#he has a habit of taking up space confidently

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Gordon and Edward, Part 2

Hello and welcome back to "Jobey ruins beloved RWS characters for you, using the power of... the actual RWS text!" 😇

Part 1: Gordon, what's your damage? 😭 / The Doylist Reason / Rent. Free. 

Post 2 (this post): Edward's Defences / Gordon's Growth

Post 3 (upcoming post, link later): Collision / Uh… Cleanup Crew?

Edward's Defences

Pretty consistently, through the next 45 years, Edward (most conflict-avoidant engine ever built?) takes a four-pronged approach to dealing with Gordon and the threat he represents:

He keeps Gordon at a distance. He focuses on building connections with… Literally Everyone Else. Gordon is kept more than a good buffer's length away (and when they must be in close proximity things do tend to go south in a hurry).

He tries to never give Gordon a reaction, or any other ammo. Will not admit weakness or discomfort or upset. Difficult, because he has a transparent face when he's sad! And he's comfortable confiding in others! But he'll never, willingly, let Gordon see him bleed. 

Instead he treats Gordon very lightly. Adopts a sort of affectionate knowingness, which allows him to "laugh off" Gordon's more irritating or threatening qualities. 

He takes control of the narrative. He doesn't shy from telling humans the engines' business. He spreads stories (I'm not saying false stories) that counter Gordon's branding of himself as supreme and infallible. He also builds his own brand as reliable and sensible. 

Where do I get all this from? The text: 

"I've got some trucks to take home tomorrow," he told him. "If you take them instead, I'll push coaches in the Yard." (~1925)

We're less than one full book away from "now all three engines are great friends" and Edward is already shedded somewhere else, baby. That move was likely integral to developing those two new friendships with Henry and especially with Gordon… ironic but true. Hey, we know that the big engines seem to have only learned to appreciate Thomas after he left, too! And, of course, it gives Edward some space from all of the *waves hand vaguely* at the Big Shed. He doesn't like conflict (and Gordon is a conflict-generating machine). 

They both rested at the next station; Edward told James how Gordon had stuck on the hill, and he had had to push him up! (1925) 

Bro. Bro bro bro bro bro. I am pointing urgently. 

This bit is so telling. It's been two years since the events of EDO/E&G and Edward is already seen defining Gordon's whole brand as we now know it to newcomers. 

If it wasn't for that moment, I wouldn't insist with nearly as much confidence what I think then comes into focus as a clear fact: The early RWS itself is all evidence that Edward is winning the propaganda war, lol. Gordon's opinion of himself is a silly, endearing, limited point of view. Edward's opinion of himself is canon, bitches! 

Incredible stuff. 

This scene is a glimpse into the tactics that allowed Edward to eventually win this game (poor Gordon has no idea they're playing). Here he is laying the groundwork a good 20 years before the books about them were even published! And this is a good place to remind readers that, unlike in TVS where they make Gordon's hill problem a recurring gag, we only see Gordon stalling out there and requiring a banker's help once. In Christopher Awdry's Gordon the High Speed Engine, he also specifies that Gordon (who is about to have trouble on the hill again, in the 1980s) stuck before on this hill. "[O]nce." Once. 

This is not a habit of his. It was a one-off thing. It's only remembered at all because his superior attitude and his ignorance of the words "thank you" offended Edward so deeply that he kept the memory of this event alive for over 20 years, until the Thin Clergyman got the story in print. 

It's a bit messed up. 

It's more than a bit petty. 

It's so bloody funny. 

No, I don't think Edward is some consciously evil Machiavellian genius. He's neither vindictive nor that far-sighted. But he's resilient, and creative enough to instinctively change the rules of the game when otherwise they'd grind him into rust. And there is his characteristic kindness mixed up in all of this, too: He needs to find a way to welcome Gordon's presence in his life, so he finds a narrative that makes Gordon funny and lovable instead of a threat. He sees James is insecure, so he tells that story at least partly from real solidarity and empathy. It's not like he's trashing Gordon, either – there is no lie told, and James is not put off trying to "motor-mouth" his way into Gordon's good graces. I'd characterize it, not as trashing Gordon, more… injecting an element of realism into his growing legend ;) We see in the same book that Gordon is continuing in his superior attitude (which involves putting others down, even if it's a bit more indirectly than he did two books earlier) and that his attitude depresses and dejects newcomers like James. There is good, civic-minded reason to slyly undermine Gordon's branding of himself as all-powerful and invincible – it's not good for the railway as a whole if Gordon is allowed to lord over them all on his throne unchecked, the new engines forever overawed. It is kind of Edward to welcome James and give him a boost, it's genuinely useful for everyone that in the end James triumphs to seize the role of a darkhorse rival junior but trusted colleague of Gordon's. 

At the same time, while it's all justifiable and even beneficial, this action is also very useful in cementing Edward's own position. Let's just be clear-eyed about this. 

"Shall I help you, James?" called Edward. / "No, thank you," answered James, "I'll pull them myself." / "Good, don't let them beat you." (1925-6) 

Edward and James show a perfect understanding of each other in this moment – different though they may be, Don't let them beat you is a shared value. (Shared by a lot of engines, of course; probably a steam engine culture thing. Douglas says something similar in RWS after accidentally destroying the spiteful brakevan.) It applies here to trucks, but no doubt that's a value that motivates them in other areas, too. 

It's just worth remembering this, when it comes to Edward's stance re: Gordon. He's more subtle about it than James is. He sort of has to be (he cannot directly compete with Gordon, as James can). But he's still determined to not be beaten. 

Errr, but then Gordon triggers a chain of events that Edward could have never conceived of. The Fat Controller sends him to Tidmouth, Edward goes in with no idea what he's facing, and wham. We have the first of the two really severe strains on this relationship: 

Gordon came clanking past, hissing rudely[...] / "They all hiss me, Sir," answered Edward sadly. "They say 'Tender Engines don't shunt', and last night they said I had black wheels. I haven't, have I, Sir?" (~1927)

Two things to note here. This clash doesn't only represent Gordon's and Edward's differing views on what is proper to the dignity of an engine and what he owes to his railway. That's all The Author can see of it, of course… The Author being a human, and thus with a vested structural interest in vindicating Edward's point of view on this matter — and in mocking Gordon's view to scorn. This is why, so far as the book is concerned, Gordon and his two big-engine followers don't have a wheel to run on here. The Gordon position is portrayed as thoroughly unreasonable (even if, despite the narrative's best efforts, the text must admit that the Fat Controller does actually have to get a new tank engine – which was Gordon's demand all along!) 

Because of The Author's interest, there's no chance of any acknowledgment that the other tender engines' anger might have the slightest validity to it. However I think we are seeing another, parallel clash going down here:

Gordon naturally sees friendship as, well, as an Alliance. My friends are your friends and your enemies are my enemies. United we stand, together we fall. The problem is that while Edward is mild-mannered he's not a follower, like Henry and James – he has his own mind and he's not about to substitute Gordon's convictions for his own. Edward's idea of friendship is mutual sympathy and support. Emphasis here on mutual, because you just know that young Gordon was quite prepared to receive support (as his due!) but had trouble returning it. That's something Edward considers a serious insult… whereas his own idea of friendship simply has nothing to do with "how dare you cut the branch out from under me when I'm risking my tender leading collective action against management!" To Gordon that's a real betrayal. I suspect when Edward undercut his strike Gordon was genuinely hurt and felt a real righteous indignation – one that is never expressed in canon because to the Author there's nothing even slightly valid in Gordon's hurt. But canon (the Author, the railway, the whole institution of human society that made and employs these guys) does validate Edward's position that boasting and one-upmanship are hurtful, itself a sort of betrayal – which is a big problem, since for Gordon they're alarmingly close to a damn love language.

This is a position on which I feel no need to take sides. I know the Author's position. I think they just have irreconcilable values and that Gordon's values, while I don't share them, aren't just shit, either. I don't condone all his behavior here but I do think his idea of friendship is consistent over the course of the Wilbert books and that he would feel genuinely betrayed here. And if you've been betrayed then it makes sense that you are hurt and angry. 

What a mess. 

"Tender Engines do shunt, but all the same, you'd be happier in your own Yard." (~1927)

Guys, I'm telling ya, the Fat Controller knew what he was doing when he separated Edward from the other "great friends" after the events of TTRE. He knows. Letting Edward have distance from Gordon is policy. Pre-existing policy. Drafting Edward to Tidmouth was a last-ditch effort to avoid buying a tank engine but TFC is unsurprised when it takes less than one (1) day of proximity for Edward's "laugh 'im off" strategy to fail. Proximity causes the fragile Edward and Gordon relationship to collapse immediately – which inevitably means that it's Edward who gets hurt – and so Hatt is resigned to his new expenditure. Off to the engine orphanage. 

After Percy is brought in, Gordon et. al. are suitably punished, and equilibrium is restored, there is again a long period of relative peace between 2 and 4. And it's not because Gordon has lost his capability to be an asshat to others (see "Gordon's Whistle" and "Off the Rails" and "Duck Takes Charge" and – etc.) But Edward's defences are restored and he continues to reinforce them. Again in safety at his own station, he regains his ability to laugh knowingly and to gather intel for the oppo file: 

“It sounds like Gordon,” said Edward, “and it ought to be Gordon, but Gordon never whistles like that.” / It was Gordon. / … / He screamed through the station and disappeared. / “Well!!!” said Edward, looking at Henry. / “It isn’t wrong,” chuckled Henry, “but we just don’t do it,” and he told Edward what Gordon had said. (1935-6) 

After Henry's rebuild, there is a long "dark" period – end of Depression (including Gordon's rebuild) and WWII. During the course of the war the Thin Clergyman begins (and ends) his stint as publicity director for the NWR, and in 1945 TTRE is published. I reckon the focus on Edward, Henry, and Gordon reflects that this was a high-water mark in their friendship. The qualities and values that these three actually do have in common – duty, loyalty, determination – would have been at the forefront for those years. They would have faced a lot of very difficult days together, and together they got through them. The bond might have been heightened because frankly this is the sort of circumstance I can see them at their very best but the opposite being true for James, so there might have beena bit of "the old band getting back together" and re-bonding. In particular I can see Edward and Gordon during the war years learning to better appreciate the other's strengths. In 1945 you can easily imagine 'the three railway engines' looking ahead to a happy new era and genuinely believing that all their petty squabbles are in the past, they will never have problems between them again. 

Lmao. 

Well actually, of course, life goes on. By 1952 Gordon in particular is achieving brand-new levels of asshattery in the lead up to his ditch tourism. However, the interactions between him and Edward this year support my guess that this was a period of detente: 

“I won’t go, I won’t go,” grumbled Gordon. / “Don’t be silly, don’t be silly,” puffed Edward. (1952) 

This is their most obvious "tug-of-war" moment ever, but actually the stakes here are soooooo low lol. To me this is one of their cosiest and most comfortable interactions, actually. This is a rare case where they don't sound like stuffy, old-school, vaguely-to-explicitly dysfunctional colleagues. They just sound like siblings. For once they're being fairly frank with each other. 

Wait… what's this... for twice? 

1952 was a banner year for them, guys!

The engines in the Shed were excited and wondered who would pull the Royal Train. "I'm too old to pull important trains," said Edward sadly. / "I'm in disgrace," Gordon said gloomily. "The Fat Controller would never choose me." (1952) 

This is a remarkable moment in this dynamic. It's the only time Edward ever admits vulnerability in front of Gordon. Fascinating. 

I think it's extremely relevant here that Gordon has been in dire disgrace for what appears to be at least two months by this point. His status (though soon to be restored!) is currently nuked. Gordon's been in a very amiable frame of mind towards everyone. He has never been less of a threat.

It's also extremely probable that, even if this book was published first, this scene almost certainly takes place after EtBE. So earlier this same year where Gordon hits his lowest-ever status, Edward has hit his highest since Gordon arrived – the Fat Controller has overhauled him and Edward returned to an enthusiastic hero's welcome from the other engines. Everybody's drinking their respect Edward juice just then. 

So this is a very brief period where Edward does not seem to feel any need to keep a wall up around Gordon – nor the others. 

Now, with James and especially Henry, perhaps that wall never goes up again. But with Gordon, well. Let's just enjoy the moment. Presumably the whole royal visit prolonged this high point in their relationship even a bit longer. But it won't last. 

When Gordon and Henry heard about the accident, they laughed and laughed. "Fancy allowing cows to break his train! They wouldn't dare do that to us. We'd show them!" they boasted. / Edward pretended not to mind[.] (1952) 

Backtracking to earlier the same year. Gordon's acting an ass here – but not like the asshole of the tender engines' strike affair. We're back, not to insults, but to mere boasting. But... reminder that while Edward probably feels an insult keenly (he feels everything else keenly; why not this?), it's boasting that really seems to get under his paint.

I cannot overemphasize the line He pretended not to mind. 

Edward is not a pokerfaced engine! This is not natural behavior for him! He's the "why are you sad?" "hullo Edward, you look upset" "Where is Thomas??? peepipeeeep!!" guy. This is play-it-cool stuff is behavior he developed as a shield against Gordon. 

To be sure, we also see him employ it later this same book, this time against James: "Late again?" / Edward laughed, and James fumed away. The difference is – well, the need for the life-saving chase was pretty lucky, of course ;) but the real difference is that at the end of the affair James makes a real apology. As a result, the narrative tells us (doesn't show us, which is too bad, but I'm going to trust the telling), their old friendship is restored, strengthened even. Unfortunately making a real apology seems to be something completely beyond Gordon, at least at this point. And even if it wasn't, well, Edward never directly asks for one or complains about the behavior of the other engines to their faces. I don't know if Gordon is capable of apologizing to Henry either, but at least in that case Henry is going to be very loud and clear that he wants one. (This is probably at the bottom of the success of the 3+4 friendship. Gordon needs things spelled out for him – and Henry complains and grumbles without restraint, so Gordon will always be kept up to date on exactly where they stand.) Edward doesn't do that, perhaps can't do it because it violates his "never admit weakness in front of Gordon [or, in this one case, James]" defense mechanism. His remark referencing the "Old Iron" insult hints that he's ready for an apology – and James is able to take the hint and respond appropriately. Maybe that's why we've only ever seen Edward have to use the laughing pokerface strategy with James once, and we see him using it re: Gordon many times. 

Going back to "Cows." At the end of that story Edward needles Gordon the same way he later does James. Gordon responds, not so humbly and sincerely, but arguably a form of relationship repair happens: 

"Well, well, well!" chuckled Edward, "two big engines afraid of one cow!" / "Afraid – Rubbish," said Gordon huffily. We didn't want the poor thing to hurt herself by running against us. We stopped so as not to excite her. You see what I mean, my dear Edward." / "Yes, Gordon," said Edward gravely. / Gordon felt somehow that Edward "saw" only too well. (1952)

Well… they too are restored to their status quo. 

It's just that their postwar status quo is polite, passive-aggressive points-scoring. 

Now, at least it's civil! It sounds friendly. It sounds like there's mutual respect there. But...  

It's not enmity. But you might call them frenemies.

I also need to remind us that we are reading the above quote because it is in print. Post-war, there is a new factor playing in this dynamic, a nearly-invisible but probably incredibly important one: the Thin Clergyman keeps publishing one or two books about their goings-on, every damn year. His interviews and his publications have already stirred up all sorts of old history (notably Troublesome Engines came out like two years ago, so they got to re-live that pretty recently). But now the RWS has "caught up" to current events so the engines are having the interesting new experience of an account of their doings for the year coming out, like, right away. Everyone becomes famous, but this also means that the books (and The Author's take on them) are shaping more and more people's perceptions of these guys, who have enough foreign traffic on their railway in this era that they cannot be ignorant of this effect. You know what they say about fame: it takes already imperfect relationships, and makes 'em better! 😇 Wait, no, they definitely do not say that... There is no chance that this sort of meta "reality tv show" factor didn't affect their outlooks and relationships. 

Especially in a relationship like this. Where the Thin Clergyman's account of things heavily favors Edward, and rather severely trims Gordon's wheels. 

Ooooooooooooof. I don't even want to speculate about the details of how this play out, but just bear in mind that it's. there. 

Maybe it illuminates a lot of stuff going on in Duck and the Diesel. Including this… 

“[H]e told Edward what Gordon had said. / “Don’t take any notice,” soothed Edward, “he’s just jealous. He thinks no engine should be famous but him.” (1957) 

Erm. That's a pretty blunt assessment. Especially from an engine who usually has rose-colored glasses firmly attached. 

I've never heard Edward say anything negative before about… anything. Literally anything. Let alone an anyone. 

His prior remarks about Gordon always had the air of "haha… lol… Gordon, we love him of course 🙃…" There's no laugh here, no fondness, no attempt to soften things. 

Not that this bluntness is a bad thing, in and of itself. But if the goal of Edward's defences was initially to find a way to maintain a good relationship (and I think it sincerely was), then the last example, from DatDE, is a yellow flag. It's been over thirty goddamn years now, and Edward is not growing more accepting and comfortable with Gordon – the opposite, actually. I don't hear Edward being unfair to Gordon there, precisely, but I do seem to hear markedly less tolerance than before. 

And this is interesting, the hint that Edward is losing patience with Gordon. Because Gordon is actually engaged in a lot of self-improvement. 

Gordon's Growth 

He's been on a magical journey of character development, guys. 

And it started way before his book/1952. 

