#that’s a difference of 2.2 days!

[zytes]

9.16.24 / 9.17.24 - september supermoon

[miciiq]

Got Aventurine in 60 pulls!

He’s so auxhuehuche I’m so happy I have him now

[watevermelon]

A Beautiful Cage | Sunday x Reader

✧ Summary: You woke up in this beautiful dream, memories lost with a handsome man claiming to be your husband.

➳ Spoilers for the 2.2 Penacony update! ➳ Warnings: Dark!Sunday x Amnesiac Reader; Yandere writing liberties :) ➳ Navigation

“My beautiful Sparrow, welcome back.”

You stared at the man, blinking twice without words as his affection for you shined like the halo upon his head. The grip he had on your hand fell with each beat of your prolonged silence, a new sort of desperation growing at the corners of his lips. Your heart broke at the sight, despite not even knowing his name.

“I’m sorry. Do I… know you?” You asked back, sitting up in the bed and only now noticing your surroundings.

The sterile smell and beeping monitors confirmed the worst. Beside you sat someone whom you felt an inexplicable connection to, a pull in your heart that stirred up warning bells, yet their face brought no specific memories.

Everything about him exuded importance, from the fine fabric and intricate details of his clothes to the matching halo and ethereal wings. He almost looked like an angel, a being of celestial grace and authority.

The man in question grimaced, but continued. “My name is Sunday. Do you remember my face?”

Sunday, like the last day of the week.

The day of rest.

“I’m sorry, no.” Your forehead creased in strain, as if the physical action could bring it all back. A worse revelation crossed your mind, “I don’t even remember my own name.”

“Then I will help you remember, my dear Sparrow.” He spoke gently, repeating the term of endearment as he lifted your hand to his lips. A silent warning bell in your subconscious screamed at you to pull away, but you ignored it to instead stare into his handsome, golden eyes.

“Please, stop me if this becomes overwhelming for you.” Sunday warned before explaining further, “You are my wife. And because of my position in this world, you are often put in danger. And unfortunately, I was not able to protect you from an attack.”

You stayed silent as Sunday continued on, describing in small detail the life you shared together. 

Your name and the world you chose to stay in, Penacony.

A dreamlike world where many partied their days away, celebrities and the affluent from around the universe sharing in one lavish adventure.

And Sunday, the head of the Oak family.

You could hardly believe his words, a world where people were able to freely pursue their dreams. 

The hesitation must have been seen on your face, since the kind stranger had countered with a simple phrase. “Let me show you.”

Gold lined the streets as far as the eye could see, casting a radiant glow across the entire cityscape. Fantastical roads floated in the sky above, while buildings were illuminated in a dazzling golden radiance.

Golden Hour, the name for the area, was aptly so. 

You stared dumbly in different directions, taking in the fantastical view and the lively bustle of people moving from store to store. Street performers graced nearly every corner, their music blending into a harmonious soundtrack that filled the vibrant, diverse heart of the city.

Sunday lifted an open palm towards you, the corners of his lips curling into a soft smile as if inviting your touch. As you placed your hand over his, you felt the gentle pressure of his grip matching your own tenderness. His hand felt cold and unfamiliar, but you brushed aside the discomfort, chalking it up to your amnesia.

“It’s Mr. Sunday!” A child yelled in excitement, jumping up and down as his company of other children turned at his words.

Suddenly there was a crowd of children, all surrounding your supposed husband and asking for his autograph. A weight on your heart felt lighter, seeing strangers confirm the words of the one person who was influencing your entire outlook on your new life. 

Sunday was essentially a stranger, but now the only person you could rely on.

You needed truths and as the crowd grew larger, you could confirm that this man was honest in his words earlier.

“Are you alright, Miss?” One of the children turned and asked you.

Another joined in on the conversation, “Mr. Sunday said you were hurt! Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you for asking.” You kept your response kind, but short.

Sunday weaved his way through the short crowd, back to your side. "Please excuse us as we must depart promptly. My sincere apologies, but my dear wife has endured considerable challenges."

“Awww, he loves you!” A squeal broke out from the back, making you unconsciously blush.

Sunday simply smiled, before waving goodbye and leading you on your way.

Sunday resided in a grand estate, passing libraries adorning the walls as he guided you to your shared bedroom. You admired the opulent furniture, once again accented with gold. As Sunday removed his outer layers, you seized the opportunity to survey the room. Framed pictures — your wedding, a festival, and one with a third person who looked much like Sunday —moments that, regrettably, eluded your recognition.

Your husband emerged from the other room silently, regarding you with that same small smile as he drew closer.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember.” You spoke first, genuinely frustrated that your memories were taken from you. “It’s alright.” He reassured you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Can I try something to help you?”

You nodded in quiet affirmation, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips as Sunday leaned closer. His breath mingled with yours, warm and comforting, as he pressed a soft kiss against the tip of your nose before gently lowering his lips to meet yours. The kiss was tender, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, delicate and fleeting, as if both of you were hesitant to disrupt the tranquility of the moment.

But as the warmth of the embrace enveloped you, a surge of emotion ignited within, fueling the kiss with a newfound intensity. Your lips moved in perfect harmony, a dance of passion and longing, as Sunday's hand found its way to the back of your neck, his touch both gentle and possessive. With each brush of his lips against yours, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you locked in a timeless embrace.

But it was not enough.

“I love you, my Sparrow.” He murmured against your lips. “Whatever you come to need, I will provide it. Lest it be my time, my affection, or even if you perhaps… need space.”

A pang of bittersweet ache tugged at your heart as you processed those last words. It was undeniable how much Sunday loved you, his actions speaking volumes and allowing you the space and freedom if that was what you wanted. It was a sacrifice born out of love, a silent vow to stand by your side no matter the outcome, even as your heart yearned for the completeness that only the restoration of your memories could bring.

But a life without him… did not feel right?

“No, please. I want you by my side.” 

It was a small concession, but the radiant smile that blossomed across Sunday's face filled even you with an infectious joy. He leaned in, pressing a series of gentle kisses along the side of your cheek, each one eliciting a soft laugh from your lips as you savored the delightful sensation. In that fleeting moment, surrounded by the warmth of his affection, all worries and uncertainties melted away, leaving behind only the sweet embrace of shared laughter and unspoken love.

You snuggled into his arms at night, the sensation unfamiliar but not unwelcome. As you closed your eyes and drifted into slumber, a relentless melody began to crescendo, growing louder and more insistent until it engulfed your consciousness, becoming the sole sound echoing through the corridors of your dreams.

A woman's voice, light and airy, infused with hope, danced through the recesses of your mind, casting a shimmering veil over your thoughts.

Who was that woman?

And why was she the only memory your mind could recall?

You devoured every book available on Penacony and its rich history, spending countless days ensconced within the walls of your private library. Sunday had even offered recommendations, guiding you towards enlightening reads detailing the intricate tapestry of the Oak family and the other prominent families that shaped the fabric of Penacony's past.

A dream, tantalizing in its promise, offering individuals the chance to manifest and fulfill their deepest desires, but with a caveat—access granted solely through the family's invitation.

But there was nothing of note regarding your situation.

Instead, you found yourself falling into rhythm into Sunday’s life.

You slotted into his life easily, either accompanying Sunday for work or even venturing out on your own. Some days, you would visit his office as he tirelessly worked and meticulously planned for the upcoming Charmony festival. Or, on easier days, strolled through the familiar streets of Penacony as he encouraged you to immerse yourself in the surroundings in hopes of triggering memories.

In each interaction, it was evident the deep love and devotion Sunday held for his people and his beloved city of Penacony. He listened attentively to even the most mundane complaints from others, offering genuine empathy and understanding. His concern and unwavering commitment to his people were palpable, leaving a heartwarming impression on all who encountered him.

It seemed like he was perfect in every way possible.

Life with Sunday was sweet, easy even.

And yet, there was an insistent hammering in your heart, a relentless pulse that sent waves of unease through your entire being.

Every night without fail, you continued to hear that insistent melody, a haunting refrain that seemed to echo from the depths of your past. You couldn't fathom why your mind clung to this particular fragment of memory and it nearly drove you to anger. You had lived an entire life, rich with experiences and emotions, yet it was a single song that your memory chose to preserve. Why not Sunday, or the life you had shared together? 

What was the importance of this song?

You found yourself unconsciously humming along to this song even as you traversed Penacony. It was another day with Sunday off attending to business, leaving you to your own devices. You appreciated his willingness to let you explore Penacony independently; it allowed you to experience the city's vibrancy through your own eyes, unfiltered by anyone’s perceptions and unburdened by expectations. The freedom to form your own impressions was a gift, even as the familiar tune haunted your every step.

How could you possibly be suspicious of your husband when he was giving you all this freedom?

Your eyes swept appreciatively across the cityscape until they paused in one direction. You halted immediately, a small tendril of suspicion blossoming into body-wide panic as you recognized the woman standing before you.

In your heart of hearts, you remembered her name.

Robin.

Instantly, an unrelenting pain seared through your brain, but you resisted the urge to duck down, clutching your head as you stared at the woman. She locked eyes with you, surprise flashing across her face before she began running in your direction.

“Robin?” Your voice was barely a whisper, but the woman wrapped her arms around your middle.

Her hug felt deeply familiar, like the comforting embrace of home after a long, perilous journey. It was as if her arms wrapped not just around your body, but around your weary soul, offering solace and a sense of belonging that you had desperately missed.

You continued. “Robin, I… Lost all my memories. You are the only person I’ve recognized so far.”

Robin's face contorted in pain, worry deepening with every word you spoke. She looked you over, inspecting every inch to ensure you were unhurt. Satisfied, she hugged you again tightly before gently patting your heart.

“Robin?” You asked again, but the woman only looked at you and tilted her head in question.

“Are you… unable to speak?”

Yes.

She nodded her head, making you take a deep breath to calm your beating heart. “Is it because of me?”

No.

“I… We should tell Sunday!” You attempted to look for a solution, but she frowned and kept nodding her head no. “Does he already know?

Yes.

“... Will you come back home with me? I don’t remember you fully, but in my heart it feels like I’ve missed you.”

She nodded eagerly, making you a bit more suspicious of her intentions.

You walked side-by-side, making your way back to your shared abode with Sunday, enveloped in a familiar atmosphere. In the absence of her voice, you took it upon yourself to fill the air with conversation, enough for the both of you. You recounted how you had awoken without a single memory, with Sunday faithfully by your side. You described his love and devotion, his unwavering care for your every need.

This felt familiar, being with Robin. However, why now? 

Why hadn’t she visited you before?

A part of your mind stuttered, hesitating to confide in Robin about the ominous feeling gnawing at your heart regarding everything that was happening. What if she took her brother's side? Perhaps it was wiser to keep silent, hesitant to disclose your apprehensions, especially considering the possibility that she might be collaborating with him.

You walked into the foyer with Robin and she led you further into the home, into a library with a large desk that had a model of all of Golden Hour.

It was evident that she was on a mission, striding purposefully forward without the slightest hint of hesitation as she surveyed the towering bookcases that lined the walls of the library. Sensing her focused energy, you allowed her to proceed in silence, observing her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Recognition flashed behind her eyes and she grabbed something resting on the shelf, a rectangular object, before quickly thrusting it at you.

“What do you want me to do with this?” You asked with confusion, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Silent yet urgent, she swiftly took charge and reached to open the flap of your jacket, deftly slipping the object into the pocket before pressing a single pointer finger against her lips, signaling for you to maintain absolute silence.

You shook your head in confusion, near begging for more information. “Silent from who?”

From Sunday?

Or from someone else in Penacony?

But a now familiar voice was heard at the door frame.

“My dear sister, I didn’t know you’d be visiting our home today. Not that I’m not grateful, but I would have stayed home to greet you upon your arrival.” Sunday greeted you both with his customary kind smile, a warm familiarity washing over you. He approached, embracing his sister first in a lingering hug before turning to your side, where he offered you a greeting kiss on the forehead.

“My offer to stay in this home still stands, dear sister.”

Their relationship appeared to be fine, even close. Perhaps Robin hadn’t intended to keep the matter silent from Sunday? However, as Robin bid you both goodbye and you found yourselves alone, you made the conscious decision to remain quiet about the object, keeping it tucked away in your pocket like a silent reminder.

The following day, you ventured out of the mansion and found yourself in a cafe. Uncertain about the object nestled in your pocket, you hesitated to even retrieve it, opting instead to keep your hand inside, fingers lightly brushing against its surface as you inspected it solely through touch.

Nothing about it seemed special, just a rectangular object shrouded in mystery.

Dumbfounded, you exited the cafe, pondering the possibility of researching the object. Was there a library somewhere in Penacony that might hold more information? A tendril of apprehension tightened in your heart as you recalled that the only library you had encountered thus far was the one within your own home.

“Ah, his little songbird.” A voice, unfamiliar, broke you out of your reverie.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” You asked back genuinely.

“Perhaps in another lifetime.” The woman continued, looking you up and down with a smirk on her face.

She was beautiful, even enough to make you feel self conscious. The woman stood tall with porcelain skin contrasting the lavender hues that cascaded down her back. Her gaze nearly matched her hair, a captivating blend of colors with red striking you like the flames of a hypnotic fire.

“My name is Black Swan.” She stated simply, inspecting your eyes as if to see if there was any recognition behind them.

But instead, you blinked twice, uncertainty clouding your thoughts as you awaited her next words, unsure of where she was leading the conversation.

“That’s unfortunate.” She commented on your eyes, once vibrant when she last saw you. “But I believe you have a souvenir of mine.”

Your hand clenched around the rectangular object, a surge of apprehension coursing through you. The thought of broaching the subject with Sunday seemed fraught with risk. Why would you entertain the idea of confiding in a stranger?

“I know you don’t trust me. But would it help if I told you a fellow songbird and I gave it to you?”

Robin.

You paused, looking left and right before stepping closer. 

“Hold on.” She spoke softly, her words accompanied by a gentle hand on your wrist, guiding you away from the bustling streets of Golden Hour. Through winding paths and intricate puzzles, she led you, each twist and turn revealing new secrets and hidden passages.

“It isn’t safe here either, but at least now we’re away from the eyes of the bloodhounds.”

Huh?

Though you couldn’t quite comprehend it, with each passing moment in the company of this stranger, you found yourself inexplicably at ease. There was a sense of trust that seemed to grow between you, as if she were a steadfast ally in this labyrinthine journey. You held up the rectangular object in your palms, and she made no move to take it from your grasp, respecting your agency and the significance of the item to you.

She put her hand over the object, “This is an empty light cone. Light cones hold memories, moments in time that were long forgotten even by the user.”

Your eyes shot up in interest, but you did not interrupt her.

“Tell me, do you enjoy this dream?” She asked, seemingly out of nowhere. “Be honest with me, songbird.”

You paused, given the first true opportunity to speak your mind. “I enjoy being here, but something doesn't feel complete.”

“Have you noticed something strange since you first awoke here?”

“Like what? 

“Remember. A major flaw in the story you have experienced.”

Your frustration grew, “I can only recall the last few weeks, I can’t go back any further.”

Black Swan fixed her gaze upon you, her eyes locking onto yours with an unwavering intensity as she spoke. “Think back to what you know. Where did you start this story?”

“I was in a hospital, here in Penacony.”

In response, she arched a single eyebrow, a silent indication that there was more to your statement than met the eye.

“And a death in Penacony means what?” She asked slowly.

You strained to recall the answer to that question, your mind rifling through the wealth of knowledge gleaned from the books you had devoured upon awakening. In this dream realm, death held no sway, its specter banished from the bounds of this surreal reality. Your heart quickened with anticipation as the answer began to crystallize in your mind.

“It means returning back to reality.”

