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rockingbytheseaside · 3 days

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✦ When someone tries to imitate you or take your place

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone

(tw: general mentions of violence and intimacy, swf. Old ask suggested by the lovely @pandaquick, better late than never)

Your position in the Fatui is a much more personal and delicate matter. You are not just some high-rank advisor or soldier idling within the Zapolyarny Palace, nor can you be defined as another Fatuus. You are someone of a different echelon - a Harbinger’s beloved, safeguarded with the utmost honor conferred by Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. It is no secret your significant other would utilize a whole army to protect you, but what happens when someone, in their foolishness, forgets that?

✧ Pierro was the first to notice that someone tried to imitate you. An individual of high status endeavored to emulate your work and areas of expertise. Subsequently, this individual began to adopt aspects of your appearance, from hairstyle to clothing. However, the breaking point occurred when this foolish person attempted to purchase an identical jewelry brooch to the one you frequently wore. It was a similar piece, one gifted to you by Pierro.

Except that imitator missed one important clue - Pierro orders you custom-made silver adorned with deep-cut sapphires that would put the Tsaritsa’s crown into shame. A one of a kind piece.

This cheap attempt to imitate you and usurp your spot was what forced The Jester to abandon his silent observation. His gaze has long caught the envious glances directed towards you whenever you accompanied him on meetings, whenever he linked his arm with yours, whenever he generously kneeled beside you to put his coat over your shoulder and keep you warm from Snezhnaya’s cold - the same individual, always seething with resentment. Thus, it was time for the Director to silently act.

He kept tabs on this person via a network of spies, gathering intel on their behavior and intentions. And with the most skilled spies raised from the House of the Hearth, it didn't take long to have a whole pile of evidence right on his desk. And with the simple snap of his fingers, he effortlessly orchestrated the apprehension and subsequent banishment of the culprit, sparing no unnecessary words. Hearsay will not be tolerated in the Fatui, but to see some lowly scum tarnish your reputation by cheap mimicry then it’ll be his responsibility to weed out.

“Pierro, dearest, What's wrong? You seem so deep in thought.” - Your gentle murmur broke The Jester's train of thought. As he lay in bed, your head resting on his chest and his arm draped over you, he reminded himself that he was in the comfort of your love. He doesn't have to mull over the bloodied ordinances when he feels the warmth of your skin underneath the covers.

“Apologize, my divine. It seems my mind was drifting to troubling thoughts. But it no longer matters when you're here.” - Thus, he gently planted a kiss on your forehead and tucked the covers around your body which harbored marks of his devotion earlier that night.

✧ Il Capitano clutched the hilt of his sword in resolution. Something was wrong and he could see it. The Harbinger was in the middle of his morning spar with you, a regular training session where you and the Captain warm up as a routine. He stood in a defensive stance, his movements fluid yet measured as his sword received blow after blow from your weapon. You, on the other hand, moved like a silent tempest, your strikes precise yet frustratingly urgent.

It was unlike you to be so unsteady, noted Capitano to himself, especially when fighting. Despite the unspoken patience, an undercurrent of concealed despondency and anger laced your body language.

“Alright, my dear, I can feel your unease. What troubles your heart?”

You shook your head, panting as you almost faltered. You insisted on continuing the training session, but it was clear your brave facade was almost crumbling.

“It would be foolish to continue. And I care about your well-being. Please, confide in me, my beloved.”

You tried, you really did. But before you know it, your lips pursed into a thin line and a flood of tears escaped the moment you shakily lowered your weapon. Now the Captain was on full alert, rushing towards you and gently supporting you before you could hide your tearful face in shame. With an arm around your trembling form and much persuasion - you relented and shared the source of your frustration. A newly enlisted soldier had undergone thorough training under the tutelage of Il Capitano, and their impressive advancement was unmistakably evident in their unwavering dedication. However, this individual began to devote more time to the Captain, delving into military intelligence and climbing the ranks. You genuinely felt joy for the new recruit, truly. Yet in timid humiliation, you had to confess you felt obsolete as if your power alone wasn’t enough for a harbinger of his caliber and ranks.

“Ah, my dear, you are far from weak. My time with the trainees is merely a duty, a part of my job as the 1st Harbinger. But when it comes to you, my dear, your might and wisdom are incomparable. You don’t deserve my ranks, you deserve my life laid before you.”

But whatever gentle words of affection were coming out of the Captain, your next words of truth made him halt at once. “... At least, that’s what the recruit told me when we spoke. That I'm weak.”

“...What did you say?”

The gentle armored hand on your shoulder now tightened in restrained anger, fury flaring within his chest. Capitano now understood: your tears, your sudden insecurity, your doubt, your silence… It wasn’t coincidental. This recruit who was so conveniently rising in the ranks made sure to aim not just for the Harbinger. Specifically, you; to sow self-doubt onto you and hinder your precious relationship. Someone was deliberately bullying you.

You looked up at Capitano’s dreadful silence, asking him what was wrong.

“It… seems, my dear, someone has crossed an unforgivable line. One that would cost them their life dearly. And I am to blame for not noticing when harm and doubt came your way. I must amend this transgression for your forgiveness.”

You blinked in response, not having time to comprehend the severity of his words; It’s hard to respond when your beloved suddenly kneels and bows like a knight on duty. In the end, Capitano ushered you to take a day off and let your mind rest easy.

The next day, Capitano returned home early but was eerily silent once more. He stayed with you the whole day, like a hawk overlooking his nest, his arms crossed but his touch gentle. Although he claimed nothing was wrong, you received news that certain recruits were gone, and any upcoming soldiers that would come into his care would receive even stricter training from now on. That day, you wondered why some Fatui soldiers feared talking to you. Not to mention the armor around Capitano’s knuckles seemed faintly red-tinted.

The Fatui organization was a constant battle of powers and ranks. But to climb the ladder and meddle with the life of The Captain was a personal offense, one that would result in quick and unapologetic bloodshed. Nevertheless, he made sure to remind his soldiers about that.

✧ When one of the folks working under Il Dottore as a lab analyst approached you, you didn’t expect them to call you names so suddenly. You stood there, confused and apprehensive at the sudden barrage of insults from the stranger. But they explained:

“You don’t do anything when helping during research, you know! I don’t even know how The 2nd tolerates you when you’re this useless. I’ll tell you what, quit your special-treatment act, and don’t come back to the lab. The Doctor is better off with someone of his level of intellect.”

You didn’t fight or defend yourself, you didn’t even insult the assistant. Instead, you smiled simply - “Very well, I won’t. Good luck.”

That day, you turned and left. The frustrated lab analyst was left in confusion but thought they succeeded in eliminating the only obstacle left to get closer to the elusive yet powerful Harbinger. After all, what the hell do you even do at his lab? You exchange a few words with Dottore, maybe sporadically point at what to do, and remain seated in the back, resting as if you were the Tsaritsa herself. The audacity. How come Il Dottore never kicked you out?

Well, it didn't take long for this person to find out.

The next day, naturally, Dottore couldn’t find you when he proceeded with work. You were neither at his study, nor at the lab, nor at your favorite corner of the library. It was barely noon, and receiving your warm greetings was his routine. And the Doctor always follows the agenda.

“Where are they?”

His question was brief but pointed, and his subordinates knew exactly who he was referring to. They could sense the tension in his voice. The only individual privy to the reason for your absence smirked smugly and responded.

“Hmph. It seems they decided not to come, Lord Harbinger Dottore.”

That was their first mistake because The Doctor caught on to the haughty smirk coming from his new analyst.

“And you know so certainly how?” - he quickly gestured to a nearby Fatui servant with a flick of his wrist. “Send in servants to check in on my behalf. I wasn’t informed. If my darling is feeling tired or unwell, bring their preferred refreshment immediately, and ensure it is warm.”

However, this displeased the new lab assistant, as even while you were away, Dottore was still dotting on you as if it was his second nature to do so while he was busy with work. Thus, they cleared their throat and spoke up:

“They… barely accomplished anything in your presence, doctor. So I advised them to leave, to which they agreed. Pretty straightforward, s-sir.”

“Oh? Did you, now” - A burning rage, like never before, flared up within Il Dottore. With clenched teeth and a rigid jaw, his voice oozed with venom. But any seasoned lackey working under Dottore knew that this was the calm before the storm. Because soon, an echo of shattering vials and slammed objects would ring out from the laboratory. And in your absence, nothing would prevent the doctor from showing a bit of despotism.

Much later that evening, after everything was set and done, the servants informed him of your whereabouts. Il Dottore briskly made his way through the Zapolyarny Palace to find you. Spotting you tucked away in a secluded nook of the palace, he hastened over, anxious to ensure your well-being, fearing you might’ve withdrawn due to the influence of some blabbering lowlife.

“Dear! There you are… No one has the right to speak to you like that ever. Are you alright? My dearest, why did you not tell me immediately?! I would’ve-”

Dottore’s frustrated rambles come to a halt when you place a finger on his lips to shush him. You didn’t look despaired, in fact, you looked calm - “Zandik? Did you have another tantrum in your lab while I was absent?”

