#it just hangs over every route and there's nothing you can do to stop it from happening

[mirthcrowned]

not enough people talk about how change is what haunts the narrative in hakuouki

[pedrospatch]

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

��Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[mysicklove]

𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

DAY 5: SPANKING

With: Eren Yeager

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Sub! eren, gn! reader, spanking, crying, Eren trying to be good, cursing, mean reader, slightly sadistic reader, handjob/hand humping, restraints, Eren is a good and then a brat for a bit

A/N: I almost posted this as just a random drabble, but I am glad I turned it into a Kinktober fic! Edit (10/04/23): this fic sucks LOLOLOL. poorly poorly written. oopsies. u cant have it all.

“For fucks sake, can you go any faster?”

You blink and pull your hand away from his cock. Teal eyes glare at you, his mouth slightly hanging open with every pant. It slightly surprised you, Eren was being so good today. But, you knew this was bound to come.

He never was good. There were times when he listened and didn’t give you grief about punishing him, but never was he fully compliant with you. He always had to let out a biting remark or try to get the upper hand. 

Nights would always end up with him being punished. Tying him up, edging him, overstimulating him, leaving him high and dry, or simply degrading him until he cried and curled up into you looking for warmth. But the next day he always looked at you with stars in his eyes, preparing for whats to come.

But today was different. He didn’t want to be punished. He wanted to feel good, he wanted you to praise him and shower him with affection. 

So he was meticulous with all his words. Softening your hard demeanor, trained to be so due to how bratty he was all the time. Today for a change, he whined for you, blinking up at you with wide and completely submissive eyes. 

I’ll do whatever you want. They seemed to say. You’ve never seen him look at you like that before.

His heart pounded when you looked at him with warmth in your eyes from his words. He hasn’t seen that look during these times. They were always so cold, watching his ever movement to see if he deserved a scolding. Nothing like today, you looked at him with love. It made him shiver, wanting to pull more of your sweet attention on him.

But, he couldn’t stray too far from his routes.

You were edging him, his back against your chest, with his hands tied behind his back. You were weary of how good he was being for you and didn’t trust him enough to not touch himself.

He didn’t want to be edged. He wanted to be fucked. Wanted to lose his mind from the pleasure. Not pant against your chest, teetering on the lines of pain and pleasure. So out of habit, he cursed out at you.

When you pull your hand away, he knew he made a mistake. His cock hangs heavy, slightly tilted forward and leaking. He lets out a shaky breath and struggles against the restraints. He was so close.

“Oh, Eren.” His breath catches at the sadness in your tone and he bites his lip. He glares at the floor, beating himself for what he said. You weren’t one to give him second chances. He wanted this so badly.

He was trying so hard to not curse you out whenever you pulled away. He was rewarded every time he bit his tongue, preening when he hears the words, “Good boy.” 

But it was too much watching how slow and gentle you were touching him. He couldn’t help but let out a biting remark. It just slipped out before he could stop it.

He cranes his neck to face you, eyes wide and panicked. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it. I'm being good!”

You tut at him, slowly shaking your head. He sees that familiar look in your eyes return. The warmth begins to disappear, and he stares desperately, trying to pull it back. “That was mean, Eren. Good boys don’t say mean things.”

He gulps, at lost for words, and in an instant, he is being flipped. He lands face-first on the bed, his cheek crushed against the pillows. He feels you lift his hips and move his legs so that he is balancing on his knees. He grips uselessly at the ropes, and he clenches his jaw. 

He feels your hand slightly trace over the flesh of his ass and he cringes. He manages to turn his head, and his eyes widen. He’s over your lap. He is going to get spanked. He hates spanking. It was by far his least favorite punishment. He never was good with pain, and you knew this. “Wait! Give me a second to expla–”

His face scrunches from the first blow. He wants to grip onto something to help distract him from the pain, but he can’t. So he uselessly clenches and unclenches his hands. “I knew it was all an act. You greedy bitch. You were just trying to get yourself off, weren’t you?.”

He shakes his head, and his eyes begin to water. Another smack lands on the other cheek and he cringes. “I-I wasn’t! Wanted to your good boy, promise!”

You hit the space between his thighs, and he whimpers, rubbing the flesh together to help soothe the pain. “You liar”

He grits his teeth, knowing he can’t talk himself out of this situation. You were going to punish him either way, he might as well defend himself with dignity. “F-Fuck you!”

You grip at his hair, making him arch his back. Then you lean forward and whisper into his ear, “There’s my brat.”

You let go of his hair, and he lands face-first back into the sheets. His jaw clenches in slight embarrassment at how useless he must look. Completely vulnerable to your hold.

Another blow lands using the back of your hand. He tries to ignore it, trying his best to turn his head to glare at you. “Well, maybe if you knew how to actually make me feel good, I wouldn’t be a brat.”

You are grinning at him, the warmth now completely gone. “Disgusting people like you don’t deserve to feel good. Now quiet, Eren.” 

Before he could argue, you slam his head into the pillow, holding him there gently enough for him to breathe but hard enough so that he is pinned to place. You raise your eyebrow when he raises his middle finger at you from behind his back, but don’t indulge him. He was just coaxing a reaction from you.

Instead, you send a particularly hard slap and watch the hand clench to withstand the pain. He groans into the pillow.

He isn’t used to being punished with pain. Edging and overstimulation were one thing, but spanking hurts. He hates it so much, and it made him wonder, how the hell did he get in this position? His ass is beginning to burn, and probably turning red.

“Fuck. S-Stop it!” The sound is mumbled from his face still being in the pillow, but nevertheless heard.

His legs begin to collapse, withering away from your hand. You quickly force them back up, and mumble false words of encouragement. But he looks so pretty, you rub your finger over the red handprint and he flinches, accidentally letting out a small whimper. The sound makes you grin, and mock coo at him. “Does it hurt, sweetheart?”

The fight in him is dwindling away rapidly. He can usually withstand punishment, but today he wasn’t looking for one, and not only that you were doing the least pleasurable one. But still, his cock remains embarrassingly hard against your thigh. “Yes! Be gentl–”

Another harsh slap makes him begin to cry, frustrated tears. You let go of his hair, and instead focus on his cock, stroking him faster than earlier. He immediately humps into it, desperate for any sort of pleasure. The mix between pleasure and pain makes his head spin.

He turns his head to the side and lets the tears drip down his face and onto the pillow. He full-on whines at the next slap, not caring about the way he sounds anymore. It hurts more and more with every strike, and he swears the flesh is raw by now. 

“You gonna cum from me hitting you?” You murmur, sending another two quick two slaps to his skin. Your strokes become faster, and even the pain is slightly blurred from the pleasure. He tries desperately to meet your pace, slightly rolling his eyes at the lewd squelching sound.

“Yessssss,” He responds, noticing strangely that with your hand on his cock, the slapping doesn’t feel as bad. It hurts almost pleasurably good. The pain and pleasure are mixing together. It might even be spurring him on to his orgasm, though he would never admit it out loud.

“Cum for me, you brat.” He bites onto the pillow when he feels your head rub over the tip, encouraging his release. He hits his high the second your hand lands your final slap, right on the back of his balls.

His eyes widen and he cries out, but its drowned by his orgasm. It’s stinging, but it feels so so so good. His eyes are rolling back, and broken sobs are falling from his lips. Cum leaks onto your thigh, and you hum as you watch him tremble and cry from the force of it. His hands reach out from behind his back, and mercifully you place your hand in his. He grips onto it as if it was a lifeline, and you can’t help but find it cute.

When he comes down from his high, he stares at you with tears still unconsciously leaking. His ass hurts and his balls even more.

You grin at him and he has to hold back a whine. Only a couple of minutes ago you were punishing him, and now the warmth is back in your eyes. The warmth that he wanted to see when he finally came. 

It made him wonder. Why is it so hard for him to be a good boy?

He is determined to cum with you praising him, even if he has to bite his tongue the entire time.

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[sukunasteeth]

The Pleasure's All Mine - Chapter One

Based on this post from @winterrbluess

If Shibuya had a pulse, it would be at the rate of a hummingbird's wings.

The human race operates at a speed that oftentimes seems too quick to catch up with. It had been that way ever since you moved to the city for work about three years ago.

You came for a corporate job made up of ink black suits and pencil skirts, smiles that felt more on the side of uncanny valley than they did of genuine kindness, and handshakes from skin cold with carpal tunnel. You lived a corporate life. Everything is muted tones of tan and relies heavily on the concept of "modernizing". You wake up, go to work, go home, work on what you couldn't finish at the office, fall asleep on your colorless coffee table, and wake up to your alarm going off what feels like hours too soon. It was a cyclical cycle.

And the day you broke it, happened to be the day you met Sukuna.

~

You noticed the new shop on the end of the street maybe three weeks ago. It was so out of place, after all. The building was the only non-skyscraper to be seen on the block. It was a shriveled up little thing, built out of chipping brick that seemed to teeter on the edge of dilapidation from the inability to meet building codes. Overgrown ivy crawled up the sides of it and it still had plots of dirt in the front for planting as opposed to concrete and metal benches. 

When you had first seen the For Sale sign a few months ago, you were sure they were going to tear it down and pave over it- happy to be rid of the only spot of character left in the business district. Then a new sign appeared over the door, one that looked hand carved out of wood and haphazardly painted over so that you could make out the words "Carnation King".

It’s funny, flowers had never been much of an interest to you. You had seen them as just another task to take care of when you returned home after a long day. Even filling a vase with water always sounded like more effort than it was worth. But as the days blend together from monotony, you find yourself desperate for color.

You changed your walking route to work so that you can pass by the shop everyday. You knew nothing about flowers. You could barely tell a rose bud apart from a tulip, but that didn't stop you from ogling at the new bouquets and potted plants that lined the sidewalk every time you passed them. Signs made out of toothpicks and painters tape said words like “Butterfly Ranunculus” and “Brown-Eyed Susan” and learning their names became one of your favorite things to do. You never stepped foot inside, and yet the flower shop was now one of your happy places. 

You would meander by on your lunches and watch the butterflies play. You would walk by in the morning and smell freshly watered earth still hanging in the air. On your way home, when the sun was at its fullest shine, you would walk beneath the misters hung under the lip of the roof, and the coolness of the water droplets left behind on your skin saw you all the home. 

You hadn’t realized how important the flower shop was to your daily routine until the day it was interrupted. 

It happened to be one of the only days you had been forced by your workload to stay past sunset for overtime. You didn’t do it for the money, you did it because your boss had asked you nicely. But as you finally exit the office building for the night, you find yourself regretting staying so late. 

You hated walking home in the dark. Even though Japan was notorious for its low crime rates, that didn't mean it was an innocent city. After 9pm, your street was notorious for being a ghost town. The only signs of life were the few work martyrs left in their floor to ceiling window offices- acting as makeshift streetlights. There were only a few lights on the way home, and their solidarity only seemed to pronounce the darkness along the rest of the empty roadside. When you were just an intern, before you got better hours and were finally promoted to the shining 9-5 that everyone dreams about, you used to take your heels off and sprint back to your apartment. Always weary of what you couldn’t see. At the time, you didn’t know that the scariest people don’t have to hide in the dark. 

