me' that inspired it. this is not connected to my rockstar!eddie x actress!reader storyline, this is it's own oneshot in a separate story.

in the early 90s, when your boyfriend's band starts to make it in the big leagues, you start to come to terms with the fact that he might not want or need a small town player anymore. eighteen plus. established relationship. angst. hurt/no comfort-ish. open ending.

"and i'm fading, thinkin': 'do something, babe. say somethin'. lose somethin' babe, risk something. choose somethin' babe. i got nothin' to believe, unless you're choosing me.'"

The Hideout was hot with all the bodies packed in like sardines; stark contrast to the icy chill of winter outside. Glowing on the screen was The Tonight Show, everyone’s eyes glued to it while Corroded Coffin made their first national televised debut. 

No one’s totally sure how their manager Richie was able to finesse this slot – but they went to New York to film earlier in the week and didn’t ask any questions. With Richie, it's better to not ask questions and just let it happen. Eddie came home with an adrenaline rush so intense that he barely slept for three days. No matter how much you tried to keep him in bed and tire him out. 

And sure, it was hard to have him be gone while you drove out to Indy and took a friend to see the new graffiti art exhibit that came in from LA when it was supposed to be with him. It was hard to have him miss a lot of things. His return from the city only started another big talk about it, one you've been having every few months the last two years. Even so, you couldn’t help but be proud of him, proud of all of them. Remembering that just four years ago they were barely getting fifteen people in here to see them play when you first started dating. 

The crowd erupts when the camera comes off of the band on the stage and back to Leno at his desk, the boys in real life all standing on the bar. You look up at Ed and smile, he finally did it, he’s doing it. The contracts are signed, the people saw him, he’s gonna make it. He’s making it. 

You duck out of the way when they start to spray champagne over everyone by the bar, “Not my hair, babe!” 

The two  bartenders pour shots of Jameson and flutes of Prosecco while the show cuts to commercial and it’s not long before you feel the sticky chest of your boyfriend up against your shoulder, “It was good? I did good?” 

“Ed you’re…you’re fuckin’ famous,” you grin, “You’re fuckin’ famous!”

You follow while he leads you through the crowd, settled in near the back where the stage doors lead to the dressing room and out into the parking lot. He looks over his shoulder twice before he sneaks you both behind the amps; heart pounding when he leans you up against the painted cinder block walls, noses mashing when he takes your lips in his. It’s feverish, desperate when he pulls at your hips, one arm wrapped around your mid back to keep you steady up against him.

“Lemme – mmm – lemme take you to the green room,” he breathes between kisses, moving your hand toward the bulge in his jeans, “C’mon I wan–” 

“The interview’s up!” Jeff calls from on top of the bar. 

“Where’s Ed? ED? Come on! The interview’s up!” Gareth calls, the crowd erupting in a cheer of ‘Edd-ie, Edd-ie, Edd-ie!’

“Come on, come on!” you squeal, pulling away to pull him toward the front of the bar again, “You said they were gonna cut it!”  

“It’s stupid, babe,” he assures, “It’s so dumb.” 

“Ed, you’re being interviewed by Leno, this isn’t stupid,” you urge, “This is like – this is it.” 

“It’s literally like two minutes, it’s not special,” he doesn’t move when you pull him along with you, a frown pulling on your lips. 

“Eddie,” your voice raises an octave, tugging on his hand – he lets go. 

“I’m gonna take a leak,” he shrugs, heading toward the green room while you watch him disappear behind the door. Your brows furrow slightly, but it doesn’t stop you from making your way back to the edge of the bar where everyone’s eyes are glued to the medium sized screen in the corner. 

The crowd cheers again while the band is re-introduced, Eddie and Jeff sitting on the chairs with Gareth and Grant standing behind them. You admire the way your boyfriend looks post performance, nearly glittering with sweat but glowing with pride – with accomplishment. You look over your shoulder to see if he’s back from the bathroom yet, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“So we got a group of some – what looks like – nice, respectable hard core guys,” Jay smiles. 

“I don’t know about respectable,” Eddie scrunches his nose back at the host. 

“I don’t know about nice, either,” Jeff jokes. You marvel at how relaxed and natural they all look on camera, cracking wise and getting laughs from the audience. They talk about the album briefly, and the front cover which has all four boys in caskets with a red kiss print on their cheeks. 

“So, the debut is self titled, Corroded Coffin – but it looks like you all got a coffin kiss here,” he points out, “These from anyone special? You got the girls going crazy.” The audience erupts in cheers and screams, a bra finding its way flung into the sound stage. You giggle when Gareth and Grant  hold it up, making them both blush pink on the screen. 

“Well I got a girl at home, so, I don’t hear any screamin’ if it’s not her cheering for me,” Jeff’s smile is bright when the camera focuses on him and he winks into the lens. Sasha, Jeff’s girlfriend, screeches in the crowd of The Hideout. 

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna do that!” she beams, and your heart thunders while you watch them kiss on the bar. The promise ring that he gave her back in ‘88 shines on her ring finger, awaiting something much more flashy when that first big rockstar payday hits.

“It’s definitely a change of pace,” Grant nods on the screen, “Definitely wasn’t getting a lot of girls in high school.” 

“It’s wild,” Gare laughs. 

“And what about you, Munson,” Jay asks, “Frontman like you’s gotta be beating them off with a stick.” 

The camera focuses on him, his pink lips and smart grin, a flash of teeth before he starts talking. He’s so handsome, you feel your fingers and toes start to tingle when he opens his mouth.You weren’t expecting to hear your name on national television, or be alluded to. You’d never really prepared yourself for something like this. To be declared to thousands, maybe millions, as a rockstar girlfriend.

You swallow the nervous spit pooling in your mouth, heart pattering while you run through all of the scenarios of the outcome of being ‘announced’ in your head.  

“I don’t kiss and tell, Jay,” he smirks.

Oh.

Your hearing clouds and your vision blurs – unsure of what you just heard. If maybe you imagined it, but that proves to be untrue when you feel a few sets of eyes on you. A moment of silent confusion lulls on the crowd at the bar.

You swallow the lump in your throat, fingers and toes cold now while the blood rushes to your heart and head, to your lungs which suddenly forgot how to work. Through teary eyes you look around, drowned out by the cheers of the bar when Jay announces when the album will release. You sniffle, trying to hold it back – but there he is in the back of the crowd now, eyes rounded; pleading, looking straight at you. 

The tears spill over and you try to catch your breath as you make your way through the bodies on your way to the front door. You hear Gareth call after you, hearing him stumble over the barstools while he hops off the counter. Another ragged intake of breath shakes through you while you get closer to the sticker covered door, pushing through the first set and then the other into the dark blue night. Your breath puffs white in front of you, coat abandoned somewhere back inside The Hideout while you walk across the street to your car. 

You fumble with the keys, blubbering while you get the engine started and the radio blares Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together part way through the song. In the rear view you see him hustle out of the bar to search for you, catching the start of your car and getting to the passenger window before you can pull away. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he strains, his fingers hanging on the edge of the half open glass, “I promise it’s not what you think. Richie asked me to answer like that, it wasn’t on purpose.” 

You press slightly on the gas, making the car lurch forward and inch.

“Wait! Please don’t – don’t just go,” he begs, voice breaking with desperation, “We can talk about it.” 

You look at him through wet eyes, the street lights haloing behind his head to feign his innocence. He can talk himself out of anything.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you rasp out quietly, “We’ve done enough talking.” 

“I can…please don’t go,” he says again, “Not with you crying like this, c’mon. Don’t leave.” 

“I’m gonna go home, Ed,” you sniffle, “J-just go h-have fun inside. S’too cold to be out here.” 

“You don’t have your coat,” he states, “Come back in and get it. We can talk in the back, please.” 

“I don’t need my coat,” you garble out, “I’m going h-home.” 

“Well I’ll – I’ll bring it to you tomorrow morning,” he nods needily, “Okay? Is that okay?” 

You let out a shaky breath, fogging again against your windshield, “F-fine.” 

Eddie cracks a weak but winning smile, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” 

“I love you,” he adds. It tastes like ash in your mouth. You pull away before you feel compelled to say it back. 

Eddie show’s up in the morning with coffee and your coat, a small carton of donut holes for you both to share. He’s all smiles, seeing you in the kitchenette cleaning out the coffee pot that you now no longer have to fill. 

“Morning, baby,” he grins, “I brought your coat.” 

“Thanks,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the droplets of water that race down the side of the glass pout, “You can just hang it on the hook.” 

“Are you…are you still upset with me?” his voice is airy, surprised while he makes his way behind you. Calloused hands reach around to pull your back in his chest, nose nuzzling against your cheek. Your stomach rolls, bile inching up the base of your throat. 

“Enough, Ed,” you sigh, pulling out of his hold. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon,” he huffs, “I told you already. I didn’t want to say that. But you know how Richie is! He just wants what’s best for the band and so do I! Don’t you? I thought you’d understand.” 

“Jeff had no problem talking about Sasha,” you do your best to measure your tone, too early to start yelling. 

“Jeff has the wholesome thing going for him; plus – you know his family isn’t for him being considered like, a rogue or whatever. He’s already in a metal band,” Eddie explains, like this is a totally normal conversation, “Richie even said this morning that he was getting a lot of calls.” “Okay,” you nod, sitting down at the small table in your kitchen where your coffee sits. 

“And like, a lot of people wanna do interviews with us and get hype up for the release,” he half smiles, sitting down across from you, “I told you, it was…it was a good thing. They were saying y’know like, mysterious bad boy front man is a good angle.” 

“Great.” 

“It doesn’t…babe, it doesn’t mean we can’t be together,” he leans forward, hand reaching out to touch yours. His shoulders sulk when you put them both under the table. 

“Ed I –” you let out a breath, eyes tracing a pattern on the waxed canvas tablecloth, “I can’t even look at you right now. And you wanna tell me we can still be together?” 

“What like it’s…some consolation prize?” you choke out, “You made a fool out of me. The looks I got?”   

“I know, I know, but it was for the band. You know how I feel abo—“ 

“How you feel about me?” you hold back a bitter laugh. 

“Ed, the last year or so we have kept having the same conversation over and over again. You are so, so caught up in Corroded and making it and getting there and trust me I am so proud of you. If there is anyone on the planet who is more proud than me maybe it’s Wayne, but – this is just like, this is kind of it. We have nowhere to go from here.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, his brown eyes rounding and brows tilting slightly when he realizes what you’re really saying, “What do you mean no where to go? Are you not listening? I said we can still be together, just like befo–” 

“Before? Before when?” you get up and pace back to the kitchen where he can still see you, “Before when you would cancel dates to go practice? When you missed my awards night for work  because you wanted to fill in guitar for a gig in Ohio? When you didn’t come to my poetry reading with the guys like you said you would and instead got plastered at The Hideout after rehearsal?” 

“Well I apologized for all that, that was all in the past couple years and I – look, I said I was sorry and you accepted that,” his voice raises slightly, he stands up to full height with defense evident in his stance, “You can’t just throw it back in my face.” 

“When you were gone weeks at a time for mini tours, for opening for bands on the East Coast – god, all the work I took off to make sure I was there for you? When you canceled our three year anniversary dinner, without my knowledge, because you got a call for discounted studio time on the same night,” you manage to get out, the tears inching toward the edge of your lash line, “And I sat there at the table in my new dress and everyone looked at me the same way they looked at me last night. Poor girl. Must’ve got stood up. What an idiot.” 

“Yeah well that studio time is why we were on fuckin’ LENO, babe!” he pleads, “Don’t you get that? It’s for us!” 

“It’s for you!” you break, the shrill frustration coming out with your voice, “It’s always just been for you. It’s always about Eddie and the guys. I have done nothing but make sacrifice after sacrifice, excuse after excuse to play the part of perfect, understanding, cool, laidback girlfriend but like fuck Ed, when is it gonna be about me, huh?” He stands there, unsure, cheeks sucking in between his teeth.

“And what’s on the docket for you on Friday? Have any plans?” you ask, your voice softening while you cross your arms over your chest. You lean the small of your back against the counter while you watch him. He clears his throat, hands finding their way into the back pockets of his jeans. 

“Um, we have some meetings in the morning in Indy. And then um, we’re gonna take a late flight out to LA. The label’s excited – they’re really excited,” he breathes out, eyes finding the floor and your sock covered feet.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” you nod, voice still measured, “Since we’ve had the tickets for my niece’s winter school concert on the fridge for over a month. I guess I’ll have to tell her that her favorite bonus teacher couldn’t make it.” 

“Fuck,” Eddie’s eyes shut, pulling his lips in to run his tongue across them while he thinks of what to say next. Your heart thrums in your chest, throat getting tighter and tighter while you hold back a cry – this was just another thing to add to the list.

“I can make it up to her, I promise,” his raspy nicotine voice becoming garbled with desperation, “I can make this all up to you, too. I swear. I wish you had just told me about all of this.” 

“I have, Ed. We are always having the same conversation. I’m tired of having it. I’m so tired of this. Make it up to me? How do you make up for it?” 

“I…” he chokes on his words, ringed fingers running over his face and reaching to pull his hair back off his neck. 

“Go ahead,” you encourage angrily, “What’re you gonna do? Say something. Fucking, do something, Ed!” 

“Baby, I don’t know what to…” he swallows, tears pooling in shiny wells over his eyes, “What do you want me to do? I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.” 

You take a breath through your nose and let it out through your mouth, taking the three steps it takes to get to him. Your hands fall from being crossed, reaching up to cup each of his cheeks. Your thumbs run over the apples and drag softly over the stubble left over from the night before. 

His eyes shut while he keens into your touch, his rough hands covering yours. Calloused fingertips coasting delicately over your knuckles. You know what you have to do, even if his touch makes you want to do the opposite. 

“Go be famous,” you shrug, smiling weakly, “Go be the big rockstar I know you are. Like how you wanted. Go play The Garden and live in LA.” 

Your hands slide down his face, tears falling after them, “Go do all that, and just, um – just leave me alone. Please.” 

“But I don’t–” he starts, pulling in a sharp breath while a cry leaks out of him, “I don’t wanna lose you.” 

“Oh, Ed,” you shake your head while the ache spills over into your own leveled sob, “I’m already lost.” 

“No, please,” he begs, trying to catch your hands as they make it back to your sides, “Please, baby, I’ll fix it. I pro-promise.” 

“There’s nothing left to fix,” you whisper in finality, “You should go.” 

“I don’t want to,” Eddie’s soft pink lips quiver while he speaks, “Please. Please. I can fix it, the next interview, anything, it’ll be all you. I swear I can…I can…” 

When your face doesn’t change he knows there’s no way to pull you from your stance, voice trailing off in defeat. You watch as he rips open your storm door and goes to his van, his chest and back shaking with sobs that make the hardware on his jacket cry with him.

A year passes and you are not surprised when you find out that Corroded Coffin has made the cover of Rolling Stone. Wayne bought every copy from the gas station at the end of the road and put them in every mailbox early that morning. You don’t think there’s been a day in the last year that Wayne wasn’t seen beaming ear to ear; his boy finally getting everything he wanted. 

Life had gotten easier now that you weren’t regularly expecting disappointment. You went on few dates here and there, just trying to navigate your life after spending four years sharing it with someone else. Some nights were colder than others, but it was better than the frigidness you felt that night at the bar.

You did your best to avoid the tabloids – Eddie was certainly doing just fine navigating his life as a bachelor; some new model or actress on his arm every other month it seemed. Hardrock’s Resident Playboy. It stung the first time you saw it, and a little less each time after – heart breaker to the core; you would know, you were the blueprint.

In the same cold that matched the night at The Hideout a year prior; you sat on your steps wrapped in a robe – morning cigarette between your fingers. 

“Morning,” Wayne’s voice is gravelly when it sounds over you, still soaked with left over sleep. 

“Mornin’ Wayne,” you smile, taking a sip of the steaming cup of coffee in your other hand. 

“Wanted to uh, to let you know that the guys are playin’ a show in the city tonight. I could uh – I could get you a ticket if y–” 

“That’s sweet of you Wayne,” you smile tightly, “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“He might like to see you,” he shrugs. He hadn’t quite gotten over the break up the way you and Eddie had, convinced that this was the real deal – that he was watching young love flourish into something bigger. 

“He’s seeing someone, Wayne,” you take a drag of your cigarette, “Why would he want to see his ex-girlfriend who still lives in Hawkins? He’s got some actress girl now, right?” 

Wayne shrugs again, scratching at the back of his neck, “I never know what that boy’s got goin’ on in California outside of shows and gettin’ into trouble. Maybe he is seeing some girl but, y’know, seein’ an old friend could be good for him.” 

“He’s still got plenty of friends here he can see,” you let the smoke out to drift off in the gentle wind rustling through the line of trailers and mobile homes, “I don’t think I need to be one of them.” 

“Well, they’re gonna have a small after party at The Hideout tomorrow,” he offers, “Even if you just wanna do somethin’ fun. I never see you goin’ out anymore.” 

You laugh, “You work at night, what do you mean you don’t see me goin’ out anymore? I go out plenty.” 

His eyes linger on you, enough to encourage a thoughtful sigh – you might as well humor him. 

“I’ll think about it, okay?” you toss your half finished cigarette onto the browned grass before looking back up at him.

“Okay,” he smiles, eyes sparkling as he makes his way back inside. 

You spend the next day deliberating between making it to the bar or not, putting in the effort to get ready and showing up. Why bother? Just to sit awkwardly in the corner while everyone flocks to the boys and tells them how great they are? They already know they’re great, they’re crawling higher and higher up the ladder. 

You haven’t even talked to Eddie since the morning he left your trailer, and Wayne knows that. He knows how bad you hurt his nephew because he came over to talk to you a week after Eddie went to California and stayed for good. ‘So why should I show my face there? So I can relive the moment he made a fool of me over again?’ You think while the hot water of the shower glides over your shoulders and down your chest. 

‘Maybe it’ll be good to make amends or something, I at least owe it to the guys,’ you figure silently while you slather on some moisturizer at the bathroom sink. And you did – not seeing Eddie meant not seeing the rest of the band. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant were your friends too, and you sort of broke up with them in the same instance. Sasha moved out to California with them soon after – it would be nice to catch up at least. You hadn’t seen her since that night. 

‘But why would I want to bother? So I can see that engagement ring on her finger and hear her talk about her wedding plans?’ you swallow sourly while you use a touch of your lipstick as blush on the apples of your cheeks. ‘Remember all the times you thought you and Ed were gonna get married? Hilarious.’ 

Before you know it, it’s 11:30 and you’re standing outside of the sticky and stickered covered door of The Hideout. Even from where you’re standing the bar is a buzz like a hive, energy inside like a livewire when you get into the entryway, showing your ID to the bouncer at the inside door. 

‘Small after party my ass, Wayne,’ you think to yourself when you get in, shrugging off your coat. There was barely room to move and most of the lights were off or dimmed aside from the small stage in the back. By the looks of it, they must’ve played a small set – an intimate ‘home base’ concert for the real hometown fans. You push through some of the crowd, acrid smoke haze hovering over the room. A single bar stool sits empty at the end of the counter close to the wall and before you can think about it, you beeline straight there before someone else can grab it. Not that anyone would be able to see it through the six couples making out to Slayer blasting through the speakers. 

The bar tender notices you soon after, coming over to get your order while his two cohorts speedily pour shots and mix drinks. You almost don’t want to get anything just to make the night easier, but opt for a beer instead. 

“How much?” you ask over the music. 

“WHAT?” the bartender shouts, holding a hand to his ear. 

“HOW MUCH?” you yell back. 