We see the little crocuses of Gordon's emerging awareness that Other Engines Have Something To Offer, Too almost from the get-go. I would count the fact that (back in 1923) it's Gordon who proposes that Henry is let out of the tunnel to try pulling his train. Which. Crazy idea, really. But even crazier because Gordon's been shown to have previously spent day upon day upon day whistling "Serves you riiiiiiiiight!" 

Honestly, this is yet another hint to me that Gordon comes across as way harsher than he means to. I almost called the above "openly taunting Henry." But honestly, given his immediate and unexplained turnaround by the end of the story�� once again, I think Gordon was being judgey and blunt, but really had no idea that what he was doing was so hurtful. Or that other engines have, like, feelings. Real feelings. 

We see this pattern again and again. Gordon tells Edward "[I'll] be a splendid sight for you" and James "Ah well, we all have to begin somewhere, don't we? Run along now and fetch my coaches" and the two smaller engines, quite understandably, seem to say in their hearts oh my God, what an insufferable asshat. Meanwhile Gordon thinks he's being friendly. Or at least condescending (but, like, in the fun, benevolent way). Similarly, Gordon tells back-from-major-reconstructive-surgery Henry that he's been really letting the side down in, like, three different ways – and I bet if anyone had directly challenged him he would have sincerely been like "... What? What's the problem? I told him we were happy to have him back!" Even his spat with Henry that led to his boasting in "Off the Rails" began with what have may been genuinely mother-henning his friend. I would not be too shocked to learn that Gordon gets twinges of unease that he never examines every so often when he sees Henry with a train and has a subconscious flashback to their fears for Henry's life after the Kipper accident. Altogether, there seems to so often be a good and commendable instinct on Gordon's part – it's just that for the longest time he doesn't seem to have a clue about how to transmute those instincts into something that other engines are going to find legible. And then if he gets even slight pushback his good instincts collapse and he reverts to his childish "meee! meeeeeeee! 😤😤" instincts. 

It's a slow hard slog for him to learn how to Use His Words and Relate To Others, but we do get to see progress. And it starts early! He makes friends with James after James successfully takes the Express (1925-6) – and it's really quite a gracious overture. He, along with James, sympathises with Henry after the elephant incident (the Author, of course, explicitly denigrates this, suggests that it was purely a matter of politicking and scheming and that it would have been healthier to have mocked Henry, the way the proletariat should always be cutting each other down at the slightest opportunity, really sticking the boot in each other's neck gratis. But hell with that! Lmao. Catch me ever swallowing Management's narrative about how their striking workers banded together. Anyway, even if I granted for the sake of argument that Gordon was faking his sympathy, well, I mean. Gordon faking sympathy is still #Growth. Fake it till you make it!) He is also friendly and kind when he rescues Percy from the Big Bank of Earth – he indeed shows so much tact that he finds something to give Percy credit for, instead of saying (which would have been true) "This is all your fault, dumbass…" 

"Off the Rails" represents a bad week or so for him, but the incidents in the rest of Gordon's book don't show us a newly humbled Gordon – more just a recently re-humbled one. His behavior to James is perfectly in line with those previous incidents. His behavior to Thomas doesn't come out of nowhere either… although in that one Gordon is trialling some new material: 

“I’m sorry I was cheeky,” said Thomas. / “That’s all right, Thomas. You made me laugh. I like that. I’m in disgrace,” Gordon went on pathetically. “I feel very low.” (1952) 

We all see what's new here?

1) The Alliance. Now, Gordon putting words to it (and words that make it into the RWS) is new. The concept overall is not new; this seems to be a verbalization of an attitude that Gordon has adopted long ago. As I argued above, this is just Gordon's whole concept of friendship. It is worth pointing out, though, that he never before extended this concept to tank engines. (He could condescend to them. Not offer them alliance and equality, though. Therefore didn't get upset when Thomas didn't "understand" his concerns as A Tender Engine, either. There was no expectation of a pact. Not back then. It's only now that this changes.) 

As the next decade or so goes on, we're going to see that Gordon (and Henry) seem to continue extending this implicit alliance to every steam engine. (Diesels, after that whole disastrous introduction to them via the most devious of engines, are a sort of last barrier.) Think "We engines have our differences, but we'd never talk about them to the trucks." Think Gordon laughing with Stepney and Duck over their triumph with "the heavy train." Think of rallying around Donald and Douglas when they learn there is a threat of scrap. That concept of alliance that was once limited between the big engines (plus or minus Edward, depending) is now extended. It doesn't mean that there are never conflicts or clashes within the ranks, of course! But it does mean that there's a new attitude spreading on this railway. This book is where we see the first sign of Gordon spearheading it. I wouldn't say he gets credit for creating or implementing it all himself – but he does deserve credit in the sense that, if he had not whole-heartedly bought into this idea, it wouldn't have become entrenched on the main line. 

2) Vulnerability. I directed attention in the previous section to the way that Edward will not admit weakness in front of Gordon. Gordon has something similar… but worse. Until this point, Gordon would not admit vulnerability to anyone. At most would complain, or try to make some "objective" case as to why he is ill-used. 

That isn't what happens in this exchange. He doesn't make the slightest argument for himself, he doesn't object to being in disgrace. He simply owns, aloud, that it sucks. I feel very low. 

There are other indicators that this is not a one-off, that Gordon is simply coming to terms with the reality that he is, basically, a sensitive soul: 

One day Gordon saw [Sir Handel] shunting, and laughed. / “My Controller makes me shunt,” Sir Handel said sheepishly, “and take trucks to quarries too. I’m highly sprung, and I suffer dreadfully.” / “Our Controllers don’t understand our feelings,” sympathised Gordon. (195…5?) 

This isn't as vulnerable as the Thomas case – Gordon's not feeling Very Low in that moment, after all – but it is very intriguing. In a previous book, Sir Handel treated Gordon like they were equals, which left Gordon "speechless." As well it might! And now, when Gordon meets up with him again, he does have the upper wheel: He catches out Sir Handel not being so very express-enginey after all! But when Gordon laughs at him, Sir Handel owns up to his embarrassment. And this is exactly how you get Gordon's best side. When you're vulnerable, he stops acting the bully, and he's sympathetic. Very similar to the case from "Percy Runs Away." But this time, Gordon seems to be going a half-step further than just claiming the role of benevolent patron. "Our Controllers don't understand our feelings." He really does cement Sir Handel's claim to equal fellowship. 

It's probably not mere politeness, though, that makes Gordon sympathize. He's revealing something important here about his inner life. When Gordon is seen as his most proud and demanding, he is actually troubled and upset – putting up a very good thick front over it, though. 

We will see confirmation that he's a creature of Feels again in 1968, after he spends a whole page (that's a lot of time, in RWS-land) unable to express more than "I'm not happy" – which the other Tidmouth engines ignore or treat as a superficial complaint because, well, they just had no reason to think that Gordon would ever be like this: 

Gordon backed down on his train, hissing mournfully. / “Cheer up, Gordon!” said The Fat Controller. / “I can’t, Sir. The others say I’ve got boiler-ache, but I haven’t, Sir. I keep thinking about the Dreadful State of the World, Sir. Is it true, Sir, what the diesels say?” / “What do they say?” / “They boast that they’ve abolished Steam, Sir.” / “Yes, Gordon. It is true.” / “What, Sir! All my Doncaster brothers, drawn the same time as me?” (1968) 

*dramatic gesture* Gordon the “I Just Want a Little Goddamn Sympathy” Engine, ladies and gentlemen. 

Returning to our overall topic, this is an interesting similarity between Gordon and Edward. Despite their numerous and obvious differences, they both have a lot of Feelings – like, to the point where it’s a burden, and figuring out what to do with ‘em drives their respective character arcs. 

Being them, of course, they approach the problem from opposite directions, lol. Edward is basically toughening up, and starting to adopt the role of an elder/mentor (he does this a lot later than I gather people think he does, and in more limited circumstances. But you do gradually see him becoming less A Normal, Emotive Peer and more of A Sympathetic Listener, One Half Step Removed from Ordinary Engine Life, Giving and Not Asking For Support). Gordon has almost the reverse assignment. He's opening up, and gradually learning how to come down from his high horse and be on a level with others. 

Once Gordon learns how to use his words to express himself like a rational being, he starts being able to form much healthier bonds with others. (I didn’t say with everyone. And I didn’t say they were perfectly healthy. Just… healthier than some of his past bullshit, lol.) 

And, when Gordon gets the kind of support he needs, he becomes much less of a pain in the arse. This arc continues all the way through to the Christopher Awdry books. 

To the extent that, as of Main Line Engines, he IS still a pain in the ass… well, I think we can infer that he hasn’t yet got that support network quite in place. 

Ironically, ‘emotional support’ is a real strength of Edward’s. It’s something we’ve seen him lend generously to a laundry list of other engines… and something we never see him offer Gordon. 

For obvious reasons. Gordon burned him so many times before and (the key commonality, of course) Edward is sensitive, too. It’s always obvious that he feels things keenly and takes things hard. His character arc has a lot to do with channeling that sensitivity into action and learning to build more backbone. 

It's on a collision course with Gordon's character arc, which is about connecting with and owning his feelings and learning how to express them. 

We can see the crash coming in part to, again, the absence of what we see between them in this pre-60s era. Gordon has repeatedly proven that he can be a very good friend, when an engine is down (Percy, James, Thomas, Sir Handel). This is a great footing for Gordon to show his best and most generous side. 

Unfortunately Edward's entire strategy for dealing with Gordon since at least 1925 has been about NOT showing any weakness in front of him. A strategy he's followed with great success. 

So it's no surprise, that both characters are growing and developing, but that their relationship is growing more and more hollow. 

It's no surprise… but it is aggravating. 

And the thing that makes you want to tear your hair out the most? Gordon – Mr. Oblivious himself – has no idea anything's wrong.

And, honestly, watching Edward getting slyer and slyer about forever keeping Gordon squarely on the back foot is a joy… I’m so proud of him… even as part of me groans because, funny though this is, they could have had something even better. 

Let’s take a closer look at MLE. They’ve both spent decades now dosing on ‘character development.’ Unfortunately those arcs are on trajectory to criss-cross – and the smash-up happens here.

[canisalbus]

You've encouraged me to be much more expressive with the body launguage and general poses of my oc's. I love to draw them but was never fully satisfied; like something wasn't quite right with them. Turned out I needed to stop treating their bodies like stiff plastic toys and more like, well, actual animal bodies, which are WAY more dynamic than we realize.

I'm so delighted to hear that! I'm a big fan of expressive body language myself, sometimes you can tell so much about a character's personality and their current mood just by looking at how they occupy space and position themselves, often subconsciously.

Mammalian bodies can be surprisingly elastic and bendy, just like you said. (Personally I tend to think shoulders in particular are way more mobile than you'd initially believe, for example when you stretch your arm up it's not just your arm that moves, your clavicles, shoulder blades and all the muscles connected to them shift a little bit too and that can alter the shape of your upper torso significantly).

[fukashiin]

attractive things they do #2 !

— w. housewardens

⤷ "yuutapdatass tweeted: malleus pls stop dming me to rub our feet together as a nightly custom"

cw: hinted suggestive content for malleus, vil and leona. passive reader! enjoy ♡

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

shushing others so you can focus.

pens and textbooks alike cluster along your designated study table, accompanied by the riddle rosehearts as his knee brushes against yours wordlessly. he's utilising this free period, toiling out and about to aid you in your, regretfully, pointless revision. finals season starts to get rigid around this time, so he's more than content to lend a hand if you're willing to put in the effort. except—the students abounded at the table diagonal to yours start getting chattier than what's socially allowed in the library, so riddle calls them out without a pain. one "they're trying to focus." and their mouths are zipped. he turns back to you, unperturbed, and smiles. "shall we continue?"

SO patient with you it makes you cry.

riddle may be a bomb of ire waiting to burst at any given moment, but you believe that his patience shouldn't go uncredited. a tireless awardee, a distinguished laureate, going sleepy in your eyes, although he's wrestling to win over the urge just so you can get the hand of the concept he's cramming into your head last-minute. the scent of white petunias could really alleviate his fatigue, and you make a promise to bring over a few of those in favour for his devoutness to your study sessions. for the time being, he'll make sure you pass, for him, and for yourself.

vows that he'll outdo your stupid ex in every way.

whatever your ex did wrong, riddle will do better. that's just in his nature. he swears with each and every fibre of his body, nuzzling his head in the dip of your shoulder, that he'll love you in ways that your morose ex never bothered to think about. a muttered pledge that couldn't compare to the pious burn that lit in his eyes, like a withstanding candle refusing to go out. his confessions are firm, where he'll be the betterment that you wished for on an astral night, so please, don't put him in your doubt.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

pressing you against the nearest wall he spots to kiss you.

there are numerous attributes to this man that renders you hopelessly drunk in love. one of them is his maddening habit of pressing you flushed against the nearest surface in his sight, and the most poorly lit areas when you're in stranded in a public space to guise the both of you. he executes this with the softest hint of care, ensuring that the landing wasn't too harsh, and advancing when given the green light. wispy strands of hair stroke your skin like a feather, as fine lips come crashing down to yours in a heartbeat, in paradise. he gives you a sheer once-over, bringing up the following statement: "grab onto my vest if you need to."

breathes the confidence into you.

downgrading oneself may be in his dictionary, but it won't appear in yours. he'll clasp any opportunity to brandish his infamous eye-roll to those whose comments about you stray a bit too loud. you may be a bit thrown off by the audacity and aimlessly think about the ways of which you could live up to his—your standards. you take a bit to reorient yourself when you hear your name being called out, sluggish hands circling your waist, as you're unable to finish your thought about how beautiful he is until he asks whether you're actually sparing a single thought for those nobodies. he casually states that you're leagues better than them, whether you think so or not, and won't mind giving you a physical demonstration if you can't bring yourself to accept it yet, because he knows it.

just knows what you want without you having to tell him.

eyeing an accoutrement that could accent your main outfit? longing for a new stand-alone book after the last one you buried yourself in was a letdown? leona has the prices covered. despite your incessant denial, that you don't actually need those, he tells you that a little spending wouldn't hurt. he doesn't need verbal expression to know what'll satisfy you, the flit of your gaze is the only opening he requires. you're embarrassed by how easily you're read, but the hearty smile that blooms on your face will be all the excuses leona needs to keep spoiling you.

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

drapes his coat over your legs if you're cold.

sometimes, you swear that he has the whole "affection capability" of a wooden plank. his actions aren't entirely faultless, nor was there not a single second of err in the delivery of his speeches, but he does haul around that handy coat solely for moments like these. perched wordlessly on top of mostro lounge's signature high stools, azul rebukes your rash behaviour after spurting out in the rain without an umbrella, clothes weatherworn and all—not to mention the lounge's benevolent addition of its AC. the chills rack your body from head to toe, not noticing that a fuzzy warmth starts to blanket your legs, as azul pats it down creaseless. he says that you can pay him in return at a later date, your declining health is his utmost priority at the moment.

sets you straight when you need it.

his prized coin collection seems to blur boorishly, bleeding into the soft jazz playing in the back. the thirsting need to word-vomit all over the place, thanks to the hours of ennui you've been experiencing ever since you've trudged yourself back to azul's room, threatens to tip over the edge. he notes your irresolute responses to his (nearly) bombarding questions while he's planted over at his desk, and takes the initiative to make you open up to him. he wants you to look at him, commit his words to memory, as he caresses your shoulder under the twinkling lavender glow of his night lamp with a sure look in his eyes, guaranteeing that you're going to do fine.

has a secret album dedicated to pictures of you in his gallery.

azul tries to get accustomed to the revolutionising tricks of technology just for you. fine, if he has to pass through every single hyperlink and learn unfamiliar terms, that's on him. other than owning a booming magicam account promoting #mostrolounge, he saves a single, peculiar file in his gallery that hoards all the pictures he's taken of you when you're together, on a date or not. he can't tell if your lovely visage is the sole cause to the rapid change of pace in his heart when he's dealing with a mounting workload, but if you ever drag yourself down after taking a quick glance at them, he'll bring you right back up.

KALIM-AL-ASIM

clears the hair out of your face when its windy.

you may be a tad bit hesitant to ride the magic carpet every once in a while, but kalim's sparkling serendipity puts your heart at ease. he takes you for a midnight rendezvous, golden embroidery flashing and sheening at every twist and turn you direct with the tassels with aplomb—as he compliments. his headpieces jangle merrily like a thousand bells in the breeze, up until he notices your sight being blocked by the troublesome hair whirling all over the place. chuckle as he may, he shifts it to the side of your face with a deft hand, tracing the last strands down to your chin. "there. seeing better now?"

interlaces your hand with his in your sleep. (the physical touch GOAT)

wrinkled bedsheets rustle under the weight of your movements, coarse, and even a bit sullen as the morning ooze of sunlight drenches through your curtains, as if it prohibits you to sleep in the entire day. kalim's newfound ailment forces the two of you to be separated indefinitely, so colour yourself surprised when you feel the taut clutch of your hand in another, holding onto the remaining pieces of you that he needily ached for all night. sun-kissed fingers wove between yours like silken ribbons, his eyes pleading for you to stay, as a minute—a moment without you in his world—would be infallible torture.

purchases a piece of the moon for you.

you know those moneyed, wealthy fans who purchase a piece of the moon for their favourite idol? kalim gets influenced, and is driven by his conviction that you deserve something more extravagant than rowdy parades or a hallowed mansion (regardless of how many he wishes to buy). he takes it upon himself to surf across Lunar Registry, registering your full name and gifting its stated amount for approximately...5000 sq ft of land of the celestial body that hung high in the sky, radiating its extraterrestrial luminance on your nights of sobriety. you chide him for such an impulsive act in return, but soften up when he states, upright, that he would gift you all the stars in space if he could.

