#he knows the city is going to eat him! does he not deserve one last little bit of love...

[kirkwallguy]

i dont know who veilguard is sorry, do you ever think anders thought hawke was going to be the last person to ever love him? his last chance?

oh hawke is PAST last chance to him imo... they're the last chance he wasn't supposed to have. iirc there's a line during the romance where he says he thought he wouldn't find love again after karl, and at a first glance it means after karl's death but, honestly? he probably knew it was over the moment karl transferred. by the time you're an adult in the circle, it's likely you've met everyone your age and older that you'll ever meet, you're lucky to end up with a close friend let alone fall fully in love with someone and even then you can't ever have a 'normal' relationship with the templars watching you every second. we know he goes to brothels or has flings with people when he escapes, which in awakening comes across as him being a bit of a player but looking at the full picture it's more likely he just wanted to be close to other people. and THEN he moves to kirkwall with spirit in his head and doesn't seem to have even tried to make actual connections with people outside of healing them in the clinic. how long did it actually take him to get in contact with karl then. did he think karl would even still care about him even without being tranquil.

anyway. all that is why as much as i <3 breakups and drama i will always hc marcus and anders just staying together forever because sometimes i like the odds being proven wrong a little

[whirlybirbs]

— CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; 焦凍

summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen. pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings wordcount: 5.6k a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.

You never did go pro.

Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development. 

The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:

What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?

How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun? 

You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago. 

Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide. 

You see it differently.

Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest. 

You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent. 

You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence. 

Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.

What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time? 

Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown. 

He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care. 

He isn't a villain-in-training. 

None of them are.

It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children. 

So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents. 

You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet. 

After all, you never did go pro.

And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.

He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it. 

It was the beginning of the end, then.

His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class? 

Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.

It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes. 

Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:

Endeavor's wing. 

There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now. 

Very different.

Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."

"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"

"Oh, ho, no way!"

Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again. 

"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"

"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."

It is you.

You look... good. 

Happy. 

You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time. 

For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.

It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto. 

"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"

Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.

Shoto is on the move.

The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.

Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero. 

Shoto Todoroki.

He looks... good. 

Really good.

He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.

For a second, you're seventeen again.

It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.

They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.

There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.

"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever." 

You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk. 

Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher. 

"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"

"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember. 

"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"

"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.

Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing. 

"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"

There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle. 

You're using him as a teaching moment.

Shoto's smile is soft.

You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."

"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"

Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute. 

You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all. 

He hangs back. 

He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto. 

...It's kinda cute.

Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was. 

Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds. 

And he deserves to be happy.

Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.

You hang back. 

Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.

"Hey."

"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."

"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."

His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."

You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.

Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."

"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."

"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are...  good."

Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose. 

And the underdog in question can read a room. 

This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.

"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"

You jump.

How long has he even been there?

"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.

"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"

"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."

Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.

"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"

"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."

Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."

"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."

There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions. 

It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment. 

"Would you like to—"

"Are you free—"

Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.

"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"

You make yourself available.

Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.

Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell. 

From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.

"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?" 

"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy." 

"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.

"Father was the one who suggested it."

"...That old dog." 

Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"

The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.

Shoto winces.

"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.

"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."

Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.

"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.

Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya. 

"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."

"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"

"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"

"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."

"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?" 

"She wants me to call her after—"

"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"

Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.

"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."

Shoto lets out a long breath. 

Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"

"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"

It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."

Easier said than done.

You never did go pro.

Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates. 

You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.

He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful. 

Fuyumi's contribution. 

You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.

The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back. 

It feels like you've been lit on fire.

You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine. 

Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables. 

The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.

You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you. 

For a second, you're seventeen again.

Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A. 

You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks. 

A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass. 

He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy. 

"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."

Graduation day was the last time you saw him. 

Until this morning, that is. 

You smile into your drink. 

"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.

His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.

"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."

Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."

He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."

The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."

You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.

He notices.

Shoto's face feels hot. 

He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school. 

Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.

Now, less so. 

It's adorable. 

Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home. 

While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it. 

Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.

His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you. 

His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss. 

But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen. 

The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you. 

It's sweet.

Really sweet. 

The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit. 

"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.

His hand settles there. 

Your stomach does a flip. 

You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure. 

Keep it together. 

He isn't seventeen.

He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years. 

...Right?

Green light.

His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment. 

The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park. 

It makes your chest ache.

Shoto swallows thickly.

Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.

He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.

What if you don't want to kiss him?

When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?

Why does he feel like he's going to die?

"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly. 

"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."

You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."

"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."

"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"

Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."

"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"

"I'm not being weird—"

"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.

"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."

His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest. 

It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?

Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now. 

"You don't need to be."

Shoto's breath catches at that.

So, he makes his move.

His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment. 

Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.

Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone. 

He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful. 

The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.  

Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together. 

Then, his eyes stick to your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face. 

You never did go pro.

But, Shoto did. 

It shows. 

Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—

His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory. 

It's better than anything he could have ever imagined. 

And then you whimper. 

It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching. 

You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.

He needs to slow down.

He is not having sex with you in his father's car.

That's shameless.

He needs to slow down.

He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up. 

Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him. 

You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.

It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that? 

He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect. 

"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."

A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person. 

"Are you serious?"

"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.

"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"

Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face. 

"Are you free this weekend?"

"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."

"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"

"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."

Shoto scoffs. 

Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:

"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."

Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.

Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend. 

Not so seventeen anymore, Shoto Todoroki. 

[meowstri]

you could wipe my mind, i'd still be stuck on you

tags: peter parker x fem!reader, tooth-rotting fluff, college/university au, lots of sarcasm, 1k words synopsis: while going out shopping to buy snacks for movie night, your bf, peter parker, tries to convince to you to let him get a new video game. chaos ensues. a/n: wow hey welcome to my first fic posted on here... sorry if this seems rushed haha. tysm @103rafes for helping me with the ending, ily man. reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!! title is from stuck on you by grentperez

"alright, i think we've got everything!" your eyes scanned through the various assortment of junk food in the grocery cart. "movie night is gonna be awe-" You turned to face your bf only to find no one standing near you. "ugh... where is that idiot?"

walking around the store, you find your boyfriend of 1 year, peter parker, in the electronics section. of course he was. you thought, he probably even forgot what they were at the store for.

he was staring intently at the newest spider-man video game. Spider-Man 2, it had came out just last month and everyone was going crazy over it. he had a scrunched up look on his face, studying the cover of the game in the clear display case.

as you walked up to him, his senses picked up on your location and he turned his head around, quickly glancing at you before turning his head back towards the display case. "i still can't believe they make video games of me. they really captured my likeness" he let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "i am so going to get this."

rolling your eyes, you sighed. "no we're not mister. c'mon its time to go home." you tugged on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, but Peter still didn't move an inch.

"please y/n... ned has the game! so does everyone we know!"

"why don't you just go over to ned's house and play it?" you suggested, rolling your eyes once again. "yeah, keep rolling your eyes. it'll be stuck like that soon enough." he huffed with a pout. "if you let me get it i'll let you pick the movie tonight. i know you love those cheesy hallmark movies..." peter said in a sing-songy voice. he leaned in to give you a small peck on the cheek and looked at you with his chocolate puppy-dog eyes.

"your silly antics don't work on me." you can't help but let out a giggle as buried his face into your neck and kissing every expanse of skin on it. peter wrapped his arms around your waist hugging you close. "but no. out of the both of us, you're the worst at managing your spendings and we need the money."

he hummed. "but mr. stark gave me my paycheck on monday, its more than enough to buy the game and put away some of it in our savings..."

"you mean your allowance?"

"hey! i may not be an avenger, but i still work for one of the richest people in america" he laughed, messing up your hair. "so... can i still get it?"

you hesitated for a moment, doing some calculations in your head. the two of you lived together in a dingy apartment and did extra jobs on the side to keep the both of them afloat. you knew peter worked hard a lot, trying to keep his grades up while maintaining his life as the city's spider-man so maybe he did deserve something nice for himself.

the corners of your mouth lifted in a small smile. "well..."

—

“did you see that! i beat his ass so hard.” your bf laughed. you watched intently at the screen trying to decipher what was going on but all you could see were bright flashes of colour.

“you already beat ass in real life. don’t understand why you need to buy this game just to play a virtual version of yourself.” you said jokingly while eating from the bowls of chips and candy you bought earlier that day. you grimaced as you peter took a large handful of m&ms and popcorn, shoving them into his mouth.

“true, but this is more fun.” he said between mouthfuls. “plus i don’t get hurt.” he gave you a dorky little grin.

well there was no denying that, you thought as you smiled back. as much as peter tried to argue, you insisted on paying for the game as a gift. just seeing peter smile over some silly game made you fall in love with him all over again. it was surreal, dating the spider-man. the same one that appeared on the news 24/7. the same one that made you worry for days wondering if he might come back from saving crime.

but he wasn’t just spider-man. he was just plain old peter parker. the boy from queens that you met all those years ago. the boy who was practically an academic genius and the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

interrupting you from your thoughts, peter wrapped his arm around your shoulder and held you tightly. he had already finished playing the game but he still grasped the controller in his hand.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked quietly, playing with the strands of hair falling on your shoulders. he smelled like fresh laundry and a hint of butter from the popcorn.

“what?”

peter chuckled. “you were staring at me with that look you get when you’re thinking really hard. like your nose scrunches up a bit and you have this wide smile on your face”

“oh… i wasn’t really thinking about anything.” you locked eyes with him, staring into his big, doe brown eyes. you shimmied closer to him and rested your head on shoulder. “just thinking about how great you are.”

“thanks for feeding my ego— ow!” you punched him on the arm but there was no anger to it. “im joking, im joking. you’re great too.” the smile lines on his face deepened.

peter leaned his head against yours. “thank you for getting me that game by the way. i love you.” he pressed his lips against your temple, making a line down towards your cheeks, then ending at your lips. they were soft and warm, and he tasted like slightly like chocolate.

“mm, love you too spidey-boy. now play your game, i didn’t spend 90 dollars on that for nothing.” you giggled lightly.

unable to pull away from your face, he grumbled. “okay, okay! way to ruin a moment with my lovely girlfriend…”

“does this spider-man have a girlfriend too?” you nodded towards the screen.

“you’re better than any video game girlfriend i could have as spider-man”. you couldn’t help but let out a string of laughs as he pulled you in again, planting kisses all over your face.

fin.

[itsthestutterforme]

“Glad You Called” (Jack Reacher x black!reader)

Summary: Two years ago, Reacher left your home with nothing but a note left behind. What does he expect your reaction to be when he shows up at your door, saying you were in danger?

Notes; GIF is not mine, mistakes are my own, friends to lovers trope

**

The faint pattering of the rain on the tin roof of your outdoor garage was the only thing you could hear from the house.

You stared down at the unsaved numbers flooding your most recent call list. Reacher had been on your mind lately.

Which was kind of out of the norm because you hadn’t seen him in years. And you didn’t exactly end on the best of terms either.

He ghosted you. You woke up one random morning and noticed he was gone. A simple note was left behind:

“You’re perfect. You deserve better. I’m sorry.”

I suppose it was better than nothing, but barely.

He was in the Atlanta area and needed some place to crash. You were the first person that came to mind. He knew you were in Atlanta but had no idea which part.

He would have been searching for hours until he happened to walk by the coffee shop you frequented.

You were eating a piece of bacon avocado toast when you felt eyes on you. You looked up to see the mountain of a man known as Reacher, and that was the start of a very slippery slope.

One night turned in six months. Neither of you crossed that boundary but it was very noticeable that there was something romantic between the two of you.

There was something about the way the looked at you that desperately made you wish that you were a telepath.

That man had libraries worth of words in that brain of his and yet he chose to remain quiet every time.

The best part about it was while he was selective with words, his presence spoke volumes whenever he walked into a room.

Little did you know that what was going through his mind when he would look at you was one thing: marriage.

And that scares the hell out of him. He never crossed the line because he knew he would never go back.

That would be the end of it. His time of being a wandered would be over and he would be forever tied to you.

The domestic life would have taken him over, and it would have been completely voluntary. Because he wants to be there, with you.

He would have lived out his life as a husband and as a father. And he knew he wasn’t going to be ready for that, so he left.

Over the course of the six months of you living together, you expected to see him when you got home. He would ask you how was your day was while he cooked dinner for you.

You’ve gotten used to that. You’ve gotten used to him. And then he was gone.

The letter was all you had left of him for two years. And now there is an unsaved number calling you every day for the past week like clock work.

Speaking of, your phone rings once again. It was the same unsaved number, but this timed you answered.

“Hello?” you heard a deep sigh through the phone.

“Reacher,” you added, your palms growing slick.

“Y/N,” he starts, it was almost as if he wasn’t expecting you to answer.

“What, cat got your tongue?” you said unamused.

“You’re in danger Y/N. When can you get to New York City?”

“What makes you think I want you to protect me?”

“Y/N, we don’t have time for this. They threw Franz out of a helicopter after torturing him for information. I need to know that you are safe.” he says all in one breath.

“Franz?” you repeated.

He remained silent for a moment.

“God. I was at his wedding last year,” you said in disbelief.

“How soon can you get to New York?” he repeats.

“I can protect myself, Reacher. Goodbye.”

“Then I’m coming to you,” he says before ending the call. You stared at your phone with your mouth open in disbelief.

You had a feeling that would be a face you would be making often.

**

You already knew who it was from the solid knock reverberating through your house. However, it is better to be safe than sorry.

You had to admit that you’ve been on edge ever since Reacher called you. You only went out for the essentials and even then, those trips were kept minimal.

Taking your Beretta from your table, you check the chamber and clicked off the safety as you made your way towards the door. Opening the door, you had the barrel of the gun pressed against it.

Much to your surprise, it was not just Reacher at your front door. O’Donnel, Neagley and Dixon were standing behind him.

“I was hoping you weren’t serious,” you start.

“When have you ever known me to joke?”he retorts.

“There was a time that I knew you to have integrity. Obviously that has changed.” you said, clicking the safety back on.

You walked back inside and tucked your gun under your waist band. Reacher took that as an invitation to enter and the rest of the group followed.

Reacher couldn’t help but look around the familiar house. You still liked to keep the house smelling of citrus with a dash of honey.

He loved the smell. It reminded him of Christmas. Reminded him of home. He almost ran into you when you stopped to turn around.

Your glossed over eyes met his and while your gaze remained on his face, his explored every detail.

Your voluminous, curly hair just barely touched your shoulders. Your favorite crop top and sweatpants outfit you wore more often than not. Your fuzzy Crocs that he initially hated but he grew to love.

He grew to love you.

O’Donnel and Neagley shared a look at how cold you were being towards Reacher.

Of course they didn’t know about what happened between you before. So as far as they were concerned, it was unwarranted.

“You guys didn’t need to come all the way over here. Like I told Reacher, I can handle myself.” You explained, breaking the silence.

“I’m sure Franz thought the same thing,” Neagley starts.

“We’re not losing anyone else. And I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but you’re just going to suck it up for the time being.” Reacher stampedes.

“If you somehow think you can just burst into my home and my life, and stick your chest out while you give orders. You’re insane. But if you really expect me to listen, you can fuck off.” You snark, crossing your game and narrowing your eyes at him.

“Okay, obviously we missed a few chapters.” O’Donnel voiced.

The group looked between you and Reacher for a moment until Dixon spoke up, “Whatever bad blood you two have, set it aside. I can guarantee you, it’s not worth your lives.”

“Yeah, we started coming up with a plan of action but it didn’t really get anywhere because Reacher was adamant about getting in touch with you. So now that we’re all together where can we start?” O’Donell facilitates.

“What do we have so far?” you questioned, giving Reacher one last pointed look before sitting down.