If your injuries were indeed severe enough to land you in a hospital bed, on the edge of your life and stripped of your memories, why hadn't you simply returned to reality?

Or rather, why hadn’t Sunday brought you back to reality?

“Wake up, songbird. Break free from this eternal dream.”

Your consciousness plunged beneath the surface instantly, submerged in the depths of an endless ocean. With each stroke, you struggled against the weight of the water, yearning for the surface just out of reach. Yet, propelled by an unseen force, your mind surged forward, propelled by the current of your subconscious.

.

.

.

You coughed up air, gasping for breath as you struggled to fill your lungs, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty washing over you in waves. 

Where the hell were you?

You found yourself seated in a pool of water within the confines of a colossal oyster, a fleeting memory flickering in your mind—a recollection of this being the entrance to the Dreamscape.

You were back in reality.

The room was tastefully decorated, with screens displaying a serene beachside view and lush green plants adorning the corners. A cozy fireplace added warmth and ambiance to one wall. It became evident that this was your personal space, as stacks of books adorned every available surface.

As you meticulously combed through the books, your fingers trembled with anticipation, a sense of dread beginning to gnaw at the edges of your consciousness. Each page turned revealed nothing but mundane details, no hint of Sunday's potential duplicity. Yet, the oppressive silence of the room seemed to press in on you, suffocating and thick with apprehension.

Nobody should have knowledge of your clandestine presence, save for Black Swan, yet the hollow echo of a knock shattered the stillness, reverberating through the room like a harbinger of doom. Each rap upon the door sent shivers racing down your spine, your heartbeat thundering like a drumbeat of impending dread.

Was it Sunday?

Was he going to force you back into the Dreamscape?

Hesitation rooted you on the spot, hand trembling as it hovered over the doorknob. Fear coiled in your chest like a venomous serpent, paralyzing your every movement. But the relentless knocking persisted, growing louder and more insistent with each passing second, until it felt as though the very walls themselves were closing in.

“Sparrow, are you alright?”

Sunday.

And yet he sounded… concerned?

His genuinely distressed tone had a disarming effect, causing your guard to falter. With a hesitant hand, you reached for the doorknob, feeling it's cool metal beneath your fingertips. 

Even with your slow movements, Sunday hadn’t rushed to open the rest of the door. His voice was gentle, “My love, were you attacked again?”

What?

Did you awaken here the last time you were attacked?

You met Sunday's gaze, but the expression etched upon his face was unlike anything you had ever seen. His eyes, typically ablaze with a golden warmth, now held a chilling intensity, their once vibrant hue dimmed to a somber shade. In their depths, a glimmer of suspicion flickered, casting an ominous pall over his countenance. His stare bore into you with a laser-like focus, each line etched upon his features to show the gravity of his scrutiny. 

“No… I was with…”

Your mind stuttered once more, faltering in its attempt to grasp onto the memory of the woman you had just encountered. The image of her beautiful lavender hair and the melodic cadence of her voice began to fade, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. It was as if the memories were elusive phantoms, slipping away from your grasp, leaving behind only fragments of a conversation and a sense of disorientation in their wake.

Sunday remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he observed your inner turmoil with a focused intensity. In a fleeting instant, the tension dissolved from his features, replaced by a tender expression as he lifted a hand to caress your cheek. Leaning in, he gently pressed his forehead against yours, a silent gesture of reassurance.

“Let me take care of you, Songbird.”

“Where… Where are we going?”

“Let’s forgo the Dreamscape tonight. The dinner menu in the lounge sounded particularly appetizing.”

As your mind grappled with the swirling chaos of conflicting memories, one thought remained steadfast: the yearning to return to reality and leave the Dreamscape. Yet, Sunday stood before you, extending an invitation to remain in reality with him. His gentle encouragement, coupled with the suggestion of sharing a meal together, created a tug-of-war within your soul - if he was truly suspicious, wouldn’t he want to return to the Dream?

“Something wrong, my dear?” Sunday asked, his trademark gentle smile once again gracing his features.

A pang of guilt gnawed at a corner of your mind, for you had harbored suspicions of Sunday throughout your time in the Dreamscape. Yet, here he stood, seemingly without fault, extending an open invitation to spend time with him outside the confines of the dream.

“No, let’s.. Let’s get dinner.” You spoke softly, slipping your hand into his and surprising him with your initiative, taking the lead for once.

“Of course, my love.”

You traversed the halls in silence, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts as you pondered the origins of your suspicion towards Sunday. He had been your rock, your unwavering support, proving his loyalty and love over the years of your marriage. It was probably the amnesia that made you wary, but you felt somewhat guilty that you held suspicions over the one person who may not have deserved it. 

Lost in contemplation, you scarcely noticed the world around you until you chanced upon a young boy, his striking white hair and azure garments catching your attention in the otherwise familiar surroundings.

“Welcome back to the Reverie! If you need any assistance, feel free to let me know.” He greeted you by name, making you smile at his sunny disposition. 

“Thank you, we’re headed down to the VIP lounge now for dinner.” Sunday responded, pausing to reply to the bellboy.

“I’m sorry, I had an accident and I don’t remember your name. Can you tell me yours?”

“No problem, my name is Misha.”

.

.

.

“A pleasure to meet you Misha.” You replied before waving goodbye, smiling as you went with Sunday by your side.

Perhaps you were wrong to be suspicious of Sunday. But no matter, you had an entire lifetime to make it up to your darling husband. He had been so kind to you these last few weeks, you resolved to make amends and shower your darling husband with the love and trust he deserved. Recollections of his tender gestures flooded your mind—the soft kisses, the gentle caresses—that had brought warmth and comfort to your heart over the past weeks. With a smile playing at your lips, you embraced the idea of spending a lifetime cherishing him.

You leaned up on your toes, gently kissing the side of his cheek as you walked through the halls.

Perhaps things were as they should be.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Despite what Robin claimed, Sunday loved you, truly.

Even when you threatened to leave his side for good.

When Robin returned back from her journey on death’s door, Sunday had not simply presented the idea of keeping her here on Penacony.

He enforced it.

In the tender heart of Sunday resided his beloved sister, a cherished soul intertwined with his very essence—his own lifeblood. Why, then, would he ever allow her to return to the perilous realms from whence she came? 

Society was too cold, too dangerous. 

Robin vocalized her discontent, lamenting the confines of the gilded cage that Penacony had become for her. Yet it was a cage adorned not with mere bars but with the allure of gold and the promise of boundless dreams. She could do anything, be anything. In fact, she was already a renowned celebrity who had the love of her last remaining family member. 

Why return to danger when here she prospered?

“It is still a cage.” She would counter, frustration dripping from her words.

And how much more did it break his heart when you took her side?

“Sunday, my love.” As if any endearments would affix his shattered heart. “Robin has a message that she must continue spreading. Keeping her confined here, what about the people she needs to reach?”

No.

He refused to accept their words.

Sunday’s sacrifices were grains of sand slipping through an hourglass, bearing the weight of his every aspiration, relinquished one by one until they formed a towering edifice, precarious yet resolute. At its peak stood the pinnacle of his being — his own life — offered willingly to maintain this dreamlike world even until the very last breath of eternity.

How much more was he willing to give-up?

Or rather, what was he allowed to be selfish for?

His dear sister.

And certainly, you.

As the Stellaron continued to leak Asdana’s memoria into the material world, Sunday felt his final dreams come to fruition. The Dreamscape was blending with reality, making even reality itself an illusion. 

He told himself repeatedly that this was for the good of humanity, a paradise where every individual was able to indulge in their delightful dreams and live their own personal happily ever after.

And what of yours?

Sunday granted you the freedom to roam Penacony at will, affording you the opportunity to reach for the stars even in his physical absence. But your frustration mounted, you knew he was watching from a distance anyway, a million eyes at his beck and call in this so-called Dream. You continued to voice your discontent, arguing that freedom within the confines of a cage was not truly freedom.

Why did you insist on leaving this eternal dream?

Would you leave his side and return to being an abandoned orphan, tossed aside somewhere in the old Penacony?

No, he would not allow it.

Even if he had to rewrite your memories along the way.

[milkloafy]

REST AND RESPITE — DAN HENG

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: dan heng finds himself growing fond of your outgoing and talkative nature. one day, when you’ve holed yourself in your room, he can’t help but worry about you. ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.0k  ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: shhh i haven’t played 2.1 or 2.2 update yet so dan heng is still chilling in the express to me <3 wrote this while sleep deprived and accidentally made dan heng softer than planned :> 

After the events that transpired at the Xianzhou Luofu, Dan Heng decided he needed the time to rest and reflect. He hoped March 7th and Trailblazer had a successful mission—he would surely join them again soon—but he knew he wouldn’t be giving his best effort if he were to go in his current state.

He decided a few moments of peace and quite would do him some good.

Unfortunately for him, however, you also stayed on board the Astral Express for the next mission. 

Peace, he would still get. Dan Heng enjoyed your presence and the two of you had gotten closer over the years. But quiet… That was another story. Ever since you had joined the Astral Express, the halls wer filled with sounds of your laughter. On the nights you and March 7th had a sleepover planned, Dan Heng found himself needing earplugs, to put it kindly. 

Despite the noise not being his typical preference, he noticed himself finding comfort in the liveliness and warmth you brought. Which is why, when a day came where he did not hear you chatting with Pom-Pom or Welt during your scheduled afternoon snack, Dan Heng began to grow concerned. After only brief contemplation, he walked down the hallway and knocked on your door, your favorite breakfast bar in hand. 

“Y/N?” he called through the wall.

“Oh— Come in,” you said, your voice distant. 

When he opened the door, he saw you curled up on the small sofa inside your room—your conversation area for guests, you had told him. You had a blanket wrapped around you and a slow-paced instrumental piece playing from your radio. 

You waved as you looked up at him with a smile. “Hi there.”

“Hello.” Dan Heng extended the breakfast bar out to you. “I noticed you haven’t come out to eat yet. Thought you might be hungry.” 

Your eyes brightened as you accepted the snack, expressing your thanks with a bow of your head.

“Is everything okay?” he asked once you took a bite. Though you didn’t look terrible, he still was unable to shake his worry. “You have been quiet today.”

You let out a small laugh, though it sounded unnaturally forced. “I’m sure you’re grateful for these few moments of silence.”

“Not when your wellbeing is in question.”

Your gaze warmed as his thoughtful words, patting the cushion next to you and beckoning him to take a seat. He obliged, feeling the warmth radiating from your body as his right arm pressed against you. Dan Heng quite enjoyed the warmth. You offered him the corner of your blanket and he shook his head, smothering a chuckle of amusement. 

Once the two of you settled in, you said, “I’ve just been having bad dreams all night.” You paused, as if deciding how much more you wanted to share. “They were about my time…before the Astral Express.”

Dan Heng nodded in understanding. You did not have to say more. The Express welcomed all types of people, each with vastly different backgrounds. Everyone came from unique places and sometimes they were not the best ones. He was unable to verbalize this feeling of empathy out loud to you, but he hoped you sensed that he was there for you.

“I’m not really thinking about it anymore,” you assured, your tone rushed. “Now I’m just exhausted but haven’t been able to sleep.”

He hummed to himself. You seemed tired, even a bit troubled. Perhaps even someone like you needed time alone. But something told him that, for this particular situation, that didn’t seem to be the case.

Clearing his throat, he spoke up. “If you think it will help, you are welcome to join me in the Archives today. I still have some entries to input, but if you would like some company, I’ll be there.”

You straightened up in your seat, eyes wide with excitement, before a flash of hesitancy crossed your face.

“It…won’t be bothersome to you?” 

“You’re never a  bother,” he said firmly. “Though, perhaps your slumber parties with March 7th while I’m trying to sleep may be.” 

That earned a laugh out of you. “Well, if you joined us one night, maybe you would see the appeal. Even Caelus joins sometimes!” 

Dan Heng smiled at that. “Perhaps you are right.”

You nodded and said matter-of-factly, “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

He chuckled, happy to see a glimpse of your normal self coming out. Seeing you dejected and downcast was something he hated to witness, though he knew everyone had those moments. They were inevitable, after all. But Dan Heng wished he could always be there for you during those times.

It was natural to feel that way towards a good friend, he told himself. If he said it enough, maybe he would be convinced. 

So why did he feel his heart race when you asked him to help you up from the couch? And why was he glad you didn’t let go of his hand even after you stood up?

Dan Heng wet his lower lip as he glanced at your connected hands. They were not even interlocked—just barely brushing—yet he still reacted in such a way. He looked over at your face and noticed a bashful smile gracing your features. It was a sight he wasn’t exactly used to seeing, but it was pleasant nonetheless. 

Perhaps similar thoughts flashed through your mind about him. Did your heart also race when the two of you made close contact? Did your stomach flutter at his touch? He wanted to ask, but chose to hold back for now. You were distraught and vulnerable from your difficult night, and he thought it was more important to help you feel calm and well-rested first. 

But as he caught you sneaking glances at him before looking away with a coy expression, Dan Heng knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for long. Still, patience was a virtue and he was confident that it would pay off. 

Soon, he promised himself. Dan Heng caught your eye and this time, you didn’t look away. He smiled and you returned it tenfold. Very soon.

[freyito]

ɢɪʀʟᴅᴀᴅ ʙᴏᴏᴛʜɪʟʟ

✩ inspo: RECENT BOOTHILL LEAKS

★ summary: booty as a girldad...

✧ a/n: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS TO BOOTHILL'S STORY!!!!! THESE ARE BASED OFF OF BOOTHILL LEAKS!!!!!!!!!!! HEAVY HEAVY SPOILERS!!!!! HEAVY SPOILERS!!!!

also i dont normally write stuff like this but oh my fucking god HE HAD A DAUGHTER. here's the fluff i promised after blue veins i guess. dont get too comfortable with it ;)

✦ like my work? feel free to send a request !

🗒 cw: gn reader, written before boothill release/2.2, BOOTHILL LEAKS, he's a good father. sorta, not proofread

✎ wc: 932

Boothill’s censorship comes in handy with the new addition to the family. Granted, he’s really good with watching himself around kids, regardless. He’s really good with kids, he becomes a softer person around them, even softer than he is with you. He’ll let them hang off his arms and draw things on his body, pick them up, and do that thing where he’ll throw them up in the air, spin them around, anything he can to play with the kids.

He starts to come back from missions faster, and spends more time with you and your daughter. He goes from ‘Trouble waits for no one!’ to ‘Trouble can wait a couple more days…’. He makes any little excuse to see her, and by Aeons, if you need a break, he’s more than happy to step in.

He is a total fashionista, too. He loooooooves dressing his daughter up in cute little dresses and overalls, braiding her hair and tying it up in bows. He’ll also let her play with his hair, no matter how frazzled he comes out. He’s content being her model, allowing her to put makeup on him as well. Sure, he’ll look silly, the brightest light blue eyeshadow caked on his eyelids, baby pink cheeks and deep red lipstick, but he feels pretty.

Of course, Boothill still can’t stay around as much as he’d like, he doesn’t want to risk the IPC finding him. He doesn’t want to risk the IPC finding her, specifically. He is too afraid of reliving the same scene, he often dreams of it, and there are times where he cannot tell the difference between his little girl and what was.

That means he’s protective. Even a little scrape and he’s worried, but he tries his best not to suffocate her. He’s worried, yes, but he gives himself space, for his sake and hers. He knows nothing good can come from an overbearing parent.

When she first started to walk he damn near cried, it was the first time you’ve seen him so soft and sappy. Yes, it was an ugly cry. He told everyone he knew that she WALKED! She walked to him! And he almost cries every time.

He’s also managed to keep the guitar he had made for his daughter, and he gifts it to your guys’ daughter. Not because he hopes that she will grow up to be what was, but because he believes it’s a nice memento. Somewhere out there, she’s watching you two build a family together, and she’s watching your little girl dance and play and giggle and even strum that guitar. And she’s happy.