VIL SCHOENHEIT

brings you to touch him himself.

no use if you're cowardly in the bold language of physical touch, vil will simply make you oblige into feeling him, whether its physically or through minds. oftentimes you find yourself hastily straddled on his lap, him decked in his satin-sewn pajamas, as you prod and poke his hands nervously while scrutinizing every area of skin that screamed of his unyielding years of care. there's a teasing lilt that lurks behind his voice, questioning if you're seriously taking your time trying to figure him out where you're aware that he's less than patient. he seizes your hand in his grip, and leads them to his chest—shamelessly. if he needs to remind you of who you're with every day, he'll be more than committed to reel you closer to his body.

demands full eye contact.

tsking and huffing is, an unsurprisingly normal habit for him to adapt. and this includes moments of when you're shying away from him, heaving under your tense breath about how unfairly attractive he is. slick in his latest outfit tailored specifically according to his calibrated measurements. high stilettos bests your height, and he almost seems disappointed in the lack of praise he's receiving (although he knows exactly why). you feel a manicured finger tilt your chin upwards, as your teetering praises come to an abrupt halt. he smiles, demanding you to look him in the eyes throughout every second you're worshipping him.

tells you to ready yourself before he showers you in his love.

vil wants you to experience each and every slide of his nails against your feverish skin, whispering pure promises and cherishing you, affirming that you're worth much more to him than a million grand. if you ever throw yourself below the bar lower than necessary, he waves your deplorable behaviour away, and asks if you truly believe that you're tumbling down that route of thinking when you're with him. vying arms enclose your figure like a velvet blanket, surrendering your chapped lips a centimetre away from his, as his refined scent tickles your nose until he advises you to prepare yourself to revel in his untiring devotion. all your worthwhile priorities were put on hold until further notice.

IDIA SHROUD

leaning back in his chair after finishing a game.

you arose from your sleep, previously dozing off while perusing written tales of the past propped up on idia's bed. the culprit of your awakening is off cheering in the same vicinity after speed running a round and emerging victorious, unmanned, of the latest version of a first-person shooter game he recently installed on his computer. he starts to recline in his chair as it creaks off his weight, arms slackened behind his head and his sweater gliding off of his stomach, exposing the barest bit of delicate skin that indulges you to run your hands across. he emits the heaviest of sighs while he runs a sore hand through his hair, as the disorientation of your mind starts to scatter all over the place.

"i thought it'd cost more."

Idia Shroud will not have you get scammed by lowly, needling scammers surfacing online websites like newborn piranhas. his head begins to split when you spout about the official item being too pricey and that you won't be able to milk a single penny out of your derelict dorm, so he insists that he pays for the item for you himself. you send him a link of the mentioned item, and he felt like he was dragging himself through wet cement throughout the whole mire. he remains indifferent to the price overall, and goes "oh? i thought it'd cost more." with a brazen smirk etched on his face that it almost gave you a whiplash.

discreetly orders things to your front door.

quivering lips settle atop of your shoulder for the last time before he sends you back from his room after the intimate amour that had you two wondrously occupied for the entire day. you pilfer a single gummy worm from his desk, and cloak yourself further into his jacket that intoxicates every one of your senses as you streel into the night air that reeked of petrichor. your steps begin to feel like bricks, whilst your eyes were betraying your wish to stay alert. as you approach the front door welcoming you to your dorm, you gauge the sight of a small box placed on the carpet with a small note plastered on it that follows the lines of "for you, pretty thing."

MALLEUS DRACONIA

cushioning your head with his hand.

bony fingers sail through the pleasance of your hair, twirling each and every tendril that it meets and bringing them to his defined, pillowy lips. amusement cracks through the ominosity that sits in his eyes, shielded by his bangs as he beams a smile your way before grasping your shoulders in a split second. he pushes you down onto the mattress with a thud, cushioning your head with a single hand, and tells you to save your yelps and complaints before he endows you with the ability to sing for him all night. he reassures you that he does in fact, know how to secure the deadbolt on the door.

doesn't bother with any potential contenders whatsoever.

malleus but it's "okay, and?" personified. yes, he's heard of the towering sovereign in the neighbouring country who was recently appointed. yes, he's heard of the lucrative salesman nearby situated in town whose attention you captured after visiting his booth. yes, he's heard of Leona Kingscholar. but he could not give Two (2) flying tamagotchis about whoever has been swaying your way, tossing cheap and low-grade courtship in an attempt to earn your affection. he notes that he does have some cheesy pick-up lines of his own to use, but unlike the others, he knows you inside and out. he has no use for the mainstream ways of love and is eager to please you to his own liking, further revealing the unparalleled reverence he maintains for you and only you.

brushes his fingers over your collarbone.

once you step across the threshold of his bathroom, adorned in his nightwear, malleus can't help but dim the lights with the flick of his finger after catching the sight of your collarbone that peaks out from underneath. he's in front of you the moment you blink, and hums in response to your addled self. he brings his ice-tipped fingers to your neck, padding it with caution, and sliding them down to the V-shaped collar that hides the rest of your warmth. stark fingers ghost over the structure of your collarbone, and malleus asks whether you think the gibbous moon will be kind enough as to not set so early.

[latenightreadingpdf]

Healing - James Potter

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: James Potter has made a habit of visiting you in the hospital wing for every one of his "injuries".

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The hospital wing smelled of clean linens and healing potions, the quiet hum of magic hanging in the air as you tidied the space. You had always been drawn to healing, and your time as Madame Pomfrey’s apprentice had only solidified your desire to make it your career. It was a quiet day, which you didn’t mind; the calm allowed you to focus on your studies.

Then, the doors burst open.

Madame Pomfrey appeared, bustling in alongside a stretcher that levitated James Potter. He looked worse for wear, his jersey rumpled and streaked with dirt, his glasses askew, and a pained expression on his face.

"Another Quidditch injury, of course," Madame Pomfrey sighed as the stretcher lowered onto one of the beds. She turned to you, offering a kind smile. "Y/N, you’ll handle this one. James, meet Y/N, my apprentice. She’ll be taking care of you today."

James, despite his discomfort, managed a grin. "Pleasure to meet you, Healer-in-Training."

You smiled softly, pulling a chair to sit beside him. "The pleasures all mine James. Now, what happened?"

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Got shoved off my broom during the game. Didn’t land quite right. My leg’s killing me."

You nodded, already jotting down notes in your leather-bound notebook. "You probably a pulled muscle when you landed. Let me grab a few things to help with that. Stay put—I’ll be right back."

As you walked to the supply cupboard, you heard a commotion behind you.

"Prongs!"

You turned slightly to see three boys barreling into the room: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. All wore matching looks of worry, though Sirius's dramatic flair made him the loudest.

"Are you okay?" Sirius asked, rushing to James’s bedside. "Do you need me to carry you everywhere now? I will, you know."

James groaned, half in pain, half in exasperation. "I’m fine, Pads. It’s just a pulled muscle."

Peter and Remus settled into chairs nearby, though Sirius decided to climb onto the bed, squishing himself beside James.

When you returned, your arms full of salves and potions, you stopped short at the sight of the chaotic group. You’d expected only James, but now there was a whole audience.

Clearing your throat softly, you stepped closer. "Hello, everyone."

The Marauders turned to you, and Sirius gave you an overly enthusiastic wave. "Oh, hello! Are you here to save our James?"

"That’s the idea," you replied, amused. Then you turned your attention to Sirius. "But I’ll need some room to work, so I’m afraid you’ll have to get off the bed."

Sirius pouted dramatically but complied, sliding off and promptly sitting on Remus’s lap instead.

"Really, Padfoot?" Remus muttered, though he didn’t push him off.

"Thank you," you said with a small smile before turning back to James. "Alright, I’m going to apply some salves and potions to help the muscle heal. Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable."

James nodded, watching you with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and appreciation. You worked quickly but gently, your touch steady and practiced.

"That should do it," you said, stepping back and packing up your supplies. "How does it feel?"

James stretched his leg cautiously, a grin spreading across his face. "Loads better already, actually. Thanks, Y/N. You’re a miracle worker."

"Happy to help," you replied, handing him a small jar of salve. "Apply this if it starts to bruise or feel sore again. Do you think you’re okay to walk back to your dorm, or would you like to stay a bit longer?"

"I’ll be fine," James said confidently, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Take it easy," you warned lightly, your tone soft but firm.

James smiled up at you, his warm hazel eyes meeting yours. "Don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll come straight back, I wouldn’t mind seeing you again."

Sirius let out a mock gasp. "James Potter, are you flirting with the healer?"

James’s ears turned pink, but he shrugged nonchalantly. "Can’t blame me for appreciating good company."

You chuckled, shaking your head as you moved to tidy up. "Take care, James."

As the Marauders escorted him out, Sirius called back over his shoulder. "You’re always welcome at our dorm, Y/N! Just say the word!"

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

It had become a running joke among your fellow students: James Potter’s newfound devotion to the hospital wing. Whether it was a phantom ache, a paper cut, or the slightest shove from Sirius, he was there, demanding your attention. You couldn’t say you minded too much—it was hard not to find his antics endearing.

Today, however, was different.

When James walked in, his usual playful swagger was replaced with something a bit more subdued. A dark purple bruise marred his cheek, and his glasses were slightly askew. You immediately put down the textbook you were studying and stood to greet him.

"James," you said, concern lacing your voice. "What happened?"

He gave you a sheepish grin as he settled onto the nearest bed. "Ran into a bit of trouble with some Slytherins. Just a little scuffle—nothing to worry about."

You frowned, pulling your stool closer to him. "A little scuffle? This bruise says otherwise."

Grabbing a jar of salve, you dipped your fingers into the cool, minty substance and turned back to him. Gently, you cupped his face, tilting it so the light caught the bruise.

James froze, his hazel eyes wide as he looked up at you. For once, he was completely still, not a single cheeky comment slipping from his lips.

"This might sting a little," you murmured, focusing on applying the salve. Your thumb brushed along his cheekbone with practiced care, and James let out a soft sigh, though you weren’t sure if it was from relief or something else entirely.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but notice the way he was looking at you—like you were the only person in the world. It made your heart do an annoying little flip, but you pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Is there anything else you need?" you asked softly, your hands still cradling his face.

James hesitated for a moment before his lips curled into a grin, mischief sparkling in his eyes. "Actually, yeah. There is one thing."

You tilted your head, worried there might be another injury. "What is it?"

He leaned just the slightest bit closer, pointing to his cheek, his grin turning playful. "Aren’t you going to kiss it better?"

You blinked, taken aback for a moment, before a laugh escaped your lips. ��James Potter, you’re impossible."

"Hey, it might help," he said, his grin widening. "You’re the healer—you’d know best, wouldn’t you?"

Rolling your eyes, you tapped his nose lightly. "I think the salve will do just fine."

He sighed dramatically, sitting back against the bed. "Worth a shot."

You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile as you packed up your supplies. "Let me know if the swelling doesn’t go down in a day or two. And try to stay out of trouble for once."

"No promises," he said, hopping off the bed. Before leaving, he paused by the door, turning back to flash you a boyish grin. "Thanks, Y/N. You’re the best."

As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. James Potter might have been impossible, but he was also undeniably charming.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[phas3d]

Can you do slytherin boys head canons with ravenclaw reader who info dumps randomly

You're Smart || Slytherin Boys

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: none

contains :: draco, tom, mattheo, theodore, lorenzo

summary :: you have a habit of saying fun facts and explaining everything in great detail while they listen - it's not super ravenclaw based but u can imagine it :) THANK U FOR REQUESTINGG RAAAHHHH - 🐍 :: masterlist!

DRACO MALFOY

Hated it at first since it felt like you were trying to on up him

Would start to research more topics on his own to make sure you can't one up him on it

Turns this into a competition that's completely one sided for no reason LMAO

Stays up all night up just to learn the most niche and useless information of all time

But somehow, you always know more than him and beat him

Gets so frustrated by this because he can't stand not being the smartest know-it-all in the room

So he decides to try and make YOU seem stupid

Asks you super hard questions that no one could possibly know

But for some reason, you know it

This drives him even crazier cause he can't win LOL

But overtime, he grows to find it really useful and cute at times

He likes to see how passionate you are on different things

And he does like smart girls, so he starts to see it as a pro

TOM RIDDLE

Super annoyed by the fun facts and random info at the start

Mainly because he probably already knows it or he doesn't care for it

Because if he was interested, he would have searched it up already

So in his eyes, it seems like you're call him too lazy and dumb to want to search something up

So he tells you to shut up right away when he knows you're going to info dump

But sometimes, he genuinely doesn't know and he hates admitting that

He's super bad at social interactions, online culture, etc, so he does need help with those

But he's too egotistical to admit that

So he starts to just "ignore you" when you info dump

You'll explain the deep and complicated lore of Trisha Paytas and once you're done he'll say, "Huh? Oh I was spacing out."

But in reality, he was listening in depth and taking mental notes

So he starts to use this to his advantage since you do describe every very well

He starts to silently train you in a way

For example, he'll place a group of items in front of you, like a blue shirt next to a Slytherin hoodie

This will then remind you of Alvin and the Chipmunks so you dive into the deep lore of each actor

MATTHEO RIDDLE

Doesn't really care much at first since he's always been a bit dumber than other kids

He assumed everything you were saying was common knowledge and that he was just dumb

But when others start to mention how smart you are, he's surprised

He has a smart s/o :O

Well, he always knew that but to find out that you were smarter than a majority of people gave him a confidence boost

Starts to rely on you for every single question he has possible

Even if he knows the answer, he just wants to see if he's right

He likes it when you info dump to him

Surprisingly, he's a really good listener when it comes to you

Loves listening to you talk for hours on end

THEODORE NOTT

He's not much of a talker, so having you there to info dump on him is really amusing

You're like a walking podcast for him to listen to

Likes to ask you questions too so you can switch topics

He's super proud of seeing how smart you are

Theo is pretty smart, the smartest out of the Slytherin boy group at least (Which isn't that hard) (Tom doesn't count LOL)

So it's nice for him to finally talk to someone that doesn't ask dumb ass questions every 5 minutes

It's like switching his brain off so he can just listen to you talk and explain

It makes him feel safer with you to know that you're so smart and into so many things

He also loves it because it makes it so easy to buy you a gift since he knows exactly what you like :)

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

You're both kinda in the same boat which is amazing and bad

He's also into info dumping and telling you about the niche history he found out

But so are you, so you two end up clashing and having different ideas

Like for example, you were both info dumping about the brand new live actions Avatar the Last Air Bender and you both had drastically different thoughts

Lorenzo thought a lot of it was inaccurate but you were defending it with your life

But in the end, you both just shut up because you accidentally switch topics mid way

He loves asking you questions about niche topics so he doesn't have to research them himself

Likes listening to you talk while he eats

Sometimes he'll facetime you while he has dinner so he can listen to you talk

And sometimes he even calls you before bed so you can talk him to sleep :)

thank you for reading ! 🐍 :: masterlist!

[oikasugayama]

HOW HE F--KS YOU pt. 3

pt. 1 Dazai, Ranpo, Ango | pt. 2 Chuuya, Kunikida, Tachihara | pt. 3 Poe, Atsushi, Fukuzawa

SMUT AGAIN, gn!reader but multiple anatomies mentioned, MDNI

Poe

He fucks you submissively.

He whimpers. He whines. He cries. It just feels so good, he can't help it. He loves when you press him down into the mattress and fuck him. The weight of you on his hips holding him down while your cock/strap buries in his ass makes his whole body burn and tingle. When you lay on him and buck your hips repetitively, even if only shallowly, it makes him mewl and whine oh so prettily. He cums all over himself and the bed and makes such a mess and you tsk and tell him he has to clean it up before he's allowed to make you cum.

He was incredibly nervous the first time you started to get intimate. He almost backed out with tears in his eyes, saying he was just too nervous and he wasn't sure if he could please you, but you reeled him back into your arms and reassured him that you would help him figure things out. "I'll take good care of you, precious boy," you whispered, sending a shiver down his spine. You felt his erection against your leg and knew he liked you taking the lead, so you sank to your knees and once he gave you the green light you sweet talked him between sucking him dry.

He's only comfortable having sex at home, either yours or his. He's a creature of habit and of safe spaces, so he has to be somewhere he's very comfortable to start taking his clothes off and getting down. He gets more confident as time goes on and as he gets more practice, but he's still quite the sub for you.

He's calling you mommy if you identify as female. you can tell him to knock it off if you want.

When he takes the lead, he's very vanilla. He wants to eat you out and/or suck you dry, he wants to finger you and watch you squirm, he wants to fuck you and cum inside and tell you he'll make a pretty baby with you, though he always reassures you afterwards that he can pay for whatever necessary aftercare you need to avoid pregnancy, if that's what you require.

Atsushi

He fucks you obsessively.

If he could drown in your pussy/ass he would. He's diving in there headfirst every chance he gets. He loves when you wear dresses and skirts because he has easier access to your cunt. He'll dive under your skirt, tongue already out, lapping at your pussy like a dog drinking water. He gets so over excited that his hips are bucking even without anything for him to rut against.