**

Should I make a part 2? 🤔

[reveluving]

Girl tell me why I had a jdm dream where he asked me to do butt stuff w him and I said yeah and we enjoyed it a lot? 🤨

*sighing and taking out my card* 💳💥💳💥💳💥💳

sweet velvet ; jeffrey dean morgan characters x female reader

includes: s~mut obv (minors DNI!), bits of both soft & mean!doms & loads of possessive/lovestruck JDM chars!

a/n: I could never get this ask out of my head since, is all I can say to y'all hsjdhssk PLEASE, I can't thank you enough for feeding into my JDM thirst, and I encourage y'all reading this to do the same because I can never get enough of this man UGHHH and pls don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ❤️

fancy reading something new? check out my full m.list!

char. include: joe kessler (the boys), negan smith (twd), max (the resident '11), john winchester (supernatural, hear me out), ike evans (magic city), patrick sullivan (the accidental husband), & luke vaughn (heist 2015)!

smut includes: husband!jdm char., unprotected s~ex (p/fingers in v), size kink, plugs (on f!reader), spitting k~ink, cunnilingus & a~ss eating, stockings/heels, c~ckwarming, mirror k~ink, edging, mentions of overstimulation and sq~uirting. each and every one of them is just obsessed with you!!

If you thought his obsession over your height difference was ridiculous, think again because he could never get enough of your ass.

Regardless of your JDM men of choice, there is no doubt their obsession with your ass is unreal. Without a doubt that each and every one of them eats like it would be their last moments on earth. Loving the sloppy mess of both their spit and your juices, not only mixing and dribbling down their chin and facial hair, but especially down to your tight hole.

Negan, John, Kessler, and Max, the nastiest men in the bunch, would buy you one or more of those gem plugs because there has never been a more gorgeous sight than you writhing on top of them as they teasingly run the cool plug along your tight hole. All while condescendingly mirroring your parted lips while you’re desperately trying not to move so much upon their command, a creamy white ring now visible at the base. 

There is just something so bewitching about seeing a sex toy that is almost so innocent-looking being enough to have you clenching so hard around them.

Or they would have you on your back, flicking their tongue along your sopping lips before descending to the plug you’re gripping hard on. Licking around the gem and teasing your sensitive skin around it while holding your legs over their shoulders. 

Occasionally pulling the toy out just a little and seeing you pucker before pushing it back in with a groan that’ll send shivers down your spine.

Wrap your thighs around their head or roll your hips into their face all you want, being smothered by their pretty girl this way, to them, would be the best way to go there is.

Ike, the man of all things fancy, is all about romance. He adores building the tension up, standing behind you and running his hands up and down your sides, groaning as he gets a whiff of the tantalizing smell of your favourite perfume spritzed just behind your ear. If there’s music, he will sway to the sultry beat with you, reminding you like he does every day, how much of a lucky son of a gun he is to have you, and how much he needs you.

He wants you at your most comfortable, and he wants you to let it all out for him: no muffling, no shying away, and absolutely no hiding. If the entirety of Miami can marvel upon you like an angel on earth, then he, your dearest husband, can most certainly do the same, and way more, just like you deserve. 

Models or showgirls don’t even hold a candle to you when he can have you in just stockings and/or a garter belt with heels. While he loves you in both everything and nothing, but with just heels and stockings? Fuck, he doesn’t think even the strongest liquor could get him this drunk and enchanted as he is with you.

He knows that looming over you at the foot of the bed will have you squirming on your back already. Plus, missionary is only boring if you make it boring, not when Ike would hold your legs over his shoulder, barely concealing his dazed state for you by kissing your ankles, moving his hips with vigour to hear your moans peak at every thrust. 

Patrick, kinky as he is passionate, strives to incorporate both, especially for your pleasure. So what’s sexier than cockwarming and mirror sex? To be able to easily see both your eyes rolling back and the sight of himself buried inside you is the cherry on top, especially after a hard day’s work as a frontliner. 

He would hold you against him, the fine hairs on his chest tickling your back as he plants soft kisses along your neck. Infuriatingly reminding you to keep your eyes on the mirror, whether by a whisper or a subtle grip on your thighs, knowing it gets you more bratty and impatient by the second. 

If Patrick is a little more on the passionate side, then Luke falls more on the kinky end. He yearns for you 24/7 and it amplifies when he is either stressed or when he sees you bond with his daughter so well. 

Whether you're standing chest to chest with his hands cupping your cheeks or holding you to his side as an act of protection, his hand is on the small of your back and lingering just inches away from your rear. The fact that physical touch, being one of, if not, his most major love language is definitely a sign.

Similar to the first three, Luke will not be able to stop smiling ever so smugly whenever you jerk and squirm, hoping he'd spare you the relentless teasing, and once he does, he would lick a stripe along your pussy and nipping at your clit between his lips while prodding his middle finger at that very spot.

Sloppy and desperate to make you cum on his tongue while pushes another finger into you, smiling against your back arches so beautifully.

a/n: how many jdmorgan characters did I want in this, you may ask? yes! and this is me holding back! ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[acapelladitty]

Hey Ditty, I have been having thoughts about Query and Echo either taking turns with or simultaneously dicking down the Riddler. If you could write about it I'd be so happy

Also you're an amazing writer and ily

Flattery will get you EVERYWHERE on this blog 👀💦😈

rock and a hard place

Summary: Query and Echo take some time to show Edward just how good their joint partnership can be.

(warnings for: dom/sub dynamics, mff threesome, strap ons, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, drug mention, anal fingering, anal sex (m receiving), praise kink)

Fic Masterlist ☆ Link To AO3

Their veins all thrumming with a delightful mixture of scotch and coke, Query and Echo stared down at their boss as he knelt at their feet with his face pointed towards submissively the ground.

"I don't know, Echo. Do you think he deserves our attention?" Query asked, her blonde hair pushed behind her ears as she balanced her head on Echo's shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sure Edward knows how to be a good boy for us. He always does."

Pulling her foot from the floor, Echo used it to push Edward's chin up and force him to look at the pair of them as his naked frame shivered at the light touch.

"Will you be good for us?" She asked and recieved an immediate nod, pained arousal having robbed Edward of his words as he played the familiar game. "Then go be a good little genius and bring us over our toys." She paused. "Both of them."

Scrambling to his feet, Edward moved with enthusiasm as he shamelessly delved into the lowest drawer of their dresser and pulled free the matching straps - both hosting a matching green dildo which jutted proudly from the material and sat at about six inches long. In an instant, he was back, presenting both straps to the women as they took them with a smile.

"Good boy." Query offered, dropping her strap to the bed as she helped Echo tighten the straps which held her own to her lithe frame. "Maybe if you do as we say, we'll both use them on you at the same time."

Edward dropped his head at the demand, his slack lips wrapping around the smooth end of the dildo as he accepted it into his mouth like a prayer. His tongue set to work rapidly, rolling across the hard plastic as he worked it as he would a real cock.

Spreading her thighs as she sat on the edge of the bed, Echo beckoned Edward forward with a firm finger and grinned at how quickly he moved to kneel before her. She wrapped her hand in his firey hair, messing up his coiffed hairstyle as she gently petted at him like a dog. "Now, suck."

"Nice and wet, Eddie, cause I'm going to fuck you with it while Query decides what she wants to do with the rest of you."

Thrusting into his mouth slightly, Echo sighed as Edward choked on the unexpected inches - his mouth pulling free as he shot her an irritated look which made her smirk.

"If you get to fuck him," Query interrupted, "then I want to put that smart fucking mouth of his to good use."

Tapping Echo on the shoulder, she inclined her to move but not before stealing a filthy kiss as Echo stood to her full height.

"Thanks, baby."

Taking Echo's position as Edward remained on all fours between her thighs, Query tapped his cheek with her pointer finger as she spoke.

"Boss or not, you're going to eat me like I was your last meal in this shithole of a city. If you're good enough then maybe I'll even ask Echo to let you come. But if you're being a little bitch about it and moaning about things like needing to breathe then I'll tell her to be mean."

"Understood." Edward huffed, his smug voice breathy with need, but his expression was quick to twist into an open wince as Echo thrust two of her lube-coated fingers into his unprepared ass.

"Manners, boss." Echo demanded, twisting her fingers within his hole as she brought her free hand down on his ass in a solid strike. "Try again."

"Understood, Mistress."

The title was given with a smile, Edward's incorrigible brattiness always quick to make itself know, and Query met him with a smile of her own as her hand wound its way into his red hair.

"Now, eat."

Pulling him forward the few inches that separated him from her cunt, Query sighed as he immediately set to work on pleasing her. Already damp from their set-up, Edward was quick to lap at the arousal which coated her hole as she shuddered at his enthusiasm. His fine nose ground itself against her clit as he delved between her folds, tongue and lips making easy work of her cunt.

Shuddering, Query petted his head. "Good boy, Eddie. Echo, give him some more for trying his best." She purred.

Inserting a third finger into Edward's flexing ass got the desired result as he audibly moaned at the added stretch. His pale back arching as he pushed back greedily into Echo's fingers, Edward's cock bobbed heavily against his stomach with every slight thrust.

"Now," gripping Edward's hair as she widened her legs even further, Query pushed her blonde hair over her shoulder with her other hand, "you're going to keep eating me out like a champ and Echo is going to fuck you until that big brain of yours is mush. Then maybe we'll swap. Or maybe we'll let you fuck one of us. Or maybe we'll both spread you wide and see how much of us you can fit at the same time."

Edward groaned, the sound vibrating delightfully against Query's cunt as Echo pressed the flared head of her strap inside his ass, her fingers having opened him enough to allow for a smooth entry. His back arched high, a follow-up noise somewhere between delight and discomfort slipping free of his slackened lips as she slowly pushed herself forward - allowing him to feel every unyielding inch of the strap until the base pressed flush against his ass.

"Fuck, Echo." Edward hissed out, his mouth glistening in the low light of the room as he licked at his lips. "It's too big."

"No it isn't, you big bitch." Trailing her sharp nails down his back, Echo admired the red lines which immediately welted across his skin. "You've taken bigger with less prep so I want to see you pushing back to take everything I have."

Falling deeper into his role with a muted whimper, Edward could only nod and accept that his girls were going to use him in the way they knew he needed.

[lfcgirlie866]

You Called ~ JB TAA

Hi! I'm so nervous to post this ahhh. It's probably awful, but hopefully you guys like it! I should also warn you that it's most likely too overdramatic and unrealistic but I guess that's why it's fanfiction, right? That, and I like writing angst apparently...

Summary: Jude is feeling down about everything that's been going on with his team lately, and there's only one person he wants to see

Pairing: jude bellingham × trent alexander-arnold (or it could just be them as platonic besties/brother vibes. It's open to your interpretation ☺️)

He shouldn't be doing this.

He really, really should not be doing this. But he is. For him.

Trent should be at home, asleep, recovering from the game last night but instead he's on a private jet heading towards Madrid at 1 in the morning. It's the one city he definitely should not be seen in right now, and he has no idea what will happen if the media spots him there. He's risking everything; his contract with Liverpool, his vice-captaincy... all of it. But he's doing it.

For him. For Jude.

Because Jude has never been the type of person to let things get to him for too long. He's too mature for that. Usually, the media's chatter about his performances is just annoying background noise that he can drown out with the help of his family or friends. He's the type of player who loves the game, loves to play no matter what. If you give him a challenge then he'll take it, and despite what people think, he's not in it for the glory. He doesn't need to be the 'golden boy' all the time. Jude just loves to play.

So when he called Trent a few hours ago, his voice shaky and devoid of anything good, Trent knew that something wasn't right. At all.

He'd watched Jude's recent games, or as much of them as he could fit in around his own demanding schedule of fixtures and training, so he'd seen the way Jude was being run into the ground every game. He'd watched one of his favourite people in this world give everything he had and more, but with nothing back in return. Trent knows better than anyone just how quick the media and 'fans' can turn on you after a bad performance, but Jude didn't deserve this.

Trents knee bounces up and down uncontrollably as he sits and watches the little plane graphic on one of the screens inch closer and closer to its destination. Each minute seems to feel like ten, and every single one of them is a minute too long. He's never wanted the ability to teleport more than he does now.

The haunting sound of Jude's hollow voice echoes around in his mind, scaring him in a way he didn't know was possible. In all of their defeats, even the huge ones, Trent has never heard Jude sound so lost. It had almost felt like even the younger man's underlying love of the game had been diminished, too.

This need Trent has to see Jude, to protect him, to soothe away the hurt... it's overwhelming. And it's not going to go anywhere until he's there with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jude's shoulder was in agony, his ankle not faring much better either, and all he could manage to do about it was lay there on the couch, staring at the ceiling for hours on end. He couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. Couldn't even be bothered to get up and take some painkillers.

Maybe he liked the pain a little too much. Maybe it quietened his mind just enough for him not to drown in his thoughts. Maybe it stopped him from replaying his games over and over again in his head, berating himself each time for all the mistakes he'd made.

Or maybe he's a liar. Maybe he just wanted to punish himself even more.

The large house was silent around him, shrouded in darkness now that he was here alone. He'd thought that was what he wanted. That's why he told his mum to go back to England to visit his dad and Jobe. She hadn't wanted to leave him, especially not when she knew he wasn't doing very well, but he'd ended up practically forcing her to go by booking her flight for her.

In his defence, all he'd wanted was some space to breathe. Some time alone to get himself together. So why did it feel like all the air in the house had disappeared?

His family are usually his saving graces. They keep his feet on the ground and support him through everything. They're his safe space in this world. Jobe especially can always seem to put Jude at ease and lift any weight from his shoulders. But Jobe was doing incredible at Sunderland this season and Jude didn't want to zap any of the focus away from him. His brother deserved all the glory. He was on a high, and Jude couldn't risk pulling him down from it with his own problems. So he'd called the only other person who felt like home to him.

Trent.

It was selfish, he knew that. His best friend had more than enough going on without him adding to it, but even just hearing his voice down the phone had brought some relief. That scouse accent that grates on most people's nerves was like a soothing balm to Jude. He didn't know why. Maybe because it was so familiar at this point. Maybe because it reminded him of all the good times they'd spent together over the years. Maybe it reminded him of how incredible it felt when they connected on the pitch. Or maybe he just loved the person behind the voice.

If he was being really honest with himself, Jude wanted Trent here with him. Their whole 'we ain't inseparable' spiel was mocking him right now, but that was one thing he definitely did not care about at this point. So what if they liked to be around each other? So what if they were each other's support systems? So. fucking. what.

He'd seen all the comments about them during the international breaks, saying the two of them were 'like a married couple' or that they were 'so touchy-feely'. He found them all hilarious, to be honest, and Jude finds himself wishing he was there at an England camp right now. At least then he'd have his 'emotional support scouser' by his side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Open the door

Trent texts him as he stands by the gate outside Jude's house, his hood pulled up to stay as hidden as possible even though the street is seemingly empty.

What are you on about?

Comes his reply a few minutes later. Trent can't help but smile as he types out his next message.

Get off your lazy arse and come see lad

It's not long before the gate buzzes and unlocks, Trent slipping into the front yard quickly, closing the exterior gate behind him and shutting the rest of the world out with it.

And then Jude is there.

He's standing in the doorway of the house, looking more tired than Trent has ever seen him. Sadder, too. His eyes are wide, a slight frown creasing his brow as if he can't quite believe what he's seeing in front of him.

"You came?"

He questions in pure disbelief, and it rattles Trent in a way he isn't quite comfortable with.

"You called."

And it was that simple. It would always be that simple.

Of course he came. Of. Fucking. Course.

Within seconds the distance between them has disappeared. Jude's hand wraps around Trent's wrist, practically dragging him inside the house. The younger boy slams the door closed with his free hand, the other one remaining tightly gripping Trent's wrist, his fingers digging into the flesh there like he's trying to tether himself back to reality.

"Am I dreaming?" Jude whispers, his voice cracking as if he's about to fall apart any second now.

The sound steals Trent's own breath away. That, coupled with the obvious demons hiding behind Jude's eyes, is enough for Trent to feel like he's falling apart himself. He sends a prayer out to whoever is listening, asking them to take all of Jude's pain and give it to him. He'll bear it for him, do anything just to get the boy in front of him to smile again.

"Nah, 'm real." He murmurs.

And then Jude's in his arms, burying his face in Trent's neck as he clings to him desperately. The relief is instant, Trent's familiar scent and feel wrapping around him comfortingly.

Now, finally, Jude can breathe properly again.

[goldenchimmy]

Concert Confessions

Pairings:JungkookxFem!Reader

CW: Smut, cursing,oral(fem-recieving),breeding kink

(This is my first fanfic with jungkook,edits might be needed!! Apologies!)