Speaking of, he loves teaching his daughter guitar. Having her sit in his lap while he just strums, or showing her where to put her tiny fingers for certain notes. She’s not quite able to get it, but she laughs all the same, and that couldn’t make him happier.

Keeps every little drawing she makes up on the fridge. You’re starting to run out of space for magnets. Even if he’s not there, he wants her to know she’s an ARTIST. In every sense of the word. From preschool finger painting to elementary school drawings and so forth. Also keeps some folded up drawings in his wallet. His favorite is a stereotypical children’s drawing of you, him, and the house. Except he’s riding a pretty damn cool metal horse, (she named it ‘verminantor’, because she said it was cool. not ‘terminator’, no. ‘verminator’. make sure you get it right. Yes, Boothill named one of his bikes that) shooting his guns towards the sky. A pretty accurate depiction, you have to say.

He’s also really competitive for her. If she’s in any sports, he’s the dad screaming at the top of his lungs to ‘GO GET EM!!!!’ or ‘WIIIIIN!!!!!!’. He’ll get into verbal scuffles with other parents when they ask him to be quieter, because his baby deserves the best, and if the best is the loudest, then that’s what he’ll be.

Boothill is also an amazing storyteller, he can prattle on and on about whichever star system he’s been in for hours, it’s really handy when sending your daughter to sleep. Other kids really like his stories as well, he does his best to keep away from the violent parts (about 70% of his stories), and focus on how beautiful the planet was, or something like that. Most of the time he’ll pepper in stuff about a prince or a dragon or knights (which turned out to be true) to keep it entertaining, but pg for the kids.

He also spoils his daughter ROTTEN. He’ll come back from his little ‘sidequest’ with a bunch of gifts for both of you. He’s got all sorts of stuffed animals for his daughter, shirts, rocks, literally anything he could find that reminded him of her. Anything he could find that he knew she’d like.

He raises a rough n rowdy kid, essentially. The kind of father to let her roll around in the mud ‘cause she’s just havin’ fun’, who brings bugs home just for fun and names them all sorts of cowboy-esc names, (her favorite being Buck Bucksley– ‘it sounds like pa’s favorite word!’ she says, and you shoot him an angry glare. He looks away and shrugs it off, with a ‘I didn’t do nothin’.’) who’s favorite activity is looking for worms in the dirt, a kid who gets up quickly and dusts herself off when she scrapes her knees. And Boothill’s damn proud of her, absolutely gleaming with joy at any little accomplishment.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[choppeddreamworm]

Can I get something where fem reader/(Y/N) is in the school musical/play and they are secretly dating James Hook and his crew don't want to go to the show cause it's "stupid" or something and James sneaks into the musical/play and sits in the back just to watch his secret gf.

Musicals have a special place in my heart so I loved when I got your request! I feel like my writing fell a bit flat towards the end but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

-nini 𓄿

One Act play

Pairing: Captain hook x fem! reader

Warnings: none, just hook being rude :] not to you though Word count: 2.2 k (not proofread apologies for grammar/writing mistakes! )

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Song used:

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       "15 minutes till opening!" your directors loud voice notified the cast. The people below you conversed amongst each-other as they tried to fix the bottom of your dress. You held your arms up subconsciously trying not to block them, the puffy shoulders not helping. Before the director had come in and interrupted your train of thought you were running over your lines even mouthing some out loud if needed to fix your pitch. But now you could feel how overbearing your quick pulse and butterflies in your stomach fluttered enough to feel them in your throat. were.

This was the day you'd actually perform the musical you and your classmates had been working on for weeks. You put your heart soul into the auditioning process and your effort paid off because you got the lead role! To add to the overwhelming pressure you had invited your pirate boyfriend to come watch. Which gave you a whole new reason to take this play seriously. He had assured you to not over stress your little head about it but you wanted it to be perfect. No one knew the love you shared with the villain and this was the closest it would come to both of you seen in the same room without suspicion arising.

"Come on Uli it won't be so terrible," hook wasn't one to actually beg with the sea witch but he was trying to keep true to the promise he made you that he'd be there. It would be less weird if him and the Vk's arrived maybe cause some havoc afterward his leader would just have to agree to it. Uliana had other plans though she was too focused on fixing her appearance. It was fitting her room having a big mirror just for her. "I don't want little royals in my ears, singing songs about sappy true love or happy endings!" She puts her hands close to here face as she purposefully makes her voice whinny, mocking the overdone perfect fairy tale stories told. Hades and Maleficent can't help but chuckle at Ulianas   Sarcasm from across the room. Both laying on Mals bed since Uliana and Maleficent shared a room. Hook tries to not seem tense over the unknowing  jab Ursula's sister had taken on his royal girlfriend. Uliana rolls her eyes seeing that hook didn't bite back and goes back to her reflection instead. Hooks eyebrows lift, trying to give Mal a knowing look of "help me out" since she was the only one who knew of you being his lover. To which she ultimately just shrugs her shoulders at him going back to making heart eyes at hades. He looks towards Morgie knowing he'd jump on the bandwagon but for once he was actually focused on doing his biology homework. Something about different dog breeds...

He sighs, opening his mouth before Uliana cuts him off. "-While all of you are blinded by futile ... desires," she turns back around taking in Morgie actually doing homework like some good student at Mekong Academy and the two love birds doing nothing but gazing into each others eyes. She immediately belittles them in her head, "I have better things to tend to". Her tentacles push Hook as she stomps towards the front door. He bites back a snarl,not helping but at-least let a snarky remark leave his lips before she leaves, "don't let your tentacles get caught on your way out!". Which only earns him a little shut up from Uli. He laughs to himself mumbling how good the joke was only to be met with defeating silence now taking over the room. His other friends so caught up in their own personal "adventures".

"Yeah.. I'll just be going as-well, I love all of you too!" He whispers to himself as he follows Ulianas actions by walking out of the room. If he'd have to go alone then so be it.

"Giselle! you're up in five" One of the backstage managers gave you a smile along with small nudge as she called you by your characters stage name. You could only give a pitiful excuse for a grin back. A few tremors going through your body, clammy hands playing with the stage curtains. The people playing narrators were already on stage giving the intro to the audience. From your nervousness you couldn't help but peep in behind the curtains. A theatre half full, with many faces you recognized from classes except one... 

Your eyes desperately scanned each row staring with hope but ending in disappointment. While your heart seemed to try to beat out of your chest and eyes trying to start streaming like a faucet you stated to focus on evening your breath. It would be a shame if you had to force the makeup team to give you a last minute touch up. So instead of focusing on the missing villain in the crowd you started playing with your fingers. He would surely show up soon.

"ticket please," the female student located behind the table declared to a stumped Hook. "admissions should be free this is a school event,"  he answered back in frustration. The ability to afford the entrance fee was not of question it was the fact his valuables would not match school accepted currency. "yes should be, but tonights the opening night for the play though," she sticks her hand out more obviously. He shouldn't have used you as an excuse but he was grasping onto last resorts here plus he didn't tell the complete truth so your relationship was safe, "look lass my... friends in the play, main lead actually-". His words were cut short by the girls obnoxious snort, "your girlfriend- the main lead?" yeah sure!". She jeered looking him up and down not believing a pirate let alone a villain was associated with any person in the musical cast. "maybe you're just mistaken so I'll say this once, your holding up the line.. move" her demeanor changed from taunting to serious, hand no longer stretched out instead now holding a firm position down on the table. Hook leaned down, trying to see if he could intimidate his way in, but he remembered it wouldn't look so good on his part, dulling your staring moment and not seeing you act. "That hair looks awful on you darling maybe ask Fay to bippity bopitty fix that for you yeah?," he let the hook drag on the table a little too hard, ripping the table cloth just a good amount till deciding it was enough. While he strides away from the table towards the outside of the building the ticket girl that had attend him cant help but grab at her hair starting to doubt her own appearance.

He was trying to do things right and the universe seemed to be throwing it back in his face. Many scenarios played out in his head, his love distraught and hurt. There was no way he'd let that happen, he was sure there were other entrances not just so openly disclosed to the public. Presented perfectly to him while walking outside near the backside of the building was a door labeled 'storage', slightly opened, letting only a wisp of light out many people would probably miss but, not him.

The audiences claps brought you back to reality along the narrators walking off the stage towards you giving you a small 'break your leg'. Your breath caressed your teeth watching the lights dim exponentially, being able to conjure only the light silhouette of the props crew setting your scene up. A cozy forest with a castle far in the background. Last thing they did was talk into their mic, giving a thumbs up before leaving the stage. The darkness only teased you with going back in your head the blasting music with the violins and drums made you tense back into your senses. Your feet walked forward in airplane mode until reaching next to the prop mannequin created by you. A few thumps followed behind you, turning towards the dark audience you were met with the other cast kneeling in front of you dressed as animals. Lights slowly coming alive.

Hook was traveling through a dark room quietly before the loud music spooked him making him run into something. He was left cringing more as the objects falling caused a commotion. A few muffled voices made him sprint to the other end of the room where another door was. His eyes deprived of light were blinded when instantly met by the harsh bulbs. As he tried to recuperate people passed by him some dressed in office work clothes, others as animals and one specifically as a squirrel. He tried regain his posture realizing he was backstage. One passer by not helping but say, "I thought pirates weren't supposed to happen till the last act?". Deciding against asking for help since he must've already attracted attention dressed as he was, he tried finding his way cutting across many corners. Until he heard your voice traveling through the walls. He immediately grabbed some unsuspecting victim immediately, "you! where the door to the theatre seats?!". Too afraid to even speak they pointed to a door directly in his sight. He let them go without another thought dashing to the entrance.

"when you meet the someone, who was meant for you" you perked with a bit of faultiness, still struggling with getting into character. "Before two can become one theres something you must do...." your eyes were stuck on the audience still searching for hook. The character was gleeful and confident not unsure and meek.

"do you pull each others tails?" one of the cast members dressed as a bunny pulled on your arms while delivering their line. Which wasn't part of the act but it successfully made you remember your next steps. "Do you feed each other seeds?". You gently took their hand off you, your response along with your next words made it seem intentional. A small chuckle fought your lips , "No, there is something sweeter, Every-body-needs". With every jingle you touched each actors nose. A little sadness lingered in your heart when you looked up to the mannequin with dark hair dressed in red and a fork in his hand per your request.  "Ive been dreamin' of a true loves kiss, and a prince I'm hoping comes with this," the longing in your eyes as you looked at the inanimate object were real and . "Thats what brings ever-aftering, so happy," you gave fork a light touch with the tips of your fingers. Your head went back towards the "animals" who were supposed to be learning from you,"thats the reason we need lips so much". You made small motions with both your fingers connecting them, "for lips are the only things that touch".

"So to spend life of endless bliss.. just find who you love through true love's kiss,-" towards the middle of the singing you looked up with closed eyes feeling the words in your heart. Then with the last few words you looked up onto the crowd, hands out, a small figure towards the back side of the theatre cutting your last note short. You could recognize the frame of your lover anywhere even when you had blasting white lights rendering you blind. He raised his arm, dismissing any doubt in your mind was a shadow of a hook. When James had first laid eyes on you while singing your third verse he had to do a double take. The dress was so dramatic yet you looked so beautiful like A true princess indeed. Even more heartwarming was the fact he came in when you were singing those romantic words to a mannequin that suspiciously resembled him. 

Finally having his eyes on you made you miss your queue to riff, too focused on the way your pulse skipped and how embarrassing your wardrobe must've looked. Big, puffy and white to imitate the wedding taking place in the act. A big true grin now on your face played perfectly into the next sequence, the animals singing about you, repeating your own words. "She's been dreamin' of a true love's kiss," they start circling you. "And a prince she's hoping comes with this," you follow their gestures to the dummy next to you, making your advancements towards it. "Thats what brings ever-afterings, so happy,"  once they finished the verse and onto the next you started swaying with them, "and thats the reason we need lips so much For lips are the only things that touch".  

You gave a wonderful spin letting the artistry of the fabric be shown while your cast members last note rang out. A foot in-front of the other you step closer towards the edge of stage, hands clasping each other  on your chest. " So to spend a life of endless bliss," you cheeks puff, eyes finding the pirate in the audience once again as if singing to him you let passion flow out of you. " just find who you love through true loves kiss"

James didn't hide the big mushy look on his face, he spent every moment in public hiding his feelings for you but the darkness in the auditorium offered him hide out. Where even in everyones eyes you were just acting only two hearts shared their emotions out in public with no one having a clue just them. Ulianas words did make him want to laugh though, this play had just been "little royals in my ears, singing songs about sappy true love or happy endings". Except it was like a dedicated love letter to him and only to him by his theatre loving girlfriend. He would cherish it till his death bed, "embarrassing" parts and all.

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[kneelingshadowsalome]

God the idea of Simon having a s/o that's like wayyy shorter than him something like 5'5 is doing things to me. This man is 6'4 something and he's HUGEEE AF, like i think it would be a turn on for him, having his babe so small underneath him. And i don't even need to get into how probably big he is down there too? The struggle to take him in everytime but the afterwards is a pure bliss. Ugh.

Like, i agree with what you said, this man is an epitome of masculinity. And the need and want to take care, love and protect his mate. <3 <3

Mmm. Mmmm.

Ok I'm just gonna leave this here.

Original photo: @ S0CIALHUNTER on Twitter

This is not a Drill

Word count: 2.2 k

Tags/warnings: SMUT 🔞, a dash of fluff, size kink (obviously), size difference, swearing, premature ejaculation, penetrative sex toy. F!Reader.

A/N: Gaahh. No poetry this time. Just pure filth. Enjoy 🍽

This might just be one of your better ideas.

You've done this in secret for two weeks now, hoping by the time he arrives, you'll be able to surprise him with how well you've trained yourself to receive him.

If you can take a large toy so well, day after day, it should help with taking him in more easily too. Right?

As in, take in the biggest dick you've ever had and, god willing, will ever have.

You're actually quite proud of yourself. Not only does this thing keep you juicy, but it also makes you thirst for him even more. The need to have something even bigger inside you, the knowledge that he can provide that bigger thing, makes your lips purse, makes your walls throb as you remind yourself that tomorrow, your man will finally come home.

…Except that the stealthy fucker has chosen to arrive a day early. You don't even hear him before he's at your bedroom door. Fuck his profession, fuck all that experience in sneaking around, even with all that mass…

He comes in just in time to see how the said dong comes out, slick with your wetness.

Oh shit–

"Well. What do we have here?"

He looks at the brutal object in your hand, then raises his eyes to you – flustered you, lying all naked and throbbing and flushed on the bed. He can barely hold back a smile, but it's his eyes that laugh with an amused gleam.

"Careful or you'll hurt yourself with that thing."

That's some cheese coming from someone who's even bigger than the crude thing in your hand…

"You said you'd come tomorrow," you mewl as your excuse. He cocks his head a little, raises an eyebrow.

"Disappointed?"

"No, of course not, but–"

"You want help with that?"

He gives a side eye to the toy still in your hand. You blink a few times, then reach to set it somewhere, anywhere – the bedside table has to do, but you're too clumsy, and the toy drops to the floor and rolls at his feet.

Jesus, could things get any more embarrassing?

He examines the sorry thing with a stare that says How pathetic. Because even if to you, it's gigantic, it's nothing compared to what he's got in those pants. And he knows it too.

"Now ain't this convenient. I can go straight in, right?"

"I– I'm not sure," you breathe with anticipation.

"Let's give it a try then."

He doesn't even wait for your admission, which would only be a blaring, blazing Yes please sir. He doesn't trouble himself with undressing, merely crawls to the bed and over you.