When he fucks you doggy style, he fucks you doggy style. His arms are locked around your waist TIGHTLY, his back arched, he's panting and he's humping you as fast as he can, filling the air with obscene slapping sounds, moans, huffs, and whines. He thanks you for the use of your cunt/ass, telling you over and over "it's so good, thank you thank you, fuck, you're so good, baby please, I wanna cum, please can I cum?"

he! needs! praise! he needs you to tell him he's good, that he's making you feel good, that you're gonna cum because of him. He needs pets and kisses and your hands running through his hair. when he's feeling down and asks you for sex, you know the best position is lying on your sides facing each other, arms around each other, you kissing him and playing with his hair while he thrusts slowly, occasionally switching his cock for his hand to pleasure you then going back to his dick when his orgasm isn't so pent up. He likes to make these sweet sessions long because they're his favorite.

he likes sucking on your tits. even if you dont have any, he likes playing with your nipples. if your boobs are big and/or squishy, he's pawing at them every chance he gets, and he wants them in his mouth bad.

Fukuzawa

He fucks you expertly.

He's a good bit older than you, so he has more experience. After all, he's a lover not a fighter ;)

He makes everything feel special and sensual. He's the type to set up candles and gentle music and give you a full body massage before the first time you have sex. His hands gliding across your body, sneaking closer and closer to your crotch until finally his fingers are slipping inside/wrapping around you, making you moan his name out softly. he'll suck on your breasts, eat you out for a few minutes, and then fuck you (very responsibly with a condom) with confident, measured thrusts. he knoooows what he's doing ;)

He may occasionally joke that he's an old man, but he's still very fit and spry. No weak knees here, he's climbing on top of you or holding you up while having sex just like a "younger" guy would do.

He's theoretically against having sex anywhere that isn't home because it's very disrespectful, but sometimes his urges overtake his rational mind and he may ask you to come to the office in the middle of the day and it may or may not end up with you riding him in his office while the ADA employees are none the wiser on the other side of the door.

If you ever ask him to call you names or degrade you, he'll sternly tell you no, he doesn't like calling you names or being mean to you. But if you call him daddy... especially if he's already inside of you... he's getting a rush of arousal so strong it makes him cum instantly. he'll tell you not to do it again while blushing and secretly hoping that you will, so you hold onto it like a secret weapon. when you want him but he's busy, all you have to do is send him a tit pic and say "waiting for you, daddy <3" and he'll be home ASAP and bricked

[felixknow]

Pathetic!

han x reader/ (afab but one comment could be read as amab), friends to lovers, teasing, mutual pining/lust, blowjob, premature ejac., pathetic!han, loser!han and confident but simp!reader, 3k

Based on how Han... Adjusts... Himself...

Your friend Jisung has a… peculiar habit. 

You first noticed it when you agreed to a silly dinner party with your old trainee friends. Everyone decided to dress up in their prettiest dresses and most handsome suits to go to McDonalds at 10 p.m. and even though the food was greasy and near-tasteless, the company of your friends made it one of your favorite meals you’d ever had.

It was when everyone was cleaning up and getting ready to leave that you first noticed Han’s odd habit.

You were the last two to get up from the table. Most of your friends had already drifted toward the trash cans and the exit, and as you stood you watched as Han, who was not paying attention to you, unabashedly grabbed his penis through his pants and manually readjusted it.

Your eyes widened and you turned on your heel away from him, shocked but vowing to yourself that you’d never tell a soul you saw it, and sure you’d never see it again.

Until the next time it happened.

And the next.

And the next.

Considering the years you’ve spent in this friendship, it feels odd that you’ve only noticed this habit recently, but maybe he’s having some sort of issue, perhaps? Maybe his shaving routine has changed, maybe he’s wearing new underwear, maybe he caught something-- you don’t know and it doesn’t feel like your business at first. Or at the second, or third, or fourth occurrence.

It’s when you start to catch onto what makes him adjust himself so blatantly that you realize that it is your business. In fact, it starts to feel like it’s because of you.

There’s the time in the pool with your friends where you watch him off to the side in the shallow end readjust himself after you finish a splashing war with two of your friends, which somehow manages to nearly knock your top off.

There’s the summer sleepover where your tank top was lower cut than you intended, and through the glow of the firepit you could just make out the shape of Han squirming, his hand firmly latched between his thighs for a few moments.

There’s the time you and several of your mutual friends attend a SKZ fan meeting to support your favorite superstar, and sitting on stage Han tries his best to be casual as he adjusts himself moments after excitedly waving to your group, but boy is it obvious to your trained eye.

Almost every time you’ve seen Han in the past few months, there’s been a moment when his hand inevitably ends up wrapped around his cock, despite his pants being in the way.

It always comes after the lingering looks. It happens after the slight flick of his tongue across his lips. The prolonged eye contact. The rosiness of his cheeks when you come too close. The dramatic flair of him draping himself across you, or the grabby hands as he asks you to cuddle with him, or the feather-light touches on your back or your hip as he passes you in a narrow space.

There are two things you’re certain of at this point in your friendship:

Han Jisung is attracted to you, and you are so, so attracted to him.

Once this becomes fact in your mind, the game begins.

How long does it take to get Hanji to touch himself?

On some nights, it’s hours. On some, it’s minutes. Once it was even the very first thing he did when you walked in the room (maybe because you’d spent the previous night partying with him and may have drunkenly danced with him one too many times, or maybe it was because you’d texted him that morning that you’d had fun with him and want to go dancing with him again, or maybe it was because it was another movie night and you’d come in short pajama shorts and a t-shirt with a “fashionable” rip across your chest).

The second phase of the game starts after that night.

When will Hanji notice that I’m trying to bother him on purpose?

(The answer is “not until you tell him outright,” but we’ll get there.)

You have fun playing with him. At first it’s acting like you didn’t realize he was behind you, so you back up until your butt touches his hip or his crotch. Then it’s accidentally sitting so close that you nearly sit on his lap. One time it’s having “accidentally” put on too much perfume before getting in the car with Hannie after he offered to drive you to your friend’s place for dinner. Another it’s wearing a white top on a day when you know it’ll be rainy, and “accidentally” forgetting your umbrella so you show up to Han’s apartment with a mostly see-through top.

Each time you catch it, either from the corner of your eye or while outright staring at him. His hand goes down while he’s either looking away or trying to act casual. He grabs his penis through his pants so fully that you can see the complete outline of it as he shifts it to the side or pushes it down or otherwise readjusts.

It makes you wet, being so close yet so far from seeing it. Sometimes when he grabs it you swear you can see the defined tip or the swell of his balls pressing on the fabric as well, but it’s over as quickly as it began. Sometimes just the press of his hand down on his lap like a nervous little virgin unsure of how to control himself turns you on so bad that you’re squirming in your seat.

Oh, god how you’d fuck him. How you’d wreck his entire world. If only he wasn’t so god damned oblivious.

No matter how many times you try to catch his eye and pointedly look down to his crotch, or how many times you pull your top lower while directly in his line of sight, or even shake your ass when you know he’s watching-- he says nothing. He does nothing.

You know he notices. Oh, how he notices. His face turns red. He pulls a pillow into his lap. His voice cracks. He can’t make eye contact with you. He stutters. He stares at your chest when he thinks you aren’t looking.

And he wants, oh he wants so bad.

It finally comes to a head on the night you know for absolutely 100% certain that you’ve given him a boner.

It’s a game night with two of Han’s fellow SKZ members. You’re sitting on the floor in front of the couch and Han is behind you (at your design, of course). One of his legs is under him, and one of his legs is hooked over your shoulder. You keep your arm locked around it while you play Mario Kart, claiming that you need it because of the way you’re sitting. “I can’t hold my arm up at the right angle without it,” you whine. “I have to keep my controller all the way up here--” you gesture to holding the controller at your chest level rather than in your lap-- “otherwise the sensor doesn’t pick up.”

No one calls your bluff-- you’re lucky that when Felix handed you the controller he said that it was the finicky one that didn’t like to cooperate all the time. Thank you, Felix.

Every time you win, you throw your arms up and reach for Hannie behind you. He either gives you his hands and he leans his head down and you pet his hair. When you lose, you turn your head to his knee (or, after he shifts lower in his seat, his inner thigh) and nibble or just rub your face as if you’re hiding it in shame.

Within 10 races you know you have Han wrapped around your finger. Any time you turn your head to look back at him, he’s already looking at you. He can likely see straight down your top, and the combination of that with you touching his thigh leads to him needing a pillow in his lap to prevent the whole group from noticing his little, ahem… problem.

And then comes the break.

“Should we pause and get dinner?” Minho asks

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you chime in. “But the issue is I really want pizza from that one really good place that refuses to do delivery. Like, come on, your orders get mixed up a couple of times and you require ID to pick up food? It’s the 21st centuryyyyy,” you whine, throwing your head back against Han’s thigh.

“Oh, pizza sounds so good,” Felix says with a satisfied groan. “I can go get it if someone comes with.”

“Mm,” Minho acknowledges, climbing to his feet. “Let’s go. We can order on the way.”

After a brief discussion of what everyone wants, the two clear the apartment, and then…

Han clears his throat and shifts in his seat.

“Do you wanna play another round while they’re out?”

You put your controller down and spin around so you’re sitting on your knees, now face-first at Han’s crotch-- or rather, the pillow on top of his crotch.

“No, honestly Hanji, I’m so fucking sick of waiting.”

“What--” You grab the pillow and try to move it, and his eyes widen, his face a pure expression of shock, and he fights you to keep it in place. “No, no! I need that-- Y/n, stop!”

“Hanji, when are you going to tell me that I turn you on? I’m so tired of waiting.”

“You-- What? How did you--”

“Am I wrong?” you ask, finally letting go of the pillow and letting him hold it. You give him your best doe eyes, blinking up at him innocently. “That’s what you’re hiding, right? Because I keep touching you and because you can see my boobs, right?”

Han tries to say something but he flounders, barely making a full sentence.

“Hanji, I’m tired of you teasing me,” you whine. “You touch your penis in front of me all the time. When’s it my turn?”

“Y/N--” he gasps. You take the chance to grab the pillow once more and yank, swiftly removing it and throwing it across the room. His legs come up and his hands go down-- he tries to cover himself and hide, but you see the tent in his pants and even notice the dark spot forming on the crotch of his gray sweatpants.

“Oh, Hanji, you poor thing. Isn’t that throbbing?” you ask, sliding one hand up his leg, gently coaxing him to relax and slightly open his legs for you again. “I know mine is. Why don’t you let me take care of it?”

“Your… You’re…?”

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered. You’re such a sweet little thing. I could just eat you up.” You keep gently touching him, running your fingertips up and down his calf until he rests his leg on the ground again, now only his hands covering his tent.

“How long have you liked me, Hanji? You should have told me. I’ve been trying to encourage you, but I don’t think you’ve caught on, have you?”

“No,” he admits softly. “I thought… I thought maybe you liked that I was fawning over you?” he says unsurely. “I noticed a few times you were really close to me on purpose…”

“Yeah?” you ask, gently touching his hand while lying your cheek on his thigh. “Like when?”

“Like that time you were talking to me in the kitchen and then you bent down to get something and touched my… um, touched me with your butt. It was straight out of a movie.”

You giggle and manage to intertwine some of your fingers with his gently.

“You could have said something, you know. You blushed so dark I thought your head was going to burst. You were so red.”

“I was afraid you felt my dick through my pants,” he says defensively, but softly, almost like he’s afraid to speak too loud and burst the bubble that surrounds the two of you. “I was so hard.”

“I get you hard a lot, huh? Pretty much every time I see you I catch you touching yourself.”

“What?!” he asks, eyes wide, once again in that delicious look of shock.

“You have to readjust yourself. I see you. It’s really obvious the way you grab it, you know.” You voice drops to a whisper as you separate his hands and finally get a good look at his crotch. “It’s kind of…” your hand reaches out slowly, giving him the chance to stop you, but he doesn’t. “Like this,” you say, wrapping your hand around his shaft through his pants. Instead of trying to push his dick down or to the side, you drag your hand up until it rolls over the tip and off of him entirely.

Han moans, lifting his hips up slightly to chase the feeling of your hand. You smirk but try to bite your lip to hide it, wanting to keep the innocent yet frisky facade you’re upholding.

“No,” you say softly, wrapping your hand around his cock again. “I think it was actually more like this.” You twist your wrist slightly as you move down his shaft then back up, once again sliding your hand over his tip. This time you press your palm against it, slightly pushing his dick to the side.

“Hmm,” you hum, licking your lips. “No, that’s not quite right. Can you show me, Hanji?”

“Huh?” he asks through a shuddering breath.

“Show me how you grab yourself, Hanji. And then I wanna do something for you.”

“Okay…”

Han’s shaky hand reaches down and he grabs his dick, pushing it down and to the side. He shifts his hip, tries to act casual while trying to tuck his boner into a tighter area of his underwear but it does nothing to hide his erection once he releases it.

“Mm, always seeing you touch yourself has made me so jealous. And you get to play with it whenever you want. It’s my turn to touch it, isn’t it? Can I touch it, Hanji?

“You already did, to be fair,” he says, his normal cheeky self still shining through his nerves. “But, I mean, yeah… if you want to you can do whatever… if you want… I mean… What do you want to do?”

“What do I want?” you ask, smiling up at him. “Oh, Hanji, if we did everything I wanted, no one would hear from you for weeks.”

His face reddens again and he laughs softly.

“If I had known we were thinking the same thing, I would have asked you to do this a lot sooner…” he admits. A wide grin spreads across your face and you hum happily, tugging on his sweatpants.

“Let me suck your cock, Hanji. I’ve been waiting so long.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” he says, lifting his hips and pulling both his pants and his underwear down swiftly. His cock springs free, bouncing a little from the movement, and you have to bite back the “aww” that comes up your throat. It’s just so fucking cute with its pink tip and its honey shaft like the rest of his pretty skin and it looks so suckable and instead of saying anything you hum happily as you greeidly suck him into your mouth, barely giving him a second to adjust to the feeling before you’re bobbing your head and trying to gather as much spit in your mouth as possible to give it a good, wet glide.

Han moans loudly and unabashedly, throwing his head back and sinking into the couch, fully letting you consume him.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, hips jerking up slightly. “Oh, fuck! Wait, wait, wait,” he says, sitting back up and gently guiding your head off of him. “Y/N, I think I almost came,” he whines, and your jaw drops.

“Hanji, that was fifteen seconds. That wasn’t even a minute.”

“I know,” he whines, chest heaving as he pouts and tries to calm down. “I don’t know, it just hit me and I felt like leaking.”

“-Leaking?”

“That’s what it felt like!”

“Hanji, don’t tell me you call it ‘leaking’ when you cum.”

“No! I don’t! I’m just saying this one felt like a leak like I was just gonna let it all down. You were sucking me like a straw and it was just gonna all come out.”

You stare at him for a few silent seconds and then, in shock at your own revelation, say “You are so wimpy. And pathetic. And it makes me so fucking horny.”

Han laughs just as much as he whines, throwing his head back and covering his face with both his hands.

“Y/Naaaaahhhhhh,” he whines. “You can’t insult me and then say it makes you horny. I don't know what to thiiiiink.”

“Think about my pussy, your bed, and hopefully the nearest condom.”

Han peeks at you through his hands for a few seconds and then nods frantically, trying to sit up and get to his feet.

“Okay, okay, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s go! What are we still doing out here?!”

As Han gets up, his sweatpants and underwear nearly trips him while he tries to step past you. You giggle, covering your mouth and watching his naked butt as he rushes down the hall to his room.

Oh, god, how you’re attracted to him.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

Chapter IV: Never Going Back Again 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Aemond answers your performance of 'Dreams' by singing yet another newly composed song during rehearsal. This time, you can't contain the rage he elicits within you.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, smut, hatesex, rough sex, oral (m. receiving), spanking, pussy slapping, fingering, P in V, choking, degradation, manhandling

Word count: 4880 A/N: Thank you always to my love Justine, @theoneeyedprince for helping me by having a look at the edited version 🩵

Bringing Aemond’s old hoodie on tour feels like harbouring a shameful secret.

You’d felt weak enough when you spontaneously brought it with you when you moved out of your shared flat. And when you realised it was the only thing that could make you fall asleep any time anxiety weighed heavy on your chest.

So when you packed your suitcases to tour the Seven Kingdoms, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to leave it behind. But the shame of still needing it; still needing the memory of him, resulted in you storing it away somewhere no one would see it, least of all yourself. 

Until you sought it out. 

You wake up still curled on the side of the large bed, Aemond’s scent encompassing you.

How long will his smell linger on the fabric?

Soon, it’d disappear and you’d have no trace of him left. 

You reach Winterfell the next day. Luckily, you’re allowed a small break before the next performance, leaving you some time to explore the city and rehearse with the band. 

You spend your day sightseeing in the capital of the North; grabbing coffee with Helaena and window shopping around the bustling city centre. 

Despite the quick friendship you had established after joining the band, your relationship with Helaena has become greatly strained following your separation from Aemond. 

You know she hates the tension and the fighting. She has a habit of closing off and retreating whenever she feels uncomfortable, and having two band members in an infected conflict is not something she finds easy to navigate. You still love her like a sister, and you know Aemond holds her dear as well, so you try to spare her from it all, even if your attempts aren’t always successful. 