The doctor gulped, remembering his place. Calming his senses, he placed his hands on your waist and ushered you closer to his arms.

“... Perhaps. But I had to. How could I be certain that no one had harmed you? Why did you comply with that impudent fool? You should’ve gone to me first.”

“Well, it was unpleasant to hear the insults, sure. But…" - you glanced apologetically and a knowing smile returned to your lips. "I knew you'd find out and deal with the issue very quickly."

✧ You and Pantalone were an odd couple. You didn't hail from a rich background, nor were you well-versed in the art of business and finance. You were more proficient in adventuring, your travels taking you to all sorts of journeys and commissions, a polar opposite from your beloved Pantalone. This led to raised eyebrows among the aristocrats of Snezhnaya. How can the richest man of Teyvat, who lives and works in prestige, be associated with such a simple person as you? For some, this gave the impression that they had a better chance of winning him over.

Thus, once upon a night, Pantalone was invited to a luxurious soirée. Here he was, clad in his finest suit, silver rings complementing his equally expensive optics. But to the Regrator, the jewelry adorning him was the least of his concerns - because you were the most precious gem in this gala. You accompanied him, although reluctantly, feeling out of place amidst the grand assembly of extravagant guests and the languid orchestra.

“Pantalone, do we have to…? I know you said this is not a business party, but there are so many guests already lining up to talk to you.”

“Oh do not fret, my sweet. Evening galas like these are where the real negotiation and connections entail. But I know the details bore you, so I promise we won't stick here for too long. Besides, I get to introduce you as my one and only!”

That's exactly what you were afraid of. As a company of some esteemed noble ladies adorning elegant gowns, you had difficulties matching Pantalone’s polite smile. Overwhelmed by the scrutinizing gazes of some guests, you politely excused yourself to the bathroom. Pantalone was concerned, thinking of following you, but that was exactly what the guests wanted.

You spent a long while by the hallway alone, trying to stabilize your breathing. The muttering of guests enjoying drinks and strolling was faint, but you could hear some people nearby:

“How can the 9th be with someone like them…? Surely it’s a joke.”

“A charming, rich man like him, and he can have anyone he desires. Yet he wastes his time on a simpleton?”

“Someone was definitely in it for the Mora, maybe he hasn’t seen real class. Quick, let’s go talk to him while he is alone.”

You stood with your back to a wall, and for the first time, uncertainty crept in. With fists clenched by your side, you reprimanded yourself that you are not alone. You came here with your significant other - and he, above all else, knows that gossip has no place in your shared private life. Hence, gathering up your courage, you raise your head high and strode back into the gala.

Pantalone, unfortunately yet expectedly, was surrounded by the same foul-mouthed nobles who wished to impress him. They prattled on about his financial success, while ladies fanned their folding fans and stood too close for his comfort. While they humored him, The Regrator cast hurried glances around the gala in search of you. Where are you?

“Lord Harbinger, may we offer you more champagne? I am sure this expensive bottle is up to your taste.”

The 9th attempted to hide his frown at the woman's tone, his stomach unwilling to ingest any drink some excessively elaborate name. “No thank you, I’d rather decline. I am waiting for my dear. I promised her a dance later this evening.”

“Oh, please sir, I insist. The night is young and there is plenty more for-”

Before the woman could continue, your voice cut through the air; calm, yet unmistakably firm. “He said no. Simple enough to understand.”

A hush fell over the gathered guests, the weight of your words settling like a sudden gust. Only Pantalone beamed with a genuine smile. “Ah, dear! There you are,”. The Harbinger was about to step back towards you, when the same lady suddenly blocked his path, her back facing him while her tone edged with defiance.

“I beg your pardon, but I’m afraid the question is directed towards Lord Harbinger Pantalone. I am sure you wouldn't know the pleasure of tasting a 500,000 Mora champagne from Fontaine.”

You recognized the snark in her tone directed towards you, and you couldn’t deny the anxiety twisting in your gut as eyes narrowed in your direction. However, with a shake of your head, you reminded yourself who you truly are and simply said: “Sheesh, lady, you spend that much on a drink that tastes worse than sparkling water? To each their own, I presume”

Her smile vanished. The guests stared in stunned silence, but it was Pantalone’s genuine laughter that pierced the tension. The sound was rich and real—because only he knew how adept you were at humbling an overconfident aristocrat with a dose of blunt truth. That’s how Pantalone managed to push through the crowd and circle his arm back around your waist, leaving the astonished onlookers behind.

“Ah dear, you’re a savior. I apologize I dragged us into this unpleasant company…” - he confined to you apologetically as you two walked away. “You always knew how to be sincere in your honest way.”

“It’s not like I meant to pick up a fight…" - you sighed. "I simply couldn't bear the humiliation, Pantalone. I'm aware that some people give me strange looks when I'm with you. They regard me as if I'm some peasant standing next to a powerful Fatui harbinger. That I'm nothing. That's why I couldn’t just hide, I had to step up to defend myself.”

“Oh, darling… My sweet, precious darling.” - The two of you left the manor that hosted the soiree, the chill night breeze muting the faint sound of guests and replacing it with a symphony of cricket noise from the garden nearby. Pantalone's fingers intertwined with yours.

"You are not just 'nothing' - you're my everything. You did not come from riches, and neither did I. You of all people know that. Would I really hold respect for some rich fool who didn't know an ounce of hardship when Mora was all they had since birth? No, dear, I wouldn't."

With a tender hand, he rested his palm on your waist, gently guiding you along the cobblestone path as if leading you into a slow waltz by garden roses in the night.

"Besides, you should never be ashamed to seek out my help. Although I must admit... Your tone earlier - oh my. Use it on me more often, darling. I wouldn't mind."

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jujutsusimp · 4 months

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More than a weapon

🌸Gojo notices some change in his body due to his domesticated life with you and you love it.

Truly this is just a some self indulging fluff and cheesy romance but I needed it.

Content: Gojo x fem!reader, fluff, Gojo being insecure

“I really let myself go huh?”

You peek your head out of the book you are reading on the bed, watching Satoru look himself in the bedroom mirror, pinching a tiny bit of belly fat on his lower abdomen. This man is still carved like a Greek god, but finally, he has something more than muscles and skin.

“I will need to work on that," he muses absentmindedly, which makes you frown and answer instinctively: “Don’t you fucking dare.”

He raises an amused eyebrow at your intense declaration, looking at you with a teasing smile. “You like this, Babe?”, he demands with a chuckle while you let go of your book, getting up to embrace him. He doesn’t resist when you wrap your arms around him, burying your head in his chest.

"Yes, I do”, you state firmly with a pout, tightening your grip almost protectively.

“Yeah?”, he insists with a smile in his voice while he gently pets your hair.

“Yes…”, you assert, inhaling his scent, his odor is still discernible despite the flowery perfume of your soap. He always washes with your soap, and you love that. “I am working very hard for this, you know...”

He laughs, and you feel his chest vibrating against your face. “Are you trying to fatten me, my love?”, he says with a teasing voice.

“Not particularly”, you answer softly, feeling some kind of happy melancholia, “but this little belly, it’s proof of all the time you stayed hugging me on the bed instead of exercising...”, you start, peppering his rock hard abs with kisses. “… of all the time you stayed watching a movie with me instead of babysitting the whole sorcery world…” In your eyes, his body being slightly more relaxed is proof of your years of domesticated life together, and you cherish it.

You breathe deeply, digging a bit more your fingers in his back, noticing his hands had stopped petting you. In fact, he is really quiet, which is abnormal for him, and you raise your head to look at him. He appears so vulnerable right now that you feel your heart drop.

“I am allowed?”, his voice is barely a whisper, carrying so much emotions. So much fragility. You wished you had the strength to hug him harder. You wish you weren’t so small and you could shield him in your arms like he does with you. “Yes, yes you are, my love, of course you are. You are allowed to live for yourself… to let yourself go”, you affirm, echoing his first words.

“There are a lot of people counting on me, you know…”

You pout at his protestation, finally letting go of his torso to grab his cheeks. “I know, I am not telling you to stop saving the world, just that your whole life doesn’t have to revolve around your work.”

He seems deep in thought, hesitant, and you cut all further protestation by getting on your toes to plant a kiss on his face, until he is the one lifting you so he can kiss you back, loosing himself on your lips with a tranquil passion. There is no hurry in this kiss, just prolonged contact and devoted tenderness until he withdraws his head to contemplate you, his hands still grabbing you by the waist and upper thighs. There is so much love in those blue eyes, but also some doubts lingering.

“What are you worrying about, love?”, you ask softly, knowing he is still tormented. He looks confused, mumbling a bit as he thinks about it seriously for a moment. You don’t press him, caressing his hair gently in a soothing motion. Only an indecent amount of patience and love can make a man like him voice his insecurities.