You confront your boyfriend Jungkook backstage during a performance.

Jungkook knew that he was overworking himself. That he'd pushed himself to his limit once again this past week. But he couldn't help it. He was the Golden Maknae after all. He had to be absolutely perfect at everything he did. Otherwise, he didn't even deserve that title.

The man knew that he was also neglecting your needs. Leaving you for long periods of time without so much as a text letting you know how he was doing or when he'd see you again. But you had let it slide. He was an idol after all and you knew that he had a busy life outside your shared apartment walls.

You had to learn how to balance work and play, just as he had. Or rather... was trying to do. It was still just work for him. He spent less and less time at the apartment with you and more time exercising and practicing his already perfect dance skills.

"Bunny.." You had muttered one night while you layed there in silence together. His cock still securely buried inside you after he had thoroughly used you. "Stay with me tomorrow. We can lay around and binge watch movies. Eat junk food and such..." your voice groggy with oncoming drowsiness as you stroked his hair. Sweat clinging to the long, dark strands.

But he just sighed in return, his half-lidded doe eyes meeting yours. "You know I can't..." He whispered, a yawn leaving him. He was always tired after nights like these. You didn't call him 'Bunny' just for his smile...

"You say that all the time. You're busy all the time. Why can't you just take a day off? Please?" You begged quietly. Listening to his breathing in the ever-darkening room. Moonlight starting to crack through the curtain covered windows of your shared bedroom.

He stayed silent for awhile. You could have almost sworn he had fallen asleep until he let out another sigh. Deep and irritated as he moved to separate from your tangled limbs. Causing the softest of groans to leave your lips as he slid out of you, leaving a trail of your mixed releases on your inner thighs.

"The answer is no. I can't. Not with the concert coming up later next month." His back was to you as he sat on the edge of the bed. His head in his hands as he rubbed at his eyes. The moon outlined the dark ink covering his right arm and the muscles in his back. He definitely had been working out.

A frown set on your face as you gently moved over to lay your head against his back. Your arms wrapping around him. "Okay. It's okay bunny." You breathed into the quiet, before a yawn left you. Jungkook chuckled softly then at your tired state before he turned and pulled you into his arms.

"Go to sleep baby." He hummed, his lips kissing over your forehead and then your eyelids. Over your nose as well before he layed down with you again. Pulling the blankets up around both your naked forms. "I'll be here when you get up, hm?" He whispered against your hairline. The only acknowledgment from you was a faint nod.

----

But that had been nearly a month ago. And since then you've had yet to share a morning with him. If you saw him at all, it was usually when you forced yourself to stay awake or when you'd send him texts asking if he was coming home.

It was getting old. And it was getting on your nerves. Almost a whole month of barely seeing eachother had made you a madwoman. And his concert was tonight. The first leg anyways. It was here in the city, before he would continue his tour to the states. A tour that he hadn't even told you about until last minute. A tour that you couldn't even go on.

Your own plans kept you away from that. You had family here and friends. And online classes in America you needed to attend. A world tour would only distract you. But that didn't stop you from being upset at him for springing the news on you like that.

Through a text of all things!

But tonight you would change things up. You weren't going to wait for him to come home. You were going to him. Sure, you didn't have tickets to his show, but you knew the staff and the other members of BTS. His brothers in every sense of the word. They could easily get you in. Even if jungkook didn't want to talk about this, you were going to make him.

You felt like you had become second to everything in his life. Jungkook had been dating you for nearly a year and a half now. And until now, everything was perfect. You would make it perfect again.

And showing up at the concert that night was only the beginning. The easy part of the whole confrontation. Jimin and Hobi had led you through the back door. They had already performed and now RM was on stage talking to Army as the boys called their fans.

The screams were near deafening as the two men led you around a corner full of staff and bodyguards, into a long hall with doors on either side. Jimim was wiping sweat from his brow before he cleared his throat. "You know...he only works so hard to make you happy."

You stayed silent as you nodded. "I know. But I don't see him anymore. This isn't fair to me or to our relationship."

Hobi shared a look with the younger before shaking his head. The three of you stopping at Jungkooks dressing room. Hobi patted your shoulder as he led Jimin away from you.

You took a few breaths before entering the room. Closing the door behind you, blocking out the noise from the stage and the crowd. "Jungkook?" You called softly. Your eyes searching the room before he came walking out of the small bathroom. His makeup done and his hair wild around his face.

"What are you doing here baby?" He asked, his dark doe eyes wide as he paused across the room. "I thought you were busy at home?" He asked, setting his mic and jacket down on a nearby table.

You watched him for a moment, debating on all the words you had planned to say to him. But nothing came out. It felt like you hadn't seen him in forever. And now you were rendered speechless.

Jungkook watched you, his brows knitted together before he took a few steps towards you. His hand reaching out and cupping your cheek. His ringed thumb stroking over the soft skin. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"This. This is wrong." You whispered. "It feels like I haven't seen you in years, bunny. It shouldn't feel that way." You breathed. Your voice shaky as you watched him frown. "You're always here. You're never home. I never see you anymore unless it's for a brief time when you forgot something at home. You're always busy, and you don't take time out for me anymore."

Atleast the idol had a slight hurt look to his face. Atleast you had explained how you were feeling to him. You had had trouble doing that in the past. But you were tired of it.

"Well?", you asked, your hands on your hips as you stared at him. Jungkook stayed silent for a moment before eventually he let out a soft sigh. The boy chewing on his pierced lip. "I have to be perfect. Always. And that's why I train and work out. Why I leave you all the time. It's not easy. But it's what I do." He shrugged.

"You've used that excuse before. You can't keep neglecting our relationship like this. It's not fair to me. To us." You whispered, moving to place your hand on his arm. "Jungkook...if- if you need time away. If you need a break from our relationship, I understand." You smiled sadly.

Jungkooks doe eyes widened as his gaze snapped to your face. He was quiet as he stared at you. Before his lips were suddenly on yours. His pierced tongue working into your mouth. Fighting for dominance as you opened up for him. Muffling the surprised gasp that left your mouth.

"You're dumb." He mumbled against your lips. His hands holding a tight grip on your waist as he pulled you against him. And when he kissed you again, you leaned into it. Your hands finding their way into his dark hair. Tugging slightly as you used your tiptoes to put more force into the kiss.

Jungkook kissed back with a passion. A hunger. One that he hadn't felt in a few months. Maybe he had been neglecting you, as it was apparent that you definitely needed more than just his lips.

"Baby.." He breathed softly after pulling away. His lips ghosting yours as he spoke. "I have a show soon..." He whispered, a slight smile on his face as he ran a thumb along your bottom lip. His other on your hip still, squeezing gently.

"I know." You smiled up at him. "I don't care...I want you bunny." You laughed slightly. He chuckled against your lips then, looking over to check the clock on the wall. Before his dark eyes were on your face once again. "I think I can spare thirty minutes. Let's see if we can beat your record, hm?" He grinned.

Before you were lifted by his strong arms, the boy moving and setting you on his vanity table the stylists used for his hair and makeup. His lips attacking yours. His hands had secured your legs around his waist, your ass on the edge of the table as your hands dug into his hair.

A shuddered groan left your lips as you felt him push his hips against yours. The obvious bulge in his pants making you more aroused than you already were. "Fuck." You breathed, pulling away for air as jungkooks lips moved to suck and bite at your neck. It had been forever since he had marked you. Had claimed you so proudly for others to see.

Your hands reached down to take off his shirt, but his own hands stopped you. "Not enough time." He whispered quickly, his eyes meeting yours before he nodded towards your pants. "Those need to be off though." He winked before moving his lips to the other side of your neck.

You nodded, leaning back against the mirror. Your head craned back against the glass as your breaths became short. Soft groans leaving the two of you. Jungkook made sure to leave behind perfect purple and red bruises along your neck and collarbone. Your shirt slightly tugged down so he could leave more.

Meanwhile, your shaky hands reached down to unzip and unbutton your jeans, your thumbs hooked in fabric to slide them down your generous thighs. Jungkook pulling away to watch you. His own hands sliding his belt off and unbuttoning his own jeans. Before he moved closer to tug your jeans down. Taking your underwear with them.

Once both your pants and underwear were shed somewhere on the floor, jungkook had you securely bent over the table. Your tear-stained face meeting your own in the reflection of the mirror as you held back your loud cries of pleasure.

Jungkook on the other hand was knelt down behind your bare half, fingers spreading your glistening folds apart as his tongue slid along your pulsing clit. It made your toes curl as you struggled to remain silent like he had asked. The door was locked, but still...you were known to be loud-

"J-jungkook-" you gasped shakily, warmth spreading down your spine as the familiar closeness of an orgasm began. Your teeth working your lip as you moaned softly into your hand. Your hips pressing back against the boys mouth.

"Not yet. Hold it." He breathed against your heat, before he all but pulled away, making you whine, your eyes meeting his hooded, dark ones in the mirror. "I'm not done. We still have twenty minutes." He grinned.

And those next twenty minutes were pure carnal desire. He had you on your back, on your side. Bent over the edge of the couch arm. Virtually any available surface was used in that dressing room.

But right now, he was still driving into you with a force. His cock soaked with your multiple orgasms. The boy panting over you as he pushed your legs back further so he could reach deeper inside you.

"I'm gonna cum baby-" he whined slightly, sweat sliding down his temple as he looked down at you. Your brain was practically numb, so the only thing you could do was nod quickly. Letting him know with your movements that you wanted it. Wanted him to fill you with all his seed.

You wanted him to claim your body again as you moved, locking your legs around his waist tightly. You were safe. Protected from pregnancy. And you loved when jungkook finished inside you. You could say it was almost a kink. A ritual in your relationship.

And when jungkook came, he filled you until you could take no more. Release spilling out of you and around his cock when he slowly pulled out of you. A perfect smile on his panting face as he watched.

You always liked it when he looked at you like that.

"I love you." He breathed, leaning down to kiss your lips multiple times. "I'm sorry I work so much. I promise to make more time with you. Let me finish this last concert and we can go home and talk. Yeah?" He nodded. Finding his pants and sliding them back on after cleaning himself up.

Jungkook helped you up as well, cleaning you gently before he handed you your pants. He kissed your forehead again before he had to leave for his set. The fans outside cheering loudly when he opened the door to backstage.

And when his show started, and he was there dancing and singing perfectly, you were there with a proud smile on your face (and a limp in your step) watching from backstage. With the promise that there would be more time with him in the future.

----

I hope you enjoyed this first story! I hope to write more soon! Leave me recommendations! Until next time!!

💋💋💋

[hyperfixatedcatlover]

The Beauty's Rebirth Chapter 1 - Casting Call

Alright here's chapter 1! Please don't hesitate on giving constructive criticism. Once again, I have no idea wth I am doing nor do I know where I am going with the story.

TW: Starvation, implied child abuse, implied claustrophobia, implied yandere behaviors.

MDNI

Prologue - Chapter 1 (You are here) - Chapter 2

"So tell us, how long was becoming a model your dream?"

You blink, and smile sheepishly, before answering,

"Well, it never was that much of a dream for me to be honest. It was just a job to get a roof over my head."

"Really?" The host asks looking shocked, "The most famous model in all the galaxy never even dreamed of it? How does that happen? Did you fall on hard times?"

You pause, having thought of a fake backstory before hand, one that hides the truth while revealing little tidbits. You aren't [Y/N] Ivy anymore, she died when your parents dropped her fake body in their living room for the servants to discover.

"You see, my parents one day told me that I'd be going to a stay with a relative on another planet. They gave me a duffel and shipped me off. It wasn't till I got there did I discover the letter in my bag, telling me that they never wanted me in the first place and I was officially disowned. So I was only 15, lost on another planet, no money or anything. I found my Mother Agency and walked in, as it had started raining. There, they gave me a position to model for them, saying they'd provide a roof to stay under, and the rest is history!"

If only that were the truth. That would be easier to bear. Then you wouldn't feel guilty for eating three meals a day. Then you wouldn't be afraid of dark enclosed spaces. Then you wouldn't feel like you can't be anything less than perfect. If only.

"Oh, what a truly heartbreaking tale. Do you know why your parents would do such a thing?"

I can tell the truth here somewhat more at least.

"My mom was jealous of me. I guess my beauty was always there, even when I was a mere child."

"And your father?"  

"He never saw me as a human, more of some ornament for him to show off."

"Some people just don't deserve to be parents." The host says as he makes a sympathetic face and puts his hand over his heart. 'At least he seems genuine for this.' You think to yourself.

The interview continues, going in a more positive direction, maybe you are not as good at hiding your emotions as you thought. Doesn't matter though, you don't like reliving the past. It hurts too much. It sometimes feels like you traded the stone cage from your parents for the gilded cage of fame. But what else can you do, you never received enough education to get into any academy, just enough to read and write well

"Good wives must have the skills to be their husband's secretary! How will you ever do something with your appalling grammar?"

"Mother, I just forgot a comma! I'm sorry!"

"Are you talking back to me girl? I should've known I was being too soft on you. Bring me my belt servant!"

As the maid disappears from the room, you begin to tear up, knowing what was coming.

You blink out of the memory, as the host begins his last question.

"Now, for anyone out there who want s to be a model, what do you have to say?"

"The standards for beauty are high, but don't let them stop you. Don't stop eating trying to get skinnier, don't spend thousands of credits trying to get clearer skin. True beauty comes within, it's a shame that not many people believe that in this industry."

The crowd applauds you as the host grabs your hand to help you stand up and take a bow, smiling for the camera one last time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a shiny office with a model city's lights twinkling, a halovian watches the TV with a raised eyebrow. He calls his hounds to go dig up the grave of a friend he had never fully believed that she was long dead. He has an investigation to do, after all, no rotten branches can be in his family and the family's lost sheep must be guided home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a ship somewhere in the galaxy, the only sound other than the video game sound effects coming from the girl beside him is the television. What it is about you that captivates the beast is unsure, maybe he wants to corrupt you, maybe he wants you to fix him, but something carnal inside of him craves you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a lecture hall where the chalk board is teeming with mathematic equations, the doctor looks at the interview one of his students was watching in class. After confiscating the screen, he notices your face and gets the inescapable urge to sculpt it. It won't be anything like the real thing, but he desires it more than anything right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a gambling hall where the stakes are high and the tension is palpable, a gambler looks at the interview over the shoulder of his arm candy for the night. Seeing such a beautiful gem on screen makes him feel the desire to win her, no matter how high the stakes are.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a living room with a few scattered swords his adopted son has yet to put up, the dozing general finds the interview on TV and decides to watch it. Her eyes stir something in him, a desire to hunt her and save her from the abundance, after all, she seems like the kind THEY'D try to steal from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A trickster on a planet of ice and snow watches the broadcast with an honorable captain. Both seem enthralled in someway, but one is blushing brightly and another seems curious about how she'd look with tears in her eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a dingy bar, a cyborg watches the static-filled screen show her beautiful face, still lovely despite the static. He gets that tingle in his metal bones that he got ever since he lost her, the one that said his wife was in danger. He doesn't know why he feels the need to protect you, but it won't leave him alone, and who is he to deny his emotions?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a planet where a knight has stopped to refuel his ship, he falls to his knees seeing the interview on a screen. In his very soul, he knows that the woman showed is his lost Aeon of Beauty, and knows that he will stop at nothing to bring her to the Knights to be properly worshipped.