“ON THE HOUSE. BAND IS COVERING DRINKS,” he shouts back. You take a few dollars out while he pours your beer anyway, sliding it across the bar with a smile. He smiles back, pocketing the ones with a wink before helping another person leaning over the bar. 

The TV takes your attention, a tape of their recent interviews and music videos playing on a loop with no sound. The beer is almost comforting as it passes over your tongue, it’s been some time since you just sat in a busy bar – and for the most part, no one here even knows you. For the most part. 

A call of your name snaps you back to reality, looking around to see exactly who you thought you would. Sasha. And low and behold a ring sparkles bright on her finger, a breathtakingly big diamond glittering in the neon lights behind the bar. 

“Hey!” you call back with a smile, sick crawling up your throat. You watch as she fights the crowd to get over to you, wrapping you in a tight hug while you stay seated on the stool. 

“How have you been? You look gorgeous,” Sasha’s tan skin glows back orange in green while the lights change, tight dark curls bouncing prettily around her face. 

“I’ve been good!” you nod, your voice hardly sounds like your own, “Y’know just – hanging around Hawkins. How’s LA? How’ that ring?!” 

She holds her hand out so you can really see it, her skin is warm in yours while you take her fingers. It’s more beautiful up close, the marquise diamond flanked by two smaller triangles in perfect harmony. 

“He did so good, Sash,” you giggle. 

“I slapped his arm so hard when I saw it,” she laughs, “I said, ‘Jeff we could’ve bought a freakin’ house!’ but you know how he is.” 

“I do, I do,” you nod, “Did you set a date?” 

“Probably not for another year or so if we do a big wedding,” she shrugs, “Maybe a little longer? We think it’s smart to actually buy a house first – with this kind of money coming in. And y’know, the industry is, uh, well, it can be wishy washy. What’s in today could be out tomorrow. We wanna be smart.” 

“Well thank god he’s marrying someone like you then,” you tease. 

“That’s true,” she beams, “Do the guys know you’re here? I can go grab J–”

“No, no, they don’t,” you interrupt, taking her arm gently while she turns to leave, “You don’t have to tell them I’m here. I’ll go find them, I promise.” 

Sasha gives you a half hearted smile, “Okay. Well – We’re sitting over by the stage if you wanna come say hi to the guys. Gareth would lose his mind, and Grant brought his new girl with him, she’s so cool. They met in LA and she’s like, got the sickest punky-goth type of thing about her.” 

“I love that he’s in love,” you gush. 

“Me too,” she nods, “The girls are obsessed with him out there.” 

There’s a silence, but it’s knowing – still one person yet to have been mentioned but you both seem to understand it’s not worth bringing it up. Sasha reminds you that they’re by the stage, giving her a wave while she disappears in the throngs of people in the crowd. 

Half way through your second beer and a couple of random conversations with people later, you see him in glimpses while people pass by. You can tell by the smirk on his face that he’s flirting, and when more people move and re-disperse, settling, you see glimpses of her, too. Some cute young looking thing, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was her twenty-first birthday. All doe eyed and giggly while he leans over her against the wall near the booths. I guess whoever he’s seeing in California isn’t too important.

He looks good, healthy, you can tell his clothes are tailored now – sort of comical that a tailor would fit and adjust ripped jeans and an old leather jacket. Not that he has to know you think it’s funny. 

Eddie leans forward and lets his finger tap her on the nose, a tell-tale sign of his that they’ll kiss later. He’s used that move on you more times than you can count. He did it the night you met, tipsy at a party at Gareth’s – tapped you on the nose, making you scrunch it. 

‘Aw, if I knew you’d make a face like that I would’ve booped you way earlier.’ 

‘What do you mean? What face?’ You scrunch again. 

‘That face,’ he bites his lower lip, blush on his cheeks, ‘It’s a cute face.’

You expected it to hurt more, to watch him active in his element; but it doesn’t. You know the motions, you know his tells, he next move. You can see it in the way he leans into her and then leans away – almost kissing her, but leaving her wanting more. You smirk into your next sip, counting down the moments until he puts their conversation on pause to do their rounds and finding her again later. Gotta keep her yearning, you guess. He certainly was always good at things like that. 

You don’t see their reunion, you assume it was somewhere near the stage where the band and Sasha were. At the end of the night, the boys play a goodnight mini-set, just three songs. You’d never seen Ed so in his zone in your life, fully basking in the glow of upcoming stardom. Every chord and every lyric punching out of him like the sweat pouring from his hairline and chest. This was what you wanted, what you told him to do. 

Go be famous. And here he was. Famous. Just like you said he would be. 

Water takes the place of your beer while they play; and you know better than to get up and join the crowd. Much happier sitting at the end of the now more empty bar just listening instead of getting potentially punched or tussled with amongst the bodies. 

People take their time leaving when the set is over, shrugging on their coats to brave the cold weather. 

‘Thanks for comin’ out to celebrate with us – now get the fuck out so our buddies at the bar can go home before four!’ 

You savor the conversations and music settling down to a much quieter murmur while you sketch on a napkin. A few people you shared niceties with tap your shoulder to say goodbye, new friends you’ll never see again. On the other end of the bar you hear Grant and his girl order a round of shots. Your head almost pops up at the sound of his voice, but that might bring attention to you that you don’t think you really want. Now that the night is over, you’re glad you came. If anything, just to see that they were making it just fine – and they would have with or without you. 

With less people in the bar you can hear Sasha’s laugh in the back where the stage is, and you laugh into your napkin turned sketchpad. Her laugh was always infectious, enough to make the crowd follow suit. You grab a fresh napkin from the pile next to you and start to doodle again while you figure out how to best leave without anyone catching wise that you’re here. Out of the last twenty people left at the bar, a little more than half knew who you were.

The tap of the pen on the bar top while you think blends in with the tinkling of hardware that gets a little louder the closer it gets to you. A squish of leather and drag of a barstool later makes you privy that someone’s next to you. Spiced cologne and sweat sheened skin. 

“You come here often?” 

Slowly, you turn your head – level with brown eyes you haven’t looked in for a year, just in the glossy pages of magazines you’d leave behind at the grocery store or Melvald’s. 

“I used to,” you offer a quiet tired smile, leaning your chin on your hand on the bar, “It’s been a while.” 

Eddie smiles back, soft, cautious, “Yeah, same for me.” 

You both don’t speak for a moment, adjusting yourselves on the barstools while a few more people head out to leave. The jingle of the door fades out, crunches of the parting patrons’ sneakers and boots in the snow sound outside.

He clears his throat, bringing your attention back to him – the curls of his hair, the slight stubble on his jaw and cheeks. His bottom lip tucks between his teeth for a moment before he turns his chest toward you. 

“Can I uh, can I get you a drink?” 

[gremlingottoosilly]

The art of hospitality (Nanami Kento x fem!Reader)

Life wasn't that good after you dropped out of college. Luckily, a friend of a friend of a relative was willing to take you to live with him so you could watch over his weirdly big house while he was away on endless work trips. Nanami never thought that investment in the kindness of his heart would pay out like this. He is not complaining.

Tags and CW: Yandere, mild dub-con, non-consensual masturbation, Nanami is a panty stealer, light age difference, power imbalance, housewife kink AO3

Some people are just not built to fend for themselves. Nanami can name a few, even though the sentiment leaves a bitter, bun-haired taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t think like this – like him – but it’s as impossible as not thinking about a panda bear after you just been prompted with hot imagining one. 

He can only repeat that he isn’t like this. It isn’t like him. Some people are just not built to fend for themselves, so people like Nanami are doing everything in their power to protect them. Weak are ruling the society and this is exactly how it is supposed to be. Strong should be content with not having any gratitude, happy that they were able to help. This is exactly how it’s supposed to be, and yet… — Thank you so much for letting me stay here, Nanami-san. With the lease and everything coming up, I just… His cheeks aren’t dusted red because this won’t be a normal answer to the situation. He isn’t blushing because he is somewhat not used to receiving a little thank you from a nice girl next door that he allowed to live with him and watch over the house while he is away on the missions(dumb, dumb girl got kicked out of the apartment after a failed lease renewal and found him through a friend of a relative). He knows how grateful you are – not having many things or a lot of money saved, you probably would have moved back to the countryside if it weren’t for him. For a girl like you, it would be kissing your dreams goodbye. Not like sleeping on his couch is any better for someone your age. There is curry on the kitchen island. He recognises the packaging – generic brand from the convenience store he sometimes walked passed during missions in Asakusa. Hm. Last time he touched your cooking(four days before, when he actually managed to drag himself to the house without losing too much sweat) it was made from scratch. He isn’t complaining because he still wasn’t the one to cook it. Asking a girl in dire circumstances to play housewife would be… You don’t pay rent, you get half of the groceries from him(ever-lasting meal planning for everything, even when half of it gets thrown away after a nasty curse hunt is leaves him on the other side of the prefecture for few days in the row) and you don’t sleep on the couch. He has a perfectly comfortable guest bedroom with fresh sheets for you. 

Maybe, you could play housewife a little bit. It’s so stupid for someone in his position, but the packaging of a store-made curry almost made him question the decision to help you in the first place. He didn’t…didn’t expect you to cook for him, of course. He only took you in because being a young adult is tough and not having any friends in a city as expensive as Tokyo can crush a girl like you. He doesn’t know what is this feeling blooming in his chest. Maybe, the remains of the last exorcism are still clinging to him. — You found a job? You tilt your head, your (adorable) lips in a surprised impression. You probably never thought he’d give someone like you this much of his mind – not with how little you talked before. He might come off as too harsh – but he still looks you in the eyes, his gaze only softens because of the glasses he still insists on wearing even inside the house. Nanami promised to himself to not bring work home – but it’s hard to even determine what is home anymore. Maybe it’s a space on the couch, right next to your sprawled legs. Maybe it’s his bedroom. Maybe it’s… — Yes! It’s a convenience store, so it’s part-time, but… He frowns. You close your mouth immediately, lips pursed. Nanami doesn’t want to intimidate you – it’s just six thirty, already too late to be in a serious work mood – but it’s hard when you look simply divine with that scared impression of yours. He shouldn’t bully non-sorcerers, but some people are making it hard. Impossible. He almost understands Satoru. — This is all? — Well, they allowed me to pick more shifts, so I could actually start paying rent. N…not all, but just to thank you for letting me stay with you. You’re kind, he must give you that. Most people in your situation would already make him feel like overstaying their welcome, breaking the simple comfort he found in living on his own, and deflecting his family’s worries about not having anyone to settle down with. He isn’t thirty yet, he shouldn’t worry about it – yet, the thought itches at the back of his mind, Empty house. Most of his older coworkers were itching to ditch overtime because they wanted to meet with their families. He did it because after fighting curses(and returning to doing so) normal human life isn’t something he’d give much thought to.

— You don’t have to pay. I thought we established that. — I have to start somewhere, right? M…maybe I could save up and get a proper apartment. Still, Kento doesn’t like the idea that he might come home one day and won’t find you sitting on the couch and watching TV. Not because you just went out for a quick girl walk, or decided to go shopping – but because you got a big job, a normal job, and you won’t rely on his kindness anymore. 

Some people aren’t made to fend for themselves. Nanami wonders what would you look like if you ever saw a curse. If you were affected by at least one. He…he shouldn’t think like this. You’re lucky that you’re normal. — Paying for three months' rent, the key, and the debt would be impossible with a part-time store job. — I could live with a roommate! Or three… — What difference would it make for our current situation? He puts a hand on the back of the couch. Mere inches from your head – and he can see the surprised expression on your face only getting…more surprised. You are cute for a dropout – ahe he certainly doesn’t mind having you sleeping here. Taking care of the house for him. If he only knew that you also weren’t fully against the proper commitment to this place. Like that little job of yours has any value in terms of experience and…

— I don’t want to intrude too much, Nanami-san. I’ll just get out of your hair as soon as possible, yeah? He would love for you to get into his hair, come to think about it. He had some terrible headaches lately – maybe it’s the job taking its toll again, maybe it’s a lingering curse that he is too exhausted to notice. He doesn’t sense anything besides the overwhelming need for you to come around – and yet he knows he can’t expect you to do that. — I can pay you. 

— What? He wonders if the surprise on your face is going to be embedded in your features forever. He wonders what expression would you have if he’d proposed something more provocative. With something that would leave you panting and gasping and gaping. He shook his head. Too early for this – and too late, also. He already loosened his tie and it made the headache less permanent, but if he’d proceeded to imagine how your pathetic, useless (normal, college dropout) mouth wide around the base of his cock, he would have to excuse himself from the house altogether, Preferably moving back to the countryside you tried to run away from. — If you insist on working…there instead of taking time to actually improve yourself, I could pay you to watch over the house. You gulp, tensing up immediately. He must have come off too strong – but he is way too tired to control his tone, and you should be mature enough to handle the conversations like this. He wasn’t kicking you off – quite the contrary, in fact. But, young adults should take the time to be young. But, young adults should be serious enough to behave like adults – and you shouldn’t bury your ambitions while living with four roommates and their boyfriends and college and drinking and… Sometimes he forgets how not much older he is than you. Maybe this is why you’re so hesitant towards getting help from him – someone that you could imagine in the position of a boyfriend instead of a providing and caring figure. That’s bad, really. Nanami would like for you to see him as your husband. — I couldn’t accept it, Nanami-san. You’re already…already doing so much. “Too much” he can get from your frowned expression. Too much of a lonely man with a big house and no one to watch over it. Too much for a man who doesn’t acept any form of payment from you – a man who didn’t even insist on having you cook and clean, since he got a system that would be too much bother to teach someone other than him. System that you cracked in first few weeks, almost making him believe that the salryman dream he lost after returning to Jujutsu Tech, can be still obtained. Still within the reach of his fingers. 

The woman of his dreams – if a man like him allowed to have them – is sitting on his couch and gushes over paying him for letting her stay. Like he isn’t the one who should beg for her to not run away. Alas, even dream girls can be a bit…dumb. Stupid. Pathetic in a way that would be insane to anyone else. 

Nanami is ought to be a bit more firm with his dumb girl that still thinks she isn’t his. — I would appreciate you cooking way more than any money I’d have to take out of your savings. — But… — You shouldn’t rush into jobs just because you think I would throw you out. I won’t. — It’s…funny. In a way. 

— What is so funny? His hand creeps over the edge of your seat, edging on taking a handful of your hair and tugging. Not because he wanted to hurt you – but because setting you in place would be the desirable option right now. Your inability to believe in the kindness of his heart is almost adorable, if it weren’t also so frustrating. It’s a smart choice, although – would be insane to ask you to believe that a man who took you in did so out of the kindness of his heart. But, Kento doesn’t want for you to be smart and make choices that would benefit you. But, Kento wants for you to rely on him – and making smart choices isn’t going to include that. He could just force you, your weak points already accessed – he knows where to push, where to cut, where to ass a little pressure, so you’d stop being so stubborn. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but sometimes you need to crack a few eggs in the process. Sometimes being good doesn’t mean being nice. — I thought you really wanted to get rid of me at first, Nanami-san. He has been stealing your panties since you first stepped foot into his house. It was a mistake at first – neither you nor him knew how to live with someone so close after reaching adulthood and moving out of dorms where the social boundaries are much, much less permanent. You were silly and forgetful, sometimes mixing your laundry with his. Something as small as a pair of panties, no matter clean or not, were prone to get lost in the laundry area, forgotten in a pile of clothes you already washed – and if Nanami was a lesser man, he would have scolded you for not having the basic courtesy of keeping your things away from his. If Nanami was a bigger man he wouldn’t have slipped a lacey pair into a pocket of his pants, fidgeting on the fabric while you gushed over having to buy so many necessities all of a sudden, or apologized for wrecking havoc in his bathroom. Even now, when you’re embarrassed and warm, trying to explain your point of view to him, he is still playing with your underwear, buried deep within the pocket of his work clothes. He luckily didn’t run into Satoru today – he doesn’t really want to know if his Six Eyes could detect something as scandalous. Not in a normal sense, of course – you’re an adult, if a bit irresponsible – but in the form of him having connections. Someone to return to. 

Nanami wants to push you on your knees and take his rent right out of that surprised, open mouth of yours. You don’t wear any makeup, you’re at home, after all – but he would buy you some adorable lipstick, some sweet lipgloss, just so you could smear it all over his cock, choking and drooling. He wants to be a good man, a patient man, but he has your panties in his pocket already, and it’s always a fresh pair every few weeks – not enough to make you suspicious that this isn’t the washing machine eating it, but also desperately low for someone like him. 

He wonders if you would be even softer than the tender silk of the things you wear. — Why would you think I accepted you, then? 

He knows why you might be nervous – his attitude isn’t the most welcoming one. He can be soft if he has a reason you – but being soft for too long will make you spoiled. Bratty. He likes women with character, but not women with attitudes he can’t control. Even your sitting position, with both of your legs on a couch, is something he could change with a few spanks on the bare skin he can clearly see from under your shorts. Wearing this when there is a man in the house – how scandalous. How precious. He wonders if all the lingerie sets he already bought for you (getting exact sizes is quite easy when he already knows your proportions divided by 7), will be a nice look on you. For you. 

— Maybe it was your one good deed for the month, but then you’d get annoyed and… He touches you – for the first time in weeks. Maybe the first time since he shook your hand all those time ago. The first time he touched you while you weren’t sleeping, at least. Fully conscious, aware of the man in front of you. (Nanami liked to watch you sleep, sometimes. Stressed people have a bad habit of attracting curses, and he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t invite anything in the safety of his house. It’s what he keeps telling himself when he inevitably ended up at the food of your bed, hands on his cock, stroking it slowly, knowing a dumb girl – naive girl – won’t wake up even if he’d decide to finish on your face. He never would – not until you’d ask him to, at least. He hopes that he will be a good person even after you do) Nanami’s hand is on your cheek, holding you softly. Gently. You’re surprised because this is the first time he touched you so softly – so intimately. You’re blissfully unaware of the fact he was touching you so, so much already. Stroking your ass, your tits, your face when he felt particularly tender – when he knew you were too tired of whatever you were doing while being unemployed and having everything catered to you to notice that he is touching you. — I won’t get annoyed with you. 

You press your face against his hand, taking in his touch. He has soft hands – cared for, manicured carefully. He takes care of his appearance and you’re embarrassed to appreciate that about it. To even notice – he isn’t yours, probably doesn’t want to be, but he allows you to live in his house even though you suck at being a proper housewife, and it should mean something. It does mean something – you smile and close your eyes. You want to do something for him because he already did so much for you. The possibilities are making your ears burn. — How can I repay you if you don’t want rent then? He can think of a few ways. The possibilities will make your ears burn. — You can start by actually cooking. 

And he will call in to fire you later. 

[ellethespaceunicorn]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Well, it took me a couple of days but I did it!! Oh, and it's the longest drabble in the world. Did y'all know a drabble is only 100 words???? I thought it was 100-500...I still wrote way more than that, but still.

Title: No Good Deeds

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.

Prompt: Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Warnings: age gap (Ari is mid-40s, Reader is early-20s), yandere Ari, drugging, non-con fingering (f receiving), non-con p-in-v intercourse, non-con creampie, choking, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: Hahahaha this was supposed to be a drabble. Thank you to @peyton-warren for the beta!

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Moving out on your own isn’t exactly the easiest thing for you. You spent four years living in your college dormitory, but you always had at least one roommate. So, signing a lease and accepting the single set of keys was a huge accomplishment.

Your landlord, Mr. Levinson, is so great. He told you to call him Ari more than once. From the first tour of the apartment to the day of your move-in, he offers his help in many ways. Where the best farmer’s market is, how to reach him if you need any repairs, and even when the local bars close are just a few tidbits he leaves you with.

