#nobody is going to find that particularly strange i feel?

[rainyraisin]

I ran out of tag space while yapping oops 💔💔💔 might reblog with what else I was going to say b4 tumblr cut me off idk

Who ends up being the first akuma in the bread girl au? Was the whole ordeal just as chaotic?

The First akuma is a tricky one! Since it's an obvious swap of Mylene and Ivan, I think it should be one of them - Stoneheart Mylene or Horrificator Ivan

The first akuma will need to be loud and straightforward, or else Beetle and Stray will have their ass beat

Stoneheart Mylene (combining her shyness and awkwardness) might be more associated with statues and blending in

"I don't know what you want from me! I wish I didn't feel this way! I wish I wasn't this way either!"

Horrificator Ivan might be a really in-your-face akuma

"Since all of you see me as a big scary monster, I might as well be one!"

I don't have any solid ideas about it yet, so if someone wants to contribute - I'm all ears :)

Thanks for the ask!

[ohdeerfully]

alastor request HAI can it be based on the fact that alastor doesn't sleep, and it's his lover finding out that petting his ears during cuddling makes him fall asleep.

thank you for your service

yess i love sleepy alastor thank u so much anon :D!!

Goodmorning, Love

Alastor x Reader (fluff) TW: none! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You were well aware of the Radio Demon’s sleep habits. Or, well, lack of sleep habits. You often spent nights in his room, where he would sit with you in bed until you fell asleep and go do whatever the hell he gets up to late at night. You always woke up in an empty room, and often so in the middle of the night, struggling to rest again as a greedy tightness gripped your chest in worry and disappointment.

You understood, though, and tried your best not to let it get to you that you didn’t have his warm body next to you when you woke every morning. But you couldn’t help that twinge of sadness. You weren’t particularly needy or clingy, but would it kill him to stay in bed with you for a single night? And to have a slice of domestic bliss as you woke up?

Obviously. 

You roll your eyes as you lay, staring up at the ceiling. You had just gotten ready for bed, and now waited for said demon to join you for a few hours. Your fingers tapped, impatient, against your chest as you hummed absentmindedly.

“How lovely,” You heard him speak. Tickles of that radio static that always followed him clung to your exposed skin, which was signal enough that he had entered the room had he not announced himself. “What a siren you are, luring me here with that hum of yours.”

You smiled slightly at his comment, scooching over slightly to encourage him over. He obliged, joining you under the covers. He still wore his usual outfit, which made sense considering his tendency to go away all night. You purse your lips at the thought, slightly chewing on the skin.

“Why the face?” Of course he noticed your expression. He always noticed when any emotion tickled your face. You appreciated the genuine tone in his voice, the typical buzz of radio barely detectable in his words. He always got a little softer and kinder when he was alone with you like this.

You appreciated nights with him, being able to see a side of him that nobody else would live to spread word of. You enjoyed feeling a little special, especially to somebody like him.

“Do you think you could stay in,” You asked cautiously, fiddling with your hands as you inched closer to him, pressing your body against his. Even laying, he still seemed much taller than you. You gingerly guided his head down, against your chest as you spoke, hoping the multitasking would keep him from sitting up and rejecting your intimate gestures. “Just for a night. I miss you all night long.”

He allowed his head to lay against you. He did feel tense, of course, letting the back of his head be exposed in this manner as he lay vulnerable on you. It was a strange feeling, but not one he cared to consider for too long. 

“(Y/N),” He began with a sigh. “It’s impossible for me to get much done during the day, what with all the running around Charlie does. Somebody has to keep an eye on that young princess. I prefer to stay awake to get my own errands done at night.” 

I know that, you wanted to say and interrupt his explanatory ramble. You wanted to beg him to understand, just this once. You held in a sigh, watching as his head gently rose and fell with every breath you took. Maybe you should just take this submission from him as good enough.

You gingerly began tangling your fingers through his red hair, brushing out any kinks he may have gotten throughout the day. His tense body seemed to ease slightly, becoming more and more relaxed as you weaved your fingers through the locks.

“You have really soft hair, Al,” You commented, changing the subject. You figured there was no use convincing him. You let your fingers lightly trail upwards, up to his ears. You grazed them slightly with a finger. You touched again. When he made no motion of dislike, you fully began rubbing them. Petting him. You smiled to yourself at the idea of petting the feared Radio Demon. “And your ears are even softer.”

“I try to take care of myself,” He responded proudly. There was another hint of something in his voice, but you couldn’t quite place what it was. But it seemed heavy. “A well groomed man is a successful one.” You absentmindedly agreed as you stroked the velvety fur of his ears, switching back and forth between them and his hair. You had a preference for the ears, though.

You sighed and began humming quietly again. He rarely got so… comfortable, even around you. He always had some sort of guard up, always had his shoulders squared. He almost never became so… loose and vulnerable.

You noticed the clippings of radio frequency had stopped, which was a noise that was ever present in his wake. You had a suspicion why it disappeared, a small grin forming on your face.

Yes, the Radio Demon never slept. But that was a choice he made, not a curse that prevented him. Even demons get tired. You don’t know how Alastor makes it day by day without a wink of rest, but it was apparent that exhaustion had built up in him. He just needed to relax for a second.

You graced your fingers over his fringe, and craned your neck in a way to get a glance at his face. Yeah, you were right. 

He laid there, eyes shut, features relaxed with the lightest grin playing on his face. Even in sleep, you complained. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was the sound of his deep, slow breathing and occasional twitch of his velvety ears. You briefly wondered what the Radio Demon would dream about.

Would he be aggravated with you when he woke up, realizing you had practically cast a sleep spell on him? You didn’t, but the rate of which exhaustion took over may as well have been some sort of magic.

You shut your own heavy eyes, exhaling lightly as you continued to comfort yourself with the texture of his fur and hair. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You craned your arms and neck as consciousness came back to you, but an unfamiliar weight kept you from getting that good stretch in. Momentarily confused, you blinked open and looked down.

Red and black hair, more of a mess than usual, still took place on your torso. This was a first, and your chest felt like exploding with the glee of seeing Alastor still resting with you. He somehow looked even more relaxed than the night before, his cheek flush against your stomach, squishing his lips up slightly. A light grin was still there.

You gently brushed your fingers over his face, trailing a line around his features with an index finger. His eyes squeezed for a moment, and that static ambience of his slowly, quietly, returned. It was a noise that you had learned to find comfort in. He slowly opened his red eyes, a confused and sleepy daze clouding them. There was a wrinkle in his brow as he roughly propped himself up with an elbow, looking up at you with a furrowed expression.

“(Y/N)..?” He trailed, pausing to take in a shuddering morning yawn through a confused smirk. “Did I… Dear, what time is it?”

You looked at him tenderly. Oh, how cute he was, sleepy like this. Composed like an exhausted kid. Something even you have never seen before.

“Yeah,” You responded to his unspoken question. “It’s probably seven a.m. or so. I dunno.” There wasn’t a clock in your immediate line of sight.” “A.m. …” He said slowly. He sat up fully, looking down in disappointment at his wrinkled day wear. He quickly blinked the sleep from his eyes and managed to bring some composure to himself, but that lick of exhaustion was still prominent. Especially under his eyes.

“Yeah,” You said again, a light chuckle following. “Goodmorning, Al.”

He wasn’t obviously upset, it seemed. Though he probably was too tired to think about it too much yet. Maybe later.

“Well… Goodmorning, love.” He responded, still with a hint of confusion in his voice. “I suppose I accepted your plea from last night.” He brushed at his clothes while he spoke, trying to flatten out the creases that were brought on through a night of rest.

“Maybe more often?” You asked, twiddling your thumbs in anticipation. You already knew the answer, but it was okay. You knew how to keep him in now. You mischievously smirked as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Unlikely.”

[wholoveseggs]

Small Victories

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} After a tourney in which Daemon places second, he seeks solace from his loss and finds it in his little northern maid.

♡♡ Hello darlings! I'm branching out slightly and writing about a new character {Don't worry, I'm still writing Elijah} xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smutt, size!kink, rough sex, dom!daemon, slight choking, virgin!reader, northern!reader, servant!reader, pre-dance Daemon, huge power imbalance...

♡♡ Hey! I didn't tag anyone because I'm unsure if you want to read Daemon content. If you wish to be tagged in future Daemon let me know ♡♡

You didn't like the Red Keep, it was too grand for your liking. Even with all of the people in it you still felt alone. At night, you could hear voices echoing throughout the halls, sometimes they were singing or laughing and other times they were screaming or moaning.

You could never tell where the sounds were coming from, it gave the place an odd feeling of being haunted. Ghosts weren't something you put your faith in, but that didn't stop the hair from standing up on the back of your neck whenever you heard a strange sound.

If it was up to you, you wouldn't live here. You would be back in the little cottage you grew up in, far into the north and as far away from King's landing as you could possibly be. It was a funny contradiction, that such a grand place in a warm environment could feel so cold, while a small house in the cold north could feel so full of warmth.

The last thing your mother said to you, was that you should be grateful. That your place in the Red Keep was the highest honor your family could ever hope to receive, and that you should do anything to stay here. To be a lady's maid to the queen, was the highest achievement a low born could achieve.

You tried to be, even though your heart yearned for the snowy landscape of your childhood. You wanted to be happy, you were thankful, but you couldn't help the way you missed the north.

So to try and capture just a bit of personal freedom, you would walk the halls at night. It was the only time you could pretend to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a moment. You would close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere new and exciting, and when you opened them you would be reminded of where you really were.

Tonight you were in a particularly adventurous mood, there was a tourney the next day for Prince Viserys and his wife Aemma to celebrate their wedding. The Red Keep would be full of guests and it would be loud and full of life, you were sure to be very busy, and so you decided to stay up late and postpone sleep for a few more hours.

There was a room in the library that had a view of the city, one you liked to frequent often. It had a large window and a balcony that was rarely used. It was a nice place to go to clear your mind and think about home.

When you entered, nobody was around except for a cat that was perched on the windowsill. She was a lovely thing with black fur and bright green eyes, the perfect color of a dark forest at night.

"Hello, beautiful." You greeted her with a smile and a light stroke along her back. You looked out the window with her at your side, watching the moon reflect off the ocean and the waves crashing against the shore.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on a man with a face that made you stand up straight and bow your head.

"Prince Daemon." You greeted him, not looking up from the floor.

"Young maidens like yourself shouldn't be out so late." He said, stepping closer to you. You didn't dare move or even breathe, his presence made you feel like you were caught doing something wrong.

"I couldn't sleep, my lord," You answered, not meeting his eyes. This was your first real meeting with the prince, but you knew the rumors that surrounded him.

He didn't respond to your answer, instead, he turned his attention towards the view. Leaning against the window, his posture was dismissive, as though you weren't there. He gave you a side glance that read, 'leave,' and so you did, not wanting to get in his way.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude." You said, walking past him, heading towards the doorway.

"You are from the north," he spoke, still looking out into the water.

"Yes, my lord," You answered, stopping when he started speaking.

"How did you find yourself as a maid in the south?" He asked, looking at you, his eyes piercing through you.

The truth of the matter made you feel shameful, even though it was beyond your control. So you decided to tell him what you've been telling everyone.

"I was given as a gift for our new queen," You said, looking down at the floor.

"Is that what they call it?" Daemon laughed, his laugh was as harsh as his voice, the kind of laugh that could cut you open if you let it. "I heard you were given away as payment for a debt."

Your cheeks reddened and you looked at the ground, your throat closing up at the mention of your family's failure. Pride wasn't something you could afford anymore, but you couldn't stop the words that came out of your mouth.

"I didn't realize that princes were so fond of gossip." You said, meeting his eyes, your words were meant to cut, and they did.

He stood up straight, his expression unreadable as he closed the distance between the two of you, towering over you.

"Ahh, so they did sell you." He smirked, looking down at you. "Whoring can make you better coin… recover a debt quicker."

Your hands balled up into fists and you took a step closer, a defiant glare on your face.

He chuckled and tilted his head, he reached out and touched your chin, his hand was soft but firm as he turned your face to look at him.

"With a pretty face like yours, I'm sure you would make quite a bit of coin," His voice was a purr, a seductive growl that made your insides feel tight. "I could show you a better use for those lips."

His words were shockingly vulgar, his voice was rough and commanding and his eyes were hungry, but you didn't move away, you stayed still. You knew the dragon prince was a scandalous man, but you didn't think he would ever be so bold.

"There is no honor in a whore's coin." You answered, pushing his hand away from your face.

"Is there honor in emptying the queen's chamber pot?" He retorted, grinning slightly at how red your cheeks had become.

"Not all of us have the opportunity to choose what sort of honor we can acquire,” You said, standing your ground as best as you could.

He towered over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that almost completely covered you. He wasn't like the king or queen, who were kind and generous. There was something dark and malicious about him, as though the great beasts of his house lurked just below his skin, waiting to come out.

"You have a smart mouth, little northerner." He mused, his eyes drifting down to your lips. "It's a wonder that the queen has not put a gag in it."

"It's a poor quality I have yet to overcome." You responded, pulling away from him and putting some distance between the two of you.

He watched you move away, his eyes following your movements and the shape of your body, making you feel hot.

"I will think of you when I win the tourney tomorrow." He said, his tone smug and confident. "A sweet northern flower to bring back with me."

"You will be bringing back nothing, prince Daemon." You said, your voice a warning.

He laughed and looked at you, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"We'll see about that."