“Useless… I don’t want to become useless.”, he finally admits lifting you a bit higher so he can bury his face on your chest and hide how troubled he looks right now.

He didn’t say powerless, or weak. He said “useless”. You contemplate his words for a second before kissing the top of his head affectionately. You still have a lot of work to do.

“You are not a weapon Satoru Gojo, you are a person, my lover, an incredible teacher, and a funny and passionate man. You don’t have to be useful, you have so much more to bring to the world than muscles and powers.”

You feel his grip tightening a bit on your body, almost painfully, but you don’t mind, closing your eyes while you dig your fingers into his hair.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me yet, I will just repeat it until you know you are enough, you are wanted, you are loved strongest or not.” You hammered with an unwavering voice, holding all your stubborness for things that truly matter.

“Alright, alright”, he finally relents, his emotions vibrating in his voice but coated with sweetness. You look down at him, watching him lift his eyes out of your chest. “I believe you”

You smile proudly, borrowing his signature cocky smirk, which makes him smile fondly in return. Still holding you with one hand, he removes a strand of hair from your face, gazing at you with love. “I guess as long as I am strong enough to do that, it’s okay.”

You lift an eyebrow at his mischievous grin forming behind the tenderness. “Do what?”

Before you finish your sentence, he is making you twirl in the air into his arms, and you gasp, clinging at his hair to not fall with a delighted chuckle he soon echoes.

Yes, it was more than enough.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #satoru fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n

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tojisun · 5 months

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“ghost,” price’s voice rumbles in his ear, the faint static almost breaking through his focus. there’s a familiar cadence in his captain’s voice, one that drags against simon’s body in miasmic waves—it is, after all, nothing short of a warning. still, none of it matters, and simon continues to march on.

“the mission–”

“stopped being my priority,” simon replies, cutting him off.

there was nothing but a crackle. a quiet whirring. then, “you know this is not what they would want.”

he grunts. “good thing they’re not here then.”

simon slinks into the shadows, ducking underneath the balcony, his eyes frantic as he scans the parameters. it’s safe. quiet. too quiet, in fact.

“location?”

“south of the chapel,” gaz replies with no hesitation. simon hums to himself—price must’ve shifted his directives too, then.

“roger.”

he moves, his boots crunching against the gravel and filling up the dead passage way with just enough noise. there’s still a whole lot of suspicious inactivity, one that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise up, but he doesn’t get to dwell on the thought anymore. not when a loud bang rips through the silence.

his breath stutters, mind racing—that sound came from the shed.

his legs tense, muscles rippling.

“shots fired!” he reports before he leaps, devouring the vast space between himself and the sounds of scuffling. prayers form on the tip of his tongue, racing down his throat like scalding water.

he’s not even a religious man, but dear gods–

simon passes around the chapel, eyes cataloguing the lit rooms inside what he was told to be a desolate building, before tearing through the wooded shed. he knows he should’ve searched the area for any threat, should’ve probably waited for backup, but simon’s been running on overdrive, his emotions piling. spilling.

he tears the door open, guns poised for easy aim. only–

simon’s body buckles, throat constricting with the words he wishes he can say. but there is nothing else to be said. nothing but thank you’s.

because there, standing in the middle of the chaos, bloody and wounded and banged up to hell, is you. you weren’t even taken for that long but look how much they did to you. they hurt you.

your feet are soaked with blood, your boots and socks having been stripped off of you as though a part of their attempts at making you incapable of leaving. your face is swollen. marked up. cuts trace from the angle of your jaw to the side of your temple, leaving blood to trickle down to your neck, staining your tee. the gash doesn’t look deep, but maybe that’s all the blood covering the actual extents.

simon forces himself to breathe. to stay still.

(everyone has their own triggers, that’s what they were first told when laswell brought you to them.

“remember theirs and be careful,” she said before a pleased smile tugged at her lips. “mommy’s bringing home a new littermate. aren’t you all glad?”

the meeting ended there, just as johnny opened his mouth to complain. price passed around your file and simon memorized every line that night—your tell, your preferred gun, your morning beat.

somehow, he thinks that maybe that night was when his devotion to you started.)

simon watches—he’s always been watching you since the day that you arrived—as you compose yourself. the m9 is still gripped so tightly in your trembling fist, the metal quietly creaking at the pressure. it fills up the space in tandem with your ragged breaths, and he knows you’re still there, trapped in the depths of your mind.

alone. angry. scared.

“status?” price asks.

simon licks his lips. “unstable.”

he hears the faint crackle of johnny cursing from the other end of the line, and simon gets him. he really does. but he thinks they also just don’t understand.

you’re here. alone. alive.

your spiral is just proof of that. proof that even in your loneliness, amidst the pain, you clawed your way to survival.

simon hopes you two were back home—the barracks have been home for years now—so he can reward you. sweetly. fully. you deserve all that and more. deserve to be devoted on. to be adored. to be revered.

you were always beautiful, of course, but there is something sacred in seeing you like this: bloodied, angered, victorious.

he prays that your wounds will turn to scars, if only to give him a map of where to press his kisses from now on.

“ghost?” you finally mutter, and it tears simon from his thoughts. your voice is a weak rasp, like you’ve been parched for eons, and despite that, it spills the tension from simon’s body, his muscles loosening up at finally seeing you return to the topside.

he wants to say your name. he wants to sound it out—aren’t names made to be chanted like prayers, anyway?—but he reels himself in and mutters your callsign instead. the name tumbles from his mouth with the desperation and the worry smothered under the guise of grace.

your lips twitch up in an attempt at a smile. they don’t really get to make it much because of the gash running down the corner of your mouth. still, it makes simon stumble over his feet until he is rushing past corpses and sliding into your space.

“can i–”

he doesn’t even get to finish asking before you’re falling into his arms, tucking in your bruised face carefully on the crook of his neck. he takes your bulk in his embrace, folding you to himself, before he rests his chin on the top of your head.

you fist at his vest, your other hand still tight on the m9, and simon can’t really blame you. even he still feels exposed to any danger from in and out of this shed even when you’ve taken out all of the enemies. so he holds you close and holds you tight, knowing every second is sacred.

he breathes you in, taking in the scent of the leather, gun powder, and iron. it all feels familiar to him; it all smells like you.

simon nuzzles the smooth part of his mask over your temple. then, “let’s go home?”

you shift until you’re peering up at him, and simon takes this as the chance to catalogue the extent of your wounds. his lips purse at finally seeing the gash; you would probably need stitches.

“okay,” you finally reply. your eyes wrinkle as you attempt to smile. “thanks for comin’ back f’r me.”

“always,” simon murmurs, feeling choked up as his exhaustion finally catches up on him. “y’know that, right?”

you hum, nodding, and that was that.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod x reader #cw guns #cw violence #suns #sooooo idk where this came from or why i even wrote it but ALAS

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edwinspaynes · 17 days

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I'm thinking about DBDA per usual and I think I've realized that one thing that makes it so groundbreaking for queer rep is the way it never positions romantic love as greater than platonic love.

Like, Edwin and Charles have a "so devoted the lines blur" thing going on, but Charles's "I can't say that I'm, like, IN love with you" is never framed as an insult to Edwin. Edwin himself feels extremely loved afterward!

And then I feel like I have to talk about the end of episode 4 here, too. We see Edwin and Niko, a completely platonic pairing (and one of the strongest, most beloved dynamics in the series.) They're bonding on a super deep level, Edwin staying around and Niko writing to her mom with his condoning presence there. It immediately smash-cuts to a romantic pairing across the hall (Charles and Crystal) just distracting themselves by kissing each other. The platonic scene is the one with the emotional impact.

Whether you're allo or ace or aro, queer people tend to have a lot of stakes in platonic relationships. Lots of media doesn't get that. DBDA does. That's one reason it feels so true to its queerness and its characters.

#dbda #dead boy detectives #save dead boy detectives #save dbda #edwin payne #charles rowland #niko sasaki

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asp1diske-art · 6 months

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To be the Watcher

(script under cut)

To protect the Vessel, the Dreamers lay sleeping.

Monomon the Teacher In her Archive, surrounded by fog and mist.

Lurien the Watcher In his Spire, looking over the city.

Herrah the Beast In her Den, amidst the deep darkness beyond the kingdom.

Through their devotion, Hallownest lasts eternal.

To be the Teacher is to be in a relationship. Tied to student and pupil.

To be the Beast is to be part of a people. A claim of belonging.

To be a Watcher

To be the Watcher is to become an outsider. To see, but not be seen. To ostracize oneself from the watched. To observe, without taking part.

Watcher, Master, Seal, Dreamer, those are his names.

Lurien the Watcher In his spire, looking over the city.

He does not exist outside of the act.

#hollow knight #lurien the watcher #lurien #monomon the teacher #monomon #herrah the beast #herrah #my art #comic

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saetoru · 1 year

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ JUST YOURS — LYNEY.

contents. archon quest spoilers, reader finds out lyney is from the house of the hearth—and all the drama + betrayal that comes from that </3 so big rip </3 but it has a hopeful ending tho !!

lyney has knocked on your door three times today—you haven’t opened up once. you can’t.