You get to know him a bit more during a block party one Saturday night. The two of you talk over cheap beer, tamales from Señora Cruz, smoked brisket from Mr. Lorenzo, and lasagna from Mrs. Di Paolo. Ari seems like he is lonely, and your kind heart can’t stand to see someone in need. 

Before you know what you are getting into, you agree to have a weekly tea date with him. It’s during one of those visits that you realize that something is a bit odd about Ari. He tries to cover up how he knows what cabinet you keep your tea in, but he makes up some dumb excuse that it would just be “the perfect spot”.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom as he busies himself with setting the tea, and when you come back, a steaming mug is waiting for you on a saucer on your coffee table. Usually, you make the tea, but Ari wanted to help out, and you had a long day at work, so you accepted.

“What is in this tea? It’s almost spicy,” you ask, taking another big gulp of the tea you don’t recognize.

“Is it spicy? Well, it does have ginger and cinnamon in it. Some chamomile, too. A little benzodiazepine in there,” Ari clambers on, trailing off at the end.

“D-did you say benzo…dia…zep,” you slur, reaching for Ari as you sit on the couch, but you end up passing out with your head in his lap.

When you come to, you struggle to remember what happened. Your heavy head pounds as you turn it to the side before putting the heel of your hand to your still-closed eyes.

“Take it slow, Bunny. You must’ve been really tired,” he consoles, from the other side of your bed.

“Mr. Levin-”

“Uhn uh. Call me Ari; no more of that Mr. Levinson polite shit, ok?” he swears for the first time in your presence.

“Um, Ari… What are you doing in my bedroom?” you ask, your mind a blank slate from earlier.

“Oh, Bunny. You invited me over for tea, and then you weren’t feeling well, and you asked me to stay until you felt better. Next thing I know, I’m carrying you in here because you fell asleep on me with that sweet little face of yours right in my lap,” he comforts, the knuckles of his hand sliding down your face before he boops your nose.

“Why do you keep calling me Bunny?” you mewl, still trying to get in control of all your limbs.

“When you sleep, you furrow your eyebrows and scrunch up your nose like a little bunny. It’s one of the cutest things you do,” he admires, his hand now moving down your neck and through the valley of your breasts to get to where your skirt rides up your thigh.

“Mr.-Ari…I think I feel better now; you don’t have to-” 

Your words are cut off when Ari reaches under your skirt, and you specifically remember having on panties earlier today, but his fingers are touching your tender pussy directly. Did he take off your underwear?

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Must’ve been all that time I spent rubbing your cute little cunt through those white cotton panties. God, those little moans you were making went straight to my cock, Bunny. Feel it,” he dares, grabbing your hand and resting it against the thick outline of his dick through his Wranglers. 

While your hand is on his length, he shoves two of his fingers into your wet heat. At first, you are surprised by the shock of it. But soon, you can tell that he knows how to work your body. You scream out his name, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he shoves one hand over your mouth and gets close to your ear.

“You’re not gonna ruin this for me. You have been parading yourself around here like you’re some holier-than-thou sweet little thing. And I knew you’d end up letting me smash at some point. But I didn’t wanna wait anymore, Bunny. You have had me wrapped around that little finger of yours since you moved in. It’s time that I get what’s owed to me-what you’ve been flaunting in front of me,” he sneers, pulling his fingers out of you and sucking them clean before opening his pants and pulling his dick out.

He lines up with your sodden core before thrusting in with no grace or elegance. Slamming himself inside your tight snatch for the first time feels like he is splitting you in two. You’re no virgin, but you also don’t have much casual sex, so Ari’s thickness was a shock, to say the least.

“Sweet Bunny, you’re so tight. What a good girl! You’ve been waiting for me like I’ve been waiting for you, huh? Fuck, you’re like a fucking vice. You hear that, Bunny? Hear how that cunt loves it when I fuck it? Love that loud, sloshy pussy,” he beams, his wide hips between your legs making your joints hurt.

You’re in stunned silence as Ari uses your body to chase his release. Your mind is bringing up all the times it seemed like he was getting a little too close for comfort. All the times when he would talk to you about his divorce, or his current dating trend, or the fact that he once told you that a pretty thing like you belonged locked up in a tower for a prince to come and free you.

Did he think he was a charming prince?

“Oh, Bunny, fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer. Look at me; wanna see your eyes when I cum inside you,” he blurts, holding your face in his hands as you look into his dilated, hungry eyes. “Take it. Just. Like. That.” The last few words are punctuated with thrusts as he paints your walls with thick, milky ropes.

Once he closes his eyes, his hips remain still, and his forehead meets yours. This would be almost romantic if Ari didn’t make it beyond creepy by whispering how perfect you are and peppering kisses all over your face. His softening cock finally slips free from you, and you are happy to be empty until you feel the flow of his semen leaking from you. He notices your discomfort and mocks your whines as he pushes his jizz back into your swollen hole.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he starts, moving off of you to recline next to you, “Not gonna leave this bed ‘til you’re knocked up. As soon as you are, I’m gonna move you in with me. You are gonna be well taken care of, too. You are so perfect-every little thing about you. And when the baby comes, we are gonna be the perfect little family. You wouldn’t wanna ruin our family, right? You’re gonna be a good girl for me, huh?” he implores, holding your cheeks in his hand so your lips poke out a bit.

You nod while tears stream from your eyes, finding it hard to form words. But what would you have said? He seems to like you mostly silent; you haven’t uttered a single word since before he was inside you. It wasn’t too late to try, but it was too late to have hope; at least that’s what you told yourself.

“I don’t know about you, but I am starting to get hard again just looking at you. On all fours for me, Bunny. I know you got it in you,” he orders, no kindness in his voice.

You quickly scramble to get on your hands and knees for him and are happy that he is pleased with your speed. As he slides into your sensitive folds again, you grimace but hold in your noises of pain. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you hurt, even though what he is doing is traumatizing. He relishes in the gushy sounds your pairing makes and the mighty “oomph” you make when he wraps an arm around your neck and flattens you down to your belly.

He has you in a chokehold while his hips canter back and forth, plunging his length deeper and deeper inside you. When he hears you start to sputter and gulp in air, he removes his arm from around your neck and holds your face cheek-down on the bed.

“Look at her, taking my cock just like she should. You’ll be the prettiest little wife and mother, won’t you? Gonna keep you nice and round as much as I can. My perfect little Bunny…ugh, fuck,” he blurts, his release surprising him suddenly.

When he pulls out, he smacks your ass and lays down next to you while your life flashes before your eyes. He moves closer to you, readjusting your body to lay on top of his as he rubs your back. He kisses the top of your head in such a kind gesture that you feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears. 

You can’t even bring yourself to fully cry, the tears streaming down your face just to splash on Ari’s denim shirt. Forgotten and dried up to never be seen again.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble!!!!

**Tag List**

I also didn't know who to tag since this is the first time I wrote Ari.

[coupsie-daisies]

Kinktober '23: Body Modification | Xu Minghao

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Xu Minghao x Reader

Genre: Smut (minors DO NOT interact), Kinktober 2023

Summary: A drunken confession to your best friends leads to you getting a tattoo from the prettiest man you've ever seen, and a loud mouthed best friend gets you a little more than you bargained for

WC: 3.5k (I literally don't know how this happened)

Warnings: tattoos, mentions of alcohol and drinking, fingering, oral (reader receiving), Minghao has several piercings (including a tongue piercing), slight degradation if you squint?, Minghao is bold and loves eating pussy, mentions of marking

A/N: Yeahhhhh there's gonna be a part two to this because when I tell you that this was just supposed to be the opening to the real idea I had...and then it got long and well overdue so forgive me for that heh

Tags: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @wooyussy // @burningupp-replies // @bunnypig18 // @decaffedthoughts // @brownieracha // @ferrethyun // @snow-pegasus // @walkxthexmoon // @aesteraceae // @wonuqrtz // @mixling-blog // @wonwooz1

Main Masterlist

Kinktober '23 Masterlist

This fanfiction is property of @/coupsie-daisies, reposting on any other platform is prohibited

You did stupid things when you were drunk, this wasn't new information for you. And yet somehow you always gave in when your friends asked you to come out with them. You were beginning to rethink that now as you sat in the waiting area of a tattoo parlor, fidgeting hands clasped in your lap.

It was a dumb slip up after mentioning that you'd always wanted to get a tattoo. Your friends got all excited, insisting that you had to do it, that you'd look so hot with a tattoo, that you needed to step out of your comfort zone or you'd end up becoming an old hermit who never did anything but sit in your house and watch dramas. The last one stung a bit, you had to admit. But the real nail in the coffin was Mingyu announcing that he'd texted his tattoo artist about setting up an appointment.

And see, it wasn't that you were afraid, you were just...unsure about making the life-long commitment that came with getting some random man's art printed on your body forever. Especially when it was going to hurt the whole time. You were about a second away from just chickening out all together, turning tail and leaving the shop when your name was called. You looked up, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. It was just the receptionist, bleach blonde hair with the longest legs you'd ever seen. He smiled, and it put you a little bit at ease. After all, he'd been nothing but sweet when checking you out.

"Minghao should be just about ready. I'll walk you back." He said. You nodded, getting up to follow him back as you nervously fiddled with the hem of the skirt you wore. Easy access, Mingyu had said. "To your thigh for the tattoo!" He'd added after a solid smack to his arm from Wonwoo.

You tugged it a little lower. Maybe it had been a bad choice to get a tattoo in a place that would leave so much of you exposed to a complete stranger. You didn't have time to overthink it because the man in front of you slowed to a stop, knocking on the door in front of him before swinging it open.

The inside wasn't exactly what you'd been expecting, there were a few plants carefully placed around the room, and the music that was playing was nothing like the intense atmosphere you'd been picturing. There were pictures hung up over near a small desk, grinning faces and dorky images of a group of friends goofing around in various settings, and a stuffed frog sitting in the corner of the desk with a miniature birthday had strapped to his head. You smiled.

But the most unexpected part had to be the man sitting on a rolling stool in front of a tray of only slightly intimidating materials. He was breathtaking. Dark hair swooped in front of his face where he was leaned over, and you could see the glint of metal speared through his eyebrow. He was long and lithe, one arm covered entirely in absolutely beautiful tattoos that spiraled and swirled against his tanned skin.

"You must be Y/N." He said, finally looking up from what he was doing and taking the black gloves off of his hands. He stood, shaking out his hair and letting it frame the most beautiful brown eyes you'd ever seen. How the fuck had Mingyu never mentioned that his tattoo artist was a walking wet dream?

"Yeah. Yup that's me. Minghao?" You guessed, shifting your weight to try and relieve the tension that was now tightening through your body. He nodded again. His smile was merely a polite curl of his lips before he turned to the other man still lingering to make sure the both of you were good.

"You know, you're supposed to wait for an answer when you knock on a door." He said, and you saw the teasing glint in his eye as the blonde rolled his eyes and muttered something about Minghao being behind schedule and trying to save his reviews. "Thank you, Jun. We're good here. Right?"

He looked at you and you nearly shivered, but you managed a nod and a tight smile.

"Yeah. Good." You agreed. Jun seemed more than satisfied with that, telling Minghao to grab him if he was needed.

"Hop up here, get comfy." Minghao said, motioning towards the leather seat. You carefully settled yourself into it, letting your legs stretch out and your head tip back against the headrest. You could feel your heart hammering all the way in your stomach, nerves beginning to overtake any coherent thoughts that had been in your mind before. "Nervous? Mingyu said you might be. But I promise you're in good hands."

You laughed weakly.

"Yeah I didn't exactly expect to do this. But my friends didn't give me a chance to argue. So here I am." You said.

Minghao turned to face you again, brow furrowed for a moment.

"You can back out if you want. I won't charge or anything for the appointment. I don't want you to decide to do this just because you were pressured into it. And I can tell Mingyu off if you want me to. Could be fun." He said. Your stomach fluttered at the genuine tone of his voice. Still you shook your head.

"I can't, they'd never let me live it down. And I really do want the tattoo. I have for ages. I'm just kinda scared. Never been good at commitment." You joked. And, thankfully, Minghao laughed quietly at your comment.

"Okay, might as well get it over with, then. Which leg are we doing?" He asked, and you patted the one you'd planned out. He nodded, rolling himself into place and bringing the tray over where he needed it. He was relaxed as he explained the plan.

"Okay, can I touch you?" He asked, his hand hovering above your thigh and you swore you could feel the want burning you from the inside out. You nodded again, and he smoothed his hand carefully over your leg, up your thigh until he was stopped by the hem of your skirt. "Gonna move this, okay? Tell me if you're uncomfortable."

He pushed your skirt up, guiding you to move a little bit so he had better access to the spot he needed to get at. Once your upper thigh was exposed, he laid the stencil he'd made over your skin.

"You gotta tell me exactly where you want it. This is the part where we can change things up. But once I start inking there's no going back, yeah?" He looked up, eyes dark and intense.

"Understood." You said. "A little bit higher, I think? And just a little to the- yeah, right there." You said finally, and he hummed. You brought your hands back, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible while he was laying the stencil out onto your leg.

The process of him preparing the tattoo gun was terrible, anxiety flooding through you as if you would drown in it. The buzzing made you jump, and you barely caught the flash of amusement that flicked across his face.

"Alright, we're gonna get started now. It's gonna hurt a little, but I know that you can take it. Just a little pinch. And if you want to take a breather, just let me know, okay? I'm here for you, so don't feel pressured to power through." He said. You swallowed and agreed quietly. You watched as he started up. The pain wasn't as bad as you'd imagine, though it was taking a lot of focus for you not to flinch away from the particularly bad stings.

It was mostly quiet as he worked, occasionally interrupted by one of you asking the other a question or commenting on the music that was playing. He had good taste, you learned, you had similar music tastes. He'd been tattooing since he finished school, and he'd done some of his own as well. And he had more tattoos than you could count on one hand. You could see the several on each ear, the one in his eyebrow, one in his nose, and the one that adorned his tongue (which you tried really really hard not to stare at when he spoke), but you couldn't see the others and you'd be lying if you said your mind wasn't racing at the idea of him having his nipples pierced.

"We're halfway done," He said finally, "You're doing fucking amazing, knew you'd be perfect for me." He said, wiping over the spot he'd finished. You tipped your head back, stifling a tiny whimper at the way he talked to you and trying not to let your thighs clench. You cleared your throat before looking down at the work he'd done.

"Woah," You said softly. He sat back, a proud look flickered in his eye as you examined his work, dark ink swirling into the shape of a cherry tree branch in full blossom arching just below your bikini line. "It's amazing. I can't believe it."

"Glad you like it. Do you want a snack? Something to drink?" He asked, taking a moment to stretch. You admired him as he did, the lean muscles that flexed in his arms.

"Uh, some water would be nice." You admitted, and he got up, striding to the mini fridge to pass you a water and grabbing his own iced tea. While the both of you took a little break, you pulled out your phone, sending the group chat between you and your friends a series of scathing, vicious texts berating Mingyu for not giving you some sort of heads up about how sexy your tattoo artist was.

The rest of the appointment went smoothly, something you were eternally grateful for considering the very precarious situation you were put in. You had completely soaked through your panties, you had no doubt, and if you moved just right you were sure that Minghao would be able to see the wet patch from where he was working. Hell, his knuckles were a few inches away from it, and you kept imagining what would happen if he moved just a little closer. If he touched you where you really wanted him to instead of just the spot on your thigh that he was very professionally focused on.

The session had ended with him wrapping the tattoo up carefully and giving you an instruction packet on how to care for it and his card. You eyed his personal number that was printed at the bottom for a moment before slipping it into your wallet.

"I want you to come back in about 5 or 6 weeks so I can make sure it's healed okay and see if it needs any touching up, okay?" He said, reaching a hand out to help you up. You took it, letting him pull your weight up easily and then letting it drop to smooth over the fabric of your skirt as if that would iron out the flustered energy that you were filling the room with.

"Okay, yeah. I'll see you then. Thank you for everything, you're amazing." You said. Minghao grinned then, his tongue poking out to play with the metal bar running through it for a moment before he pulled it back.

"Anything for you. I look forward to seeing you next time."

You made your follow up appointment on the way out, Jun giving you a mischievous smile as you said goodbye.

After that, you spent a truly humiliating amount of time thinking about Minghao. First when you got home and your hand found it's way between your legs to deal with the mess you'd made there, then again every time you'd peek at the mark he'd left on your skin, something even deeper than any mark you'd ever taken before, and you could only imagine how delusional you could become if you let yourself.

Every day proved a challenge as you watched it heal, cleaning it carefully just like he'd instructed and admiring the art you'd become a canvas for. It was everything you'd wanted it to be and you were endlessly amazed that anyone had the skill to make dreams come to life. Although if it was Xu Minghao, you supposed that it made sense.

The weeks passed slowly, and while you never forgot about Minghao, the constant knowledge of how easily he got you worked up with a few innocent words and the press of his hands against your thigh faded to the back of your mind. Work took precedence, and spending times with your friends who you did not in face throttle for sending you in blind. All in all, your life seemed to have moved on.

But as you returned several weeks later for the follow up you'd scheduled, it all came rushing back. The reminder that Minghao would be seeing you, that maybe he'd touch you, that he'd be so focused and so kind, it hung heavy over your head and settled as a warmth in your core.

It wasn't Jun manning the desk this time, instead some mildly intimidating woman that you didn't know who walked you back and knocked on Minghao's door. She waited until it opened, an agonizing few seconds before he was in your sight, and the moment you saw him it all came rushing back. Your body felt like it was overheating, and you didn't miss the deliberate, slow way his eyes scanned you up and down. He tipped his head, reaching up to mess with his hair.

"Y/N. Welcome back. Did you miss me?" He was teasing you, and your laugh was breathless and nervous as you smiled.

"Course I did. Why else would I come back?" You asked. And for a brief moment you considered getting a whole lot more tattoos if it meant getting closer to him, spending more time bantering and learning the parts of himself that he didn't reveal right away. Hell, you might even be convinced to ask him to pierce you somewhere.

"Come in, I've got it from here, Chaer." He said, a hand on the small of your back guiding you into the room and closing the door fully behind you. He hadn't done that last time, leaving it just a little bit ajar in case anything was needed. The new vulnerability that being shut in a room with him brought made you a little nervous.

Minghao took a moment to get prepared, settling down on his stool and gesturing for you to get comfortable in the same spot you'd been in before.

"So, how's she looking? Do you like it?" He asked, motioning to the barely visible ink poking out from under your skirt - a different one than before, one that made you feel a little more confident. You beamed.

"It's perfect. I think it's all healed up." You pulled your skirt up with a load more confidence than you had before, and you heard Minghao take in a small breath, his lips pressed into a thin line for a moment before he was reaching out to touch you. He wasn't wearing gloves this time, just brushing his bare fingertip along the edge of the art.

"Look at you. It looks great, healed perfectly. You must be a good listener." He said, tipping his head up to look at you, and the darkness in his eyes made you shiver as you nodded slowly.

"I like being good. Have to take instructions well." You said softly, and you saw Minghao swallow. God you wanted him so goddamn badly. He squeezed your thigh.

"Don't close them." He said, startling you a little as he took the first step across the line. Had you been clenching them? You hadn't even noticed, too distracted by the hungry look in his eye and the throbbing between your legs. "I saw the way you looked at me last time. Mingyu said you think I'm hot. Called me a walking wet dream, is that right?"