“We’ll be late for the rehearsal if we don’t leave soon”, you tell her as she’s eyeing a pair of sparkly firefly hair clips. She nods absentmindedly in response and picks up the clips, 

“I know, I know. Let me just get these”, she answers with a smile, heading towards the register.  

Helaena pays for the newest addition to her endless collection of insect trinkets, and you leave for the venue you’ll be performing at in two days; Winterfell Arena. 

This is going to be your biggest show yet. 

When your management booked the arena you were scared of not selling enough tickets to justify such a large space. But you’d been pleasantly surprised by the interest shown in the North. The last tickets had just sold, and it would be your largest audience to date. 

Entering the arena, you’re taken aback by its sheer size. You can’t believe you’ll be performing in a place like this, and to a sold-out crowd. You’re suddenly hit with an overwhelming sense of nauseating anxiety. Will you be able to give them a worthy show? 

Will you be good enough? 

The constant self doubt that plagues your mind had been easier to handle when Aemond was by your side. He’d always been your biggest supporter; chasing away all your inner demons with his reassurance. 

He always made you feel better. 

Now, you were left alone and with nothing but doubt keeping you company. You miss having someone to soothe you by your side. 

Miss having someone to confide in. 

To rely on. 

The stage’s larger than any you’d ever been on before. You try to shake the nerves taking over you, but it’s hard not to get overwhelmed by the size of the hall. It’s intimidatingly large. 

You and Helaena begin to set up and prepare for tonight’s rehearsal, and Jace, Erryk and Aemond drop in one by one to join. You’d expected the latter to have his usual gorgeous companion on his arm, but he surprises you by showing up alone, five minutes after the time you’d all agreed upon and without saying a word. 

It isn’t like him to show up late, and you can feel the stress radiating from him, though he stays quiet. 

You know he’s been working on yet another song for the new album, and today he mentioned in the group chat that he’d like to play it for you during rehearsal. 

He’d sent you the name; ‘Never Going Back Again’. 

Is it about his relationship with his grandfather?

When Aemond told Otto Hightower that he wanted to quit working for him at Oldtown Solicitors in order to fully focus on his music career, his grandfather had nearly cut all ties to him. 

In a particularly weak moment, he’d even given you a call, insinuating that you were a bad influence on his grandson,

“I let him entertain this silly band for the sake of Helaena and Aegon! I even let him do a minor in history at the university I financed. And yet, he meets you and suddenly wants to give that all up to record an album? Talk some sense into him, won’t you?” 

Aemond had been furious when you told him about the call from Otto, making it clear to his grandfather that he’d never go back to working with him or in property law. He’d been prepped and groomed since birth; the perfect heir to carry on the Hightower legacy. Not as flaky or unreliable as his older siblings. Always the dutiful son. 

Aemond moves across the stage to grab his bag, pulls out a water bottle and places a tablet on his tongue.  

You realise he must’ve been late due to the pain of his eye injury flaring up again. Despite his recent awful behaviour, you can’t help but feel bad for him. 

When you first started dating, you’d been scared of asking about his eye. Evidently, it was a sore subject, and you didn't want to pry. Eventually, he told you about the car accident he was in when he was 10. 

He’d been in the backseat of the family's car with his nephews, engaging in a petty fight. As the driver tried to de-escalate the situation in the back, he lost control of the vehicle, crashing it into a large tree by the side of the road. 

The only casualty from the crash was Aemond’s left eye. A piece of metal from the car had come loose during the crash and flung back through the window, creating a scar going from his forehead down to his cheek; robbing him of his vision and permanently causing him pain. 

When you started dating, you made sure to learn his routine and preferences, to make it easier and less unbearable for him when the nerve damage caused intense pain to shoot through his head. 

You still remember. 

He likes the room cool. He always lies on top of the duvet on his back, letting the chill air sooth his aching skin. Unless you’re there. Then he used to lie on his stomach next to you; one armed wrapped around your waist and his head on your chest. You’d thread your fingers through his silky hair with the softest of touches, stroking his head until the pain killers drag him into slumber. 

It had been in one of those moments that he’d first told you he loves you. 

You look over at Aemond as he makes his way towards his guitar, picking it up and experimentally playing a few chords to check the volume. 

Did he manage the pain by himself now? 

Or did he lay his head on Alys’ chest, hugging her? 

Does she run her fingers through his hair? 

Does she let them trace the outlines of the beautiful sharpness of his face? 

Over his cupid's bow, nose bridge, cheekbones?

Does he lay his head on her chest, letting the drum of her heart lull him to sleep? 

Does he allow her to come as close?

You go through the set list, discussing the order of both your older and newer songs. 

Jace, Helaena and Erryk all praise your performance of Dreams, asking you to perform it each night moving forward. 

Helaena, standing next to her brother, leans towards him and mumbles, “Your back-up vocals really make the chorus shine”, while offering him a gentle smile. 

Aemond replies with a hum and moves to stand by one of the microphones with his guitar in hand. His usual stoic yet quietly commanding self returns when he starts to play without any explanation or introduction, fingers plucking the strings with precision. He sings, 

‘She broke down and let me in’ 

During recording, you’d briefly glanced at the words in the recording studio, huffing a laugh at his audacity. They definitely sting more on stage. Your face turns hot and you can’t decipher if it’s from humiliation or anger. Maybe both. 

He really is a dick. 

‘Made me see where I’ve been’

‘Been down one time’

‘Been down two times’ 

‘Never going back again’ 

Any sympathy you’d felt for him; any longing you’d felt for him, vanishes as he sings. Another song about you, this time in the form of the final nail in the coffin that is your marriage. 

And he had the nerve to ask you not to perform Dreams anymore? 

‘You don’t know what it means to win’

‘Come ‘round and see me again’ 

Back at the hotel room, rage makes your entire body feel hot and restless. 

How fucking dare he? 

Never going back again? 

First, he’d sung about how you broke his heart and now, he paints you like you’re the plague; like a sickness to avoid. 

All you want to do is call Alysanne and spew out all the pent up emotions storming inside of you. 

You place your phone on the nightstand and roughly shove the charger inside, fingers tapping furiously to call Alysanne.

She doesn’t answer and you call her again. Still no answer. 

You’re so restless you can’t sit down, irritation making your skin feel hot and hands tingly. 

What if you asked him to not play the song? That’s what he’d asked of you. 

Unable to stay still, you grab your key card and shove your feet into a pair of white hotel slippers, heading down to where you know Aemond’s hotel room is. 

You reach the door and knock on it firmly while your feet shuffle from side to side impatiently. 

You're not sure what you’ll tell him, the rage inside guiding you instead of your senses. 

Aemond opens the door, face unreadable and eyebrows raised in question at your sudden visit. He’s clad in nothing but a pair of green joggers and your gaze briefly flickers down to take in his shirtless stature. 

“Really? Never going back?”, you question and move in closer. The heavy hotel door shut behind you, and suddenly it’s only the two of you, in his room. 

He neither answers nor moves, and you’re standing so close that your clothed chest bumps into his naked one. You crane your neck to look into his eyes. His stern demeanour doesn’t quite reach them, gaze softer than you’d imagined. 

Anger still guides you, and a pathetically spiteful idea prompts you to slowly kneel before him, still standing impossibly close and eyes never straying away from his.

“Not even if I do this?”

Your face is level with his crotch as you look up at him. He’s always loved this sight; you at his mercy. But not now. Now he’s at yours. 

You slowly lean forward and press your lips against the exposed skin of his torso, fleetingly kissing him right by his happy trail, just above the hem of his trousers. 

You’ve missed the soft smoothness of his flesh; a tender veil over the hard muscles hiding underneath. So contradictingly beautiful. 

Aemond stays unmoving, eyes staring at you with a scorching intensity. You know he won’t stop you. If he didn’t want this, he’d have let you know by now. 

So you press another kiss right under his navel, and feel sickly delighted by the barely-there shiver vibrating from him. 

Slowly, and with light kisses to his stomach, you reach for the hem of his joggers, letting your hands softly pull down the fabric and reveal his manhood. He’s already half hard, and you have to bite back a smile. 

Never going back again? Yeah right. 

Your eyes never leave his as your delicate kisses trail downward, towards his cock, yet never making direct contact with it. 

His face still is as impassive as always, but he’s now grown so hard his tip is leaking precum, fuelling your actions. 

You haven’t been this close to him in months and it almost feels intoxicating; his smell encircling you. 

You want to see him lose control; you need to see him lose control. Need to hear him beg for you. 

Plead for you. 

Come for you. 

You squeeze your things together at the thought, arousal making an ache drum between your legs. It’s an addictive thought; imagining him pleading for you. Begging for you. Needing you. 

You want him to want you. 

He still hasn’t moved, or said anything. You take his silence as an invitation to continue. 

Want him to want you. 

Still locking eyes, you slowly graze your lips over his skin until your mouth is by the base of his cock. You know he won’t give you the satisfaction of letting you in on what he’s feeling, but that’s alright. 

You’ll force it out of him. 

Your hand travels up his leg and moves to grip his cock, now so hard it’s aching to be touched. You work in long, firm strokes, just the way he likes. 

The staring contest continues. You know his stoic appearance is meant to frighten you, but you know him too well. You can see the cracks appearing already. 

Eager to push him further, you slowly open your mouth and let your tongue out, gently swiping it over his leaking tip to collect the glistening beads of precum. You feel the proof of his arousal on your tongue, and you see his gaze flicker down to observe it in your mouth as you unhurriedly close your mouth and swallow. 

He stays silent, but you see his jaw twitch. 

He likes it. 

Growing bolder, you move your lips back to the tip of his cock, kissing it in a far too innocent manner before wrapping your lips around him and sucking firmly.

In the briefest of moments, his eyebrows knit together and he closes his eyes.

The satisfaction you feel at his clear arousal goes straight to the thrumming between your legs, and you briefly squeeze your thighs together. You move your mouth lower, placing feather-light kisses down his length before gently swiping your tongue over his balls. 

You can hear the restraint in each laboured breath he huffs through his nose. 

Your soft lips envelop one of his balls, and your hands continue to stroke his length. You know he loves this; loves when you get down on your knees and worship him. 

You let your tongue massage every inch as it rests in your mouth, and when you let out a moan, pure theatrics to make him succumb to you, Aemond’s jaw goes slack and his lips part uncontrollably. 

Just a little further and you’ll break him. 

You’ll win. 

Perhaps the look in your eyes let him in on your scheme. 

Perhaps he’s too close to continue. 

But when he grabs you by the hair and yanks you off of him, it takes you by surprise. 

“About to cum, baby?”, you mockingly ask.  

He clicks his tongue and grabs your forearms to pull you up so you're standing in front of him again. 

Still not saying a word, he tries so hard to appear stoic, but you can see the storm brewing within him. A sudden push to your shoulders causes you to stumble backward and land on Aemond's soft hotel bed. 

“Let’s see how fucking wet you get from sucking off the man you hate”

His voice is both calm and taunting at once. His hands come up to the sides of your leggings, pulling them down with force, taking your underwear with them.

You know you’re wet, but you really don’t want him to know that. 

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

You try to press your legs together, but one of his large hands finds its place on your mound and cups it perfectly as one of his fingers slides down between your folds to meet the silky wetness there. The fact that his hand seems to fit against you perfectly, like two puzzle pieces, amplifies your desire. And rage. 

“Having my balls in your mouth made you that wet, huh? Still so dirty, baby”, he teases, emphasis on the pet name to match your previous mock. 

You let out a yelp as his hand briefly leaves you to land a quick smack on your exposed clit. His cocksure expression flashes by before he grabs your hips again to place you on your stomach, bare ass receiving a smack as well. 

He works quickly, sitting down next to you on the bed and pulling you towards him. He places your middle on his lap, and lets his hand come down to land another smack on your asscheek. 

His hand stays on your soft skin, lingering a bit longer than you’d anticipated, before travelling down between your thighs to meet your neglected centre. 

“You like that too, don’t you?”, he asks as he catches your clit between his fingers and press harshly. 

It stings. 

It feels good. 

You press your lips together to prevent any sounds from escaping, racking your brain for a way to gain back control. 

Aemond’s fingers begin to draw firm circles and your mind starts to feel foggy from want. Without thinking, your hips begin to move in tandem with his fingers. He chuckles. 

“I know you inside out”, he triumphs, but as you move your hips, you can feel how achingly hard he is beneath you. 

You know him too. 

You pull away from his lap, sitting back on your haunches on the bed, and remove your cardigan, then your tank top, and finally your bra. 

You manage to startle Aemond by your sudden move, and you seize your chance at dominance by placing both hands on his shoulders and pushing him down, so he lies on his back on the plush, white sheets of the hotel bed. 

You straddle him, and move one hand down to pull down his sweatpants once again. Revealing his cock, you encircle him softly before placing his length between your folds, dragging your wetness all over him. You bite back a moan as his cock pushes on your clit again and again, hips move back and forward. 

Aemond seems lost for words as well, undoubtedly enjoying you moving against him. 

His seeing eye flickers wildly to take in your naked body, damaged eye not able to keep up with the rapid movements. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are pink. You momentarily feel mesmerised by his beauty. 

The realisation that you’ve missed seeing him like this, missed being with him like this, pierces your heart painfully and your hips still. 

You don’t want to think about the sadness inside. You want to break him. Like he broke you. 

Up until now, it’s been a constant fight for dominance; a never-ending back and forth. But you got him now.

“Beg me to fuck you”, you command, voice slightly out of breath. Aemond’s eyes are fixed on your heaving, naked chest.  

“What?”, he questions, like he doesn’t understand what you’re asking.

“Beg”, you repeat, voice more demanding as your breathing calms, 

“Beg me to fuck you, Aemond”

Though confusion had briefly flashed over his face, it’s now set in fury. 

His eyes narrow.

Without answering you, he places one hand on your shoulder and another on your waist, manhandling your body down on his cock in one swift motion. The sudden intrusion makes you gasp, much to Aemond’s satisfaction. He grins victoriously. 

Fuck, it’s been so long. 

He begins bucking up into you in an instance. The firm hold he has on your body feels bruising, and his fingers dig into your flesh meanly so that you won’t move. 

He angles his hips, and each stroke touches your sweet spot. You bite down on your lip to hinder the moans that are fighting to escape. He’s essentially fucking you on his cock, and it feels so good you can’t think clearly anymore. 

“Come on, I know you can’t keep quiet”

He pushes your body down harder, bucking his hips up faster. You can’t help but move with him, it feels so fucking good. 

You’re still not going to come. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction. He’s gonna come. 

You clench down on his length each time he slides in and you see the tension in his jaw; the vein bulging out at the side of his neck. 

Maybe if you push him just a little bit further? 

“Oh, Aemond”, you moan as you throw your head back, tightening your muscles again, gripping him like a vice. 

He’s always loved getting praised. 

The hand he’d placed on your shoulder moves to your throat, engulfing the entirety of it. His fingers press down on the sides, 

“Shut up” 

His grip tightens. The movement of your hips begin to falter as the restricted blood flow to your head amplifies your pleasure. You bite your lip harder not to moan. 

He knows exactly how to get you. 

He continues to fuck up into your dripping cunt, ignoring your change in pace. Each stroke of his cock within your walls feels like pure ecstasy; like sparks of sheer pleasure shooting through your body. 

His expression is infuriatingly smug and you realise you must look completely blissed out as he uses your body. 

You feel the familiar tightening in your lower stomach, the sign that your peak is approaching rapidly. 

No no no, he can’t win! 

You pull away from the grip he has on you, abruptly getting off him, internally mourning the pleasure you rob yourself of. 

He needs to come. He needs to break first. 

You sit next to where he’s lying on his back, hand moving down so that you can work his length again. 

Aemond catches on to your scheme quickly and uses his strength to push you away, manhandling you so your face’s down in the mattress and ass exposed. 

He pulls on one cheek, admiring your wet and wanting centre. When he shoves back inside with an exaggerated tut, you can’t take it anymore; the pleasure’s just too much.

His touch feels too good, no matter how harsh it is. 

You try to push your face as far as possible into the bed, hoping Aemond can’t hear the moans you can’t contain any longer. 

The loud smacks of his hips against your backside and the lewd, wet sounds coming from your cunt fill the room. 

It’s so aggressively erotic. 

One of his hands finds your clit and as he starts massaging it with vigour, his other hand moves towards your head. 

He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back so you are facing him. The grip hurts; like a thousand little needles assaulting your scalp. 

“You’re gonna come, I know it. Don’t you fucking dare not look me in the eye when you do”

You’re stuck in his painful grip, yet your orgasm’s racing towards you, making you clench down on his length and moan louder and louder, no longer able to hide the effect he has on you. 

The hand in your hair moves down to grab your breast roughly, nipple pinched between his fingers. You find it hard to keep your body up as pleasure makes it feel like you're floating, but Aemond’s arms around you makes it impossible for you to move. His face moves to press against yours; cheek to cheek, 

“When you sing your silly little songs about what a player I am, remember that no one else can make you feel as good as I do”

And you’re gone. The orgasm hits you so hard you almost black out. It makes your entire body jerk uncontrollably, and if Aemond hadn’t been holding you, you’d be on the floor. 

He keeps fucking your through your orgasm, breathing heavily and grunting at the intense way your walls contract around him. 

As the movements of his hips turn sloppy and frantic, you feel his face move to press between your shoulder blades, arms still holding you tightly, like he’s hugging you from behind. 

Or trying to crush you. 

You can’t decide which. 