You hadn’t planned on walking past the shop that night. It was closed. It had to be. Normal flower shops closed well before 7 pm let alone 9. But the moment you touch the sidewalk outside your building, you see light glowing against the dense night. 

The shop at the end of the street was draped in tiny fairy lights. Every square inch of brick was twinkling slowly, glimmering like resting fireflies. It looked almost otherworldly in comparison to the towering pitch black shadows of corporate offices surrounding it. In fact, the effect of the glowing lights against the mirror windows made it look like the shop was hanging in space. 

Outside, the flowers you had walked past in the afternoon had been replaced with new pots, overflowing with buds you had never seen before. The usual delicate smell of Honeysuckle and Roses was now one of the sweetest scents you had ever experienced, so sweet, you could almost taste it on your tongue. Warm golden light floods out of the shop's window and the numerous white and yellow petals seem to gather and hold onto its dull shine. 

You didn’t even realize you had completely abandoned your original plan of taking the shortcut home until you were standing in front of the Carnation King with your eyes entranced on the display before you. One flower in particular had caught your eye, a huge luscious display of delicate tow-colored petals, tall with endless growth and reaching towards the moonlight as though it’s been waiting all day to see it. You can’t help but reach out to touch, and yet just before your fingertips make it, you feel coolness trickling onto your hand, breaking the spell that the lights and colors had placed on you. 

 "Evening Primrose." 

The suddenness of a voice beside you should have put you in fight or flight mode. It should have been a cold bucket of water to the face. Adrenaline spiking, you should be sprinting in the opposite direction. Instead, you found the tranquil trance that the flowers had put you in to have a lasting effect. 

You blink at the man who seemed to appear out of thin air standing next to you, and the first thing you notice are his eyes. Such a dark shade of golden rich hazel-brown, they were nearly shining like two cuts of Cat’s-Eye. They gleamed suspicion. 

He was much taller than you, but where most are lanky you can see strong muscles and broad shoulders. Collared sleeves rolled halfway up his arms revealed skin kissed rich and deep by prolonged sunshine. Tattoos slithered around his wrists and had made their way to his sculptured face, meticulously drawn black lines frame an annoyed expression. When you see the rest of him, you’re certainly not expecting to notice tufts from a head of true strawberry blond hair hang in his frigid gaze.

In one of his hands is a water can, still pouring trickling water onto your momentarily petrified fingertips, and in the other hand is a cigarette, only a third of the way lit. 

The sight of him takes you so far back, if the sound of his voice wasn’t still echoing in your head you might not have remembered that he had even said anything to you. 

"I'm sorry?" You pull your hand away from the water spray, drying it on your slacks.

The man takes half a drag of the cigarette before he answers you. Slow and unrushed. "They're called Evening Primrose.” He speaks through a cloud of tobacco smoke, glancing at the flowers that had caught your eye. His lip twitches slightly, "Need full sunlight but only bloom in moonlight. Fickle bastards." 

Okay. Owner. Mean owner. Unexpectedly rough-and-tumble looking for being the caretaker of a flower shop. You glance at his apron, but you don’t find a name tag. He takes a step back while you’re searching for it, but he only moves far enough to start watering the next plant on the table. 

You look back to the Evening Primrose, and even the smell of the burning cigarettes is nothing in the face of the scent that had pulled you in earlier. The two flavors mix like a tea garden on fire. You caress the petals once more, unthinkingly. 

"They smell incredible." You mutter, mostly to yourself. 

"Not them.” His voice is colder than his eyes. He flicks a bit of ash onto the cement behind him, and tilts his head in the direction of a different bush, one that’s even bigger than the healthy Primrose, with hundreds of tiny buds that flutter in the nighttime air. “That'd be her." 

"”Her”?" You repeat, wondering if you heard the man correctly. 

"Night Jasmine." He answers in return. 

As standoffish as he was, you still found yourself making mental notes of the names he had given you. When you look at the Night Jasmine directly, it’s clear that the wind was sweeping that delicious smell straight from the direction of its honey-hued petals. You’re not sure you had seen plants like this at even the most expensive hotels and events that you had been invited to. Maybe tiny cuttings, but nothing to this size and level of lush. 

"Well she's very pretty." You reply softly, letting out an airy laugh through your nose at his use of pronouns. The man doesn’t even crack a smile in return, his eyes giving you a pointed once over. 

“And invasive.” He adds, resting his gaze on yours once again. 

There’s a thick silence that follows after, during which you consider apologizing. For what? You were unsure, but somehow standing in his towering shadow and feeling his accusing eyes had you feeling like you were in the wrong for merely existing in his presence. 

Before you can think to just turn around, take off your heels, and sprint home like you had years ago, his voice demands your attention again. 

"So,” he says, “you gonna tell me why you’re stalking me, then?"

Now, surely, you were hearing things. 

"E-Excuse me?" 

He seems to take in your shock with some thought while he takes another languid puff, "You come by here every single day,” He lets the smoke go from his lungs, ”but you never buy a thing. In fact, you never even come in." The tone of his voice tilts towards annoyance. “You just stand at the window and pout like some sad puppy.” 

"I-I work in the building next door?" You offer, bewildered by the entire situation. Were you dreaming? Had you fallen asleep at your desk and given yourself some sort of stress-induced nightmare?

"Hmm," The man takes you in without breaking your gaze, tilting his head to the side while he takes another drag of his cigarette. "You don't seem like the pencil pusher type to me."

You’re not sure why that comment makes you defensive. In retrospect, it was even a compliment to you. You hated sitting at a desk all day, watching the sun rise and set over a stack of papers. But you had worked hard to get to the position you were in now and it wasn’t the first time a man had told you that you didn’t look like you belonged. Before you can catch yourself in the name of politeness you find yourself scoffing out, "Sorry, but you don't seem like much of a florist to me."

The silence returns. You watch as the disdainful glint to his eyes shatters, and is replaced with a split second of surprise. He blinks and it’s only then that you realize how much larger this man is in comparison to you. If you had seen him walking down the street, you’d probably think to yourself “I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side” and yet here you were, on his bad-getting-worse side from the moment your eyes met. 

Or so you had thought. But, as the antithesis of anger crosses his hardened features, and an unexpected bitten-back grin takes the place of his glower, you’re not sure what to think anymore. 

He snorts out a laugh, finally releasing you from the cold grasp of his unbreakable gaze. He takes another step back and focuses his attention on watering the flowers again. "Touche." 

The cigarette gets flicked from his fingertips and he smears it beneath his boot into a tiny canal of rocks separating the soil of the garden beds from the cement of the sidewalk. 

"So, you gonna buy something then? Or just stand there with that strange look on your face all night?" He tilts his head to mirror your stance, but the amused grin remains in place of your confused gape. “I close in five minutes.”

“I have to hand it to you, you’re a fantastic salesman.” You’ve never met a stranger more brash and uncaring, so you were giving it a shot in return. It only serves to further his easy smiles.

“Am I not offering the right thing?” Now apparently after confirming to himself that you weren’t a threat, his tone of voice seems almost playful. It only serves to further your confusion. “Hmm, a lock of my hair maybe?” 

“I am not a stalker!” 

“Then buy something.” 

You take a deep breath through your nose. Feeling the need to save face when you haven’t done anything wrong in the first place. Yet, the thought of turning away empty handed had embarrassment threatening to heat up your neck and cheeks. You didn't care if you had to drop a pretty penny, you just didn't want to boost this man's ego.

"Those." You point to the nearest flower, another pot of proud blossoms sprouting from a stem unseen past the abundant greenery of strong leaves. Soft moon colored petals unfurl at the top, and sprouting from the center are tiny, deep yellow pollen covered buds. 

The man follows your pointed finger and graces your choice with all of one second before he turns back to his watering. "Not those." He decides flatly. 

You’ve never made a more difficult purchase. "Why not?" 

"Casablanca Lilies need constant care. A white-collar like you couldn't keep up. And I don't raise 'em so people can kill 'em."

"I think I can take care of a plant, thank you." You retort, sarcasm oozing off your sentence. 

It seems you can only really catch this man’s attention when your tone has a touch of negativity, because suddenly he’s back to watching you. 

There’s a pregnant pause before his next words. He searches nothing but your eyes for a moment, as if to gauge. 

"Wanna bet?" He cocks a brow. 

And it angers you how handsome you find this annoying, pompous, self-entitled stranger. 

"Bet?” You repeat incredulously. “Are you making a sale or trying to fight?” 

Instantly, as if you were offering the two scenarios as possible options, his smile darkens and he takes a step forward instead of continuing his line of watering. 

That was all the reply you needed. You had seen the movies. The documentaries. Handsome men, provoking women, hungry eyes, it never added up to something good. So that was your que to keep walking straight past him and go home. 

“Right, I don’t need this.” You scoff. 

And yet, just before you're able to step aside him, like a true businessman, he says just the right thing to keep you there.

"So I'm right then?" 

The sound of the droplets from the watering can against the cement in place of your footsteps has you cringing in self-disappointment. You force your head to turn and meet his infuriating amusement. 

"What's the bet?" You grind out from clenched teeth. His eyes fall to your mouth, and he takes a pointed second to look at your bite before he steps away from you and back to the place where your interaction began. He reaches beside the huge Evening Primrose bush to reveal a small green potted sapling with the same leaf pattern. 

He holds it out to you and you reach out to take the little thing like you’re scared for its safety. 

"Come back in two weeks. If it's alive, I'll give you the lilies for free." The calmness in his tone of voice doesn't match the excitement glittering in his dark hazel-brown eyes. "And if it's dead, you owe me." He adds, rather nonchalantly. 

"Owe you what?" You squint your eyes at him, maybe then you could see the little horns that match his devilish little grin. 

He shrugs, almost too innocently, "A favor. Haven't thought of it yet." The stranger gives you one last once over, but this one leaves the strangest chill running down your spine. His eyes seem to follow it, as if he can see it rattling through you. "Should I? You're so confident you'll win, I didn't think I'd have to."

Now it was your turn to look him up and down, tattoos, scars and a face that seemed too comfortable with that murderous look he had first given you.

"...There's no way you're just a florist."

The comment is completely ignored as he leans forward, invading your airspace a little too close for comfort, and murmuring the words "Yes or no?" with a thick sugar coating. 

"You're on." You hope your own words convey your complete disdain for him… and not that tiny glimmer of attraction you feel prickling under your skin. 

A surprised laugh seems to escape him, as though he didn't expect you to make the deal. "You're either quite confident in yourself or a damn fool." 

Like a rabbit bearing tiny teeth in the face of a lion, you mirror him and lean in closer until there's only a small space between the two of you. "Maybe I just like showing up cocky men."