You swallowed as his hand slid towards the inside of your thigh, pulling them wider apart. He watched you intently as your head tipped back, breath coming out as a shaky gasp for a moment before you were looking back at him. He tipped his head, clearly still waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, that's what I said." You answered, barely above a whisper. But even so, with just the two of you in the room and the music so quiet in the background, it echoed in your ears. He chuckled, lips curling just a little, and you damn near whined his name. "He wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"What? Like I couldn't see you getting all wet for me last time. Practically had your skirt hiked up around your hips. Took fucking everything in me not to touch you." He admitted, slowly pushing at your skirt to get it out of his way. "But you'll let me touch this time, right? Make you feel good. Gonna take such good care of you."

You nodded, a needy whine slipping past your lips. Minghao tutted, mumbling for you to use your words. You huffed, and he gave you a warning squeeze to your thigh, blunt nails digging into the soft flesh there

"Please, Hao. Want you to touch me." You gave in, and he gave an approving nod before pushing your thighs apart and knocking your skirt easily out of the way. How long fingers found the edge for your panties, teasing along them before slipping under the flimsy fabric to feel your dripping folds. He was slow as he dragged his fingers through the mess he'd coaxed out of you, coating his fingers in your arousal before pulling them away to slide your panties down your legs.

With your lower half finally bare for him, he took a  moment to appreciate the sight, but only a singular moment. Then he was pushing your thighs apart and burying his tongue between your folds, lapping like a man starved at your arousal. The sudden feeling of him eating you out had you choking on a wail that you were certain anyone else in the building could hear, but he didn't seem bothered by the thought one bit. If anything he was spurred on, humming appreciatively as his lips wrapped around your clit.

You carded your fingers through his hair, revelling in the unfamiliar feeling of cool metal rolling against the underside of the bundle of nerves. He knew exactly how to utilize it, the perfect pressure dragging against your clit followed by light suckling that had your hips lifting up towards his mouth.

He slid a finger into you, never pulling his mouth away as he pumped it slowly into you. He was careful, experimental, desperately trying to find every spot that would draw out those pretty little sounds from your mouth. He slid a second finger inside, scissoring them open carefully and making you hiss.

"Hao, please." You nearly whined, hand tugging at the dark locks of his hair, not sure whether you meant to be pushing him away or pulling him closer. He hummed against your pussy, burying his tongue as deep as he could alongside his fingers, your clit bumping against his nose and making you bite down on the back of your hand to keep from wailing loud enough for the entire city block to hear.

Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, leaving your thighs trembling and your breath coming in quiet gasps. He kissed over your thighs, carefully lapping up the mess of spit and cum that had smeared on your skin, all the while running his fingertips over the ink he'd left on your skin. His phone buzzed on the table next to you, and he sat back, wiping the wetness on his chin away with the back of his hand and reaching to grab it. He read the message, lips curling into a small frown.

"I have a client that just scheduled for 15 minutes from now." He said, looking up at you with that same disappointed look. "I wasn't done with you yet."

His words make your lips part, a small, flustered laugh filling the quiet before you found your words.

"What time do you get out? We could grab some takeout and eat at my place. Finish this after?" You said. You sounded much more confident than you had anticipated, especially given that you had just been ravished by the man like you were a five course meal from a Michelin star restaurant. Minghao smiled even so, and the pale pink that tinted his cheeks made it hard to believe what he'd been doing only moments prior.

"Yeah, I'm off at 8. I'll see you then?" He asked. You nodded, making a mental note to thank Mingyu after you throttled him for spilling your secret boy talk. But maybe having a loudmouth best friend wasn't always bad.

copyright 2023 coupsie-daisies, all rights reserved

[wowcatboys]

Hi, love your writing! Could I perhaps get some headcanons of Hearsteel with a (GN) tattoo artist partner? I'm a tattoo artist (apprentice) myself, and very curious. Thanks! 💕

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HEARTSTEEL /TATTOO ARTIST READER ♡ Gender Neutral ♡ SFW ♡ No TW's ♡ I did Sett, Yone, and Kayn since they are the only HS members I'm writing for right now. ♡ Anon!! I would love to see some of your work sometime if you're comfortable sharing !! <3

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KAYN

Inspired by your art, Kayn buys a shitty tattoo gun off Amazon and messes around with it. He's not serious about tattooing, not really, but he thinks it's super cool that you do it. And, like anything he thinks is cool, he wants to try his own hand at it. (Plus, he wants to impress you. Oh, he may act like the picture of Rhaast he inked into the top-right edge of some practice skin is no big deal, but he actually spent like four hours on it and inside he's just screaming for you to compliment it.)

Protect your practice skin fiercely, because Kayn will absolutely nab some if he's bored. It's not uncommon to pull out a rubber sheet of practice skin and find scratchy sketches of demon masks and glowing eyes.

Kayn lets you tattoo him, as long as he gets to pick the design. He assures you he'll sit well, but it's a lie. He's a squirmy subject. Not because of the pain, mind you—he doesn't care about that. No, he's fidgety at the best of times, and with you so close to him, with you breath and your hands sending tingly heat across his skin? How is he supposed to keep still? Threatening you'll never kiss him again if he doesn't chill the fuck out might do the trick, though. Contemplating a life without good-morning kisses has him doing his damndest to sit still and let you do your work.

While Kayn likes all of your work, he's especially fond of the dark, the creepy, and the ultra-stylized. The more morbid drawings fit his bad-boy image, and the stylized ones? He respects innovation in all its forms, and he loves to see your artistic boldness so plainly expressed.

Kayn often sends you pictures of graffiti that he's proud of. In truth, he does it more for the property damage than artistic expression—but that's besides the point. He's picked up some skills along the way and of course he's going to use them to impress you.

If you ever, ever have a problem client, Kayn will explode in their face. Expect loud words, shoving, maybe a punch or two getting thrown. And if you don't want him exhibiting that kind of behavior in your shop? Well, fine, he can play nice. Just don't be surprised if you find out your little problem client finds themselves with "DUMB FUCKING CUNT" keyed into their car door. Kayn denies any and all knowledge of doing this. "Must've been Rhaast," he claims, but you're not so sure. Either way, it's a warning signal for your future clients to behave.

SETT

After you're sore from a long day shrimp-hunched over someone's leg, you don't even have to ask Sett for a massage. He already knows you're cramping up and he knows just how to make his fingers work. "Lay down," he tells you, and waits for you to get comfy before straddling your back. "Hold still, 'kay? I'm gonna take care of you, don't even worry 'bout it." His strong fingers gently rub at the knots winding up and down your spine, and he smooths the pain from your muscles. And this isn't some five-minutes-and-done back rub, either— he's committed to getting you right. Chat about your day, ask about his. He'll be up there for as long as you need.

Even if he's not interested in getting tattoos yet, Sett still loves your art, and he's willing to commit to something a little less permanent. Any time he's about to leave on tour and won't see you for a few weeks, he asks you to Sharpie a design on him. Whatever you want, wherever you want (just try not to abuse the privilege—he will never forgive you if you draw something embarrassing on his pecs the night before a huge show). He thinks it's sweet to have that little reminder of you etched on his skin. Sett will send you periodic updates of your sketch. If it's holding up well, expect to witness Sett twisting around awkwardly to show you in his daily post-gym selfie. When it's gone? He sends you a photo of blank skin, with a solemn text: "he's dead :(" . Don't worry about the untimely demise of this picture, though—you can draw him another as soon as he gets home!

Sett keeps some of his favorite flash designs of yours framed in his room.

It doesn't matter that he doesn't have any tattoos—if you or your shop sells t-shirts, Sett will wear them, and he'll do it proudly. He loves to represent you. All someone has to do is ask about it and it'll send him on a ten-minute (minimum) rant about his kickass tattoo artist partner, how talented and awesome they are. If you don't have a sleeveless option, though, don't be surprised if the sleeves "mysteriously" disappear.

YONE

Yone is interested in getting some traditional Japanese work done, but not for some time yet. Just know that whenever he's ready to ink up, if you're willing to tattoo in that style, you've got a client for at least a full sleeve, if not two. And when the day comes? Oh, Yone sits like a dream. He's the client from heaven, barely flinching and only taking breaks when you need a second to stretch. It's a bit difficult to convince him to put down his work, though, so be prepared to listen to Yone building some song beats with his free hand while you're buzzing along his other arm.

You both have rather demanding jobs and schedules, but Yone enjoys your quiet moments working together. He plugs away at his music while nearby, you finalize designs for clients and work on new flash pieces. Whenever he needs a break, he comes over and tenderly rubs your shoulders. Yone watches you work, occasionally breaking the silence to ask about certain design choices or what kind of client this tattoo is for. Watching you draw gives him a sense of peace.

Since he knows you work long hours, Yone always gets you a drink on his morning iced coffee run. He gets you lunch sometimes, too, if he knows you'll be spending the day in one long session and might not want to leave the shop. Yone knows what it's like to get lost in your work better than anyone, but he wants to make sure that even if you're in the zone, you've got something to drink and a bite to eat nearby. Now, if only you could get him to take care of himself the same way...

Dating Yone brings you a lot of new clients. Even though he left the mainstream music industry some time ago, he's still got friends within it. If anyone asks him for advice on where to go, of course he recommends you, which means you get your fair share of music artists coming to your chair. Of course, they always tip fabulously (they risk Yone's wrath if they don't).

Yone comes to you for advice on a lot of Heartsteel's artistic visuals. Their loud, messy, brash style meshes well with tattoo aesthetics, so he likes to run creative choices by you before implementing them. He also asks you to design some merchandise, if you're okay with doing that. Whatever you come up with, the guys absolutely love. Consider yourself the creative lead for all future merch endeavors.

[astronautrobot]

A couple of dumb small Aprilnardo headcannons with art 💙💛

I like when shows let their characters have cute and light dynamics, showing they are comfortable in each other's space.

So I´ve been thinking how could we apply this to TotTMNT Aprilnardo since we saw on the show they (thankfully) are not gonna have this forced and dramatic romantic interactions.

First scenario that came to my mind was the cliche "I will land you my coat" thing

I picture Leo coming over to April's to finish this group project they have due tomorrow morning. They were supposed to meet up earlier, but one of the mutant cousins caused trouble and the fam had to deal with that all evening.

He really wants to make it up to her since April was pretty much done with the paperwork. He offers to do most of the presentation in front of the class the next day.

He reads the whole thing, trying to get familiar with the subject. April explains some ideas she has for the oral part while he doodles and eventually a snore catches her attention. Leo tried really hard to stay awake as much as he could, but exhaustion wins and he's out.

She just rolls her eyes, puts her jacket on him and finishes some notes. She'll let him have around an hour of sleep before waking him up, asking him if Splinter knows he's here. He jumps as the realization his dad is probably minutes from exploiting both their phones with frantic calls.

Casually fully puts on the jacket, ties his mask, ensures he will do the presentation in class and bolts out of the window. April actually forgets about the jacket until the next day when she's looking for it before going to school. Leo does feel kinda restricted, but is too tired to notice until Donnie makes a 'nice outfit' comment when he gets home.

Second scenario could actually happen with any of the turtles, as all four carry ninja stars, but Leo is the first one to offer landing his for her important notes on the board. He is also the one who helps her the most with her investigations, so he's like the automatic choice.

She keeps some around and there had been a couple times when Leo had to come over to her place because he realized he no longer had any ninja star with him and really needed them XD

So, yeah, what do you guys think about this? Any one wants to write a fanfic using this ideas? Go ahead, my fanfiction writing days are in the past. If you do, please share with me. I'd love to read it.

[yourantag]

The Red Means I Love You (Edgar×Reader)

AN: This was supposed to be finished and posted on Valentine's Day. However, as you can see from the word count, that was a fool's errand. I wanted to delve more into yanderes since I find them fascinating in writing, and now, here we are. Staining White Day red, I present to you the most generic title for an Edgar fic you will ever see. (Btw, I apologize to Edgar fans- I might've massacred your boy but I swear I tried my best.) Word count: 4.9k words TW: Blood, violence, murder, yandere themes, and blackmailing. Summary: Accepting the invitation of a dubious letter sounds just about as bad as it actually was. Oletus manor is not a name spoken without notoriety, after all. Was that where it all began? Was this your first mistake? No, it was further down the line, wasn't it? Yes, perhaps it was when you became the muse of an artist with no inspiration.

Reality has disappointed you time and time again. The expectations of a life of peace was crushed easily under the hands of society. So, you fled. You fled inside your head, transporting yourself into worlds of fiction. Romance, mystery, fantasy, and the likes kept you alive. It was the only thing you could really call safe.

Among many genres, you favored one above the others. 

Horror.

There’s a certain comfort that comes from these fictional tales. You know they aren’t real, that the killer can’t find you, that these psychopaths don’t exist. Are there people similar to them? Sure, but they aren’t in your life. Thus, they merely stay as silly little people within a book.

But, it’s not quite enough. The thrill of words upon a page cannot compete with the real deal. While you weren’t stupid enough to seek out murderers or the like, you were still dumb enough for Baron DeRoss, apparently.

The envelope is white as a dove, a blood red stamp sealing it shut. It whispers promises and praise, false hope and rewards. It’s an enticing offer, truly. Would you let it guide you astray?

Well, you were never one to turn away from the call of the abyss.

-

“I really don’t get it. I know it’s game changing, but it’s not helpful for anyone else but me! Why do they want me to team up with them?” You huffed, resting your face on your palms. Edgar merely rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist. Focused on the canvas in front of him, he let the brush streak red through white.

“You said it yourself, your abilities are game changing. We don’t even know the full extent of your abilities– who knows? Maybe you could completely uproot the current meta. Besides,” He smirked, peering at you from the corner of his eye. “The hunters are terrified of you.”

You paused, letting your arms fall flat against the table.

“Scared? Of me? I’m just another survivor– what do they have to be afraid of?”

Edgar hummed, tapping the handle end of his paint brush against his lips. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t quite fancy being stabbed.”

Okay, yeah, that was fair.

Most survivors didn’t possess the ability to fight the hunter, not really, yet here you were. When Jack had first chased you, he had the reckoning of his life. You wince at the phantom feeling of stabbing steel into flesh and bone. That was, admittedly, not what you had expected to be your special skill.

You pouted, cheek against the cool wood of Edgar’s table as you glanced around. His room was an odd combination of an art exhibition hall and an actual bedroom. It was big and extravagant, but you wouldn’t expect any less from him. 

Well, kind of.

Edgar confused you. Intriguing, even among the sea of other unique characters within the manor. You suppose that’s why he’s your favorite comrade and closest friend, if you could call him that. He’s never kicked you out of his room or flat out yelled at you, so safe to say he didn’t hate you, at least. 

He’s neutral on all matters within the manor, composed regardless of what he faced. All he cared about was his art, nothing more and nothing less. Perhaps that was how he was unaffected by everything.

You suppose that’s natural for an artist. You can’t claim to understand it perfectly, but in a way, you truly understood.

“It’s like… you’re a moth drawn to a flame, right? Art is something you’re willing to give your life to, dedicate your whole body and soul to. Even if you have to sacrifice your time, energy, or health, for the perfect outcome, you’d do it.” You had said it off handedly, not thinking much of it then. In some respects, wasn’t his passion for art just like your obsession with thrill?

But then he had grabbed your hands, looking into your eyes with such fervor. His gaze burned, a certain desperation flickering within it. What was he seeking so fiercely? What was making Edgar, apathetic, snide Edgar, act like he had found an oasis in the desert?

“You get it?” He whispered, almost pleading. 

“Maybe,” You responded.

That had been enough for him. 

Since then, you and Edgar had become an odd pair. Not quite friends, but too close to be acquaintances. You gravitated towards him, as he did to you. More often than not, you’d ask him if he’d like to team up for matches. More often than not, he’d say yes.

You suppose that’s another reason why other survivors regard you with care.

Edgar isn’t the most difficult person to work with, but definitely not the easiest. He’s all too much and too little: haughty and snide, distant and cold. He’s a reliable teammate, not a likable one. 

Still, the playful sparkle in his eyes as he led the hunter straight to you made you beg to differ. You’d curse him out as you ran, glaring at him after the match was over, before begrudgingly thanking him for supporting you with a painting or two.

However odd it was, you wouldn’t trade your friendship for the world.

-

There’s a letter in your mailbox. 

That isn’t especially weird, considering that’s what a mailbox is for. Letters, mail, packages, whatever. Still, you can’t help but pause as you stare at it. A white envelope with a lovely red seal, the stamp itself in the shape of a camellia. The embossed flower is outlined in gold, shimmering softly in the low light of your room.

Gently, you pry open the seal, careful not to damage it or the envelope. Once you’ve successfully extracted the letter without destroying everything, you stare at it with uncertainty. 

It seemed like this was a love letter from the presentation alone, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit unsettled. You couldn’t understand why, however. It was beautiful, but simple. It wasn’t overwhelming, nor alarming. So why, from the depths of your heart, was your subconscious screaming at you to run? As though you were about to open Pandora’s box?

You unfold the letter and read.

-

Edgar gives you the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen. Perhaps you deserve it after the stunt you pulled. Then again, what else were you supposed to do? He was going to be sent back to the manor if you hadn’t let yourself go down.

In the end, thanks to your sacrifice, the potential tie had turned into a win. Sure, you were the one sent back to the manor instead, but a win was a win! Though, Edgar seemed to disagree.

“You’re an idiot.”

You would be offended if it weren’t for the fact that he was wrapping your wounds. The tender touches were barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. He was being careful, making sure you didn’t feel even an ounce of unnecessary pain. The concentration he was putting into taking care of you was something you had only seen when Edgar was painting. 

The subtle quirk of his lips, eyes barely narrowed, and relaxed shoulders expressed more to you than any words ever could. The guilt that pooled into his chest, made evident by the quiet sighs he’d let out, seemed to manifest itself as kindness and gentle care.

It made you really want to tease him.

“Ow!” You hiss, flinching slightly away from the man. Edgar freezes, staring at you with concern.

“Shit– sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The sincere remorse in his voice immediately makes you regret your decision.

“Wait, wait, wait, no, I– gah, sorry. I was just messing with you.”

The painter’s formerly soft expression faded into a scowl, a glare sent your way even as he finished wrapping you up. Edgar immediately stands up, leaving you scrambling to do the same as he leaves the infirmary.

“Ahhhh, wait, I’m sorry! Wait, Edgar, I’m sorry, I swear I won’t do that again! C’mon, don’t leave me like this! I–” You trip on something, stumbling as you lose balance. You fully expect to kiss the ground, what with one of your arms in a cast, when lithe arms catch you.

You glance up at Edgar with a sheepish smile, gazing upon the apathetic look upon his face. Apathetic, to anyone else but you. You can see the little curl of his lips, the faint swirl of amusement in his eyes.

He helps you reorient yourself, hands on your shoulders. Once you’re safely standing, Edgar turns and continues down the hallway. His steps are slower than usual. It’s probably the closest you’ll get to an invitation.

You grin, chasing after him once more.

“So does this mean you forgive me?”

“No.”

-

“How do you manage to stay sane, painting the same thing over and over again?” You ask, half dangling off a couch. Edgar’s room is still as grand as ever, but you can see the changes. It seems more lived in, more homey. There’s a table that isn’t covered in paint, brushes, or other art supplies. There’s shelves with books instead of art supplies. Then, those cabinets have, wait for it, something other than art supplies.

It seems like a small shift to others, though that’s probably because they don’t visit Edgar half as often as you do. The first time you saw the couch, you thought you were hallucinating. 

The Edgar Valden, using something other than a stool? Incredible, revolutionary, absolutely groundbreaking.

He did not appreciate your dramatics, or so he claimed, but you knew he was covering his mouth to hide his smile.