You stay like that for a few moments. The room is quiet, save for your shared heavy breathing. You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity between the two of you and feel too exposed, regret storming inside you like in icy waves.  

Shit, what have you done?

Aemond loosens his grip around you and lowers you down on the bed much gentler than how he’d touched you before. 

You stay on your stomach, burying your face in the bed as you feel Aemond shuffle behind you, softly tracing a hand down your back before getting up and making his way towards the adjacent bathroom. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Hearing him turn on the faucet, you quickly get up from the bed. 

You have to get out before he comes back. 

You frantically look for your clothes, scattered all over the hotel room floor. Trying to be as quick as you can be feels impossible when your legs still feel far wobbly, and your mind way too fuzzy, to cooperate.  

You hear Aemond turn off the faucet as you pull on your leggings and underwear. You can’t find your bra, and you don’t even bother looking for it before pulling on your tank top and cardigan hurriedly. 

You just need to get away. 

Away from Aemond. 

You step into your slippers and dart out the front door as you hear him emerge from the bathroom. 

Not patient enough to wait for the elevator, you head towards the emergency exit and climb the two stories up to your room. 

As soon as you're inside, you toss the hotel card key on the desk by the window and throw yourself on the bed, body jolting from the force. 

You want to cry. 

You want to scream. 

You want to go to sleep and realise this was all just a fucked up dream. 

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, now fully charged and with a few messages from Alysanne, asking you how you are and if you’d gone to the cafe she’d recommended by Winterfell Central Station. 

You press her name and the small telephone icon, hoping she’ll pick up. 

“Hi honey, you okay?”, she answers, voice evidently concerned from your sudden call. 

You usually stick to texting, or pre-scheduled face-time dates. 

“I fucked up”, you say, barely above a whisper. You hope that she’ll know what happened without you actually having to say the words. You don’t want to speak it into existence. 

“Did you kill him?”, she jokes and you let out a hollow laugh. 

“Worse”, you say, and Alysanne sighs on the other end.

“Was it good?”, she asks after a long pause, making you let out another snort. 

“What do I do now, Aly? I was just going to push him a little and now-”

“That’s your problem. You always want to get a reaction out of him. What happened to just focusing on yourself?”

Her words feel patronising, like you’re being scolded by your parents. Yet you know she is right. You stay silent and mentally search for a reply; any excuse for your behaviour. 

“Yeah”, you sigh in resignation. 

You know you fucked up; that you’ve acted childish and petty. Still, the satisfied afterglow of experiencing the best orgasm you’ve had in months leaves you feeling a bit less anxious. 

Alysanne tries to distract you by asking about Winterfell, the tour, and what you’re planning on wearing for the big show tomorrow. 

It feels good to talk to a friend without holding anything back. Even if you appreciate Helaena’s company immensely, you know she’s being pulled between you and Aemond, and you’d rather not add to her suffering. 

As Aly tells you about the guy she went on a date with last night, your phone buzzes. 

You briefly glance at your screen, ready to swipe the notification away, when you notice it’s an email from your solicitors office. 

You say a quick goodbye to Aly, open the email and quickly scan through the overly formal text. Your eyes flicker over the screen, taking in what’s written. 

…finalised… 

…shared assets… 

There’s a PDF at the bottom of the email. You click on it, seeing the document you’d left for Aemond in your flat over three months ago. The empty space you’d left next to your hurried signature is now filled in, reading; 

Aemond Targaryen. 

A/N: Thank you for reading 🫶 If you wonder about if he signed the papers right after she left his hotel room; it’s a pdf with his signature, I imagine he actually signed it before leaving for the tour and it just reached her solicitors now.

[thragedys]

CATCH A MOVIE

Sol x Reader

Synopsis: As planned yesterday, you, Sol, and Hyugo arranged to spend some quality time together. Just as you were about to reach the meet-up destination, you are stopped. It appears that plans have changed.

Word count: 3k

Includes: Sol x Gender neutral reader, implied heavy topics (if you have played the game, you will understand what is being referred to), soft Sol, kissing, disrupted intimacy

A/N: i recently purchased the kid at the back vn and adore it! very excited to see what it holds in the future

Planned the day before, you arranged to meet up with Hyugo and Sol on the rooftop for lunch. It’s becoming part of your routine, slowly distancing yourself from your past habits. As the seminar is dismissed, you quickly speed through the crowds of people, making your way up the stairs. Every step caused a creek, a snap, and potentially a crunch. This building is falling to pieces. Reaching the final few steps, you lean to grab the door handle.

…?

An arm extended from behind grabs you, prompting you to stiffen. With furrowed brows, you turn to meet the owner of the hand clutching yours, nerves settling as the familiar green hair sways all negative thoughts from your mind. Sol gazes at you from a lower step, his lips curving up as he watches your eyes soften.

“I thought you’d be out there.” You point to the door with your left hand, since your right is currently held captive by his.

“Change of plan,” Sol speaks clearly, his posture straighter than usual. His confidence is seemingly shining today.

“Did something happen?”

“What? No. Hyugo is… busy.”

The hesitation on the word “busy” suggests that what Sol has told you is not exactly the truth—or at least close to the full extent.

“He’s busy?”

“Yeah, busy. He told us to hang out without him, he’ll join us later.”

“Oh, all right then! What do you have in mind?”

“You told me you wanted movie recommendations, right?”

“I believe I did.”

“Well, I thought it’d be nice to… Watch one with you, like I said I would. My favorites are quite old, so…”

“Will they still be screened in the cinema?”

“About that. I have DVD collections at home, plus, it’ll be more comfortable. What do you think?”

Sucking your bottom lip in, you cross your arms and take into consideration his offer. Since your day is practically over, you have nothing better to do with your time. Due to what’s happening in the city, the better option is to not be alone.

“Okay, why not? It’ll be so much fun! I wonder what your place looks like.”

“It’s nothing fancy. Nothing like yours.” Forgetting himself, he pauses. A hot flush spread across his cheeks as he grabbed your forearm and dragged you down the stairs, continuing his sentence.

“—Your apartment building seems a lot nicer than mine is what I was supposed to say.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. It doesn’t matter where you live as long as you’re safe and have a roof over your head.” You smile at him, an innocent sparkle in your eyes.

“You’re too sweet.”

“A little bit of kindness can take you a long way.”

“There are a lot of people who prey on that kindness out here. Sometimes it’s better to be selfish.”

“As long as I have someone by my side, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll always be—”

Before you could reach the exit, a voice called out from the distance. You spin your head and see Crowe with a pile of books held close to his chest, a pleasant expression on his face. Unlinking your fingers from Sol’s, you hear a scoff. His eyes burn with envy as he glares at Crowe from across the hall, his presence alone repulsing him. You walk towards him and Sol follows closely behind, barely leaving any space between your bodies.

“Hello again.” Crowe greets you, his gaze flicking up to Sol who looms over you.

“Hi! Are you okay?” You scrunch your brows together as you notice Crowe’s features contort into an unreadable emotion.

While it may appear as a mystery to you, from Crowe’s point of view, all he can see above you is the lasering hatred burning through his flesh, straight through his bones.

“Never mind. I’ll talk to you soon, you look busy.”

“We’re not in a ru—”

“Let’s go.”

Sol seems eager. There’s no need to stand around when the conversation is no longer ongoing. His fingers tap against your knuckles and your fist unclenches, allowing him to lock his hold. Firmly.

Deciding to leave that incident unquestioned, the walk back to Sol’s place was filled with conversation. His tone shifted from eerily deep to his usual, soothing voice.

Despite his earlier claims, his apartment building is far from shabby. With the way he made it out to be, you expected his living conditions to be much worse. His room is on the third floor, tucked way back down the hallway. When the door opened, you could instantly recognise who this home belonged to.

It was dark, curtains limiting any spot of sunlight from shining in. There were a few paint supplies littered all over the place—nothing overly messy. You slip your shoes off and hang your jacket by the entrance. Sol disappeared, likely into the bathroom or his bedroom. Wherever he is, it’s not your concern.

You should never snoop around someone else’s home, even if you’re far more than curious about a person.

Falling onto the sofa, your eyes dart to a notebook left on the arm. A few pieces of paper hang loosely out, all pages crumpled. Just as you are about to pick it up, footsteps catch your attention as he returns. His eyes subtly drift from your face to the book he carelessly left out, almost cursing himself for the situation he could’ve wound up in even if he were a second later.

“You can go into my bedroom, that’s where the TV is.” Sol musters a smile, forcing his lips to twist up as he slips past you and subtly relocates the book.

“Should I take my clothes off?”

“Wh—” His mouth opens partially, a violent pink spread across his cheeks, threatening to reach his ears if he doesn’t dispel the thoughts that just entered his mind.

“Ah! I meant because I’ve worn these clothes all day, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to sit on your bed in them. If you have any spare, I wouldn’t mind changing.”

“Yeah… I’ll get you some.” It wasn’t something that he initially planned, but since you were the one who suggested it, who would he be to deny you?

Entering his bedroom, you take your time to look around. Some posters, a few albums, artwork—nothing you wouldn’t expect out of the ordinary from a regular man. Rummaging through his wardrobe, he pulls out a sweater he knows he has worn recently. His scent is trapped in the fabric since he has yet to tend to his laundry pile.

“Do you have any pants?” You add, cuddling the sweater tightly.

“It’ll be long enough to cover you. You can get under the blanket too.” Sol tilts his head askew, analysing your figure before you step out to strip.

It’ll be hard to process that he has you in his bed. Hard to resist. Hard to forget.

Upon your return, the sleeves of his sweater extend over your hands. It covers you well, rather skimpy, but nothing is revealed. He pats the mattress and you climb on, settling down on his pillows as he holds up the disk which contains the unknown movie.

“Do you want to take any guesses?”

“Uh, one of the Conjurings?”

“Session 9. Kind of underrated; it’s still good though.”

He inserted the disk into the DVD player and clicked start on the remote. It began, seemingly harmless like the beginning of a majority of horrors. Cautiously, Sol edges closer to you, slipping his arm around you and pulling you into his embrace. Your frame melted to his almost perfectly, your chin tilting up to see his features.

That put him in a tough position. Those eyes made his heartbeat spike, his body riddled with a chill. Lifting his hand, he held you in his palm, rotating your head to view you from a variety of angles. Your beauty does not decrease, no matter the position or amount of light that illuminates you.

“Is this scary?” You motion towards the TV, but he hums.

“Fear is subjective,” Those half-lidded eyes cause your body to heat up, his cheeks permanently tinted with a twinge of color. “But you have nothing to worry about.”

That was enough to reassure you. Along with his hands tightly wrapped around your waist, and the rhythmic sound of his heart beating close to your ear as you rest your head against his chest.

The movie played out, the psychological horror unfolding. It was perfectly directed, enough to invoke the correct amount of fear and curiosity, almost begging to discover more despite the eerie atmosphere of the asylum. While your attention was glued to the screen, his was stuck on you.

“Come on…” He mumbled to himself, his thumb pressed at the corner of your mouth.

“Hm?”

…

That look spoke for itself. His thumb slid across your bottom lip, pulling it down and letting it spring back up. If Sol wasn’t so handsome, perhaps it would be easier to suppress the feeling rising in your core. The movie drags on as background noise, losing yourself as he leans closer.

“You have scratches on the back of your hand.”

“Forget about them. They aren’t relevant.” His smile was pleasant, easing your investigative nature down before you could interrogate him. “We should do this more often. I like this. Seeing you in my clothes and all. You look comfy.”

“I’m really happy when I’m with you. I usually worry a lot when I’m alone, but—”

“I promise that you will never be alone even when you feel like you are. Stop letting all those negative thoughts into your pretty little head.”

“Sol will always come and save me if I’m ever in danger.” You grin, watching his smile transition to a smirk.

“Save you, yeah? That sounds good.” He rests his lips on your forehead, securing a peck before pulling back. “I’ll never need to save you again though. Fuck all of that, I’ve learned from those mistakes. You will never leave my sight.”

Your eyes widen as his nose presses against yours, gently rubbing them together. It was intimate yet also affectionate, an ideal combination to weaken you further. Though he was not immune, he was also crumbling.

“If you keep me safe, I’ll look out for you too. In any way I can.”

“You don’t need to, but I know what you’re like. You’ll do it either way.”

“Where are your plushies?” Your breath hits his face and he closes his eyes momentarily before reaching behind the pillows and pulling one out.

“I hid them, they’re here. This is my pony that Hyugo couldn’t keep his mouth shut about.” The plushie is clearly in well-loved condition, likely a source of comfort for Sol when he felt he had no one else to rely on.

“It’s very cute. It’s lucky.”

“Is it?”

“It gets to cuddle you. Probably every night.”

“You…” Sol can’t help but beam, his face a bright shade as he places the pony under his chin. “If you want to cuddle me every night, I’m not the one stopping you. Feel free.”

“I don’t get a lot of opportunities to.”

“We can make some opportunities then. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a great plan. I’ll be waiting for more details.”

“When I cuddle,” Sol shifts, his hands on both sides of you, trapping you under him. “I like to get all of my emotions out. That’s something you should know.”

“I can handle that.”

“Can you?”

It didn’t sound like a question, more so a challenge. Pulling down the neckline of your sweater, he revealed the crook of your neck. Two of his fingers lightly rub against the faint bruise, almost captivated at the mark he left on you. You didn’t even know it was there, but he did.

He’ll make sure you know this time.

Dipping down, he connected his lips with the damaged skin. Your body shuddered from the sudden contact, his hand slowly travelling to your arm to pin you to the mattress. He opens his mouth, instinctively latching his teeth to you. It stung. The force his jaw clamped down on you was something you weren’t expecting, causing a cry to flee from your lips.

He wants this mark to stay. He’ll make sure it never has the opportunity to fade.

“Sol—”

Recognising that breathy call, he is quick to replace his rough actions with desperate kisses. Inhaling your scent only drove his urges wilder. It was almost animalistic, pure desire and drive. The way his tongue swirled around your wound almost felt like an apology for breaking through your skin.

When he pulled away, he smiled down at you. A display of sincere adoration. Your chest heaved, matching his. Breaths filled the silence of the room, the movie paused while the remote was discarded from the bed. Hoisting the blanket back, Sol revealed your legs which are tightly pressed together.

“Did it feel good?”

“Mm…” An agreeing sigh.

Prying your legs apart, he moves between them. Your face is cupped in his tarnished hands which somehow remained soft to the touch. You wondered how his lips would feel against yours, if they were soft too. It’s hard to deny the rouse of your emotions, your body is begging for something more.

It seemed like he read your mind, or perhaps your body language. His lips forced their way to yours, overpowering you in all physical ways. He was devouring you, craving you to silence the anguish he had been enduring.

It’s just not fair. You’re his, aren’t you? Why should he have to watch as other people attempt to make their moves on you? It enraged him, they have no respect. You were never anyone else’s, only his.

His hands began to tremble, the full weight of his body collapsing on top of yours. You were gasping for air, stealing his since he refused to take his lips off of you for even a second. The cool material of his piercings contrasted with the warmth emitting from his body, making all hairs rise.

He couldn’t believe you were kissing him back. It’s so different when you’re awake.

The rattle of the front door was unbeknownst to you both, too endeavoured with tending to one another’s needs. Sheets rustle, hardly audible moans trapped inside of the locked bedroom door. Another world created, separated from regular life.

“Guess who! It’s been such a crazy day. I hope you didn’t miss me too much.” Hyugo calls out to both of you and is met with silence.

“Hellooo?”

“Sol? Did you go out without me?” He whines as he takes his shoes off and struts through the apartment. “You wouldn’t ditch me without telling.”

Noticing the locked door, Hyugo pokes his tongue to the side of his cheek as he fiddles with the lock. It didn’t take much for the weak door to open, revealing Sol lurking over your body. His hands under the sweater that covers you groping your flesh, his lips still joined to yours as the collective grunts are now freed.

“Oh, gross! What the hell?!” Hyugo’s eyes widen as he exclaims in shock, causing Sol to go still.

“Shit…” He murmurs, placing his forehead against yours with a disappointed glint in his gaze. “Hyugo.”

“You could’ve told me. I called out way more than three times!”

“You did?” Sol’s hands savour a final grip on your chest before agonizingly sliding out from under the fabric.

“Duh! I thought something might have happened to you two, but I was wrong. Clearly.”

“Sorry… We’ll make it up to you, I promise.” You glance over at Hyugo and he scoffs, covering his eyes with his hand.

“What? Are you both going to fund the therapist I’ll need after walking in on whatever that was?”

“Hyugo,” Sol snickers, rolling off of you and lying down by your side. “You can sit down.”

“Do I want to sit on that bed after what you’ve just been doing?” The plastic bag in Hyugo’s clutch rustles as he plops onto the mattress, keeping his distance from both figures present.

“Anyway. I got what you asked for, and I also got us all a gift.” Hyugo opens the bag and pulls out a fresh sketch pad for Sol, as well as a miniature pony plush, similar to his bigger one.

“This one is for you.” Hyugo passed you a teeny black kitten, its eyes almost bigger than its face. You make sure to thank him and he nods.

“I got myself a giraffe because it looked cute. Oh, yeah. I also got this. It’s like I have built-in sensors.”

Hyugo reveals the last item in the bag, a box of condoms, and slides them over Sol’s way. His face glows a bright shade of fuschia and his eyes darken, shooting daggers through Hyugo’s teasing being. Sol leans over you and shoves them into his bedside table drawer, simmering with embarrassment as he notices your flushed expression.