"Oh, and I'm gonna love a favor from such a mouthy brat." You're lucky he pulls away from you after he practically purrs his threat. There's another thoughtful pause before he reaches into his apron pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes again.

"Two weeks. I know where you work too now." He lights another, and examines the cherry after he takes the first drag, smiling like it just told him a joke. “Don’t forget.” 

[cheqorb]

More Between Us.

You’ve always been just friends, but they can’t ignore how their heart races whenever you’re near.

FEAT. Isagi, Bachira

NOTES. probably my most tooth-rotting post yet! annnd I totally forgot I had this in my drafts Bring this duo back to me though pleasj

ISAGI is easygoing, and mild-mannered by nature (though perhaps his rivals disagree on that). It’s literally harder to not be friends with him. Your relationship was equally good, nothing particularly special and not abysmal. The type of friends who might talk on the way to class if you spot each other, but never go out of their way to do so either.

If asked, you wouldn’t even say best friends; he’s too busy with his teammates, and you have your own friend group.

See, Isagi enjoys thinking about stuff in a logical sense, using reason and evidence to support his ‘theory’. Both in real life and in football.

So before he even comes to the conclusion of a crush, firstly, there’s the small details he picks up about you.

Your eyes shift colour slightly if the sun hits them right. But, he reckons that happens with everyone’s eyes. Your eyes crinkle upwards when you smile, and maybe even dimples form on your cheeks as you do so. He likes seeing people smile, and yours is… in a way, cuter than anyone else’s? If he had to rank smiles, he’d put yours near the top. All hypothetical, obviously!

He’s always been observant, even as a kid, so Isagi figured he was just feeling a little more insightful as of late but it doesn’t stop there.

Suddenly, Isagi finds himself unconsciously lingering in places he knows you'll be. He tells himself it's just coincidence, but deep down, he has a feeling that he’s seeking you out more often.

Practicing with his team becomes a lot more strategic, with him making sure he's near your usual route home (not in a stalker way, at least, he hopes not), and just on time so that he can ‘bump into you’ and walk together.

And he lives in the complete opposite direction, so, while you don’t mind his presence, you find it a little odd.

Isagi begins to remember every little thing you mention, even the small stuff, like your favorite snack or the song you've been listening to on repeat. Next thing you know, he’s casually surprising you with them, acting like it’s no big deal but loves it when you get visibly excited about it.

He fumbles with his words a little more around you now, overthinking simple things that never used to bother him. It’s not like he’s shy (actually one of the best communicators out of everyone), he just doesn’t want to mess up or make you think he’s weird!

If he says something that could be interpreted as mildly creepy, he’s actually the first one to call it out and apologise over and over again. Beats himself up about it at home, even if you thought it was mildly funny that he knew what you were doing last week Tuesday at around 5:06PM…

When his teammates joke about him having a crush, he laughs it off, but there’s always a little pink in his cheeks that he hopes you don’t notice.

He'll start texting you first more often, just to share something funny or ask for your opinion on something trivial. It’s an excuse, really, just to have another reason to talk to you.

Also catches himself smiling whenever he sees a notification from you pop up on his phone, and his heart does a little flip when he reads your replies, no matter how mundane they are. Literally a “hey, I’m bored. Wanna hang out��� is enough for him to lose sleep over it.

When you two do eventually go to said hang out, he pays extra attention to you: whether it's making sure you’re comfortable, or that you’ve got enough to eat, he’s always subtly looking out for you.

Despite all these signs, Isagi convinces himself it’s better this way — giving you small hints for you to understand rather than straight-up confessing. If you notice them and accept, great! If you notice and don’t accept, that’s fine too, he hopes you can remain friends though!

If you’re completely oblivious, well… he’ll muster up the courage to say it outright.

You and BACHIRA are like two peas in a pod together! Where there’s one, the other’s probably lurking nearby somewhere. Every second of every day seems to be spent with each other (and to anybody with common sense, you two already look like you’re dating).

When the crush starts, he thinks about you more than he already did, if that were even possible. Every little thing you do seems to make his heart race, but he sorta brushes it off as just excitement from being with his best friend.

Kind of a trickier situation than Isagi’s one this way though, because now you’re so close, Bachira doesn’t even feel that different about you. He might not even realise it’s romantic until his mother points it out in the midst of another one of his rambling sessions. About you, that is.

I won’t sugarcoat it; he’s nervous if anything. You’re one of the few friends he has and genuinely seem to care and like about him and if he ruins your friendship over his feelings, he’d be devastated.

But he’s back to his usual self and gains a little confidence after some encouragement from others!

Bachira’s clinginess ramps up a notch, but it’s so typical of him that you might not even notice. He’s constantly draping an arm around you, leaning on you, or just being in your personal space as much as possible.

Willing to share anything and everything with you. For example, if it’s snacks he’s got, he’s always picking out the best pieces just for you and handing them over with a cute smile.

Bachira finds himself staring at you a lot more now. Sometimes you’ll catch him and he’ll just laugh it off with a playful comment, but on the inside, his mind is racing with thoughts he can’t quite put into words.

When you talk, he listens with full attention, his usual playful demeanor softening into something more tender. He hangs onto your every word like it’s the most important thing he’s ever heard — and you could literally be talking about a bug you saw on the sidewalk this morning.

If you ever need anything, Bachira’s the first one to jump in and help, no questions asked. He’d go out of his way just to make you smile, even if it means a truckload of extra effort on his part.

Sometimes, he hints at deeper feelings in his usual roundabout way — in little jokes that might just have a hint of truth behind them. But he always plays it off as just that, a joke.

If you’re feeling down, he’s the first to notice, offering comfort in the form of goofy antics or just sitting with you in silence if that’s what you want.

If you ever confront him directly and ask if he feels something more than just being friends, Bachira might just spill everything in a rush of words; unable to keep his feelings hidden any longer. But until then, he’s content simply being by your side, even if it means he isn’t being entirely honest to himself.

[drewsprincessy]

loving you was hard.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, anger, crying, mentions of sex, lmk if i missed any!

summary: rafe and reader are in love, but rafe struggles to accept it, he doesnt believe in love.

rafe cameron x female reader

part two.

it had been weeks since the incident at the party you and rafe argued at. you finally stopped thinking about him, but he definitely never stopped thinking about you. he sent you countless dms, even texted you off 7 different numbers that he created just to try and contact you.

he was a complete mess. he hadn't showered in days, he was snorting cocaine like there was no tomorrow, and he was drinking like he never wanted to wake up. he didnt care though, he had one thing on his mind. that was you.

he cried for days and nights, crying himself to sleep. and some nights he wouldn't even sleep.

he was beyond guilty. guilty for upsetting you, making you cry, he felt like he was going to die if he didnt get you back. he loved you, and with this time being away from you, he sees that. he didnt deserve you, he took your kindness for granted, and he wishes he would have been a better man for you. he wishes he really would've commited to you, because he sees now that these chicks do nothing for him. he doesnt even get turned on by the thought of anyone but you.

you'd be sitting in your room, brushing your hair at your organized vanity, and you hear your phone buzz. you pick it up, and see a no caller id. you pick up, curiously. you click the button to put it on speaker

"hello?" you speak into the phone

"y/n. its me, please let me come over. okay? i know you've seen the dms ive been sending you, baby please. let me come over and explain."

you go quiet for a moment, contemplating whether or not you should let him. after a moment of thought, you speak. "um yeah come over."

without another word, rafe hangs up and runs out the house. having to run back in to grab his keys. he comes back out his house and brings his motorcycle's engine to life. he then speeds off into the night, following the route to your house.

he gets there and knocks 3 times, and paces around impatiently.

you open the door with ur hairbrush still in hand, you stand there awkwardly waiting on him to say something.

he scratches the back of his neck, and stutters over his words "uh, can i- um come in?"

you sigh softly "um yeah sure" you step out of the way to let rafe in, you watch as he immediately makes his way through the doorway.

you make your way down the hallway, and open the door to your bedroom. he steps in first, and you follow.

you're the first to break the silence "so, what did u wanna talk about?" you say as you set your hairbrush down on your vanity.

"Uh, I wanted to say that I'm sorry... for a lot of things, well one because um I haven't been the best person to you. and I know your angry because I can't commit to a relationship, and you have every right to be... but for you I want to try. I wanna try to be in a relationship y/n. for you. like none of that hooking up with other girls shit or nuthin.. I want you. just you"

"rafe..i dont want u to just try. if the same thing happens again i dont know if my hearts gonna be able to take it.."

"i know princess, im not gonna do that shit again. a'ight? cmere let me hold you."

as you step closer to him, you can't help but wonder if hes really going to change this time..

-

a/n: this part is sooo rushed sorry in advance :(

[anxiousgayseeksvalidation]

Angsty Headcannons

Mrs. Arellano used to sing “Rockin’ Robin” to her son when he was a little boy to make him laugh. It was a whole year after his death before she could hum the song to herself again without breaking down.

Vance Hopper was A Problem, but the thought of no one really mourning the kid makes the arcade employees sad, so they retire his favorite pinball machine and hang a small, simple plaque next to it that says “In Memory of Pinball Vance Hopper.”

The Yamadas hold out hope that Bruce is alive right up until the police knock on their door. Mr. Yamada solemnly and despondently goes back and takes down all the fliers he put up so his family doesn’t have to keep seeing them every time they go out.

Finney waits until what would’ve been Robin’s 14th birthday to see Texas Chainsaw Massacre, as a way to celebrate and honor the boy. It’s a punch to the gut every time Fin glances next to him at the empty space where his friend should be, but Fin gets through it. He likes to think Robin is proud of him somewhere out there.

Gwen has anxiety attacks every time Finney leaves the house. She tells no one, but they do eventually get better.

Finn receives one more phone call that he never tells anyone about, not even his sister. It’s a female voice pushing through the static to say “I’m so proud of you.” It’s the clearest one, and Finn is 100% sure it was his mother.

Griffin’s family moves away as soon as they bury their son. He was their only child and it’s just too painful to stay in a town where there’s nothing left for them and too many reminders. Finney lays a coin on his grave every holiday, just to show that Griffin hasn’t been completely forgotten.

A new paperboy eventually has to take over Billy’s route. Old Mrs. Goldstein over on Maple Street misses the way Billy would deliver her paper directly to her because he knew she uses a walker to get around. They had struck up a friendship and she had even invited Billy in for tea once.

As he gets older, Finney is able to admit and recognize in retrospect that he probably had a crush on Robin. It’s a very bittersweet feeling, young puppy-love lost and friendships snuffed out in their prime. It’s the one thing Gwen doesn’t tease him about.

Finney invites the Yamadas to a baseball game when they’re feeling up to it so they can watch him hit a ceremonial home-run over the fence during a moment of silence for Bruce. Finney retrieves the ball and gives it to Amy.

Gwen has a dream that Vance stops the Grabber from getting to her. She likes to think that Vance is protecting her from nightmares as a thank-you for her help.