He pulls back only to get himself out of those jeans, and it always looks like he's drawing out a massive weapon. Even in his hands, which are fucking huge, the cock looks like an oversized beast. He's fully hard, too, probably started to gather blood there the minute he saw you on that bed, puny and shy and caught red-handed.

And he's as impatient as can be: finally, there's a chance he can drive that cock right in, that he doesn't have to warm you up for half an hour with mouth and fingers and hear you cry when it still takes a few tears and some swearing as he guides it inside.

But the toys are no help, it seems. The massive head of his cock disappears in you, alright… But that doesn't mean it feels safe or sound.

"Oh, no. No, no."

He halts, hovering over you with just the tip inside, pulsing wildly.

"No?"

Ugh, why did you have to pick the biggest colossus of a man to be your fuck buddy for the rest of your life?

"Just… slowly, ok?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

He swallows and gets back to it, more slowly this time, and the spread is delicious – but it's also blinding, and you always have to remind yourself to keep breathing.

You just need to relax; it can fit, it has been there dozens of times before…

"Fuck, you're– you're even tighter down here," he groans with a dry throat and a heavy accent that makes you instantly clench around him.

It appears that you have only managed to train your inner muscles with that ridiculous dildo.

So much for trying to coax yourself open with toys…

He feeds more of that thickness in, in, in, until his balls make contact; they press against your flesh while your pussy hugs him with a perfect O shape. You bite your lip and hold your breath, and you're not the only one gaping at the scene in mild shock and admiration.

"Look at that…"

He doesn't even bother to tone down the drunken arousal in his voice which always drops down a few notes when he's fucking you. But every now and then, it's tinged with concern. How the hell can you even take him fully in?

He glances your way with the smallest smile playing at the corner of his mouth, muscles taut with anticipation. The man simply can't wait to ruin you.

"You ready?"

No…??

You give him a frail little nod and some high-pitched, broken whimpers from your mouth.

"Uh-huh?"

He chuckles, then withdraws, slowly… But the next thrust is not that gentle, and your brows knit together in pleasure and pain. Well, it's not exactly pain, just… It's a little too much. If the angle was even slightly off, it would hurt. The wetness no doubt helps this business, but you still find your teeth sinking into your lower lip again – he starts to roll his hips, fuck you with experimental thrusts that, blessedly, don't plunge too deep.

You feel your inner walls both accommodate him and tighten around him; greedy, like it's no problem at all to have far too big a shaft stuffed down there. And not just crammed, but plowing: back and forth like you're a toy, too.

"What in the bloody hell have you been doing…"

He detects the tense muscles that pull him in every time he reaches the base. You're too small for him; that fact was established long ago. But added with the clenching and throbbing pulse of your cunt, a fervor that tries to suck him like he's a fat stick of candy cane makes his jaw gradually fall open. The man looks like he's going to pass out.

"Were you doing that shit for me?"

You smile and flutter your lashes innocently, all the while a giant is trying to work his giant cock in you.

"Yup. Welcome home, I guess?"

He looks at you, not with mirth, but with reproof. You're playing with fire, toying with a sharp blade, and teasing a man of his size might not be the best of your ideas.

But that's exactly what you are; a goddamn tease. You just can't help it. You know he gets an equal kick out of this setting: of you being so small. Anyone is small compared to him, but you're small compared to anyone. Next to him–not to talk under him–you look like a helpless doll.

And perhaps that's what this is all about: perhaps one of these days, you want him to wreck you.

Use you.

Even the very thought makes your cunt wrap around him again. Massive thighs at least twice the size of yours force your legs wide apart as he goes deeper – so deep that you can feel those balls again, hefty slaps against you as he tries to bury himself inside a place he's not meant to fit.

You always wonder what you look like under him, disappearing entirely under a dark shadow and hundreds of pounds of muscle. Spreading your thighs to offer too tight a slit to what's practically a monster. It must always be forced inside with sweat, patience, and needy grunts. How insane it must look for that thing to disappear inside you again and again until you're loaded with him… His cum never stays inside before you reach the shower, but the feel of it running down your thighs is absolutely glorious.

You notice he slows down the pace, which is odd. Normally, he's fucking you with abandon at this point.

"What's wrong?"

He huffs above you, chest swelling with shallow, alarmed breaths.

"Wrong? What's right, more like…"

He resumes with a thrust or two, looks down to where you are joined, and lets out an aggravated groan.

"I'm sorry, I can't…" He draws back as if to pull out completely, and you whine a complaint. A decision is made right away; he sinks back inside, fills you again and again, until…

"I think I'm gonna cum," he informs with apologetic alarm.

Oh.. Right.

… Already?

"It's ok… it's ok," you sweep your hands up his back, clutch him to make it known that he can collapse like a tower upon you, and you would only feel enthusiastic about getting buried under the rubble.

Use me.

Just fucking take me.

The look on his face is a rare glimpse behind the walls of a remorseless soldier: something primal but vulnerable, something fragile that only you are allowed to see.

"You can use me," you whisper, and it's like a spell that calls upon disaster.

"Ah, Christ…"

It takes only a split-second before he accepts your offer in full. You're planted in the mattress with starved thrusts, his thighs and chest spread you open until he's drilling you in an almost 90 degree angle. You're concerned for the bed's capacity to take this sort of plowing when you should perhaps worry more about your poor abused pussy.

It's such a heaven that your jaw falls open, too. You're dreamy and helpless under him while he's far from feeble. He looks like thunder above you, especially when you're looking at him like he's a demigod.

Like you're in love.

Which you are… And he knows it, even without that adoring bimbo stare you give him.

"Gonna–cum. Fuck, I'm gonna–"

You can almost see the sweat breaking, can feel the cock inside you jolting even when there's no room for it to do such a thing.

"Fuck–! "

It swells inside you as he cums with a painful groan. The orgasm seems to just last and last, and you realize with horror and thrill that the guy hasn't had a wank in days. Work has been a bitch, then, and you get to pay for it – a punishment you suffer with glee.

He gives you his all, squeezing you between arms that feel like a too tight cage, crushing you with a chest that feels like a compression machine burying you under an iron weight. Hard thighs press against yours until you're spread open for him to be buried in to the hilt.

And you know it gives him hell that he finished before you: it's on par with a failed mission, you suppose. Your mission, however, was a success. The body around and over you is coiled tight, but the tension gradually leaves. Obviously it makes him feel even more heavy.

He finally goes slack against you, just like you wished, and you almost squeal while getting imprisoned by a heap of heaving muscles. He's catching both breath and the remains of his pride as he lies there on top of you. The cock inside gives an occasional pulse, but you're forever hungry.

This man should be illegal…

You know you won't be left stranded for long, and seeing him so utterly done gives you enough satisfaction for now. You can wait for him to finish you in other ways.

"You're fucking dangerous," he huffs in your ear while trying not to crush you completely with his weight. He's gathering his strength in the solace of your neck, and you smile like you're on drugs.

"Does that mean you like me..?"

"What do you think," he snorts humorlessly on your skin, but you know he's more than happy. "'Welcome home'... Bloody hell, woman."

"I'm glad you're here," you laugh and place a hand on that broad back to caress him gently.

"Yeah. You can keep that toy."

"Perhaps I'll finish myself with it," you chirp to annoy him a bit more. Another triumph: you have to suppress a laugh upon hearing him groan.

"Now give me a bloody minute…"

Poor man. The thought that you feel just too fucking good to him, so good that it makes him lose control, gives you such a high that it's just sinful. The thought that a stoic goliath like him is rendered weak on top of a small, harmless woman is more intoxicating than a wine glass filled to the brim.

You pet the back of his neck and know he's probably tired from work and wants to sleep. You wouldn't object to falling asleep too while he's holding you.

"How about we give it another try after a nap?"

Your offer makes him rumble softly, contently; the man's ready to drop but also thoroughly enamored. Your heart skips a beat from pure happiness.

"Mm. You always have the best ideas."

[raynewolferune]

Meta Jazz, the Arkham Intern Therapist Pt 2.1

Note: The writing bug bit me while wading through the comments and replies so you guys get more! 😁 Special thanks to @the-scarecrow-of-aus & @starlightcat04 for helping spark this continuation!

Also, so you're not confused, this part is from Kon's POV and backtracks to before the Bane incident to explain how Kon started going undercover in Arkham. Pt 2.2 has the Bane incident from Kon's POV.

~*~*~

When Kon got the call from Tim asking if he'd be willing to do a favor for him, he hadn't expected it to be an undercover assignment in the infamous Arkham Asylum itself.

"You want me to do what?" He asked staring at Tim in disbelief once he reached the Nest to debrief.

"Go undercover as a new guard in Arkham." Tim repeated with a deadpan expression looking over his shoulder at Kon from his computer chair. Holy fuck, his eyebags were bad. 

"Have you slept in the past week, Tim?" Kon asked, taking in his best friend's appearance.

Tim frowned at the question. 

"I don't see how that's relevant but yes." He answered, heartbeat unchanging. Which didn't really mean anything since it was Tim but Kon decided he'd believe him. 

For now. 

Kon sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, I'll do it." He said. "Can you tell me why we need someone undercover at least?" 

Tim eyes widened, startled by the question like he was surprised Kon didn't know yet even though Tim hadn't told him yet. Okay, deep breaths, calm down, Tim clearly hasn't slept in at least two days. Kon coached himself as his temper flared up at the evidence that Tim wasn't taking care of himself again. All the Supers agreed: sometimes you just wish you could beat some sense into the Bats and make them take care of themselves like normal human beings.

"Ah. Right." Tim said, turning back to the computer and pulling up some files as he explained. "Two thing have occured within roughly fifteen days of each other that together are rather suspicious. First, Dr. Thomas Rylie, Jonathan Crane's undergraduate roommate and classmate throughout undergrad and grad school, was hired to work as one of the new in house psychiatrists at Arkham Asylum. They also got their doctorates from the same school during the same time frame and both focused on the impact fear has on the brain. Dr. Rylie's focus was on fear conditioning and Dr. Crane's focus was on fear responses." Well, that sounds suspicious. 

"Second, Gotham University lost their minds and began an undergraduate and graduate internship program partnering with Arkham Asylum." 

Kon went cold. They did what?

Pictures of the Asylum, University, and three people -presumably Scarecrow, Dr. Rylie, and a young woman- filled the computer screen now. 

"The internship program has only one applicant so far and she'd already started working at the Arkham. Her name is Jasmine Fenton and her background is...sparse, to say the least." Tim turned in his chair to face Kon.

"I'm too recognizable in Gotham and among the rogues to successfully go undercover in Arkham so I've set you up with an apartment and ID as 'Kyle Jennings.' You're scheduled to start work at Arkham as a new guard tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Kon said with a nod. "What do you need confirmed? What are the primary objectives?" He prodded Tim again since his friend's sleep deprived brain seemed to think that was enough information for debriefing. It wasn't. Definitely not. A lot was implied but it wouldn't be the first time Tim had completely different intentions than what Kon had understood from his briefing. Sleep deprived Tim frequently assumed others could read his mind or something. Sleep deprived Tim was wrong.

"We need to determine if Dr. Rylie is here working for Scarecrow as part of some new scheme. We need to determine if Jasmine Fenton is complicit. We need to know if Gotham U is also in on it. And we need to find out what exactly Scarecrow is the planning." Tim stated automatically as he ticked each one off on his fingers.

"Got it. Guess I'll head over to my new apartment then and start prepping for tomorrow." Kon said, heading towards the exit. Tim hummed in agreement waving a hand in his direction as he left. That dumbass was probably already absorbed in the next case. Kon sighed, hopefully Tim would at least pass out sometime later tonight.

~*~*~

Kon's first day at Arkham wasn't anything special. He didn't see Jasmine, Dr. Rylie, or Scarecrow. He didn't see any rogues or doctors at all. It was just a really Gotham kind of orientation. 

"This is where we keep a cache of stun grenades, long-range scope rifles, tranquilizer rounds, and rubber bullets." His new supervisor and guide through orientation, Alex Fhizer, said as he showed Kon how to access, inventory, lock, and re-conceal the cache. "Everytime you pass by a cache on patrol, you will check the inventory again and sign off on it with the date and time. If anything is different from the previous inventory entry, you will immediately radio the tower and the island will be put on lockdown." Greyish Hazel eyes peered out of a weathered face staring Kon down. "You will never neglect to inventory a cache while on patrol. You will never neglect to report an inventory discrepancy. The first time you do you will be fired immediately and you can count yourself damn lucky if that's all that happens to you." 

Fhizer was intense, man.

"Yes, Sir." Kon answered. Fhizer's hard look lasted another long moment before the older man gave a firm nod and continued showing Kon the ropes.

~*~*~

The second day was no where near as chill as the first. Hell, his brain was already starting to warp, there hadn't been anything chill about that orientation.

Kon started his second day by boarding the Arkham transport bus with the rest of the staff and early morning visitors to the island. That was where he saw Jasmine Fenton in the flesh for the first time. 

She has got to be part Amazonian, was his first thought upon seeing her. She was around 6ft tall with a thick mane of red hair tightly braided reaching all the way down to her waist. Jasmine was wearing teal stud earrings, a silver bangle type bracelet on her left wrist, a white blouse, black slacks, and black flats. She carried a small, clear purse that only held a small notepad, pen, house key, chapstick, and a thin teal wallet that presumably contained her IDs, debit cards, and a small amount of cash. Damn, she was tall.

Kon's concentration was broken by the quiet sound of metal crunching slightly beneath his fingers. He immediately loosened his grip on the hand rail, checking for damage with a wince. He breathed a soft sigh of relief when he saw the damage was almost entirely unnoticeable to the naked eye. He'd have to mind his strength more closely. Kon was too used to the farm and facilities that were all reinforced to handle casual use from people with super strength. 

Tim's notes indicated Arkham wasn't reinforced for super strength anywhere. Not even along the outer walls. The facility had opted to use suppression collars on their meta inmates instead since they were cheaper and easier to repair and replace according to the official reports. However, Tim's notes had also mentioned that Arkham had reinforced the outer walls to account for super strength at one point. They'd poured nearly every dime the facility could spare into the project for months until the Joker himself had taken it personally. The madman had absolutely obliterated the reinforced outer walls until no part of them remained standing. Given Joker had destroyed the walls without having any meta powers at all and his history of viciously attacking -damn near mauling- anyone that tried to put him in a straight jacket, Kon didn't really blame Arkham for stopping while they were ahead.

Kon looked up as the bus jolted to a stop. The other passengers filing off around him. He watched as Jasmine Fenton was met by Dr. Rylie in front of the bus as he waited to disembark. 

"Ms. Jasmine!" Dr. Rylie greeted her enthusiastically with a broad open grin and beaming eyes. He reached towards her with both arms, hands open and she reached back. Their right hands clasped as their left hands landed on the other's upper arms as the two greeted one another openly. Kon wasn't very familiar with intern-mentor relationships nor what would be considered normal or professional for them, but it looked like a rather affectionate greeting for them having been strangers two weeks ago. That was strange, wasn't it? Was Tim right to be worried about them?

"Ms. Jasmine is the first and only applicant for Dr. Rylie, Director Keener, and Dean Byle's hairbrained idea to hire more doctors for this place." One of the older guards that had been standing just behind him on the bus explained having apparently noticed Kon watching the pair.

"They just seemed rather affectionate for Gotham." Kon shrugged dismissively as he turned to look over his shoulder at his new colleague. The shorter man laughed.

"A bit, yeah." He agreed. "I think Dr. Rylie is just desperate for this program to work out." He continued as they finally managed to get off the bus. Dr. Rylie and Ms. Fenton were gone now. "Pretty much everyone's been treating her like a princess." 