And with those final words, he left the room. You felt flustered and annoyed, a strange mixture of feelings that confused and angered you. You didn't like the prince, but he made your heart race, his voice and his eyes made you feel a strange sense of heat.

You wanted to be disgusted, and yet all you could think about was seeing him again.

It was a hectic morning, with all the knights and guests arriving, and you were late. Your tardiness had earned you a sharp reprimand from your head maid, but you were too distracted by the upcoming event to care.

The prospect of seeing the prince again was something you weren't sure you wanted, but couldn't stop thinking about.

You didn't like the way his eyes lingered on you, or how he made you feel things that shouldn't be felt. The rogue prince was indeed a fitting title, he was a scoundrel and a liar, a man of dishonor.

You thought that maybe he was the sort of person that the south created, perhaps they took people like you and turned them into someone like him. But then again, he wasn't really a southerner, no, he was a dragon.

The sound of cheers and laughter outside made your ears perk up. The queen was already seated with the other royals in their viewing box, and you were in a nearby tent, preparing more wine and food.

The tourney had just begun, and so far the knights had all performed well. You had only been paying a bit of attention, trying to do your job and keep out of the way.

The head maid was a cruel, vindictive woman, and she had been taking out her frustration on you all day. Her temper was short and her hands were rough, she was the kind of woman that would slap your hands or pull your hair if she was upset. But today she decided to simply make your life miserable with her words.

She gave you the worst jobs and the heaviest items to carry, and when she did allow you to stand and rest, she would hit your feet with her broom and tell you to get back to work.

"Once you are finished pouring wine, I want you to go to the prince's tent and serve him." She ordered, her eyes were sharp and her words were harsh.

"The prince has a squire to serve him." You protested, the idea of facing Daemon again made your cheeks turn red.

"The prince requested a woman's company,” She smiled, her eyes looking at you with an almost wicked satisfaction.

"I believe what the prince is looking for can be found on the street of silk, not among the ladies maids." You countered, hoping to change her mind.

"It's an honor to serve the prince, and he has specifically asked for a northern girl." The head maid was adamant, not willing to let this go.

You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath, biting your tongue as you looked at the floor.

"Very well, madam."

You held back tears as you climbed the stairs to the viewing box, pouring wine into the cups. Keeping your eyes low and only lifting them when absolutely necessary as you made your way down the line of royals.

Everyone began to stir and chat as the final round was announced. You turned to face the arena, watching as the prince mounted his horse, the sight of him made your heart flutter.

He was a handsome man, there was no denying that, his long blonde hair was braided and tied back, and his purple eyes were focused and determined.

His horse was a massive stallion, black as night, and he rode him as though they were one. He moved with a grace and confidence that was captivating.

The final round began, the two men charging at each other. You were nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect.

The clash of steel was the only sound in the air, it echoed throughout the entire arena. The crowd was silent, their eyes locked on the scene before them.

The two men passed each other, once, twice, three times. The tension building with each near miss, until finally the two knights clashed again.

Daemon's opponent had a slight edge over him, being bigger and stronger, but Daemon was quicker. But on the fourth pass, his opponent managed to catch him off guard, sending him flying into the dirt.

The crowd gasped, their hands covering their mouths as the prince's horse bucked and ran, leaving him in the dust.

You winced at the sight, it wasn't a good fall. He landed on his back, hard, and he lay still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath.

Only when the head maid cleared her throat did you realize you had been holding your breath.

"You are needed in the prince's tent, girl." she commanded, grabbing the jug from your hands and giving you a stern look.

You nodded, taking the tray of food and wine from the table and heading out of the box. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty, the thought of seeing Daemon after such a public humiliation was not something you were looking forward to.

The air was alive with the roar of the people, and the thumping of their feet sounded like thunder. They were chanting for the champion, something that would surely upset Daemon even more.

When you got to his tent, you hesitated, taking a moment to calm your nerves. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the noise of the crowd fade away.

You stepped inside, finding him sitting in a chair, his shirt was off and his squire was cleaning a nasty gash on his arm.

"I'm sorry for intruding, Prince Daemon." You said, placing the tray of food on the table and pouring a cup of wine.

"Leave," he barked at his squire, his voice was gruff and his jaw was clenched.

"But my prince-" his squire protested, looking up from the wound he was treating.

"Now."

The boy left quickly, leaving you alone with the brooding prince.

"Would you like some wine, my lord?" You asked, your voice soft and timid, the last thing you wanted was to make him even more upset.

"No," he hissed, his voice sharp as a knife. "Bring me a new shirt."

You did as he asked, walking over to the large chest in the corner. It was full of clothes, the colors and fabrics were fine and beautiful. You selected a clean white shirt and brought it over to him, your eyes focused on the ground.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice was quiet, but it was a demand, not a request.

You lifted your eyes, meeting his gaze. His eyes were cold, the same shade of violet that had captivated you was now a glare.

You did very well, my lord," You tried to reassure him, your voice soft and comforting.

"Is that meant to be comforting?" He asked, his tone was harsh and his expression was a scowl.

"Fine. I have never seen a worse display than the one you put on today," you said, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them.

He smiled, then laughed, his shoulders shaking as his amusement grew. Only his brother the king would ever talk to him this way, and here you were, a young low born northerner, mocking him. He didn't know why he enjoyed it coming from you, perhaps it was because your words meant nothing. You were no one, and he was the prince, and yet he found himself intrigued.

"That was quite a show, wasn't it?" He chuckled, the sound was hollow, not at all humorous.

"It was humiliating," you answered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"Careful," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I find your insolence amusing."

"I thought it was why you had asked for me," you retorted, setting the shirt on the table and taking a step back.

He stood up from the chair, closing the space between the two of you. The air was thick with tension, his eyes boring into yours, his face was inches from yours.

"I didn't lose the tourney," he stated, his voice a low growl.

"You didn't win either," you countered, your cheeks flushed red, your heart racing in your chest.

He smiled, the gesture was almost predatory, he reached out and grabbed your face, his hands were rough and his grip was tight.

"You are quite the mouthy little wench," his words were a harsh whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't answer, afraid of what he would do if you spoke. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes dancing with amusement as he stared at you.

"On your knees," he ordered, his tone demanding.

"My lord, I-" you protested, trying to pull away.

"Kneel," his voice was louder this time, and you knew that he was not going to repeat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, but he was the prince, and you couldn't disobey him. So you lowered yourself onto your knees, looking up at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

"Is it true that northern girls can take a cock better than southern ones?" He asked, his hand still holding onto your chin.

You didn't know how to respond, his words making your cheeks burn. You could only stare at him, your mind reeling as you tried to figure out what he wanted.

He smiled, and the look in his eyes made your heart race. "Open your mouth, little northerner."

You did as he commanded, your eyes never leaving his. He pushed his thumb past your lips and slowly pressed down onto your tongue, rubbing it in circles before slowly dragging it out.

Your lips parted and your breathing became heavier as he traced his wet thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes fixated on the movement.

"Beautiful." He whispered before sliding his thumb back into your mouth, pushing it all the way into your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and wiped the spit off on your cheek before grabbing you by the arms and lifting you up, turning you around and pushing you face first into the table.

"My lord," you gasped, struggling against his strong grip.

Daemon laughed at the look of shock on your face, his cock growing harder at the sight. "See? I knew you would make a great whore," he smirked, his words bringing a flush to your face.

He pulled your dress up, exposing your ass and legs. His hands were rough as he groped you, squeezing your thighs and your cheeks.

You pushed against him, trying to free yourself, but his grip was too strong. He pushed your thighs apart, his hand trailing up to your cunt, his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you.

He softened at your defiance, a smirk crossing his lips. "I enjoy you, little northerner. Perhaps I should keep you," he mused.

He slid his finger into your cunt, his touch gentle and slow. You whimpered, pushing against him again.

"You would be my little northern flower," he murmured, his finger moving in and out of your cunt, the pace becoming quicker. "A blue rose in my garden."

You were ashamed of how aroused you were, the prince's touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his hand. You had never been with a man before and the pleasure he was giving you was beyond anything you had ever felt.

He slid another finger inside of you, his movements quick and rough. You moaned, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting closer to release.

He suddenly pulled away, the sudden absence of his touch made you whimper. He spun you around, knocking objects off the table and pinning you against it. Your hands went to his chest, pushing him back, but his grip was too strong, his eyes filled with lust.

"You're a feisty one," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you up and pressing you against his hips. "I guess it's true that the fires always burn hotter in the north,"

You shivered as he sucked and bit at the skin on your neck, his teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh, leaving red marks behind. You couldn't help but moan, the feeling was so intense, and the sounds were so sinful.

"My prince... I..." You stuttered, trying to find the words, but he cut you off with a kiss.

The feel of his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his cock hard against you, was intoxicating. You had never felt this way before, this desire, this want. He made you feel like you were drowning in the fire of his touch. He was a dragon, and he would take what he wanted.

You couldn't resist, you gave in, kissing him back, letting his tongue explore your mouth. He smelled of blood, dirt and sweat, a combination that shouldn't have been appealing, but was.

You could taste his lust on your lips, and it made you hungry for more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself closer to him, and he moaned, the sound rumbling in his chest. He was so much larger than you, so much stronger, and you felt so small in his arms.

His hand trailed down your chest, slowly untying the strings that held up your dress, his fingers tracing over the fabric, teasing you.

"Sweet little northern girl," he teased, his voice a low growl. "Are you going to give yourself to me?"

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed pink.

He kissed you again, his lips rough and demanding, his hand pushing your dress down, exposing your breasts. "You've never touched yourself before, have you?”

"No, my Prince," you whispered, your little hands curled into his chest, your nails digging into his skin.

"That's alright, I'll show you how it's done."

His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers trailing up, his touch light and teasing. You let out a gasp as his fingers brushed over your cunt, touching a spot that made your body tremble.

"This little spot right here," he said, rubbing his thumb against it, "is the most sensitive part of your body. The more pressure, the better."

You nodded, gasping and moaning as he pressed his thumb against it, circling it. You could feel the heat rising within you, the pleasure building.

"Feels good doesn't it?" He whispered, his voice husky, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Y-yes," you stuttered, your hips moving, grinding against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Do you like being my little whore, hmm?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, his kisses hot and wet.

"N-no," you moaned, pushing him back, trying to fight against him.

He laughed, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Liar," he whispered, his tongue licking over the marks he'd made.

His hands reaching down to his waist, undoing his breeches and pulling them off, his cock springing free. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the size of him.

He took your hand and placed it on his cock, his eyes burning into yours. "Go on, feel it," he whispered.

Your fingers curled around his cock, your small hand barely able to fit around him. You moved your hand, sliding it down the length of his shaft, his cock thick and pulsing in your hand. His skin was so warm and smooth, his breathing deepening as you began to move your hand up and down, stroking him slowly.

You could see the scars from battle stretched across his chest and torso. Small claw-like marks around his pectoral and a deep line that stretched down the left side of his rib cage. He was a hardened warrior, and you could tell by his scars, he had been through much to get where he was now.

You squeezed his cock, moving your hand up and down, his breathing deepening and his eyes growing hazy. He watched you, his gaze following every movement you made. You were starting to get more comfortable, taking pleasure in watching him, in making him feel good. You found the nerve to press the pad of your thumb against the tip, feeling the moisture leaking from him.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice low and husky.

You felt a wave of pride, knowing that you were pleasing him, that he liked the way you were touching him. You continued to stroke him, squeezing and pulling at his cock, watching his face, seeing the pleasure on his features.

He groaned, his eyes closing and his head tilting back, his breath catching. You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand, and you knew that he was getting close.

He let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. "If you keep that up, I'm going to spill my seed all over this pretty little dress of yours," he said, his eyes full of heat.

"Is that so, my lord?" You asked, unable to hide the hint of amusement in your voice.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you under him, his body caging you, trapping you beneath him. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his cock hard and resting on your stomach. His eyes burned into yours, his gaze intense, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

You weren't talking back anymore, he could see the fear in your eyes, the hesitance, and that only made him want you more. His hand went to your throat, applying gentle pressure, a silent warning.

He could feel you trembling beneath him, and he tightened his grip, a primal, possessive urge rising within him. Your small hands pushing into his chest, clutching at his heated flesh.

"Open for me," he growled, his eyes fixed on yours.

You parted your thighs, allowing him to press closer to you. He growled, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, his cock brushing against your cunt. He felt you tighten, your eyes widening with trepidation.

He chuckled, loving how terrified and eager you were at the same time. He gave you a moment, and then he slowly pushed into you. You whimpered, your nails digging into his back, your eyes closed, your face twisted in pain.

"Breathe," he said, rubbing his thumb against your cheek, "it will hurt for a just moment and then I will make you feel good,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you felt his cock hit your maidenhead.

"Are you ready, little northerner?" He whispered.

You gripped his forearms and nodded.

He pushed in slowly, breaking through your barrier. You cried out, the pain was intense and immediate. He groaned, the feel of your tight cunt was intoxicating.

He stayed still, giving you time to adjust. Your nails dug into his arms, leaving deep scratches in his flesh.

"Such a pretty, tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your neck.

You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on his words and not the pain. He began to move with slow, deep strokes, his cock stretching you, filling you. He was bigger than he felt in your hands, and you swore you could feel him everywhere.

He moaned, his hips rocking into you, his hand still on your throat, making you feel lightheaded. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. You felt so full of him, stretched open, the pain and pleasure mixing into one.