[emin-folly]

Maybe this is a stupid question, but what do you think Eobard does in his free time? Like, does he have a daily schedule? A color-coded calendar with reminders how to fuck with Barry? Is he still a professor? Like, what does he DO when he isn't actively fucking up someone's life? Sry, I just got interested in him very recently, and the comics are chaotic lol

Hello~! I'm very happy to be the first to welcome you to Yellow Rat hell <3 He's such a fascinating, tragic, horrid gremlin of a man, and he definitely deserves more fans aha. As someone who reads comics, I can confirm it's not you, they can be very confusing and all over the place xD

And no, that's not a stupid question, not at all! He is shown not to always be around to bother Barry for months at a time, so it's entirely reasonable to wonder where he goes a lot of the time~ Some ideas of what he could be possibly doing are but not limited to:

Tending to his beloved museum. Aside from Barry, this is one of the very few things he treasures deeply. It's his pride and joy as well as his home. We all know he's established to be the curator of the museum and has provided tours to the public, but it's very unclear if he continued with that after becoming Reverse Flash. While he might've, I feel like there's too many reasons why he wouldn't. One being that the Renegades know his secret identity and I'm pretty sure that would ruin a lot of business for him lol. Plus with Eobard's mentality, I think he would be just too distracted, too frantic with his need to focus on Barry to do his day job

Now this is more of a fun headcanon my friend, Ftl were talking about that I since adopted where Eobard likes to pop back into the past, right before a major event or disaster, whether just as a bystander or a instigator. And of course, he always manages to run into Vandal Savage, so much to the point now that Vandal now associates him as a omen for things to come

He is canonically shown to go and bother/mess with Thomas Wayne a handful of times. This is significant as normally he really doesn't go out of his way for anyone that's not Barry/Flashfam member more than he absolutely has to. He doesn't even go after Hal. The only people he seems to be genuinely interested in and fixated on are those who have (willingly) killed him. Thomas may not rank as high as a priority as Barry, naturally, but he definitely counts as a hobby at least

There was also that time in Flash Age, where Eobard got to play the role of savior of Central City in his own era. He genuinely seemed to enjoy being the hero but, well, if you read to the end, you'll see why that most likely won't be happening again heh

Now this one is a lot more jokey, but in a DC Holiday Special, there's one panel in the last story that shows Eobard enjoying a game of poker with the Anti Monitor along with some other characters, so take from that what you will~

Now, as for your question about him still being a Professor, that's also really not explained in depth. They never really cement exactly what he's a Professor of, but considering him, it's most likely history and/or the Speed Force. In some comics he does have students, in others it works mostly as just a title and then sometimes it's not referenced at all, but it's safe to assume he still is one aha

I also don't really see him having a daily routine. The way I see it, Eobard is so far removed from being human, he doesn't really need to eat, sleep, or do personal hygiene lol But I really love your calendar idea! It would definitely look something like: "Fuck with Barry" "Fuck with Barry" "Fuck with Barry" "Fuck with Barry/Visit Daddy Bat" "Fuck with Barry/Die" "Askdhsgkdbjk" "Poker night" 😂

Also, I know it's not really canon but I really enjoy the idea of him painting. Eobard is a gifted child and a genius, he can master practically anything he sets his mind to. IDK why painting of all things, but it just kinda seems right. Bonus points if he uses it to replace original paintings in the past with his LOL

Overall, sadly, we don't get to see all the mischief he gets up to when not tormenting Barry, only tidbits. But hey, that just gives us some creative freedom to come up with fun ideas ourselves~

[arealphrooblem]

Kidnapped by the Boss Part 5

Part one here

Synopsis: Civilian is a secretary to the Prime Minster. But when the political summit between the city states goes awry, she finds herself kidnapped by the very boss she tried to protect and nothing is what it seems.

CW: Now with named characters

She awoke to a knock on the door. Outside the window, the sunlight had faded into twilight. It took several moments to swing her legs over the edge of the bed and stand, head fuzzy and hurting from crying. All the while the knocking became more and more persistent.

“I can’t open the door!” she snapped. Normally she spared the servants any vitriol because they were just doing their jobs. But none of them ever pounded on her door like this either.

“Is the princess awake yet?” came the driver’s voice through the door.

Of course it was him.

“She is now,” she grumbled, scrubbing her face and crossing the room.

“I hope you’re decent, then.” Was the only warning she got before the door swung open to reveal the driver holding a tray of food in his hands.

“Sleep well?” he asked, gaze roving over her hair.

The urge to run a hand over the back of her hair was almost overwhelming. But she refused to give him the idea that he could make her feel self conscious.

“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.

His gaze darted down to the tray of food. “Is it not obvious? I’m a delivery man tonight.”

Bitterness laced his tone. Apparently he thought the chore was beneath him.

“I thought you’ve killed for him. Isn’t this a bit below your pay-grade,” she asked. “Or did he demote you?”

The dark glare he sent her way made the petty vindictiveness in her heart glow.

“Who says I’m not here to kill you?”

“If you were, you wouldn’t announce it,” she retorted, trying to swallow down the flash of fear, “seeing as you can hide in my room and hurt me when I least expect it.”

That made logical sense, right? If the king wanted her dead after all it wouldn’t be like this, would it?

A flash of discomfort crossed his face before he quickly buried it.

“You going to let me in or not?”

Reluctantly she stepped aside and allowed him access to the room. He made a beeline to the small table and chairs that sat near the window and set it down. Then he pulled up on the metal cover of the plate with a sarcastic flourish. The smell hit her first, making her mouth water, before she caught sight of a perfectly seared steak, stuffed mushrooms, and au gratin potatoes.

Her favorite indulgence dinner. One the prime minister had insisted she order on company money many times.

Now it felt like a slap in the face. And yet she couldn’t stop herself from stepping closer, and picking up one of the mushrooms.

“Bold of you to eat something an assassin gave you,” he replied, his gaze piercing.

Again that flash of fear. She met his gaze and popped the mushroom in her mouth, swallowing it down with her unease. When nothing happened, she smirked.

“So you did get demoted.”

The driver crossed his arms. “I am many things to my king besides his assassin. And right now he deems you important enough to waste my time on. You should be grateful for that. I don’t know how long that’s going to last with the way you keep resisting him and it won’t end well for you when it does.”

Anger flared, hot and sudden, in her chest. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact. You’re in a very precarious position right now. Whatever favor you have with my king is fragile and you’re not going to last long if you keep taking a hammer to it.”

But she wanted to take a hammer to it, just like he took a hammer to her trust. If anyone struck first, it was him and he deserved nothing from her in return. She should spit in his face the next time she saw him.

The driver looked at her expression and shook his head. “He’s right — you’re as stubborn as a goddamn mule.” Then he shrugged and added, “ Well, it’s your funeral,” before striding off to the door.

“Your concern is touching,” she said acidly.

He stopped at that, hand on the knob. When she met his gaze again, it had turned serious.

“By the way, I need you to understand something: you will always know when I’m in the room with you.”

Her brow furrowed. What did that have to do with anything? “ . . .Okay?”

“When I psychologically torture someone out of their sanity, it’s done on purpose.”

He was talking about her breakdown that morning. Embarrassment crept up her neck in a heated flush at the reminder. She hadn’t believed him that morning when he tried to claim his innocence. He sounded more believable now. Almost . . .contrite?

Before she could respond, he shut the door. The click of the lock sounded after him.

When she looked back at her food, all appetite had left her. She tossed it in the trash and went back to sleep.

She slept all through the night until dawn, jerking awake from a nightmare where she was buried alive under the castle. There was no sleeping after that. Instead she took a long hot bath to calm her heart and settle her thoughts. Only after she had dressed in fresh leggings and a dark red t-shirt did a soft knock sound at her door.

She froze. It didn’t sound like the assassin’s knock. He practically busted the door down, hoping to wake her up. No one else knocked because they didn’t need to -- it wasn’t like she could open the door for them.

The knock sounded again, soft but insistent.

“ . . .yes?” she asked warily.

“Val?” The king’s voice twisted her stomach into sudden knots. “May I come in?”

As if he would let a simple no stop him. Shel debated saying it anyway, just to be contrary, just to fight the habit of always granting him what he asked for because that was her job.

 But she didn’t think she could handle another death threat this early in the morning.

“ . . .fine,” she said, terse.

The door swung open and he stepped in, dressed in loose jeans and a soft t-shirt looking not like a king but an ordinary man, someone stepping out to check the mail or buy groceries. As prime minster, even his casual outfits included slacks or a button down shirt.

But more shocking than his clothes was the pointed lack of another’s footsteps behind him.

“Where’s your shadow?” she asked, arms crossed.

He gave her a lopsided smile. “He prefers not to be conscious at this hour unless I have a need for him.”

“I can’t say I miss him,” she muttered.

“Yes, you two mix like oil and water.”

“Well that’s what happens when someone tells you they’ll happily kill you the literal second their boss gives the order.”

He snorted, a tiny huff of laughter she’d heard a hundred times before and that certainly does not make her heart twist. “I can’t fault you for that. He has a very intense flavor of loyalty.”

Some demented bitter thing in her chest twisted at the sound of that,  a hot spear of jealousy, which she snuffed out immediately.

“What do you want?” she asked instead.

“We didn’t get to finish our discussion yesterday,” he replied.

“Discussion? You mean the one where you told me I could never go back home again or my life is over?”

“I never said it was a guarantee. Just a risk. You’re free to go home any time you like. I’m not forcing you to stay here.”

And yet her door stays locked and she can’t watch the news.

“Well excuse me for not wanting to risk execution or life imprisonment for your bullshit.”

There’s that crooked smile again. He didn’t look the least bit guilty and it infuriated her. “You don’t know even a quarter of my bullshit. There’s still more to share. Shall we?”

He held out his arm, bent at the elbow, like they were about to enter a charity gala. It made her want to throw something.

“Do I have a choice?” she asked.

“Not particularly.” He cocked his head to the side, looking pensive. “I want you to know who I truly am. You deserve that much.”

All his deadly glares, casual threats on her life, the guiltless ease in which he took over her life flared to her memory.

“I’ve seen enough, thanks.”

“I promise you have not.”

Something about his steady, insistent tone made her pause. Whatever he wanted to tell her, he considered it deeply, unshakably important. It stirred morbid curiosity in her. What  could be bigger than the king of the hidden kingdom wanting to invade the other city states? How the hell do you top that?

“Fine,” she relented. “But I’m not holding onto your arm.”

“As you wish.”

He guided her down the halls with a faint touch at her lower back which was worse. It was too intimate, too loaded. After several minutes walking, they came to a large, ornate sitting room, every inch of the walls lined with art. One wall contained nothing but royal portraits.

“This is my family, all the way from the very first of our dynasty,” he said with obvious pride.

At least twenty portraits hung in gilded frames. She tried to feign indifference but it was difficult. Not only could she track the changing fashion trends throughout history, but she also kept discovering all pieces of his features, like a scavenger hunt. This king had his nose, this queen gifted him her eyes.

It carried on all the way until the third most recent portrait, which looked unsettlingly like him: King Aris. They could have been twins. In fact, she thought it was him, save for the date of his reign, which occurred over a hundred years ago. The portrait next to it looked nothing like him. And neither did the last.

“Even in the age of photography, each ruler has had a traditional portrait made and hung here,” he said softly behind her.

“Except for you,” she realized. “Did you not have time for it when you were pretending to run another city state?”

“I do have my portrait up there. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it.”

Her eyes flickered over to what would have been his great-grandfather. “Are you such a genetic throwback to your ancestor that they didn’t bother painting another one?”

He chuckled, stepping up beside her. “No. That one is mine.”

She squinted at the dates again. Had she mis-read them? But if it was him, why wasn’t it the most recent portrait?

“He died a hundred and seven years ago.” She shot a glare at him. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I think you’re brilliant,” he said seriously. “And you’re right — I did die.”

One of his hands lifted to gently brush against his portrait almost with the wistful nostalgia of a parent looking at photos of their child.

“Every ruler of this kingdom has been born with a power. In fact, most residents of this kingdom are born with one. Everyone thought I was the rare exception, that I was born with nothing. My enemies thought I was an easy mark because of it and they banded together to assassinate me and split the kingdom up into their bartered pieces. That’s why the city states are no longer united.”

She knew the city states had once been one continuous kingdom and that civil war had split it apart. But nothing in her textbooks explained this part of the story.

“How did you survive?” she found herself asking despite herself.

His gaze cut towards hers. “I didn’t. I died. And then I was reborn.”

“ . . .reborn.”

“I do have a power, as it turns out.” He smiled and it held a terrifying edge to it. “Reincarnation. I spent my second life rebuilding my support, gathering my forces until I died again. And now I’m on my third life, back in the position I belong in.”

“So you’re effectively immortal,” she said slowly, the process of the truth and all its implications a slow trickle.

Immortal. He could die, sure. But he would come back -- with all of his memories. He would always come back. No one could ever stop him — just delay him. 

She swallowed down the anxiety spiking in her chest and dared to ask, “So what’s the goal here? What’s all these secrets and plans for?”

“Reunification,” he said softly. “To piece back together what was taken from me.”

“You mean reuniting the city states.”

A steely glint surged in his eyes. “By diplomacy, blackmail, or force. I don’t care what it takes.”

Her mouth fell open. “It’s been over a century! You can’t just slap it back together like they’re puzzle pieces. The cultures have shifted, economics are specialized, national identities have split. You saw all that!”

“I did,” he said evenly. “I also saw how much they struggle alone. All the trade disputes between each other, all the political spats and blackmail, the half hearted cold wars between them and alliances that change with the wind. They are so much weaker apart than we were together.”

“So strong together that you were assassinated and they split to pieces?” she pointed out, crossing her arms.

“That happened because I trusted the wrong person,” he nearly growled. “And that will never happen again.”

“A paranoid monarch who uses violence — that’s never gone badly in history.”

He breathed in sharply and she felt grim satisfaction at getting under his skin. She’d heard that rarely during his time as prime minister and never directed at her no matter how she nagged  him.

“You don’t understand. That's alright,” he said, voice tight. “I don’t expect you to. You don’t have all the pieces. You weren’t raised here.”

“Don’t you dare condescend to me,” she snapped, anger sparking like a match on kerosene. “You lost and you couldn’t handle it so you’re going to make millions of innocent people suffer the price of your tantrum. It’s insane and it’s not going to work.”

For a moment it looked as if she pushed too far. A deadly, icy glint hardened his gaze and his fingers curled into fists. Was this how she died, mouthing off to her former boss? Was his shadow lurking around, invisible, ready to stab her with a knife?

But then he took a deep breath and unclenched his hands. When he spoke again his tone was even and calm.

“I know that it will be difficult. I know that I could fail.  But that isn’t going to stop me because I believe the end result is worth it. Maybe one day you will see that.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He dared to smile at her, something small and fond and he didn’t deserve to look at her like that after everything. Like they were friends.

“You’re very stubborn. I should have remembered that.”

“Your shadow said the same thing.”

 He gestured to the doorway. “Shall we get some breakfast?”

“No thanks. All your talk of forcible invasion kind of killed my appetite,” she said. “Just take my back to my cell.”

“A cell.” He snorted. “Your cell is more luxurious than any apartment you ever lived in.”

“A cage is a cage. It doesn’t matter how pretty it is,” she shot back.  

He looked at her speculatively. “You know, we do have real dungeons in this castle. You could be languishing in one of them.”

“Then why aren’t I?” She refused to cower at his threats, not this time.

“Why indeed?” He stared at her, like a teacher waiting for the light bulb to go off. 

And it did it. Of course. “You want something from me. What is it?”

A wistful look crossed his face. “I don’t think you’re ready to hear that part yet.” Then his hand appeared between her shoulder blades. “Come. Let's get you back to your cage.”