“Well? Are we gonna watch the movie or what? I’m sure it can’t be scarier than what I just saw.”

“Enough.” Sol reprimands him, pointing down to the remote which remains on the floor close to Hyugo.

“Oh, you were really into it, huh?”

“Hyugo!”

In response to Sol’s yell, his devious chuckle rings out. The DVD begins where it left off and the remote is returned to the centre of the mattress. You remained in Sol’s embrace, his arms securing you to his broad frame.

Time slips away, the end credits of the movie rolling out leaving Hyugo with more questions than he initially intended to depart with this evening. He places his bowl of popcorn down and speaks.

“I’m confused by the ending.” Hyugo huffs, reaching for the remote to switch to a new channel.

With a peek from the side of his eye, he found you and Sol passed out, fast asleep in each other’s arms. He pokes Sol’s cheek a few times—neither one of you has plans of becoming conscious anytime soon judging by his brief assessment.

It was sweet in a way. Hyugo’s heart warmed seeing Sol with you, he seemed so content. A pleasant change from his usual stoic expression—he’s at peace. Before escorting himself out, he was sure to drape the blanket over your bodies. Someone has to take care of the two of you. As long as Sol has you, Hyugo could rest peacefully knowing his vulnerable heart is in a safe place.

[astridthevalkyrie]

the floor between you and xavier is thin. you are beautiful. and xavier is tortured.

cw: afab reader, masturbation, nonconsensual auditory voyeurism 😭, xavier being a pervert

i have a midterm in two hours and i spent the last two hours writing all of this. dammit. inspired by this brilliant post (original poster is @skynapple) thank you for giving me permission to write this lolz

once a habit forms, it is incredibly difficult to break. he knows that. he has known that. xavier has had years and years and years to make habits and to subsequently break them.

those twenty-something years he was a nail biter. the tugging of his hair whenever he was tired for around thirty-two decades. six hundred years strong and he still can’t keep a straight face whenever he smells something his nose doesn’t agree with. 

some habits he’s fine with not breaking. 

but this one.

oh, he needs to break this one as soon as possible.

and yet, every friday evening he tells himself that this time will be the last time. when friday morning arrives, he wakes up refreshed and confident that it will not happen again. by the time the clock hits 3 pm, he can already feel his palms become clammy; if he was a cartoon he’d think an ironic bead of sweat would form on his temple. and by the time the sun is going down and the rain has soaked his hair completely, xavier is shoving his too practical key into the too practical lock of his apartment door, and the dread in his chest has already settled with the weight of what he knows he’s going to do.

he could leave. he could go.

he doesn’t.

xavier takes his time changing out of his uniform and showering. the water burns even when he sets it at a lower temperature. his entire space feels too hot. sweat is actually building on his forehead now. 

it’s been a long week, he thinks, as he rolls onto his bed, opting to wear nothing but boxers (and even that’s useless). he tries to remember all the missions he’s been on since monday, and more importantly all the missions you’ve been on. you’re a bit of a braggart, so he hears all about them, and he never minds, because he could listen to you brag about yourself for centuries on end and the whole time he’d only nod along and agree.

the more missions there’s been, though, the more exhausted you are at the end of the week. and the more exhausted you are, the more orgasms you try to pull from your fingers every friday night.

when tara’s over, your music is never loud. your laughs rarely carry over. and your volume has never been disruptive (not that he would consider hearing you to be disruptive at all). it’s as if you know that the walls are thin and you’re trying to be as polite as possible. 

then why is it that when you touch yourself, you’re so loud?

are you trying to make sure he can hear you?

or, and this is what already has him hardening at the thought, are you just so sensitive that you can’t help it?

your first whimper blesses his ears, and xavier shuts his eyes, lying flat with his head against his pillow. closing his eyes helps. it makes him feel less like a stalker who’s crossed through time and space for you, and more like he’s just someone you care for, because this way he can imagine you’re in front of him, on top of him, letting out those first few sweet sounds at his touch.

“mmh,” your voice carries over, and goosebumps litter his arms as he swallows, teasing the line of his boxers with the tips of his fingers. there isn’t a rush. usually, he has just enough restraint to make sure he comes with you.

the next thing he hears is a sharp gasp, and xavier groans lowly, trying to be quiet, or at least more quiet than you. already he’s building tonight’s fantasy up, spurred on by the sound of the rain beating against the window. the last time you and he had spent the night in the rain…

“just stay until tomorrow morning,” you’d urged him, lashes fluttering innocently, not knowing the key that he’d supposedly forgotten was heavy in his pocket. even though he was the one who’d lied, he’d still argued against it, because now that the invitation was out in the open you were too close for his rapidly beating heart, your eyes too inviting and your hands too soft.

xavier imagines he didn’t argue that night. he imagines he’d agreed instead, and had accepted the change of clothes from your closet. the acid in his chest that hisses knowing you even have another man’s clothes in your closet is quickly silenced when you don’t wait for him to leave the room, and instead lift your own shirt right above your head.

he’s never seen you like that. but his imagination is more than ready to supply him with what you’d look like, evidence gathered from how your uniform would cling to you while you fought, or even from how your robes would slip up a little when you were sparring him some hundred years ago—

his hand wraps around his cock without him even realizing it, and he lets out a small, choked moan.

your hands are softer than this. they’d feel better. in the corner of his mind he sees you, topless, pushing him back onto the bed and crawling above him, caressing his face with those soft hands before running them down his chest. your touch does so love to wander. and his body is yours to explore. he’s never belonged to someone else.

he whispers your name and almost as if in response, you let out a cute little squeal, and xavier curses under his breath as he pictures you making that sound while he fingers you. he’d start off with one, just because you seem sensitive. but then he’d add another. and another, and then he’d watch you ride them. 

slowly, he rubs his hand up and down his length, remembering the last time you’d held this hand to resonate with his evol. last week, for a particularly tough wanderer. your palm had been smooth against it, and now the next time you do it he’ll remember that he touched himself to the thought of you with that same hand.

“mmh, don’t tease me…”

oh, you’re speaking today. pleading with an invisible voice, or maybe you really do know that he’s just below you, hanging on to your every word. and he’s disinclined to acquiesce to your request—he’d do nothing but tease you. once he’d make you come once with his fingers, he’d toss your legs over his shoulders and drag his tongue along your folds, bring you to the brink before pulling away. he’d watch the way your lips pout and the way your eyes flare up whenever you’re emotional, and he wouldn’t give you time to complain before diving in again.

“sorry, sweetheart, you know i can’t help it.”

xavier’s eyes fly open with a gasp at the sudden other voice—there’s someone with you. there’s someone in your room, on your bed, with their hands on you. 

there’s a pause, and then he hears you again, letting out a small, “y-you’re so…haah, mean…”

one of his hands curl into the sheets below, clutching them so tightly in his fist that he wouldn’t be surprised if they came off.

someone is touching you. someone is making you—incredible, wonderful, beautiful you—whine like that, close enough to hear you, far closer than xavier has ever been.  

“i’m not mean,” the man who is invading your bedroom right now says, “you can’t look like that and expect me not to edge you. you’re the most beautiful when you’re begging, you know?”

“i could say the same about you,” is your not-so-hushed response, and during the next pause he can barely hear anything but he knows you must be kissing him. him, whoever he is. a date, your boyfriend, the devil—you’re kissing him, those soft, gorgeous lips of yours are against someone else’s when all xavier has done in his time with you is try to tear his eyes off those lips, wondering what they would like against him.

“c’mon,” your voice pleads again, “i need you. i’ve needed you all day.”

the man groans, and xavier hears the kiss this time, one fierce and stolen in the heat of the moment. 

“if you insist. you know i can’t resist you, sweetheart.”

there’s some shuffling and xavier thinks his heart is going to beat out of his chest. he feels…he feels everything, sick and jealous and almost angry, and he can feel himself trembling with every inch of him screaming to get up and confront whoever thinks they can touch your skin and draw those noises from your throat—

but when you let out a high-pitched, muffled cry, xavier’s hand goes back down, and he starts stroking himself with more urgency.

you’ve never been this loud before. and xavier used to enjoy that, thinking of it as a challenge, that if he ever got to have you, he’d make sure you were louder with him than you were with anyone else. he’s brought himself to orgasm at just the idea. but now it’s torture, hearing your voice go up several octaves for someone who isn’t him, for whoever’s hips are roughly colliding against your own, filling his ears with a muted plap, plap, plap…

“fu-u-ck, baby, how are you this tight?” the interloper groans, “gonna make me come, m’gonna come inside you…”

xavier’s skin crawls at the needy moan you let out in response.

the fantasy in his head is ruined. there is no more vision of a seductive version of you having your wicked way with him, but instead he is imagining exactly what is happening, a dirty picture of him in a corner watching someone else enjoy you to the fullest extent. wrecking your beautiful body the way you deserve.

your moans are building, higher and higher, and his back is arching off the bed as he fucks his fist, still trying to pretend like he’s yours and you’re his, that he’s the one burying himself inside your wet heat, that your nails are digging into his back, leaving lines on his skin, drawing blood if that’s what you wanted—

“raf!” you wail, and your voice breaks, and xavier’s eyes roll back, and he spills into his hand.

there’s still a ringing in his ears as he pants, breathing heavily while the sound of skin slapping becomes more desperate, as the intruder—raf— speeds up to try and reach his own end too.

his hand moves on its own. with barely an intention formed in his mind, he presses it to his heart, and he feels a surge of energy run through his chest, no time left to regret anything.

the sounds stop completely.

after a minute, his phone lights up with a notification.

starlight: hey did your lights go out too???

starlight: my room just blacked out

starlight: i had a friend over i’m so embarrassed lol

with his chest heaving as he lays back against the pillows, and his right hand sticky, xavier texts you back with his left, a soft, tired sigh escaping him.

xav: no mine’s still on

xav: i’ve got tea and takeout come over

xav: i’d love to meet your friend

[mrshowlettsgarden]

Feelings and Peaceful Habits: Logan Howlett - the one when one small moment turned into a healthy habit

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ prompt #5: Sitting close to each other, because it's become a habit.

─➭ content warning: fluff, friends with feelings

─➭ a/n: based off this anon request

●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘● ●∘◦❀◦∘●

There’s an unnoticed gravitational pull you and Logan have with each other since you became friends. It’s mostly Logan who holds this habit, but you do as well. 

It started when Logan was going out for a walk in the yard. He noticed you sitting on a bench in front of the pond when he felt the need to join you. You looked so peaceful, and he wasn’t trying to ruin that, but he just simply wanted to join you and the peaceful moment. And you welcomed him with a cheeky smile as you moved over to make room for him with a soft greeting.

He’s been attracted to you since you two met and the pull you have on him makes him sit just close enough to not make you uncomfortable. The presence that Logan has made you feel safe and warm despite his rough exterior. You couldn’t find the will to move away because it felt right to be so close to him. And it felt natural to be so close to him. As if you two have always done it. From then on, sitting close to one another became a habit. A peaceful habit that Logan never wanted to let go. 

You would see him sitting in the kitchen for a late-night rendezvous snack. You’d greet him as he pulls one of the stools out for you to sit right next to him. And if you try to playfully put space between you two, he’d roll his eyes before saying in a gentle tone, “Get back here.” He then would pull the stool closer to him as soft giggles slip from your pretty mouth. 

Logan would occasionally find you in the library as you were finishing up your notes for your class and he wouldn’t hesitate to join you. Feeling his presence behind you, you’d turn around instantly with the same cheeky smile as he’d pull the chair out with a soft smile on his face. Your arms would brush against one another but never touch for too long. He craved to touch you but there were boundaries that he respected when it came to you. Sometimes he’d ask you if you need help with the notes and if you say you do, he would slightly lean just close enough for you to smell the cigar that he smoked earlier that day. 

"You smell good," you murmured playfully one time.

Then your eyes would meet, and his strong gaze would make you shy away from the intensity and your confidence, but you look back at him before continuing to share your thoughts about your next lecture. Logan wouldn't stop looking at you even if he wanted too, but he pushes what he feels away and continue the task on hand.

Sometimes the adults of the mansion throw a movie night to help ease the stress from missions and all. And Logan always saves a spot for you on a conveniently two-person couch in one of the common rooms. You would walk in with a bowl of popcorn when he’d look up and greet you with an open arm that was draped over the top of the couch. You shyly smile as you walk over to the plush seat and sit next to him.  His free hand would throw a blanket to cover both of your laps as you make yourself comfortable. 

During these movie nights is when you feel yourself holding back from full on cuddling into him. And Logan? He's fighting for his life to not pull you onto his lap and bury his face into your hair.

Then one time, later into one of the movies Logan was about to take a swig of his beer when he felt your head drop onto his shoulder. He looks down to see you sound asleep and peaceful. He then puts the bottle down before wrapping his free arm around you and pulling you closer than you both have ever been before. A sigh slipped from his mouth as he rested his cheek on your head. The smell of your conditioner is bringing him at peace.

After all those moments sitting next to each other, this is the closest you've ever gotten to him. Both of you have been too scared to go beyond grazing touches, and now that he has you in his arms, he believes he will never be able to let you go. The habit of being so close to you has never made him feel so far away, even now that you are sleeping in his embrace. 

"Logan," he hears you mumble half asleep his name as you nuzzle yourself into his neck.

"I'm here," he whispers back, "I'll always be."

[canisalbus]

I love the shape language for Machete and Vasco, how angular and pointy the former is VS how round and soft the other... It's so GOOD I adore that

Thank you! I like the contrast as well, it makes them very fun to draw together. I try to keep them visually distinct while still making sure that they look harmonious and complementary next to each other.

[luvvyouforever]

hc: acotar boys + s/o with illyrian wings

↳ including rhysand, cassian, azriel, lucien, and tamlin.

↳ some mentions of nsfw content but majority sfw, does not go into detail.

a/n: i have not read the entirety of the series nor have i wrote for acotar before. but this was stuck in my mind and i just had to see it through. enjoy, dears ❀

rhysand:

-adores taking leisurely flights with you across the night court lands, velaris, you name it and you're going. on days where you both need to get away and find some peace, you would fly away to some peak of a mountain or to a wide open field of flowers. smiles at you the whole time you glide easily next to him.

-definitely compares wing spans all the time. "no, i swear mine are bigger! look!" as he's straining and stretching the tips of them out to elongate his wingspan. you laugh and play along because you know that yours are without a doubt bigger but you'll let him win this time.

-his already large bed expands when you sleep in it together, ensuring that your wings rest on the sheets comfortably. he knows how annoying it is to tuck them in tightly or let them droop off the ends.

-if you've had a bad day, he'll ask for your permission before massaging the spots of skin surrounding your wings before gently running his hands along them, sending shivers down your spine. sometimes this will lead to more as his apt hands cause you to whimper but if it has been a particularly rough day, he is content to give you physical comfort and nothing more.

-feels incredibly proud to have you. while he hates entering the court of nightmares and putting on his persona, he secretly loves walking in to the city with you as his partner, wings fiercely on display.

-and just for some small self-indulgence, i think rhys loves wing play. when the two of you are close in bed, passionate and sweaty, he loves running his hands along your wings and he flares his out so you can do the same to him. he just can't help groaning at your reaction. enough said (i am so perfectly normal about this)

cassian:

-races with you in the air. some days he is just bounding with energy and adrenaline and nothing helps him more than leaping off of the balcony of your townhouse and soaring high in the air, dodging one another, doing tricks, etc. while rhys loves peaceful flights with you, cassian is the exact opposite.

-if you ever feel insecure about your wings, he'll encourage you to be confident about them and let them out. he may notice that a party, you get insecure about taking up so much space and you try to tuck your wings in as close as possible, placing yourself in corners. he'll come to your side, spread his wings out and tap your back to tell you to do the same. "don't feel bad about them, sweets. you look glorious."

-your sleep habits are definitely...interesting. two people in one bed with enormous wings sprouting from the backs? yeah, it's a little hard to maneuver. but you manage and usually, in the morning, you end up sprawled on the bed, limbs tangled, hair in faces, pillows off the bed, but rested and comfortable nonetheless.

-cassian loves being a tease and throughout the day, anytime he sees you, he'll sneak on you and run a finger down the most sensitive part of your wings, causing reactions that make those around you just slightly uncomfortable. he laughs and giggles and you don't stay mad at him for long.

-he would find it really attractive if your wings were bigger than his or if you could take him down in a fight. he's spent his life being a fearsome warrior, stronger than everyone, and if his partner can spread their wings and tackle him to the ground, he'll be so excited.

-you know that scene in good omens where aziraphale covers crowley's head with his wing? yeah, cassian does that. if you're walking anywhere and it starts raining, snowing, etc. he will gladly place his wing over top of your head to keep you from getting wet. you appreciate it more than anything.

azriel:

-i like to headcanon azriel as being a little fancy and bougie. he definitely has piles of oils, lotions, and skin care products for his wings that he will share with you. he likes keeping them shiny, moisturized, and clean. more often than not, he'll have you sit down in the bathroom while he does a mini skincare routine for your wings alone. you love it and look forward to it every night.

-azriel's wings are canonically the largest of the bat boys and i think he feels a secret sense of pride about this. no matter how good of a warrior cassian is or how good of a leader rhysand is, he holds that over them and this reflects in your relationship. he doesn't feel threatened by them, both because he trusts them and because he knows your affinity for his wings.

