#there is a reason lean was not invented here

[unfavorableinstigation]

The child safety lock on the Buckley's bottle is the single most redundant thing I have ever encountered. I just had to hark back to my dad's beautiful cocktail invention Dragon Sperm, in which Buckley's is a major ingredient, in order to muster the bravery needed to choke the stuff back.

... but it works

[mostly-marvel-musings]

How about “nope no nada, no using sex to get me to do things you want, it’s not going to work anymore” + using sex to get our favorite insomniac Mr. Stank to take a break from work and come to bed?

Old tricks

A/N: I was waiting for this prompt, can’t believe it was in my inbox the whole time and I missed it. Leave a comment, heart or reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warning: 18+ sex themes, fluff

.

“How long has it been since he last took a nap, FRI?” You sighed, closing the book you were currently reading before stifling a yawn.

Thirty eight hours and counting, Mrs. Stark.

He was at it again. After promising that he would join you in bed early today, Tony Stark was still in the basement, nose deep in inventing yet another device that would potentially save the universe.

Rolling your eyes you threw the sheets off of your legs, rummaging through your closet to find the oldest trick in the book of ‘Getting your husband to obey’.

A set of lingerie was usually your go to but tonight, you decided on going down to his lab wearing nothing but a silky robe that you planned on discarding the moment he would lay eyes on you.

Overriding his protocol with FRIDAY’S help, you entered his lab and were met with an immediate blast of cold air; it fortunately worked in your favour, pebbling your nipples and making them evident against the flimsy piece of fabric.

Your husband stood hunched over his table that displayed varied diagrams and models with a blue glowing light that made his features appear exhausted. He probably was. Not that he would ever admit.

“Hello husband.”

You murmured, hugging the man from behind and wrapping your arms around his middle, feeling his tight muscles against your soft flesh, the contrast making you frown.

Tony sighed, melting against your touch immediately, as his hands stopped working to cover yours in a reassuring way.

“Are you planning on warming your side of the bed any time soon? Perhaps your wife would like some company too..”

Turning in your arms, he leaned in to kiss your lips in a wordless apology before stopping, his strained eyes grazing down your form, taking you in.

“What are you doing, Y/N?”

“What?” You feigned innocence, grabbing his hands and bringing them to the front of your robe, beginning to unfasten the ties.

Letting out a defeated grunt, Tony’s head planted itself against your shoulder, stopping your movements at once.

“Nope. No. Nada. No using sex to get me to do things you want, it’s not going to work anymore.” You grinned because his voice lacked conviction, and the fact that he hadn’t pushed you away meant you had already won.

“Isn’t it?”

You smirked, undoing the belt completely now to reveal what the robe barely covered. Opening an eye, Tony drank your glorious self in, not finding enough reason to resist. With your nipples turned into buds and the glistening between your thighs, he was powerless.

Tony Stark simply wasn’t built to resist your persuasion.

Taking the robe off completely, you stepped back and turned to head out of his lab, throwing the robe over the shoulder with a knowledge that it had probably landed on his head.

“You’re just gonna wander around the house naked now?” He called after you, cock stirring in his pants at the sight of your curves sashaying their way out, just for him as you shrugged in response.

“Maybe I’ll try another good old trick. Perhaps that toy you designed for our anniversary?”

There was a curse word uttered under his breath before Tony Stark shut off his lab for the night and made a beeline in your direction, refusing to let his wife pleasure herself with anything that wasn’t his cock or tongue.

Find Part 2 here!

[woodland-gremlin]

Fruitloops

“We’re home!” Conner bellows, posing like he just won the Super Bowl, with Tim behind him looking exasperated.

“Welcome home,” Danny says from the kitchen. “I’m just finishing up the Fudge.”

Hearing the word Fudge Conner cheers before running to the kitchen door. “I call licking the spoon!”

Tim freezes before rushing to catch up with Conner. Danny’s Phantom Fudge was legendary and there was no way he was going to give up the right to lick the spoon without a fight. Conner may have super powers and a head start but he didn’t free Bruce from being stuck in the time stream with his boyfriends by just his good looks, though they certainly helped.

He looks around to see what can give him an advantage in his quest for legendary Fudge when he sees something that causes his heart to drop. League of Assassins garb peeking out through the hallways closet.