People still talk about the day that Robin Arellano handed Moose his ass. There’s some worry that Moose will start bullying again now that Robin’s gone, but Moose doesn’t. The murders seemed to have taken the fight out of everyone.

Finney gives his first son the middle name “Robin.” Donna understands why and allows it. Her sweet husband will never forget the skinny little Hispanic kid who saved his life in more ways than one, and Donna would never ask him to.

[idkyetxoxo]

Daeron Targaryen - Ashes of Betrayal

Summary - Secrets unravel and tensions ignite between brothers, Daeron's forbidden love for her puts them all at risk. With loyalty and betrayal hanging in the balance, her fate is sealed by forces beyond her control, leading to a devastating clash between love and cruelty.

Pairing - Daeron Targaryen x Velaryon reader

Warnings - Violence, mild language

Word count - 3176

Based on this request

Masterlist for Daeron • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Finding myself captured by the enemy in the midst of a war wasn't exactly part of the plan. 

Yet here I was, shackled, facing Aemond Targaryen, whose cold, calculating gaze remained unnervingly calm, even as the chains rattled against my wrists.

"Tell me this instant how you knew about that route," Aemond demanded. His tone was even, controlled, as though the answer was more a matter of curiosity than importance.

I met his stare, unfazed. "You already have me in chains. What more can you do?" 

My voice was steady, but the deliberate tug at the cold metal binding my wrists served as a reminder that I wasn't as composed as I pretended to be.

Aemond's jaw tightened, though his expression stayed eerily neutral. His single eye bore into mine, assessing every detail, every slight movement. 

My gaze flickered for a split second to the shadows where Aegon and Daeron stood, just out of the light, and that brief glance was all it took. 

Aemond's attention followed, and though he didn't outwardly react, I saw the moment he understood.

"Seems our younger brother has betrayed us," Aemond said softly. His words were cold and measured, though the underlying anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. 

His gaze drifted toward Daeron, who shifted uncomfortably under the accusation, his guilt clear even before he opened his mouth.

Aegon, however, didn't waste a second. He stalked toward me, fury written in every step. 

His hand shot out, tangling painfully in my hair, yanking me roughly to my feet with a vicious jerk. His breath was hot against my cheek as he leaned in, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

"I wonder what your smug cunt of a mother would think," Aegon hissed, his voice dripping with venom, "if she saw how her precious daughter was being treated by the rightful king." 

He pulled harder, making me wince, but I refused to cry out.

"She would expect nothing less from a usurper like you," I spat, glaring at him with all the contempt I could muster.

Aegon's eyes darkened with fury, and before I could brace myself, the back of his hand struck my face, the force of it sending a sharp sting across my skin. 

The pain was immediate, radiating down to my jaw, but I gritted my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daeron flinch, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he stepped forward instinctively, hands raised in an almost futile gesture of peace. 

His eyes locked on mine, and despite everything—the chaos, the violence—there was still something soft there. 

A silent plea. He hated seeing me like this, hated what his brothers were doing. But he was powerless to stop them. Or, at least, too afraid to try.

"Aegon," Daeron murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Stop. Please."

Aegon glanced back at his younger brother, a cruel smile twisting his lips. His grip on my hair tightened. 

"Stop? Why?" He yanked me forward, dragging me toward him as if I were nothing more than a rag doll. "You're the one who betrayed us, Daeron. You should be thanking me for not gutting her on the spot."

Daeron's eyes flashed with something raw—guilt, fear, love. But Aegon's words held him captive as much as they did me.

Aemond stood slowly from his seat, his tall frame casting a long, ominous shadow as he moved closer. His cold, calculating gaze shifted to Daeron. 

"Do not tell me you betrayed us for some bastard girl," he said, his voice dripping with disbelief and disgust. His words were an accusation, and they lingered in the air like poison. 

He stepped closer to Daeron, not just daring, but almost begging him to deny it, to speak some lie that would erase the suspicion from his mind. A beat passed, heavy, suffocating.

Daeron's silence was damning. 

He glanced at me again, and in that moment, I saw everything he couldn't say—his fear for me, the guilt of betraying his family, and the helplessness of knowing he couldn't save us both. 

His fists clenched at his sides, his whole body trembling with barely contained emotion, but he said nothing. And in his silence, Aemond found his answer.

"Fine," Aegon snarled, shoving me back so hard that I stumbled, falling to the ground with a loud clatter of chains. 

My wrists throbbed where the iron bit into my skin, but I barely registered the pain. 

Aegon loomed over me, his smirk wide and vicious. "You can watch her die tomorrow. Consider it a fair price for your insolence, brother."

"No, please," Daeron's voice cracked, his desperation unmistakable now. He stepped forward again, but Aegon turned away, already done with the conversation.

"You should be grateful I'm giving you a front-row seat," Aegon called over his shoulder, his tone flippant, as though my death were a mere triviality. 

He stalked toward the door, leaving Daeron standing frozen, torn between his family and the woman he cared for.

The room pulsed with unspoken tension, every breath weighed down by the unshakable promise of death. 

Daeron's eyes found mine, pleading, but there was nothing either of us could do.

His love for me was evident, but love had no power here. Not against Aemond and Aegon.

"Brother, listen," Daeron began again, voice cracking under the strain of desperation. He took a tentative step toward Aemond, his body trembling with the weight of it all.

Aemond turned sharply, jabbing a finger into Daeron's chest. 

"Do not say another word," he spat, his voice sharper than the edge of a blade. His single eye burned with barely concealed fury. 

"For now, she is simply a prisoner—chained and forgotten, an afterthought in this war. But if you push me, if you test me, brother, I will throw open those cell doors and let every knight, servant, and man in this city have their fun with the false queen's precious daughter."

His words sliced through the room, venomous and cold. Daeron froze, his face paling as the threat settled in. His lips parted, but no words came out. 

His gaze flickered back to me, and the weight of Aemond's threat crushed any hope that remained.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the rising panic in my chest, but the chains felt heavier now, the room colder. Aemond was no longer simply playing a game; this was his final move, and he held all the pieces.

Aemond had always been the calm storm—the silent, calculating force that ruled with a cold fist. I had no illusions about what he was capable of. 

But Daeron... Daeron had been the light, the flicker of hope that perhaps, somewhere, there was still something human left in this war.

"Aemond, please," Daeron's voice was a hoarse whisper, barely holding together. "She's not—"

"Not what?" Aemond sneered, leaning in closer. "Not worth it? Or is it that you think your love for this girl will sway me?"

Daeron's silence only fueled Aemond's cruel smile. "You've always been weak, Daeron," Aemond said, his voice laced with disdain. "Weak and foolish."

The words hung heavy between them, and Daeron's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Think on it," Aemond said as he turned to leave, his tone mocking. "By morrow, it may be too late to save her—or yourself."

The door creaked open, the dim light from the corridor casting long shadows across the room. 

For a moment, Daeron stood there, trembling, caught between the desire to act and the crushing weight of his brother's will. 

His eyes flicked to me one last time, filled with sorrow and guilt before he turned and followed Aemond out. 

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the cold, dark silence, my heart pounding in my chest. 

The promise of death—or worse—loomed closer now, more real than ever before.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

"Mother, please," Daeron pleaded, his voice cracking as he sank to his knees before Alicent. 

His hands clutched desperately at the hem of her skirts, his tear-filled eyes searching her face for any glimmer of hope. 

Alicent stood still, her fingers trembling as they rested on the arms of her chair. She swallowed hard, her eyes flicking away from his, unwilling to meet the depth of his despair.

"Daeron," she sighed, her voice heavy with the weight of truths she wished she could deny, "they do not listen to me any longer." 

The admission tasted bitter on her tongue.

Aegon and Aemond had drifted far beyond her reach, carried away by power and ambition.

"But Aemond will kill her," Daeron insisted, his voice rising with panic. 

He scrambled to his feet, his hands gripping her arms now, begging her to intervene, to be the shield between Aemond's cruelty and the woman he loved. 

Tears brimmed in his eyes, threatening to spill, and the sheer desperation in his face broke her heart.

Alicent pulled away, her movements sharp and swift as she turned from him, unable to bear the sight of his anguish. 

She crossed the room, pacing, her hand unconsciously rising to her mouth as she chewed nervously at her thumb, a habit long thought forgotten but resurfacing now under the weight of their reality. 

"You know what Aemond is," she muttered, the words half-spoken to herself. 

There was no controlling her second son anymore; he had grown into a storm—cold, relentless, and unpredictable.

"Do not let him," Daeron's voice broke as he followed her, his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. He reached out, his hand trembling as it touched her arm. "I beg you."

Alicent froze, turning to face her son, her eyes softening. She exhaled deeply, her own heart torn. 

With a gentle hand, she brushed away a tear from his cheek, her fingers lingering on his face, wishing she could offer him some comfort, some promise. But there was none to give. 

"If Aemond has set his mind to it," she whispered, "there is nothing I can do." Her voice cracked, the burden of her helplessness almost too much to bear.

"Rhaenyra will not let this go," Daeron warned, his voice thick with the fear of what was to come. 

The mention of her name made Alicent flinch, her fingers twitching as the ghost of old memories washed over her—memories of friendship now soured by blood, betrayal, and bitter rivalry. 

Rhaenyra's name brought a dull ache to her chest, a reminder of everything that had been lost between them.

"She will not," Alicent whispered, her eyes drifting to the window. 

She gazed out at the sky, her mind flashing with images of her once closest friend. 

The hurt, the pain, the love that had been twisted into something unrecognizable. It all felt like a distant dream, yet the consequences of those shattered bonds were now painfully real.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

It all seemed to be happening too fast.

One moment, Alicent had been trying to make her sons see reason, pleading with Aemond and Aegon to abandon their cruel paths, to halt this madness before it spiralled further out of control. 

But reason had fallen on deaf ears. And now, in the next breath, Daeron was kneeling before me, his trembling hands wrapped tightly around mine, his soft words a quiet comfort amidst the storm. 

Silent tears spilt down my cheeks as the heavy reality of my fate sank in.

"Move," Aemond's voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. His footsteps echoed as he approached, the sound chilling in its finality. 

He stood above us, his cold eye gleaming with malice, his lips curled into a smug smirk. But Daeron refused to budge, his grip on my hands firm, as if he could anchor me to safety as if love alone could protect us from the inevitable.

"No," Daeron whispered, shaking his head, his knuckles white as he clung to me. His eyes were wide with fear and defiance, staring up at his brother, silently pleading for mercy.

Aemond's smirk faltered, replaced by cold fury. With a single nod, he signalled to the Kingsguard. 

Two of them stepped forward without hesitation, seizing Daeron by the arms. He struggled violently in their grasp, his body thrashing as they dragged him away from me.

"Let me go!" Daeron shouted, his voice hoarse, fighting with every ounce of strength he had. 

His eyes remained locked on mine, desperate, terrified. The sight of his suffering twisted something deep inside me, and tears streamed freely down my face.

Aemond watched it all with cold detachment. 