“please,” you can hear his muffled voice, “i just want to talk. will you let me explain?”

magicians must always make their audience believe in the impossible, he’s always told you with that sweet, alluring little smile on his face that makes you hang onto every word of his. he’s right, you think—magicians are simply those who have mastered the art of deception, and lyney is no exception. he’s deceiving you even now, with that broken voice as if he’s the one who’s hurt.

word spreads fast in fontaine—lyney, your sweet, romantic, devoted lyney, is of the house of the hearth. his trial mortifies you at first—but deep down, you know in your heart that lyney is no murderer. and then, in an instant, you’re not so sure anymore when somehow, within less than a day, lady furina is able to uncover more about your boyfriend than you have in months.

lyney is of the house of the hearth. he’s of the fatui.

“i’m sorry,” you hear a thud of his forehead resting against the door, “you’re mad, i know—but let me explain the—”

for the first time all day, you open the door. you’re not sure why—somehow, you need him to know you’re not just mad. you’ve been mad at lyney before, being mad is easy. being mad means he’ll pull a rose from behind your ear and make you smile against your will. being mad means you’ll realize you can’t stay mad at him for long, not when he looks at you like that. being mad is temporary—but this? this feels permanent.

you’re not mad at lyney. you simply can’t trust him anymore, and he needs to know that, needs to understand that he should stay away and never find you again.

you’re glaring at him, staring at the face that has always done nothing but make you smile. you wonder, for a small, doubtful moment, if every smile lyney has ever pulled from you has been built off of pure lies and half truths and withheld information.

you’ve given him every bit of yourself, told him everything there is to tell and then some, let him discover things himself that no one has yet to learn. and lyney, as you learn, is someone you can’t even begin to know, not really—maybe not ever.

“you’re with the fatui,” your voice is cold, but you know he can hear the waver—you hate him for that. for being able to pick you apart when you don’t know the first thing about him, “you’ve lied to me all this time—”

“i didn’t lie,” he says quickly, “i just…didn’t tell you everything—”

“that’s not any better,” you cut him off, finality in your voice that makes his eyes widen a fraction, “i have no business with someone of the—”

“wait,” his foot stops the door before it can close, stepping in despite your protests as he inches closer and closer. you take a step back every time—the hurt on his face is palpable. “can…can i explain? please?”

“explain what?” you furrow your eyebrows, “explain that you’re with the fatui? how is there any explaining that? how can you look me in the eye and tell me you’re not bad—”

“i’m not,” he insists, “i’m not bad.”

lyney has never looked at you like that—like you’ve hurt him right where he’s most vulnerable, right where he’s weak and fragile and can’t bear to be hurt. you hate that you want to apologize for a moment, that you want to cradle his face and kiss the tremble off of his lips.

“then what are you?” you challenge, crossing your arms.

“i’m trying to save people,” he croaks, “our organization has a lot of people—a lot of goals. father and i want to—”

“your father has hurt people,” you cut him off.

“father saved me,” he says firmly, “and lynette. she gave us a home. and she wants to save the people of this nation—”

“she’s taken advantage of your weakness and—”

“she did what no one else would for me and my family.”

“then go,” you spit, “go to her and do her bidding. but i can’t turn a blind eye to the fact that you’re with the fatui.”

“even as a member of the house, my decisions are my own,” his hand grabs yours—you can’t find it in yourself to pull it away. it’s familiar, warm—it’s lyney. your lyney. “i’m doing what i believe is right. to break the prophecy.”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to do,” you admit, tired, defeated, “or who you are, frankly. but i’m tired of lies, lyney.”

“then i’ll tell you the truth,” his voice trembles, “anything you ask.”

“i’m not sure that’ll help,” you say quietly.

and then his arms are wrapped tightly around you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck as he pulls you close. you want to push him away. you want to melt into his arms. you want to tell him to leave. you want to ask him to always stay.

lyney is of the house of the hearth, the fatui. but he’s also your lyney—the one who brings you flowers and tucks them behind your ear, the one who does tricks for children and makes them smile, the one who gives his heart and soul for his family to keep them safe.

you don’t know if the two can coexist as one, but you know despite it all, you still love lyney, and you don’t know if you can stop. the thought is haunting.

“i’ve always done what i believe is right,” he promises, “i’ve never hurt someone innocent. you have to know that much.”

“lyney—”

“i love you,” his voice breaks, “i’ve always loved you as just lyney. i promise.”

“i’m scared of who you are when you’re not just lyney,” you whisper—and you suppose you’re also weak, because your hand slips into his hair, stroking through the strands so that if it’s the last time, maybe you can commit the feeling of him to memory.

you can feel his tears fall onto your skin, and you can feel his fingers grip your shirt as he clings onto you, onto the last bit of hope that you’re his—that he’s yours. your lyney, the one you’ve always known and loved.

“i’m always just lyney,” he promises, “no matter who i’m with.”

“i just…need time,” you sniffle, “to think.”

“okay,” he says quietly. you can feel his lip quiver against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck, “i’ll wait. however long you need, i’ll wait. i love you.”

“i know, lyney,” you sigh, caving and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head. you savor the feeling—just in case you’ll never feel it again.

maybe you can—maybe he’s telling the truth. maybe lyney has always been yours, the one you think you know. you don’t know, but you hope you’ll find out.

i would forgive him i can’t lie to you no amount of fatui crimes could outweigh how badly i need to kiss this little shrimp of mine

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney angst #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact angst

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pupkashi · 3 months

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a/n: i just wanted to write abt yuta being scary and sexy so here is my word vomit

masterlist

thinking abt bf!yuta who looks and acts so pathetic around u but is so protective and intimidating

yuta is so helplessly in love and devoted to you, even a blind man can feel the love he has for you a mile away. yuta is the first to laugh at your jokes, the first to tell you happy birthday and congratulate you on everything. he’ll give you anything you want the minute you ask for it, no matter what it is.

yuta doesn’t get into arguments with you, he’ll apologize for whatever he did wrong and prove to you he’ll never make the same mistake again. he’ll shower you in gifts and acts of service and spend as much quality time with you as you want.

there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you.

yuta okkotsu isn’t the beefiest man on the planet, nor is he the tallest. but he is the most intimidating when he wants to be. and whenever anyone is a little too friendly with you, he definitely wants to be.

it’s only been two minutes since he left to the use restroom and there there some douchebag was, trying to flirt with you. it makes his blood boil, seeing someone who isn’t him be that close to you, trying to buy you a drink as you politely decline him.

it takes only a moment for yuta to walk up to you, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you close to him.

“who’s this, angel face?” he asks you, his voice is soft and sweet as he speaks to you, but his eyes are sharp and venomous as he stares at the other man.

“he just was talking to me about some sport, he’s nobody yuu” you smile, trying your best to contain the situation while you could.

“yeah i was just leavin, don’t wanna waste my time on something used” the man snorts, turning around before his body is jolted backwards as yuta grabs his wrist.

the man immediately cried out in pain, knees buckling as yuta’s grip only tightened. “how ‘bout you quit crying and apologize,” yuta taunts, jaw clenched as his grip grew stronger.

“baby please i don’t want a scene” you plead, squeezing his arm and forcing him to look at you. yuta always thought your eyes were so alluring. something about them brought him a sense of serenity he never thought was possible.

“okay” he mumbles, letting go of the man’s wrist, rolling his eyes as the man cradled his now broken wrist, crying out about his pain and running the opposite direction.

the two of you don’t stick around, walking out into the hot summer breeze before you stop, hands on your hips as you stare at your lover.

“yuta” your tone is more than enough to stop him dead in his tracks, slowly turning on his heel with a sheepish smile on his face.

if you didn’t know your lover, you never would’ve guessed that the man who’s a stuttering and blushing mess in front of you broke a man’s write for flirting with you.

his shoulders are slouched a bit, strands of black hair framing his face perfectly as he tried his best to defend himself.

“I’m sorry darling” he begins, already giving you the puppy eyes you fall for, “i couldn’t just stand by and let some scumbag try to talk you up without-” you cut him off by grabbing his hand and pulling him to sit with you on a nearby bench.

“pretty boy, you know I’m only yours right?” the words make yutas fave flush a deep red, nodding softly as he looks at the ground. “you don’t have to fight or threaten every person who gets too close to me, i can handle myself” you explain.

“you shouldn’t have to” yuta mumbles, looking at you with a small pout. “i wanna be the one to protect you,” he sighs, “i wanna let the world know that they shouldn’t even think about trying anything with you.”

there’s a beat of silence and yuta is about to apologize again before you’re crashing your lips onto his. it’s a shock to him, but he immediately kisses you back, smiling when you bite his bottom lip softly.

“cmon let’s go home,” you smile, laughing when yuta practically jumps up, back to his sunshine smile as he intertwines his fingers with yours.