“I’m not painting the same thing, and I am, in fact, going insane.” Edgar responds, frown deepening as he mixes a few colors together. You hum, peeking at the canvas as much as you can from your position. From the sketch, you could tell it was a portrait. A rare occurrence, considering Edgar preferred landscapes.

“Why the sudden interest in portraits?” You ask, sitting more comfortably on the couch. Glancing at the shelves, you skim through the books. Edgar wouldn’t mind if you read one of them, right?

The man pauses, his expression almost bashful. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but raise a brow. Edgar has never been afraid to draw attention to himself. He’s no pushover, willing to fight for what he wants while still remaining relatively neutral. To see him like that, a dust of what can only be blush upon his cheeks, twists something in your heart.

Before you can untangle what exactly you were feeling, the painter coughs.

“Well, I tried talking with Victor about expressing oneself. He suggested letters, or other mediums I’m comfortable with. So…” Edgar stares at his canvas, his smile more so a grimace. “I’m trying out his suggestion, I suppose.”

You tilt your head, humming to yourself as you nod. Sliding off the couch, you grab one of the books on Edgar’s shelf. “Well, then I wish you the best of luck.”

His eyes linger on you, closing softly as his expression relaxes. When he opens them again, he starts creating new hues with more focus.

-

“I’ve been getting letters recently.” You mention, flipping another page in your book. Edgar paused, turning to look at you.

“And?”

You closed your eyes, contemplating. This really wasn’t something you had to tell him. But, well, nothing too interesting has been happening lately. The matches have finally grown duller, the thrill fading as you stayed longer. You were running out of things to ramble about, so why not?

“They’re love letters. Nicely decorated, with neat handwriting. If I had to guess, someone born into privilege.” You think Edgar flinches at that.

“It’s really sweet, honestly. A shame they’re anonymous.” You skim over the words on the page, brows knitting themselves tight. The main character was oblivious to the danger so close to them. How frustrating. 

“A shame, really.” Edgar echoes back, delicately brushing shadows along the red camellias. His painting seemed nearly finished, if you only stared at the beautiful flowers. The rest of the canvas was rather barren, a figure still not yet painted whole.

“C’mon, theorize with me! Who could it be? I put my bets on Jack.” You sighed dramatically, head thrown back with your hand on your forehead. 

You received no response, however.

“Hear me out! He called me darling, dear, and tried to kill me. Obviously, he fell for my sick kiting skills and great looks. I rest my case.” Still, nothing.

You were getting really worried with how unresponsive Edgar was being. Usually, when you started overexaggerating like that, he’d make a snarky remark. Something like “please, you get terror shocked at 5 ciphers” or “you make amphibians look appealing.” 

The silence was really getting to you.

“I mean, he’s got confidence in spades so it probably isn’t him. Still, I kinda hope it is, he’s rather attrac–” SNAP!

Your head snaps up from your book, turning to Edgar so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. There, in his hands, are the remains of a broken paint brush. Blood oozes from his tightly clenched hands, slowly trickling down his palm and under the cuff of his shirt. That was reason for concern as is, but the most startling thing of all was his eyes.

Blue, like the sky. Blue, like the sea. Blue, like the wings of a morpho butterfly.

Blue, like the swirling vortex of the night sky.

You rush over, grabbing the first aid kit you know he keeps for you, before standing next to him. You’ve never seen him like this, eyes so dark and blank. It’s honestly scaring you a little, but that means nothing when he’s hurt.

So, you kneel, pulling out tweezers, disinfectants, and bandages. Gently prying his hand open, you discard the larger pieces of the brush. With the tweezers, you pick out splinters of wood embedded in his skin. You whisper apologies as you do, knowing this definitely hurts, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.

By the time you finally disinfect his hand and wrap it, Edgar seems a lot more like himself than before. He gazes at you with quiet consideration, blinking slowly. Languid, calm, almost cat-like.

“Are you okay?” You ask, holding his hand. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him react like that. The kinder side of you hopes it’ll never happen again, if only so he won’t needlessly hurt himself like that. The morbid side of you wants to see him like that again, what you can distinguish as cold, searing rage threatening to consume him whole.

Edgar leans his head forward and onto your shoulder. The scent of citrus, chamomile, and something chemical tickles your nose, brushing against you as the painter sighs. He seems… tired.

“Let me rest my head, just for a bit.”

You don’t have the heart to say no.

-

The next few letters you get are… odd. Passionate as always, but far more obsessive. The first few had been sweeter, more tender. This was escalating in a weird direction, and as much as you loved yourself a good horror story, romance and horror never mix well. They were starting to threaten you, saying they’d hurt the people around you, and that was where you drew the line.

So, you start ignoring them. It sounds foolish, especially for a connoisseur of all things freaky, but life is more mundane than fiction. If this person doesn’t have the guts to confess to you, does it make sense that they’d have the guts to actually go through with their threats? Logically, no. 

Besides, even if they did, the people of the manor are strong. They can hold their own. Even if they can't, that person will get outcasted for hurting a survivor, regardless of if they’re a hunter. “No violence outside of matches,” that was the first rule both factions set.

So, it was safe to assume you had nothing to worry about. You have more important things to deal with, anyway, especially with a new survivor arriving. His name was Orpheus, a novelist. You were thrilled, especially since he was the author of some of your favorite series.

You were busy with preparations, practically skipping with joy. The other survivors poked fun at you, both for your enthusiasm and the lack of a certain painter at your side.

Edgar was concentrating on his art, as per usual, and you didn’t want to bother him. He seemed a little lonely, though, so you tried to convince a few people to talk to him. They all just looked at you as if you grew another head. 

“Are we… looking at the same person?” Mike asks, smile strained. You frown, turning away from the banners you were fixing. 

“Yes! Edgar Valden, our resident painter, our sassy rich boy, our lovely old friend. I say he is lonely, and I think you should talk to him. I mean, you’re easy-going, fun, and silly. Who wouldn’t like you?” Even if half of it was an act. Still, Mike was one of the people Edgar tolerated better than most. Perhaps it’s because he’s another form of an artist?

“Why can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him yourself? You guys get along just fine.” Mike looks away, fiddling with his hands. You narrow your eyes at the sight.

Mike Morton, local funny man, someone with dedication and deceit running through his veins, nervous? It’s not faked, the sweat rolling down his neck and the faster breathing all indicating he was genuinely nervous. Maybe even scared.

“Edgar, I really do love him, but he needs more friends. I think the only people who talk to him on a regular basis are Luca and I. Adding a few more people to that list would be nice, so…” You bring your hands in front of you, clasped tight as if you’re about to pray. “Could you please talk to him?”

Mike deflates, sighing as he nods. You smile brightly in response, promising to make it up to him.

-

“Hey bestie! You excited for the new survivor?” Demi croons, grinning as she tosses an arm around your shoulder. You laugh in response, leaning into her.

“That’s about the dumbest thing you could ask me. Of course I am! He’s written so many good books. God, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around him. He’s made some stories that have basically shaped who I am now!” You sigh, smiling so widely your face hurts.

“Well, don’t forget your boyfriend in all the excitement! I can see he’s basically seething with envy.” 

You pause, turning to look at Demi.

“Who?”

Now, it’s Demi’s turn to look confused.

“Uh, you know, Edgar? Are– are you guys not together?” She asks, genuinely shocked. You feel your face heat up, your hands itching to cover your blush. 

“Wh– no! We are not! Why would anyone ever think that?”

Demi gives you a deadpan expression in response.

“You two are basically glued to each other’s side, go into every match together, hang out almost every day– Hell, you’re the only one Edgar has allowed in his room without it being necessary!” 

Well, that’s news to you.

You furrow your brows, blinking in shock. Sure, you two hung out a lot, but it wasn’t like you guys were friends exclusively with each other. You had Demi, Mike, Melly, and even Violetta while Edgar had Luca, Victor, Andrew, and Galatea. It wasn’t like you… hung out… every… day…

“Oh fuck, we really do look like a couple.” You mutter, having half a mind to smack Demi as she laughs. She’s completely unapologetic about it, struggling to breathe as slowly calms down and giggles.

“So, you two aren’t dating?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows. You huff, fighting back a smile.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Then in that case, I’m allowed to flirt with you as much as I want!” Demi cheers. She spins you around, causing a laugh to bubble up from your throat. The two of your twirl around in a silly dance, the faint sound of Frederick playing the piano the only background music.

At the end, she dips you down, smile upon her lips. She leans close to your ear as your smile is wiped away.

“Be wary of him.”

-

With Edgar, it’s like you’re taking three steps forward, then five steps back. Just when you think you’ve got him all figured out, he throws a curveball at you.

That desperation he had in his eyes the day you became his friend, flickering like a brilliant flame, you understand it now. However much he claimed he didn’t need people to understand him, how he didn’t need to understand others, it didn’t mean much. He still craved it, to be understood. To not have to be questioned, to not be approached with dishonesty, with intentions that lied beyond just him being him.

You suppose that’s exactly why you got along. You wanted to understand him, and he wanted to be understood. A match made in Heaven, you suppose.

It’s why it miffed you a bit that you really can’t understand Edgar at the moment.

He hates drawing portraits, yet he draws a figure, the same exact one, in every one of his new pieces. They look familiar, a lot like you, but you’re pretty confident Edgar would rather die than paint you. You’d tease him to Hell and back, all while he complains and swears up and down he’s never being nice to you again.

The landscapes, adorned in reds of all shades, always have that figure in each one without fail. Is he in love with someone? That would explain why he’s so weird lately.

Edgar’s odd behavior was already messing with you, but on top of that, the letters were getting worse. Instead of being slid into your mailbox, they were flat out in your room now.

Normal people would think someone just slipped it under the door. Reasonable assumption. However, unless that person has not only a very thin arm, but a long one, you don’t know how they’d manage to get it all the way to your desk.

You stare at the white envelope, stamped shut with a red seal in the shape of a camellia. The outline of the flower is in gold, though the beauty of the letter and the seal means nothing. Not when it got into your room. Not when it clearly has a splotch of dark red glaring at you.

Your hands are shaky as you open the envelope, a familiar curl of thrill fighting with your new found protective instincts. The letter is white as a dove, the red tainting it made all the more stark.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you read.

‘I didn’t imagine love would be like this. Wonderfully warm, like the rays of the sun in winter, and unbearably painful, like a knife in my heart. Do you just like hurting me? No, I know that isn’t true. After all, you always look at me with concern when I’m injured. Still, it’s hard to believe you’re this dense.

These past few weeks have been driving me mad. Your attention has been solely on the arrival of the new survivor. You’ve been ignoring me so much I can barely stand it. Can’t you spare even a moment for me? Is that novelist really that important? Seeing you look at him with stars in your eyes… it makes me want to rip his head off his shoulders. He doesn’t deserve your attention, nor your admiration, not like I do. I’ve known you longer, loved you for longer. He doesn’t deserve anything from you, yet he gets everything I could ever want and more.

Did you know? When you’re excited, your smile turns bigger, more genuine, till dimples show. Your eyes crinkle just a little, your hands moving to curl in front of your chest. You stand taller, you shine brighter.

It’s such a beautiful sight, I hate that I have to share it. Sometimes, I wish I could just put you in a cage and never let you go. Then, you wouldn’t look at anyone else but me. You wouldn’t think about anyone else but me. But, that’s not how you should live. You deserve to be free and happy. So, I’ve decided to get rid of anyone that doesn’t deserve to be around you.

I think I’ll start with that novelist.’

Your blood runs cold.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Just who is this? Who are they and just why are they so obsessed with you? Get rid of those who don’t deserve you? Who gave them the right to decide that!?

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm your nerves. Your heart is racing, and for the first time, the thrill in your heart turns into true fear.

You’ve never minded being the one hunted. In fact, you practically adore it, the addicting rush of adrenaline pumping through you. It’s why you came to the manor. But your friends? They’re not the same, and you wouldn’t want them to be. You want them safe and happy, not hunted down by some freak who thinks they “aren’t worthy of you” for whatever sick reason.

“Fuck, fuck… Orpheus, I need to find– no, it’s probably too late for him, there’s blood on the letter. Okay, okay, stay calm, stay fucking calm. Who would be the next victim? Mike? Melly? No, it’s probably Ed–” You pause.

Almost comically, everything clicks in place.

Camellias.

Red.

Ignoring them.

Edgar.

You bolt out of your room.

-

Normally, you’d knock. You know Edgar hates it when people barge into his room. However, considering the circumstances, you think that’s the least of your concerns.

You can’t help but pray in your mind. To whom? You don’t know. You don’t think anyone can truly help in this situation. It couldn’t be anyone else but Edgar, but still, you prayed. You hoped against all hope that your conclusion was wrong. 

Edgar would scold you for barging in, sigh, before smiling and asking if you were really that desperate to see him. Everything would be fine. It would all be just a cruel joke.

But just as life is more mundane than fantasy, reality is far cruller than fiction.

The large windows to Edgar’s room let in the light of the falling sun, casting the room in many shades of gold and orange. In the middle of the room, in all his glory, is Edgar. His back is to you, paint brush in hand. You’re hit first by relief, then with the heavy scent of iron.

You shake, hands covering your mouth as you finally process what's around Edgar. Orpheus, drained of blood, head sat on a chair, body left haphazardly on the ground. Jack, ghastly white and face twisted, his horror eternally memorialized in death. Demi, eyes closed and serene, seemingly asleep if not for the purple veins that roam along her arms.

You fall to your knees, the shock hitting you so strong you can’t stand up any longer. He was your secret admirer. The one who kept sending letters. The one who went into your room just to place them on your desk. The one who threatened to kill your friends. The one who did kill your friends.

Edgar, finally, turns around. His cheek has splotches of blood on it, his hands no better. It’s startling just how much of it is on him, but worse yet, you know not all of it is on him. There’s a lot of blood in a human body, much more in two, so where was it?

When he smiles, it’s just as sweet as it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Was this really your friend, or a demon in disguise?

His smile, ever so sweet, only serves to unsettles you, looking more like a nightmare.

“Ah, you’re here! Come, I need to show you my newest masterpiece.” Edgar steps closer to you, dragging you by the hand to a canvas you hadn’t noticed before. He was standing in front of it, so it was only natural.

You numbly follow, heart in your throat. You’re grateful, distantly, that the “masterpiece” is not the corpses of your friends. You think you’re going to throw up, eyes trying to look at anything but them.

So, you gladly look at his so-called masterpiece.

You really wish you didn’t.

There, on the canvas, is a portrait. This time, it’s so painfully obvious it’s you that you can’t even deny it. Surrounded by red camellias, hands curled in front of their chest, with a smile so genuine, dimples showed. Eyes crinkled, back straight, and God, did it have to be so accurate?

The red of the camellias are familiar, as is the red of your blush, the colors of your clothes, your hair. 

It’s all been painted using your friend’s blood.

Edgar comes behind you, his arms circling your waist. A content sigh leaves him, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hold is gentle, but firm, possessive in a way you never thought him capable of. His lips brush against your neck, a kiss much like a collar pressed into your skin. You can feel them curl into a smile.

“What do you think, my muse? The red means I love you.”

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Can you please do anal with Klaus and Y/n

Or something like that

Maybe klaus fucks her with a vibrator up her ass

Of course if you’re uncomfortable I understand, after reading the highschool klaus I thought you might be someone who would write it

Modern!Highschool Klaus M. Pt.4

Warning: Smut! Anal sex, Squirting, Dirty talk, and tooth rotting levels of Dd/Lg sweetness from Daddy!Klaus

Masterlist

‘Okay, let’s go mail them!’ Y/n grinned, hopping up and down excitedly, somehow she was more excited about me going to Art school than I was.

‘I still don’t like that you paid for this, I-‘

‘You need to let it go Daddy, I’ve already paid for your applications and it’s only to 3 schools. All of which you’re going to get in so it’ll be worth it!’

We’ve been together for a week now and in the last week Y/n has insisted I apply to art schools that I’m never going to get into. I know that she wants me to pursue my dream but I don’t know if I can take the rejection. All of the schools I would consider going to are extremely prestigious and competitive, they also only accept 150 kids every year but she insists that I try. I agreed to 3 of the applications of which she has helped me with the past few days, my top school however I refused to even apply. The price for the application was 150 dollars and Y/n had paid for the 3 I was sending already which cost 120. I hate her spending money on me, I should be spoiling her, that’s my job as her boyfriend, then again her parents gave her money instead of caring for her so she really didn’t need me to.

‘I love how optimistic you are for me Babygirl.’ I loved that she believed in me so much, though I hated how much she doubted herself. She had gone on and on to me about how dumb she is and I assumed she was failing out of school when she has a 3.8 GPA, however I convinced her to apply to schools in the same areas as the ones I am, with any luck we will get to at least be close if not get an apartment together.

‘I’m not optimistic, I’m realistic! You’re fucking talented Daddy, they would be stupid as fuck not to pick you!’ God I love this girl.

After mailing the applications for the both of us we ended up back at my house where Y/n had been staying with me for 4 days straight now.

‘You realize it’s going to be your fourth night staying here in a row, right?’ I questioned and she looked up at me from where she had sat on my bed, pulling out her math book.

‘Yeah…?’

‘Don’t you think we should talk about that?’ I changed into a pair of sweats and removed my shirt, getting comfortable to not do anything for the rest of the night since it was Friday and we could lounge around the entire weekend.

‘Oh…um, okay. I mean, I can go. I didn’t realize that you-‘

‘What? No! Y/n, no! I mean we should talk about you bringing stuff here if you’re going to be staying from now on. I can move some stuff and you can have a couple of drawers, you can bring your shampoo and shit so you don’t keep going home to shower. The shower thing is becoming very inconvenient as I would very much like to take a shower with my girlfriend, we are doing that tomorrow whether you like it or not.’ I teased, pushing her back onto the bed and lifting her legs and wrapping them around my waist as I crawled over top of her.

‘Is that right?’

‘Yes, it is.’ Her eyebrows went up before I leaned into her neck, sucking a dark red mark onto her skin.

‘I suppose I’ll just have to get used to the idea then, won’t I?’ I grunted an affirmation while continuing to kiss her neck, trailing my hands up under her shirt. ‘We can go and I’ll pack a bag tomorrow if you’re okay with it. My parents won’t care, probably won’t even notice if I’m perfectly honest.’ She said it as if it was normal and she didn’t care but I knew deep down it bothered her a lot that her parents didn’t give a shit about her. ‘My god you’re a fucking horn dog!’ She teased, feeling my hard cock pressing against her pussy.

‘Yes, we know this. I’m a 17 year old boy, it’s common sense to assume that…I love you.’ I had previously told her that I love her in passing, teasingly but also serious however she looked at me shocked as she could feel how deeply I meant it.

‘Nik-‘

‘I love you. I’m sorry you don’t have enough people telling you that because you deserve it and it’s their loss that they don’t get to know what an amazing, generous and wonderful girl you are but I love you Y/n.’ She nodded slowly as if taking it in before a huge smile overtook her face.

‘I love you too Nik. I love you so much.’ She pulled me down to press her lips to mine hard. ‘You know what else?’ She asked against my lips and I pulled back to look at her.

‘What?’

‘I trust you.’ I felt honored by that, I know she has a hard time trusting people so to know she trusts me is a wonderful feeling.

‘I trust you too, and I would never hurt you. You’re my Princess.’ I trailed my lips down her neck, continuing to suck marks there knowing how much she loves and hates it, constantly having to cover them with makeup.

‘Maybe we try something new tonight?’

‘Mmm, like what?’ We’d only been together a week but we’d proved to be a very horny and adventurous couple. I couldn’t imagine what she meant by that.

‘Like maybe another hole?’ She whispered as I continued sucking on her skin until my brain caught up to her words and I pulled back, looking down at her in shock.