Slowly, almost lazily, he unsheathed his sword, the metallic ring of the blade echoing ominously through the room. He stepped forward, the tip of the sword gleaming in the dim light as he approached me.

"Any final words, niece?" Aemond asked, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he towered over me. 

He stared down at me, his eye alight with cruel amusement, savouring every moment of my helplessness.

I lifted my head, staring up at him defiantly, though my body trembled with fear. 

"When my mother comes," I spat, my voice trembling but filled with fury, "I hope she brings the wrath of the seven hells with her."

Aemond chuckled, his lips curling into a mocking smile. 

"Such a fiery spirit," he mused, tutting as if I were a misbehaving child. "But you'll soon learn that fire burns out quickly, especially when faced with the cold steel of reality." 

He stood over me, his sword raised high. His cold, calculating eye bored into me, devoid of remorse, devoid of mercy. 

Every second seemed to stretch into eternity as I knelt there, bound by chains, my heart pounding in my chest.

Behind him, Daeron struggled violently against the Kingsguard restraining him, his voice ragged and desperate as he shouted, "Aemond, please! Don't do this!"

But Aemond's attention never wavered. He was relentless and unmoved by his brother's pleas. He had already made up his mind. 

This was his justice—cold, unforgiving, absolute.

I stared up at him, my breath shaky, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. 

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, different tears but I refused to let him see me cry. If this was my end, I would meet it with strength. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

Behind Aemond, I could hear Daeron's anguished cries, the sound of his body thrashing as he fought with every ounce of strength he had. His voice cracked, breaking with each plea. 

"Aemond, no!" His eyes, wild and desperate, searched for mine through the chaos.

And then, in that final moment, I locked eyes with Daeron, my heart breaking at the sight of him—tears streaking his face, his lips trembling, torn between helpless rage and soul-crushing sorrow.

Our love had always been a quiet thing, hidden in stolen glances and whispered promises, but now, with death so close, there was no need for silence. 

I didn't have the strength to speak, not with Aemond's sword poised to strike, but I mouthed the words I had longed to say out loud for so long.

I love you.

Daeron's face crumpled in anguish, his knees buckling beneath him as the weight of those words sank in. 

The Kingsguard dragged him backwards, but his eyes never left mine. 

He screamed my name, the sound a raw, broken cry that echoed through the chamber, reverberating with his pain. "No!"

But Aemond didn't hesitate. He smirked, his lips curling in satisfaction as he brought his sword down with brutal finality. 

The cold steel sliced through the air, and in one swift motion, it cut through me.

Pain exploded in my chest, sharp and overwhelming, but it was brief. The world blurred around me, and for a moment, everything slowed. 

My body crumpled to the ground, the chains clattering loudly as I collapsed, the cold stone beneath me stealing the last warmth from my skin. 

Blood pooled beneath me, thick and dark, seeping out in slow, spreading tendrils.

Aemond stood above me, his sword still in hand, watching the life drain from me with a detached, almost clinical gaze. 

He had done what he set out to do—delivered his judgment, his so-called justice. And now, to him, it was over.

But behind him, Daeron was anything but composed. He fell to his knees as the Kingsguard finally released him, their grip no longer necessary. 

His body trembled with shock, the horror of what had just happened crashing down on him. His eyes, wide with disbelief, stared at my lifeless form, and for a moment, it seemed as if the world had gone silent. 

The sound of his own breath caught in his throat, choked by grief.

"No..." Daeron whispered, his voice small, broken. He crawled toward me, his hands trembling as they reached out, gently touching my blood-stained cheek. 

"No, no, no..." His words came out in a rush, frantic, as if he could somehow undo what had been done as if his desperate whispers could bring me back.

But I was gone.

Daeron cradled me in his arms, pulling my limp body against his chest. His tears fell freely now, soaking into my hair as he rocked back and forth, whispering my name over and over, as though the repetition could summon me back to life. 

His hands, stained with my blood, clung to me, refusing to let go.

"Aemond!" Daeron's voice rose suddenly, hoarse and raw with fury. He looked up at his brother, hatred blazing in his tear-filled eyes. "How could you?" 

His voice was a broken snarl, filled with more pain than rage. He trembled violently, barely able to contain the torrent of emotions ripping through him. "How could you..."

Aemond sheathed his sword with a slow, deliberate motion, his expression unreadable as he gazed down at Daeron. 

"It had to be done," he said, his voice calm, as if the weight of my death meant nothing to him. As if it were just another move in a grander game.

Daeron's entire body shook with the force of his grief, his hands clenching into fists as he held me tighter. 

His heart shattered, torn between love and the devastating realization that no matter how much he pleaded, no matter how much he fought, he could not protect me from Aemond's cruelty.

"You—" Daeron choked on his words, his face twisted in agony. "You've killed her... You've destroyed everything."

Aemond turned away, his back now to his brother, and without a word, he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a final, resounding echo.

Daeron was left alone in the suffocating silence, clutching my lifeless body to his chest, his tears falling in steady streams. His voice was gone now, replaced by soft, broken sobs that filled the empty chamber. 

He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath hitching as he whispered, "I love you... I love you..."

But it was too late.

And as the night stretched on, Daeron remained there, shattered and alone, the weight of his loss crushing him from the inside out. 

The woman he had loved was gone, and no matter how many tears he shed, no matter how many promises he had whispered, there was no bringing me back. 

The hollow ache of regret and sorrow would haunt him for the rest of his days.

In that moment, Daeron knew he had lost more than just me—he had lost himself.

A/n - Sorry this took so long but I hope it's ok I got a tad bit carried away hence the word count!

Daeron tag list - @alyssa-dayne

[yourstarstruckbeloved]

previous | how far can we go? — five | next

“why would you do that?” your voice quivers in anger, and you refuse to look at him as you unlock the door to your home. “let’s— let’s talk about this inside.”

kinich doesn’t find himself in a position to refuse your invitation, so he follows you in. he knows as well as you that this was going to have to get talked about seriously at some point, so he lets it happen.

the first time, kinich was on commission to keep you safe, and he carried it out. he was never intending to make you pay for it. this time? he just happened to be training nearby, and noticed your figure sitting at the clifftop. and no sooner than you had taken your place there, he saw the blue figure too, not so slick and hiding in a bush.

and truthfully, this isn’t like kinich. he knows it too. but he stopped his training anyway. you more than likely didn’t need his help— the space was wide open with many escape routes. but also, kinich witnessed what happened the first time around and didn’t think you’d be okay by yourself.

no... he’s just making excuses.

but! none of this takes away from the fact that kinich thinks an emotional outburst probably wouldn’t do much to an obsessive weirdo.

kinich speaks after much contemplation. “i saw you in probable danger, i felt like i had to intervene. but that’s mostly because i don’t think you would’ve gotten anywhere with screaming your head off at that guy.” there is not a hint of a lie in his words.

and what do you have to say to this? you can’t even fault him for wanting to look out for you, although you could never fathom why he’d want to look out for you. “i— it just makes me so angry that i can’t even go out anymore without having to worry about dealing with... you know!” you start, and kinich silently takes it all. he knows he’s not the one you’re mad at. and he understands more than anything.

until he sees a sudden glint in your eyes. “actually, you know what... maybe we should keep up the fake relationship act.”

“all this right after you get mad at me for whatever happened literally an hour ago?” kinich is dumbfounded. “well, i’m leaving.”

“no, wait! i will— i will cook you dinner every night if it means you’ll do this!”

“tempting, but no.”

“i… i really thought about what you said, and i won’t deny that i’m impulsive. i agree that nothing i was going to do that time would’ve put him off.” you’re almost hanging your head down in shame, and you don’t dare look into kinich’s eyes. “i’ll give you anything! let’s just keep at this… arrangement until i figure out how to deal with that creep?”

“i’m not sure you’ll even have any mora left to pay me but… let’s do this.”

taglist !

@yuriisclumsy @fandomfan-102 @jiminscarmex @keiiqq @blaxvoid @eunchaeluvr @just-simping-over-genshin

[please send me an ask or DM if you would like to be added ♡]

[clavissionary-position]

Ikeprinces As Ranked By Gilbert

**Best enjoyed after reading Gil’s route. There are also spoilers of varying degrees from some sequel routes (Chev, Licht).

1. LUKE

Luke: I’m surprised I got the top spot. Don’t you and Chevvie go way back? Gilbert: That’s true, but you’re my adorable little kid brother. I’ve carried you on my back. You’ve carried me on your back. Good times. Luke: Aw, Dad… (bear-hugs Gil) Gilbert: (pouts as he struggles to breathe) Did you even… hear a word of what I said… Luke: I heard ‘kid’. That makes ya my dad, right?

2. CHEVALIER

Gilbert: So? What do you think? Chevalier: (ignores him and continues doing paperwork) Gilbert: (high-pitched voice) “Please, oh please, Gil! Please trample my country to the ground, rebuild it in your image and then run it for me!” Something like that, right? Gilbert: (dodges pebble) Ahh, sorry, sorry. It would probably be more like “Please, oh please, Eyepatch!" Gilbert: (dodges another pebble) What is going on here? Do you roll around in the garden before coming to work every day?

3. CLAVIS

Clavis: (stiff smile) I baked you one of my most sought-after creations as thanks. I’d be honored if you’d try it, Lord Gilbert. Gilbert: Hmm, it looks as unappetizing as I expected but smells delicious. Oh, and... (sniffs) ...you even infused it with my favorite poison! Clavis: Hahaha! Well, I didn’t want you to get the idea that I’d learned nothing about you during all our years working together. Gilbert: Of course, of course. Would you like to share this with me Clavis: (stiff smile) No, no, no. It’s best enjoyed alone. Please, I insist.

4. RIO

Rio: If you’re trying to use me to get to my mistress, then I’ll— Gilbert: You misunderstand me. (Sets down two plates of pain perdu and places his hand on Rio’s) I really do commiserate with you, you know. It’s not easy seeing the one you love go off to be with another man. And yet you gladly sacrifice your own happiness. As though it were someone else's joy to give away. Rio: It is. My joy belongs to my mistress. Gilbert: Hmph? Let's see. Pain perdu means ‘lost bread’, right? Poor, poor abandoned little toast, molding under the table. Gilbert: Oh, by the way. I asked the little rabbit if I could bring these to you on her behalf. (Proceeds to eat all the pain perdu himself) Rio: (smiles brightly) So I’ve heard you love exercising!

5. SILVIO

Silvio: (kicks down the door) Where's the list? Gilbert: (innocently sips tea) So you can tear it up? Did you think I didn't make copies to send to every one of your little merchant friends? Silvio: My real friends know what's up. Gilbert: What a hurtful thing to say. I’m just honoring our friendship. And buttering you up for future manipulation. Silvio: Tch. I don’t know what game you’re playing— Gilbert: Human chess. Silvio: —but I’ll buy up every damn piece before you can get your filthy little mitts on 'em. Gilbert: Hehe, splendid. (Sits back with a smile) What’s more fun than controlling someone who controls everything else?