“you wanna make some cookies and watch a movie?” he asks, swinging your held hands as you two walks together down the empty street.

“you read my mind, pretty” you grin, leaning into him as the two of you walked, loving how he instinctively put his arm over your shoulder and kissed the top of your head.

there’s not a care in the world for you. you’d never have to look over your shoulder or carry a weapon with you. as long as yuta was by your side the only thing you’d have to worry about is stopping him from killing anyone who hurt you, intentionally or not.

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dixonsbrat · 18 days

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𖥔 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 𖥔

"promise m’somethin'?" daryl's voice is groggy as the morning sun begins to trickle in through the window. one hand wrapped firmly around your waist as the other runs idle shapes across your face.

you hum in acknowledgment, leaning into his chest, not really wanting to break the silence you had built between you both.

“promise that if anythin’ ever gets real bad, you’ll run.” he doesn’t say it as a question. no. he makes it a statement. he wants you to know how serious he is about it.

you peel your face from his chest to look up at him, his light eyes finding yours immediately in the ill-litted room. there’s a steeliness to them that you’d never seen before, but something far beyond just the depths of his seriousness. there was fear.

“daryl-“ you begin to speak, managing to get nothing out but his name before he shakes his head.

“need ya to promise.” he says it more stern now.

there’s a beat of silence, his eyes scanning your face, trying to gather any information on the answer you’re going to give him. his hope lingers in the air as your fingers run across his skin, like kisses from a ghost, as you reach to touch his cheek.

he instinctively leans into the touch. a fault of his. always craving your touch, no matter the circumstances.

then you shake your head and his heart plummets in his chest. his brain working to come up with a reason but your words overpower his own before he has a chance.

“there’s nothing in this world that will ever make me run anywhere that isn’t straight to you. and you can argue with me all you want, tell me that it’s for my own safety, but i don’t care.”

he’s silent for a second before he speaks, but his voice is small, a whisper in the wind, “please.”

you take in a deep breath, your chest pressed flush to his side as you tangle your fingers with his, “daryl, you can’t ask me to do that.”

“s’why i ain’t askin,” he grumbles, his voice gruff compared to your calm tone. “i need ya safe. i need ya alive.”

you can’t help but stifle a small huff of laughter at his stubbornness, your hand pulling his towards your mouth as you press a soft kiss against his knuckle. you can feel his breathing relax a little at the gesture and you look back up at him in the bed.

“when are you going to get it through your thick skull that this world isn’t worth surviving unless i’m surviving it with you.”

his breathing falters, eyes widened with a mixture of disbelief and desire. he still count fathom the fact that anyone could ever care for him, love him, the way you do, but hearing you say that you wouldn’t want to be in this world if it wasn’t with him… it makes his heart swell and ache at the same time.

“y’can’t think like that,” he shakes his head but it’s you who cuts him off this time, pressing your finger to his mouth.

“i can, and i will,” you nod. “if i lose you… i lose everything. i’m not going to let that willingly happen.”

he doesn’t know how to respond, his words getting caught in his throat. he knew you were stubborn, much like him, but he also knew how devoted you were to those you loved, and it confused him every day how lucky he was that he got to be one of those people.

he just nods, knowing there was no point in arguing, “a’ight. a’ight.” his voice is a shaky, but it doesn’t let up just how affected he was by your words, and he pulls your head back to his chest, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

#— 𝐯𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 .ᐟ ᡣ𐭩 #— 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 ᡣ𐭩 #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x gn!reader #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon blurb #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon

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penvisions · 9 days

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stages of devotion {away from the city}

Pairing: Tired Dad! Joel Miller x Experienced Camper! Reader

Summary: The neighboring campsite hosts a tired dad who seems to be ill-equipped for what he openly admits was a rather impromptu getaway with his teenage daughter. Thankfully, you keep extra supplies in your hatchback and are willing to share.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: canon typical language, cussing, brief mention of bleeding injury, sexual tension, pining, mutual pining, fluffiness, super soft yearning, sexual content, adult content, piv, fingering, dirty talk, pet names, depraved descriptions of the male body, just a light little piece for me!

A/N: hoping this isn't as lame as it seems in my head. imposter syndrome is flaring, y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

“God dammit.” A deep, gravely voice solemnly murmurs from the next site over. Slightly muffled from inside the tent the broad-shouldered man had dipped into shortly after pulling into the parking spot in a dark blue trunk. He had managed to get it pitched in a miraculously short amount of time despite the giggling and bouncing teen tangling the guy lines and rucking up the corners of the tarp underneath.

“Everything okay, dad?” The teen in question asked as she popped up from the cooler she was digging around in, a can of soda in her grip.

“…yeah, everything’s good, baby girl.” She glanced over at you with a roll of her eyes, not believing him for a second and needing someone to share in the moment. Before she could call him on the obvious lie, a loud hissing sound ruffled the side of the tent, billowing it out in a rather funny way.

Trying to keep your laughter low to avoid attention, you got up from your spot tending to the flames of your fire, foiled single use pan over the grill plate of the pit. A casserole you had parbaked last night in preparation for today. It was a broccoli cheddar one, the noodles and chicken beginning to season the air along with the crackling pine offered for visitors at the general store at the entrance to the park. The trunk of your SUV was silent as you lifted it and scanned the supplies you had stocked up in the space.

The spare air mattress you kept was on the smaller side, but it didn’t hurt to offer it to the little father and daughter duo. You pulled the fabric of your hiking shorts down a little, to cover up the bandage over a cut you had gotten earlier that afternoon on a hike before gripping the box and walked over to the edge of your site.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Uh, give me sec!”

“Sir?” You walked over the invisible line between yours and theirs, aware of the girl now fiddling with a small MP3 player, wired earbuds already popped into her ears beneath a mane of kinky hair pulled back into low buns at the back of her head. “I’ve got an extra mattress if yours has holes in it.”

“Huh?” His head appears in the opening of the tent, dark curls tousled and slightly damp with sweat. His brown eyes were wide, his plush lips parted underneath a thick moustache. He was on his knees, prompting you to look down as you approached the tent. He looked up at you through his hooded eyes and you swore your heart jumped in your chest. He had crows’ feet at the edges of them, those and the deep wrinkle in his brow adding to his appeal.

“This is my spare, you’re more than welcome to borrow it.”

His eyes flicked behind you, gauging where his daughter was and why he hadn’t heard an interaction from her before you appeared before him with a gift in your hand and kind words on your lips. She knew how to hold her own, but he still worried for her because the world could be cruel. Her music was a low hum even from here, telling him she was gone from his world for the meantime, social battery probably low or even just a bit bored with him out here in the middle of the state park while he set things up.

“Uh, thanks. Who’re-“

“I’m from just over there,” You lean back a little to wave to the left. He had seen the hatchback parked there all day but hadn’t seen the camper until just now. You must’ve snuck back into the grounds from a mid-morning hike that begins off the campgrounds or a nap you were possibly taking in your rather clean tent. He felt self-conscious at the way he was looking up at you with wide eyes, the dirt and dust that coated everything from his cooler to his own truck to the tent he was currently kneeling in. The trip was last minute, but it just reminds him of how much better he needs to be about upkeep in his own home and garage. The truck he could get away with, but he didn’t want to bring his work home with him more than he already did. “We’re campsite neighbors.”

“Mighty nice of ya, think mine has a leak somewhere.” The admittance is easy from his lips, shocking you in its honesty. The last time you had tried to offer similar help, you had been shot down and denied a chance. Told you didn’t know what you were talking about and that the person who had been having trouble knew more than you did, that you should mind your own business. Shaking the bad memory and relationship from your mind, you offer a polite smile and lean over a little to peer into the space around the man eclipsing the entrance.

“Mind if I take a look?” You set down the rather hefty box containing the spare bed and lean down to unhinge the ankle strap on your campsite sandals. It may be a little forward of you, but he seemed willing to discuss the issue, and you wanted to help any way you could. When he doesn’t protest, still gazing up at you with that doe eyed expression, you step into the rather dusty interior. The mattress is in the center of the back wall, the foot end of it facing toward your campsite. You crouch down to inspect the area around the boston valve. Just as you reached out a hand to feel around the base of it, you felt heat at your right side.

“’s over on the other side, I think.” The man’s voice was close, the baritone of it vibrating through you as you turned your own curious expression over to him. He seems to have composed himself, as he shuffles close to you, nearly pressing his broad chest into your side to motion to the left side of bed. The near contact makes you jolt, the way he had almost unconsciously fallen into your personal space. Not having been so close to anyone in recent memory makes the moment into more than it is on the surface, and you try not to let it get to your head. Just a friendly interaction, that’s all.

“Apologies,” He’s moving away just as suddenly as he had appeared beside you, leaving your heart racing in your chest so loud you hope he can’t hear it within the confines of the nylon enclosure. You can’t tell with the bright afternoon sunlight, if there’s a tinge to the tops of his ears and the back of his neck. But you’re pretty sure if there is one it’s because of his embarrassment of the thoughtless act and nothing more. A simple accident of invading a stranger’s space and nothing more.