‘Really? You-you want to-I would need to stretch you out first.’ She shook her head, taking my hand and bringing it down to her pussy, my fingers grazing something against her asshole and I quickly realized something was already stretching her little hole out for me. ‘Fuck!’ I practically ripped her shorts and panties from her body to see the green jewel on the end of the butt plug that she knew was my favorite color. ‘You’re so fucking perfect, you know that? Are…are you sure?’ She nodded, grinning excitedly and I didn’t need to ask again, pulling my sweats and boxers down before moving to grab the lube I had in my drawer. I placed the bottle beside me before leaning down, ready to shove my face into her cunt when she pulled on my hair.

‘If you want to do that later, fine, but I have had a butt plug in my ass for almost 2 hours, and I’m already dripping. If you don’t fuck me now, I swear to God, someone is going to!’ Her tone was playful but I could tell how serious she really was and I growled, pulling the green jewel from her ass and hearing her whimper as it popped free.

‘Fuck!’ I cursed, seeing her hole open slightly and quickly squirting the bottle on my fingers, pushing them into her and feeling how tight she still was before practically filling my hand with it and lathering my cock in the slick substance. ‘You tell me to stop and I will, okay?’ She nodded firmly, determination covering her face as I lined my cock up with her hole and began pushing in, hissing at the tight squeeze. I had thought her pussy would kill me when I fucked her the first time, and now as I pushed all the way into her hole I’m thinking I may be reincarnated during this she’s so damn tight. ‘GodDammit! How many times have you done this?! Fuck you’re tight!’

‘Never…’ she whimpered and I froze, looking down at her in shock. I had just assumed, clearly incorrectly, that she had tried everything with James…and here I am in her ass for the first time.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that-‘

‘Don’t make it a big deal, I never trusted him…I love you Nik.’

I just stared at her for a moment in shock. It was one of the very few times she didn’t call me “Daddy” while I’m inside of her and it gave me butterflies in my stomach. ‘Y/n, I…my God Princess, I love you so fucking much!’ I leaned down to press my lips to hers and as I did we both cried out at the pressure.

‘I wish it had always been you, wish I could have given you my virginity-‘ I covered her mouth with my hand, resting my forehead onto hers as I took a deep breath.

‘You’ve given me everything that means anything Y/n, virginity is a fake construct created by men to shame women. You’ve given me your love and trust, your body is just a plus…a fantastic plus that I’m deeply in love with-‘ she smacked my ass as I teased her and made her giggle which only made me grunt as she squeezed my cock when she laughed. ‘Okay. Breathe.’ She nodded as I leaned on my arms and pulled back out of her, pushing back in again and not being able to stop the smile as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. ‘You’re so fucking beautiful.’ I pushed back in 2 more times before speeding my pace up a bit as she began to start moving as well, relaxing under me as she grew used to the new feeling and wrapped her arms around my neck.

‘Yes Daddy! Your cock feels so good! Ahh!’ I knew I wasn’t going to last long and I was determined to make her cum before I did, also knowing we would definitely be doing this again.

‘Are you gonna cum for Daddy, Princess? You gonna cum from Daddy fucking this tight little hole?’

‘Yeah…’

‘Yeah? Daddy’s fucking your tiny babyhole right now, I know that makes you want to cum! You need it!’ My hands gripped her thighs and lifted her legs up, pushing them onto my shoulders and she wailed! I shoved into her once more before her back arched and she squirt all over my lower body and the blanket which was the single sexiest thing I believe I had ever fucking seen and not a second later I was cumming right along side her, filling her asshole as full as I possibly could, crashing our lips together as we came.

I couldn’t tell you how long we stayed in that position, unable to move until I felt her shiver against me. Being covered in cum in a basement with the air conditioner on is a bad combination, however I keep it on almost always as Y/n likes to sleep in the cold and be able to snuggle into my warm body under heavy, fuzzy blankets. It makes me feel like I’m in the arctic sometimes but I like how happy she is when we cuddle under 6 Sherpa blankets with a heavy comforter on top.

‘Hold on gorgeous, hold on.’ I pulled myself out of her gently and moved to the bathroom, washing my cock off from the pint of lube and cum before getting a wet cloth. I grabbed 2 pairs of my boxers and 2 shirts before quickly cleaning her off as well.

‘Don’t feel gorgeous, feel sticky.’ She mumbled, grimacing as I wiped her thighs, before sighing.

‘Well you are, gorgeous as always. Daddy’s perfect Babygirl. You’re the most perfect girl that’s ever walked this earth and I am the luckiest man in existence that you’ve decided that I am worthy of getting to love you.’ Her face blushed a deep red and I loved seeing how flustered she got when I said things like that. She deserved all the love in the world and for some reason she had never gotten any until me, so I will be making sure she knows how perfect she is every chance I get. ‘How do you feel? I didn’t harm you, did I?’ I wondered, lifting her legs and maneuvering the boxers up her body to cover her before sitting her up and pulling the shirt over her arms and head.

‘No Nik, I’m okay. A little sore but totally fine, wonderful, absolutely perfect! My Daddy made me feel so good! I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard before.’

‘Well that’s good, because you squirt all over me.’ I smiled, kissing her nose before seeing her eyes widen and quickly pressed our lips together before she could do something stupid like apologize to me. ‘It was hot, I would say the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen but I think watching my cock push into your asshole has to be the sexiest thing.’ I brushed her hair out with the brush on the bedside table before putting it up for her and removing the damp blanket on top of the bed that we had been on, laying a new one on top and crawling in beside her.

‘I love you Daddy…promise me we’re going to be together forever.’

I pulled her close, resting her head on my chest and kissed her head, my hand rubbing up her back. ‘I promise Baby, it’s you and me, Always and Forever.’

4 Months Later

‘Nik! Where are you?!’ I heard Y/n call from the front door. She had officially moved in a week after moving her stuff into my room and after seeing how much of an effect she had on me my mother didn’t mind at all, loving my girlfriend like her own child nearly instantaneously.

‘Kitchen with Elijah and Kol!’ I shouted back, pulling the potatoes out of the oven and finishing playing up our dinner for the night before my brothers tore into the rest.

‘Hey.’ She greeted, pulling me close and kissing me excitedly. ‘I have something for you.’ She told me, holding up a letter.

We had gotten all of our college letters back last week and surprisingly I had been accepted to all of them like she said I would and we had decided on Columbia university. It had an amazing arts program and she was accepted to a school not far, but as she seemed to be holding up a college admissions letter I was confused.

‘What’s this? I got all my school letters back.’ I said just as Rebekah walked in, hugging Y/n in greeting, they had become very good friends despite my pleading them not to.

‘What’s this about school? I thought you got accepted.’

‘I did…what did you do?’ I questioned her and now everyone was looking at us.

‘Well you adamantly refused to apply to the school you wanted to go to most of all and so I paid to get the admissions forms and forged your application. All I had to do was fill in your information and make a portfolio of 20 of your most recent pieces. I picked my favorites…I used my painting as well.’ She blushed and I just stared at her for a moment.

‘That cost $150 Y/n! I told you I didn’t want to do that and you picked paintings I didn’t want to use on top of that?! Why would you-‘ I huffed out a sigh, running my fingers through my hair and turning away to put the dirty dishes in the sink.

‘Rhode Island School of Design.’ Elijah read, having taken it from her.

‘He’s afraid he won’t get into his dream school so he pretended that the price was the reason he didn’t apply.’ She told him and I turned around, glaring.

‘You Spent $150 Dollars On Me For A Rejection Letter!’ She flinched and I instantly relaxed my body as much as I could, never wanting her to be afraid of me. ‘Why would you do this? I told you I wasn’t going to apply and you fought for it but I still said ‘no’. Why would-‘

‘You’ve been accepted.’ Elijah spoke and I spun to look at him, staring for about 5 seconds before snatching the letter and reading over it to see that he was right. It read that they were impressed with my assortment of unique art pieces.

‘I got accepted to a college about 5 miles away if that’s any help in making your decision for-‘ I cut her off by shoving my lips to hers roughly and hugging her to my body, face in my neck.

‘I’m so sorry. Thank you Y/n. Thank you!’ I took hold of her face in my hands and felt like I fell in love with her smiling face all over again. ‘You believed in me when I didn’t, this whole time. I still don’t like you spending money on me but…thank you. Looks like we’re going to Rhode Island next year.’

‘Damn straight Art Nerd, you ain’t goin’ without me! All those art nerd girls, can’t have you being stolen away.’ She teased.

‘Not a chance in Hell Princess. You’re mine. Always and Forever.’

[aldeanotes]

the art of cooking

aemond / modern!reader, 16+, fluff / comedy / mild angst in later plot points. inspiration taken from kdrama mr. queen. reader is very bi and loves girls so much.  

summary: in which you are a famous young chef whose soul was transported into the body of some way too pretty and privileged noble woman. oh, and you’re supposed to marry a prince or whatever. anyway, can you test this to see if it's ready ? 

warnings: reader is batshit wild and doesn't have time for westerosi norms : ). characters will be ooc at times and this story is not entirely canon compliant.

author's notes: sorry for the very long delay !!! i've had so much going on !!!

tag list: @azaleapotterblack, @aurorathi

chapter two: / 5.2k words

Sitting before Otto and Alicent Hightower, you realize, quite bluntly, you don’t want to be here. They’re going to think you’re out of your mind if you speak the truth of the situation – you fell in some water and then woke up here in this place – but it’s the truth nonetheless. Given their hardened expressions (that Otto gives you and Alicent has the mercy to give it to the floor instead of you), you have a feeling they already don’t like the situation as they perceive it.

Which is that the younger prince’s betrothed (you make a face whenever they refer to this relation) has suffered a memory loss and the greatest doctors of this age can’t seem to fix it through traditional means.

Alicent takes in a deep breath, finally breaking her intense eye contact with the floor and running her hands briefly across her face in slight distress. Though, you have a feeling she’s a little bit of a mess inside. You shift uncomfortably in the seat at the Small Council. Jaquetta’s comforting presence is behind you. Unfortunately, the other presence in the room causes you to pretend to be deeply interested in the space between Alicent’s eyebrows.

Prince Aemond sits across from you, next to Otto. If he’s looking at you, you don’t know. You don’t care. He’s not YOUR betrothed, after all, and you have no joy in getting married to anybody. In your real life in your real body, you never had a good example to follow for a healthy relationship, and this girl’s body and that guy sitting across from you do not contain brains that are smart enough to realize that marriage in your teens is a usually bad idea.

Apparently none of the brains of the others in the room are smart either.

“Your uncle and sister are on their way. I have already written to them informing them of the situation,” Alicent breaks the tense silence, looking right at you.

Your eyes meet hers, and you can see a certain kind of tiredness in them. You feel inclined to just nod, so you do. You hope these people will be normal, at least.

“Regarding the marriage–” Otto’s voice pierces straight to the point. He has this way of speaking that makes you feel like he teeters around certain topics like a fighter circling his opponent. “It would be best if we–”

You raise your hand suddenly. Your eyes stare right at the table’s surface. You don’t want to know what everyone else looks like at your actions. You open your mouth and let out a dumb sound – “Um.” There’s a small pause. “Question.” You smack your lips as you gather up all your courage to make your inquiry. “Can we just, you know, not have it?”

Jaquetta grips your shoulder tightly and you know you’ve messed up.

“That is not an option,” Alicent says.

Her tone is sharp enough to cause you to flinch and hesitantly look up at her. Your eyes meet her brown ones. You feel a weight on you. You’ve come to realize in the brief moments you’ve looked at her that Alicent comes through in the eyes. Even as they capture you in their vision, you can’t look away.

It all feels much like how things used to be with your mother.

Alicent must sense the way you retreat into yourself because she swallows before continuing on in a gentler voice.

“It is for the good of the realm.”

But you don’t care about that. Jacquetta has tried telling you of things here and there, but, for the love of the creator, you have no investment in the happenings of this world the same way these people do. You’re a foreign entity trapped here, treated with a different level of scrutiny and pushed down by traditions that have been relatively abandoned in your own world. It feels unfair. You want to scream at these people.

“But I’m not well,” you say. It’s the only real protest you have.

Alicent purses her lips and glances down at her intertwined hands on the table. Her father beats her to it.

“To speak plainly of it,” he starts, and you already can tell from his tone that you’d been doomed to this fate before you even knew it. “This marriage contract has already been approved by the royal household and your house. The wedding is to be held in three months’ time –”

You put your face in your hands.

(“Oh, my fucking god,” you whisper into your flesh. Otto ignores you.)

“Given the time frame, we will not be able to cancel the wedding nor is it in the interest of the realm to do so.”

A wave of nausea hits you, and you distinctly feel like throwing up.

“Your uncle and sister have been informed of the situation and will be arriving within the month,” Otto says. He speaks like everything is final, and as you feel the walls close in around you, you realize it is. “We will have to make use of these three months to be sure you are presentable in time for the wedding.”

Something like dread settles in your stomach. Forget the uncle and sister. Your more immediate worry is about how they plan on making you ‘presentable’ at a wedding you don’t want to a person you don’t know.

Your voice is small when you speak again. “And you’re going to do that – how ?”

“We will arrange some tutors and a septa to be at your side at all times,” Alicent chimes in.

‘At all times’ – you get the impression it’s more to keep an eye on you rather than for your benefit. After not giving yourself nearly enough time to process everything, you lift your head up and glance between Otto and Alicent. You ignore the way Aemond has taken to tapping his finger on the table top.

“So that’s it?” You ask. They say nothing. “Just like that?”

Still nothing.

You look at your last lifeline. Aemond has stopped tapping on the table and is looking back at you when you finally forget the uncomfortable tension between the two of you. You must look pathetic because his lone eye flickers over your face as if he’s taking you in. Even in this situation, he makes your spine go a little cold. It takes some strength not to flinch back from him.

“You–” You take a breath to collect yourself. “You don't really want this either. Right?” You might as well be pleading to him right now with the way your eyes look at him and the way you wave your arm around. “There’s no way you actually agree. I mean – I’m not me anymore.”

He just regards you in brief silence.

“You don’t want to do this!” Your voice raises a bit and Jaquetta stiffens next to you.

“I will perform my duty to the realm,” Aemond answers, keeping your gaze.

You’re floored, a breathy chuckle leaving you at his words. The corners of your mouth twitch up as if he’d told a joke. It was a sick one, if you’d ever heard one. Your arm that you’d been waving around flops helplessly onto your lap as you watch him turn to his mother and grandfather.

“I will wed my betrothed as agreed upon.”

You don’t know if it’s commendable or downright idiotic of him to marry someone who clearly he knows is not normal. Your lips part to make another protest but all that comes out is air. Everyone in this room with any semblance of power greater than your own has shut you down. Your worries are cast aside. They’re like whispers in the wind to these people.

Otto says something before getting up and walking away. You retreat back into your mind as you always do when you’re frightened, when things are beyond your control like this. The screech of chairs don’t awaken you from your state. Your eyes bore into the polished table, and you think you might almost cry but your eyes flutter shut to stop them. How can you even stop this?

Jaquetta kneels down beside you and takes your hand. You feel a little less alone.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The septa, which you realize is something like a nun, assigned to you is boring and overbearing. Septa Lettice is stern, rule-abiding and watches your every move. Even Jaquetta has difficulty adjusting to this new presence in your life, her bright smile appearing a little tight against the septa’s neutral expression. You can’t even so much as go for a stroll without her lingering right on top of you. Her teachings are even worse.

While you’ve been spared from being inflicted any physical punishments, when you raise protests against whatever bullshit she tries shoving down your throat, she’s quick to dole out more readings or lessons to occupy any free time you were waiting for. Though you at least admit that not all these long sermons on the Faith of the Seven are for naught. You find that this world is just as brutal and unfair as the damn Dark Ages in your own world. A discovery which makes you look forward to your time here. Of course.

You whisper your practiced prayers monotonously so she’ll get off your back.

When it’s not with Septa Lettice, Alicent and Otto have been kind enough to assign you other trusted governesses to teach you etiquette, speech and some admittedly more useful knowledge like history and basic finances. The governess presiding over your history and financial lessons finds you more agreeable than Septa Lettice and the other governesses that try to wrangle in your resistant behavior. The first week you attempted to just not show up for the first couple of lessons, and the following week you found that several palace servants had come early in the morning to escort you to your daily lessons. You try for another escape through the window and it takes both Septa Lettice and Jaquetta their entire strength to pull you back inside. Alicent gives you a thorough verbal reprimand that evening, and it’s enough to get you to curb your behavior somewhat.

Jaquetta proves herself to be your greatest asset, though.

“This is your house, my lady,” she says, unfurling a piece of soft, muted purple fabric with your house’s sigil on it.

You flinch a little at the sight of a shrike perched upon a branch with one of its meals skewered on a thorn against the backdrop of a castle.

“Kind of gruesome,” you reply, looking down at your botched attempt at sewing a flower for your embroidery lesson. It looks like a distorted mess, like a plate of spaghetti that’s been dropped on the ground.

Jaquetta smiles widely. “The shrike with its prey has been your house’s sigil since its founding. Your ancestors used the bird’s way of killing its victims to build Shrikesdrop to defend against enemies.”

Shrikesdrop – the ancestral seat of House Durant. It’s perched miles high above the water’s surface, impossible to invade by a beach landing and nearly impenetrable by any army thanks to the steep incline of the roads that lead up to it. According to Jaquetta and a couple notes you found in a book here and there, Shrikesdrop has spikes that resemble thorn covered branches that can impale thousands of men who are unfortunate enough to fall off the inclines. Your house has perfected many tricks to get people to fall off of it, and death by impalement is apparently the go-to execution method of your house. You suddenly didn’t want to meet your uncle and sister after hearing that.

“‘As Sharp as Thorns’,” you mumble your house words. It’s dumb, but you guess it’s the best your ancestors could do.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t mean to stumble across Aemond again. It just happens. Like so much in your two lives.

While you don’t exactly allow yourself to get extinguished fully, you at least understand that your ability to get some manner of freedom rests on some compromise on your part. And, well, you’re pretty smart. Smart enough to remember your lessons, to execute the right angle when you greet your governesses, to hold your head high like you’ve always had blue blood in your veins. That was all you had to pay in exchange for some free time.

It’s the sound of steel clashing that causes you to hurry to the platform overlooking the training grounds, eager for some action to rid you of your boredom.

Your opinion of your betrothed is tainted, of course, because of your judgments. It’s also a little difficult to find yourself liking someone you’re forcefully bound to at this point. However, you can’t deny it. The silver locks that fly about like feathers belonging to a bird of prey are what catch your eye first. You can spot them as he dances about the ground, the dirt crunching underneath his boots.

You can’t see his lone eye, but you feel that if you were close enough they’d have that unsettling intensity you’d seen before – honed in on something. His body is both strong yet nimble as he readies himself. His hand grasps the sword as if it were part of his body.

He’s a fighter.

Fire and Blood – Jaquetta taught you the Targaryen words before those of your own house. The blood of the dragon.

You’d heard the screeching of the dragons sometimes, but you’d never been allowed to rush to see them. Somewhere between your acceptance of your fate and your need to cling on to what you know, you think you’d prefer not to see one. Aemond’s dragon, Vhagar, is the largest in the world, or so you’ve been told.

“Shit,” you hiss underneath your breath when you see Aemond’s opponent take such a fierce swing at him.

Your fingers grip the edge of the platform. The hard surface superficially scratches the skin of your palm. It’s a reflexive reaction, but unnecessary. Aemond blocks it gracefully and disengages cleanly. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Fear not, my lady,” Septa Lettice says. “Ser Criston Cole will not harm the prince.”