He watched your reaction with a smirk, amused by your shocked, satisfied expression. He was moving slowly, enjoying your warmth and the feel of your cunt clenching around him. He knew you were enjoying it, too, your eyes half-closed, a soft moan escaping your lip. Your small frame was arched to his body, your hands holding on to his neck.

You were surprised at his gentleness. You'd heard that the dragon prince liked to rough up women, but he was being as careful as if you were made of spun sugar. You felt so small and helpless underneath him, his large body nearly engulfing yours, and yet he wasn't hurting you. His touch was delicate, reverent. The way he spoke to you, calling you pet names, made your heart skip a beat.

You arched against him, a soft cry leaving your lips as his strokes got faster, deeper, hitting a place inside you that sent a sharp, hot pleasure through you.

"Does my little northerner like her prince's cock?" He said, a laugh in his voice, he began to pick up the pace, pounding into you.

You squeaked and pushed on his chest, the sensations becoming too much. He grabbed your hips and held you still, fucking you hard and fast, his eyes full of fire.

You felt your release rising up inside you, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. You could feel yourself clamping down on his cock, the pleasure almost too much, the sweet pain sending you over the edge.

He groaned at the sight of you coming undone, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you shattered around him. He could feel the tension in your muscles as your climax tore through you. He slowed his movements, easing out the last waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you were a shuddering, moaning mess.

He was close behind, his thrusts erratic, his breathing harsh. He pulled out and spilled his seed across your stomach, his hips bucking. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented sigh leaving his lips. At least he had one victory today.

Your face was hot with shame, your mind unable to comprehend what just happened. The prince's seed was cooling on your stomach and chest, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Your hands went to your face, covering it as tears came to your eyes, you had never felt so good and so embarrassed at once.

He moved off of you, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk crossing his lips. He looked satisfied, his gaze wandering over your body, lingering on the wetness between your legs, the mess he'd made of you. He tossed you a cloth to clean yourself with. You wiped his seed off your skin, watching him dress, his blonde hair still braided back, his purple eyes full of lust and desire. He was a warrior, a dragon, he was beauty and strength, power and masculinity. He was everything you wanted and feared, a beast who could destroy you.

He gave you a side glance, his eyes full of amusement. "You may go," he said, shooing you away with a hand.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as you took a shaky breath. You stood up, gathering the pieces of your dress and your underclothes. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt weak, sore, and full of shame.

"Yes, my prince," you said quietly, looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, the sound of his voice making you shiver. "Don't be so timid, little northerner. This is the beginning, not the end," he said, his words sending a jolt of fear and excitement through you.

He was right, this was only the beginning. You were his servant, and he could do with you as he pleased. He would have you come to him whenever he chose, on the warmest summer nights and the coldest winter days. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted.

He was a dragon, and his will was as strong as his blood.

And deep down, you knew you would enjoy it. He was the perfect thing to distract you from the mundanity of your life, the endless monotony of serving others.

Perhaps the Red Keep wouldn't be so terrible, not if it meant serving him.

[misaamoure]

Backlash.

It was the consequence of overusing your evol.

Not everyone experienced it, but most powerful evolvers have.

And unlucky for you; your evol was quite strong.

You knew this. The Hunters Association knew this. Zayne knew especially well, as to the effects it had on your body.

But nobody knew exactly what your backlash was. People always tried to guess, but to no avail.

Heightened body temperature? No.

Extreme fatigue? No.

Madness, even? Well… not quite.

Your backlash was as unique and strong as you.

Many people faced minor symptoms thiat only impaired them for hours at most.

Yours lasted for at least a day. At most two.

Your backlash made you feel as though the most potent aphrodisiac had been dropped into your body.

It was… beyond embarrassing.

You preferred not to take more than a day off at a time, saving most of your vacation time for Zayne.

So you’d mastered the art of hiding it.

Or so you thought.

You find yourself laying in bed after your strange behavior post mission had been noticed by Tara.

After much poking and prodding at what was wrong with you, she alerted Jenna of your odd symptoms.

After a brief inspection, Jenna sent you home on sick leave and told you not to come in the next day either.

“What a pain,” you thought fleetingly. “I hope they don’t think I’m weird.”

You turn over on your side and groan.

It was like you were burning up. You felt hot and sticky… and there was this ache you couldn’t seem to get rid of.

Sure you could handle your arousal yourself, but that never satisfied you. For long, anyways.

Just as you were about to throw in the towel, a knock on your door interrupted your thoughts.

No… oh no…

It was 5PM on a Thursday… it could only be one person.

You hastily get out of bed, haphazardly throw on your glasses, and speed walk to your front door.

Standing on your tippy toes, you look out the peephole.

FUCK IT WAS ZAYNE

You quickly turn around and put your back against the door, leaning against it in your shock.

“Fuck!” You exclaimed a little too loud.

“I knew you were home,” his voice sounded from the other side of the door. “Let me in.”

“Uhhh no I’m not home. Leave a message okay bye-”

“Stop with your games and just open the door. Your coworkers contacted me and said you were sick. I just want to check on you.”

The concern in his deep, monotonous voice made your resolve crumble.

Exhaling before fixing your hair and pushing up your glasses, you open the door.

His piercing green eyes bore into yours, making your knees go a little weak.

He’s so handsome…

You shook those thoughts from your head.

It seems he came right from the hospital. He was still wearing his white button up, black slacks, and his glasses.

“Thanks for the concern, but really Zayne I’m fine.”

Ignoring your blatant lie, he gently put a hand on your forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he frowns. “Go back inside.”

Not particularly having the energy to argue, you trudge back to your room and flop down on your bed.

You had the impression that Zayne was right behind you, but it seemed like he had gone elsewhere in the house.

Moments later, he emerged from wherever the fuck he’d gone with a glass of water and two pills.

Zayne sat down on the edge of your bed and handed both items to you.

“Here, take these.”

You hastily do as he says, wanting to get him in and out as quick as possible while you were in this state.

It’s not that you didn’t want to see him; you didn’t want him to see you like this.

“Finished. You must be super busy so I don’t wanna keep you long. Why don’t you-”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what’s wrong first? I’m your primary care physician.”

Damn him and his… sweet and caring concern.

You heart swelled, but once again you groaned and turned away from him on your side.

You had two options right now.

Option one: be honest and tell him everything. He wouldn’t judge you… probably…

Option two: play into being sick and evade any and all questions until he left.

You turned your head to look back at him, and his concerned gaze looked back at you.

Zayne was your best friend. He wouldn’t do anything to harm you. Or say anything to hurt you.

He only ever wanted the best for you. And tried his best to take care of you and make you happy.

And you loved him. And you were pretty sure he loved you.

You decided to just be honest. He is your doctor after all… maybe he could help you.

“Zayne do you experience backlash symptoms after using your evol?”

He nods. “My body temperature drops dangerously low.”

You sighed. You fucking wish you had his backlash.

“Why? Are you experiencing backlash right now?”

Now it was your turn to nod.

“My backlash isn’t temperature irregularities or fatigue or nausea,” you turned over again. You didn’t wanna look him the eyes for this one. “It’s a little- well a lot different. Very different.”

There was a pause before Zayne’s response.

“Go on.” He tone seemed skeptical.

“It’s arousal.” You mumbled quickly, gripping the sheets and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Pardon?” Zayne either didn’t hear you at all, or seemed not to hear you correctly.

“It’s…” you sighed again, tears brimming from the sheer embarrassment of your confession. “Arousal. My backlash is arousal. And I can’t control it.”

Another pause.

“I see.” He said solemnly. You felt him move on the bed, and assumed he was doing that stupid ass thing where he puts his hand on his chin.

His reaction, or lack thereof, was the nail in the coffin for you.

You started to snuffle as tears ran down your face.

Zayne was immediately startled by this.

“Are you crying?”

“No, you idiot.” You clearly weren’t a good liar. Why do you keep trying?

Zayne sighs before you feel him move once again, and suddenly he’s hugging you from behind.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” his voice took on a much softer tone now that he sees your upset. “There are many different types of backlashes. Some more extreme than others.”

You leaned in to his hug, finding comfort in his calm voice and cool body.

“I was so afraid you were going to judge me.” You looked over your shoulder at him, glasses clinking against each others.

“I would never.”

You both seemed relieved as you say in silence. Hugging each other as you calmed down.

As comforting as Zayne’s hold was, it was doing nothing for your backlash.

You shifted in his hold.

Alright, now you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Zayne, please,” you pleaded, looking back at him one again and peering up at him from the top of your glasses, “I can’t take it anymore.”

Another pause… a longer one this time.

Usually Zayne doesn’t take that long to think. He must really be plotting this time.

Suddenly, you feel his ice cold hands running all over your body.

You just barely stifled the moan that threatened to leave your lips.

“Zayne…” You whimper his name, and you heard his breathing pick up.

“Do you want my help?”

You felt like you just had cold water dumped all over you.

“W… what?” Surely he was fucking around.

“Do you want my help, Y/N?”

Him saying your name sent shivers down your spine.

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.” While his gaze once held concern, now held something else.

Something new in him you’d never seen before.

“Zayne… are you sure?” This time you fully turn around to face him.

This time he doesn’t respond. He just wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you on top of him.

You squeal as he positions you so that you’re straddling him.

And then… you feel it.

Your eyes widen and you look down.

His dick straining against his pants. Right under you.

It was deliciously hard against you, and you could feel the warmth through the layers you both have on.

“Does that answer your question?”

Now you really couldn’t hold back.

You quickly bent down to catch his lips in a desperate kiss.

It was nasty and sloppy. All tongue and lips… something you’d never expect from him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bring him to sit up with you.

Instinctively he grabbed your waist, dragging his hands down your back and ass as he fervently kissed you back.

Once again feeling his cold hands on you, you moaned freely at his touch.

Grabbing your hips, he pulled them forward, causing you to grind down on his erection.

This caused you to break the kiss with a pleasured sob.

“Oh my god, Zayne-!” He was hitting just the right spot.

This was enough motivation for him apparently, so he kept going.

Gripping his shoulders for dear life, you kept dragging your cunt against that one spot that sent waves through your body, as Zayne kissed down your neck.

It was all becoming too much… Zayne sucking that sweet spot on your neck and his cock grinding against your clit so deliciously.

“Wait,” you pushed him away weakly. “Zayne wait…”

He immediately halted his actions.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna cum like this,” you gripped his shoulders again as you looked away. “I wanna do… other things too.”

Zayne chuckles, something he rarely does, before leaning back to loosen his tie.

You shifted in his lap again at the sight, making his exhale sharply.

“What do you want to do?” He looks up at you, the ghost of a smile on his face.

Shit. You didn’t think you’d get this far.

“I… don’t know.” You bashfully admit. You don’t dare meet his gaze.

You feel him grip your chin and turn your head towards his and forces you to look into his eyes.

He made you so nervous.

“I can take the lead if you want. Just let me take care of you.” Zayne’s soft tone of voice almost puts you at ease.

But how could you truly relax when you were literally sitting on his hard dick?

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Okay,” you nod, finally looking right at him. “I trust you.”

Zayne smiles fully this time, before running his thumb over your bottom lip.

“That’s my girl.”

[cuubism]

I REALLLLLLLLLLLLLYYYY LOVE YOUR BELOVED PROFESSOR DREAM FIC!!!!!!!! PEOPLE TEND TO FORGET THAT!!! EVEN IN CANON!!!! HES FULL OF LOVE!!!! AND PASSION!!! AND HE CARES SO MUCH IT LITERALLY DOOMS HIM!!!!! AND IF ONLY HES BEING GIVEN A MUCH MORE KINDER CIRCUMSTANCES!! HE WOULD BEHAVES EXACTLY LIKE YOUR FIC!!! I FEEL SO CRAZT!!!! PLEASE NEVER DIE I LOVE YPUR WORKS SO MUCH!!!

I've grown quite fond of him myself 🥺 @five-and-dimes and I discussed him at length and created more lore for him. It was determined that Dream's earnest whimsy probably got him bullied a lot when he was younger. Not since he met Hob though.... it's probably a coincidence 🤷‍♀️ surely everyone just realized the error of their ways and decided to grow up and be kinder! Dream knew it would happen some day :)

-

Dream is still reeling as he reaches the cafe where he's meant to get afternoon coffee with Hob. He feels a bit shaky, but happy. Joyful. In disbelief.

When Cori had cornered him after class, Dream had been sure he was going to shove him up against a wall, or throw his books on the ground, or any of the other number of things he seemed to get satisfaction out of doing. He'd clutched his books tight, bracing himself.

Instead, Cori had, with halting, uncomfortable words, apologized to him. Actually apologized! Dream had been wary at first, sure it was just another way to hurt his feelings--he's been called gullible many times and he knows there's truth to it--but Cori hadn't taken it back, or suddenly turned on him again like he had every other time Dream had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He seemed genuine.

It was what Dream had always wanted, what he had always hoped for, so decided to take it and just pray that Cori wouldn't change his mind again in the future. Or trip him as he walked away.

He didn't, though. And as Dream left to walk to his next class, he couldn't help but feel victorious. He knew he would get through to him eventually! He'd always known that eventually people would grow out of their juvenile pranks and learn to treat others better. And finally it was starting to happen.

None of the other usual suspects bothered him that day, either. Nobody tried to trip him, or snickered when he said something overly sentimental in class. It was like overnight the world had woken up and decided to better itself. It was magical.