He’s just a stranger who needed a bit of help, nothing more. Tamping down the runaway thoughts of the man and how calming his presence is even with just a few moments of interacting with him, you focus on the task at hand.

After a few moments of fiddling with the valve and ensuring its secure, you have him press down the palms of his hands on the top of the mattress as you scoot it out to feel where the air is leaking from.

There’s a slit in the groove that helps to support the weight of whoever lays atop it, barely visible.

“Ah, yeah. It’s here.” You switch places with him and he sees what you’re talking about.

“Shit,” He’s rubbing a hand over the dark scruff on his chin, dragged down the column of his neck as he realizes it’s not even a hole but a tear. A mighty long one that he’s incapable of fixing out here with no duct tape or putty.

“No worries, you can use the spare I brought over.” Standing up, you clap your hands to rid them of the dust that you had gathered on them. Doing the same with your knees, you glance around the space and realize how small it is. “Is this the only tent you brought?”

“No, uh, Sarah – my girl out there,” Joel is hunched over, the inside of the tent not tall enough for him to stand at his full height, he’s following your form as you exit, taking the offered box that contains the solution to his current problem. “This one’s hers. Gotta get mine set up. Was just gonna give her mine if hers was damaged. Saved me the pain of sleeping on the ground.”

“I’ve got a small handheld vacuum, if you want to get the dust cleared up for her.” You offer with a slight smile, the small worry of overstepping making you self-conscious. “Just…if you want to.”

He pauses as he places the box beside the slowly deflating bed he had tried to set up. His eyes catch yours and you see something flash in them.

“’m not normally this unprepared, but she was…well, she was havin’ a bad week so we packed up after school and just hit the road.”

“Hey, no worries at all! I totally get needing to get away sometimes. That’s why I have enough to offer you my spare. Keep a bit in the car, a bit in the garage. Kinda ready to go whenever I feel the need.”

“It’s much appreciated.” His own lips twist up and you feel butterflies between your ribs. He’s effortlessly handsome, his chocolate curls mused and his face showing the years he’s spent raising his daughter and no doubt working hard to do it.

“I’ll just go grab that real quick then, leave you to finish setting up.” You crook your elbow and point back to your own campsite, but your feet stick to the ground when you see Joel crouched back down on the ground in his simple tee and jeans. His biceps flex with the way he begins to roll the remaining air out of the no-good mattress, catching your attention like a cat to a sunbeam.

“You’re an angel, can’t believe we lucked out with such a cool neighbor.” Joel chuckles to himself as he works, unaware of your watching gaze. “Last time we had this older couple that didn’t believe she was mine. Kept asking if she was okay or needed any help.”

“S-Sounds like a nightmare.” The lump that appears in your throat sticks even after you attempt to swallow it down. You couldn’t imagine the stress that caused, even if just fleetingly. They were obviously bonded, their easy temperance with each other speaking volumes for those around.

“Much better this time around, despite the faulty mattress.” He looks up once it’s rolled up and secured with velcro ties. His smile is brighter, reaching his eyes in a way that makes them sparkle. “Name’s Joel, and the tone-deaf teenager out there is Sarah.”

You look over your shoulder at the dancing, twirling teenager. She’s still got her music playing a touch too loud, her lips mouthing along to most of the words. Some of them she sings aloud, and it’s…it is rather tone-deaf. But it brings a smile to your face all the same, she’s allowed to feel like she can be herself around her father. That’s an impressive feat, that they seem so close with no underlying awkwardness or feelings of insecurity.

Turning back to him, you offer your own introduction.

The sounds of Joel finishing setting up his campsite fill the air but aren’t bothersome. Just a part of the afternoon that grows into the evening. Others showing up as well, the sound of rubber mallets securing tent spikes in the soft ground, of vinyl and tarp being stretched out and shifted into place, of grills being filled with charcoal and the sizzling of food as it hits the hot grates. Laughter and soft conversations float through the air amid the gentle breeze and you sigh as you sit down at your table with a bowl of the casserole that had finished cooking.

The peaceful reverie is enhanced by the infectious giggling of Sarah, the teenage girl just over the invisible line between the campsites. Joel’s own carefree laughter making your chest feel light. They’ve got their stuff all set up, the propane grill Joel brought working hard as he cooks what looks like too much food for just the two of them. But they both load their plates up and settled at their picnic table with freshly opened drinks from the cooler.

You feel the look before it registers, so caught up in the book gripped between your hands. It’s been on your list for far too long, a few pages read here and there throughout your hectic day, before bed as you try to wind down but end up passing out with it flattened on your chest. But now, the reading seems to be disrupted in the form of Joel. He’s at the edge of your space, calling out your name.

An offer for food if you wanted some, that there was a little bit of everything and plenty of it if you cared to join them. With no thought for the passage you had just been immersed in, you close the book and leave it in the seat of your camp chair. The vinyl hushes with the wight of the paper but you pay it no mind as you ask after what all he’s got and pick up a fresh beer from your cooler.

Easy conversation flowed and soon your laughter rung in the air alongside theirs.

Sarah had gone to bed after a bit of gentle prodding from Joel. Her head had bobbed a few times, trying her hardest to stay up despite her fluttering eyes and deep breaths as she sat in front of the dwindling fire alongside you both.

They hadn’t been able to get one going in their own pit, too much debris left behind from the previous inhabitants. So yours had been stoked and kept alive for hours now as night fell. Their chairs had been effortlessly moved beside yours, surrounding the once roaring warmth, something you hadn’t minded in the slightest. He’s walking back up to now, hands in his pockets and a flannel added over his tee. He looks so cozy, so at home now that he’s gotten settled.

He sighs heavily as he plops back down in the chair beside your own, scooting it closer now that you’re alone. You can smell the lingering scent of his cologne on the new addition of clothing and it has you unconsciously leaning into his space.

“Mm, you smell good.”

“Thanks, darlin’. You smell mighty good yourself.” He’s smirking when your eyes snap up at the realization that you just said that out loud.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry. I didn’t-“

“’s okay. But I’ve been wonderin’ something.” His tone tilts, pitches low as he regards the fire that’s more smoldering ashes than flames in the pit. The shadows cast over his profile take your breath away, make your heart ache for how beautiful he is. He’s a good man, if your evening together was anything to go by.

A devoted father, a caring family man, a capable man who worked himself perhaps too much sometimes.

“Y-yeah?” You feel the air shift, something sparking between you two now that you’re alone. You wonder if he’s about to tell you his wife is back home waiting for their return, if he’s going to ask you why you keep stealing ogling glances his way. If he’s going to reveal to you that he’s onto you and doesn’t like the attention. But his question is exactly what you wanted to hear, because you have the exact same one for him.

“You got anyone waitin’ for you back home?” Joel’s voice is even, despite the way one of his hands is tapping away at the armrest of his chair. The empty beer in his mesh cupholder sweating and the label is peeled off. It’s endearing to see his quirks, the man rather enticing despite only knowing him for a few hours. Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies tickling your insides as you realized he may be as attracted to you as you are to him. Unless he was just making polite conversation now that it was just the two of you…

“Like a boyfriend?” You dare to ask, seeking clarification. Feeling the slight charge in the air is making you a little dizzy, the looks you had caught him giving you when you were busy helping Sarah with her smores only making you feel even more so as you recall the way his eyes had shown in the amber firelight. You lean toward him, finding that he had done the same. There are only a few inches between you now, elbows crooked and bodies curved toward each other. You try to disguise your surprise, but you’re sure he can see in as his lips quick up on one side.

“Like a boyfriend.” His breath is so warm as it puffs against your lips. He’s so, impossibly close and it wouldn’t take but a tilt of your head to close the gap.

“Oh.” Your eyes search between his own, looking for something behind them. Finding no ill intent, no underlying darkness. There’s only hope flickering there, shielding the loneliness you can sense in him, the same that you mask in your own life. You feel your lips pull up into a teasing smile as you glance down at his plush lips. “No.”

“Good.” And he’s closing the gap. Hands coming up to cradle your face and nose brushing against yours as his lips capture yours.

The next morning, you’re packing up the remainder of your stuff as quietly as possible. The sun has yet to rise, the sky barely beginning to lighten on the horizon. Joel is snoring just loudly enough that you can pick up the sound coming from inside his tent. You don’t want to bother him, seeing as he’s resting after a rather long night. You feel the ghost of his lips against yours, the way they had dragged down your throat, your collarbone, lower still beneath your shoved off flannel and rucked up tank top.

“Don’t normally do this kinda thing.” He groaned into your skin as his exploring fingers undid the small tie at the front of your shorts. The thickness of them as they hooked in the waistband and pulled made you dizzy, made your body clench around nothing at the heady thought of them delving lower.

“What? Make out with strangers?” You huff a giddy laugh that turns into a choked whimper as his knuckles graze between your legs, feeling the dampness there. He presses close, and you feel the pressure of his hand against your swollen lips, can feel the way he slowly parts them with gentle movements. Fingertips find your sensitive bud and your body glitters, eyes fluttering shut.