Part 6

Taglist: @rivalriotrenegade @sunyside-world @fishtale88 @those-damn-snippets @suspiciousmuffin @thats-alittle-gay @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars @tobeornottobeateacher @burningkittypoet @kurai-hono-blog

[receival]

castlevania, season 3 starters.

the following is a collection of sentence starters from the netflix original, castlevania.

oh, my god. i am losing my mind.

it’s only been a month. i think.

i think it might actually be a nice night, for once.

do you think we’ll make the next town before we lose the last of the light?

do we need to make more noise?

they need to hurry up. i’m hungry.

let them get in close and get confident.

oh, god, not this again.

i am certainly doomed. doomed, i say! i am defenseless and frozen to my seat with fear!

laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, (name)?

this will all be over in a minute.

what if i said i was sorry?

i’ve been promoted from “brain - damaged servant”, then.

it’s absolutely bloody chaos out there!

i want to get in a bath, for at least a day.

the plan couldn’t have gone more wrong.

you’ll be wanting a drink, then.

you do still love me!

it’s us against the world, (name).

has there been some apocalyptic development that i somehow slept through in the meantime?

time absolutely does move on, and, sadly, none of us is master or mistress of it.

they are somewhat, uh, broken.

did you kill it?

how do you know this?

they said they felt his death.

does that offend you?

it’s time for you and yours to move along now, (name).

what the hell was that?

oh, dear. what a shame.

not until i feel a little safer here.

you killed that bastard thing. you get one free.

that is better than sex.

i do hope you sleep well tonight, with my tiny, icy foot shoved all the way up your —

and you know the smell of hell?

are you breathing, betrayer?

i was spoiled by a single act of kindness in this city. and so i attempted to be reasonable, honest, and peaceful. this was against my better nature.

it was stupid to expect anything other than hate from you.

i keep making the same mistake. i should know better.

then why are still talking to me?

do you know what annoys me about it the most? it’s a really good idea.

maybe we could just torture him until he does what he’s told.

i suppose i’m awake now.

good boy.

what a formidable beast you are.

uh … who the hell are you?

you are practically the jesus of murder.

i have no idea what’s happening right now.

and … what do you want in return?

what interests you so much about hell?

i will not be hunted.

if i wanted him dead, i would have aimed higher.

i am not “the” anything.

you’re better than i thought.

you will have to unlearn much of what you know about the world and take on more than you ever imagined.

i think my mother would approve.

now we are not alone.

i suppose we could take a break.

ah, you’ve gone insane.

you could have told me that yesterday.

well, now i want to know how you’re even alive.

the place is apparently full of lunatics.

what do you need to know?

they just looked … well. broken.

i’m not looking at you, (name).

you like looking at me.

do you partake of alcohol?

it’s not pain as you understand it.

i’m too angry. i cannot find myself.

i cannot pray. i cannot see god.

he was confused. he was grieving.

it is a skill, learned over many years.

through my hand, god lifts the damned from hell in his mercy to enact their penance on the earth as my soldiers.

well after you’ve had your blood, what will you do then?

i’ve been cruel. it’s a cruel world. maybe we do all deserve to die — but maybe we could be better, too.

revenge is good. bastards need punishing.

vampires. you like to play with your food.

sorry. it must look like blood, mustn’t it?

i seem to have some roasted chicken in here. i’m afraid there are no maggots on it — i can call the guard and ask him to get you some sprinkles.

we enjoy all the good things of life. it’d be silly not to, wouldn’t it? otherwise, well, why live forever, if you’re not going to live well?

why live forever, if you’re not going to live well?

it’s alright. i’m not here to cause you any more harm.

let’s just have something to eat, and talk.

well! wasn’t that fun!

i’m a diplomat, (name). i make peace. and because of that, people think i’m soft. people think i’m weak. you won’t make that mistake again, will you?

fetch!

don’t look at those.

how long have you been here on your own?

tell me i’m wrong.

i admit it, alright? it’s been amazing. but i also remember how hard it was to get here.

i wish you’d stop talking to me like i’m insane, (name).

we wear the mark of hell?

i confess i had doubts about you.

enough. move away.

quietly confident people are competent and careful. nervous people make mistakes.

i’d rather they were nervous than happy in their work.

stop pretending that this is anything other than what it is.

it’s not poisoned.

let’s talk about what you would like.

i — i don’t understand the question.

i wasn’t necessarily looking for a reward.

so, you would have died with your boots on.

but what if you’re lying to me?

oh, i don’t have to lie to you. i have no interest in faith. faith makes for terrible diplomacy.

i like the sound of your voice.

i mean, look at you. beaten down a dozen different ways, and you don’t give up on yourself.

what a monster i have become.

i cannot believe this is happening again.

why do i keep doing the same thing and expecting a different result?

am i mad?

what the hell are you doing with your life?

what the actual hell are you thinking?

you weren’t following me, were you?

somebody always needs something.

places have a strange way of catching back up with you.

and you know it wasn’t there yesterday?

oh. that’s worrying,

i want to see how good you are when it comes down to a blade.

i’m developing a taste for the rougher things in life.

i do not trust people, generally.

who did you lose?

a bird might think your penis was a twig and fly off with it.

good boy.

the thing is, (name), humans forget things. vampires don’t.

you have a lot to learn.

so dramatic. relax and enjoy the night.

alright, i admit it. that’s fantastic.

is this a trick? am i dreaming?

i had a feeling you might find it interesting.

can i see you tomorrow night?

that’s a depressing thought.

i hope i love long enough to find out how it ends.

we — we shouldn’t be … here.

take my hand! please!

i’m sure there must have been a time when i had nice dreams.

do you remember who you were?

i think it was a long time ago.

i gave up others so that i may live.

thank you for my second life.

it will take a very long time, and there are more important things to do.

i’m not going anywhere, (name).

it’s a little more complicated than that.

not an obvious thing to find in a church.

i don’t see why this would excite you so.

i fail to see why this should interest me.

you’re alone here?

i smell you.

i see you.

i’m just not as strong as i was.

there are worse things than betrayal.

i’m a simple man with simple pleasures.

oh, i do like meeting a professional killer.

keep a civil fucking tongue in your head when you’re addressing me, (name).

you can’t keep me here.

i can’t believe i tried to be nice to you.

why are you still awake?

can you not keep it down?

well, now i definitely need a drink.

he’s holding things back from us.

can it be after i’ve had a nap?

i’m not lazy. i conserve my resources for important

efforts.

i feel as if i’ve been led here.

we’re doomed.

i don’t have enough information yet.

i seem to have missed that epic part of your plan.

you’re being … kind.

alright, alright. no need to make a production out of it.

i’m simply not used to people being kind to me for no reason.

there’s not something you’re not telling me?

has night fallen already?

you didn’t hear me enter.

i’m presuming there’s some disturbing reason for that and i will regret asking.

so now we’re not all monsters?

diplomacy is compromise.

i get something, you get something.

i have all the power, and you’re a pretty man in a box.

i’m — i’m pretty?

i’ve been awake all day thinking about it.

i want to be let out.

that would be a direct betrayal.

you’d survive less than a day on your own.

i would die almost immediately.

uh, that wasn’t what i was expecting to hear.

i think we’ve made a terrible mistake.

god is no longer in that house.

sleep, you idiot.

maybe i should get a coffin to sleep in.

tell me you’re mine.

i’m yours.

tell me you belong to me.

i belong to you.

what the fuck is that?

i may have been on my own for too long.

another hopeful idea that died in its sleep.

(name), do you have my back?

you’re already dead.

why? why would you tell me this?

all this death and horror for that leech?

show me what i want to see, you fucking bastard!

i gave you everything.

the world is not against you.

i am not against you.

i never lied to you.

i just want to know what’s behind that door.

this could not have gone more wrong.

[anonymousbeefriendfanfics]

My Thoughts on Touchstarved

So, I've finished the demo! Let me start off by saying that I love the story! The concept is awesome, I adore that you can choose your own background, I love how immersive the setting is, everything is just... amazing. I can't wait for the full game to come out! Especially with all the special treats we're getting from the Kickstarter goals, it's going to be fantastic! And now, my friends, I shall share with you my thoughts & Headcannons for each of our lovely love interests, in order of appearance. If you'd like to see more, my requests are open!! I haven't gotten any for Touchstarved yet but I'm itching to write for them, I just... need some inspiration, so the more the merrier!

Kuras

First of all: pretty. I love his design, it's wonderful. He looks so ethereal! And very doctor-y, which was the point.

Can we talk about the hair, though???? How cool is that?? I love it. It looks very soft and fluffy. And so long... Could you imagine sleeping next to him? You wake up and you're drowning in floof.

He's very kind and gentle, but is obviously holding back. He distances himself from people, and like everybody else on this list, he needs to find someone he can really trust to open up and be himself with.

And he stays so busy, like... when does he ever take the time to relax? I know the city needs him and his clinic, but he deserves some time off, too.

To be honest Kuras gives me kinda like.... asexual vibes? Maybe demisexual? Idk, maybe I'm reading too much into him being reserved, but. I just feel like he either wouldn't be interested or he'd want to fall in love with someone before taking them to bed.

Leander

I love him, he's incredible. So talented, so kind!! I love the respect the Bloodhounds have for him, and how willing he is to go out of his way to help a stranger.

Also he blushes very easily and I love it, he's absolutely adorable

I am very very curious how he got so much skill with magic, because that doesn't seem to be normal. I bet it has something to do with his secret.

He very clearly has some serious trauma in his past, too. I wonder how he got that scar, if it has anything to do with his magic, if it is indeed the same scar running from his face to his arm....

Seems like he drowns his trauma in alcohol, his gang, and keeping himself very busy. Poor thing clearly doesn't get as much sleep as he should.

I think he just wants to be loved, but he's afraid to let himself be too vulnerable.

Vere

Foxboy Foxboy Foxboy Foxboy Fox-

Can I just say that I'm a little bit in love with his design. I mean I am with all of them but. Especially Vere. I love foxes and it's just. *Chef's kiss*

He's a cocky lil son of a biscuit tho. That tongue of his is quite sharp... as are his teeth~

I feel like he'd flirt with a Soulless to get what he wanted. In actuality he'd just murder it, but... you get my point. You're never sure if he's gonna seduce you or slit your neck.

Literally if Sage and Rime from Last Legacy had a child.

He's absolutely not trustworthy but I wanna get to the bottom of things and form that trust with him.

Romancing him would be very interesting. He's always three seconds away from eating you, but the question is... will he eat your soul, or your [redacted]?

Ais

He reminds me far too much of my friend's OC, and for that, I am the sliiiightest bit obsessed with him. At least that gives me a headstart on his characterization.

Would sell you to Satan for one cornchip, but fortunately MC interests him enough to keep them around

And Princess???? Oh my god. My heart. I adore her, I adore him, yes please

And he calls the MC "Sparrow"!!! That's absolutely precious. I love how he has nicknames for people, it's wonderful

Ais seems like the person who will tell you he doesn't care what happens to you and you can go get yourself killed for all he cares, then move heaven and earth to save you once you're even slightly in danger.

Mhin

Baby needs a hug. Enough said.

l absolutely adore them. They have stolen my heart.

And yes, maybe I do have the slightest bit of a savior complex, shut up. I'm just addicted to the hurt/comfort angst of it all, okay?

Literally hates everyone and everyone hates them (Except for, y'know, Kuras) because they're such a grumpy little loner and dear god just let me love you, let me teach you what love is.

They definitely fit into the whole "stronger than they appear" archetype because they're specifically mentioned to be pretty scrawny, but they have an impressive amount of strength and holy hells they're good with that dagger. That's incredible skill

I just. I want to break down those walls and earn their trust and teach them they have someone they can rely on who won't betray them, no matter what happens or how dark things get.

I just want to cuddle them and reassure them that everything's gonna be alright, is that a crime?

[1800naveen]

ACOSF 1-5

Chapter 1:

“Feyre wants you at the house.” “Which one?” Nesta said, frowning at the foot he’d wedged in the door. “She has five.”

WHY DO Y'ALL NEED FIVE MANSIONS??

Cassian said at last, “Feyre is High Lady. She’s busy running the Night Court.”

High Lady of Velaris but ok.

He took the invitation to survey her: long bare legs, an elegant sweep of hips, tapered waist—too damn thin—and full, inviting breasts that were at odds with the new, sharp angles of her body. On any other female, those magnificent breasts might have been enough cause for him to begin courting her the moment he met her. But from the instant he’d met Nesta, the cold fire in her eyes had been a temptation of a different sort.

I hate men.

There had been some days in the past year when she hadn’t even bothered to take the time. Some days when she’d climbed into the icy water, not feeling its bite but that of the Cauldron’s dark depths as it devoured her whole. As it ripped away her humanity, her mortality, and made her into this.

"Nesta and Elain are so lucky!" Are they? Are they really?

It had taken her months of battling it—the body-tensing panic that made her very bones tremble to be submerged. But she’d forced herself to face it down. Had learned to sit in the icy water, nauseated and shaking, teeth gritted; had refused to move until her body recognized that she was in a tub and not the Cauldron, that she was in her apartment and not the stone castle across the sea, that she was alive, immortal. Even though her father was not.

Her and Elain deserve better. Ianthe and king of Hybern, burn.

Even their gods-damned father had a portrait on the wall along one side of the grand staircase: him and Elain, smiling and happy, as they’d been before the world went to shit.

Not the deadbeat getting a painting.

“Though I bet it’s hard to look good,” Amren went on, “when you’re out until the darkest hours of the night, drinking yourself stupid and fucking anything that comes your way.”

Why is this short bitch speaking? HYPOCRITE, Y'ALL BEEN DOING THIS FOR YEARS!

Rhys said, “You are going to stay. You are going to listen.” She let out a low laugh. “You’re not my High Lord. You don’t give me orders.” But she knew how powerful he was. Had seen it, felt it. Still trembled to be near him.

MOTHER NESTA🙏🏾

“Keep your self-righteous do-gooder nonsense out of my life.”

What did Catelyn Stark say?

Chapter 2:

The eldest of the Archeron sisters had a talent for getting under everyone’s skin.

Me and Nesta twinning🤞🏾

Cassian had been eating an early breakfast with them this morning when Rhys had gotten the bill for Nesta’s night out. When Rhys had read each item aloud. Bottles of rare wine, exotic foods, gambling debts … Feyre had stared at her plate until silent tears dripped into her scrambled eggs.

GOOFY, Y'ALL ARE RICH

It had required all of Cassian’s training, every horror he’d endured on and off the battlefield, to keep that same crushing sorrow from his own face.

It's just money, calm down. You're also rich?

Amren had suggested a few days in a dungeon in the Hewn City, but Feyre had simply said that the human world would be more than enough of a prison for someone like Nesta.

The place that y'know, tortures its women and sells them at the highest bidder?

“You spent five hundred gold marks last night!” Feyre exploded, shooting to her feet to pace in front of the hearth. “Do you know how much money that is? Do you know how embarrassed I was when we got the bill this morning and my friends—my family—had to hear all about it?”

YOU ARE RICH! YOUR MATE IS RICH! YOUR NEW FAMILY IS RICH!

“It is about how it reflects upon me, upon Rhys, and upon my court when my damned sister spends our money on wine and gambling and does nothing to contribute to this city! If my sister cannot be controlled, then why should we have the right to rule over anyone else?”

Bitch, you rule over Velaris. You don't rule over Illyria, you don't rule over Hewn City. Only Velaris. You certainly don't care about the women in either region and you wear the wings of the women who get theirs clipped.

Chapter 3:

He braced himself. He’d been anticipating this talk since he’d spent four months with the Illyrians, soothing the jagged edges amongst the war-bands, making sure the families who’d lost fathers and sons and brothers and husbands were taken care of, that they knew he was there to help and to listen, and generally making it very fucking clear that if they rose up against Rhys, there would be hell to pay.

And they still wonder why Illyrians hates them. They're your people, why do you feel superior over them?

Rhys threw him a wicked smile. “It’s not the fighting I don’t want them hearing.”

Kill him.

He and his brothers had put a good deal of distance between the stupid youths they’d been—fucking any female who showed interest, often in the same room as each other—and the males they were now. He wanted to keep it that way.

Why do men? Nesta bangs random men and it's wrong but they can do shit like this?

Chapter 4:

Mor sipped her tea, the portrait of elegant innocence. “We’d be better off throwing Nesta into the Court of Nightmares. She’d thrive there.” Cassian clenched his jaw, both at the insult and the truth. “That’s exactly the sort of existence we’re trying to steer her away from.”

Elegant innocence, my ass. Whoever says Mor is a girl's girl has no frontal lobe. Cassian, Mor, and Amren, go to hell challenge!

He again let himself admire her perfect face. Beyond the disastrous consequences for Mor after their night together, the fallout with Rhys afterward had been awful, and Azriel had been so furious in his own quiet way that Cassian had quelled any further desire for Mor. Had let lust turn into affection, and all romantic feelings turn into familial bonds. But he could still admire her sheer beauty—as he’d admire any work of art. Even though he knew well that what lay inside Mor was far more lovely and perfect than her exterior.

The inside is worse but go off I guess. Also a "brother" wouldn't talk about his "sister" like that. Cersei and Jaime come again.