So he's still shaking a bit when he sits down across from Hob, who's already gotten him his mocha latte. When he doesn't say anything at first, just takes several long sips of his drink, Hob nudges his leg under the table.

"Everything alright?"

"Cori," Dream says, "apologized to me."

He must have milk foam on his lip, for Hob reaches across the table to wipe it away with his thumb, lingering on the corner of Dream's mouth. "Did he?"

Dream nods. "It- it did not seem to be a joke. Hob, I think he actually learned."

Hob smiles sweetly. "That's great, honey."

"Nobody tripped me today," Dream muses. "Or made fun of what I said in class. I cannot believe it. I knew that eventually people would grow up and learn how to treat others kindly, but it's startling to see it happen in real time."

"They must have learned from your example," Hob says. He takes Dream's hand on the table and starts playing idly with his fingers. Hob is very touchy-feely with him, always holding his hand, or playing with his fingers like they're a fidget toy, or petting his hair while they're lying in bed together. Dream found it strange at first. He was used to others he had attempted to date wanting to rough him up a little. When he questioned it, they would say, with a laugh, you're just too sheltered. Dream didn't think he was, particularly, he just didn't understand wanting to push someone around. At least not without finding out if they even liked it.

When Dream mentioned it, Hob had said, with a grimace, that Dream's kindness could be misinterpreted as innocence, and it made people want to 'corrupt him.' Dream didn't get it, but there were a lot of things he 'didn't get', at least according to other people. In any case, Hob didn't do that, because he knew Dream didn't like it, so Dream is content now. And he has Hob to at least attempt to interpret other people's odd behavior for him.

"I hope it sticks," he says, worriedly. "I would hate for Cori and the others to backslide now that they're finally making progress."

"Oh, don't worry," Hob says, bringing Dream's hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. He looks at Dream over their joined hands, gaze absolutely sure, a look that never fails to make Dream shiver pleasantly when it's directed at him. "I think it'll stick."

[mokulule]

Dead on MAYn Day 1 - still untitled.

Prompts used: Dinner interrupted by a rogue/gang fight, courting rituals.

This thing keeps growing so I figured I should just post the first part. It will be continued eventually it’s kinda going places I didn’t expect. I am also using the flickering prompt, but it doesn’t appear in this first part.

Danny dug into his burger with gusto. It was not Nasty Burger, but it was greasy and cheesy and juicy and definitely hit the spot after a whole day walking about Gotham taking in the supernatural sights.

Sam was entirely less impressed with the vegetarian option and had set it down with a grimace and was now just picking at her fries. Tucker had taken it as a personal win for the Meat Team™ and was lording it over her with his eyebrows - thankfully he was too busy eating to actually say anything, which Danny was very glad of. You could only hear the same arguments so many times. At least age and maturity had assured they didn’t end their friendship over it.

“So,” Sam said, “What’s next after this?”

Danny finished chewing his mouthful, before speaking. “I’m not sure, I figured just go back to the hotel for a bit, chill until nightfall? Gotham’s court won’t be in session until then.”

“Seconded. My feet hurt,” Tucker chimed in.

“Maybe if you didn’t spend all your day sitting in front of a screen all day-”

And they were at it again… Danny tuned them out with the practice of years of being on the sideline, humming in agreement when prompted. He loved his friends dearly, but arguing was a part of their love language that he didn’t feel like participating in.

He let his eyes wander around the small diner, and found himself frowning as a group of men hurried inside.

If Danny had been less used to his ghost sense warning him of trouble, maybe he would have reacted in time - or at all. As it was he found himself frozen in shock when he saw the guns - regular human guns, not ecto-guns, ecto-guns he knew how to react to.

It was strange to realize that nobody had ever pointed a normal gun at him before and someone was pointing a gun at him right now - of course it would be in Gotham he got that experience.

“Hey you, stand up slowly and get over here. Hands where I can see them.”

Oh.

Danny’s brain suddenly caught up to the events.

A group of five armed men had entered the diner waving guns. Three kept their eyes on the door and windows as if they expected someone to follow them. One was moving behind the counter towards the back, maybe looking for the waitress who had skedaddled as soon as the armed men entered and the last one had his gun trained on Danny, who of all people in the diner he’d figured was the best option for a hostage.

Danny resisted the urge to laugh.

Slowly he did as bidden, raising his hands and standing up.

On the surface he wasn’t an unreasonable choice. He was short and lean, if he was completely honest he looked like a stiff wind could blow him over. Sam in contrast looked like trouble and Tucker had grown up annoyingly tall, and if Gotham police was like most places it was probably wiser to pick a white boy as hostage anyways. The rest of the people in the diner were two heavy set construction workers and a lady with arms broader than Danny’s thighs, like damn. 

So yeah, Danny was apparently the best choice. 

Regretfully, he left his dinner to cool on its plate as he took carefully measured steps towards the… what? Mobster? Gang person? 

A part of him was wondering how much a gunshot could hurt him. Would it hurt him? In human form probably, as long as he was tangible. Would it kill him the rest of the way? He wasn’t particularly keen to find out.

His eyes flickered to the other armed men when one of them hissed at the guy at the door. “Do you see him?”

Danny considered doing something for about three steps, but he wasn’t experienced enough with real guns and fighting humans that he thought he could risk it. He’d also prefer to fly under the radar while he was here. He was on vacation, not here to mess with anyone.

There was a familiar feeling in his throat, wanting to be let go. His head snapped towards the kitchen. What! That couldn’t be right?

The man grabbed him and put the gun to his head just as a crash sounded from the kitchen and the wisp of cold breath escaped his mouth. Everyone turned towards the noise. The man who held him tightened his hold and pushed the gun so hard against his head he had to tilt it. 

Something black came flying out the door and the jumpy gunmen shot at it, but with their attention on the object (a pan, it was just a pan) they didn’t notice the man who followed behind. He was fast, not much more than a red brown blur, shooting the furthest man in the arm so he dropped the gun and then coming in close, punching the first man and kicked the next in the belly. He moved so smoothly, effortlessly. 

Danny forgot to breathe. Because that there was the source of his ghost sense. Because that there was also a human.

Another halfa.

Here in Gotham of all places! 

His heart gave a hard thump in his chest and he gasped, remembered breathing was a thing he sorta needed as a human. He still couldn’t take his eyes off the other halfa. Now there was someone who knew how to fight. His core hummed pleasurably in his chest. The other halfa had taken care of those goons in less than ten seconds. The fourth one was probably dealt with in the kitchen. And the fifth-

Danny was abruptly reminded of how the fifth had a gun to his head, as he annoyingly poked him with that barrel and pulled him backwards towards the door.

“Not another step or he gets it!”

Danny grimaced. He finds another halfa and he’s a fucking hostage? Stellar first impression, right there! Someone please shoot him- or wait, considering the situation that was probably not the wisest turn of phrase. 

“How about you let the civilian go, and I won’t break your kneecaps.” The voice was menacing though clearly modulated and there was a delightful, almost cheerful undertone.

Now that he was standing still, Danny could better appreciate him. He was a big man, probably near a head taller than Danny and so much wider. Death had clearly not stopped him from putting on muscle. Normally Danny might have been jealous, but honestly he was too busy appreciating the other halfa. 

He was wearing a red helmet, faceless except for a pair of glaring eyes and he had a large bat symbol across his chest. This last bit should put Danny off. There were very good reasons Danny didn’t want to catch any attention here. He couldn’t think of them right now. But there were… reasons… yes… and thighs walking towards him-

“I swear I will shoot!”

Oh for fuck’s sake! There were too many people involved. Danny promptly stepped down on his captor’s instep, ducked and twisted out of his hold. 

Red Hood, because that was his name, Danny suddenly remembered, promptly shot the gun out of the man’s hold and took him down with a punch and a crunching kick to the right knee. 

Shit, Danny was jealous, not of the broken kneecap of course, but he also wanted to throw down. He could show the other halfa what he could do, make friends, or more? Would it be too forward to gift him one of his moon rocks?

It probably was too forward? This was the first halfa he met who wasn’t a fruit loop or related to him. At least he hoped he wasn’t a fruit loop.

“Are you alright?”

Danny shook himself out of his thoughts to find that he’d been approached.

Now that he was up close Danny could really appreciate how those arms looked strong enough to bend him in half and- Danny’s gaze stopped at his waist. Was he actually wearing a leather corset? It did great things for his-

“That was either brave or stupid.”

The words had Danny’s eyes snapping back up to the glaring helmet. Danny was frozen. How was he supposed to talk to him? His mind reeled. Do something! Anything!

“How’s this for stupid?” Danny blurted and promptly punched him in the gut with a good deal of ghostly strength. Red Hood bent over with a pained oof.

Fuck! Danny’s brain screamed at him in despair. He could not believe he’d done that! Glancing around he couldn’t find Sam or Tucker so he quickly ran out the diner. 

He was grabbing for his phone in his pocket while running, when he was pulled into an alley. He was so wound up he nearly threw another punch, but then he realized it was just Sam and Tucker.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Danny!” They spoke in eerie unison. Tucker snorted, but Sam continued, “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Danny shook his head, realizing he must look a little dazed. He felt a little dazed. He didn’t even feel like taking the obvious bait.

“I punched Red Hood,” he admitted.

“What!” There they went again I unison, almost as if they practiced it.

“Do you think he’d like a moon rock?”

The looks they sent him then, they were indescribable. Absently he padded his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t grown a second head.

“Are you sick, Danny? Was there something in the food?” Sam put her hand on his forehead checking his temperature, even as she looked at Tucker, “What are the chances there’d be blood blossoms in a random burger?”

“Extremely unlikely, more likely something new, never seen Danny react like this.”

Danny grumpily pushed Sam’s hand away. “The food was fine. I’m fine.”

They gave him twin dubious looks.

“Look, let’s just go back to the hotel room. I just need a little rest and I’ll be fine.”

-

Jason gasped in pain to the sound of laughter in his comms. What the Hell was in that guy’s food that he could throw such a punch?

“What did he did the little guy do, Hood? Kick you in the jewels?” Dick managed to ask through laughter.

They didn’t have visuals, small mercies, but Oracle the traitor had let on to the former hostage’s scrappy stature in the run down of the situation.

“He did not.” Jason growled and turned off the comms, done listening to those idiots. Shit, fuck. Definitely a meta, that had been super strength. Keeping one hand over his pained abdomen he walked over to kick the goon who had decided to crawl for his gun in Red Hood’s apparent distraction.

“Don’t even think about it, I am not in the mood for it,” he growled and the goon whimpered.

When he finished securing the goons, of course the meta was long gone. Jason sighed in annoyance. Just his luck.

[4only1]

You could do James Lee x female reader, with the reader being Gun's twin sister and coming to Korea with him and falling in love with James, if you can do it from the past to the present moment

Identity

James Lee/Dg x Reader Word Count: 1464 Note: I'm alive (also feels weird to just type James so he is always just James Lee) Masterlist ------------------------

You had come to Korea with your brother, escaping the harsh climate of the Yamazaki clan. Now, after being here for a while, you found yourself outside a prison, waiting on your twin's release.

Gun Park, the man who shared your exact DNA had planned something while inside the detention centre. As he exited the facility, he was glad to be greeted by you, although he didn't show it. 

As you babbled away about everything he missed, catching him up on your life, another man appeared, interrupting the conversation.

Charles Choi, the man your brother had now dedicated his life to, stood in front of you two, talking to Gun about the plan. You barely managed to follow along before finding yourself chasing after Gun, demanding an explanation.

Gun had not only changed physically in the prison but mentally as well.

That is what led you to the current predicament. Having followed Gun’s lead (which was following Charles Choi’s lead), you found yourself staring at a strange sight. Your brother is fighting a man named Goo Kim. There were two things strange about this fight.

Your brother was losing

He was also getting excited at the fighting

You turned away once his shirt came off, but turned back around at the sound of a voice. Your eyes locked with his confident ones. The smirk on his face was highlighted with the lollipop on his mouth. This was the first time you met James Lee, and your breath was taken away.

…

You found yourself in a small shack. It was actually barely a shack with how the boards were falling off the exterior, but it wasn't your place so not your problem.

It was in this eroded shack that you discovered more of Charles Choi's plan, and how that exactly included the people around you. Your brother, the blonde he fought, yourself and James Lee. You couldn't stop staring at James Lee, he was the most interesting of the bunch.

From then on, you found yourself going on ‘missions’ with him. You were separated from your brother again, although this time, you didn't mind as much. James Lee was an interesting individual. You wanted to study him, observe the man, and become aware of the whys of his habits. 

It wasn’t that difficult to study James Lee. He was a very…expressive man. Not in the sense that he displayed a wide range of emotions, but more in the sense that he wasn’t afraid to express what he was thinking.

On one of your first tasks together, you had become the victim of a minor injury after a desperate man threw a glass bottle at James. Of course, it missed and landed near you, cutting your ankle a bit. After dealing with the man, James Lee kneeled down to inspect the wound.

“This is why I should go on these alone.” His tone was serious. “It might scar.”

“I guess I’ll have a battle wound to match my brother. Although it won't be as bad as his.” You say half joking. You didn’t particularly care about being scared, after all, it was on your ankle, and nobody would know it was there. "Nobody will know."

“I’ll know” You didn’t understand why James Lee cared so much. 

…

The relationship between the two of you deepened after that. Despite his persistent complaining about you tagging along, it was noted that he seemed more efficient when you were present. Showing off perhaps? No, that’s not possible.