“Make out with anyone. Been so focused on other stuff.”

“Focus on me then, just for now.” You whisper as you reach for him, guiding his face back up to yours and kissing him deeply. He swallows the moan that bursts from your chest as his fingers find your fluttering entrance. He’s knuckle deep and crooking them before you can catch your breath. It hitches, leaves you and causes you to break away from him when they nudge a spot just right, lighting up your body in a way it hadn’t been in ages.

“That’s the spot, huh darlin’?” He thrusts his fingers in a slow, deep rhythm. Feeling your soft walls clench around him, the jolt to your body and the arching of your back telling him he’s found exactly the right spot. “C’mon, you feel so damn good. Lemme see how pretty you are.”

Through a heavy-lidded gaze, you see him hovering above you. His outline stark in the glow of the string lights strung up around your campsite. His brown eyes are glittering and blown wide, his lips are parted and panting for breath, chest dusted with the same dark hair atop his head. When had he even taken his shirt off? It doesn’t matter, you lose the thought as your hands begin to explore his chest. Nails raking lightly down his pecs and toward the softness of his belly. Belt unbuckled and pants undone, but still secure around his waist.

Heat encompasses you, your body alight as he beckons you closer and closer to the edge. You fall with a cry of his name when he leans down to nip at your breast, nipple taut between his teeth. He guides you through it, fingers dragging it out before he gently removes them from your fluttering core and twitching clit.

“That’s a pretty sight indeed, darlin’.” He kisses your temple, your cheeks, your forehead. A grunt of surprise falls from him when you surge up and wrap your arms around his neck and use your feet to push his jeans off. His rumbling laughter fills the dark space as he quickly pushes them off all the way and kicks them off the bed. “Gonna let me have you, sweet girl, gonna let me feel you come on my cock?”

“Fuck, Joel, yes, please.” You rut against him as his erection bobs up toward his stomach, needing more, needing to feel him. This safe, beautiful stranger you hadn’t known existed until today. He was intoxicating. The hot, long line of him hard where you grind against the underside of him. He groans a deep, guttural sound at the feeling, the slick of your swollen lips and the beads of precum falling from his tip making for such an easy glide.

His hand snakes down to guide himself a little lower, eliciting a cry from you when his head rubs roughly over your clit.

“Shh, shh, gotta be quiet now, don’t wanna wake the whole campground, do we?” He’s watching your face twist in pleasure, the way your bottom lip plumps between teeth as you try to quiet yourself. He tries to muffle his own loud moan when he finally pushes in. Everything stills for the barest of moments, eyes meeting and breath hitching. Before he’s snapping his hips against yours, bending over you to lift a leg over his shoulder and his teeth grit as he tries to keep his sounds restrained.

You’re lost to the feeling of his body moving against yours, moving inside yours. He’s filling you so deeply, hitting that spot you didn’t believe any guy could find and it’s making your vision sparkle bright white.’

Your face heats as you recall the way he had desperately asked ‘where’ in that gravely twang of his. The feeling of him still filling you, dampening your underwear as he dribbled out a little bit at a time. It had been rather risky a move, but the pills you took everyday would help prevent any…mishaps with the handsome man you hadn’t expected to meet on your own impromptu excursion from the city.

Austin.

He was from there too and something compelled you to write your name and number on a blank page of your small notepad. A little note saying to call you for a coffee sometime because it had been nice to talk to him and his daughter. You left the remainder of the casserole in the tin and secured the crumpled foil over it before cautiously lifting the lid to their large cooler. Thankfully there was space for the extra food, they would need it with their additional night in the park.

But you needed to go, real life responsibilities calling your name back from the slice of reprieve you had sought out.

Picking up the packed tent, the handles rough in your hand like Joel’s calloused palms, you looked the campsite over one last time. Everything was packed now, the city beckoning you back though this camping trip had provided you with something you hadn’t had a taste of in a long time.

Hope.

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writingforatwistedworld · 7 months

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Hi!! I really love your writting🥰 i would like to request for the self-aware au, Reader hiding behind them after being chased by some particularly pushy NPCs with Rook, Trey, and Jack please❤️

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder, description of violence, blood, obsession, stalking

Trey Clover/Jack Howl/Rook Hunt-Hiding behind them

Ah, what a nice day. In fact, it is perfect for trying out that recipe with that dough that needed to rest for a while

Or rather, that was his plan for the day until he suddenly heard two pairs of footsteps rushing into the dorm kitchen

And no, it was not the kind of footsteps that spoke of joy like the ones of his siblings did. from time to time, it sounded panicked

Just a second later you entered the kitchen with an octavinelle student, the latter one trying to catch up to you

Before the baker could figure out what was going on, you were suddenly behind him, using his body as a shield

Oh… oh!

Was this guy harassing you?

How dare he? How dare-

Deep breaths. Very deep breaths - would be something he would have said to himself if he wasn't this angry

By some miracle, he was able to hold himself together

He was this close to loose his reputation as "that nice hat wearing baker"

A strict look towards the student and you were finally alone with him

For you the whole thing was over but for that student?

Suddenly the poor lad fell ill, claiming that he had stomach problems

Heck, he couldn't even keep his food down

Such a shame... Trey surely hoped he would survive

Who else could he secretly gift those cakes? You? Oh no... It's just that he experiments with some new recipes...

Ignore that bottle in the cupboard

Jack is someone who keeps his friends very close and is not afraid to stand up for them

Only that he saw you as someone more precious than a friend

So when he saw you running away from a student and slipping behind him he saw the world just a tiny bit tinted red

The young wolf beastman isn't someone who uses violence just because he can do or feel like using it

(Honestly, at this point he is more like your little dog than some fearsome wolf)

Just because he didn't turn the student into very biological and mushy fertiliser for the flowers then and there doesn't mean he was calm though

Grabbing the not so nice company of yours, he told you to not worry and leave your little problem to him

Ah yes, Jack Howl, that kind acquaintance of yours

How nice of him

But you know, there are also tales about wolves acting as if they are kind just to devour you

Of course Jack didn't do that

Does not mean that things went as peaceful as you thought they did after you left

Jack usually keeps his instincts under control but on that evening he had to cut his nails very short and scrub his hands

Anyone would be horrified after the sensation of calcium breaking under their hand, splintering like old, dried out wood under a saw

He should feel guilty but... it was hard to do so

Which brings us back to a sink being used by a certain beastman

Geez, some things are so hard to get off of skin once it dries, wouldn't you agree?

First of all, it's a wonder the hunter wasn't watching you from a tree (or something like that... who knew bushes could walk in this world)

If he had he would have immediately revealed himself by slithering in between you and that oh so foolish first year

But alas, apparently a miracle happened and this time it was you seeking out him

When Rook heart the certain sound of your shoes hitting the ground he was swivelling around, a poem about his devotion towards you already on his tongue...

And them you hid behind his arm curtains (you know, their dorm uniforms sleves)

Did hiw beloved Overseer, perfection and liberatir in person finally choose him as their most favorite- no? Ok that's cool too

If this was any other situation he would have started a speech in his wannabe French, stating how short he was by your rejection

But right now he had to deal with your little stalker (don't try to act all innocent, Rook, you did the same many more times than they ever could without being noticed)

Trying to calm you down the hunter brought you to Pomfiore

And nothing weir happened

No I am not joking, Rook was his usual normal self (if we want to call at best flirtatious remarks and at worst frantic devoted ramblings normal)

From then on you were much closer to the hunter

Especially after a body was found

And oh, how grateful Rook was for not having the time to get rid of the body on that day

Of course, he had noticed how ce fou followed you two to the dorm

How trusting you were when he told you that he wanted to get you two something to drink...

And there the parasite still was, lingering around the entrance of his dorm

The only regret Rook had was finishing his job so quickly

It was always such a bore whenever his prey wouldn't squirm

Well, at least you were now close to him

Just be careful, the hunter was also back then the one bringing her highness a false heart. Who knows how much he would lie to get you all to himself?

Uh and… maybe don't open that box he has in his room in a cooler. He told you he keeps some sort of trophy in there and I think that is all we need to know

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internet-rat · 2 months

Text

Distracting him while he is reading - Aemond x wife!reader

NSFW below cut~

Just you soft domming him~

As you approached Aemond, the sight of him absorbed in his studies, his focus unwavering, struck a chord of admiration within you. His dedication, the way he hunched over scrolls and texts, his silver hair falling slightly over his intense gaze, added layers to the man you loved—both fierce warrior and keen scholar. Your presence behind him was a silent declaration of your affection, and your hands on his chest, a gentle but firm reminder of the intimacy you shared.

You leaned over, your lips brushing the top of his head in a tender, possessive gesture. The contact was light but symbolic, marking him as yours in a way that was intimate and personal. Your voice, teasing yet laced with dominance, broke the silence, rippling through the air with a warmth that contrasted the cool, scholarly atmosphere of the room.