Mor took another bite from her pastry. “Lucien can’t be entirely trusted anymore.” Cassian started. “What?” “Even with Elain here, he’s become close with Jurian and Vassa. He’s voluntarily living with them these days, and not just as an emissary. As their friend.”

Damn, can't a man have friends?

Chapter 5:

His hazel eyes guttered. “Not eating won’t bring your father back.”

Acting like a dick won't bring your mother back. Oh my! Who said that?

Settling himself required the entire three minutes she was downstairs. The Mother knew he had enough to deal with today, both with Nesta’s lesson and beyond it, without descending into thoughts of peeling those pants off her and worshipping every inch of that spectacular backside.

I'LL TREAT YOU RIGHT, NESTA! SHE SHOULD'VE BEEN A GIRL KISSER!

But fuck—when had he last had a satisfying roll in the sheets? Certainly not since the war. Maybe since before Feyre had freed them all from Amarantha’s grip. Cauldron boil him, it had been the month before Amarantha had fallen, hadn’t it? With that female he’d met at Rita’s. In an alley outside the pleasure hall. Against a brick wall. Quick and dirty and over within minutes, neither he nor the female wanting anything more than swift release. That had been more than two years ago. It had been his hand ever since. He should have scratched that particular itch before deciding that living in the House with Nesta was a good idea. She was hurting and adrift and the last thing she needed was him panting after her.

I have no words but what the fuck?

A stupid fucking hope, and one he should have known better than to harbor. So that Winter Solstice night on the icy streets, when he knew she’d only shown up at the town house to get the money Feyre had dangled in exchange for making an appearance, when she’d asserted that she wanted nothing to do with him … he’d thrown the present he’d spent months hunting down into the frozen Sidra and then busied himself with quelling the growing dissent amongst the Illyrians.

Cassian when someone wants to be left alone: 🤬🤬. Temper tantrums at his grown age?

Nesta emerged, her braided hair now coiled across the crown of her head like a woven tiara. He made a point not to look beneath her neck. At the body left on display. She needed to gain back the weight she’d lost, and pack on some muscle, but … those fucking leathers.

When I'm in the sexualizing Nesta challenge but Cassian is already eyeing her.

Will post chapter 6 to 10 reactions some other time. Until then✌🏾

[thebrickinbrick]

The Dead Are in the Right and the Living Are Not in the Wrong

The death agony of the barricade was about to begin.

Everything contributed to its tragic majesty at that supreme moment; a thousand mysterious crashes in the air, the breath of armed masses set in movement in the streets which were not visible, the intermittent gallop of cavalry, the heavy shock of artillery on the march, the firing by squads, and the cannonades crossing each other in the labyrinth of Paris, the smokes of battle mounting all gilded above the roofs, indescribable and vaguely terrible cries, lightnings of menace everywhere, the tocsin of Saint-Merry, which now had the accents of a sob, the mildness of the weather, the splendor of the sky filled with sun and clouds, the beauty of the day, and the alarming silence of the houses.

For, since the preceding evening, the two rows of houses in the Rue de la Chanvrerie had become two walls; ferocious walls, doors closed, windows closed, shutters closed.

In those days, so different from those in which we live, when the hour was come, when the people wished to put an end to a situation, which had lasted too long, with a charter granted or with a legal country, when universal wrath was diffused in the atmosphere, when the city consented to the tearing up of the pavements, when insurrection made the bourgeoisie smile by whispering its password in its ear, then the inhabitant, thoroughly penetrated with the revolt, so to speak, was the auxiliary of the combatant, and the house fraternized with the improvised fortress which rested on it. When the situation was not ripe, when the insurrection was not decidedly admitted, when the masses disowned the movement, all was over with the combatants, the city was changed into a desert around the revolt, souls grew chilled, refuges were nailed up, and the street turned into a defile to help the army to take the barricade.

A people cannot be forced, through surprise, to walk more quickly than it chooses. Woe to whomsoever tries to force its hand! A people does not let itself go at random. Then it abandons the insurrection to itself. The insurgents become noxious, infected with the plague. A house is an escarpment, a door is a refusal, a façade is a wall. This wall hears, sees and will not. It might open and save you. No. This wall is a judge. It gazes at you and condemns you. What dismal things are closed houses. They seem dead, they are living. Life which is, as it were, suspended there, persists there. No one has gone out of them for four and twenty hours, but no one is missing from them. In the interior of that rock, people go and come, go to bed and rise again; they are a family party there; there they eat and drink; they are afraid, a terrible thing! Fear excuses this fearful lack of hospitality; terror is mixed with it, an extenuating circumstance. Sometimes, even, and this has been actually seen, fear turns to passion; fright may change into fury, as prudence does into rage; hence this wise saying: “The enraged moderates.” There are outbursts of supreme terror, whence springs wrath like a mournful smoke.—“What do these people want? What have they come there to do? Let them get out of the scrape. So much the worse for them. It is their fault. They are only getting what they deserve. It does not concern us. Here is our poor street all riddled with balls. They are a pack of rascals. Above all things, don’t open the door.”—And the house assumes the air of a tomb. The insurgent is in the death-throes in front of that house; he sees the grape-shot and naked swords drawing near; if he cries, he knows that they are listening to him, and that no one will come; there stand walls which might protect him, there are men who might save him; and these walls have ears of flesh, and these men have bowels of stone.

Whom shall he reproach?

No one and every one.

The incomplete times in which we live.

It is always at its own risk and peril that Utopia is converted into revolution, and from philosophical protest becomes an armed protest, and from Minerva turns to Pallas.

The Utopia which grows impatient and becomes revolt knows what awaits it; it almost always comes too soon. Then it becomes resigned, and stoically accepts catastrophe in lieu of triumph. It serves those who deny it without complaint, even excusing them, and even disculpates them, and its magnanimity consists in consenting to abandonment. It is indomitable in the face of obstacles and gentle towards ingratitude.

Is this ingratitude, however?

Yes, from the point of view of the human race.

No, from the point of view of the individual.

Progress is man’s mode of existence. The general life of the human race is called Progress, the collective stride of the human race is called Progress. Progress advances; it makes the great human and terrestrial journey towards the celestial and the divine; it has its halting places where it rallies the laggard troop, it has its stations where it meditates, in the presence of some splendid Canaan suddenly unveiled on its horizon, it has its nights when it sleeps; and it is one of the poignant anxieties of the thinker that he sees the shadow resting on the human soul, and that he gropes in darkness without being able to awaken that slumbering Progress.

“God is dead, perhaps,” said Gerard de Nerval one day to the writer of these lines, confounding progress with God, and taking the interruption of movement for the death of Being.

He who despairs is in the wrong. Progress infallibly awakes, and, in short, we may say that it marches on, even when it is asleep, for it has increased in size. When we behold it erect once more, we find it taller. To be always peaceful does not depend on progress any more than it does on the stream; erect no barriers, cast in no boulders; obstacles make water froth and humanity boil. Hence arise troubles; but after these troubles, we recognize the fact that ground has been gained. Until order, which is nothing else than universal peace, has been established, until harmony and unity reign, progress will have revolutions as its halting-places.

What, then, is progress? We have just enunciated it; the permanent life of the peoples.

Now, it sometimes happens, that the momentary life of individuals offers resistance to the eternal life of the human race.

Let us admit without bitterness, that the individual has his distinct interests, and can, without forfeiture, stipulate for his interest, and defend it; the present has its pardonable dose of egotism; momentary life has its rights, and is not bound to sacrifice itself constantly to the future. The generation which is passing in its turn over the earth, is not forced to abridge it for the sake of the generations, its equal, after all, who will have their turn later on.—“I exist,” murmurs that some one whose name is All. “I am young and in love, I am old and I wish to repose, I am the father of a family, I toil, I prosper, I am successful in business, I have houses to lease, I have money in the government funds, I am happy, I have a wife and children, I have all this, I desire to live, leave me in peace.”—Hence, at certain hours, a profound cold broods over the magnanimous vanguard of the human race.

Utopia, moreover, we must admit, quits its radiant sphere when it makes war. It, the truth of to-morrow, borrows its mode of procedure, battle, from the lie of yesterday. It, the future, behaves like the past. It, pure idea, becomes a deed of violence. It complicates its heroism with a violence for which it is just that it should be held to answer; a violence of occasion and expedient, contrary to principle, and for which it is fatally punished. The Utopia, insurrection, fights with the old military code in its fist; it shoots spies, it executes traitors; it suppresses living beings and flings them into unknown darkness. It makes use of death, a serious matter. It seems as though Utopia had no longer any faith in radiance, its irresistible and incorruptible force. It strikes with the sword. Now, no sword is simple. Every blade has two edges; he who wounds with the one is wounded with the other.

Having made this reservation, and made it with all severity, it is impossible for us not to admire, whether they succeed or not, those the glorious combatants of the future, the confessors of Utopia. Even when they miscarry, they are worthy of veneration; and it is, perhaps, in failure, that they possess the most majesty. Victory, when it is in accord with progress, merits the applause of the people; but a heroic defeat merits their tender compassion. The one is magnificent, the other sublime. For our own part, we prefer martyrdom to success. John Brown is greater than Washington, and Pisacane is greater than Garibaldi.

It certainly is necessary that some one should take the part of the vanquished.

We are unjust towards these great men who attempt the future, when they fail.

Revolutionists are accused of sowing fear abroad. Every barricade seems a crime. Their theories are incriminated, their aim suspected, their ulterior motive is feared, their conscience denounced. They are reproached with raising, erecting, and heaping up, against the reigning social state, a mass of miseries, of griefs, of iniquities, of wrongs, of despairs, and of tearing from the lowest depths blocks of shadow in order therein to embattle themselves and to combat. People shout to them: “You are tearing up the pavements of hell!” They might reply: “That is because our barricade is made of good intentions.”

The best thing, assuredly, is the pacific solution. In short, let us agree that when we behold the pavement, we think of the bear, and it is a good will which renders society uneasy. But it depends on society to save itself, it is to its own good will that we make our appeal. No violent remedy is necessary. To study evil amiably, to prove its existence, then to cure it. It is to this that we invite it.

However that may be, even when fallen, above all when fallen, these men, who at every point of the universe, with their eyes fixed on France, are striving for the grand work with the inflexible logic of the ideal, are august; they give their life a free offering to progress; they accomplish the will of Providence; they perform a religious act. At the appointed hour, with as much disinterestedness as an actor who answers to his cue, in obedience to the divine stage-manager, they enter the tomb. And this hopeless combat, this stoical disappearance they accept in order to bring about the supreme and universal consequences, the magnificent and irresistibly human movement begun on the 14th of July, 1789; these soldiers are priests. The French revolution is an act of God.

Moreover, there are, and it is proper to add this distinction to the distinctions already pointed out in another chapter,—there are accepted revolutions, revolutions which are called revolutions; there are refused revolutions, which are called riots.

An insurrection which breaks out, is an idea which is passing its examination before the people. If the people lets fall a black ball, the idea is dried fruit; the insurrection is a mere skirmish.

Waging war at every summons and every time that Utopia desires it, is not the thing for the peoples. Nations have not always and at every hour the temperament of heroes and martyrs.

They are positive. A priori, insurrection is repugnant to them, in the first place, because it often results in a catastrophe, in the second place, because it always has an abstraction as its point of departure.

Because, and this is a noble thing, it is always for the ideal, and for the ideal alone, that those who sacrifice themselves do thus sacrifice themselves. An insurrection is an enthusiasm. Enthusiasm may wax wroth; hence the appeal to arms. But every insurrection, which aims at a government or a régime, aims higher. Thus, for instance, and we insist upon it, what the chiefs of the insurrection of 1832, and, in particular, the young enthusiasts of the Rue de la Chanvrerie were combating, was not precisely Louis Philippe. The majority of them, when talking freely, did justice to this king who stood midway between monarchy and revolution; no one hated him. But they attacked the younger branch of the divine right in Louis Philippe as they had attacked its elder branch in Charles X.; and that which they wished to overturn in overturning royalty in France, was, as we have explained, the usurpation of man over man, and of privilege over right in the entire universe. Paris without a king has as result the world without despots. This is the manner in which they reasoned. Their aim was distant no doubt, vague perhaps, and it retreated in the face of their efforts; but it was great.

Thus it is. And we sacrifice ourselves for these visions, which are almost always illusions for the sacrificed, but illusions with which, after all, the whole of human certainty is mingled. We throw ourselves into these tragic affairs and become intoxicated with that which we are about to do. Who knows? We may succeed. We are few in number, we have a whole army arrayed against us; but we are defending right, the natural law, the sovereignty of each one over himself from which no abdication is possible, justice and truth, and in case of need, we die like the three hundred Spartans. We do not think of Don Quixote but of Leonidas. And we march straight before us, and once pledged, we do not draw back, and we rush onwards with head held low, cherishing as our hope an unprecedented victory, revolution completed, progress set free again, the aggrandizement of the human race, universal deliverance; and in the event of the worst, Thermopylæ.

These passages of arms for the sake of progress often suffer shipwreck, and we have just explained why. The crowd is restive in the presence of the impulses of paladins. Heavy masses, the multitudes which are fragile because of their very weight, fear adventures; and there is a touch of adventure in the ideal.

Moreover, and we must not forget this, interests which are not very friendly to the ideal and the sentimental are in the way. Sometimes the stomach paralyzes the heart.

The grandeur and beauty of France lies in this, that she takes less from the stomach than other nations: she more easily knots the rope about her loins. She is the first awake, the last asleep. She marches forwards. She is a seeker.

This arises from the fact that she is an artist.

The ideal is nothing but the culminating point of logic, the same as the beautiful is nothing but the summit of the true. Artistic peoples are also consistent peoples. To love beauty is to see the light. That is why the torch of Europe, that is to say of civilization, was first borne by Greece, who passed it on to Italy, who handed it on to France. Divine, illuminating nations of scouts! Vitælampada tradunt.

It is an admirable thing that the poetry of a people is the element of its progress. The amount of civilization is measured by the quantity of imagination. Only, a civilizing people should remain a manly people. Corinth, yes; Sybaris, no. Whoever becomes effeminate makes himself a bastard. He must be neither a dilettante nor a virtuoso: but he must be artistic. In the matter of civilization, he must not refine, but he must sublime. On this condition, one gives to the human race the pattern of the ideal.

The modern ideal has its type in art, and its means is science. It is through science that it will realize that august vision of the poets, the socially beautiful. Eden will be reconstructed by A+B. At the point which civilization has now reached, the exact is a necessary element of the splendid, and the artistic sentiment is not only served, but completed by the scientific organ; dreams must be calculated. Art, which is the conqueror, should have for support science, which is the walker; the solidity of the creature which is ridden is of importance. The modern spirit is the genius of Greece with the genius of India as its vehicle; Alexander on the elephant.

Races which are petrified in dogma or demoralized by lucre are unfit to guide civilization. Genuflection before the idol or before money wastes away the muscles which walk and the will which advances. Hieratic or mercantile absorption lessens a people’s power of radiance, lowers its horizon by lowering its level, and deprives it of that intelligence, at once both human and divine of the universal goal, which makes missionaries of nations. Babylon has no ideal; Carthage has no ideal. Athens and Rome have and keep, throughout all the nocturnal darkness of the centuries, halos of civilization.

France is in the same quality of race as Greece and Italy. She is Athenian in the matter of beauty, and Roman in her greatness. Moreover, she is good. She gives herself. Oftener than is the case with other races, is she in the humor for self-devotion and sacrifice. Only, this humor seizes upon her, and again abandons her. And therein lies the great peril for those who run when she desires only to walk, or who walk on when she desires to halt. France has her relapses into materialism, and, at certain instants, the ideas which obstruct that sublime brain have no longer anything which recalls French greatness and are of the dimensions of a Missouri or a South Carolina. What is to be done in such a case? The giantess plays at being a dwarf; immense France has her freaks of pettiness. That is all.

To this there is nothing to say. Peoples, like planets, possess the right to an eclipse. And all is well, provided that the light returns and that the eclipse does not degenerate into night. Dawn and resurrection are synonymous. The reappearance of the light is identical with the persistence of the I.