6. KEITH

Keith: Picked me over the other guy, did ya? Gilbert: Oh, he’s on the list too, of course. But I can’t stand how much of a do-gooder he is. And besides, you’re much more fun to play with. Keith: That right? I’m usually the one doing the teasing around here, though. Gilbert: (looks around dramatically) Around here? Where only a handful of people even know you exist? Tell me, if a tree falls and no one’s there to hear it, does it make a sound? Keith: >:0

7. KEITH

Keith: (hangs head) So you know… about him… Gilbert: Ahaha, there's no need to look so down! You haven’t done anything wrong, have you? It’s all him, right? If only he’d just disappear and stop taunting you from Spot #6. Keith: N-No! I don’t want that! I don’t… think I want that… Keith: Yes, I’m sure of it. He and I can share our friends. Gilbert: (stops smiling) Sharing only works if you can fully trust the other person to not take advantage of your kindness. You may think you can do that now, but people change. Circumstances change. The galette must one day burn. Keith: :’(

8. JIN

Jin: (thoroughly unamused) How kind of you. Gilbert: Isn’t it? But you should know that I’ve got nothing against you personally. Whatever enmity there is between us stems primarily from you. If you weren’t royalty, we might have even co-brothered Luke together. Jin: (throws up in his mouth) I don’t see how that has anything to do with this. And you’re the most detested royal figurehead on the continent. Gilbert: (shrugs) I’d say I’m sorry you can’t see past that, but I’d be lying if I claimed there was anything there to be seen in the first place. Thanks for the lollypop. Jin: What? HEY—

9. SARIEL

Sariel: (stops as soon as he enters his office) What are these vermin doing here? Gilbert: (sitting in Sariel’s chair) Just a little gift I brought so I could congratulate you for making it onto my list. Would you like to do the honors? Sariel: (plucks him up by the fur) Am I to understand you’re giving me a chance to correct my oversight before you take things into your own hands? Gilbert: (brushes himself off) I expect you to do most if not all of the work since my hands are tied while I’m a visiting guest here. But I’m happy to take them under my wing if you can’t even do that much. Sariel: “Kill them, or be forced to kill them,’ is it? (glances at the tied-up assassins) I wonder which one of us they would consider a fate worse than death.

10. LEON

Leon: (glares) I take it you only stuck me on here out of diplomatic courtesy. Gilbert: Haha, maybe. But there’s something about you that’s always reminded me of someone I know. Leon: Whoever it is, I feel bad for the guy. Gilbert: (bittersweet smile) You might be right. Maybe I need to do better by him…

11. LICHT

Licht: Do I know you? Gilbert: I was wondering the same thing, to be honest. But I’ve seen you around the palace enough times that I figured I might as well throw you on here. Gilbert: Nice eyes by the way, hehe. Licht: Oh no you don’t. My only family is Nokto.

12. NOKTO

Gilbert: Oh. There are two of you. Must be nice having an identical twin. (Resting his chin in his hand) Do you two switch places a lot? Nokto: You never noticed before today? Never received a report from one of your spies about it? Gilbert: Oh no, what sort of boring activities do you think I have my spies do all day? Nokto: Well, for starters, you sure seem to have paranormal insight into the contents of our kitchen at any given moment. Gilbert: So you'd rather I left all the carrots where they are? Nokto: ...

...

.......

................

Yves: Prince Gilbert!

Gilbert: (stops but doesn’t turn around)

Yves: I saw your list, and I couldn’t help but notice—

Gilbert: No, I believe you noticed everything you were meant to.

Gilbert: (leaves to go find the little rabbit to fix his bad mood)

[sweetestofchaos]

Safe Place | B.C

After a hard few weeks, Chan just wants to breath a little easier and he can only do that with you.

p. bang chan x black fem!reader

r. pg-16

w. depictions of exhaustion - use of noona - reader is older than chan - terms of endearment - fluff - super soft

wc. 1.7k

a/n. hello everyone. it's been a while since i wrote for any members of stray kids. chan is such an important person to me because i see a lot of myself in him. the man needs to sit his ass down somewhere and rest, so this is me, giving him what he needs. i hope you enjoy. also, please excuse any mistakes, like i said it's been a while

Chan is tired and not the ‘I need to sleep it off’ kind of tired. His mind is restless, the member’s voices and their endless Channie hyung echo in his ears. His body is heavy, invisible boulders cling to his shoulders and weigh him down. He feels everything and nothing all at once. 

It’s dark out, well past midnight by the time he leaves the JYP building. He bows his head in thanks to the driver as he steps into the back of the SUV and tosses his bag onto the empty seat beside him. Chan tells the driver his destination as he buckles his seatbelt and the man selects it from the few programmed addresses. Soft music, maybe a lofi playlist flouts around the small space and Chan’s eyes slip shut with a deep sigh. He rests his head against the window and feels every turn the truck takes, he knows this route by heart. Fifteen minutes go by and the car rolls to a stop. Chan blinks his eyes and covers his mouth as he yawns. Again he bows his head in thanks and grabs his bag before he exits the SUV.

Chan waits for the SUV to pull off before he walks in the opposite direction two blocks down. His bag hangs off his back, thumping against the small of his back with each step. Street lights cast a soft glow in the night and Chan yawns again, his eyes watering slightly. Shaking his head, Chan turns the corner and hikes the bag higher up on his shoulder as he walks up the path that leads to the front door of an apartment complex. Reaching into his hoodie pocket, Chan grabs a black mask and quickly puts it over the lower half of his face before he walks through the doors.

Making his way to the elevator, Chan’s fingers tap against his thigh as he waits for the doors to open. Just a few more moments and he will be able to be human for the first time in a few days. The doors open and Chan steps into the elevator, pulling his phone from his back pocket as the doors slide shut. He pulls up his messages and tapes on the smiling face next to the contact name homegirl. He starts to type out a message and stops when he sees the time on his phone, it’s half past one in the morning. Chan clicks his tongue and shoves his phone back into his back pocket. 

The elevator ride is quick and silent, there is no music for which Chan is thankful for. He steps out onto the fourth floor and walks down the familiar hall to the last door on the right. Standing in front of the door Chan keys in the secret code that he knows by heart and pushes open the door. The sound of nails faintly clicking on the tiled floor catches Chan’s attention as he toes off his sneakers and kicks them to the side. As he locks the door behind himself and walks farther into the apartment a shadow grows larger on the wall and Chan smiles softly as the long furry body of Ginger, a Salukis dog comes into view. Ginger takes slow steps, sniffing the air as she turns her head towards Chan. 

“Come ‘here girl. Come here, Ginger.”

Chan calls the dog sweetly and crouches down with his hand outstretched so the dog can find him. Ginger was born blind and she is the sweetest dog that he has ever meant. Ginger knocks into his hand and Chan coos as he pets the dog and gives a few kisses to her head. Another shadow grows on the wall and Chan’s eyes roll upward when a pair of baby blue sock covered feet come into sight. Bare legs are exposed up until mid thigh that is covered by a pair of pale tan sleep shorts that have moons and stars on them. As he trails his eyes farther up, there is a soft tummy that isn’t covered by three inches of the matching spaghetti strap shirt and Chan smiles as his eyes lock onto the woman’s standing before him.

The sleep set looks cute on the woman, the tan complements her melanated skin and the way her skin glistens in the soft light that spills from the oven in the kitchen stove makes her look like a dream. Giving Ginger one last pet, Chan rises to his feet and shuffles over, the bag on his back slipping down into the crook of his arm. Vanilla, coconut and musk invade Chan’s nose and his mind fizzles to a gentle quiet as the woman takes the bag from him. Her hand wraps around his fingers and he shuffles along, letting the woman lead him farther into the apartment.

“Go to bed Ginger,” the woman’s voice is sleepy and sweet as she speaks to the dog and Chan wishes that she would speak to him with that same voice. 

As the woman sets his bag on one of the chairs in front of her island bar, Chan feels his heart start to pick up as he is led to the bedroom. The room is the same as it was when he visited two weeks ago. The bedding is new, the white and grey now replaced with a blue lavender, which Chan recalls being one of the woman’s favorite colors. The warmth around his hand vanishes and Chan shivers, feeling colder than ever as he stands in the room covered by his hoodie. The woman moves around the room, grabbing a pair of boxers and sleep pants from a dresser along with a silk scarf.

Chan’s eyes flick up to the woman’s face and he notices that she is wearing a light green durag in place of her normal black cheetah print bonet.

“You changed your hair?”

“I did.”

The woman steps into Chan’s space and reaches up towards his face. Her manicured nails lightly tickle his skin as her fingers graze his eyebrows, temples, cheeks and jaw. Chan melts into the touch, his body leaning forward just slightly to apply more pressure.

“Change outta those clothes and come lay down. I’ll wrap your hair.”

In the blink of an eye the woman is no longer in front of Chan and he frowns as vanilla musk lingers around him. Shaking his head, Chan undresses, stripping himself of all his clothing before he slips on the fresh pair of boxers and black sleep pants. Grabbing his dirty clothes, Chan places them on top of the small pile on the floor and heads out the room. He needs to wash his face and use the toilet. From the hall Chan sees the light in the bathroom is on and his bare feet paddle on the tiled floor, slapping gently.

In the bathroom the woman is filling a bowl with warm water mixed with makeup remover. Chan smiles and clears his throat. The woman glances at him in the mirror and offers a smile before she turns around with the bowl in her hands.

“Let me wash your face.”

Chan leans against the sink and the woman stands between his legs. Chan rests his hands on her hips, his thumbs rubbing the soft, plushie skin gently as he self soothes. The woman’s touches are light but firm. She wipes the smudged eyeliner, washes away the thin layer of concealer and dabs at the remains of some tinted lip balm. She swipes a toner pad across Chan’s face and pats in a serum before she rubs in a face moisturizer to finish the shortened nighttime routine. 

“I’ll wait for you in bed, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Chan tightens his hold on her hips as she moves back and she giggles, sharing a sleepy smile with Chan. Leaning forward she presses her lips to his and Chan sighs into the kiss. He pulls her closer, their middles pressing into each other’s and his fingers indenting into her skin. Fingers weave into the back of his hair and Chan groans as a warm tongue massages his bottom lip.

“Go to the bathroom baby.”

She pulls away, slipping through Chan’s fingers like smoke and he inhales deeply. He can still feel her pressed against him if he tries hard enough. Forcing himself to step away from the sink, Chan uses the bathroom, watches his hands and brushes his teeth before he hurries back to the bedroom. She is already in bed, sitting up with the scarf resting in her lap. Chan crawls into bed and sits beside her silently. He closes his eyes as her fingers thread through his hair and massage his scalp before she carefully wraps his hair for the night. His bonnet must be in the dirty wash now that he thinks about it.

They lay in bed together on their sides staring at each other. Chan admires the way her eyes sparkle in the darkness, the way she offers comfort with the smallest gestures and very little words. She shifts, now laying on her back and Chan slides closer, resting his head on top of her chest, above her heart. Fingers rub at the nape of his neck, a kind pressure that makes his shoulders relax and his breathing come easier.