-oh my god...his shadows dance all over your wings when you're together. they tickle and give you goosebumps along every part of your body. azriel pretends to rein them in but he loves seeing you giggle at the feeling and sometimes sends his shadows out to run along your wings when you need to cheer up.

-if anyone ever hurt your wings or damaged them in any way, he'd see red and nothing else. he knows how much wings matter to an illyrian and if you come home from a battle with your wings bleeding, ripped, or scarred, he'd immediately find them and make them wish they didn't do such a thing to you.

-when crowds and people and senses become too much for either of you, you'll slip off to some secluded place, usually your home, and wrap each other in your wings, enveloping you in darkness and quiet. it's a great remedy for headaches or overstimulation. in general, i think azriel hugs with his wings. his arms will be wrapped tight around your body and his wings will encase you as much as they can.

-some more self indulgence here...i think azriel isn't as fond of his wings being used in the bedroom but as for yours...shew. you know how his shadows like to play with your wings? he revels in your sounds, gasps, and surprise at the feeling of your most sensitive spot being touched so delicately.

lucien:

-lucien has always been fascinated with illyrian wings. i think he'd ask you so many questions about them, about how they feel, how it feels to fly, etc. he'd very politely ask for your permission before grazing them with his hands, taking in the beauty of them.

-he always wanted to fly like the illyrian warriors he was familiar with but he never asked you out of embarrassment. the first time he flew with you was out of pure need as you escaped from some kind of danger together. he couldn't get away fast enough so without thinking, you picked him up and soared into the sky with him. after that moment, he looks for any chance to fly with you.

-lucien is a fast learner when it comes to learning how to care for your wings. he picks up on the spots that ache the most and pays special attention to those after long days. he speaks to cassian and azriel about caring for them, and he takes their advice to heart, buying whatever he needs.

-sometimes, he feels insecure and wonders if you'd prefer to be with someone who can match your skill set and keep up with you better. you shut down those thoughts as soon as they come up and make some joke that illyrians are a cocky breed and that you'd much prefer to be with him. you even offer to train him in some illyrian fighting techniques which he quickly takes you up on.

-if someone stares at your wings while you're at some kind of spring court high society function, he'd shoot them an evil glare which is particularly intimidating. he reassures you that there is no need to hide the beauty of your wings and that he'd deal with anyone who says something bad about them.

-lucien can't help but blush when you casually use your wings to help him throughout the day. if he shivers at a draft blowing through open windows, your wing will find a spot behind him to block the cool air. you will block the bright sun when you're walking together, barely caring about the intense warmth. if you're fighting together, your wing blocks hits and acts as a barrier between him and an enemy. when he questions himself, he thinks about those small moments that show your love and smiles.

tamlin:

-i think that tam can feel a little threatened sometimes by your wings and skills as a warrior. he places a lot of importance in his position as a protector and it takes him some time to get used to having a partner that can defend themselves. once he does, though, you two are practically an unstoppable force.

-he tries to act very nonchalant about your wings out of fear of offending you by staring at them or touching them. the first time you catch him looking at them in the sunlight, you smile and tell him that you'd never be offended by him admiring them. after that, he's constantly raking his eyes along your wingspan, creating poetic lines in his head about how the stars reflect on the silky black skin.

-tam is possessive by nature and if he sees someone complimenting them or, gods forbid, touch them, he couldn't hold back the claws emerging. he knows very well that you will stand your ground but nobody touches his partner like that and he will let them know very quickly.

-he will never really admit it but he loves seeing you in the light, pastel colors of the spring court, especially when they contrast so heavily with the dark wings on your back. he thinks one of his favorite views is you laid out in the rose garden, soaking in the sunshine with your wings laid out entirely on the ground. his love for you swells and he wishes he had a camera to keep the view preserved forever.

-he loves to spoil you with the best wing care you've ever seen. i'm talking expensive oil infused with gold that creates the most beautiful sparkle along the wings. i'm talking handmade soap sourced from velaris that smells divine which he uses while you take a bath together. he thrives when he gets to spoil you like this.

-his first calanmai after you became partners is an entire story in itself. even while ferociously charged with power, he asks for your permission to touch your wings while in the heat of things. his delicate hands are so different from the rest of the way he's taking you and he draws sounds from you that bounce off the cave walls and echo for likely miles.

i hope you enjoy this! i really like writing headcanons so if you have any requests, please let me know! <3

[pix-writes]

Can you do a finger HCs for Ford pls? SFW/NSFW if you can include both

Ford's fingers HCs (sfw and nsfw below, so 18+)

SFW

Ford still has a little apprehension about his polydactly, some still remark on them or think he's freaky and constant childhood bullying and exclusion is no joke! So whilst he knows that he is not ashamed of them himself, he can't help but be tense at people's first responses to them either. Still has a habit of hiding them by standing with his hands behind his back most of the time.

Mabel's pure acceptance of his hands has undone some more of his insecurities and he definitely lets her paint them on occaision and he likes it a little, it's nice to feel acceptance. And if anyone comments on his hands when they are painted, he can just redirect the conversation to his niece to dodge their questions. Sometimes judgemental people are so focused on the fact that an older man has nail varnish on that the six fingers thing escapes their notice! "My grand-niece did these, she's so talented!"

In a relationship, he loves that you either a) didn't notice his six fingers at first b) forget that he has polydactly c) just thought that they were cool/interesting (a bit like Mabel did). Ford is the best person to hold hands with and somehow he doesn't know this? He has an extra finger space so when he holds your hand he totally envelops your five fingered hand with his! Will definitely gain more confidence about holding hands with you if you say this.

Everyone thought he would be a skilled musician because of his fingers (and that he was always good at physics) but he wasn't that great at it, had piano lessons at school but never did as well as the music teacher thought he should. Did play marching band with a woodwind instrument though. But he did learn this cool trick of rolling dice between his fingers, during his time in the portal ended up getting better at slight of hand, usually to do with shuffling cards (was more of his brother's forte though).

NSFW

Ford has pretty dextrous fingers and is pretty good with his fine motor skills, if you know what I mean! His touch can either be firm or delicate and his hands are also pretty big, being an over 6ft stocky guy, so his hands are likely to swallow yours up in comparison! All of this to say, he's good at fingering you. Is at least slightly aware of hurting you because of his fingers being larger than yours and long, but he also has a lot of patience, will open you up with care and curl his fingers in just the right way to stimulate your g and a spot, in ways you can never quite recreate by yourself!

Likes to see you take three of his fingers whilst his thumb brushes over your clit. Or if you're male, to see you take his fingers whilst he also has his other hand wrapped around your cock. Likes to run his hands all over your body, and thread his fingrs through your hair, if he can.

His extra finger does give him a little greivance though, he has learnt over time to do hand massages on himself, to help with some of the cramps he gets when he writes for extended periods of time, and that sort of thing. But it means he can do the same to you on your hands or feet, maybe you can also encourage him to massage your shoulders a little! His fingers can help dig into those knots and its pleasurable, will either get you in the mood or it can be something he offers as aftercare.

[strawbeelemonade]

ROMANTIC HEADCANNONS: Pavitr Prabhakar

@emmy-luv Hi! this is literally the first request i've ever gotten!! i literally watched the new movie last night and started working on this immedietely after beecause i was so excited. there aren't really any spoilers in here- but i got a better feel for Pavitr's charecter after watching it so i'm glad i waited. i hope you enjoy :D

🕷 - Pavitr falls hard and fast.

🕷 - A die hard romantic at heart. He sees you, and he’s immediately taken by everything about you. His heightened senses will clue him in to even the smallest of quirks or habits, and oh! The way you scrunch up your nose is so cute!

🕷 - In the first instance of meeting you he is 100% all over you instantly.

🕷 - he'll talk a mile a minute about anything he has any input on. He also waits eagerly to hear what you have to say, tell him what you think! how do you feel about this? what do you think about that? This colour suits him, no? He knew you’d think so! That’s why he wore it.

🕷 - It’s his way bonding with you. He’s just so excited to chat with you. "This colour would look nice on you, Jalebi."

🕷 - He will show off in front of you. YOU KNOW HE WILL.

🕷- He will be over the top while doing even the most mundane things. You know those crazy stunts they pull off in Bollywood movies? Yeah it’s kind of like that.

🕷 - From opting to athletically dive off of a building instead of taking the stairs, to backflipping gracefully into a sitting on a chair. All the while he’s peaking discreetly over his shoulder to make sure you’re watching.

🕷 - he’s a little strange lmao

🕷 - He wants to look good for you, usually his fantastic looks are low maintenance but he finds himself picking up a new spray in the hopes for you to notice. And, not that he needs it, but you’ve even gotten him to start using conditioner. oh ho boy, You’ve really got him wrapped around your finger.

🕷 - He seeks out your approval, and when he gets it he absolutely preens. even a fool would recognise the puppy love from a mile away.

🕷 - He is naturally confident, and he wholeheartedly believes in his abilities. But everyone gets a little nervous when they have a crush, even Pavitr.

🕷 - Surprisingly he can become flustered quite quickly if you’re too generous with your compliments. His laugh will get louder and and his ears will go a bit red.

🕷 - He will swoop in to your rescue every chance he gets. It might get annoying to you after a while, or not. just be careful, If you make the mistake of complaining about the traffic of the city then you’ll find yourself suddenly hundreds of feet swinging the air in the direction you were headed.

🕷 - …What? He likes how you feel against him, carrying you is a breeze for him, he is incredibly strong after all. just sit back and enjoy the ride.

🕷 - I hope you don’t value your personal space. He’ll glue himself hip too hip with you whenever he can. He’s all over you in many other ways as well. He’s very touchy feely with those he’s affectionate with.

🕷 - if you’ve watched the movie you’ll know that he’s a great judge of character, and he’s also particularly in tune with your emotions. If you need space he will endure through the terrible experience of not being near you 24-7. He’s being very brave about it!!!

🕷 - just because he's clingy doesn't mean he isn't respectful.

🕷 - If your feeling out of place in a room he will find a way out for the both of you to get away for a bit.

🕷 - If there’s one thing you don’t have to worry about its a lack of transparency. Pavitr is honest with his intentions from the get go and will profess his loyalty for you so that theres no way to confuse his intentions. It might’ve already been a bit obvious when he started giving you flowers… But oh well, you appreciate his forwardness anyway?

🕷 - He introduces you to his family! He’s serious about you, after all. He will do everything to ensure you feel welcome in their home. He emphasises your radiant personality to his aunty by speaking out about all of your wonderful qualities while simultaneously showing how dutiful he can be to you by running to get you both some more Paneer Pakora and Masala chai.

🕷 - He can do long distance. No, really. Love is not dead. He will travel any distance to see you.

🕷 - Wether you’re from another dimension or you’re his next door neighbour he will make it work.

🕷 - If you’re from another universe your own city’s assigned Spider-person might get shown up by him a bit, this is even if you aren’t personally acquainted with them. His eagerness to show off in front of you might cause a few problems.

🕷 - It's not insecurity per se… he just needs to make sure you know how much better he is! All harmless fun!

🕷 - In the case that you are close with them Pavitr will rise to the challenge of any competition he picks up on between him and the other spider.

🕷 - If you need any rescuing then he’s there in an instant, revelling in getting to be the one to carry you to safety. he will laugh and crack quick witted quips to assure you that everything is ok. If you’re left shaken and in need of a little comfort he will gladly coo and dote on you gently. “Its ok, sweetie, main idhar hi hoon."

🕷 - If you’re ever in any danger— any real danger— all theatrics are off, and he will find himself moving faster, striking harder and fighting more forcefully then he’s ever had before. his heart is in his throat every second you’re in peril, and he won’t stop until you are in his arms.

🕷 - The moment you are safe he holds you tight, tighter than ever before. Voice quaking, he whispers how glad he is that you’re ok. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability for him, To bear the fear he’s feeling to you. He won't let you go for a while after that.

🕷 - If you’re even a little hurt he acts like you’re dying.

🕷 - “What’s this!! A mark? MEDIC!!!”

🕷 - Don’t worry, he’ll make sure you get any attention you need, medical or otherwise.

🕷 - smooch.

🕷 - He is incredibly cheesy. But he means well!

🕷 - He’s thoughtful, too. Your time spent together will be filled with well planned dates, maybe sharing some good traditional food in front of some gorgeous scenery. He’s an utter gentleman and takes pride in sweeping you off your feet.

🕷 - he can also be a bit over the top, but he means well!

🕷 - He’ll stay true to you, no matter what.

🕷 - If you ever ask him for anything then your request takes first priority. he will drop almost anything that he’s doing to satisfy you (this doesn’t include a bus full of passengers hanging off a cliff sorry).

🕷 - If you aren’t from India, or even from Mumbatan then he will be so excited to share his part of the world with you! He’s proud of his culture, and If you take an interest in it his heart will swell three sizes bigger. He appreciates that you’re so respectful and will patiently explain or share whatever you’re interested in to you.

🕷 - I feel like he’d know a lot of yo-yo tricks. he’ll show you a few of the ones he pioneered himself.

🕷- he strikes me as a peck on the cheek kind of guy.

🕷 - he’s also super cuddly! do i even have to say?

"Jalebi": a type of sweet that’s popular in the indian subcontinent

CHANGED: "yahee hai, yahee hai, priy." : That’s it, That’s it, dear.

TO: "main idhar hi hoon" : "I'm right here."

( thank you sm @bluebird-in-the-breeze for leaving a comment with the corrections to the dialogue :') i'm so lucky that you saw it and i'm really thankful that you were kind enough to help me improve it. your a real one fr!!)

Masala Chai: Masala tea (a type of tea.)

Paneer Pakora: a popular snack in Delhi, its Indian cottage cheese deep fried in a light coating of spiced flour. (yummy!)

Mumbatan: the in-spiderverse mashup of Manhatten and Mumbai (Mumbai is the capital state of Maharashtra, India)

I put these here so if anyone has any corrections i could make to the terms I’ve used to be more accurate then I can change them accordingly. I used online translators and articles… if anyone has any good websites for translating Hindi* or any other languages let me know! i'd be really interested.

[cursedpiratestash]

I'm going genuinely feral for your overwatch Talon headcanons im here growling and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.. So may I request Talon with an extremely clingy reader pretty please <3

Talon x Reader

Clingy Reader headcanons

A/n: Sorry for the long break! Was not expecting to come back to that many notes honestly it makes me super excited to write again! Thank you for requesting I hope you enjoy! <3

Doomfist:

Surprisingly enough it hardly bothers him; even the mild PDA

However, at work, he realized how lenient he has become with you and that eventually bothered him enough to talk to you about it

His position in talon demanded respect and he couldn’t commit to that with you clinging to him any chance you got

That being said you agree, more or less, to a compromise that allows him to better command a room

Thankfully, at home he anticipates your needs before they’re even needed whether it be to carry you around the house or even just a tender moment by the door as soon as he walks in

Reaper:

When he begins to realize just how clingy you are it takes him some time to adjust

He loves you dearly, but he is quick to set boundaries mainly pertaining to your behavior at work

Outside of that, however, he simply cannot help himself. You make him melt at your touch

Even through his agony he softens at your beckon call and your pleas to accompany him in his more mundane activities

In fact, despite popular belief, your clinginess comforts him in ways nothing else can

Moira:

Doesn’t mind it as much as one would think however she does establish a boundary concerning when she really has to focus on something/needs the space

Is occasionally too wrapped up in work to let you know when she would be late or wouldn’t be showing up but is easily forgiven with a little bit of a cuddle session

Despite her persistent studies she has her moments in which she craves your attention for a bit of a recharge

She comes to you masking her disheveled state with confident posture, but, the second she’s in your company she instantly relaxes as you retell the details of your day

Sombra:

Honestly doesn’t even notice that you are clingy and makes it a common occurrence to have you lay with her or on her while she works if possible

On days she's too busy or a mission is taking way too long she's already sending you a quick text with a few corresponding emojis while she's at it

She never tires of your company and is easily the biggest flirt on the team

When you two are apart she's always texting and answering you

Best chat logs out of everybody and almost never leaves you hanging unless the mission truly interferes in someway

Mauga:

If anything, this one is much clingier than you are

You two are always texting when you're apart even if he's in a meeting or briefing

You’re lucky if you even get out of bed as he’s always holding you. He hardly keeps his hands off of you when you’re together whether it be an arm over your shoulder or a hand around your waist

Your PDA makes everyone around you laughably uncomfortable and annoyed, although, you hardly notice them

Spending time with you is the best part of his day; he can’t imagine any other way he’d like to unwind

Widowmaker:

Isn’t the most touchy person out of everybody, but she tries to indulge your habits when she can

You two have a bit of a system built to avoid any uncomfortable moments when she needs her space

Regardless of this she cares about you very much and also enjoys her fair share of cuddles on the couch/in bed

Your dynamic leans more towards you talking while she listens, however, she does comment here and there when prompted

Although some distance remains, she can’t help but feel something every time she’s with you

Sigma:

Finds it incredibly endearing and indulges you quite easily when he isn’t solely focused on his work. Even so he doesn’t mind having you there with him from time to time

It’s quite common to find you two floating around spending time together and the PDA hardly warrants any complaints

His mind partially clears when he gets to spend time with you

You can see him hang on your every word as well as the joy in his eyes when he speaks so sweetly to you

Whenever you two are apart it isn’t surprising to hear him talk about you whenever he gets the chance. The other teammates are actually pretty fond of it