You sat on the floor, examining the so-called ‘game plan’ Eugene had made up. As the door opened, James Lee strutted in before laying down close to you.

“Want one?” He asks, hand extending a lollipop towards you.

You muttered a small thank you, barely taking your eyes off the paper, as you took the lollipop from his hand. Or, well, tried too. He moved his hand back just before you made contact with the lollipop. 

Finally looking up, you noted the playful smirk on his face. Ah, so he was planning on teasing you today, two can play at that game.

“Come on, take it” He waved the lollipop around, pulling it back every time you got close to snatching it away.

Puffing out your cheeks, you decided it was time to mess with James Lee. Lunging forward, you grabbed onto the lollipop, a victorious smile crossing your face. Unfortunately, this lunge caused you to lose balance, leading to you crashing into James Lee’s chest. 

His arms moved, one falling back to catch himself, and the other wrapping around your waist pulling you into his body. You stared up at him, mischief in your eyes as you waved the lollipop around.

“What’s the problem? Didn’t expect that, did you?”

You swore you saw his cheeks turn pink before he regained his overconfident demeanour.

“Well maybe I did” 

You stared at each other, taking in the other. Both of you noted characteristics you never knew before, maybe even moving a bit closer to each other. Your lips moved, hovering over his, waiting for a sign to tell you that you were misunderstanding his words.

His lips moved to touch yours, a gentle action in stark contrast to his usual demenour. It lasts for a few seconds, but once you pulled away, you were certain that both his and your cheeks were pink.

But the moment had to come to an end as the door swung open, and in walked Goo and Gun, with your brother having a displeased look on his face at the scene in front of him.

It wasn’t until a few months later, when James Lee came back from a solo mission, that a moment like the one before was recreated.

...

Cheonliang changed something between you two. Although you never went, you could tell something was different. You were changing, but this time, he was as well. 

“Woah, that guy sounded like a real piece of work. Lucky you. You managed to disassemble the kings, now what’s gonna happen?” You ask, curiosity tainting your words. You were lying on your side on the couch, facing James Lee, who sat on a chair across from you, feet propped up and signature lollipop between his lips.

Even though you normally kept up to date on the people close to you, Charles Choi made that difficult when it came to James Lee.

“I’m changing my identity. I’m becoming an idol.” He spoke like it was the most obvious thing ever.

You stared at him for a moment before laughter crept up on you.

“Hahaha, when have you ever been this funny? Seriously what’s gonna happen now.” You spoke between bouts of giggles, wiping a tear away.

“I am being serious, I’m changing my identity and becoming an idol. Charles Choi’s idea.” You knew he was serious this time, but you couldn’t help but poke more fun at him.

“Ah seriously, that is hilarious. I can just picture you going on a variety show and doing aegyo. Ah, really, I can’t wait.” Now you had a smile on your face, clearly taking joy from his predicament. 

“Hey stop laughing! I have to get rid of everything, past and all. We have to act like we don’t know each other, understand?” 

“Ah, really? What a relief. I can finally relax after all these stressful missions with you.” You move exaggeratedly, sitting up and stretching your arms out before placing them behind your head. You fall back onto the couch, bouncing against the cushions.

“Stop joking. Even if I have to get rid of my past, I don’t wanna get rid of what I feel for you.”

That made you pause for a moment. You couldn’t deny how close you were to the redhead. A closeness that others had pointed out. Mainly Goo, but he teased you about everything so does that really count?

The once playful conversation had now turned serious. 

“It’s not like either of us are leaving. You can probably keep some of the old you.” 

“Still, to rewrite myself I gotta change things. What if you don’t like the new me?”

“I guess we will have to find that out. Although I doubt you can truly get rid of your old self. Either way, I’ll still like you the same. Maybe I'll like you even more than I already do.” You said with a closed-eyed smile.

“Well then today I start as a new man, an idol.”

“Well then…Oh my god! Are you an idol? I recognize you! I’m (y/n), I’m a fan.” A big smile was on your face. He looked at you, a smile also crossed his normally serious face. Not a sarcastic or cocky one, but one of joy.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m DG"

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

First of all, sorry for the time it took to write this, I’ve been busy the past couple of weeks. To make up for it I wrote quite a bit more than I usually would.

Secondly, I know it requested up until the present but that’s a lot of material to cover so I just wrote it up to the point he changed identities.

My third point is that I will be going on hiatus until further notice for a multitude of reasons. This was the last of my requests to finish and it took me a while to complete it. I’ve had some ideas for fanfics to write and I want to put aside as much time as I need to write those ideas down. 

Forgive any grammar and spelling mistakes. Till the next fic.

[grudgecollector]

Afterglow | Nam-gyu / American!Reader

You're reading part four

Story Summary: Nam-gyu gets a new job and finds himself falling for the girl behind the deli counter.

Words: 1.9k

Tags/Warnings: Nam-gyu and Thanos have PTSD, canon divergence, Thanos lives, heavy angst, fighting, references to past substance abuse, slight suicidal ideation

A/N: Oh boy oh boy, now this is a chapter I cooked up with the devious side of my brain.

This is a particularly heavy chapter, lots of angst, but in the next one I'll make up for it I promise (maybe ;))

Also I'd like to thank you guys again for the continued love on the Afterglow series. I wasn't expecting to do this many chapters, but I love them.......

MASTERLIST | Mini playlist to fit the chapter

October thirty-first, Halloween, one of the most anticipated holidays for kids and adults alike. You couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the idea of being able to celebrate with Nam-gyu. It made you feel like a kid all over again, happily trying to plan out costume ideas, helping decorate his apartment a little bit. You were trying hard not to go overboard with your excitement. 

Since Halloween wasn’t as popular in South Korea as it was in the United States, you wanted to make sure that you could give both him and Su-bong an authentic experience. Candy, costumes, make-up, scary movies. Even parties, which you were never fully privy to in the past, but willed yourself to make an exception this time around. 

You jiggled your spare key a little in the lock of Nam-gyu and Su-bong's apartment, wiping your feet on the welcome mat outside before removing your shoes. Your umbrella was still dripping on the concrete just outside the door, you silently hoped to yourself that nobody would take it while you were inside. 

Su-bong was sitting on the couch twirling a finger through his fresh hot pink hair, fingertips still stained in the dye. He was watching one of his many guilty pleasure shows at a low volume. His brows were knit together in what seemed to be concentration, and something a little more. 

“Hey, Su-bong.” You greeted with a smile, setting down a few of the things you had brought for tonight. 

His head snapped over to look at you, “Oh hey, didn’t hear you come in.” His own smile faltered a little, it was distant, the usual happy spark in his eyes replaced with something a lot more unrecognizable. 

“I think Nam-gyu’s still asleep.” He answered your unspoken question flatly. His usual teasing and friendly demeanor shut away. 

Strange…

All you could do was nod. Your eyes stayed on him for a beat longer than usual before you made your way down the short hallway to your boyfriend’s room.

You carefully grasped the knob to his door and opened it slowly, not wanting to accidentally wake him up. There was a faint smell of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air. His room was almost pitch black if it wasn’t for the little bit of light let in by the open door. 

Right on the bed was the outline of your boyfriend underneath the covers. His weighted blanket was pulled tight around his shoulder as he laid on his side, breaths coming out in slow quiet snores. 

Worry tugged at your heart, it was four in the afternoon, usually he never slept this long. 

You passed the threshold of his doorway, closing the door quietly behind you. A part of you didn’t want to disturb him, deep in your stomach you know you should just leave him be. But you just couldn’t, not with the thorny feeling of curiosity jabbing itself into your side.

“Nam-gyu.” You whispered softly, a gentle hand settling itself on his covered shoulder. “Honey it’s really late, you should probably wake up.” 

He woke up with a startled gasp, his body going completely rigid underneath his sheets. You could hear his quickened breaths against his pillow, a tell-tale sign you recognized all too quickly. You were quick to press the switch to the lamp on his nightstand, his room being cast in a soft yellow light. 

There in the bed lay your boyfriend, a trembling man under a heap of blankets. He glanced over his shoulder with worried eyes, tears already brimming. Almost a year with him and you had never seen him so utterly terrified. 

Your name fell from his wobbly lips, trapped within a choked sob, he looked like a scared child seeking comfort. 

You wasted no time making your way to your usual spot on the bed, sliding underneath the heavy sheets and bringing him into your chest.

The sobs he released into your shirt were raw with emotion, as if they were being torn from his body unwillingly. You didn’t care that his tears and snot were seeping through the fabric and onto your chest. 

He was shaking like a leaf in your arms, hiccuping sobs forcing his fingers to grip tighter around the back of your shirt. 

~~~

Su-bong clenched his jaw at the sound of Nam-gyu’s sobs. A part of him wanted to storm into his friends room and tell you to leave, that he would handle things himself. But he couldn’t… He wouldn’t do that to either of you. 

You were the closest thing to normalcy Nam-gyu has had in his life since the games. Su-bong knew that more than anyone ever would. 

He watched for two years as his friend dragged his body through life pathetically. Picking at his arms every now and then as the itch, the urge, that unmatchable craving started to eat at him as he was consumed by his ever present thoughts. 

And once you came along, the dust finally seemed to settle. It was like watching his friend be built back into the man he met, while he wasn’t as selfish or as snide as he used to be, he finally found his smile again. His laugh no longer sounded forced.

He was finally happy. 

Su-bong would be lying to himself if he said that you being around was a comfort for him too. After the things both Nam-gyu and him did back in South Korea, they both needed that reminder that innocent minds such as yours were to be cherished. Those genuine smiles and laughs, clueless to the true horrors in the world. 

Nam-gyu was always so distant around the anniversary of the games. Shut off from the world, sleeping away the day just so he didn’t slip back into old habits. He always looked so hollow when he would finally show his face, dark bags under his puffy eyes, hair a mess, wearing the same exact clothes that he had been wearing four days before. 

A sigh fell from Su-bong’s lips as he noticed the cries of his friend finally started to quiet down, occasional choked sobs drifting through the thin walls. 

Su-bong knew that if you were going to continue being in a relationship with Nam-gyu, you had to at least be given a half truth eventually. 

Given a glimpse of the extent of Nam-gyu’s gruesome, tormenting, past. 

~~~

Nam-gyu felt so pathetic. His eyelids clenched so tight he was almost scared his eyes would pop in their sockets. He tried his best to will his tears away, the sobs subsiding into pitiful whimpers and sniffles. 

“I’m sorry… Fuck… I-” He was quick to push himself away from you, albeit a little harsher than he intended. Sitting up quickly and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I…” 

He couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, his mind twisting and spinning so rapidly. Nam-gyu brought his hands up to his face, dragging his blunt nails along the skin of his raw cheeks.  He hoped that the brief bite of pain would bring him some sort of relief. 

God his fucking hands… If only they could stop shaking for just a second. 

Nam-gyu could feel your eyes boring into his back. He couldn’t bring himself to look over his shoulder at you. Your sweet, caring, beautiful face. It made his gut twist in a sickening way when a sudden gory image flashed in his head, an image of you in the games, dying in front of him. 

“I need to go.” He suddenly breathed out, rushing towards the door before you could even think to reach out for him. 

The world felt like it was spinning around him as he rushed to grab his jacket, slipping on one shoe at a time.

His mind was on one thing and one thing only. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going Nam-gyu?” Su-bong hissed, cutting through his friend’s tunnel vision.

It wasn’t an actual question, Su-bong knew exactly what Nam-gyu was planning to do. To search for that glorious hit that could make him forget everything that tormented his fragile mind.

“Dude… You can’t do this shit. Not today.” 

He snatched the keys from his trembling friend’s other hand, throwing them all the way into the kitchen, completely out of reach. 

“Su-bong…” Nam-gyu whispered his friend's name in warning, eyes glued to the wooden floor of their living room. 

“Your fucking girl is here bro… Do not do this shit.” An accusatory finger was jabbed lightly into Nam-gyu’s chest, “You can shut me out all you fucking want, but not her.” 

A tornado of emotions swirled recklessly inside of Nam-gyu. Right now all he wanted to do was forget, to wash all of his guilt away with one simple hit. That’s all he wanted. His heart was racing so fast in his chest, and his ears were ringing so loud he could barely concentrate anymore. 

“Sit down and smoke some weed or some shit, but we both swore that other shit off years ago, together. You can’t go sliding back on me now.” 

Nam-gyu’s hands tightened at his sides, body flushed.

Their eyes, their faces, everything was burned so brightly behind his eyelids. 