His mind began to work in overtime trying to figure out what this could mean. While it seems like one of the League’s assassins is for some reason hiding in his closet, that also makes very little sense. If one were here they would never make such a mistake. It could be one of Danny or Conner’s souvenirs that they liberated from the League when the three of them blew up a bunch of their bases. But that doesn’t explain why they would be in one of their apartment closets, they keep that stuff in the Nest with the rest of the stuff connected to their alter-egos. Though Danny does like to bring some of his inventions here to fiddle with sometimes, he usually phases them into things to hide them when he isn’t working on them.

As Tim prepares for a fight while trying to figure out the assassin grab Danny phases his head through the kitchen wall. “Tim want some Fudge?” he asks before looking at what caught Tim’s interest. “Why are you looking at where I tied up the Cultist Fruitloop?”

Tim’s eyes widen before turning to where Danny’s head was poking through the wall. “Ras?!” Tim squeaks. This catches attention from where he was gorging himself with Fudge. “Ra’s here?!” he asks while rushing towards them, getting ready to fight.

Danny phases through the rest of the wall before shrugging like he didn’t just say there was an immortal leader of a cult of assassins tied up in their closet.

“Well, he kind of just showed up and started ranting about how he would make you,” Danny says while gesturing towards Tim, “his, so I knocked him out with the anti-creep stick and tied him up before shoving him in the closet.”

Tim wanted to bang his head against the wall and from the look of it Conner wasn’t that far behind him in that thought. This was Ras for Ancients sake and here Danny was acting like he was some common thug.

“You don’t seem very concerned,” Conner said, stating the obvious.

Danny shrugs again, “Well yeah, I phased his weapons into me and tied him up. Plus the Original Fruitloop does stuff like this all the time. Doesn’t yours do it too?”

And that, that made sense. It wasn’t that Danny wasn’t taking it seriously, it was that he was used to it. They all were. Each of them had some older Creep that was obsessed with them. He had Ras to deal with, Conner had Luthor, and Danny had been dealing with Masters for years. Honestly, if Masters or Luthor showed up and acted like Ras did he would have tied them up and stuffed them in the closet too.

“Just tell us sooner next time,” Tim sighs.

Danny chuckles nervously while rubbing the back of his head., “Yeah, will do. I just kind of forgot since he showed up in the middle of me making the Fudge.”

Conner gasps, leaning against the wall like he had just heard the most sacrilegious of news. “He interrupted the sacred ritual that is the making of Fudge?!?!” Conner then continues with his hand on his heart, “The audacity.”

Danny snorts while Tim facepalms. It’s moments like this that made him wonder why he loves these two idiots.

“Why is he tied up like a pig?” Conner asks after opening the closet, looking at Ras.

“Because he is one,” Danny absentmindedly replied.

And then it was moments like this that he remembers why.

[luveline]

Hii! I'm in love with your Hotch adult daughter fics. Could we get one where she is getting bullied in college or where she works and then Hotch finds out somehow and helps her? Please please :)

thanks so much for requesting! fem, 1.2k

He decides to surprise you. He’s at risk of embarrassing himself greatly, and he’s okay with that risk. 

Hotch stands outside of the George Washington University and winces in the hot weather. The sun beats down on the back of his neck. He’s more aware of how little sun protection he uses as the time stretches on, waiting for you, but he doesn’t mind it. He’s worn full suits in the Nevada desert. 

You emerge from the main building where your last class for the day takes place. He dropped you off here last week, got to watch you walk in and say hi to the custodian. It was a nice insight of who you are, someone he’s proud to be the father of though he had little hand in what you’ve become. 

Behind you are two female classmates. 

Hotch pauses under the tree he’d taken refuge by. 

He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can see the rigidity of your shoulders, your hackles rising as they talk. The brunette gets a nasty look on her face, to which you respond, and the blonde’s volume begins to rise. 

The brunette looks like she might reach for you. “Don’t touch me,” you warn. 

Hotch steps in. 

“Hey, excuse me,” he says, loudly and firmly, the Unit Chief tone in play. He’s gotten very good at raising his voice without shouting. “What’s going on here?”

The two women who were talking to you falter, but the brunette stays fiery. “We’re just talking.” 

“About what?” 

“It’s none of your business.” 

“If you’re going to lay your hands on her, it becomes my business,” he says. 

There’s a guilt to the blonde’s expression that proves you’d been thinking correctly and that she was going to touch you, even if it were only to grab your wrist, but she bristles and denies. “We weren’t.” 

“Then you have no reason to stay.” 