Criston Cole, the most trusted sworn sword of Queen Alicent and member of the king’s guard. The best knight in all of the land. Apparently. The royal family sure does have access to some of the best things and people in this land.

Criston circles Aemond after engaging once again, facing towards you as you watch from the platform. Watching training interests you in ways that lessons do not. Perhaps it is the deadliness of it or perhaps it is because even you understand that observing two skilled warriors in a small battle is a luxury few can see. Dark eyes flicker up to you and you stiffen, realizing that Criston is looking right at you.

He says something you can’t make out to Aemond. As soon as you see the back of Aemond’s head begin to move, you run off, Jaquetta and Lettice chasing after you behind you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your beloved Septa scolds you all the way back inside and only lowers her voice when you begin to pass through the busy halls of the Red Keep. Her expression of concern for your dress skirt getting dirty mirrors a stressed chicken, noisily frantic. You just sigh as she keeps on talking.

Even when you are given free will to wander about as you please, everything feels rather … boring once the splendor of the place begins to wear off. The architecture and luxury is impressive, of course, but how much gold thread and pointed stars can you bask in before you start to long for home again? The faces that greet you and pass by you don’t interest you. You’re selfish with your time. There’s no use entertaining yourself with people that won’t alleviate your anxiety or boredom.

“My lady, you should have stayed and spoken with Prince Aemond,” Jaquetta says, walking a little ways behind you.

You give a dry chuckle. “I’ve got better things to do than that. I’d rather be bored to death. Or go pray at the Sept all day.”

As if you’d want to spend more time with him than you have. Maybe if you prayed to these Gods enough they’d send you back home, but you find that gods tend not to listen to your pleas.

“Prince Aemond is a good prince,” Jaquetta continues. “He is studious, talented in fighting and dedicated to his studies. You have always enjoyed his company so well–”

Her words stop because she’s run into the back of you. You felt the hit but your eyes were trained on someone. A young lady walks across the hall and she is stunning.

“Whoa,” you breathe out as your eyes remain fixed on her. “Who’s that?”

Her silver hair falls past her shoulders, a lone braid framing the top of her head like a crown. You recognize the shade violet that stains her irises, but they look way better on her. Fuck your betrothed. Who gives a fuck about him when there’s pretty girls instaed?

Jaquetta quirks an eyebrow at you before following your eyes and responding, “That is the Princess Helaena Targaryen. You may not remember her since you lost your memories, but you two have been companions since little and– My lady, where are you going?”

Of course, you pick up your dress skirt from off the floor and make your way over to Helaena. Too high for this society’s standards but perfectly comfortable to you (which is all that matters). Jaquetta and Lettice follow after you with their cheeks flushed.

You execute the encounter as perfectly as you do in your head. Every step has a certain charismatic swagger to it as you approach the princess with a wide smile. Your shoes make soft sounds on the floor. Helaena is momentarily pulled away from her embroidery. You spy a pretty design of an insect crawling out of its pupa.

The both of you seem to just stare at each other for a couple of seconds. You beam down at her while she blinks up at you. Then, without another word, you sit down next to her. This seems to make her jump a little, and you make note of that, sliding away from her to give her some space. It doesn’t dampen your enthusiasm.

“Helaena?” You say her name.

A soft smile tugs on her lips. She says ‘your’ name back to you.

“Uh–” You aren’t quite sure. “I’ve been sick for a little bit after … everything, you know, but I’m all better now. Soooo-”

Some kind of glassy look overtakes her eyes. You feel like your heart slows for a moment. It’s suddenly as if she can see through you, into you – almost like Aemond.

“Coin in the waves; heads to tails; tails to heads.” Her voice is a whisper. “The true reflection is on the water.”

Something magical and hidden is woven in her words. Something makes you feel compelled. By what – you know not.

“…Oh.” I mean – what are you even supposed to say to that? “Okay.”

You two stand there in an awkward silence as you both flicker your eyes to the side. You hear Septa Lettice clear her throat behind you. It’s just like you to be so clumsy in front of a pretty girl like this.

“You want to –” Helaena looks up expectantly at you. “Do some … needlework together?”

She smiles, and you feel your heart leap up into your throat.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Helaena’s needlework is beautiful. A lovely image of two flowers sprouting together in full bloom rests gracefully on her cloth. The sound of children babbling a bit and toys clanking against the floor draws your attention away from your messy second attempt at sewing again.

Truthfully, you don’t envy Helaena being a mother already. This body’s original owner and she are the same age. Her children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, are old enough to at least understand when you say certain words to them. Maelor is still a little young. She must have had them young, and while you know it’s a symptom of Westerosi culture, it makes you feel ill regardless. You wonder if the original Lady Durant would have found this equally as repulsive or if she would have bowed her head in acceptance? You won’t accept it, at least.

The children say ‘your’ name as soon as they see you. It’s not who you really are, but you can’t bear to do anything other than pat their heads and play along with them. You see Helaena in them when they look up at you. They’ll definitely be pretty like their mother when they grow up.

You nearly threw up when Jaquetta had informed you that Helaena’s husband was her own elder brother, Aegon. And then you nearly did it again when she told you that it was traditional for House Targaryen to marry close family relations. Sibling marriages are common, and, quite frankly, whatever magical or bloodline related reasoning they can give is not enough to justify literally any of that.

“Sooo–” Your voice disrupts the peace that’s settled in between you and Helaena. “What’s the … gossip? What’s the – What’s the new thing? Since it’s been a bit since we’ve chatted and all that?”

She gives you a momentary look before she thinks. “You’re going to marry Aemond soon.”

You suppress a groan. “Yeah, I guess you’re … happy about that. Right?”

Helaena smiles softly and you feel your heart flutter a bit. “Marriage isn’t so bad. Aemond won’t ignore you. He’ll be nice to you.”

You frown. “He’s ignoring me right now.”

“Aemond was worried about you,” she says. Your hand stops pulling the needle through the fabric. That’s the second person to tell you he was worried.

Helaena sets aside her needlework to give you her full attention. “He just … Sometimes has trouble conveying how he thinks and feels. You’ve always been very mindful of him, though.”

Yeah, the old owner of this body but not you!

“I guess so,” you say, tossing your own needlework on the cushion next to you. “Can’t say my mind is getting any better lately.”

A noise from the children takes your attention away. They’re giving a plate of biscuits being offered by their servant rather disgusted looks.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

The servant regards you with an apologetic expression. “The prince and princess have been having some difficulty eating their snacks lately.”

“They think it doesn’t taste good,” Helaena explains. “The royal kitchen has tried just about everything to please them, but nothing seems to work.”

You’ve got an idea.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They should have known you were up to something when you were being so … compliant. Way too compliant. You excel in your lessons the following two days and spend some time praying like you’re supposed to before you spend the night scribbling furiously down on some paper. You shoo away Jaquetta whenever she inquires about what you’re doing but you unveil everything one day after your lessons. You snatch the papers and gleefully make your way to the royal kitchen, your two companions in tow.

“My lady, a maiden of noble birth like yourself should not be–” Septa Lettice tries to dissuade you as you enter the kitchen with a bit of misplaced swagger but you promptly cut her off with a yell.

“Bring me your ingredients at once!”

The entire kitchen seems to freeze in space before the attendants scramble about to gather everything you wish. They assemble fruit jam, flour, honey, and anything you ask for. If being a future princess grants you this authority, you might consider being nice to Aemond in the future when you see him.

You give a sweeping gaze over the ingredients, putting your hand on your hips. “That’ll do it.”

“My lady,” Jaquetta says, “What do you plan to do?”

“Don’t worry yourself, Jackie,” you respond, washing your hand in some water and covering your hair with a napkin. “Lettie.” Septa Lettice makes a face. “Let me work my magic.”

Despite their anxious words and the annoying way they hover about you, they soon join the growing crowd of kitchen staff that watch you, entranced by your skills. It should be expected, though. Who can beat you when it comes to cooking? Even baking these jam filled cookies for the twins is a piece of cake. If the royal cooks can’t make anything that pleases them, then you definitely can.

You inspect the heat under the baking oven located some ways away from the kitchen. Your eyes trail along the metal of the oven. It shouldn’t be too time consuming to bake the cookies as long as the heat was regulated. With that over, you crack your knuckles and get to work.

You hold your hand out towards the kitchen staff. “Small knife for designing, please.”

“My lady, that is–”

You narrow your eyes. Soon, a small knife is put in your hand and you get to cutting out insect shapes of the cookie dough you prepared. You make two of each design, putting a dollop of the fruit jam mix in the middle of one cut out dough piece and then putting the other on top of it. You make sure to draw each part of the insects with precision – butterfly wings, caterpillar body, beetle legs. Something for both the children and Helaena to enjoy.

“If these are burnt by even a little bit–” You tell the servant that manages the oven, handing over the tray of cookies. You drag your thumb across your neck. “You’re dead, okay? On the future princess’ order.”

He gulps and scurries off.

You nearly trip over your own feet that afternoon when you hurry up the long staircases and through the many hallways of the Red Keep to Queen Alicent’s room. Helaena takes the children there to visit their grandmother, and you’re determined to be there to have them enjoy the treats you’d made.

“Helaena!” You call out to her in a sing-song voice as the servants open the door for you, Jaquetta following behind you with the food and Septa Lettice right behind her (nearly out of breath).

Several eyes fall on you, but any thoughts of shame are pushed aside immediately when you see him there.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

Aemond regards you with a quick sweep of his single eye. “I came here to see my niece and nephew.”

“…” You narrow your eyes. “Okay.”

You hear Alicent let out a quick sigh before giving you a tired look that has you shrinking a bit. “I see your lessons have given you no progress.”

You flush. Something about disappointing Alicent makes you embarrassed. “No, no. They’ve been going well. I, uh–”

After clearing your throat, you straighten up as you’d been instructed and take those light steps towards Alicent and Helaena, both of whom are sitting on the couch. You give both of them a little curtsy – light like a cloud, your teachers told you. Alicent’s mouth turns upwards, her eyes are expectant. You want to roll yours. You know what she wants.

You swallow your pride and glide across the room towards Aemond, not meeting his eyes. Stopping in front of him, you give him a quick curtsy before grabbing your plate of sweets for Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. The children look up at you as you kneel down beside them.

“Look what your future auntie made you,” you say, holding out the treats for them.

“You made that?” Helaena says, reaching out a hand and plucking a spider shaped cookie.

“Yep, yep!” You nod. “You can have some too. And Her Majesty.” You don’t even bother to look at Aemond. “And His Highness too. If he wants.”

You hear him get up from his seat, the wood creaking beneath him. His boots echo through the sounds of the children munching happily on the cookies as he comes over. You lift your eyebrows in surprise and stand up. He grabs one of the cookies, a butterfly shaped one, and takes a bite.

“…You cook, my lady?” He asks.

“Huh?” You say without a thought. Oh. Right. Maybe you didn’t think about that.

“The servants told me you were in the kitchens yourself,” Alicent adds, and you can already tell this is going to be a battle with the two of them.

You bite back any mean retort you had prepared. “I … wanted to make something for my future little niece and nephew. And as far as cooking, um … “ You shrug, tripping over your words for a moment. “My illness unlocked a new, creative side to me. Like sunshine after the storm.”

Alicent and Aemond look at you like you’ve lost your mind.

Helaena smiles widely. “That’s wonderful. I look forward to what else you will make.”

You smile back at her, showing teeth. Alicent looks ready to protest but you cut her off.

“I’ll make something for Aemond.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop yourself. You look up at him and into his eye, something burning inside you. That same kind of passion that kept you going throughout your life. “Something you’ve never had before.”

“That…” Alicent trails off.

“I look forward to it,” Aemond says.

You don’t know why, but you feel taken off guard by that.

You don’t know why but you toss and turn at night, thinking of what Aemond would enjoy. Food is the way to someone’s soul. You’re not that interested in getting to know Aemond beyond the superficial, but you figured if there’s anyone you need to NOT hate you … it would be Aemond. You don’t care what Helaena or Jaquetta has to say, that kid looks like he could sink a sword in you without so much as breaking a sweat. Besides, it got you out of having to appeal to Alicent to let you in the kitchens again.

You’re not getting out of this marriage. The thought makes you want to sink into the bed and into the darkness even more. Marriage? In this place? Your husband is going to tell you what to do? Why couldn’t you have been sent into the body of a rich widow? Then you’d at least have some money to throw around with no one to tell you what to do with it.

But what are you to cook him? Aside from what others have said to you, you’ve no idea what he likes, and you’d already promised him something new. You use your brain to go through what you know.

“Fighter,” you mumble. “Diligent … Something filling, but not too heavy.”

Perhaps a broth. A broth that’s full of flavor, savory like a victory. With some kick in it. A robust flavor on the tongue with some spices and herbs.

Your eyes pop open as you sit up.

“…Ramen.”

[animeomegas]

Oh, I have an ask! Which Naruto omegas do you think would be good at (and slightly enjoy) helping their pups with homework? And those that just leave it to their alpha😂

Lol! This is such a good one! Okay, let's see~

ENJOY/GOOD AT:

Chouji - There's something comforting for him about sitting down with his pups after school and helping with homework. I wouldn't say he's excited for it or anything, it just makes him feel content. He's patient, and a great teacher too. He's good at building confidence and de-escalating frustration if his child is struggling.

Shino - He's a teacher by profession, and if anything, I think he's even better teaching his own children. He finds teaching rewarding and is the sort to take the homework and then apply it to the real world to help it sink in. If his pup is learning addition, he's having them count out ingredients for dinner. If his pup is learning kanji, he helps them write a little story. That kind of thing. It's technically more homework, I guess lol!

Neji - He's very good at it, if a little intense. He homeschools though, so the intensity kind of comes with the job. I wouldn't say he always enjoys it, I think it depends on the lesson, but he likes the structure and seeing his pup grow.

Iruka - Again, he's obviously good at it, being a teacher and all. I don't think he enjoys it though, he more views it as a necessity, but he'd rather not be doing more teaching on his time off lol.

Kisame - I think he enjoys it more than he's good at it. I think he would be better with certain learning styles. But he finds it enjoyable. He likes children and he can make homework fun most of the time.

Gai - I don't think I have to explain this one :D

DESPISE/BAD AT:

Naruto - uuuuuuuuh, he hates it. Homework is the only thing worse than paperwork in his opinion. He's definitely down to help his pups learning to throw shuriken or something, but sit down style homework is not his forte. He passes to his alpha or offers to pay for a tutor.

Sasuke - So awkward, my goodness. He doesn't know what children are supposed to know, he has no idea how the academy has changed since he was there, he would probably be accidentally patronising or too advanced and piss off his child lol. Hard pass for him.

Shikamaru - "Just don't do it," is what he wants to say. But he knows his alpha will have his head, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Kiba - He doesn't hate it, I guess, and he's happy to help for shorter things. But when it comes to sitting down for long periods of time, he just can't keep his attention on it. He's got so many other children, I feel like if one of his children is struggling with homework, he gets a relative to help them. Probably his sister, rip.

Itachi - He want to been good at it... but he's not. He's so out of touch with civilian school things, it's almost funny. And he's too good at the shinobi arts, so he can't dumb things down enough, or explain his thought process properly. He's one of those learners that just 'gets things', and that makes him a bad teacher. Add on the fact that he'd rather be cuddling or playing with his children, and he finds himself in this category lol.

Anyone not on the list I either forgot about or they fall somewhere in the middle on both counts ;)

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 23 - Don't Hide That Smile

some cute comforting H <3 sorry for being days late my loves

FICTOBER

Patreon

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

“Y/N…. Come on.” Harry pleaded. “I think that got a smile out of you, don’t hide it away!”

It did, in fact, get a smile out of her. But the absolute fail of a costume had made her very, very upset at first.

In hindsight, Y/N knew that attempting a full costume as a first sewing project was ambitious to say the least. What was supposed to be a floor length gown ended up looking like a giant tube, the seams wonky and her poor attempt of dying the fabric last minute making the fabric look like it had been a weird bleach accident. It was the night before halloween and they’d had a check in, Harry wanting to see and Y/N bursting into tears when he’d aside to see the finished product. 

To make matters worse, she had pretended she had it all under control. To a fashion student Harry. She’d wanted to impress him, but she had made a fool out of herself and told Harry she was a phony, which he quickly reassured she wasn’t and thought it was cute she wanted to impress him. When he’d asked to see it, if maybe he could help fix it, she assured him he couldn’t, but it still didn’t help when his reaction to the dress had been a wide eyed “Oh….” 

That had sent another bout of tears, making Harry panic at now being the source of them, so he tried to mend his error. 

“I didn’t mean a bad, oh!”

“I mean, I’m shocked but I wasn’t trying to be mean!” 

“It isn’t awful, please don’t cry. 

“Babe, it’s camp… no. It’s French.”

The reference to Fleabag made her crying stop for a moment, trying not to laugh. She still felt like a failure when he gently dragged her hands off of her face and tried to wipe her tears, frowning as he really didn’t like to see Y/N upset. No one would. She looked so sad and heart wrenching when she cried, her eyes rounding and the little pout- no. 

“I-It can’t be saved, Harry. I watched project runway and i thought I could do it cheaper but-but its so hard to sew on the little machine I got and-and fabric is so, so expensive!” That was a fact Harry knew firsthand. No wonder he tries to get thrifted things so often. “I thought helping my grandma when I was younger would have paid off but no. So now I look dumb, I cried in front of you and I’ve got no costume. It’s too late to go gething now, they’re all gonna suck.” She sniffled, making his heart throb when her sad look hit him. 

He couldn’t lie- the dress was bad. Awful. He didn’t know how she overestimated or cut the length so long, or why the ruffles were sewn over each other or how the bodice was crooked, but somehow she had created an atrocity. But it was abstract, if you’d want to think of it that way- and god, he needed to to calm her down. Functionally, the dress was useless, but in a matter of art, anything could be good. 

There was no way he wouldn’t be flattered that she had done this to impress him. It was beyond cute and sweet and he just wanted to squish her cheeks and kiss her little lips but he held it together. “It’s okay, sweets. You aren’t dumb, we’re all set with the crying now, and we can find you a costume. It’s totally okay. We can match…” He tried to think of what else they could be. Their original was prince and princess, but he had to think on his toes. Looking around, he prayed for inspiration and to actually be quick on his feet sometimes- and thankfully it was answered as he looked at her muted TV. 

“Pam and Jim!” he exclaimed. “Yes- you have the things to be the cat, I can do the paper shirt thing. What do you think?” 

Y/N seemed to mull it over, sniffling again as her eyes scanned Harry’s face. That had been quick, but… “That’s a good idea.” She smiled slightly, making him sag with relief. He couldn’t handle seeing her sad. “A-are you sure, though? I know it’s a downgrade from the other costume we planned. I’m sorry.” Y/N really did feel stupid about it but it really didn’t seem like Harry minded.

“Not a big deal, baby. Promise.” His hands smoothed her hair back, smiling lightly down at her. Halloween wasn’t his thing and he had agreed to go to the costume party with her so he’d made his costume, but he was sort of relieved considering his prince outfit could get a bit hot. “All that matters is we’re going to be together and ditch Niall’s as soon as we’re ready eat our body weight in sweets. I ordered that variety bag, y’know?” 

Her eyes lit up at the mention, making her nod. “Does it have Kit-Kats?” She whispered, her grin widening when he nodded back. “Okay. It sounds good to me then.” Her face plastered to Harry’s chest, body sagging in relief. The secret was out, the embarrassment was over, and now she could finally breathe again. Although.. “When he said he was going all out for the pe party.. I just really hope Niall doesn’t get one of those fog machines inside the house. You can’t breathe with that stuff on”

“About that….” Harry hissed, pretending to wince. 