"That doesn't seem fair to everyone else." Kon commented, dropping back a bit to let the older man lead the way to the guards room for morning debriefing and to get their assignments. He'd already memorized the layouts but 'Kyle Jennings' shouldn't have yet.

"Who cares about fair as long as it works?" The guard answered. "If treating her like a princess scores more interns for the program in the long run, and if one intern every year ends up interested in sticking around, I'll be happy to cater to every single one of them." He confessed, stopping in the middle of the hall to turn and face Kon directly. Kon glimpsed the name Ryans as the silver name badge flashed the briefly reflecting the overhead lights. "You non-gothamites just don't get it. We're desperate for whatever help we can get." 

"That's why I applied here." Kon lied. "Going to school across the bay, I heard a lot about what went down over here while I was in college. I want to help." 

Ryans gave a short solemn nod then turned and led the rest of the way to the break room. 

~*~*~

Day four undercover was when Kon officially met Jasmine Fenton. 

Everything had been going well so far with his undercover assignment. He'd settled in to the role of Kyle Jennings, been getting along well with his new coworkers including Ryans and Fhizer, and hadn't yet managed to screw up inventorying the caches during the outer patrol loops. That being said, Kon was having other issues.

The worst part of being an unstable Kryptonian clone was that his strength tended to fluctuate. It normally wasn't much of an issue when he was surrounded by reinforced everything in his daily life but here at Arkham it was becoming a problem. Case in point, Kon thought to himself with an exhausted groan as his freshly made coffee mug shattered in his hand.

"Oh come on." He sighed snatching a handful of paper towels from the counter and bending to wipe up the coffee and ceramic shards on the floor. At least he was the only one in the room when it shattered. The door clicked softly behind him and Kon jumped twisting to look. 

Jasmine Fenton stood behind him having just closed the door to the break room after entering.

"What happened here?" She asked, sounding bewildered with slightly wide eyes as she took in the mess on the floor. Thank God. She didn't see it.

"Guess I was a bit more tired than I thought." He said with a forced laugh in order to hide his nerves. "Slipped right through my fingers."

She nodded, accepting his words at face value. 

"I've done that more than a few times close to finals." She admitted. "You guys have 10 hour shifts, right? You must be exhausted. When's your next day off?"

"The day after tomorrow." Kon said. "This is day 3 for me since orientation doesn't count."

"You get 2 days off followed by an on-call day, right?" She asked.

"Right," Kon agreed. "AKA 2 days of freedom and a day chained to the Bowery." He joked.

"Absolutely terrible, they may as well put an ankle monitor on you." She cracked back grinning. Kon snickered. The door opened again.

"I see you found another non-gothamite here." Dr. Rylie said striding into the break room with a wide grin.

"Sounds like that makes three of us." Kon agreed. Outside of Joker, he had never seen a gothamite grin that wide in his life.

"Dr. Thomas Rylie, a pleasure to meet you." Dr. Rylie introduced himself holding out his hand to shake. Kon shook his hand as gently as possible, mindful his strength was on the fritz.

"Kyle Jennings, nice to meet you. I just started as a guard earlier this week." He said then held his hand out to shake Jasmine's.

"Jasmine Fenton, I'm an intern therapist. This is my second week here." She greeted with a warm smile shaking Kon's hand. She didn't say anything about being glad to meet him, Kon noted. It wasn't exactly strange behavior but something made him take note of it anyway. Like by not saying it she was saying she hadn't decided whether meeting him was a good or bad thing yet. Dr. Rylie didn't seem to notice anything off with the interaction though as he went about making his own coffee. The three of them made idle small talk as they made their own coffees. Once his new cup was ready, Kon bid them both goodbye and went on his way. While they were his main objective, lingering too long this early into their aquantiantship would probably be strange.

He had several other small friendly interactions with both of them over the next few days. Taking the time for greetings, small talk, and sharing small bits of casual background info from Kyle Jennings's past to encourage them both to open up to him. He also broke a clipboard, two more coffee cups, several pens, and a doorknob during that time as his strength continued to fluctuate. The doorknob had been particularly embarrassing. He had gone to open the door for Jasmine when he saw her with her arms full of files and somehow managed to twist it in such a way that the screws holding it in place sheered off and the knob came off in his hand. Collins, his partner for building patrol that day, burst out laughing hysterically as Kon stared at the doorknob in horror.

"No worries, man." Collins said, clapping Kon on the shoulder still snickering. "Someone else probably broke it and put it back so they wouldn't get scolded or something."

"Yeah," Kon said with a nervous laugh. "That must be what happened."

Jasmine's eyes flicked between the two of them then she grinned.

"And here I thought you just really hated that door." She teased Kon. He felt his face heat up as Collins laughed at him again.

"It is an ugly door." Collins agreed enthusiastically smirking.

"Terribly ugly. Hideous even," Jasmine said with a smile.

"Possibly even traumatizing to behold," Collins continued to smirk.

"You've got me. I have a deep rooted traumatic fear of metal taupe doors." Kon deadpanned ears burning. Jasmine snickered as Kon got the door open for her and they went their separate ways.

~*~*~

"What have you found so far?" Tim asked. Kon did not have the words to express how much he didn't want to be at the Nest at 3am on his first day off from undercover work. If it was anyone other than Tim he wouldn't have even answered the phone.

"Literally nothing," Kon said dryly. "I am still the newest of newbies at Arkham. I practically spent the whole week being babysat by senior guardsmen." He sighed, reminding himself that it wasn't Tim's fault that he was a little insomniac goblin and that Kon really did love his friend and would be sad if he hurt Tim's feelings. Eventually. When he woke up again in the morning. "I did start befriending them both though. It's slow going since we're in different areas but nearly being the only non-gothamites there seems to be helping me make some headway at least." 

There was one other non-gothamite on staff, a medical nurse named Sharon Earley. She was in her mid-thirties and the most sour and unpleasant person Kon had had the displeasure of meeting so far on Arkham's staff. Not that Kon could blame her for that. Not when she had several large ragged scars spanning from her chin and down both of her arms from when Zsazz had gotten hold of her alone after dark her second year at Arkham. It was a damn miracle she'd survived him. Kon didn't know how she managed it but he wouldn't try to find out either. Ryans had taken him aside right before he first met Nurse Earley and warned him not to stare or ask about any of it and then explained the bare basics of what happened to her after they'd left. 

Tim probably had a file with every detail of that night as well as information about Sharon Earley's life both before and after that night somewhere on his computer. The thought made Kon nauseous. 

"Good, good," Tim said absently as he updated the mission file on his computer. The keys clicked so rapidly that Kon again reconsidered whether or not his best friend had super speed. "Better to keep them from suspecting than to rush in anyway." 

"Exactly." 

Tim continued asking questions about every little detail he could think of concerning Dr. Rylie, Jasmine Fenton, and the rogues currently in Arkham.

"They don't let me near those guys yet. I'm too new." Kon said when Tim asked if Scarecrow looked to be plotting more than usual.

"They don't?" Tim sounded surprised, going so far as to stop typing so he could turn and stare at Kon. The clone was amused to note something about his statement had managed to wake Tim up enough to be visibly shocked instead blank-faced with exhaustion.

"Of course not," Kon answered trying to keep the amusement from his voice as much as possible. "As many times as your rogues have broken out they're leary of letting new hires near them in case they're goons in disguise." 

Tim sank back into his chair looking like Kon had uprooted his whole world by proving the Earth really was flat via actual science.

"That's impossible." Tim said sounding faint. "Everytime there's a mass breakout, we always hear that some of the guards helped them escape. How?..." He trailed off, eyes darting rapidly like he was tracking lines of an invisible conspiracy board in the air in front of him. Kon shrugged, uncomfortable with this new information.

"Scuttlebutt is that the people helping them escape are visitors. The guards get blamed because the goons visit wearing clothes similar to the guard uniform from a distance. All blue polo shirts and black pants look similar at a distance." Kon explained. "It also doesn't help that the guards can't really do much to stop the escape attempts since they only have stun grenades, tranquilizer darts, batons, low voltage tazers, and rubber bullets to fight back with. So as long as enough people are involved in the escape attempt at least some of them will make it out even if the guards manage to to tranquilize several of them." 

Tim still looked like Kon was blowing his mind. It was such a rare experience that Kon had to continue.

"Plus the tranquilizer darts and the rubber bullets have to be fired from different hardware." Kon told him. "Which sucks because you have to carry twice the amount of weight while chasing after the escapees which slows you down and it takes longer to swap between them."

There was something similar to mystified horror spreading across his friend's face now.

"Speaking if swapping between them, they have different ranges too." Kon continued gleefully. Half because it was fun wrecking Tim's worldview and half to actually impart the information. "Batons are short-range. Tranquilializer darts and stun grenades are mid-range. Rubber bullet riffles are long-range."

"If that's all it is, WE can fund then better gear to control the inmates." Tim interrupted turning back to the computer and swiftly typing out a list of things to send Arkham. Kon shook his head.

"That won't work." He disagreed gently. "They aren't failing because of the gear itself."

Tim turned back around to face him, confused. This was not going to be a fun conversation, Kon swallowed hard and forced himself to continue.

"The problem is that if you fire the rubber bullet riffles from mid or short range you could seriously injury or even kill the patient. If they get past mid-range, you'll miss them completely using tranquilizer darts or stun grenades. If you try to use either of those at short-range it'll be bad for you whether it's because they'll get hold of you before the tranquilizer knocks them out or because you'll stun yourself too."

Comprehension and trepidation began to dawn on Tim's face. He deflated in his chair, sinking lower and lower as he stared off into nowhere.

"You also can't hit them with more than one tranquilizer dart in a four hour window because you could accidently kill them that way. That also means even though you have a baton, you typically can't do enough damage to them to keept them from escaping because that might potentially kill them." Kon said completely solemn now as he relayed the information. "Because regardless of the reputation Arkham has or what the patients have done, it is still a hospital and they are still patients." 

Tim was staring directly at Kon now. Mouth open, face slack, eyes wide with a kind of numbed shock. Kon held his gaze.

"Yeah," Kon said after a moment. "Yeah, that's how I reacted too." He looked down, picking at his nails for a moment before forcing himself to stop and meet Tim's gaze again. "Phizer, my new 'boss', made sure to drill that into my head during orientation. 'Arkham's guards exist first and foremost to protect the patients. Arkham isn't supposed to be a prison. It's a medical facility. The patients are confined to the premises because their affliction has made them dangerous and they have to stay so that we can keep them and others safe from further harm. We are here to keep the patients and staff from hurting each other, themselves, or being hurt by people outside of Arkham's walls.' Not gonna lie, man." Kon said quirking a bitter grin as his did. "Hearing that kind of fucked me up a bit."

Tim sucked in a huge heaving breath then slowly let it out before he responded.

"I can't say I ever thought about it like that." He admitted in a soft strained voice. "Can't say I ever wanted to either." There was a bitter tinge to his words.

"Yeah, neither did I." Kon answered, shoulders slumping a bit. "Was there anything else you wanted to ask me? I kind of want to head back and sleep a bit."

Tim shook his head slowly.

"No, I think we're good at the moment." He said looking twice as exhausted and drained now as he did when Kon first got there. Kon nodded.

"Good night then. I'll see you later, man." He said, pushing off the wall he'd been leaning against and heading for the door.

"Be safe, Kon." Tim answered softly turning back to his computer.

[laatteheart]

sometimes i'd like to think of sunday and robin were sheltered when they were growing up under the oak family but sunday was like, Far more sheltered than robin. they had people do things for them within the Oak Family, and even when they do it's not really as much. they probably studied more often than not and probably taught the way around within the Family. their fondest memories are few and far between, like how the concert for two is their most favorite moment.

this then gets me to a point if sunday was actually going to get recruited into the stellaron hunters, i can imagine how he tried to wrap his head around doing casual things they do when they aren't on a mission because he was not accustomed to it. sure, they're interastral criminals but sometimes they probably do average things off script. he knows how to handle people and the issues he has, he's aware of bad things that happens with people and how they struggled whenever they'd confess to him to absolve them off their sin which led him to do all what he did during the 2.2 quest.

but does he know what's it like to figure out where to put your detergent in your laundry, the difference between a white and a red onion for a dish, what's it like for not having enough cash in your wallet, what's it like to have a broken wheel on a shopping cart, and know what's it like that to be the receiving end of an irritated employee that had a long day?

and the thought that he probably learns these things in a new environment with the stellaron hunters where people from all backgrounds have their own aspirations like him. they're different but they're all the same all at once. it's like a strange but harmonious display, all united by a common goal. he sees their experiences first-hand and gets to know them, what kind of people they were, and how they most definitely have dreams that are so much different than he has that it wouldn't intersect. it doesn't make sense first, sure, but they still strive over a single thing and attain that aspiration they have in the first place that at some point, he understands.

idk he sounds like that catholic school kid who got into a community college i just rambled LMAO

[nqmonarch]

HUGE QUESTION/IDEA about Self Aware HSR

Characters: Misha, Gallagher, Tingyun, a small bit on Blade at the end

Huge spoilers for 2.2 and before

So how does Self Aware HSR with the characters that are no longer with us work? Are they still self aware?

Guys, I need you to think about how horrifying this is.

As I realized in a previous post HSR has Aeons but they also believe in Gods in some cultures, which would presumably be more powerful than Aeon and having more control over individual's lives than an Aeon. The biggest difference I think would be possible is a God being tied to the idea of an afterlife.

So imagine Tingyun was already blacking out whenever Phantylia possessed her body and she was left in a dark void. That was until you turned on HSR, after that she began to spectate the game much like a player. And then when Phantylia left her body and she returned to it she went back with unsettling knowledge and confusion.

It's not until she completely dies that she understands it. Honkai Star Rail is a video game and she is just a character in it. When the game is off she's subjected to days and weeks of complete darkness and silence (because time passes faster in the HSR universe, they have like day and night faster) when in reality it's only hours.

When the game is on she's finally greeted by the warmth again, she can watch fellow companions fight and although she's confused by your motives she knows you're trying to help. You helped Trailblazer prepare a memorial for her, and she watches as the Astral Express ventures into Penacony and faces foe after foe.

More than that, she can see you as you tear up over a character's story. She can hear your voice making jokes at the funny little references in the Trailblazer's words, references which she doesn't understand. And when Misha and Gallagher seem to die, Tingyun isn't the only one who's crying.

But Misha and Gallagher join her. They wake up while you're still playing the game and watch as you fulfill their goals. They see tears fall down your cheeks, and hear you as you cheer on the Astral Express and empathize with Sunday although never fully support him.

Then rather than turning the game off and subjecting them to darkness you go and do your weekly simulated universe, an affair Tingyun is quite used to at this point. She takes the time to explain the situation to Gallagher and Misha.

It's a bit harder for Misha to take than Gallagher, after all "Gallagher" had never been real he was always a character. But now in a sense he was. Gallagher would always exist, after all he was part of the game. When you turn the game off and the world goes dark, Tingyun is pleasantly surprised by the fact she isn't alone.

Those times of loneliness had passed. It's still scary, she's unable to see Gallagher or Misha or even herself, at times the void is all consuming even in sound and she can't hear them. But they're there, and that makes the whole ordeal less frightening.

They aren't sure what to make of you, the player. Yes you play the game, but to keep them here are you something like a God? They learn that in your world you are just an ordinary person but in their world you would be a God. The power you held over them, you spent making them stronger and providing them a sanctuary for once they died. You will a merciful God, indeed.

They found as they explored the void it wasn't much of a void at all. The character's, light cones, consumables, and relics you weren't using were hidden away in corners of the voids. Gallagher took some of the drinks you'd been keeping and the three of them took a celebratory toast.

When they'd initially come across the characters you weren't using it'd been terrifying. They stood eerily still, standing there, akin to robots. Tingyun noticed there was one that looked like her, she was sure you'd used it in combat. There was one for all of them, even the Trailblazer.