You frown deeply. “No, they can finish. Clearly they think it’s important–”

“But do you think it’s important?” Hotch asks you. 

Your frown, your anger beginning to ebb. You take a breath. “I suppose not.” 

Hotch levels the women with a look. Just a look, not interrogative or heated, but prompting —it’s the kind of look he gives people when he wants them to realise they’ve missed their cue to leave. 

“See you next week, then,” the brunette says, a threat he abhors. 

“I’m sure she will,” he says, hoping anything unsaid is felt. He has no idea who they are or what you’ve apparently done to make them angry, but you won’t be intimidated. 

“Do I need to talk with Dean Langley?” he asks, turning to you as the women walk out of hearing range. 

“Aaron.” You look at him, look like him, not in appearance but the pinch to your brow as you rub the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” 

“What?” 

“They do it to me every time I’m here.” 

“They do?” 

You sound like it’s a chore. “They think I’m sleeping with our professor.” 

“Why would they think that?” 

“Because ever since I stopped working, my grades are much better, n’ they think I cheated my way there.” 

Oh, of course. Hotch tries to do something good by you —he’s started giving you a little chunk of money every week so you don’t have to work anymore, nothing obsequious but enough to cover everything you need, rent and food and transportation, clothes, textbooks, and he made it clear you can ask for more— and it makes things worse for you instead. Still, “Your grades are improving?” 

“I’m doing pretty well,” you confess shyly. 

He holds your shoulder. “I’m sorry they’re jealous, and I’m sorry they’re inventing a narrative to cope. I really can speak with Dean Langley if you need me to.” 

You smile and let yourself lean into his touch. “Inventing a narrative to cope,” you repeat. “That’s a good one. I’ll use that one.” 

You have more fight in you, it seems. “If it gets too much, just let me know. You don’t have to entertain their delusion.” 

“I’ll use that one, too.” 

He laughs, hand sliding behind your back to hug you from the side, his nose briefly pressing to your temple before he gives you space again. “I was hoping I’d catch you on your way out, are you busy? Let me take you to dinner, celebrate your performance.” 

“You realise I wouldn’t have improved without your help?” you ask. 

“I think any parent in my position should provide for their kid,” he says easily. “It’s not help. Not everyone can support their children through college, but I can, and I wish I had been from the start.” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” you say. 

He nudges you into a walk toward his car. “I owe you more than you realise.” 

He takes you to an early dinner, and celebrates your improving grades with the dessert of your choosing. Conversation with you can sometimes feel strange. It’s hard to think you were a kid once and he’d never met you, but then he realises how young twenty two really is, how you’re still willing, longing for him to be a father to you. You’re smug that he’d go to the dean to for you. You like that he stepped in. And you love being doted on, being encouraged. He can see that easily. 

“When can I come back to see Jack?” you ask eventually. 

He wishes he could say whenever you like, but he has a hard time following Haley’s movements. “I’ll ask. Soon, I promise.”

“He took great care of me.” 

The last time you’d stayed over, Jack acted like you were the best thing since sliced bread (which you are, in Hotch’s eyes). 

“You know, he had a little trouble with bullies last year.” 

“They aren’t bullies,” you say, taking a bashful bite of your ice cream. 

“No, of course not. But he’ll understand, if you want to tell him about it.”

“Aaron, he’s five.” 

“He’s six,” he corrects. 

“Oh, sorry. But still, I don’t think Jack wants to deal with that. I couldn’t unload on him, he’s my… you know, he’s my little brother.” 

“Then tell me about it, at least.” 

“You saw the most of it.” 

He sighs. Wishes you’d call him dad, understands why you don’t, and can’t think of what to do. It was easier when Jack had trouble, because little kids bully each other almost on accident. They don’t know what they’re doing is wrong, having learned the behaviour from their parents. It’s almost never personal. 

Your situation is not the same. 

“I’ll talk to the dean,” he suggests again. 

“Don’t bother. It’s alright. And if it gets worse, I’ll tell you.” 

He smiles, reaching over plates to squeeze your hand briefly. “Thank you.” 

You look down at your food. Some shyness to you still at being cared about. “Thank you,” you mumble. 

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You���re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

[notherpuppet]

What is your opinion of AI? Personally, I think that like any technology, it depends on the user and their intentions, but that is just me.

What about you?

1. Theft

The most central issues with AI as it is now is that the programs were trained/are trained with STOLEN art. Stolen visual art, music, writing, etc.