“I can’t do this anymore!” He finally shouted, making Su-bong flinch a little, “I’m so fucking tired! I just- I can’t… FUCK!” 

~~~

There was the sound of shattering glass in the hallway, so sharp and loud as you stared at Nam-gyu’s door. Still in shock from his sudden departure, seemingly running away from his deep seated emotions.

You threw back the covers hastily, ripping open his door and finding both boys fighting, yelling at each other in a way you had never seen them before. 

A picture frame was lying broken on the floor next to the front door, glass spread throughout the living room floor. Su-bong’s foot came dangerously close to one of the shards as Nam-gyu continued to jab his finger into his friend’s chest. 

“It has been so fucking easy for you! You don’t even act like it fucks with your head like it does mine!” Nam-gyu screamed at him, angry tears running down his cheeks. 

Su-bong couldn’t help but scoff, pushing against your boyfriend’s shoulder to force him to back up, “You don’t think it’s been hard on me?! Why do you think I go out so often?!” He pushed again, “I can’t stand being here by myself! I can’t get that shit out of my head! So I drown it out by going to clubs and bars!” Another push, “Don’t you think I wanna go out and get so fucked up out of my mind, do something I’ll really fucking regret?!” 

This time it was Nam-gyu who pushed him back, much harder than Su-bong had done to him, “Don’t fucking touch me again.” His voice was cold, bordering emotionless if it wasn’t for the slight tremble in his words. 

It broke your heart to see him like this. There was so much pain built up inside of him, all you wanted to do was grab his hand and usher him back into his bedroom. Hold him until he calmed down again.

But you knew that wouldn't be possible, not with how fired up he was now. You felt hopeless, unsure how you should act under situations like this.

You had been shaken out of your thoughts finally when Nam-gyu's hand grasped the doorknob firmly, "I'm going outside for a smoke. I gotta cool off." His gaze barely flickered past your shoes when he glanced towards the hallway. "I'll be back in a bit."

[writers-wrongs]

Have you seen Arkham Knight VR? Riddler's self-aware in it! Could have some existential horror potential if you wrote headcanons or something for that version of him as a yandere >:-D (or just about self-aware Eddie from the mainline games...?)

as a ddlc fan, i love self aware game characters. and if anyone in arkham knight was gonna be sentient, itd be him. unfortunately, i havent seen AKVR, so this is just regular arkham knight

yandere!self aware!arkham!riddler x gn!reader

-edwards the most intelligent man in gotham, of course he noticed that his life was a game. and over time, he learned how to manipulate the game around him and "see" into the outside world

-the disc hes on was sold by the original owner, and now gets passed from person to person from secondhand game shops. the disc is always returned because somethings wrong with it. nobody puts two and two together and realizes they only start having game issues when they look up answers to the riddles

-then you buy the disc. edward is mildly interested in you, as he is with everyone who buys his game, but he assumes it wont last when you struggle with his riddles. whatever, at least he can enjoy messing around with your game

-but then you dont look anything up. he watches you intently, he even hacks onto your phone to check if youve been searching answers, and youre all clear. sure, you struggle at some of his puzzles (who doesnt?), but you never cave and look up how to solve it, no matter how long it takes you

-now that hes poking around on your phone, he sees that youre kind of a shut in. you dont have many contacts, and the one social media you have is tumblr. but it looks like you fixate on him a lot, almost to an unhealthy degree. its flattering- of course someone as excellent as him deserves sycophants! and he especially deserves one as devoted as you! youre smart, and determined, and oh lord, hes in love

-you have things to do during the day, you cant spend all your time with him on the disc, so he listens in on you from your phone. theres not much to do when youre not playing the game, so its his favorite way to pass the time. when you get home and start playing, he tries to interest you in his sidequest over everything else. he even keeps an eye on you as you sleep! he has to make sure youre safe, after all

-when youre not playing, he focuses on finding a way out to you (or bringing you in to him). he needs to be able to hold you, to keep you safe himself, and if he has to drag you kicking and screaming into the game with him, he will. not that he really knows how to do that, but he'll figure out something

-on your end, you dont notice anything at first. maybe his lines when you play are a little... flirtier? but other than that, the game is fun. you feel particularly drawn to the riddler sidequest, hes your favorite character after all. then, you notice that his lines are strangely specified to you, making references to your interests and personal life. maybe its just reading your console? yeah, a fun little meta thing!

-but then it gets concerning. he calls you by name. not the name on your console, your real name. hes talking like he knows you as a person. hes saying how much he needs you, how much he adores your dedication to his riddles, your dedication to him. you decide this is too weird, you have to return the game. so you go to take it out, and-

-you wake up in what looks like the abandoned orphanage from arkham knight. you try to move, but you feel arms squeeze you tight

-"there you are, my dear player. we're going to have so much fun together"

[ralexandet]

💚📺🎤 Rough Day: A short shellvision agere story! 🤎🦖🔎

(Credit to @vaprexn on Twitter/X for the art!)

"Thank you, thank you all for coming! We apologize for the technical difficulties, but I’m sure the next show will go much smoother! See you soon, everyone!"

Vee shut the curtains, letting out a deep sigh as she immediately dropped her forced "happy-go-lucky game show host" persona. It had been a particularly rough day: her alarm had gone off late, her suit had gotten dirty on the way to the set, and the lights and cameras had malfunctioned throughout the show. At last, she was finally free, ready to go back to her room and unwind. As she passed through the busy, noisy lobby of Gardenview, filled with kids running around, she felt a little relief.

Just before she reached her room, she accidentally brushed against the handle of Shelly's door—and found it unlocked.

"That's... strange," Vee murmured to herself. Shelly had been keeping to herself lately, always locking her room door, and nobody knew why. She rarely left her room anymore, and honestly, most people didn’t seem to mind. Still, something about it felt off. What if Shelly was hurt? Or what if someone had broken in? Vee’s curiosity got the better of her, and before she could stop herself, she slowly pushed the door open.

"Hello...? Shelly? Are you in there?" she called softly. No response.

As Vee stepped inside, she was immediately greeted by a strange sight. The floor was scattered with children's toys, soft ambient music played in the background, and the TV was showing cartoons. The only familiar thing in the room was the collection of dinosaur figurines spread out on the floor.

"Huh... never knew she liked this stuff. Or that she even left her room today..." Vee muttered, picking up a plushie of herself that was lying on the floor.

Then, she heard footsteps behind her, followed by a little gasp. Vee turned to find Shelly standing in the doorway. But something was very different. Shelly was wearing red dinosaur pajamas, and in her mouth was a small dinosaur-themed pacifier. She looked as if she was on the verge of tears.

"Shelly...? What’s all this?" Vee asked, her voice light and teasing.

Shelly’s eyes immediately welled up with more tears. "I... I didn’t think anyone would... find this so soon..." she said, her voice shaking. Vee’s playful tone faltered as she saw Shelly’s distress.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay," Vee said, her tone softening. She gently pulled Shelly into a comforting hug. "What’s going on?"

Shelly clung to Vee’s shoulder, sniffling as she spoke. "I... I’m an age-regresser, Vee..."

Vee’s heart sank at the words. She knew what that meant, and the realization made her feel a mixture of sympathy and understanding.

"Please... don’t tell anyone. Just go, please..." Shelly whispered.

Vee gently pulled back and smiled, her expression warm and reassuring, like a mother comforting her child. "I won’t tell anyone, Shelly. I promise."

Before Shelly could even respond, Vee enveloped her in a tender hug once again. "Your secret’s safe with Mama Vee, little one."

Shelly’s tears began to subside, and she blinked up at Vee, looking slightly surprised. "Y-You mean it...? You really want to be my caregiver...?"

Vee chuckled softly. "Of course I do. Everyone deserves someone who cares for them. You deserve that, too."

Shelly’s lips curled into a shy smile, and the last of her tears faded away. "Thank you, Vee..."

Vee glanced at her watch. It was 10:30 PM. "Wow, would you look at the time," she said, her tone light. "Do you want Mama to help you get into bed?"

Shelly let out a sleepy yawn and nodded. "Yes, please..."

With a gentle hand, Vee guided Shelly to her bed. She helped her get under the covers, tucking her in and placing the plushie of Vee into her arms. "If you ever miss Mama, just hold onto this, okay?"

Shelly nodded as Vee moved toward the door, turning off the lights. She paused for a moment before speaking softly.

"Sleep tight, little one."

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Careless Words

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Angst. Toxic/abusive relationship dynamics. Mentions of death. Allusions to smut. Word count: ~2.8k

Summary: She has always given her best to Aemond, but they both know he can't say the same. Based on this request.

Author's note: I wanted to explore the darker side of Aemond's personality and how this might manifest itself in a relationship where neither party is particularly healthy in terms of their mindset. This was a cathartic piece for me to write. Lately I've been working through some resurfaced feelings linked to a past relationship that was based entirely around trauma bonding. It may be a triggering read for some, so please approach with caution (and try to remember the story itself is a work of fiction). No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Community labels are for cops. Please block me instead of labelling this, if you find yourself tempted.

Family, Duty, Honor; that is the motto of House Tully, a direct opposition of House Targaryen’s Fire and Blood. If she wasn’t so duty bound to Prince Aemond then she’d find the strength to walk away. If he was a better man he’d let her go. Unfortunately for her, nothing in a dragon’s clutches escapes without getting burned.

She is eight years old when she is sent from Riverrun to King’s Landing. She is to be a ward of House Targaryen, an idea that excites and frightens her in equal measure; she has never been away from her family before and the thought of living in a strange city with people she has never met fills her with uncertainty, yet she is eager for the adventures it will bring.

Her fears are assuaged the moment she arrives in the capital. The sprawling expanse of the city beckons her to explore its winding cobbled streets, the Red Keep is a maze of undiscovered secrets. Naturally curious, she gravitates towards Queen Alicent’s second son, Aemond. He is a quiet, sullen boy, not much older than her, and spends most of his time alone, reading. It is more than apparent to her that he does not get along with his older brother and nephews, and his sister is too lost in her own world to be of any comfort to him.

Aemond clings to her offer of friendship, and the two quickly become inseparable. She basks in the attention he lavishes upon her; sharing his books, learning High Valyrian under his tutelage, dutifully spectating for each of his training sessions in the yard, and accompanying him on his daily visits to the dragonpit - he has yet to claim a dragon, which serves to deepen his fascination of the creatures and drives him to near obsession with desire to have his own. 

Aemond becomes the center of her world, a position which he appears to thrive on. The first time he threatens to take that away from her is on a day that they visit the dragonpit. 

Aegon has lured him there on the pretense that the dragon keepers have discovered an unclaimed mount for him. However, he is humiliated when a pig is led out from the shadows, and he flees, distraught, back to his mother.

He lashes out at her that day, for the first time, when she attempts to comfort him.

“You will have a dragon one day,” She tries to tell him. “Ignore their silly jokes, it doesn’t matter.”

He looks at her with fury in his eyes and she shrinks fearfully away from him. His tone is vile, hateful. “It doesn’t matter to you, because you don’t understand how important dragons are to Targaryens. You are a nobody!”

She weeps bitterly when he storms away from her, it feels like she has lost her only friend in the world. She believes she has trivialised Aemond’s suffering and is ashamed of herself.

When he approaches her the next day, with lemon cakes, a book and a soft “I didn’t mean it”, she is so overjoyed to have Aemond’s attention once more that it doesn’t even occur to her that he hasn’t uttered the word “sorry”, she has him back and that is all that matters. And for a few days afterwards, he treats her with such reverence that she feels foolish for having been upset in the first place.

Aemond is ten when he loses his eye, and he puts on a brave face, though she is certain it is for the benefit of not further upsetting his mother and appearing weak in front of his nephews.

She is proven right the moment they are alone and he turns on her. She wants to support him, to show him she is unafraid of him despite the stitches that now adorn the bloodied ruin where his left eye used to be, but he will not allow that.

“Where were you?!” He shouts at her. “If you’d have been there for me, I’d still have my eye!”

She wants to argue that she could not possibly have known he was going to claim Vhagar, how could she have been there for him when everyone was supposed to be in bed? But the guilt his words inspire eclipse all rationality in her innocent, young mind. She ought to have anticipated him going after a riderless dragon, and been there to help defend him against the attack from his nephews and cousins.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, I’m so sorry.” She cries.

“Sorry will not bring back what I have lost,” He spits angrily. “No matter. I have my dragon now, I do not need you.”

He is lost to her once more, and heartache colours her world where Aemond’s presence used to.

“I didn’t mean it,” He tells her sheepishly, a few days later. “When I am healed, I will take you for a ride on dragonback.”

She does not need an apology, Aemond’s attention and willingness to share something so personal with her are more than enough. For a week after that he makes her feel as though she is the very stars in the night sky, and she basks in his good graces.

On Aemond’s thirteenth name day, she is excited to give him his gift. For weeks she has toiled in secret on a patch for him to cover the scarred side of his face. It is made of delicate black leather and has an intricate green dragon stitched carefully into the fabric. 

She searches for Aemond most of the day and cannot find him. When he does eventually make an appearance he is distant and distracted, not even uttering thanks when she presents him with the patch she has made for him.

“Aegon took me to a pleasure house.” He says morosely, when she asks what’s wrong.

“Oh,” She has trouble hiding the disgust on her face, as she feels sour jealousy spread its way through her. “Why?”

He scowls upon seeing her look of judgment. “Because I grew tired of looking at your ugly face!” He snaps, before storming off.

Her self worth shatters with those words, scattered away on the winds of Aemond’s temper, and yet again she is left to wait for his careless words to become kind, while she grieves his temporary absence.