Tingyun, before Phantylia had taken her over completely, did notice suddenly getting faster but to think it was because of relics and a light cone you'd given a robot of her? It seemed to an extent properties were shared between them.

They were able to make a home based off of the items in your inventory, home was a strong word considering it was just a place to stay when you were offline. It was much better when you were playing the game, but they understood it wasn't like it was the only thing you could do. It was just a game.

Misha was the first one who suggested it. The idea of going to your world. It was just a game, they couldn't confine you to it, and even if you managed to travel inside of the game they were all dead anyway. Misha was excited at the idea, despite having all of the memories of Mikhail back he had never really gone on a trailblazing adventure himself.

Gallagher was the most skeptical of the three, wondering if they'd ever be able to exist in your world. But the fact they had consciousness despite being in a game, meant that maybe there was more to this than they thought.

At times they would wish to be by your side not just for their own selfish desires but to comfort you. When they first saw you cry, not for their sake, but for your own life it became a bit hectic. Misha was trying to yell against the sky for you to hear his voice. Gallagher accepted trying to get to your world and was trying to communicate to you through the inventory. And Tingyun was synthesizing consumables with the ingredients you had as if she was someone making food for a crying loved one.

There was very little they could do.

In a brief moment of exasperation, for their inability to talk to you, Gallagher mentioned that he wished a genius would die next so that way they could figure out how to travel to you. But for now, they had to work with what they have.

Another thing, this AU, compared to a Self Aware AU where they can still live their lives I feel as a higher potential of generating Yanderes. I'm not going to write them as that but it's just something I'm realizing because, they're basically completely alone aside from you, you bring light, you bring happiness, it would likely cause an unhealthy relationship.

Counter idea, what if characters that died are the only self aware ones? Hmmmm

Also imagine if characters that died but didn't really die like Blade and Firefly weren't able to make it to this afterlife but they could still feel your presence. Even death in the dreamscape allows them to feel your presence although only for a moment.

I feel like Blade especially would cling onto your presence, since for a brief moment he feels no pain, he doesn't feel mara struck, and-- to an extent he hates it but he feels like Yingxing. He can hear your voice from time to time, a reminder of the relief of pain, and when he met Trailblazer something about them reminded him of you. He wasn't sure what.

Note: I haven't even finished 2.2 but I got to the part where Misha and Gallgher seem to go bye-bye maybe they actually don't and pull a surprise bitch but I'm guessing they do. So I wrote this because I was thinking (bad idea I know)

Also Tingyun's death isn't 100% confirmed it's implied but I'm just assuming she's dead in this.

I swear this is one of my most cracked ideas yet

[fisshbones]

Sunday’s little bird 🪶

A/n: first and probably only attempt at yandere, blurb, likely ooc, not proofread, tbh i hate how fhis came out, written before I finished 2.1 or started 2.2 Gn! Reader

(set in an already established relationship)

Cw: yandere, kidnapping, toxic relationship, manipulation, lowkey naive reader, drugs, birds, hinted animal death.

Sunday had a pretty little pet bird that he named after you. The bird’s feathers are the same color as your hair. The bird is treated like royalty. A big beautiful white cage, for when it’s misbehaving or sleeping. But if you ask for the bird’s name he’d just say some random name. He fears he’ll weird you out knowing that he named an animal after you.

Somewhere down the road Sunday starts to wonder about the possibility of keeping you in the cage instead of the bird. After all if you were caged you would be safe. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, not after he lost his sister too. Locking you up just seems like the safest option. Would you forgive him for locking you up? He hopes you will because it’s his only option..

He starts having you come over and help him take care of his little birdy-you. It’s his tactic on helping you acclimate to your future home. You’ve been to his home many times, the only thing that’s different is taking care of his little bird. While you’re getting acclimated with your future roommate, Sunday is out making arrangements for people to ‘attack’ you. He knows you won’t willingly stay caged, so he needs to scare you. Every time you’ve gone out for the last few weeks you’ve been threatened, attacked, or robbed. Without fail Sunday is always there to comfort you, like the sweet loving boyfriend that he is.

After a particularly bad attack he brought you home and patched you up. He gave you some pain killers and helped you to bed so you’d feel better in the morning. The following day you would awake to a chain around your ankle, locked in the big beautiful white cage, with your feathery roommate in your food dish. After you’re done eating your breakfast, he’ll help you bathe and get you dressed in some pretty white clothes. You will forever be Sunday’s pretty little dove now.

As always likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated <3 Also please send in inspo :((

Song that i listen to while writing this -> Bernadette (post romanian storm) iamx

[happilyhertale]

Destiny is all - Osferth x female!reader, Part 1

Summary: You are Finan's sister. You live in a village in Scotland, near the border with Northumbria. You lead a quiet life until your brother decides to visit you with his boys and your life changes completely.

Pairing: Osferth x fem!reader

Author’s note: Hey you (:

Now I am finally sharing my little Osferth story with you. The events are a little different from the story in the series. (No, Osferth will not die either). I hope you will enjoy it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 2.2 k

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Other stories of mine

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The sun, which has been high in the sky all day, is slowly tilting towards the earth. Four men ride silently side by side. Every now and then an exhausted grunt can be heard. As soon as the grunt is silenced, it is usually answered with another grunt. They have been riding like this for days now. Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric and Osferth are on their way from the northernmost point in Scotland back to Wessex.

The men are exhausted by the long distance they have already covered on horseback. The not very restful nights they have already spent in various forests do not diminish their exhaustion.

"Lord. We could spend the night in a village today," Finan says after another grunt.

Uhtred turns slightly in Finan's direction, "If we ride through the night, we should be in Northumbria by tomorrow"

"But Lord… We should stop and rest. I'm tired of the sight of my horse's head... his ears in particular," Osferth chimes in.

Sihtric turns to Uhtred as well, "I wouldn't say no either"

Osferth continues to nod in agreement.

Uhtred sighs, "Very well… The next village is headed for"

"We would have a place to sleep there for sure too," Finan says to Uhtred with a grin. Uhtred sees Finan's grin and becomes curious.

"Do you have a sweetheart up here?" asks Uhtred with raised eyebrows.

"Not exactly. My family lives there and we could sleep and eat there"

"What? I thought you were from Ireland," Osferth looks at him questioningly.

Finan nods, "We're originally from Ireland. But my parents moved over with me and my sister"

Uhtred just shakes his head with a smile.

The men rode on again in silence. Every now and then a grunt can be heard. But it was a done deal, they were on their way to Finan's family.

You stand in front of your little house. The evening sun shines on your face and you enjoy it. You close your eyes for a moment. Your little house is located on the edge of a village, near the forest. You enjoy the peace and quiet that the location offers you, and that you can let your gaze wander into the forest at any time as soon as the hustle and bustle of the village becomes too much for you. Slowly you open your eyes again and take a deep breath. You still want to water the flower bed before you retire for the evening. As you put the bucket down, you hear noises in the forest behind you. You turn around, but in the twilight you can't really see if anyone is there. Out of habit, you reach for the dagger tucked under the skirt of your dress.

"Who is there?" you ask in a firm voice.

But instead of an answer, you only hear the rustling of the bushes at the edge of the forest.

Suddenly a Dane steps out of the forest and you instinctively hold up your dagger. You are ready to defend yourself. Your breath catches in your throat, but the Dane just grins at you. "Finan! I didn't know that your parents can also produce something beautiful", the Dane says.

Finan? How does he know your brother...?

"Aye! Lord! Shut up!", Finan suddenly stands next to the Dane. Your lungs fill with air again as you see your brother smiling at you from a short distance away.

You don't hesitate for long. "Finan!" you shout and run towards him. You throw your arms around his neck. He wraps his arms tightly around you.

"Heey... my little one," he says softly and presses you closer to him.

You sob a little. He loosens the embrace and takes your face in his hands, "Ey... y/n.... If I had known ya missed me so much, I would have stopped by sooner," he smiles at you. You wipe tears from your face and have to laugh for a moment.

"What are ya doing here?" you finally ask your brother.

"We're just passing through and I thought we were due for a visit"

Only now do you become aware and remember the Dane. But when you look behind Finan, you see two other men standing there. But your gaze immediately falls on the blond monk. However, he immediately averts his gaze from you when he realises that he has been caught staring. Now you notice another Dane. Somehow you seem to like this mixture of the troupe. Finan turns around as well, "Sorry y/n. This is Uhtred, Sihtric and our baby Monk, Osferth"

You notice the monk giving Finan a warning look. The Danes, on the other hand, give you a friendly nod. Finan turns back to you, "Where are mother and father? Are they in the house? We are starving!" Finan is all euphoric.

You gently touch his forearm, "Finan...", you speak softly. He looks at you, but you only shake your head slightly.

"What...?" he whispers, sadness crossing his face.

"The fever took them last winter... First mother, then father..." you whisper.

He shakes his head slightly now too and you wrap your arms around him. After a short silence, you hear Finan murmur into your hair, "You're here all alone?"

You nod, "That must be enough for you now"

He just nods slowly and you can still see the sadness in his face.

You smile up at him, "Come, let's go into the house... I've put on some soup"

Together you go into the house. The men sit down at the table and you serve them the soup. There is not much talking at first, as they simply enjoy the warm meal. When they have finished, you prepare ale for everyone. Light conversation now fills the room. Osferth tries to comfort Finan, to say something nice about your parents. But Finan doesn't want to hear about it at the moment. After a while you take the dagger, which is again under your skirt and presses uncomfortably against your thigh, and put it on the table.

"Feisty... You always carry a dagger with you?", the Dane, Uhtred asks you. You look at him a little amused, "Men sometimes don't understand what 'no' means. So it can't hurt to have something with you to back up your opinion"

Uhtred grins and raises his cup "I'm afraid that's true"

You grin at him and join him in a toast.

When there is a knock at the door, you get up and go over. You open the door and your good mood is immediately dampened.

"Edward... what do ya want here?" you ask, a little annoyed. Alarmed by your tone, Finan looks at the door. From the door, there is no view of the table and so Edward does not notice that he is now being overheard by four guys.

"Y/n... I thought... maybe you'd like some company tonight...?"

He is visibly drunk and grinning at you.

"No, Edward. I told you the other day that it wasn't going to happen again"

Finan's expression darkens.

"Oh come on... Don't you miss it...?" he winks at you.

"What would she miss?"

You startle a little as Finan suddenly stands behind you. Edward looks startled too and just stammers around. Words like "nothing" and "just making sure everything is okay" leave his mouth.

"Good. And do not worry, everything is fine here," Finan lets Edward know as he closes the door.

You look at him indignantly, "Finan! I can handle it myself!"

He just walks back to the table and takes a big gulp of ale. You stand in the room a little speechless. You look at Finan and shoot daggers at him. But Finan continues to stand with his back to you and does not look at you.

Sihtric and Uhtred just grin and look at each other. But you notice Osferth looking at you again. He is probably shocked that a woman would seek the company of a man even though she is not married. You sigh softly and go back to the table. You sit down and shake your head slightly.

Finan looks at you again, "What...? You're my sister. I'll always look out for ya. And... the last time I was here, ya liked Edward, didn't ya?"

"I did," you emphasise, "Until I found him between another woman's thighs"

Osferth chokes on his ale and you look at him somewhat amused. He has to grin now, too, and he wipes the ale running down his chin with his hand. You have to chuckle a little, but somehow you like the sight.

But Finan turns your attention back to himself, "He did what? That bastard... Let me go to him..." Finan is about to get up, but you pull him down by his arm.

"No... There's no need for that. That's done and in the past. Really," you smile at him, but Finan doesn't really look convinced.

He just grumbles something to himself and drinks from his ale. You stroke his arm gently.

The later the hour gets, the louder the conversations become. You laugh a lot and talk to each other across the table. You enjoy having your brother and his friends with you. At some point, Uhtred has persuaded you to show him how you can defend yourself against men with your hands if you don't have your dagger with you. But it always ends up with Uhtred putting his arm around your neck from behind or you just giggle and somehow try to bring Uhtred down.

Eventually you sit down at the table again. You are still a little out of breath when Osferth, who is now sitting next to you, addresses you directly, "Lady... isn't it dangerous for a woman to live here alone?"

Uhtred interjects, "Well... if the possible attacker just stands still and doesn't fight back, then y/n has a chance to defend herself," Uhtred grins at you.

But you do not answer Uhtred, instead you kick him under the table.

Uhtred laughs as you turn back to Osferth, smiling.

You look at him curiously now, "Would it be safer for a woman somewhere else?"

He scratches the back of his neck, "Well... if you were at least in company... and there was no Edward lurking outside your door"

You have to chuckle a little and notice a smile forming around his lips too as it dawns on you. "Ooh yes! I'll come with ya"

Now Finan chokes on his ale and Uhtred grins again. As he calms down, he looks at you, "No way. You're safer here than being out with us"

"Finan!" you utter indignantly, but he just shakes his head.

When Sihtric speaks up, "Honestly, she's probably safer with the four of us. There's no one here to look after her"

Uhtred nods slowly in conviction.

"And if we go into battle?", Finan looks slightly overwhelmed.

"Then of course I won't be there. Then I'll cook you dinner in the meantime... Or keep the bed warm," you answer with a grin. As a sister, you know what drives Finan up the wall.

He gives you a warning look and continues to shake his head, "That's not funny... and that's out of the question"

He stands up and goes outside to pee.

Now you shake your head and stand up.

"Guys... It's late... I'm going to sleep now. This will not end well here otherwise"

Sihtric and Uhtred nod at you. Osferth smiles slightly at you, "Good night lady y/n" and you return his smile.

When Finan returns, he sees that you have gone to bed. He sighs and sits back down at the table with the boys. Uhtred's gaze is on Finan, "You know it would be the right decision. She's here all alone, and I'm sure Edward's not the only one knocking on her door"

Finan gives him a warning look.

"I'm just saying. Your parents aren't here anymore, she has no one here to look after her. And with us, she'd have four men by her side looking after her", Uhtred continues

Silence now reigns at the table as the boys continue to drink their ale. Until Finan just nods and gets up from the table again. "Okay... But if even one of ya tries to hit on my sister..." he adds warningly before disappearing into an adjacent room.

The next morning you come out of your chamber. Three men lie on furs on the floor. Light snoring fills the room. You leave the house and go into the garden behind it. Everything is still quiet, a few birds are chirping. You watch as the sun slowly rises and makes the shadows of the forest look less threatening.

Suddenly Finan is standing next to you. You are startled and flinch briefly.

"Holy Lord! Finan!", you lightly punch his arm. He says nothing, but smiles slightly. He also looks in the direction of the sunrise.

"Ya can come with us. Although I know it's dangerous for ya to accompany us... But I also have to admit that it's probably more dangerous for ya to stay here alone..."

You smile at him.

Slowly he looks in your direction, "Ya have to listen to me though"

You grin at him, "I never have Finan"

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Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @praline357 @chainsawsangel

@targaryen-dynasty

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱? ⦒ ✶.*

pairing(s): ethan winters x afab gn reader synopsis: ethan can't sleep again. as his doting partner, you reach under the sheets, giving him temporary solace to his nightmares at the village. content: smut 18+ only mdni, soft dom ethan, hand & finger kink, sensual, oral (m! receiving), deepthroat, finger fucking, body worship, pet names, hurt/comfort, events in re8, mentions of trauma, nightmares, scars, stitches & prosthetics. a/n 2: please check out my friend @emilzke's ethan winters x reader work called 'rebuilding' which i absolutely love (she got shadowba-nned so give her some love thanks!) a/n: belated birthday gift to @obsolescent, one of my favourite people on this app! sorry this took so long! ! even if its not your bday anymore, hope you still had a good night lovely! enjoy! also inspired by this art of ethan. « 2.2 k words┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreciated! »

It all started from a little small talk, quiet reassurances of ‘how was your day’ shared intimately under the privacy of the moonlight and each other’s eyes until both of you drift into slumber. The bed, in which you rest together when night falls. Two bedside tables, lived in, and for a moment, a sense of normality has returned.