“For fucks sake. Maybe we are ditching super early.” “I’ve got no problem with that.”

[0-amateur-writer-0]

Lines

Characters: Stan Pines, Ford pines.

Tags: Angst, Hurt no comfort, Character study.

Wordcount: 1,810

Summary:

“You really don’t understand why I want this place to be shut down, do you?”

Stan sniffs. “I think I got some ideas.”

Ford narrows his eyes. “Do you?”

#

He’s home. He’s actually home. Back in his Earth—in Gravity Falls, Oregon.

Hard to believe that a few days ago, he was at the precipice of life and death. About to end things once, and for all with Bill. That’s how it was supposed to be. One way or another, everything was supposed end that day. But now he’s honest to God walking through his house. Opening cupboards, and drawers. Studying every nook, and cranny. Observing how much has changed, and how much has stayed the same.

The house definitely had seen better days. Everything was aged, and weathered. You could even spot some awkward patch jobs here, and there. The ones you do on your own to save money, instead of by someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Indeed, Stan must’ve been a stingy on the upkeep. He could hear a lot of new creaks, and sounds now. But…the house is somewhat neat, and tidy at least.

He supposes he should be thankful if for that. That his home is still here after all this time. Still standing. Still livable. When he already made peace long ago, that his house would be left to rot—reduced to a pile of would-be firewood.

Ford rounded a corner, and stops in his tracks. Any feelings of gratitude he had had quickly went down the drain.

Now this is a change he could really do without.

The house doubles as a hokey tourist trap now. One that’s entire gimmick was based on showcasing a variety of very made-up anomalies.

Being in this room is already starting to royally piss him off. Though for some reason that escapes him, he decided to stay and look around. Making his way the first exhibit that caught his eye.

Ford glares at the taxidermized monstrosity before him. It was obviously meant to resemble sasquatch, or even bigfoot. Brown fur, big feet, and ape-like features, though a striking difference could be seen on how it’s…wearing an underwear.

(Why even? What evolutionary need could it possibly fulfill by wearing one?)

“Sascrotch,” He sneers. “I can’t believe people actually—"

“Yeah, ya don’t like the Shack. We get it. Keep steppin’, and move on already.” A gruff voice piped up from his left.

Ford turns his head to the source of said voice, to find Stan leaning against the counter—counting the money he made off from the last group of tourists.

(Has he always been there?)

“You really don’t understand why I want this place to be shut down, do you?”

Stan sniffs. “I think I got some ideas.”

Ford narrows his eyes. “Do you?” He challenges.

Stan muttered something under his breath, but otherwise did nothing but continue to count the money in his hands. The sound of paper bills being shuffled seemed to fill the empty gift shop. It grated on his nerves. Then again, everything that Stan does seem to grate on his nerves these days.

Ford made his way to the next set of exhibits. The Six Pack O’ Lope. The Cornicorn. He swears some of them looked more like one of Mabel’s arts and crafts projects.

“I have spent most of my life studying the weird. Trying to make sense of the nonsense. Trying to prove their existence to the scientific community.”

“I had to take on twelve PhDs to get people to take me seriously. Twelve. And that wasn’t even accounting the number of favors, and good standing I had to build up just so I could get my grant approved by the committee.”

Of course, I could’ve avoided all that if I had gone to West Coast Tech instead. He almost wanted to say, but quickly bit his tongue.

“Well, that’s kinda’ dumb.” Stan comments.

(If his ears weren’t mistaken, Ford could’ve sworn there was a note of genuine sympathy in Stan’s voice.)

Ford just shook his head. “The committee didn’t see my want to research anomalies as top priority. Especially when compared to things like researching the cure for cancer, or alternative energy, or artificial intelligence and whatnot.”

“But one way, or another. I managed to show them my worth. I gave them reason, after reason as to how my research could be beneficial. And eventually, they decided to give me a chance.”

Ford wrinkled his nose when he passes by some shelves filled with tacky souvenirs. One lined with snow globes, another with Mr. Mystery bobbleheads, and another filled with…ugh, those horrific Burpin’ Stanford Pines figurines. Though he stops when he comes across a nearly empty shelf lined with empty glass jars. A sign nearby tells him that these are ‘invisible fairy companions! Only $35!’.

His attention wasn’t on the obvious scam in front of him. Instead, Ford watches his face being reflected on the glass jars.

“I thought,” he says. “If I did all of that, then…maybe I could finally change the way people view them.”

“I wasn’t hoping to change everyone’s minds, but if I could get a few people to stop looking at them like something to be afraid of. Like something to be pointed, and gawked at…” He pauses, and then turns to look at Stan. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Stan just stares at him with a blank expression on his face.

(Dear Tesla, does he really have to spell this out?)

Ford took a deep calming breath, before saying: “What you’re doing here with the Mystery Shack. Not only is it a mockery of my life’s work, it’s a mockery of me.”

Stan narrows his eyes. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Ford could feel the threads of his self-control being cut. “Do you really not realize what you’re doing here!? You’re bringing all sorts of people in here, and teaching them it’s okay to point, and laugh at things they don’t understand. You’re teaching them to point, and laugh at things like me!”

Ford clicked his tongue. Whether Stan’s earlier confusion was genuine, or an act mattered little to him at the moment. The damage was done. To his house. To his reputation. To his life’s work.

--You’re a six-fingered freak!

And they would be right. That’s all he is. All he will ever be.

He’d lost the chance to ever prove them wrong.

“Be honest,” Ford demanded. “All those times you told me that I wasn’t a freak was a lie, wasn’t it?” He gestures towards the various exhibits in the Shack. “This is how you actually feel about me.”

“Do you also have stuffed six-fingered hand lying around? I’m surprised I haven’t seen it yet. An exhibit like that will surely—"

“You think I’d do that?” Stan asks.

Ford pauses, and then turns to Stan. And once his eyes landed on his brother, the red mist that clouded his vision seemed to dissipate at that moment.

Stan was staring at him, and though his expression was blank—there was a gamut of emotions swirling in the depths of his brother’s eyes. Raw and honest emotions that Ford didn’t want to look too closely into.

“You really think I’d do that to you?” Stan asks again. His voice quiet.

Ford opens his mouth, but he quickly finds that no words could come out. Something in Stan’s eyes. Something in the way his brother spoke, seemed to sap all the remaining fight and anger in him.

“I used to beat up every single punk who bad-mouthed you when we were kids. And ya really think that I’m gonna’ turn around, and start doin’ all that crap they did to you?” A pause. “You really think that I’m no better than guys like Crampelter?”

Ford’s looks down—suddenly finding it hard to look Stan in the eyes. “That isn’t what I…”

He tries to find something to defend himself with, but nothing kept coming up. After all, that was essentially what he had just implied wasn’t it?

The silence hung between them until Stan took several steps forward, only stopping when he’s at an arms-length in front of Ford.

“…Y’know,” Stan says. “I got a lotta reasons for starting the Mystery Shack. And that thing you just said… You think that folks come through here to point and laugh at all these arts and crafts rejects. But the only thing being pointed and laughed at in here…is me.”

“Cause you wanna’ know something?” He jabbed a finger onto Ford’s chest. “Just because you got no problems callin’ me worthless, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna’ stoop to your level and start callin’ you a…”

It took everything in him to not look away—to return Stan’s glare head on. On the outside, one might mistake him for being the picture of indifference. The only thing anyone could see was a mask of cold, hard disapproval plastered on his face

But on the inside, in the deepest parts of him where no one was privy to—part of him dreaded of what’s to come. The part of him that used to go on adventures with Stan on the beach. The part of him that used to spend whatever free time available, to work on an old derelict sailboat. The part of him that used stay up to the late hours of the night talking, and planning about the places they’d sail away to one day.

That part of him was terrified of his twin brother calling him that word.

But he knew it was coming. It’s only a matter of time. He braces himself and…

…nothing happened.

Stan just looks down, his hand falling limply back to his side. And Ford found himself letting out a breath he didn’t even knew he was holding.

Both men stood at the middle of the empty gift shop. Stan kept looking down at the floor, and Ford couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from his brother—at how tired, and defeated he looked. His right-hand twitches, and then starts to lift and inch itself closer towards Stan.

He didn’t really know what he was trying to do. He just…has a sudden urge to reach out. But before he could make any contact, Stan took a step back from him.

“Believe it or not, I actually got lines I ain’t never gonna’ cross.” Was all Stan said to him, before he made his way outside.

The front door slammed shut.

Ford watches the door for a moment. Before his gaze, inexplicably, wanders back to the shelf lined with those Burpin’ Stanford Pines toys. It was an insult. It was his name being printed on those boxes, but looking at those figurines again—at how it was wearing a bright red fez, and a black tuxedo…the similarities that he somehow hadn’t seen before became so clear.

It was Stan.

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the hell am I doing?”

[002yb]

Blanket apology on the lateness to all of these replies.  ┬┴┬┴┤･ω･)ﾉ

Head bonks when they’re brushing their teeth over one sink

A persisting argument of Dick wanting to save any stray bugs that make their way into their apartment while Jason wants to eradicate them (because Dick thinks they’re neat, but Jason associates them to an unkept home)

They don’t own a mop, so they make a conga line where Jason shuffles through with a wet towel and Dick shuffles through with a dry towel behind him

Dick coming home with groceries, only for the both of them to go back out again because he forgot the top thing on the list; it happens consistently and Jason has an inkling Dick does it on purpose (he does)

Whipping each other with towels and vaulting over furniture to escape impending doom

Tucked away in this ask, only I’m not sure what else to add hahaha.

Just Jason consciously falling in love with Dick over a series of mundane moments

So he associates all these little things with Dick in that way young lovers do

A certain route they patrolled, the flickering of a neon sign, the wind pulling through their hair as they sat up high on a skyscraper.  The pounding of his heartbeat as they chased each other, the sweltering heat of a humid day or the smell of a coffee – warm where Dick pressed it to Jason’s cheek and warm throughout his body when Jason sipped at it and let it chase away all the fatigue.  Dawn on the horizon with Dick at Jason’s window - lingering just a moment longer.

Jason being very aware of how smitten he is and doing nothing about it.  Just basking in the present moments as they come and being content in their afterglow.

This is perfection.  No notes.  Superb.

Uaaaaaahhhhhhhh an art like this must exist, right?  It’s too good not to!!  Damian being ornery with Dick in this sort of capacity (with them both fawning over Jason) is probably my most favorite dc fanon thing hahaha.  Thank you for the visual of this, anon!

Hahaha, how Dick keeps his degeneracy under wraps is beyond Jason, truly.  Truth be told though, it stops being discreet because Jason’s reactions to all of Dick’s dirty talk is so obvious.  That’s okay though because Dick doesn’t mind.  Even if he goes down, Jason goes with him; they’re partners in life and in their perverse ways.  An accusation Jason adamantly refuses because they are not the same; no way!

To which Dick will roll his eyes but it’s whatever.  Denial is the first step to acceptance.  That besides, it’s not like Jason isn’t the one pulling Dick aside or beckoning him someplace private after Dick drops those suggestions. ;)

Hahaha, the perpetually single ones for sure.  But I think those who are in committed relationships would be overwhelmingly fond and nostalgic.  Seeing dickjay’s young love, so new and sweet and exciting, would remind them of back when they were first falling in love.  And it’d maybe spark some rekindled romance in their own relationships as they reminisce.

Meanwhile dickjay admiring those who have been in relationships longer because they’re comfortable and settled and really?  They can’t wait to be there, but for now Dick and Jason just enjoy each other day by day. //u///

There’s a story sitting in my drafts that covers this.  It’s been done for months but tbh having to tag on ao3 is such a daunting thing.  I’ll try to get this posted for you soon, anon.

This exchange is the closest to eldritch!Dick as I can imagine.

Will-o-Wisp!Dick lives in my head rent free and it’s the closest I think I can get to something eldritch (because I’m dumb I don’t actually get what it’s supposed to be LOL).  Or something akin to a will-o-wisp.  With Dick being able to twist his voice and image to lure people into the bog that is Gotham’s bowels.  He usually makes himself known as a robin chirping in the night; a warning song.

Other times he’ll appear as a child, dashing through shadows with laughter echoing through alleys.  A beautiful boy that lures criminals away from the main streets and any lingering lights, or guides innocents someplace safer.

And then there’s Dick Grayson, grown and bewitching with the mirthful light in his eyes and a wicked smile; bared teeth and a jaw that might be too sharp.

Dick becoming an urban legend in his own right.  Where he’s ‘passive,’ only not really.  He guides people through Gotham and depending on the situation, Dick will bring them home.  Or he’ll walk them off a building’s ledge, into oncoming traffic, or for those most wicked – infront of the muzzle of Red Hood’s gun.

This post.

Ahahahaha, thank you so much!  Jason getting all flustered after being exposed (by himself, no less) is so charming.  For as much as I love maiden!Jason, he’s probably a bit of a freak ngl.  Like Jason probably kink shames himself after bringing up something he’d like to try with Dick and Dick sputters because the depravity is !!!

Just Jason basing the validity of some of his kinks on Dick’s reaction to them because Dick is the most depraved man he knows.

Of course even when Jason catches Dick off guard (surprisingly often), Dick gets on board real quick.

But yeah, without fail I think it’s always Jason that exposes his own kinks.  And he’s not casual about it at all once he realizes and that exposes himself further and it’s the most vicious of cycles, hahaha.

In reply to this ask.

Tbh, no change LOL.  Dick’s domesticity kink and how he reacts to Jason being domestic transcends time and circumstance.  So, basically:  Simp King!Dick Grayson.  Who is genuinely turned on by stupid, mundane domestic things but who also plays up his reactions because it makes Jason laugh and fluster and Dick loves to see that.

The visual of Dick being taken out at the knees or falling into the wall for support or just keeling over a bit while biting his sleeve because Jason is cooking/cleaning/doing laundry is just so silly hahaha.  Or even Dick just being all sparkly and flowery because yeah, check out his boyfriend (only don’t, thanks) being so sweet and caring and wonderful.  //U////

But also the heated moments because of course.  Where Dick:

Hooks his chin over Jason’s shoulder as Jason cooks something over the stove.  Hands on Jason’s hips and peppering kisses just below Jason’s ear (and in abo setting getting a little high off of Jason’s scent because nothing is more tantalizing than that).  And Jason tries to turn around so that they can fool around a bit, but Dick is all, ‘nope, keep cooking //W////’ and proceeds to just shower Jason in some heavy petting

Oh.  Basically the above, but Jason is washing dishes.  And Dick manages to make Jason come with only the graze of Dick’s teeth at his nape and some dirty promises

Dick pushing Jason back onto a pile of unfolded laundry and having his way with him right there.  ANd Jason loves it in the moment, caught between still hot clothes and Dick burning above him.  Up until they get off and Jason realizes he has to redo laundry.  Again.

It’s cool though.  Dick joins him and they fuck again with Jason bent over the wash, detergent spilling everwhere.

Omg they’re fooling around as the washer is going only to have it flood with suds because they accidentally spilled in too much detergent ahhhahaha

Honestly torn between Damian wholeheartedly believing possessiveness = protectiveness, or whether he's aware of the difference but was impacted by losing Jason (when Jason left the League) and that loss fucked him up in a way that makes him believe that to keep someone close, you've got to own them. 🤔

Either way, Damian rates Dick low because there's always room for improvement.  There's potential, surely, but generally Dick is too nice.

As for something that constitutes Dick being bumped up to a 10?  Ahahaha, Vampire King!Dick turning Jason and making him his vampire queen and doing so in a way where Jason can only feed on Dick to survive.  And when Jason tries a hunger strike, Dick retaliates by starving Damian somehow.  It's an inconceivable thought if only because Dick is so soft on him, but it would prove very telling.

Hello, hello~ I’m getting by alright.  Sorry that I’ve not been posting much though!  And that it took so long to reply to this ask. ;3;

But yeah, Talia and Jason.  Because I’m a sucker for Jason whump forever and always, I’m partial to a relationship where Talia only cares for Jason because of his relationship with Bruce.  So there’s no love or genuine affection there for Jason as an individual, just as a convenient means of achieving a faroff goal.  Where Jason is, once again, collateral damage.

That’s a disservice to Talia though so like, reserved mother figure or just a lady who is fond of the nanny/bodyguard she found for her son is cool, too!

Thank you for reading so many of my posts!  It makes me happy that you enjoyed enough to read more. ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

Jason winning over the hearts of all the shop employees because despite his intimidating stature, Jason is a timid maiden as he wanders the shop.  His gaze keeps wandering to the delicate lingerie and corsets, but Jason’s convinced it’d be dumb on him because he’s not exactly dainty

Queue encouraging salespeople and clientele and Jason being so flushed that everyone falls in love with him

Also everyone being like, hot damn, because that bust to waist ratio?  Sinful.  Who’s the lucky guy that landed him?

It’s the atmosphere of the place that gets Jason sharing a picture of Dick and oh boy does Jason preen as everyone admires his boyfriend.

Just Jason having a good time despite the initial (and persisting because he’s a maiden) embarrassment lol.

And then he gets home and omgggggg Dick

Dick sneaks in and catches Jason trying to lace up the corset on his own and Dick is such a goner because hot damn hot damn he’s fainting don’t call for help though, just cushion his fall with those bolstered tits; let Dick catch himself with hands braced on that cinched waist fuuuuuuuuuu–

For real, Dick is just so delighted because Jason is so gorgeous (and cute and sweet, because of course he flusters and tries to explain everything away, but Dick isn’t a fool; he’s fully encouraging and supportive)

Then it’s just Dick pulling the corset tight for Jason

And marveling at the way he pulls Jason’s breath from him

Looking over Jason’s shoulder to watch Jason watching himself in the mirror

Then running his hands over Jason so that he can watch through the mirror

And when their eyes catch Jason is blushing red and the corset already has him short of breath, but seeing Dick’s heated gaze has him feeling faint–

Then Jason wakes up and Dick is all sheepish because he might have pulled the corset too tight, whoops; they were both a little overzealous

Dick wanting to go with Jason the next time he goes shopping.  He wants to pick something for him, too ;)

This ask.

Bahaha for comedy the baby is absolutely Clark and Jason's. Logic be damned, Bruce would be positively teeming with rage directed solely at his 'partner,' his 'better half,' his 'we're divorced now' bestie and just. One would think Superman went and impregnated Bruce's babygirl as opposed to the cloning that actually happened.

But yes, basically Bruce being mad because:

Clark 'knocked up' Bruce's darling babygirl

Clark is the father

The baby isn't Bruce's

Poor Clark can't catch a break, either, because Dick? He is his adoptive daddy's son through and through and is also teeming with rage directed solely at his 'hero,' his 'most revered mentor,' his 'i'm disowning myself now' second father figure because like. Really?? Dick just bought a ring?? ('But you haven't had your first date yet?' Clark would note, to which Dick would bristle because, 'It's serious-- ;n;').

Let's not forget Damian 'brocon' Al Ghul-Wayne, either. Because ahahaha. Even while Jon is dropping the biggest hints about being disappointed and wanting to start a family with Damian, Damian is zeroed in on Jon's dad because Clark and Jason? Absolutely not. As you might guess, Damian is teeming ahahaha. Because to him, Jason is simultaneously mother and babygirl. In that same vein, Damian's place as t h e b a b y in Jason's life has been stolen from him and he's distraught.

Meanwhile Tim is with Kon and they're just like, PHEW. Thank fuck. But then just a few seconds later they're fooling around because, 'no clones here; I'll put a baby in you myself,' and 'yeah? go ahead and try. ;)'