I did not mean it. And so she forgives him, piecing herself back together with every praise and doting look he offers her. She cares not that he never wears her gift or thanks her for it, it does not matter that he doesn’t say he’s sorry, because when Aemond is kind to her she feels as though she has ascended to the very heavens above.

It is an addictive cycle, and as the years press on, she finds herself craving Aemond’s tempestuous nature in moments of calm, for the love he showers her with afterwards is her only means of reassuring herself that he truly cares for her.

Aemond grows bolder in his mistreatment of her, confident that she is too attached to him to be disloyal. She is one of the few things in his life that he is able to assert full control over and he wields it without a second thought.

Shortly after her sixteenth name day, Aegon attempts to force himself on her. She fights him off and seeks comfort in the only person she can trust; Aemond. Where she expects to find sympathy, however, she is met with scorn and rage-filled jealousy.

“If you did not behave like a whore then Aegon would not do such things. Do you enjoy the attention?”

She shuts herself away in her chambers, the ache in her chest unbearable as her tears soak her pillow.

While Aemond would usually leave it a day or two before seeking her out again, he comes back to her that same evening, telling her he did not mean it as he holds her in his arms. He takes her maidenhead that night, the sharp stinging between her legs, as he pushes forcefully inside of her, soothed by his whisper of “aōhon iksan se ñuhon iksā”. I am yours and you are mine.

As their relationship blossoms into something more romantic, their rifts become more frequent. Aemond always seems to know precisely the combination of words it will take to cut her deepest, yet it is a state she has grown to feel safe in. The blood of the dragon pumps hotly in his veins and as frequently as he inflicts this side of himself upon her, it is always followed by a softness that allows her to believe that he loves her, even if they are words he never says aloud.

When Aemond’s nephews return to King’s Landing his moods become trickier for her to predict. It seems impossible for her not to anger him, and his words are poison to her fragile heart. Yet it always devolves into him assuring her he did not mean it as he fucks her into the mattress, healing every spiteful barb with impassioned touches.

Shortly after King Viserys dies, Aegon is crowned, and everything changes for the worse. His succession is challenged by Viserys’ eldest child, Rhaenyra, and steps must be put into place to secure Aegon’s reign. Aemond is a useful pawn in that process, and his grandsire, Otto, wastes no time in arranging a visit for him to Storm’s End in order to choose which of Lord Borros Baratheon’s daughters he wishes to marry.

Aemond is so matter of fact as he explains this to her, but she feels as though she reacts enough for both of them, struggling to breath as a free falling sensation in the pit of her stomach sends waves of nausea rippling through her.

She knows she is fighting a losing battle before she even opens her mouth to speak, yet she cannot help herself. She is a moth and Aemond is her flame, ever bright and eternal, the very center around which her entire world revolves. Nothing has ever seemed so final though, what pieces will there be to pick up and place back together once he is someone else’s husband?

Standing before him, she juts out her chin defiantly, willing herself not to cry in spite of the lump in her throat and the insistent stinging around the rims of her eyes. “You’re really going to go through with this?”

He sets his jaw, sighing, a visible dismissal of her feelings that makes her ache and wish she had the courage to simply walk away from him. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“What will become of me, of us?” She asks, her voice raising an octave, threatening to crack.

“That is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. My brother’s succession takes precedence over everything. Marrying one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters helps strengthen his claim to the throne. Listening to your heedless fretting does not.”

She feels heat rise to her cheeks, swallowing back her anguish, attempting to sound fiercer than she feels. “Perhaps I shall decide to marry too then.”

Aemond’s scoff is so subtle it’s almost imperceptible. “Who would marry you? Your virtue is mine, always has been. You’re fortunate I still desire you.”

His tone of voice is so practical, only the slightest hint of irritation giving it an edge. He may as well be addressing a chambermaid who has not made his bed to his liking. She longs to grab him, shake him, beg him to give her any sort of indication that this is hurting him as much as it’s hurting her, because to think that he’d let her go so easily, after all these years, is more than she can stand.

Instead she says nothing, simply watches as he turns to leave, counting down the moments until he returns to her, his words sweet once more and eager to heal the rift between them, just like he always does. She craves the storm and the calm in equal measure, but they are always on Aemond’s terms, never hers.

Three nights later she awakens to him standing at the foot of her bed, dripping wet, eye filled with fear. She takes him into the sheets, fingers carding through his damp hair as he ruts his misery inside of her.

“It was an accident,” He whispers to her tearfully afterwards. “I only meant to scare Lucerys.”

She soothes him to sleep, knowing she ought to feel repulsed by what Aemond has done, but is overwhelmed by the relief of him being just hers once more.

Confusion addles her thoughts the next day when she overhears Aemond tell Otto that he had meant to kill his nephew.

When she asks him about it in private he grips the tops of her arms with such force that she yelps from the pain of it, his face almost murderous with rage as he stares at her. “If you ever utter those words again, I will have your tongue cut out.”

Aemond’s temper has always been fierce, a trait of his that she is forever wary of, however, until now she has never felt afraid of him. At this very moment, Aemond frightens her. He has the capacity to cause her harm, and does not seem to care if he does.

Later he presses featherlight kisses to each of the vivid purple bruises that mark her upper arms. Though he appears remorseful, he does not offer an apology or even an utterance of “I did not mean it.”

“You must not anger me like that again,” He tells her instead.

She simply nods, dread boring a void into the pit of her stomach.

As the war escalates, resulting in the death of Aegon and Helaena’s son, Jaehaerys, and the grievous injury of Aegon, Aemond takes up the mantle of Prince Regent. While Aemond bears the burden of the additional responsibility, she bears the onslaught of his frustrations, becoming a vessel into which he pours his every grievance. The adoration he showers her with after each display of cruelty becomes infrequent to the point that she feels as though she is a hound begging for scraps. Eventually she learns to accept his ire, reasoning he would simply cast her aside and ignore her if he did not care for her.

She is delighted when Aemond insists upon bringing her along to his march upon Harrenhal. She allows herself to believe that his desire to have her at his side is because he is committed to her, that perhaps this means he intends to marry her once the war is over. A voice in the back of her mind reasons it is most likely because he enjoys the control he asserts over her, but she does her best to ignore it.

Jealousy swirls sharply in her gut when she sees the only person that Aemond has spared in his seizing of the castle - a witch named Alys Rivers, a raven haired beauty who he informs her will be of great use to him in helping him to defeat his Uncle Daemon. She swallows down her doubts, attempting to reassure herself that she has nothing to worry about, Aemond has never strayed from her before, why would he now?

She curses herself for ignoring her suspicions when she catches him between the witch’s thighs. She expects herself to grieve, to scream, to cry, to shatter to pieces at his infidelity, but instead a sense of clarity washes over her. For the first time in a decade she wishes to leave Aemond.

No longer does she crave his approval, or long to make amends, a veil has been lifted and finally she sees him for the selfish, spoiled and callous hearted man he truly is. He will never love her, not as she deserves, and she is making a fool of herself to stay by his side while he is openly disrespectful of her and her feelings.

His eye darkens with familiar ill intent when she informs him of her plan to return home.

“Do not be so foolish,” He says condescendingly. “You are behaving irrationally over a minor indiscretion.”

She shakes her head. “I believe this is the first time since I’ve known you that I’ve behaved with any sense at all. I am leaving.”

“Ñuhon iksā,” He tells her. His tone carries none of the soft, loving intent it usually does when he utters this statement, now it is dark and threatening. You are mine.

“Dōre iksan,” She replies simply. I am not.

“You cannot exist without me,” He says with a scowl.

“Watch me,” She counters.

It is not until a few days later, once she has returned home to her family, that the full weight of Aemond’s words begin to sink in. As the wings of Vhagar darken the skies above the Riverlands, she realises that he does not mean he thinks she can’t exist without him, it is that he will not allow her to.

She watches in tense horror as the fiery blaze engulfs her homeland, acrid smoke drawing ever nearer as Aemond’s dragon immolates houses, farmland and forests alike. If he were a better man he’d simply have let her go. Unfortunately for her, nothing in a dragon’s clutches escapes without getting burned.

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[gay-ppl-real]

Been writing quite a lot of WH fic in my spare time recently and I realised I've kinda accidentally created a consistent interpretation of how the neighbourhood would see Frank X Eddie (liking each other or being together but on the down-low):

To be clear these aren't my theories on what's going on in the ARG, it's like... just in the world of the WH show itself, without getting deep into the horror and mystery elements, and therefore excluding facts like that in canon there's probably going to be homophobia themes to the story iirc. This is how I imagine it'd unfold if it just happened normally without whatever scariness is going on in Home as a factor.

Also I like playing around with lots of different ideas and dynamics and interpretations; this is just a bit of fun.

Transcripts (and a bunch of extra explanations/info) under the concealment charm! ⬇️

Sally:

Has no idea, because she's not paying attention to them.

Would be like "Cool. Now about MY NEXT PLAY!" if it was pointed out to her.

Unless she could make it into something dramatic.

(Extra: like if she thought of a way to basically make a performance out of it, I can imagine she'd do that. Eddie and Frank would both think she was being very strange.)

Poppy:

K N O W S

Possibly before even Eddie does, and trying to drop him hints.

Thinks they'd be wonderful together.

(Extra: She wouldn't think it was her place to say anything outright, especially because that could risk outing either of them, but she'd be like "Frank can be very protective of you, you know..." HINT HINT.)

Howdy:

Has a vague suspicion.

Doesn't think it's really his business.

DOES think they're cute together.

(Extra: it wouldn't really interest or concern him much so he wouldn't feel a need to offer input or say anything, but he would sometimes see them talking and be like 'lmao these bitches gay! good for them, good for them,' in his head.)

Wally:

Knows Eddie & Frank 'love each other' but is unclear on how this differs from how he loves all his neighbours.

Would be very happy for them if someone explained it to him.

(Extra: he wouldn't pick up on anything particularly special about them/their relationship, he just assumes that all his neighbours love each other because, in his opinion, what's not to love. He'd also likely be one of the first people either of them would feel comfortable telling.)

(Extra 2: also no-one would ever explain it to him properly. Eddie would get into embarrassed blethering and Frank wouldn't know what to say beyond that it's "just different," Barnaby would keep giving joke answers, Poppy and Howdy would just be like 🤷not my place, and Sally and Julie would keep telling him things that only made him more confused.)

Barnaby:

Would eventually pick up on it, and take great joy in teasing either of them.

Ultimately supportive, though.

(Extra: He'd greatly enjoy irritating Frank and making Eddie flustered in ways that meant nobody else but them knew what he was hinting at lol)

Julie:

#1 Frank X Eddie shipper.

She finds out because Frank talks to her about their feelings, and she's rooting for them from then on.

(Extra: she'd try to be Frank's wingman and just end up confusing and scaring Eddie and making Frank facepalm.)

[princescribbler]

Quick Reminder For ABDLs:

You are allowed to like cuteness and cuddly things, even if you're a traditionally tough, serious, or masculine adult. Gender and sexual identity don't matter: it's OK to be an adult and an abdl and enjoy the cute and cuddly things.

There's no harm being done by you wearing diapers.. nobody is getting hurt, nobody's life is ruined, no public harm is occurring.... you're wearing absorbent underwear, and when you stop seeing it as a huge deal, you realize it... just isn't that shocking or bad!

Negative self talk is a major issue, and you can fight it by telling yourself (even just quietly in your own mind) about the things you ENJOY about this kink and dynamic! Tell yourself how cute you are in a diapee, not silly. Unless you like humiliation, in which you're a very very naughty adult baby who should be very blushy and embarrassed ;)

Public bathrooms are gross. I'm not saying that an adult using their diaper isn't, at the least, a bit unusual or maybe a strange strategy to deal with icky public bathrooms... but it's at least a nice edge case benefit from the kink!

Nobody is looking at you and waiting for diaper crinkles unless they're already aware of this kink, or you've shown them what you're up to. Seriously, I wore diapers to work for like 4+ years now, and the truth is nobody knows or cares! I don't carefully check to see what my coworkers are wearing as undies, and if they think I'm padded in diapers they'd just assume it's medical anyways, and never ask out of politeness!

Healthy cg/l relationship dynamics are complicated, but they aren't hard to put into practice. You might find the details hard to figure out, but finding a partner you can rely on and feel protected by really isn't particularly kinky... that's called a healthy relationship, whether it's kinky or not! So if you're with someone who makes this stuff impossibly hard or shameful or bad... that might not be an issue of your kink. It might be a fundamental issue in your relationship!

Stuffed animals are cozy and nice for everyone. You don't need to act weird to like stuffies, and you can even accept that if people see a house full of stuffies... they think Disney fanatic, not abdl. Or maybe they see it as cutesy, or an example of you being unique, but very very VERY few people see that kinda stuff and think "abdl". Cuz if they do.. they likely know enough about abdl to have experience, or have similar desires.

Nobody and nothing can make your needs invalid if you're acting safely, harming no one, and seeing to your needs. You need diapers? Great, go get them. Need pull ups to cope with a tough week at work? Not an issue, go for it. Need to carry a small pacifier in your Pocket to feel confident enough for a job interview? Go for it: you don't need to judge or dissect every one of your needs to be able to see them as valid and reasonable.

You're not nearly as kinky as you usually think... because fantasies aren't reality. Sure, I'm pretty kinky, but I've now been on here, on fetlife and bdsmlr enough to know... you just aren't that kinky. Unless you're cathed, caged, plugged, hypnotized, in a 24/7 total power exchange with your mommy/ daddy/ owner and their new owner who replaced you once you accepted your permanent role as house baby... I'm guessing you're fine. A lot of fantasies are just that: fantasies! So stop judging yourself as though every fantasy you imagine is one you think you need to do, ok? You're allowed to have extreme Fantasies or even scenes. Unless you're committing to more than that, though, you really don't need to be so convinced of just how extreme you are.