Ethan was restless in his sleep—a side effect from full-day’s work of software debugs and upgrades that he maintains on the daily. Or perhaps, something more. Something that happened in the village that he spends every minute trying to forget. And despite the passing of seasons, the memory lingers like persistent heat.

His hand fidgets under the covers, shifting fingers up and down in desperation to find yours, as if you might disappear, kidnapped by the shadows of his nightmares and he’s back there again, finding missing flasks, patching you together piece by piece like a detached puzzle. But what he’s actually looking for are parts of himself, that seem to still sit underneath the crumble and debris of the buried village.

“R-Ro…” Ethan’s voice hitches out—frantic, weak.

Through muffled strings of your sleepy breath, you rummage under the sheets to find his hand.

“My dear… It’s me. I’m here.” You turn around to lean into the column between his neck and shoulders, made perfect for you. The moment your hands meet, Ethan clasps them tightly, before relieving, loosening in your reassurance. “You’re okay now. Rose is okay.”

Ethan’s eyes open lightly and just like you promised, Rose is in the cot by your side, gentle baby's breath floating through the air. He brings you closer to his chest, just to nestle into your warmth as he peppers kisses on the crown of your head.

“Did you sleep?” You coo, hands running up his naked torso just to feel them against you.

“A little. I’ll go back to sleep soon. Just need a second.” His chest heaves in front of you, and from what you know about Ethan, his quickened heartbeat will only take a while for him to calm down.

You look up to see him, and find that his eyes are wide awake, simply staring at the ceiling, as if counting sheep to hypnotise him back to sleep. Through lidded eyes, Ethan sees you; and smiles at how you look. His hands move unthinkingly, bringing them to your face before he even realises he’s caressing it, sending a gentle shiver of warmth through your spine.

“Ah.” Ethan puts his hand in the air to stop him, chuckling bashfully. “Sorry for keeping you up. Get some sleep. You have work tomorrow.”

“I’m awake now.” You grumble, catching his hand in the air back to your face, like a toy stolen from a child. You press his hand on your cheek, keeping him there, which Ethan has no problems with.

His hands are different now, you thought as you run your fingers down his hand, feeling every stitch, bump, and rough texture that ran along the back of his palms before hitting you with the cold knuckle of his metal prosthetic fingers along where his ring and pinky finger should have been.

What used to be the compliment getter for Ethan, through the bruise and burns had lost its natural shine, not even his superhuman healing speed is immune to the scars. But to you, the rugginess simply enhances his beauty. Stitches tracing like a map to a treasure, red patches of scar like cherry kisses gracing along the soft plush of his palms. You love it all.

Those are proof of Ethan's survival—That was all you wanted. To hear and feel his presence in the mundane. Side by side with the man you love. But to him, he lost something that day. A part of his soul ripped apart, still underneath the crumble and debris of that buried village.

“Do you need help sleeping?” Your half-lidded eyes can’t obscure your devilish glint in your eyes, hand rustling underneath the sheet, obscure him from the view of what you’re about to do to him. His eyes meet yours, staring right back in disbelief, but simultaneously unable to resist what you have to offer for him in this quiet night.

“Now?” He seems to be genuinely considering the idea. “What if Rose wakes up?”

“She won't if you keep quiet.” You bring his hand to your lips to pepper kisses on his hands, slowing as you’re licking the length of each finger. The pain goes away, replaced by lust, but only ever so slightly.

“Can you do that for me?” You pause, waiting for his answer, and he nods surely. “Good boy.”

Wasting no time to help to get comfortable, you dive your head under the covers just to resurface as a lump under the sheet. Ethan clears his throat in anticipation as you tuck your fingers into boxers, removing just enough for his cock to spring up and meet you in the face.

You run your tongue at the tip of his crest, swirling in small circles to tease his precum out of him, in which he squirms, pushing in his legs slightly before relaxing. It was difficult to see where you are in the darkness of the sheets, but you make do, finding where his crest meets his shaft and following it down the rest of his dick to find the prominent vein on the underside of his cock.

When his cock is wet enough to your liking, you meet his tip with the soft seam of your lips, taking his length inch and inch at a time as you tongue around his hardening cock. A low grunt escapes his lips, and you can hear his thoughts fading him as you play with him some more.

He places his hand on your head, blood surging down his body, not quite wanting to hurt you, or accidentally snag on your hair to make it painful.

That’s who your husband is, even when he’s enjoying, he would never want to hurt you. Or at least tries not to.

“O-Oh... m’ god, so fuckin’ goo- Nnh.” That is your cue to move in deeper, hopefully to catch him between words and leave him hitching his breath as you finish him under your nose. Your tongue clashes against his dick that only fills your mouth, eventually leaving no room for your tongue to explore him. The bobs of your head become more messy and difficult, and his whimpers only make you even more excited.

“L-Let m’ see you, babe.” Ethan stifles the words out, lifting the covers up, and you’re embraced by the light of the bedside lamp. A glimpse of Ethan’s silhouette and his round beady eyes staring right into your position that exposes you and the hunger you have for him.

With you now able to see, you catch how his eyes snap shut, brows twist in, feeling every single pulse climbing through his body. His hand that rests on your head grows tighter, one that is neither rough or gentle, just a reassurance and consolance of what you are going through. You feel yourself pooling from how lewd it all sounds.

“Fuck, how did I get married to someone like you?” Ethan whines, bumping his head into the headboard behind with a light thump, but he doesn’t care. You are right in front of him, and he’s taking in the sight of you in with every glimpse of attention he can offer.

The tip of the dick is at the back of your throat. Only now you feel the gag reflex—but you shut your eyes tightly, holding in a little longer until the feeling surely goes away. This is when you feel his hips jerk up against you, thighs widening to welcome you as he whimpers bitten pieces of your name until his spine shakes from the fervour of affection you have been pouring into him.

“G-Get off… I’m fuckin’ gon-gonna…” Ethan’s raspy groan erupts through the room, melodious to you, as his hand struggles to push you off, made weak for any movement from how your skilled lips have treated him.

Ethan falls back to the sheets, with one final grunt, unloads himself directly onto your tongue. And you accept, letting your sore jawline hang wide to receive the fruits of your labour. His hand untenses from your head, abandon to the side of him in order to recollect his thoughts.

You reach over the bedside table to retrieve the tissue box in order to spit out his cum for disposal. You roll back to your side of the bed, checking at Rose's slumber, and when you did you bring the sheets upwards, preparing for your sleep.

“Good night, Ethan.” Are your final words creeping a yawn before turning the lamp off.

Ethan pauses to catch his breath for a moment, then wraps his hands around you, coaxing warm kisses into your neck: “How’d you expect I sleep without tasting you first?”

“I’m on morning shift tomorrow. Need my eight hours.”

“You sure?” There it was. That sweet voice lined with a hint of mischievous tone. The one you can’t resist.

“I’m very sure.” You don’t hesitate, because you know it will give yourself an opening.

He runs his hand up your belly, slightly exposed from your lifted shirt, pressing strokes that almost feels like a massage. Ethan seems to know where to touch you every time to untense you. “By the time I’m done, you’ll sleep like a baby.”

You can be convinced. You can be convinced very much. Especially with how he reaches down to tease you, and knows how your body betrays mind, with how you have wet a patch in your underwear.

“Not very honest, aren’t you?” Ethan lets out an amused grin, as if returning the favour of what you’ve done to him at his barely awake state. “You’ll still get your eight hours. I’ll make you come in five minutes. Guarantee it.”

You roll your eyes and wave at him to go ahead, but secretly, your clit is pulsing at his forwardness, increasingly eager to let him please you. In which Ethan helps himself, running a teasing finger up the length of your cunt just to stop at your clit, swirling lazy circles which only earn a groan from you that Ethan has been desperate to hear all night.

“Etha-an… Hnng… B-Babe…” The feeling run into your veins, growing in need, knotting itself low in your stomach. He delivers as he promises with only his nimble fingers, through slick and slurp, explores the depths of you, finding the spot you desire with skilful ease. You let out a soft moan, closing your eyes to feel him filling you with his fingers alone, and encourages him to continue.

He spreads you, adding his second finger now, the cold metal of his ring finger, lacing them on the length of your cunt with practiced ease. The contrast between cold and warm only excites you more. Ethan dotes on your sweet voice, slipping the two curled fingers in and out through a perfect angle that pushes a muffled groan between clenched teeth.

“God, baby.” He takes that as a sign to continue faster and harder, jamming his fingers until the sound of your slick permeates the air, every muscle clenching at him. “You like it when my finger fucks you, huh?”

You let the sensation continue, allow yourself to completely give away control to the man you love. Let him take care of you, like you always do to him. Ethan is merely returning the favour. A slight pain enters through his sensitive finger that still aches from a past wound, in which he winces, and you catch on almost immediately.

“Y-Your hand…”

“Shh… Just be quiet and feel good.” He smiles, not intending to stop anytime soon. Ethan quickens his pace, before you start squeezing into his fingers, demanding urgency, speed through how your thighs close in, as if that would allow more friction on your naked skin.

You open your eyes now, and all you see is sincerity in his eyes, fixed upon you this whole time to make sure you are indeed enjoying what he’s doing to you. And somehow, that is the one action that tips you over the edge, rippling high moans through the back of your throat as you chase your own high directly between his fingers.

“Wow.” Ethan whistles, a bemused grin hanging by his lips as he feels your juices release, spilling on his fingers. “You came so much.”

Ethan brings his fingers up his lips, admiring his handiwork, dripped in your sweet juices, before putting them into his mouth. He runs his tongue around the sides of his slender fingers, savouring every part of his reward.

“Heh. Told you I just need five minutes.”

“That was ten minutes, Mr. Winters.”

“Maybe I can beat my record?” Ethan winks, quite terribly, frankly, and despite how his silly charms would normally convince you, this time, you are functioning with five hours of sleep.

“Don’t even try, Ethan.” He shrugs, slightly defeated, as he joins you into the cosy embrace of your shared bed.

...

“In the morning?”

“Are you serious right now, Ethan?”

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. god i'm so feral for him, every night i'm plagued by the thoughts of ethan cradling me to sleep and whispering into my ear (yes this is a marriage proposal). tags: @valsthea @httpsuguru @emilzke @daydreamrot @navstuffs @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @obsolescent © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[marragurl]

Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

[ereardon]

Homecoming [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter 2

Summary: Returning home to California after six years abroad in England, you found everything has changed. Jake Seresin, your father's former college roommate and lifelong best friend, is now a widower and has purchased a new vineyard in Montecito, only a few miles from your childhood home. Your parents’ marriage is on the rocks, your brother is struggling with what to do with his life, and you’ve grown up and are starting your own counseling practice. So what happens when you find yourself falling for the man your father calls his best friend? And worse, what happens when your parents find out he’s falling for you, too? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

Warnings: Age gap, eventual smut, cursing, alcohol

Word count: 2.2 K

Chapter overview: Y/N starts her first day at work at Jake's vineyard

Author's note: This fic references a significant age gap, as reader is the child of Jake's best friend. However, she's in her mid-twenties, and he's been only a small part of her life to this point as he spent the majority of his time traveling with his late wife. This fic does not depict grooming, but if you are concerned with any of the themes please read at your own risk.

Masterlist here

Colin, despite being eleven months and five days older than you, was your first patient. Although neither of you realized it at the time.

You remembered it clearly. The two of you sitting on the edge of the pool, toes swinging in the water, the sun glinting off the surface and bursting into a million shards of light across the tile bottom. 

“I’m mad,” he said. 

You looked over but his eyes were trained on his feet, thrashing in the chlorinated pool. ��Why?” you asked. 

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

“Is it because of mom?” you asked. Another head shake. “Is it dad?” There was a pause. You sensed a shift in his demeanor, even at eight years old. You pushed. “He thinks you’ll like it. Make friends.” 

Colin turned to you, his shaggy hair covering one eye. “I have friends.” 

“I don’t count.” 

“You might like it,” you whispered. “Camp is fun.” 

“Cowboy camp,” he replied, frowning. 

“Horses are cool.” 

“You think that because you’re a girl.” 

Your eyebrows knitted together. “At least dad is letting you go to camp.” You pulled your legs out of the water. “He won’t even let me out of his sight.” 

Colin’s small shoulders sagged. “That’s because he loves you more.” 

Your mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. Just air, filling your lungs, mounting so much pressure in your chest you were scared to let it out, lest you collapse. Colin’s back stayed turned away from you. 

And then it was over. And you went inside, wet legs sticking to the edges of your capri pants. 

***

“What do I wear?” you asked your mom, standing in front of your open closet. Everything in it felt wrong. The dresses you wore to the nightclubs in Berlin, the jeans that spent nights at the pub, your old high school wardrobe that was seriously dated. God, you needed new clothes. Something that said young professional, but not in a sad way.

“I have no idea, dear.” Your mother picked up a lace thong that you had tossed on the bed and frowned. “I’ve never been to the vineyard.” 

“What?” You swiveled around. “You’re kidding.” 

“Your father is the one who goes,” she replied with a shrug. “He and Jake have always been closer.” 

It was true. Jake and your father had been college roommates at USC, randomly paired together freshman year. They couldn’t have been more different, but somehow they made it work. 

You grabbed a blue dress with a tie in the middle and turned back toward your mother. There was something about her gaze, the way she was looking out the window. “Mom?” you asked. “Everything OK?” 

“Of course,” she replied instantly, but her voice caught at the end, a small lift that set off a warning sign in the back of your brain. 

You frowned. “Alright. Well, I’ll see you guys tonight at dinner?” 

She stood up, smoothing her hands over her linen pants. “Have a good first day.” 

You turned toward the mirror, angling the dress over your body before tossing it on the bed. You couldn’t afford to fuck this up. It wasn’t just that you owed it to Jake. You owed it to yourself to show up and prove that you could be successful outside of an academic environment. 

***

Thirty minutes later, you stepped through the vineyard doors. The sound of your heeled boots echoed in the vast entryway. “Jake?” 

“Sparky.” Jake appeared from your left, wiping his hands on a towel that he then slung over his shoulder. You breathed a sigh of relief. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a loosely buttoned shirt, a pair of loafers rounding out the look. You sent up a silent prayer that you had also worn jeans, albeit a tight pair with a slight flare, and a silk sleeveless turtleneck. “Ready to meet the crew?” 

You nodded. Jake spent the next hour introducing you to everyone, from the waitstaff for the tasting room to the food engineers helping to bottle and test the wine, and the farmer he had on staff to cultivate the small garden where they grew fresh vegetables to include in charcuterie plates. 

“Your job is to be the puppet master,” Jake said as the two of you emerged back onto the main floor. “There’s two hostesses. If they’re both gone, you can man the front table. At the end of the day, you and I will sit down and look at the books and go over how things went and where we need to make changes.” 

A silent scream rose in your throat. This was too laissez faire for your taste. You needed rules, regime. 

Jake grinned, putting one hand on your upper arm. His touch was warm, inviting. Once again, you looked down at his bare ring finger and felt a longing for Jenny. “You’ll do great,” he said. “Trust me, you’ll know what to do. It’s intuitive.” 

“Where will you be?” you asked. “If I need you.” 

“You won’t need me,” Jake asserted. “But if you do, I’m around.” 

“Helpful.” 

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you talk to all your bosses?” 

You flushed. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I didn’t even–”

He laughed. “It’s OK, Y/N. I know it’s a weird dynamic, because we know each other. I don’t expect you to call me Mr. Seresin or anything like that. I trust you, and that’s why I’m giving you free reign of the place.” 