Let us state these facts calmly. Death on the barricade or the tomb in exile, is an acceptable occasion for devotion. The real name of devotion is disinterestedness. Let the abandoned allow themselves to be abandoned, let the exiled allow themselves to be exiled, and let us confine ourselves to entreating great nations not to retreat too far, when they do retreat. One must not push too far in descent under pretext of a return to reason.

Matter exists, the minute exists, interest exists, the stomach exists; but the stomach must not be the sole wisdom. The life of the moment has its rights, we admit, but permanent life has its rights also. Alas! the fact that one is mounted does not preclude a fall. This can be seen in history more frequently than is desirable: A nation is great, it tastes the ideal, then it bites the mire, and finds it good; and if it be asked how it happens that it has abandoned Socrates for Falstaff, it replies: “Because I love statesmen.”

One word more before returning to our subject, the conflict.

A battle like the one which we are engaged in describing is nothing else than a convulsion towards the ideal. Progress trammelled is sickly, and is subject to these tragic epilepsies. With that malady of progress, civil war, we have been obliged to come in contact in our passage. This is one of the fatal phases, at once act and entr’acte of that drama whose pivot is a social condemnation, and whose veritable title is Progress.

Progress!

The cry to which we frequently give utterance is our whole thought; and, at the point of this drama which we have now reached, the idea which it contains having still more than one trial to undergo, it is, perhaps, permitted to us, if not to lift the veil from it, to at least allow its light to shine through.

The book which the reader has under his eye at this moment is, from one end to the other, as a whole and in detail, whatever may be its intermittences, exceptions and faults, the march from evil to good, from the unjust to the just, from night to day, from appetite to conscience, from rottenness to life, from hell to heaven, from nothingness to God. Point of departure: matter; point of arrival: the soul. The hydra at the beginning, the angel at the end.

[donutsupremacy]

Pocky Game (Pt. 2)

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Summary

"Hey, [Choice of Character]! Wanna try this new treat with me?"

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Warnings

Pocky Games and the rules are likely inaccurate lol

Male characters only

Included characters are the remaining (K-Z)

Organized from Region and alphabetical order

Mostly fluffy

I didn't specify the flavor, so feel free to pick ur desired flavor

Steamy ones marked with (⚠️)

Some cussing

I have ran out of scenarios for 70% :>

1000% Ooc

Written during 3.7

A/N: Iabxjnskxjei can't wait for Fontaine to meet my lovely sweetheart Lyney

Once again, YES I KNOW POCKY DOESN'T EXIST IN GENSHIN— yet.

For the sake of this imagine, just pretend the regional chefs made it

Remaining male characters included are (Not in order);

Kazuha/ Mika/ Pantalone/ Pierro/ Pulcillena (Yes)/ Razor/ Wanderer/ Heizou/ Thoma/ Tighnari/ Venti/ Xiao/ Xingqiu/ Zhongli

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Mondstadt

"When Sara created it, she also made a new based on it. She said that it would be best to play it with a partner, so... would you like to play a game with me?"

Mika

➷ My precious bby deserves better in this community.

➷ You'll likely find him somewhere busy remapping some areas that were recently revamped by everyone's favorite lil' terrorist Crimson Spark Knight

➷ You don't dare to jumpscare him, being in the Reconnaissance Company is already a tough enough of a job as it is. So, you loudly trampled across the grass, at least loud enough for him to hear.

➷ A little taken aback, he greets you meekly, all the while expertly marking the terrain on his map despite already looking away from it. (Maybe accidentally drawing a small heart on it once he saw you, mwehehehehe)

➷ You pecked his already blushing cheek, asking if he could take a break. He can multitask between mapping out the area while relaxing with you as being with you while doing cartography has always been his favorite type of 'break'.

➷ The two of you sat down on the grass, with you watching him work while he listens to you talking about whatever was going on in Mondstat. The gentle breeze brushing against your hair and his map.

➷ After finishing his work, you introduced him to the new treat Sara made and a new game.

➷ Mentioning the word 'Kiss' alone made him flustered. The two of you had been in a lovely relationship, but have yet to kiss on the lips. You reassure him there's no need to push it, but it's been a secret of his that he wonders just how your lips may feel on his.

➷ So he takes on the challenge, after all; He's the front-line surveyor of the Reconnaissance Company, he shouldn't be afraid of a kiss from his [S/O]!

➷ ...Maybe a bit more preparation was needed. As soon as your lips grazed across his own, locked together by the flavored stick, he attempts to kiss you properly by headbutting you on accident. Déjà Vu, amirite, Bennett from Part 1?

➷ "I-I'm alright! There's no need to worry... What about you? I didn't hurt you did I?... Huh? Y-You enjoyed the kiss? Me? O-Of course I enjoyed it! I'm just sorry our first kiss had to be... less romantic. Let me make it up to you! Follow me, I actually want to show you a place in Stormterror's Lair, I-I think you'll like it."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Razor

➷ Oh shit he came from the trees

➷ Quite literally, he dropped down from the trees, greeting you with a small smile after your lovely scent reached him.

➷ You introduced him to the treat and as you had expected; He was skeptical at first, having his diet based on mostly meat.

➷ But, he's willing to try anything, especially when it comes from his beloved Lupical... even if you suck at cooking like me heueheuhwhshsbdkannfks

➷ Regardless of what flavour you chose, he reacts positively, stating that the taste isn't as bad as he initially thought. To be honest, he thought you brought something to poison him, he hasn't seen this treat before since his last visit to Mondstadt's City.

➷ It's still feels odd eating... 'Stick with flavour', as he calls it (He doesn't know how to pronounce Pocky properly). But then you place it between your lips, suggesting him to eat another one while sharing it at the same time with you.

➷ Innocent little Razor automatically agrees, seeing this as something romantic humans do; Sharing something they like with their partner. Of course it didn't take long for him to grow flustered at the lack of space between your lips and his.

➷ Out of instinct from seeing many couples in the city do this, he just lunges ahead and take a large chunk of the stick, his lips grazing against your gently enough to be called a kiss.

➷ He chews the stick silently in shame as you just stared at him out of surprise. He quietly mutters an apology as he assumed he something wrong, to which you reassured him that you enjoyed the kiss. That earned you another happy peck to the cheek.

➷ "Me too. Your lips... taste like treat. But also soft on mine... It is— very nice. I... like to kiss you. Can we try one more? I-If you want."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Venti

➷ Booze flavoured Pocky?

➷ You'll be aware of Venti's true identity for this one. You are 'The Melody of Venti's Vocals' and/or vice versa, following him and creating a tune together that tugs the strings of the Mondstadters all around you.

➷ But at night, where life tends to retire for their slumber and secrets lay hiding within the shadows, you accompany the Archon (Unsurprisingly) to the bar. Telling tales of himself as he downs several shots of Dandelion Wine. And then later paying for his bills before dragging him to your home for some cuddles.

➷ On this particular night, you asked the bard to skip the drinking, much to his short-lived dismay.

➷ You drag him all the way back to your private abode, sitting on your porch and asking him to share the treat. He'll definitely agree to play the game as well, not skipping a beat to say 'Absolutely!'.

➷ It starts off cute, playing the game normally. Until halfway through when he holds both your cheeks, taking the rest of the stick in while giving you a biiiig smooch.

➷ You're flustered at first, before playfully pouting at him as he giggles and slyly winks at you. He then proceeds to ask you for one more round. One after another, each one you lose because he sucessfully kisses you. Though, you certainly didn't mind the slightest.

➷ At the strike of midnight, Venti sighs, licking his lips that hsd the taste of the stick's flavour and your own. He grins at you cheekily, as you fake pouted for not winning once.

➷ He chuckles, bringing you into his embrace, to which you lean against him, your feigned anger quelled in his arms. As you both stared at the moon above, he gazes softly into your eyes, his slim fingers caressing your cheek.

➷ "Exchanging tokens of love has always been a delight— for the spark between us to shine brighter than tonight's moonlight... Now, take my hand, dear Windblume— and allow me to proudly declare my everlasting love, to none other than you..."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Liyue

"I know Xiangling's cooking can be... odd, but I promise; this one actually tastes amazing!... And, she even included a little game to it!"

Xiao

➷ "Xiao?" "U called?" "AAAAAAA—"

➷ Perched on the rooftop of Wangshu Inn, golden leaves raining from the tree above. As soon as you pulled out the box of Pocky, the Yaskha turns you down before you could utter a word.

➷ Obviously, He doesn't need food, it doesn't benefit him if he consumes them anyway. Well, except maybe Almont Tofu huehue

➷ It wasn't until you started fake whimpering, bringing out the puppy eyes did he finally cave in. He loathes the sound of your whimpers, it makes his heart ache painfully to comfort you. And your teary eyes? It hurts more to look at them than his karmic debt.

➷ He sighs before stating 'Only this once', causing your eyes to light up brighter than the star themselves. He may not enjoy food, but he finds comfort being with you. He's willing to tolerate anything when it comes to making you feel safe and happy.

➷ He asks what's the point of the game, to which you responded with 'It's a surprise!' casually. He rolls his eyes before taking the other end of the stick, the two of you taking turns chipping away at the treat.

➷ And then your noses touch.

➷ His piercing golden eyes widened, pupils trembling at the sight of how close your lips are to his own. It wasn't like neither of you have shared a kiss before, you always pecked his cheek as a greeting. But when he's supposedly suspended in place when your lips were right there, inches away for him to take... it's the sudden craving for your kiss that makes him feel— flustered.

➷ He's the one who broke the stick, reluctantly swallowing the treat while avoiding your eyes. He subtly glances at you, noticing the upset exoression as you silently chew on your end of the stick.

➷ It doesn't take long for the cogs in his brain to start spinning, before he asks if this was a ridiculously pointless plot for you to steal a kiss from him. In which you replied; "Yes :3"

➷ He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighed, the tip of his nose a rosy pink colour. He grabs your chin, turning you to face him before he leans in slowly, planting his lips on your own.

➷ It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an entire decade went by before he finally pulled away. His gloved hand cradling your face, thumb caressing your blushing cheeks as you gazed at him happily.

➷ "You humans truly love making things much more difficult for yourselves than it should. You're lucky i'll humour you today. Uhm, you... aren't afraid of asking me for something so simple and small— are you?... You're not? Oh. That's good... Next time, you can just ask, I won't decline... I promise."

Xingqiu

➷ *Proceeds to read out the entire story of Romeo and Juliet at your arrival*

➷ You see him occupied reading a book while on a bench, so you interrupt by slipping the box of treats in between the pages he was reading, cooing at him to lend you some time for a bit of fun.

➷ Amused, he closes the book and pecks your forehead, followed by the usual compliment of your lovely presence greeting him and pulling you closer to him.

➷ You asked him to play the Pocky Game with you, to which he narrows his eyes at the box, deep in thought. You were about to reassure that if he didn't want to, there was no need to, until he gleefully agrees to play. You could see flowers dancing around him, which already made you feel weary of him.

➷ Nonetheless, your happiness powered over your cautious side and you eagerly planted the stick between your lips. He leans foward biting the other side, the corner of his lips tugging into a sly but unnoticeable smirk. You've fallen into his trap, again~

➷ Your naivety wasn't aware of his eyes growing half-lidded, his head tilting a certain angle and his hand reaching out to your face. Halfway there, and your biggest mistake was looking up, locking eyes with his suddenly lustful amber eyes.

➷ his hands barely grazed your cheek, the faint moan of your name reaching your ear, eyes pleading for more than a simple kiss from you. That was when you instinctively snapped the stick apart, nearly falling over the bench you both sat on, covering your bright red face that felt like it was on fire.

➷ The male giggles slyly, watching you sit up with a bright red face that could rival the hair of a pyro wielding bartender in Mondstadt, an angry pout forming on your face.

➷ You punched him gently on the shoulder as you dragged yourself back on the bench, pretending to ignore him for tricking you.

➷ Of course, that didn't last long before he wraps his arms around you, kissing your still red cheek and whispering apologies into your ear.

➷ "My liege, why are you fretting over such a simple and intimate act? Are lovers not obliged to display affection for one another as a way to express their true feelings? Or perhaps... has something suggestive begun circulating in your thoughts? Hehehe~ I thank the Archons for blessing me with such a doting and endearing [S/O]~"

Zhongli (⚠️)

➷ Habsjsbdin i feel disgusting writing these

➷ You'll also know Zhongli's true identity in this one, I hc that if he found a lover, he'd reveal he's an archon some time in your relationship as to not make your... 'Parting' too difficult.

➷ Sad stuff out of the way, you slide yourself next to Zhongli, who was in the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's lobby having his afternoon tea.

➷ He greets you, poised and soft as ever. He pours you a cup of tea, offering it to you. The liquid cools your insides, a sigh of relief escaoing your lips as you thank him for the refreshment. Or if you dislike tea, he'll offer you just a glass of water, saying he predicted your arrival.

➷ You wasted no time in asking if he'd like to play the Pocky Game with you, waving the stick in front of him as you informed him of the rules. Amused at your offer, he agrees to try the oh-so-harmless game.

➷ It started off normal and innocent at first, the two of you playing the game as intended, with you going on a losing streak for breaking the treat too much, being too flustered because of Zhongli's face getting too close to yours. He looks so— gorgeous up close...

➷ You call for a break, frantically drinking your [cup of tea/glass of water] to try and cool down your body. All the while Zhongli was patiently watching you fan yourself as subtly as you could, which wasn't subtle at all.

➷ He thinks you're flustered for losing so much, so be wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him as a way to comfort you. Which wasn't working, if anything, it made your face feel more hotter.

➷ He whispers sweet nothing into your ears, reassuring you for something you weren't upset about. And it gets worse when he pulls you into his lap, having you unintentionally straddle his hips.

➷ Mainly out of embarrassment, you squirmed around a little. Laughing sheepishly as you shyly explained you weren't upset, but flustered at how pretty he looked up close.

➷ Unfortunately, your words didn't reach his ears, distracted by you pressing down onto his clothed member. His hands trailed down your body slowly, effectively shutting you up and making you wriggle around more.

➷ He groans your name quietly, raspy voice echoing in your ears. Wanting to hear more, you experimentally rolled your hips against him, a small moan leaving your lips at his erection pressing against you.

➷ His gloved fingers dug into the flesh of your waist, pulling you downwards to feel himself throbbing against you, the tightening core in your abdoment aching for him.

➷ Lustful amber eyes met yours as he cradled your blushing cheek, leaning foward to lock lips with you. He lifts himself a little, now it was his turn to tease you. A moan escaping your intertwined lips, now joining him in his administrations.

➷ "My love... there's no need to tempt me, I understand your needs. Shall we take this somewhere more... private? Director Hu would not appreciate it if we... make love here. I wish to show you my passionate side that awaits you."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Inazuma

"Anna asked if I could taste test it, but then she told me it would be more fun if I had a partner to try it out with... Why don't we have a bite or two together?"

Kazuha Kaedehara

➷ Beidou is his mom, now she's ur mom as well. I don't take no's for an awnser.

➷ You arrive on the Crux, crew members scurrying around the deck, attending to their duties. Your boyfriend no where to be seen, but you spot the captain gazing at the sea intently, presumably wondering what sort of adventures are there to come.

➷ Beidou greets you enthusiastically, an arm looped around your shoulder and pulling you in for a tight hug. You choked due to her strength, but returned with a shy greeting of your own. You gave her an extra Pocky box as a gift, knowing she and her crew were ready to set sail soon.

➷ You asked the Electro wielder where your beloved boyfriend was, to which she chuckled, before responding with a vague 'Ask him what's up!' and pointing somewhere.

➷ You followed her finger, directing your eyes to see what was behind and above you; Your amused boyfriend sitting on the roof, smiling down at you.

➷ The white haired male got up and jumped down, using his Anemo vision to assist him in his graceful landing. He greets you with his usual soft tone, taking your hand and planting a kiss on your knuckles.

➷ Beidou soon leaves with a hearty laugh and a 'Get a room, lovebirds!~', returning to assist her crew members. Meanwhile, you dragged your boyfriend over to a more secluded area of the ship while asking him about where his travels will bring him to next.