The vast majority of what it has been fed is stolen. As in, the artists behind the work were not ever given the chance to consent nor be compensated for their works being used to feed the machine.

This reason alone is straight up copyright infringement and the optimist in me does believe the long arm of the law is gonna shut these programs down for that. But the long arm of the law is looooooong, and the technology is disrupting people’s livelihoods now. Unlike robots or machinery that was invented and built to expedite assembly line/factory work, this technology is only functional by using other people’s labor. If we didn’t live in a society where you have to “earn” your right to live in it, then this would still be wrong, but it probably wouldn’t be such an existential problem.

There are active class action lawsuits for infringement of copyright. And the private sector has begun filing suits and I’m quite certain they’ll win because again—it’s simply theft. These companies did not make licensing contracts, they’re not paying royalties to the artists they stole from.

So if you consider using ai that generates “art” (whether it is visual, music, writing, etc.) please consider stopping immediately, as you would actively be benefiting from theft (which is wrong imo!!!!)

2. AI in its present form dishonors the human spirit

In my personal relationship with AI technology, I do not use it to generate ideas or ‘art’. I detest the notion to use technology in that way tbh. AI is a form of technology, so it’s difficult to break it down into every specific use it actually has. But here’s an attempt; no to generative AI, okay to certain AI.

There are kinds of AI programming in the programs I use (such as features that help you color in a shape quickly or make a perfect circle). This is useful tech (that requires zero IP theft) and I like it because it helps me by taking care of tedious tasks so that I have more time to spend in the creative and drawing processes. But I still choose the colors, I still draw the images, I still write the stories.

I think the way AI is used right now with a focus on “creative thinking” (where it’s not actually creating anything it’s just churning out other people’s *stolen* ideas and practice) is a total waste. AI being used as an assistant to help humans find information easily can be/has been swell. And requires no theft :D

But for whatever reason (greed, capitalism are my guesses), tech companies are leaning into a direction to replace creativity with AI?? I imagine the people behind this view the practice of art as tedious work because it is challenging??

But the beauty of art and the practice of it is that it allows humans to experience and overcome challenges with little to no stakes.

When society determines that is not a valuable use of human time, then I think we’ll all be significantly more miserable. If we allow a machine to be “creative” and leave us to only experience challenges with stakes—like survival (rent, putting food on the table).

So here are some examples of how I feel about AI uses;

AI to translate languages, find resources, discern malicious malware/spam from harmless messages > 👍🏽

AI to generate ideas/art for you > 🤢 Why??????? Why would you want that…that’s the most exceptional part of the human experience and you relinquish it to a bot trained on stolen ideas? 😭

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

In Time

Feyd Rautha x Y/N - drabble - 2K WC

Part 2

Masterlist

Warnings: none really this is very fluffy because I'm a slut for Feyd being soft with you and nobody else

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

You wandered the dark halls of the palace. Geidi Prime was dark, cold, and lonely. You missed Ix, your home world. You had been sent to Geidi Prime as an offering of sorts. The Lord Na-Baron Feyd Rautha was of age and needed a wife. Several options from the Great Houses had been sent and you were there to represent Ix as its only princess. You truly did not care for this polluted planet and knew someone as plain as you considered yourself to be would not catch the Na-Baron’s eye. So, you wandered the halls in search of nothing in particular. A grand palace was very different from the labs of Ix. Everything on Ix was below the surface of the planet, the only reason to go to the surface was to travel. So here you wandered, the glow from your levitating lamp was all that accompanied you. You heard your steps echo before you stopped. You activated your shield, a bluish blur settling over you. You stood still, listening for something as you felt the air around you shift. You softly pressed a button on your wrist control pad, the light from your lamp going out. You sat in complete darkness, yet you knew you weren’t alone. Pressing another button your eyes shone like an animal in the dark, searching for prey through the night vision. 

“I can see you.” you said to the man ducking low behind a pillar a few feet from you. You walked over to him as he rose to his full height; he towered over you and he was most definitely a Harkonnen. You tried to walk past him but he followed you.

“You’re not allowed in this wing.” he said gruffly, trailing behind you closely.

“And what wing would this be?” you sighed out, not wanting to deal with anyone right now. 

“The engineering wing,” he said, now walking next to you.

You let out a laugh, “This is exactly where I should be. Feels like home.” you said.

“Home?” the stranger asked.