“Do you want to talk?”

Chan shakes his head, burying his face into the plushness of her breasts. He snakes one hand under the shirt and cups the mound of flesh in his palm. He squeezes it lightly, the weight settling him as the warmth seeps into his veins. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to think. He just wants to be…that’s all he needs. Here and now, in this bed, held in her arms, Chan is just him. 

“Rest baby.”

Chan’s eyes close at the gentle command and every tension bleeds out in an invisible wave as sleep pulls him under. Vanilla, coconut and musk comfort his senses, the body heat from underneath him soothes the aches he feels and the rhythmic beating of her heart quiets the never ending thoughts that keep him so productive throughout the day.

“I love you,” Chan’s voice is fleeting, being pulled between sweet dreams and the nightmare of life.

“I love you too. Get some rest.”

“Right-” Chan yawns loudly and snuggles farther into the woman’s soul, “thank you, noona.”

[dykeomania]

𝒎𝒊𝒂'𝒔 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃𝒔: untitled (02)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: finger-fucking. you like ellie's tattoo. the end

𝐚/𝐧: mid certified mia classic containing all of the certified mia themes like getting fucked absolutely dizzy and mutual obsession and abrupt endings. started off as just a silly goofy thought and became something a little bit hornier than that (it's not that bad) (but like). lack of solid plot theme and other potential issues given the reason of yes it was just a thought at first and also because it was composed at like 1/2am. i have nothing else to really say for myself.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: (edited, because i realized i forgot this) -- vaginal penetration, domtop!ellie, pretty foul language. watching ellie while's hand while she fucks you. think that's it

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k?

thinking about ellie's forearm tattoo,

being the only thing you can focus on as she's sat between your legs, stationed above you like a daydream, with her fingers so snug and deep inside your cunt that you find yourself laying there with wide, wet eyes and a stiff body, choking on every moan that's meant to be a breath but that comes out as something ripped and stretched. her brows are knit together in some weird mix of shock and determination as she curses under her breath about how she's never seen you this wet before. about how you're a fucking disaster. been itching for me to fuck you, huh?

it started with the hand that she's got splayed across your lower abdomen. the one pressing on that fucking spot that's nestled so deep inside of you, that every person you'd fucked before ellie had convinced you that it was an itch that would never be scratched. but ellie is hitting it like she's memorized the route -- which she did. passes over it with the rough pads of her fingers in an intentional combination of strokes and come-hither motions stemming from curled fingers, and then has the audacity to push her hand down against the lower part of your stomach and press on it externally. you didn't even fucking know that she could do that -- you didn't know that you would feel that.

the width of her hand splayed across your lower torso was godlike. was something out of a book, or a movie, how her hand fit your frame like it was fucking made to be against you,

and then you notice it.

it's not until you're shivering with pleasure. ellie's arm is burning, and your body is unable to decide what it wants to do between fucking up against her slickened palm in some fueled fit of greed and delirium or sitting up -- or fighting to, rather -- and watching her, in some awkward position only accentuates the tightening in your both of your cores. regardless, your body seems pretty set on gripping some part of ellie's arm. you find that clawing at her bicep makes her occasionally moan into your mouth,

you find that gripping at her forearm makes her fuck you faster.

and in the moment where you can't believe the speed and the strength at with which she is fucking you, all your eyes can do is hang on the grip that you've got on her forearm. her tattooed forearm, containing veins that bulge and accentuate the stems. the design of the fern that was once flat, and two-dimensional, and is now alive. new branches are created everytime her arm flexes when she moves in, and out of you.

for some reason, the sight is brutal. it makes you gasp. makes your pussy gush over her fingers and stop breathing before releasing an all too honest, too rooted, too teary-eyed, oh my god.

you don't manage to catch the way ellie's lower lip is caught between her teeth. nor the rosiness of her cheeks, or the baby hairs lightly sticking to the perimeter of her forehead, her upper cheekbones just beginning to gather a minor perspire-induced glow. you do catch how she looks at you, but it's only because she laughs a little. catches on too quickly. knows from past experience.

like watching me when i fuck you? gets you off watching you cum all over my fingers, doesn't it?

making such a mess all over my hand, babe.

your head falls back with some grating mix of shock and embarrassment, and the whines that leave your lips are your only bet at being able to vocalize the two.

it's cut short, because ellie's hand reaches to pull you up by your jaw, gentle and rough all-the-same,

keep looking.

makes you so fucking wet, can feel all you.

gonna keep fucking you so, so good, baby.

just gotta keep those eyes on me while i fuck you.

and you believe her.

you believe her as you feel your stomach constrict, and release. you believe it as you feel all of the air in your lungs catch fire. you believe it as the image of her tattooed arm fucking you becomes blurrier, as your lashes begin to gather moisture and stick while some stupid fucking look paints your expression on your face and your nails press deep, red welts into the leaves. you believe her as you mumble her name over and over and over again, as she momentarily presses your foreheads together, as she presses a kiss to the side of it, down the side of your cheek, down the side of your neck,

there you go, baby.

just like that, yeah?

yes, holy fuck, just like that. the phrase is something you think or sputter rather than say. some remnant of it garbles it’s way out of your mouth as you watch her, as you watch both of you. watch your hips stir into every thrust she makes, enamored, like the action was a memory of something you don't remember doing. watch as you let yourself accept it. start bathing in the sound of her fingers moving in and out of your cunt, of the friction caused by the base of her palm grinding against your clit. feel a tear streaking down your cheek as she moves works three, long, rough digits inside of you, like she knows you. like she loves you, or loves seeing you like this -- at this point, it has to be both.

to your ear, she whispers, somewhere mixed in the chaos, lips catching against the lobe of it,

i know, baby.

so good, feels so nice and tight around my fingers.

love fucking you like this, want you to cum for me.

one minute your legs are spread to let her in as deep as you can, and then they're straggling, knees scrambling to press themselves together,

yeah? gonna cum for me?

gonna make a mess on my hand, baby?

fuck, yeah. just like that, baby, cum for me.

take it all, and cum for me, just like that, just like that--

and the only time when you are able to pull yourself away from the sight, from the reality of a pleasure that was so impossible gifted to you from a girl so unreal, is when the world collapses underneath the arch of your back,

when her name leaves your lips embodying a literal, textbook, broken devotion,

while your pussy spasms and you wet the lower half of the fern that you were so focused on,

and is when your eyes roll. somewhere far, far into the back of your head.

[anonymitywriterprescott]

The ding of the door opening gets my attention, so I walk, minding the gap, onto the train. Looking around for a seat, I notice the empty train car and choose to sit close to the door.

I scroll on my phone as the train starts moving again. 6:09 pm. A call notification appears on screen as the ringtone echoes through the car, making it sound bigger and emptier than it is. "Babe <3" is calling. "Hello love, what's up?" "Sooo I may have promised a lovely homemade lasagna but we will probably be having your choice of fast food tonight instead." They say, sounding sorry as ever and a bit annoyed. "Oh noo, What happened? You ok?" "Yeah, no bruises, burns, or blood, but the oven shit the bed again, and I already called the office to see if and when it could get replaced this time instead of just a duct tape fix, but they said it would be at least 3 weeks." "3 fucking weeks? They expect us to not cook for 3 fucking weeks, really?" My voice is barely below yelling. "Hey, it'll be ok; I already texted my mom, I can go over tomorrow and premake some stuff, aaaand she's giving us her microwave because she never uses it, so we can reheat it all." Their voice sounds desperate to calm me, knowing how much I hate that stupid, old-ass, fucking oven. "I guess I'll need to sneak a $50 in her pocket because I doubt she'll let us pay for it." "You would be right. So, do you wanna pick up dinner on your way, or should I order delivery?" "Delivery," I glance at the time on my phone. 6:27 pm. "feels like the train is taking forever, and I don't wanna carry the food up the stairs." "Alright baby, text me what you want, Love you." "Love you, bye." I tap the end call button and go to our texts, filling out where to order from and what I want. The text continuously attempts to send but fails. I have no signal, of course.

The clock reads 6:30 pm. This route is usually like 10 minutes, and we haven't stopped moving, so why is it taking so long? The windows show only darkness and an occasional flash from the tunnel lights. I walk to one of the doors and press the button to open it, but nothing happens. Same with the second door. A bright white light floods the car, but it's gone before my eyes adjust. The text continues failing to send. No signal means I can't call anyone or look up anything about train delays. The clock reads 6:30 pm. Still? I look at the walls to see if there is an emergency or call button or something that says a phone number to call if I get signal. Nothing. The clock reads 6:30 pm. I stare at my phone. 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi… …59 Mississippi, 60 Mississippi. The clock reads 6:30 pm. Maybe I was a bit off on my timing, I tell myself, waiting for the minute to pass. It doesn't. The clock reads 6:30 pm. Finally, soft light seeps through the windows. Outside, a dim forest, trees with twisted limbs, and long-hanging vines whizz by. Every so often, I think I see a creature, but it looks… wrong. One of them was a deer, but the antlers looked like its legs? So time is… frozen, I can't get off the train, I am alone, and I'm seeing things?

"You're not seeing things, darling." A voice comes from the other side of the car. Startled, I quickly turned to see it. A tall, rectangular figure, wearing a red hat whose top scrapes the car's roof, whose brim covers its face, and a matching red suit that looks like it's made of silk. I stare wide-eyed, not knowing what it is or its intentions. Or why it can hear my thoughts. But I keep calm, "What am I seeing then?" "Not the thing you think." It says, speaking "That's upsettingly vague." "It's more literal than you realize." It cocks its head as if it's examining me.

Its face.

It feels like it's… out of focus? No matter how hard I try, I just can't quite… see it? "Don't hurt yourself." It says, looking me up and down. "Look at the wall if it helps." It sounds annoyed at my existence. Like my inability to see its features is an inconvenience of the highest accord. "May I have your name?" It reaches out its hand as if it expects me to give it something. Its hand has long, thin fingers that come to a point, like a pale grey claw, which turns pitch black towards the fingertips. "Only if I can have yours," I reply, using the same reply my mother always gave when people asked for her name. "Not worth the trade… no offense." It sneers at the end. "But your mother taught you well. Did you come here intentionally?" "Well I got on the train intentionally, but where ever we are now was not where I wanted to go." "And where do you wish to go?"

"Home." "Home it is."

My eyes close, and I feel a rush of air circle me. As the air dissipates, my eyes open, and I am in front of my apartment door, plastic white bags containing our dinner at my feet. The door swings open, and I see my partner's face and baggy pajamas. "Hey baby, good timing!" Silence fills the air, I try to speak, but my voice feels stuck in my throat. I can't wrap my head around this. "…baby? You ok?" Their hand strokes my shoulder, a slight touch, yet it feels like it drags my soul back into my body. I gasp, startling my partner. "I… don't know how… I got here…" I stumble out. "Well, you got here, and you seem unharmed. Come inside, love." They guide my arm, pulling me inside. As I walk into the apartment, I look for my phone, finding it in my pocket with a small, folded piece of paper that reads, "Safe travels, darling. Your mother says hello." The clock reads 6:30pm.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐋♡𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 [Part 1 Teaser]

"Are you seriously having a boner right now?"