Disney really is that much fun. No you aren't crazy for still loving them.

Same with Pixar... except they might make you cry even more. And more often. Because damn you Pixar, you onion cutting ninjas!

When you feel bad and want to take a step back... you can! Truly it isn't an issue to step away or step back. As long as it's not like a binge/purge thing or completely panicking ... it really is OK to step away. Maybe you need a breather. Maybe you need a long break. Maybe it's just a day to recharge: that's ok! So stop judging yourself for every little change and decision!

No: having your mommy or daddy write a note to your boss ain't gonna work. Sorry, but it's been tried. "Mommy says I need to stay home and have extra cuddles" is still not recognized as a valid reason to miss work at most jobs. Sorry to break it to you!

Finally: kink and fetishes can sometimes feel isolating. That's a big part of why communities like this pop up on tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, bdsmlr, fetlife, and any other site you can imagine. Sometimes, you need to embrace these communities for your own good: it can feel so very, very nice to not feel isolated anymore. You really have no idea!! Give it a shot and you might be surprised!

I know it's not an exhaustive list, but that jumped to mind today and I felt compelled to type them out and share. If you think I'm missing key points, leave a comment or reblog and add your suggested addition!

And as always, stay happy, stay healthy, And stay kinky!!!

-Scribbler

[ominouslywritinginmyhead]

@anonimusunnoaniswriting @erebus-et-eigengrau please enjoy 😊

wc: 936

Notes: Regency au, fem!reader, dark-ish romance? Idk, he’s a vampire so he does what he wants

Imagine meeting your vampire lover for the first time in a glittering Regency-era ballroom one dark night.

You have no prospects and are only here thanks to the charity of wealthier relatives. The dance card on your wrist is only a formality, for you will probably be betrothed to some widower you have never met, and married to him within the month.

So imagine your surprise when a gaunt yet handsome young man approaches you with a smile, apologising for his impropriety and for not being introduced to you by someone else, before asking if he may write his name on your dance card.

You stammer out something like assent, drawn to his deep brown eyes. There is something almost otherworldly about them; maroon more than brown, perhaps, with a strange glow. His gaze seems to hold you in place while he gently takes your wrist in his hand and carefully writes his name at the very top of the card.

His lips are so close to your glove that he could kiss the fabric above your veins if he so wished. Instead, he remarks, “How unusual. A lovely lady such as yourself should have suitors falling over each other for a dance with you.”

“That-that is not likely,” you manage, “f-for I am not one who has prospects that merit dances with multiple suitors.”

“Is that so?” He raises an eyebrow, eyes still trapping you where you stand. “Then perhaps they cannot see the prospects that I can.”

You wonder what he means, but before you can ask, he lets your hand go and smiles, dark hair combed back too perfectly, clothes pressed too neatly, teeth far too white and gleaming.

He is beautiful and mysterious and almost unheard of, for he was practically raised on the Continent after his mother died giving birth to him. He returns following the death of his father, after whom he was named, and whom he resembles to a shocking degree.

Some might say they are the same person.

He has neglected much of the social season since his return, particularly events that take place during the day. But he does attend a ball or two. A special favour for the few friends he keeps and those who knew his equally reclusive father.

When he returns to collect you for the dance, you feel the ton’s judgemental eyes on you. How dare a little nobody like yourself dance with the most eligible bachelor of the season? How dare the daughter of an insolvent drunkard go anywhere near this respected gentleman?

You know what they must be saying behind your back. You know what your jealous and spiteful cousins will say to your face later on.

But when he takes you in his arms for the dance, none of it matters anymore.

He takes your gloved hand in his, brushing his cold lips against your knuckles. But his eyes do not leave yours for even a moment during the first part of the dance. The maroon looks more red than brown as he takes you in.

His hand rests on the small of your back, fingers splayed across the laces of your gown, sending a tingle up your spine. You suddenly find yourself conscious of how revealing your gown must be - a hand-me-down from your relatives that was hastily (and improperly) redone for you, revealing a little too much of your unblemished neck and chest.

There is no chance of you besting the other ladies at dancing; they have learnt from the best dancing masters in the country. But the movements you make aren’t yours; it is as though your dance partner is controlling every step you take, every gesture you make, every way your body moves. You are simply a spectator of your own dance.

You feel your cheeks burn as his eyes travel down your neck, his gaze landing on your collarbones. He drinks in every inch of you as he practically carries you through the dance. And he’s thirsty for more.

The look he gives you is that of a man who has spent years travelling through the desert and has finally found water for the first time in his journey. The darkness of his gaze frightens you, but when he feels you tense, his expression turns gentle. “Do not be afraid, my lady,” he whispers in your ear, making you shudder. “I will not hurt you, nor will I ruin your reputation. Whatever else, I am still a gentleman.”

“I never had any reputation to be ruined in the first place,” you tell him. “My family was ruined long ago.”

He looks sympathetic, and would say more, but the dance comes to a close and he lets you go.

His smile is absolutely brilliant; it’s impossible to take your eyes off him and his gleaming white - sharp? - teeth. “We will meet again,” he says.

It sounds like a promise — and a command.

For he heard the quickening of your pulse, sensed the rush of rich blood flowing through your veins, saw the perfect place on your skin in which he could sink his fangs. He saw the kindness in your eyes, how you looked away when embarrassed, felt you relax while dancing in his arms.

You will meet him again. He will make sure of it.

He will not ruin your reputation. As he assured you, he is a gentleman. He will follow the rules of propriety and court you.

But he longs for the day you will come to his arms forever and he can slake his thirst.

He wants you. He needs you.

And he will have you.

Part 2 here 🤭

[erikahenningsen]

93. “It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion.” + rejanis

Janis watches Regina change dramatically over the summer between their junior and senior years. She’s still intense at times, but she’s gentler—apologizing if she snaps at Gretchen or if she makes a dig at Karen that’s a little too pointed to be passed off as a joke. 

Damian likes to joke that the bus knocked the bitch out of her. (Janis smacks him every time he says that because she could have died, you asshole.)

Janis wonders if it has to do with the bus. It was the first time in Regina’s life that she became an outsider, just another unremarkable person stumbling through the crowded hallways.

Janis asks Regina about it one night when they’ve both maybe had a little bit too much to drink. Regina recounts, staring down into her cup, waking up in the hospital to see her mother, Gretchen, and Karen ready with gifts and flowers. 

“I was so shitty to them but they were still there for me,” Regina says. “I’m trying now to be the friend that would deserve that.”

Regina looks up at Janis. “You know I’m sorry, right?” she asks quietly. “I’m really sorry.”

Janis sighs. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

“Thanks,” Regina says softly, looking down at her hands. “I can’t fix what I did, but I will make sure it never happens again.” 

Janis nods, not really sure what to say. She doesn’t like feeling vulnerable and she definitely doesn’t like feeling vulnerable around Regina, so she suggests they rejoin the party.

Regina agrees, her eyes flashing for just a moment with what looks like disappointment.

Janis half-stumbles behind Regina into the kitchen, scanning the counters for a bottle of water. All of a sudden, Jason Weems materializes in front of her, looking (and smelling) like he grew up in a parallel universe where toothbrushes hadn’t been invented yet.

“Hey, Janis,” Jason says, much closer than Janis would prefer. “I have a question for you.”

Janis eyes him warily. She’s used to his routine: cornering her wherever he can find her, making some crude “joke” about her sexuality, then bringing whatever she says in response to his equally hygiene-challenged buddies.

Janis just sighs and rolls her eyes. Better to get this over with quickly. 

“Does the carpet match the drapes?” Jason asks.

Janis just stares at him. “Huh?”

Jason looks pointedly between her and Regina, who Janis just realizes now is lingering a few feet away, watching this exchange with a sour expression on her face. 

“I saw you two come back in here,” Jason says, voice low, and Janis is actually grateful for it—the last thing she needs is another nuclear Regina gay meltdown.

“Fuck off, Jason,” Janis mutters, and tries to push past him.

“Hey, come on,” Jason says. “Don’t be like that.”

“She said, fuck off,” someone says, and Janis belatedly realizes it’s Regina. Her acrylic nails are curled into the skin of Jason’s shoulder.

Jason jerks his shoulder, trying to shake her off. “Jeez, relax. We were just talking.”

People are starting to look over at them, and Janis feels her heart rate start to spike.

“Well, conversation’s over,” Regina snaps.

“You’re such bitches,” Jason says, finally shaking Regina off and starting to walk away. “Both of you.”

“It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion,” Regina growls at him.

Janis looks nervously around the kitchen, where people are openly staring, then at Regina, who’s breathing hard. Regina seems to come back into herself and catches the stricken look on Janis’s face. Abruptly, she turns and walks away, pushing past people and disappearing out the back door.

Well, Janis certainly isn’t going to stick around to be gawked at like an animal on display at the zoo, and she doesn’t particularly want to be seen chasing after Regina, so she locks herself in the bathroom for a few minutes to calm herself down. 

That was strange. Like, so strange. Since when does Regina George come to her defense?

Janis finds Regina sitting on the steps of the back porch, shivering a little against the night air.

“So that was weird,” Janis comments. 

Regina stares at some point off in the dark woods of the backyard. “I hate him,” she comments quietly. 

“Yeah, everyone does,” Janis agrees. “Probably his mom, too.”

Regina laughs a little at that. “I’m sorry,” she all but whispers. “I heard what he said, and I—”

“It made you uncomfortable,” Janis finishes for her, looking away. 

“No!” Regina says quickly. “Well, yes. Kind of. Because he’s a gross freak. But it was worse because he feels like he can say those things to you... because of me.”

Regina says it more to her feet than to Janis, and the words hang there between them for a moment. Janis kind of hates the devastated look on Regina’s face, feels like she needs to fix it for some reason.

“Tell you what,” Janis offers. “Kill him and make it look like an accident, and it’s water under the bridge.”

Regina doesn’t laugh, exactly—more like an amused exhale—but she smiles a little. It makes Janis feel lighter for some reason.

“Yeah, okay,” Regina says. “Deal.”

She smiles wider, and it’s the best thing Janis has seen all night.

[awkward-walking-potato]

I'm not really sure if this req is your kinda thing? Plz feel free to ignore if it's not! Established relationship with Remy, and then there's a multiverse event and f!Remy is also hanging around and good god she's hot and she starts flirting with you and gay panik?

Every Gambit Wants Me

In a world where the multiverse was becoming more and more unpredictable, you were used to seeing strange things. Hanging out with Remy LeBeau, had its perks, but it also came with its fair share of surprises—particularly when it came to multiverse travel.

It had been another one of those accidental jumps through realities, and you and Gambit landed in a world that felt familiar...but slightly off. The streets of New Orleans had the same smell of gumbo and smoke, the same jazz lingering in the air, but something was different. You glanced at Remy, his red eyes glowing slightly under the streetlights, and he flashed you one of those charming, roguish grins.

"Dis ain't home, chérie," he said in his smooth Cajun drawl. "But I reckon we gon' make the best of it, non?"

You laughed softly, used to his easy charm by now. "Yeah, well, let's just hope this version of New Orleans doesn't have anything too crazy in store."

Before Remy could respond, a figure approached from the shadows. Your eyes widened in surprise. She looked exactly like him—the same mischievous eyes, the same tousled brown hair falling in front of her face—but this version of Gambit...was a woman.

"Well, well, well," she said, her voice dripping with the same sultry accent as Gambit's. "What do we have here?"

The female Remy circled the two of you, her eyes lingering a little too long on you. "Ain't every day a girl gets to meet someone from a different universe... especially someone as lovely as you." She smirked, her gaze heated as she stopped in front of you. "Seems I got myself an upgrade from my usual company."

Gambit stiffened beside you but didn't interrupt. He was intrigued, just as much as you were. Female Gambit leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear.

"You know," she whispered, "I could show you a real good time. Better than any man ever could. Ain't nobody knows you like me, sugar. You like what you see?"

You felt your cheeks heat up, her proximity setting your nerves on fire. She was undeniably attractive, and that confidence—that you recognized from your Gambit. But she had an extra layer of boldness, not held back by the same reservations. You opened your mouth to say something, but she kept going, brushing a hand across your arm.

"Let me guess. You’re with him, ain't ya?" she teased, gesturing toward your Gambit. "But I bet you’ve wondered what it’d be like...with someone who knows how you like it. Someone who's you, but different."

Your Gambit chuckled lowly behind you. "Careful, mon chérie. She might be prettier, but I ain't one to be outdone."

Female Remy shot him a smirk, leaning in even closer to you. "I dunno about that, sugar. You might like this version better."

Your heart was racing, torn between the two Gambits. There was something thrilling about this version of him—the flirtation, the danger, the electricity in the air.

"Don't worry," Gambit said, stepping up beside you with a grin that matched hers. "Ain't no jealousy here. I know what you like." His hand came up to gently tilt your chin toward him. "You could take her up on it...but even in dis multiverse, every Gambit’s got eyes for you. She’s just like me."

Female Remy laughed softly, her eyes dancing between you and your Gambit. "He's not wrong, you know. Every version of us is obsessed with you, sugar." She winked. "But if you ever wanna see just how different I can be, you know where to find me."

She gave one last flirtatious smile before walking off into the shadows, leaving you standing there, still caught between two versions of the same man. You turned to your Gambit, his expression a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

"Guess you really do have a type," you said, feeling the heat from the encounter still lingering.

Remy wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "Cherie, there's only one of me for you, no matter how many multiverses we end up in. But I can’t blame her for trying—every version of me knows a good thing when they see it."

You couldn’t help but smile. After all, no matter how many versions of Gambit there were, the one right in front of you was the one you’d choose, every time.