"Look at you... so studious..."

The words were playful but carried with them an undercurrent of pride and affection. Aemond's reaction was immediate; he straightened slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, an indication of the pleasure your presence and recognition brought him. His hand reached up to cover yours, pressing it against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch.

His voice, when he spoke, was content, deeply resonant with the layers of emotion your proximity evoked. "For the realm, my love, and for us. Knowledge is as much a weapon as a sword in the right hands." His words acknowledged the dual purpose of his studies, for the kingdom he might one day rule and the life he built with you.

Turning his chair slightly, he looked up at you, his lilac eye shining with a light that was reserved just for these moments, away from the eyes of the court. "But even the most devoted scholar needs a distraction... especially one as delightful as you." His finger traced a line up your arm, a tender gesture that spoke volumes of his deep affection and need for you.

The dynamic between you, the shift from your dominant tease to his studious demeanor, played out like a well-rehearsed dance, each knowing their role perfectly, each finding joy and strength in the balance you maintained.

Your teasing smile widened as you watched the reaction dance across Aemond's features, the edge of vulnerability and anticipation that only you could draw out with your command. The power of your gentle, dominant voice, coupled with the intimate familiarity of your actions, was an intoxicating blend that effortlessly recalibrated the atmosphere in the room.

"Keep reading..." you whispered, the directive clear, carrying an implicit challenge that stirred him deeper. It was a game of control, beautifully executed, where your dominance seamlessly intertwined with his submission, each act designed to heighten and play upon the layers of your unique bond.

With one hand, you delicately unbuttoned the top of his shirt, slipping inside to trace the lines of his chest. Your fingers danced lightly over his skin, exploring the familiar terrain with a touch that was both loving and calculated to elicit a specific response. The intimacy of the contact sent a shiver through him, a testament to the potency of your touch.

Meanwhile, your other hand ventured lower, deftly freeing his member from the confines of his clothing. The air of the room, previously filled with the musty scent of old books and ink, now pulsed with the more primal scent of arousal. Your fingers encircled him gently at first, then with firmer intent, beginning a slow, deliberate stroke that contrasted sharply with the scholarly stillness around you.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his eyes flickering under the strain of concentrating on the text before him. The dual sensations of your hands—one teasing his chest and the other coaxing his arousal—created a delicious tension within him. His grip on the scroll tightened slightly, a silent testament to the effort it took to obey your command to keep reading.

His voice, when he spoke, was strained but laced with a dark amusement at the game you played so skillfully. "Is this my reward for diligence, or a test of my focus, my queen?" he asked, the words a husky murmur that vibrated with the underlying thrill of your shared interplay.

"Why not both, pretty boy?" Your reply, playful yet laced with command, echoed in the quiet of the room, each word accentuating the dual nature of your actions—a reward mingled with a challenge. Your touch grew more intent, your hand moving rhythmically over his now slick member, enhancing each stroke with the natural lubrication of his arousal. The firm grip and calculated motions stirred him further into the depths of submission.

At the same time, your other hand kept caressing his chest, fingers finding a nipple and squeezing gently, adding layers of sensation that mingled pain with pleasure—a tactile whisper that contrasted sharply with the more overt stimulation elsewhere. Each squeeze was a punctuation, a reminder of your control and his surrender.

Leaning closer, your lips brushed against the sensitive skin of his neck, the kiss soft but possessing an underlying promise of more. The subtle intrusion of your teeth, nipping delicately at his flesh, drew a suppressed groan from him, a sound he struggled to contain beneath the guise of studious focus.

"Keep reading, sweetie," you whispered directly into his ear, your voice a soft command wrapped in velvet dominance. The words, tender yet unyielding, were a tether, holding him to the task even as your actions sought to pull him away into sensuous abandon.

Aemond's eyes fluttered, his focus visibly wavering as he attempted to process the text before him. Each word seemed to swim, blurring under the dual assault of pleasure and mild pain. His responses became more pronounced, a soft stutter or twitch here and there, signs of his unraveling under your expert touch.

His submission was beautiful, a delicate balance of maintaining his role even as he succumbed to the sensations you so skillfully provoked. His voice, when he next spoke, carried a tremor, a delightful indication of his internal struggle. "I—I am trying, my queen," he managed, the words tinged with a desperation that was both adorable and deeply satisfying.

This dance of dominance and submission, enacted within the quiet sanctum of Aemond’s study, was a testament to the profound connection and trust between you, a dialogue of desire spoken in touches and whispers, each moment building upon the last to create a tapestry of shared intimacy and power.

The playful torment you wrought upon Aemond—this blend of intellectual challenge and sensual overload—was exquisitely torturous. As your tongue trailed a slow, deliberate path along his neck, followed by a teasing nip that sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through him, his body tensed under the dual assault of sensation and the relentless pace of your hand.

You stroked him faster, the slick glide of your fingers coaxing him ever closer to the edge of release, yet you demanded his attention remain on the scholarly task at hand. Your voice, a sultry murmur beside his ear, was both a caress and a command, "Mhm~ What does that line there say about Aegon the Conqueror? Tell me, my sweet..."

The juxtaposition of his historical studies and the physical ecstasy you elicited was a wicked game, one that frayed the edges of his concentration. Aemond's eye darted towards the book, his gaze attempting to focus on the words that now danced mockingly before him. His voice, a breathy mixture of arousal and frustration, struggled for coherence. "It—it says that Aegon... he unified the kingdoms... through—ah, through power and—"

His words faltered, drowned out by the rising tide of pleasure that threatened to wash away all semblance of scholarly thought. The intensity of your touch, the sensual provocations you delivered, left little room for anything but the raw, primal need to give in to the sensations overwhelming him.

As you savored the intoxicating blend of his desperation and arousal, your kisses trailed along his neck, each a branding of possession and comfort. Your hand movements intensified, a relentless rhythm designed to push him beyond the brink of his restraint. He was beautifully unraveled, thoroughly under your control, and completely at the mercy of your touch.

Into the curve of his ear, your voice, soft yet laced with undeniable authority, coaxed him further towards release. "Such a good boy~ Do you want to cum?" The words, tender yet commanding, were all it took to breach the last of his defenses.

Aemond's response was a choked moan, his body tensing as he teetered on the edge of surrender. "Yes, please, my queen... I need to..." His plea was fervent, a raw admission of his need, underscored by the overwhelming desire to obey and relinquish all control to you.

Your grip tightened slightly, your pace quickening in answer to his desperate plea, guiding him lovingly yet firmly toward climax. It was a powerful affirmation of the trust and dynamic you shared, the unspoken promise that you would always provide what he needed most.

With the full weight of your command behind it, you quickened your strokes to a feverish pace, each movement precise and calculated to bring him to the pinnacle of pleasure. "Cum," you whispered, the word not just a permission but an order, delivered with a dominating tenderness that left no room for hesitation.

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, a strangled sound of both desperation and relief. His body reacted instinctively to your command, muscle tension coiling tighter, his entire being focused on the brink of release. The intensity of your touch, the commanding sultry tone of your voice, and the overwhelming need to obey pushed him over the edge.

The climax, when it came, was shattering. Aemond cried out, his voice breaking with the raw intensity of his release. His body shuddered under your hands, waves of pleasure rolling through him in powerful surges as he gave himself over to the sensations you had drawn out of him.

As he trembled, you slowed your touches, gently easing him through the aftershocks of his profound release. Your presence, both commanding and nurturing, enveloped him, a reminder of the safety and care interwoven with the strict control you exerted. In this moment, Aemond was utterly yours, bound by the deep, undeniable connection you shared, underscored by the trust and surrender that defined your relationship.

As Aemond's breathing gradually steadied, you pulled him close into a tender embrace, giving him the comfort and security he needed after the intensity of his release. You guided his head to rest against your chest, allowing him the intimate solace of burying his face in the softness of your breasts. The warmth of your body enveloped him, a soothing balm to the raw vulnerability he had just experienced.

Gently, you kissed the top of his head, a gesture filled with affection and care. Each touch reinforced the safety and love that surrounded him when he was with you. In this quiet, protected space, free from the demands of his title and the expectations of the court, Aemond could simply be himself—loved and cherished.

"I love you so much, my darling," you whispered, your voice a soft melody that floated in the air around him. The simple, heartfelt declaration was more than just words; it was a reaffirmation of the deep, enduring bond you shared. It was your way of showing him that no matter how fierce the battles he faced outside these walls, within them, he was always your beloved, your pretty boy, deserving of all the love and care you could give.

Feeling the resonance of your words, Aemond sighed contentedly, the tension further melting away under your ministrations. His arms wrapped around you, holding on to you as if you were his anchor in a tumultuous sea. In this embrace, encircled by your strength and tenderness, Aemond found a profound sense of peace and belonging, his heart secure in the knowledge that he was truly loved.

#Aemond is my babygirl #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen mommy issues #aemond targaryen sub #aemond targaryen x wife

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