The blush was still inching down your neck. You nodded, gulping. Jake reached out, squeezing your upper arm gently. “I’ll be in my office, alright?” 

Jake disappeared down the staircase and you swiveled around, nerves worming their way through your body. Just as you were about to flee into a corner, the doors swung open and a young couple stepped up to the podium. 

“Hi, we’re the Kellers,” the woman said. “We had a one o’clock reservation?” 

Jake and Amy, the host, had shown you how to use the tablet. Your fingers shook as you pressed buttons on the screen, pulling up the reservation, a sigh of relief bubbling in your throat as you found their names. Ethan and Whitney Keller. 

They sounded as white as they looked. 

You looked up, smiling. “Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Keller. If you’ll please follow me.” 

Jake had been right. A part of you cursed him a little. It came naturally. Floating around, asking people how they were, chatting lightly about the wine. All those years in Europe had done nothing if not given you a taste for alcohol. 

Plus, you liked talking to people. You always had. You listened and gave them thoughtful responses. You could read people – if there was tension, if someone in a group felt left out, if they wanted to be left alone. 

It was almost like therapy. With wine. For a split second you wondered if you could get a liquor license for your clinic before realizing that was an insane thought. 

At the end of the day, once all the tables were wiped and the floor was mopped, the wine was put away and the rest of the staff had gone home, you found yourself outside on the bench at the edge of the patio, overlooking the vineyards, a small tree above you gently blocking the setting sun. 

“Can I join you?” 

You turned just as Jake slid into the spot next to you on the bench. 

“You were amazing,” Jake said. 

A blush crept up around your cheeks. “Thank you.” 

He threaded one arm against the back of the bench, behind your head and shoulders. It was casual, not cloying or weird at all. His scent, that familiar crushed stone fruit smell, wafted over you as the soft breeze carried your scents together, melding them in the air. 

“Do you have dinner plans?” 

You thought about your parents, sitting at home in the Spanish Villa they had built when you were three. About Colin, who you still had barely seen since you returned from London. 

“I’m free.” 

“Good.” Jake stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I’ll make you dinner. Hugo will be excited to see you. And we can taste the new crop of wine.” 

As you watched Jake walk back up the hill toward the building, a strange sensation built in your stomach. For the first time ever, you realized that Jake Seresin was more than just a family friend. 

***

“It’s hot.” 

“Ow, ow, ow!” 

Jake laughed as you let your mouth hang open, pasta tumbling back onto the plate. You closed your mouth, wiping it with a napkin. “OK, ew, sorry you had to see that.” 

“I warned you,” he replied, twirling a fork in his bowl of creamy vodka pasta. “You just don’t listen. You never have.” 

“That’s not fair,” you said, breaking off a piece of bread and sliding your hand down to your thigh, feeding Hugo under the table. He greedily chomped at the bread, and you wiped your fingertips on your thigh. 

“I saw that,” Jake countered and you laughed. “Don’t spoil him too much or he’s going to stop liking me and he’ll only want you.” 

“That’s the plan,” you replied, patting the Golden’s head. 

Talking to Jake was easy. It wasn’t until the two of you sat down to dinner that you realized in all the years you had known him, Jake and Jenny flitting in and out of your life as they returned or started a new global trek, you had only limited interactions with Jake. 

Before taking the job at the vineyard, you had only one distinct memory of Jake Seresin. On your nineteenth birthday, right before you left for London after your gap year, Jake and Jenny had been staying at your parent’s house. After dinner, as everyone sat around with glasses of champagne, Jake handed you a gift, wrapped in silver paper. 

Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a pearl dangling off the edge. You looked up in surprise. 

He smiled. “I saw it when we were in Vietnam and had to get it for you.” 

After dinner, as Jake cleared the table and you sat on the floor playing with Hugo, you reached up and touched the pearl necklace underneath your turtleneck collar. It was hidden, but it was there. 

“Drink?” Jake asked, emerging with a bottle and two glasses. 

“Do you ever get tired of wine?” you asked, standing up and stretching, the hem of your shirt coming untucked for a moment and you reached back down, sticking it into the top of your jeans. 

“Never.” He grinned, pouring the dark red wine into a glass and handing it to you as you settled onto the couch. Jake poured himself a glass, sitting in a wingback chair near the fireplace. 

“How are you?” you asked quietly. On the mantle was a picture of Jenny. She had been beautiful. Dark hair, piercing green eyes. A laugh that could fill a room. 

Jake stilled. Hugo sensed it because he left his place at your feet and made his way to Jake, nudging his head against Jake’s thigh. “It’s quiet,” he replied after a moment. “Being alone.” 

“How so?” 

“Leaves you alone with your thoughts,” Jake said. “A good thing, and a bad thing.” 

“I understand,” you whispered. 

Jake cocked his head to one side. “Do I need to pay you for this?” he joked. 

You hid your face behind your wine glass. “Sorry, force of habit.” There was a pause. Then, “Have you, um, dated? Since?” 

“A few dates, yeah. But everyone I met, they just didn’t hold up to her.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“She loved you,” Jake said. “That time that we came to see you in London and the two of you went shopping at Harrods? She came back to the hotel practically giddy. Said that even though the two of you had an age difference, she felt like you were a friend she could count on.” 

“I loved her, too,” you replied, a tear forming in the corner of your eye. “I’m so sorry I didn’t make it back for the funeral.” 

Jake shook his head. “Really, don’t worry about it. Jenny wasn’t one for funerals. Neither am I, for the record. If it ever comes to that.” 

“It won’t,” you replied instantly. “Jake Seresin? You’re unstoppable.” 

“So was she,” he said softly. “Life happens, Y/N. You can’t predict it. You just have to keep going and hope that you find something else that makes you happy.” 

“Have you?” you asked. “Found something else that makes you happy?” 

“I’m working on it.” 

Tag list:

@lyn-js @seresinhangmanjake @bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @clancycucumber230 @dempy @allbark-no-bite @teacupsandtopgun @na-ta-sh-aa @katiedid-3 @bradshawburner @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @rosiahills22 2 @emo @horseshoegirl @eminyourjeans

[gayconstruct]

Humans are Weird — Fever

We literally heat up to cook our bodies when we can't ward off things with our immune cells, and there's a VERY slim margin for what's healthy vs what's not. If you'd like to skip the context portion scroll down to the second set of emdashes

—————

For some quick context, I use some consistent concepts and variations of time words under the impression there's a unified, simplified time scale in an intergalactic universal community

Shifts are 10 hours with hour lunches

There's 3 parts to every species day — Work, Relax, and Sleep — all 10 hours

Diurnal aliens including most humans are working in the mornings, relaxing in the evenings, and sleeping at night

Crepuscular aliens are working in the evenings, relaxing at night, sleeping in the morning

And Nocturnal aliens are working at night, relaxing in the morning, and sleeping in the evening

The clock is from 01:00 — 30:00 (simple 30 hour days for an even number and more leisure time) and rolls over to 01:00 from 30:59 with 01:00 being the roll over from night to morning

Time Increments

Seconds = Instants

Minutes = Moments

Hours = Periods

Days = Cycles

Weeks = Phases

Months = Stages

and Years = Terms

—————

Temperature Rising

Diverse biomes and work sectors began to stir to life, as the many species stationed upon the Integrated Vessel Ro’Vanna responded to the coming shift change. The Universal Timepiece, standard across the known universe, finally struck 0100 Cycles, the nocturnal species like the Umborra and Nostro eager to spend their recreational hours peacefully, while Diurnal species like the Shal’Dorei and newly integrated Humans were waking to begin another productive morning. 

Qin, the most well known Troqir aboard and one of its select Charters, rushed to his station in the hub of the Astrometry Center, cranial crests flaring with an eagerness that to most of his crewmates would otherwise go unnoticed. Ready to start his shift as soon as his posterior hit the chair, the rather tall and muscular humanoid gracelessly plopped down, emitting quite the noise as he got started. Other species present had their full attention focused on their tasking at hand, not a single thought or care thrown to his quite hasty entrance to his station. Several crystalline scales in the crook of his neck iridesced at the thought of his companion joining him soon, his thoughts anywhere but the latest mapping data coming up on his Virtual HUD. Time passed quickly at first, the sturdy man pointing metallic fingers to different notifications that needed immediate attention, adjusting calculations to chart the next few thousand Cargo routes as he went. After roughly 14.5 moments, though, he turned to search for his oddly quiet coworker to notice that the Human had made no attempt to join him this morning, the thought causing a darker color to glisten across his crystal scaling.

He’s late.

Why is he late?

He specifically stated last night he’d “see me soon.”

He’s never this late.

For the first time in his life, Qin was completely out of focus. Several happy-go-lucky phases — human parlance, not his own — had enveloped him, exchanging his stark Troqir logicality for Human whimsy and curiosity. His work tempo was slower and uncoordinated, an unfamiliar feeling coalescing into the turbulent color shifts across his luminescent scales. Every instant that passed on the cargo vessel's timekeeper seemed to lurch at an uneven pace, a deepening pit forming at the base of his abdomen. For four and a half painstaking periods, Qin swallowed his personal thoughts to gain some form of traction on his workload, swallowing emotion as all of his people were taught and opting for diligent productivity, until - finally - the release of his allotted Nutrition Period arrived. There was no moment spared as his dense footfalls rushed towards his companions quarters, his focus unbroken as the ceiling dropped from 4 meters to a much tighter 2.4m. Qin, at just under 2.2 meters, absentmindedly ducked to overcompensate, having quickly become accustomed to this section and its many distinctions after quite a few visits. 

There at last, the tall, silvery man reached what was worth looking for, a door which read in standard human language,

Room 152

Aspen Wright

With the slightest shake in his hand, Qin formed his digits into a fist to knock. 

Knocking… he thought, quite the odd custom, but like many human practices, this was the most respectful of his companion’s personal space and time. For several instants, the silence in the Human Sector’s Hall allowed him no sweet mercy, the lone alien man uncertain what to do as his weight shifted back and forth between his feet, a metal clang ringing out with each motion. Thankfully, a digital projection finally slid across the width of the door, Entry Permitted, displayed in large English typeface.

Thank the Fathers and Mothers for universal translation.

With the invitation obvious and a rather low duck through the smaller door, Qin entered into the darkened room — the simulated window turned off, the curtains drawn, clothes strewn across the floor, and strange devices and pill capsules laid upon the table — not even the so-called “fairy lights” lit the quarters he had become so accustomed to. The Troqirian’s own voice came quieter than he expected, as he rasped out, “Aspen? Are you there?” A strange groan followed, then silence, then- a weary voice.

“Q-,” a cough, “Qin?”

“Y-yes… it is I, I am present,” a facepalm.

“Oh, this is a-” more coughing, “a surprise. Aren’t you on Lunch Break sweetie?”

For a moment, the light from Qin’s Luminescent Scales - ones at his nape, a few at his crests, even the ones on his exposed digits - shined brighter than before, a rainbow of colors flowing across their surface at the thought of being a “sweetie”, before taking a dim, solemn purple. “I- yes, but when you did not show up promptly 15 moments late after last night's recreation I- I began to worry. Lateness? Normal to an extent. Absence??? Abnormal, even for you… Did I… do something wrong? Did our meetings and leisure time make work uncomfortable for you?”

For his first time that entire cycle, Aspen bolted upright with a purpose, but immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness caused the room to spin around him before he fell the wrong direction, right out of his bed into the floor.

The sight startled Qin, having no frame of reference where the human man was until now, “Fathers and Mothers! Aspen, are you injured!?”

With a weak chuckle and the groan of even more pain, he responded in turn, “I’m fine, I’m fine… I’m sorry to worry you, you never make me uncomfortable dear, I’m just a bit [under the weather] today.” Another small laugh came, and then he continued, “I was trying to tell you that, and I- I must’ve moved too fast… everything is- ugh everything is spinning. Could you help me back into bed?”

Frantic to assist, Qin’s larger form - clumsy in the smaller space, helped lie the smaller, lighter human in his nest, placing his head upon the pillow. Once situated, he covered the small man, as many human’s liked, and noticed his skin far hotter to the touch than normal, homeostatic balance oddly off. “Damn translator…” a joyous light crossing his scales as he used the human swear as he’d been taught, “for whatever reason the English to Troqirian dictionary hasn’t found a suitable translation for your imprecise speech… Could you please explain?”

“Ah, thank you for the lift, love.” Settling for an instant, eyes closed and his head on the pillow, Aspen pondered with a clouded, slow mind, trying to search for the words as his body ached and caught a chill. “... uh- an English idiom of common use in my native tongue… it’s like… to feel sick, to be unwell. I didn’t go to my work shift today because I’m too sick to go… I’m- I’m sorry I didn’t contact you to say something, this fever is really kicking my ass.”

Fever? What in the Cradles was a Fever? 

“Ah… Fever- yes. Hmm, and that is… The translator states you have an elevated temperature? You were hot to the touch, hot because you’re currently ill, or ‘under the weather’ as it were?” Pondering his line of thinking, Qin couldn’t help but attempt to puzzle it together, his evolved logic center placing presented data together to reach understanding. 

Why is his temperature so elevated? He… he’s too hot… His temperature felt at least 311.8°K through my temperature cells… Humans are on average 310.2°K and their species exhibits signs of death at temperatures of 315°K or more… Fathers and Mothers that’s far too close. That is far too close.

Startling Aspen’s tired eyes open, the large metallic man started in with question after question, “How are you okay? You were perfectly normal yesterday. You’re temperature is far too elevated! Are you dying? Do you need emergency services? I can call the Human Physician on board! I can, I can, I-”

“Stop. It is gonna be okay. This- uh this is a normal human response to various pathogens our immune system is unable to combat with its defense cells, so we get hotter and hotter to try to kill the invader before it can do too much damage. I’ve already spoken to the captain and the doctor and I was given some things to bolster my strength while I attempt to naturally ride out my fever. It’s gonna be okay Qin, I’m gonna be okay. The fever just has to kill the pathogen and it’ll break on its own.”

For several quiet moments Qin sat in disbelief at such a process. Actively breaking their delicate homeostasis for an illness? Their specialized cells unable to do it on their own??? He found himself running his digits through his smaller companions' hair as he pondered. He looked so weak, so small, so… precious. 

Breaking the deathly silence with a few coughs, Aspen shuddered from his fever chills, squinting to the light of Qin’s scales before smiling to himself, “I can see your scared glow through my eyelids, Qin, I promise I’m okay… though the comforting touch is nice.”

“Well your eyelids are thin layers containing Keratin and Collagen, it's a miracle your species is alive…”

A laugh, somewhat stronger this time, escaped Aspen’s lips as he smiled again, “And yours have thick metallic plates and the most beautiful glowing scales I’ve ever seen. What about it?”

A hot reddish-pink overtook the Troqir’s luminescent features as he realized what power the smaller man held over him. The power to care. The power to worry. The power to be emotionally honest, something found few and far between his own people. 

The power to be bold.

“Th-they’re beautiful, you… are beautiful, Aspen… I’m sorry I haven’t said it sooner. You always try to make advances on me, and I always try to deflect them with feigned ignorance.”

Slowly, the small human man scooted to leave some room next to himself in the bed, the blanket moving and leaving him even colder than he already was, “Please… could you stay with me a while longer… could you… could you cuddle me to keep me warm?”

The pink glow wouldn’t cease for some time, as the giant of a man laid down on the small bed and wrapped his warm silvery arms around his companion, a small humming noise coming from deep in his throat like a pur. Aspen snuggled close to stifle his chills, overjoyed to know his feelings were reciprocated. Feeling the radiant heat from his alien partner, he drifted into peaceful sleep for the first time that awful sick day.