“Ix - aka the high tech planet. We make everything useful and somehow we are still forgotten.” you sighed, shrugging off the sadness in your statement. You turned into a room that was exuding light in the hallway, the only light in this dreary place. It looked like one of the basic mechanic labs on Ix but for the Harkonnens this must have been impressive. You went to one of the tables before grabbing specific tools. The stranger watched you from the doorway, leaning against it. 

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Fixing a glitch.” you said nonchalantly as you pulled out your right eye. 

Feyd walked closer, watching your nimble fingers work to fix something so small. “You made your own eye?” 

“Eyes,” you corrected. “I was born without eyes, a strange mutation but Ix has such advanced technology I have always been able to see.” you said as you snapped the final piece into place. You put your eye back in, blinking a few times to get it recalibrated and working. You clicked a few buttons on your wrist control pad, watching as it ran diagnostics through your right eye while refocusing the left. 

“Do you invent things like the others from Ix?” he asked, watching your pupils dilate repeatedly. 

“I’m not that talented,” you chuckled, “I am excellent at repairs though, I enjoy fixing or upgrading random things in the palace. Mother hates it, says it's for the servants to do.” You rolled your eyes.

“Can you fix this?” Said the man, handing you his shield device. “It turns on but falters.”

You took it from his pale hand, fingers connecting, sending a chill up your hand in the most pleasant way. You inspected it before unlatching the cover and began prodding the wires. You used different tools from all over the room, the man’s eyes never left you. 

“Why are you on Geidi Prime if you’re the princess of Ix?” He asked, sitting slightly closer as he watched you melt wires together. 

You faltered for a moment, setting your tools down before letting out a sigh. “I’m a prospective bride for the Lord Na-Baron Feyd Rautha.” You said with a grimace.

The stranger chuckled, “Not a fan of his?” He asked. 

“I’m not a fan of being a prize for some stranger to win.” you corrected him. 

“You’re not afraid of him?” he asked, sounding like he was in slight disbelief. 

“I fear no one. Fear is the mind killer.” you replied.

“You’re Bene Gesserit?” he asked with slight disdain. 

“No, but it is a good mantra to hold. Once you know the horrors of the universe and fear nothing, the universe is yours.” you said, clicking the receptor into place.

“And what will you do if he picks you?” he asked.

“That depends. If he is a brute, I will endure and bring both our houses honor. If he is gentle, I will grow to love him, and hope he loves me in return. Either way I will do my duty. My happiness is all that hangs in the balance. But that has never mattered much to men.” you finished before fastening his shield to his torso armor. You turned it on, the blue blur covering him. You grabbed a screwdriver, flipping it over before attempting to stab him. The shield caught the sharp, not allowing it to pass.

You put the screwdriver back on the table, “There, all fixed.” you smiled sweetly at him.

“You could have stabbed me.” he smiled back.

“But I didn’t.” you pointed at him before walking towards the door. “Come on.” you motioned for him to follow you.

“Where to next?” he asked.

“I should probably return to my chambers; I could be engaged tomorrow. Best to get some sleep.” you sighed once again. 

“If he asked, gave you a choice, what would you say?” the man asked, walking beside you down the corridor. 

“Feyd Rautha? Well… if he were like you I’d be inclined to say yes.” you smiled softly, glancing at him.

“Like me?” he asked with a bit of shock in his voice.

“Kind, curious. You are the only Harkonnen who has been either to me. Everyone else is… cold. People on Ix are quite similar, mother always said I was too emotional. Said it was a weakness that ‘inhibited one's ability to see reason’. But I think it can be a strength. It allows for one to truly feel, to truly connect with others.”

“Did you connect with others on Ix?” he asked.

“No, not much. It has always been a lonely existence, my plants and trinkets were company enough.” you replied, looking down with slight shame.

The man gently grabbed you hand in his cold pale one, “You won’t always be alone.” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before bringing it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “The princess with the magic eyes.”

Your lips tipped up at the affectionate name, “Y/N.” you said, realizing you never told him your name. “Princess Y/N of Ix.” you said giving a curtsey while he still held your hand. 

He chuckled before kissing your knuckles again, “Goodnight Princess Y/N of Ix.” he said before letting you go. 

You watched him walk down the hall into the darkness, wondering if your family would accept a Harkonnen on Ix as the mystery man made you feel something inside. Your eyes widened, realizing you never got his name, you looked up quickly to ask him but he was already gone. You turned in for the night, drifting off to thoughts of the man you met that night. 