➷ Sitting near the edge of the ship, he awnsers all of your questions calmly, before asking if you wanted to play the game with him. He chuckles, admitting he heard your voice faintly in the wind talking to a friend about wanting to play the Pocky game with him before he leaves.

➷ Although embarrassed that he overheard your conversation, you nodded. You took one end of the treat and pointed at the other, which he happily took.

➷ Since he was about to leave soon, you were only able to sneak in a couple of rounds before Beidou's voice could be heard announcing the preparation for departure was completed. But you were still happy, as you had fun kissing your boyfriend on the lips, which you'll miss for a while.

➷ He cradles your face, his soft but captivating red eyes staring into yours. He plants his lips onto yours once more, pulling you closer to his chest, your arms wrapped around him.

➷ "Hearts intertwined, strings stretched apart but not once torn. We will never be seperated, for our connection is something that will last much more than eternity. I'll be back soon, [Name], my heart, mind, soul and body are yours forever."

Shikanoin Heizou (⚠️)

➷ Very self indulgent. Very very long and self indulgent :>

➷ You were visiting the Tenryou Comission, greeting many familiar faces while on the way to see a certain detective, who was likely about to take his break and waiting for your arrival.

➷ As you had correctly guessed, you entered his office, quietly so you wouldn't accidentally disturb the burgundy haired male seen busy sorting some files at his desk. His brows furrowed and olive eyes reading each label intently, you can't help but silently admire how pretty he looked when he was focused.

➷ You opted to help him finish his current task first, putting away the box and moving to his side to sort the remaining files. You've always assisted him with his work whenever you stopped by to see him, it helps him immensely when he was given a large workload. Sorting a couple of files according to their statuses was a walk in the park, you've done this many times.

➷ His eyes widened at your sudden appearance, but smiled fondly at you, his mood improving tenfold. Soon enough, the desk was neat and tidy in contrast to the pile of mess before you came in.

➷ He breathes a sigh of relief, pecking your cheek and asking you to take a seat next while he grabs you a glass of water. On the way, he locks the door, giving the two of you privacy. His eyes spot the box you've hidden, his velvety laughter reaching your ears.

➷ You thank him as he sits next to you, arms wrapped around your waist and pulling you close as you took your sweet time taking a sip. Meanwhile, he sneakily takes the box, examining it's peculiar design.

➷ When he asks you about it, you introduced him to the treat and told him about the game's rules, later asking if he could play a game with you. Of course, he accepts in a heartbeat, already handing you one stick.

➷ You bite down on it while he takes the other almost immediately, grinning at you slyly. The round proceeds smoothly, with you taking the victory after sucessfully kissing his lips, your cheeks tinted a pink hue.

➷ He blinks, a bit in shock while you happily chew your treat. He chuckles, pinching your cheek while calling you 'cute'. You offered to play another round, to which he gladly took. Unbeknownst to you, he's already planning something to... 'spice up' this competition.

➷ Each and every round, you ended up as the victor, unaware of why he seemed rather lazy to play, only smiling at you in amusement. It wasn't until he took the last stick, asking for one more round, you accepted, thinking nothing of it.

➷ While you were already half way there, he lunges foward, taking the remaining stick into his mouth and locking lips with you. You nearly fell off your chair, arms clinging onto his shirt while he grips your waist tightly.

➷ He pulls away, licking his lips and gazing into your eyes, olive eyes clouded with lust at how much your trembling from his lips alone. He doesn't let you speak, barely letting you register when he pulls you in for another kiss.

➷ He shifts himself to hover over you, one hand resting on your thigh while the other hold the back of your head, pushing you to deepen the kiss. You steady yourself by grabbing his shoulders, the chair tilted back slightly.

➷ He retreats, only to kiss your chin, slowly moving down to litter your collar bone with bright red marks for all to see. You choked back a moan, his hand on your thigh now moving closer to where you want him the most.

➷ "You're a needy one, aren't you? *Chuckles* how cute~ Did I rile you up too much? Do you need me badly? Don't be scared, even if they hear, then they'll know who you really belong to now~ Say the word, my [Pet Name], say it loud and clear to me... and i'll make you scream my name louder in return."

Thoma

➷ I'M RUNNING OUT OF SCENARIOS SO THIS IS THE PART WHERE I SHORTEN EVERYTHING AND BS MY THROUGH—

➷ While gathering feedback on the new treat for Anna, (The chef in Inazuma, the one in Ayaka's story quest) you accidentally rammed right into Thoma, dropping the box and falling onto your rear with a soft 'thud'.

➷ He apologises, helping you up and repeatedly asking if you were alright. You reassure him that you weren't hurt, although, you were a little upset that your snack was inedible now as the last few sticks were scattered on the ground.

➷ Nonetheless, you still hug Thoma as a proper greeting before peppering his face with a couple of kisses. He chuckles, returning with a sweet kiss on the nose.

➷ Suddenly, he pulls out the exact same box you had, asking if you were given the same task Anna gave to him. You can't help but chuckle at the coincidence, the two of you were doing the same thing and bumped right into eachother at the very end.

➷ He immediately offers to share the box with you, stating he was done with the job, adding that this is his way of repaying you for earlier.

➷ You gladly accepted, but asked to play a couple rounds of the game with you. He doesn't waste anytime in planting the stick in his lips, teasingly waving the stick at your face.

➷ You both finished the box, your game ending in a draw and full of kisses. Now, you were resting your head on his shoulder, happily rambling away about whatever came to your mind.

➷ He was staring fondly at you the entire time, though, his eyes trailed down to your lips. He's kissed you many, many times... But they're absolutely irresistible to him.

➷ He stops your rambling when he touches your cheek, causing you to flinch and look at him in confusion. He chuckles, apologising for disrupting you.

➷ "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you... You're adorable when you just babble on mindlessly. But I can't help noticing how... lonely your lips look. May I accompany it with my own?"

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Sumeru

"Lambad was asking if I could collect any feedback on this treat, he even made up a whole game about it... do you wanna kill two birds with one stone and play the game while tasting it?"

Wanderer (⚠️)

➷ "Hi, Nahida! Where's Don Sombrero?"

➷ He'd likely be wandering (heh) outside of Sumeru City in the middle of the night, his bored indigo eyes staring up at the moon.

➷ The sound of a twig snapping in half made his eyes widened in alert, turning around and swiftly sending a sharp wind blade towards the supossed stalker— You.

➷ He frorze in place staring at you in shock, while you just stood there awkwardly with a lopsided and confused smile, the blade barely missing you by a few inches. He clicks his tongue, lowering his hat to hide the worry in his eyes while he approaches you, reprimanding you for sneaking up on someone who could've ended you in one fell swoop.

➷ You apologise, offering to take a leisurely stroll with him, explaining that you couldn't sleep. He scoffs and begins to walk away, but doesn't decline. You jogged up to his side, not a single complaint leaving his lips.

➷ The two of you strolled around the forest that surrounded the city, basking in eachother's presence without having to share a word. Until he tries to slip his hand into yours, his way of showing his appreciation for you without using words.

➷ He ends up grabbing the box instead and asks what it is. You blurted out the true motive behind your decision to join his late night excursion; To play the Pocky game with him. He sighs, calling you childish but agrees to play since it'll make you happy.

➷ You two find a quiet and safe spot, settling down while admiring the view of Sumeru City at night. He says he'll only play a couple of rounds just to get this over with, so that the two of you can just cuddle relax in peace.

➷ He takes his hat off, in case it'll hit you by accident. You plant the stick between your lips and leaned in, allowing him to take the other end, albeit a little reluctantly. He would've just preferred to kiss you normally, but he'll humour you.

➷ Though it was frustrating when he was already prepared for a kiss, but you end up snapping the stick at the very last second. The moonlight did little to hide the blush on your face, you apologised profusely out of humiliation, admitting you broke it because of how pretty he looked close up.

➷ He scoffed, saying that was a ridiculous reason and stating it wasn't any different than the previous times you've kissed. But he doesn't want you to beat yourself up over something stupid, he wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you closer to get that kiss he's been waiting for.

➷ You wrapped your arms around his shoulder, tilting your head a little to lean in closer to his lips. His hand around your waist moves downwards, his touch caused a quiet moan to slip past your lips.

➷ Your hands glide across his chest, his fingers digging into your flesh from the ghostly touch if your fingertips.

➷ "Look at you, already falling apart at something so miniscule as a kiss that was meant to fulfill your desire. Or was it truly your desire to begin with? Perhaps you were craving for something much more than that? Lowly human... your soft pleads mean nothing to my ears. If you want something from me— beg for it."

Tighnari

➷ Srry gonna have to nerf u real quick

➷ You were treading through Avidya Forest, on the way to Gandharva ville. Though, you had injured one of your legs that was now in a cast, you didn't let the pain distract you from wanting to visit your part-canine boyfriend.

➷ You limped along the dirt road, oblivious to the pair of eyes stalking your every movement. You could see the village up ahead, your heart fluttering at the thought of greeting Tighnari, his bushy tail swaying back and forth at your visit.

➷ However, you were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard something heavy land right behind you. Startled, you spun around, only to trip over your own foot and fall onto the ground.

➷ Panic coursed through your blood when you were met face to face with a Rishbolang Tiger, whose eyes stared at you with hunger. It growls, the fur on it's back standing erect as it stalks closer to you, baring it's sharp teeth that were ready to sink into your flesh.

➷ You scrambled back onto your non-injured leg, but it was near impossible to outrun something as fast as a tiger. But lady luck was by your side when you heard a familiar voice call out your name, followed by something being hurled at the tiger behind you.

➷ The tiger was soon trapped in a field, it's dilated pupils darting everywhere in search of you. Out comes your boyfriend, running to your rescue before the field's taunting effects dispels.

➷ One Arm around your waist and the other hooked around his shoulder, he helps you to limp away from the distracted tiger. Despite being visibly unscathed, Tighnari proceeds to check you for any more injuries. All the while calling you an idiot for traversing in the jungle with an injured leg.

➷ He sighs, bringing you into his arms for a comforting hug, saying he was worried about what would've happened if he wasn't on patrol.

➷ You returned the embrace, saying you just wanted to visit— Aaand, you lost the Pocky box during your escape. You sighed sadly while he kissed you in reassurance, stating he could escort you back to Sumeru City and purchase another one.

➷ He asks what it is, to which you replied with a description and your desire to play the game with him. He scoffs, travelling all the way here with an injured leg just to play a kissing game with him? You're too cute for your own good.

➷ "There's no need to be upset over something small... especially when you were nearly devoured by a Rishboland Tiger. Regardless, you should refrain from adding more pressure on your leg. For the time being, you should recover here for a few hours before returning to Sumeru City... As for the 'game' you wanted to play, that's a ridiculous reason. You want a kiss? Then... oh, whatever, just come here..."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

[This section of characters may have innacurate personalities and responses, their parts will be shortened due to the lack of information present.]

Pantalone

➷ Russian Baizhu and I have officially ran out of ideas.

➷ The two of you rendezvous outside of the Fatui Harbinger's Headquarters, drops of snow dancing around the two of you.

➷ You fixed his coat, huffing about how cold it is outside while he enjoys how fussy you're being. Once done, the two of you strolled around Snezhnaya, hand in hand.

➷ Idk if there are travelling merchants in Snezhnaya, but we'll oretend there's one who'll introduce the treat to you. Hearing the instructions of the game, Baizhu Pantalone purchases it, giving you a sly smile.

➷ Eventually you two returned to the harbinger's headquarters, about to bid your beloved a farewell as he was about to resume his work. But then he stops you, asking to play the little game before you leave.

➷ You sighed, but really wanted to play the game with him.

➷ "Dear, your face seems red! Oh, my poor darling... Has the snow gotten to you? Or... did something else snuck it's way into that pretty little bead of yours, hm?~"

Pierro

➷ I struggled SO MUCH writing the last two fatui harbingers, having to add the dialouges at the end was fokin' T O R T U R E

➷ Tartaglia had sent over a box full of Pocky to you, with a note asking you to give one for each of his fellow comrades, with a little doodle of himself winking and a instructions on how to play the game.

➷ You saved the last one for your beloved master; Pierro. After you finish reporting the current affairs to him, he thanks you and allows you to take a small break, to which you ask if he could join.

➷ He responds that he was busy, saying he would have a meeting with the other Harbingers later, but states that he could still join you for a couple of minutes.

➷ It was good enough as you introduced him to box, adding that it came from Childe and he had included a little game you wanted to play with him, he sighed upon hearing the name. You sat on his lap, his arm holding your waist to balance you.

➷ You stuck one end of the treat in-between your lips, leaning foward for him to take the other, albeit a little hesitantly. The game was way too childish for him, but harmless nonetheless.

➷ I'll make this quick; He wins multiple rounds. You couldn't bear seeing his stoic, yet, gentle face that only you could witness, being so close to yours. He finds it amusing, but shows little to no change in expression.

➷ "I apologise for cutting this short, I will have to take my leave now... However, you may hold onto the last remaining sticks, I never said I wouldn't return to you. Let us rendezvous outside the headquarters once the meeting is over."

Pulcillena

➷ i'll make this as serious and short as possible srry

➷ As with most of the Fatui Harbingers, you find him giving instructions to the new batch of recruits on their first official duties and assignments.

➷ Once he was done and the skirmishers had dispersed, you wrapped your arms around him, greeting him with a kiss on his pointy nose.

➷ He returns the gesture with an affectionate nuzzle to your cheek, asking if there were any stray recruits he had yet to brief. You shook your head, only stating that you wanted to stay with him for a little bit before returning to work.

➷ Agreeing to your request, the two of you decided to take a leisurely walk around the building, chatting about whatever came to your minds. It was refreshing after having to deal with many injured recruits returning defeated by the Traveller.

➷ You brought out the box of treat, stating Tartaglia had sent this for the two of you and the rest of the Harbingers to try. He chuckles, saying he was given the same box that was meant for his family.

➷ The two of you decided to play a couple rounds, but it's difficult to play the game when your partner nearly poked your eyes out several times with his nose. He apologises, feeling insecure about his nose.

➷ You tossed the box aside, planting a reassuring kiss on his forehead, reminding him that the nose would never be enough to break the connection between the two of you.

➷ "Ah... How did I get so lucky to have you as my own? I wonder if you were my reward for pledging my loyalty to the Tsaritsa, the most perfect partner I could ever ask for, a truly one of a kind lover."

Aether

➷ Why not? I may have run out of scenarios, but one more for our best boi

➷ After tearing down several Hilichurl towers, the two of you flopped down on the ground to catch your breaths while Paimon levitates over to your side.

➷ You asked Paimon if she could scout the area, which left eventually you and Aether alone. Aether gazed at the grassy terrain of Mondstadt, his golden eyes sorrowful as two foxes danced around eachother happily. He misses his sister...

➷ Wanting to help distract him from his sorrow, you shook his shoulder gently, shaking a box of Pocky and asking if he'd like to take the time to try it out. His frown lifts into a smile, nodding in agreement.

➷ But that smile turned flustered when you placed one stick in your lips and leaned towards him expectantly, his cheeks tinted a faint pink hue. Although, a bit taken aback when you wanted to play the game, he doesn't refuse the offer.

➷ He bites down on the other end, but refuses to stare into your eyes, his gloved hands fidgeting with his cape.

➷ The two of you took turns inching closer, your heart pounding harshly against your chest when your lips and his are barely a few inches away.

➷ It was his turn now, but he freezes. You assume it was because he might be uncomfortable at the close proximity, so you prepare to break the stick, only to feel his hands reach up and touch your cheeks.

➷ He leans foward, now taking your lips as well. For brief moment, your brain paused to register his lips on your, before you melted. Eventually, you both pulled away, with you now shifting to lay your head on his lap, his hand caressing your cheek.

➷ "Thanks [Name]... It feels refreshing to just relax once in a while, travelling between nation to nation gets really exhausting... I'm glad I still have you by my side, you're my motivation to continue on with this journey."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

A/N: Jabsiwbfihsdiiwd I actually wanted to add Lyney but decided against it. Lyney will be coming anyways, so i'll get to know his personality and quirks better. I know damn well i'm gonna be fawning over him once he gets his debut, his wink made my heart go uwu

[Part 1]