Tags/Warnings: Fuckboy!Jungkook, Fuckgirl!Reader, Angst, Misunderstandings, Friends/Enemies to lovers, Very suggestive, adult, hurt and comfort, smut, did I mention angst? It's worth it in the end tho promise, Jungkook is such a MENACE in this

Length: ~700 Words

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜.♡

-> Masterlist

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

That longing for you isn't just sexual for him. Absolutely not. But he can't really be mad at his dick for being very happy to witness the sight of you in your simple black leggings, shaping your legs into what he can only describe as the intro to a lot of his dirty fantasies.

All of them involving him either taking them off to various degrees- or simply ripping them open if he's feeling particularly eager.

"Are you seriously having a boner right now?" You whine, sitting down next to him on his couch, and he just laughs, no shame felt by him whatsoever. He's always like this, and he loves that he can be like this with you- though it's also pretty frustrating, considering that nothing he does, no route he chooses, no plan he comes up with seems to lead him anywhere with you.

"It is in a semi right now, actually." He bluntly replies after calming down, leaning against the side of his couch, watching you with a smirk you can't help but be affected by. "Wanna check?" He wiggles his brows suggestively at you, and you shake your head.

"Absolutely not, keep that thing in your pants, sir." You huff, taking the remote from the table to zap through the various channels, trying to ignore his eyes on you. Maybe hanging out with him was a bad idea, especially since you should technically be packing your things for the upcoming move. But he's asked so nicely, and you're way too weak compared to him, mentally and physically- so honestly, you deserve this torture now.

It's always like this. And if you weren't such a liar, you could have it a lot easier with him.

Or you wouldn't have anything of him at all.

"Sir, huh?" He hums, as if to test that word out on his tongue, the wet muscle moving over his fresh piercing next to his older one on his lip, eyes looking at nothing. "Nah, doesn't have a good ring to it for me." He shrugs, adjusting his legs- as if to proudly flaunt his still very much half-hard dick underneath his grey sweats in your face. "Never really been into that whole Daddy-Sir-Title calling honestly." He confesses easily, arms crossing as he watches what you've chosen for now on the TV. "Call me daddy." He suddenly asks you, and you look at him with wide eyes.

"What? No!" You deny, and he rolls his eyes.

"Sucks dick daily but can't call her best friend Daddy, you're really something." He jokes, and it makes you a bit nervous- because he's right. That doesn't fit your story at all. And you'll need to keep it up for at least another week, before you can leave and he'll forget all about it in half a year. "Come on~!" He whines, playfully kicking your thigh.

Your body is so soft, every touch giving him a teaser of what he could do. More things to think about. More food for his inner thoughts. How his fingers would press into your flesh, how your ass would look riding him, how your tits would barely fit into his palm.

"Why would I say that?" You ask him, and he shrugs, smiling again.

"I wanna know if it.. feels any different if you say it to me." He shrugs almost innocently. "Because, you know, feelings and all." He tells you, and everything freezes for a second.

You need to escape. You don't like where this is going at all.

"Your feelings are in your dick, Daddy." You snap at him in a way you hope displays confidence, but the look on his face makes you stop in your tracks for a moment, as he seems to process what you just said. And after a moment, his eyes seem to warm up way before the corners of his lips can follow up to display a smile, before his head falls back, looking after you as you walk into his kitchenette.

"It really does feel different.." He mumbles to himself as he watches you search through his freezer, probably for icecream. But it doesn't feel different in a sexual way-

it more so makes him curious as to what you're hiding from him, your avoidance of things like this by now terribly obvious.

[recreationalfanfics]

*chin hands* assassin's creed on the mind eh? Do tell 👀

OKAY SO ONE IDEA I DEF WANNA USE IN THE FUTURE WOULD BE YANDERE EAGLE VISION. Like, if an assassin/eagle vision user becomes obsessed with a darling, then instead of showing up as red (for enemy) or green (for ally), then their darling would show up as either a pink silhouette or something.

NOT ONLY THAT, BUT, LIKE DIFFERENT ASSASSIN'S TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT IT MEANS/ALREADY KNOWING WHAT IT MEANS.

Like Ezio using eagle vision and he sees his darling is a different color from everyone else, he instantly believes its a sign their soul mates and will shamelessly follow them, either from the shadows or blatantly walking after them like a lost puppy.

Altaïr believing something is wrong when his eagle vision acts up and only towards you, the person who served no real importance but never seemed to leave his mind. He decides to use it as an excuse to stalk you, after all, it was fine before YOU came along and he's just trying to figure out if it means if you're a threat or not. Deep down, he knows what it actually means but it gives him a good excuse to stalk you.

Connor absolutely is baffled when he notices a pink figure and when he switches back to his normal vision, he sees its you. He doesn't voice this out to anyone because its not that important, right? Plus, he truly wouldn't want to disturb you with that knowledge and, when you really think about it, it's rather helpful for the both of you! Now Connor can keep tabs on you and you won't ever have to worry about anything hurting you because Connor will always be waiting in the shadows to protect you.

Evie would be a Lucid yandere, the moment you become miscolored in a way she's never heard of, she's doing some research on her own time and found out about rare instances assassin's who found their "soul mates" with their eagle vision. Like Connor and Altaïr, she would definetly use it as an excuse to be able to stalk you while keeping her conscious clear. It's not her fault technically and yes, maybe she is tailing behind you and her heart soars at the thought of being able to pick you out of the crowd and track you down so easily...but it's only because she can keep you safe!

Jacob doesn't even question it, he also takes it as confirmation that you were meant to be his. He would absolutely take advantage of his new ability and you'd be none the wiser. You try to avoid him by going a different route? He somehow ends up calling your name and happily running over to you and you're wondering how could he have known. You're bumping into him a lot more often when doing mundane things? Haha, what a coincidence! May as well hang on his arm and let him treat you to a nice drink! Just the image of Jacob desperately jumping from rooftop to rooftop using eagle vision only to stop and smile to himself when he sees your silhouette makes me so happy-

EDWARD DOESN'T REALLY QUESTION IT, HE'S JUST GLAD HE CAN HAVE PIECE OF MIND WHEN IT COMES TO YOU TBH. He knows what he's doing is shady but at the same time, he can't help it. But also moments when you manage to sneak away from him and he just easily walks towards were you're hiding and it fills you with so much dread and panic and you're not sure how he manages to do that every single time.

AAAH, IMAGINE ARNO BEING ALL SMUG ABOUT IT. Like, you're both at a gala somewhere and you try to lose him in the crowd, not wanting to deal with his possessive behavior but no matter how many people are in the way, Arno uses his eagle vision and pushes and shoves past people as he makes his way towards you. Just when you think you lost him, you feel his hand wrap around your wrist and pull you close and his hood is over his head, revealing nothing more than a sly grin.

[securitywaiter]

Aftonverse (Good Route)

Reposting from my personal blog to this one >~<

CREDIT TO @swingitshakeitmoveitmakeit FOR THE IDEA

Concept: Since MatPat says his name is Afton in the FNAF Musical, what if that applied to Ness? What if he were Vanessa's brother?

After the Bite of '83, Mrs. Afton divorces William. She tells him, "You get one. Vanessa or Nestor?" William chooses to keep Vanessa, as she's the younger of the two, and he doesn't want her to get hurt like [Crying Child]. So, Ness goes with his Mom, and for the next 17 years, he knows nothing about Freddy's, or his father and sister.

When he moves back into town, he notices that Freddy's is abandoned.

This prompts him to start digging, to scour public records and interview the locals about what happened to Freddy's, and the restaurant's owners. Well, one of them committed, and the other... no one's sure. All we know is that he moved out of town, and that was the last time we saw him after those kids went missing at Freddy's.

Ness hears this and IMMEDIATELY latches onto it, using it as his lead to delve even deeper into the restaurant's history. He starts an online blog, documenting all of his knowledge about Freddy's, secretly hoping someone out there cares. He has yet to get into contact with his sister.

One day, a man walks into the diner that Ness works at, followed by a young girl, no older than 8 at the most. They find a booth, and Ness notices the Freddy's keychain hanging out from the man's pocket. His vest has the word "SECURITY" written on it.

There's a new employee at Freddy's.

Ness does his usual waiter routine, before asking the man about his job.

"How... how do you know I work there?" The man asks, genuinely confused.

Ness shrugs. "Freddy and I have some history behind us. If you don't mind me asking; what's your name?"

"Mike," the security guard answers. "Mike Em- um, Schmidt." He warily eyes the girl across the table from him. They know something that they don't want Ness in on.

Ness pauses. "Nice to meet you. Ness Afton," he says, and shakes Mike's hand. "I'll be back with your drinks."

The next day, Ness snoops around the old Freddy's place, doing his best not to trigger any alarms or set off any security measures still active. One day, he finds himself in a storage room, and tucked away on a shelf, hidden under a tarp, is a strange black-and-white animatronic. Ness pulls it out to inspect it.

It's the Security Puppet. Marionette.

Ness quickly shoves it under his coat and hurries on out. He's just hit the jackpot---there's nothing else he needs from Freddy's.

Over the course of the next week, he observes the puppet, how its eyes light up silver every night. Ness presumes the battery still has some residual charge, in the same way that talking kid's toys sometimes go off randomly in the night.

The next week, it stops. It's gone completely inactive.

Ness decides to go back to Freddy's, now that Marionette isn't active. As he drives by it, though, he sees that the building is in shambles. He wonders what happened over the past week. His subconscious connects the puppet's activity to the restaurant's current state.

Ness decides to go in.

The building is completely ruined, and most definitely unsafe. But something catches his eye, one of the drawings on the picture wall.

An evil yellow rabbit, bloody knife in one hand, surrounded by five dead children.

Like the five missing children... a yellow rabbit, like his father's suit. Ness drops his flashlight in shock.

His father killed the missing children.

"You figured it out."

Ness whips around. Behind him stands a little boy, around the age of 5. How did he get in here?

"Who are you?" Ness asks, carefully picking up his flashlight.

"That doesn't matter," the boy says. "Can you bring me back? I promised Mike I'd keep them safe."

Ness thinks for a moment. He hasn't taken anyone.

Oh.

Marionette.

Ness nods. "Yes, I-- yes," he answers, and the boy smiles.

"Thank you," he says. He then runs off, hiding behind the stage's curtain.

Ness hurries out of the deteriorating restaurant, all the way back home, and collects the Puppet, quickly returning him to his rightful place.

On stage, with all his friends.

Ness can see a little blond boy smile at him from inside the restaurant as he drives away.

Maybe he should track down that Mike guy.