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

The maids that traveled with you finished adorning you in your house colors, gold and black. You looked at yourself in your mirror, sighing.

“You look beautiful my lady, the Na-Baron would be lucky to have you.” your maid said. 

You smiled sadly at her, nodding in agreement. Your chamber door slid open, multiple guards filled in. “Time to go princess.” he said, leading you down the hallways before entering the Great Hall. You saw 10 other women from the various Great Houses standing in a line before the Baron. 

“Fine specimens for my nephew, he will enjoy whomever he chooses.” the Baron said to Rabban with a sick laugh.

You rolled your eyes, clasping your hands together in front of you. You prayed that you were overlooked and could leave Geidi Prime as soon as possible. You heard the Grand Hall doors open once more and watched the man from last night round all of you to stand next to the Baron. 

“Nephew!” he said.

Your stomach hit the floor, your eyes bulging. You felt faint as you started to tremble slightly. The man from last night was Feyd Rautha Harkonnen himself. “Fuck. Me.” you damned yourself. 

“Choose your bride.” the Baron said, motioning to you all. 

Feyd started at the opposite end of women, slowly walking past each one. The tension was agonizing. Now that you knew who the man from last night was, you regret everything you said to him. You tried to stab him for fucks sake. Who knew what sick plans he had for you. You stared at the ground  until you saw two black boots standing before you. 

“This one.” you heard his gruff voice say before you felt his cool fingers tilt your chin up. Your eyes held nervous tears, afraid of your now set future. 

“Princess Y/N of Ix, a fine choice.” the Baron said. “See that the others leave Geidi Prime safely. Clear the room, give my nephew time to converse with his new bride.” the Baron said before leaving the Grand Hall with everyone else. 

“I - I’m so sorry Lord Na-Baron, please forgive me for everything last night. If I had known it was you I would not have been so… so…” you stumbled. 

“Normal?” he said, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “I picked the princess with the magic eyes for a reason.” he said, hand falling to gently graze yours, yet giving you plenty of space to pull away from his touch. 

“I should have acted in a manner befitting my station.” you whispered. 

“I didn’t pick you because I wanted a princess.” he said.

“Why then?” you asked cautiously.

“I picked you because you act with humanity, with emotion. Something lacking on Geidi Prime. Something lacking within myself.” he said with a tinge of sorrow. 

“That’s not true.” you said, softly grasping his hand. You heard him suck in a sharp breath as you looked up to him. “Your eyes are blue.” you said with a small smile.

“Your eyes are magic.” he responded, not quite sure how small talk goes between people who were not Harkonnens always discussing war or bloodshed or greed. 

You smiled at his words, nobody else had ever been impressed by your one invention, your eyes had always been deemed mid level impressive to those on Ix. 

“I’m not a brute,” he said, holding both your hands. “I wish to see you happy on Geidi Prime. I must act with a hardened disposition but… not with you. Never with you.” he spoke. 

You dropped one of his hands to cradle his face. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes and getting lost in it. The sight saddened your heart, he had not known a gentle touch. “We can bring each other happiness, in time.” you said as you thumbed over his cheek bone. 

“And… perhaps love. In time.” he said, opening his eyes. His hand grasped yours from his face before kissing your palm. 

You leaned up, briefly connecting your lips in a soft kiss. His hands fell to your waist, pulling you closer to him. “All in good time, Na-Baron, my husband.” you smiled. 

“Feyd,” he said. “Just Feyd to you, my Na-Baroness, my wife.” you could just see his black teeth with the slight smile he gave you. 

“Na-Baron Feyd Rautha and Na-Baroness Y/N.” you said your formal titles, well, what would be your formal titles by the end of the week. Harkonnens wasted little time with wedding ceremonies, only wanting an heir as soon as possible. 

His name sounded like a prayer on your tongue as he leaned his forehead against yours, holding you close to him. Your hands rested on his chest, breathing him in. He wasn’t a brute, your happiness didn’t hang in the balance. You wanted to nurture each other, what more could you have asked for? 

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello! To all my new and old fans out there, thank you for reading my stuff! Still madly in love with this little psycho but I tend to write him as a soft boy because I love the "hates everyone but you" trope. Next Feyd fic will be a smut piece so be on the look out for that. I would love some Feyd requests so don't be shy, please send them my way! Thanks again, <3!!!! XOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXO

[heliads]

You and Me (A Whole Lot of History)

Based on this request: "y/n is a historian with access to old schematics so kaz hires her for a job. he keeps inventing reasons to find her afterwards until he’s forced to admit his feelings"

masterlist

You only get to study about half a chapter of your textbook before you’re interrupted by a criminal. It’s not like you mind having to put down the heavy tome you’ve been leafing through; estate law of centuries past is not your idea of some fun light reading, but you’ve been helping to piece together some fragments of an old mansion from pre-Unsea Kerch, and you’d really like to be able to decide if the master of the house your tattered documents keep referring to is the eldest son or the second eldest. 

It all depends on very specific details that refuse to make themselves known to you. So no, having an excuse to stop all this isn’t terrible, you’re just a little distracted by the fact that you’re in a private study room in the historical library of Ketterdam, and you know for certain that you locked the door that has just been opened.

You know who’s just broken into your study space. Not personally, that is, but just as well as any resident of the Barrel knows the one they call Dirtyhands– through bated breath, in stolen whispers of expensive heists and bodies left behind, no traitors tolerated and none allowed to live. The fact that Kaz Brekker has taken it upon himself to enter your study room of all the empty ones still available in the library is not promising, to say the least, although you have absolutely no idea what you’ve done to appear on his radar.

You are, in fact, quite possibly the last person Kaz would even be aware of. You’re a historian, specializing in a few select centuries and powerful families in the Kerch area. This means that you spend most of your time in old and crumbling buildings, not out in shady dealings or shootouts or any of the other places Brekker tends to frequent.

This doesn’t seem to stop Kaz from closing the door behind him and taking a seat opposite your desk. He folds his hands in front of him, idly contemplating the textbook you’re still supposed to be perusing, but remains frustratingly silent.

It falls to you, then, to pick up a conversation, which is unfair considering the fact that he’s the one who’s barged in on your space. “That door was locked for a reason, you know,” you point out.

Kaz arches a dour brow. “Yes. I opened it.”

He’s not making this easy for you. “Why?” You ask.

Instead of answering you, Brekker jerks his chin towards the book in front of you. “What’s that about?”

There is no earthly reason one of the most notorious gang leaders in the Barrel should be asking about the homework you’re doing for your job. Still, he has, so you must answer, no matter how confused you are about it. “Inheritance disputes of the fourteenth century Kerch nobles. Why, are you interested in checking it out after me?”

Kaz scoffs. “No. I just want your information, not that book.”

You feel yourself leaning back slightly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Trust me, whatever information you’re after won’t be found from me.”

Kaz shakes his head once. “No, actually, I think it will be.”

He reaches for something under his coat, and you’re hit with the brief terror that he’ll get a gun or something and you’ll die here and now, but then his gloved hand comes back out into the light carefully holding a rolled up piece of paper, which he smooths out onto the desk before you. You tuck your textbook away so you can get a better look at the thing, more curious now than afraid.

It turns out to be a copy of house blueprints. As you study it, you realize that you recognize the place. You were there recently for a project for your employer, checking up on the preservation of a few rooms. “Is this the old van Haarst mansion?” 

Brekker’s eyes flash, reminding you of the slick of oil on water. “You know about it?”

“Yeah,” you say, peering further at the blueprints. “I’ve worked there before.”

Kaz nods, looking pleased. “I’d like to buy your services. I need information on this building and your silence on the matter. Are you interested?”

Your brow furrows. “What information do you need?”

To answer you, Brekker tosses a stack of kruge onto the table. You can see the numbers on the edges, and know even without counting that this payment will be far more than what you’d earn even for a year at your job. This is the deal, then. He’ll only tell you more if you accept his money, and if you accept his money, you agree to whatever he wants.

Honestly, not the worst bargain. Ghezen knows you’ve had worse supervisors on other jobs. At least you can trust Brekker to be honest so long as you are too.

You put the stack of bills into your bag, and turn back to the blueprints with renewed interest. “Are you trying to get in or get out?”

“Both,” Kaz tells you. “I’m assuming you’ve heard rumors of Marysa’s Diamond?”

You choke out a laugh. “Have I ever.”

Marysa’s Diamond is like the Saints in flesh for historians. The van Haarst family was exceedingly rich, and one of their matriarchs, Marysa van Haarst, was said to be in possession of an incredible gemstone, the diamond named after her. It disappeared when the family abandoned Kerch for Ravka following the death of three of Marysa’s sons, and no one has seen it since.

You blow out a low breath. “You think it’s in the old house somewhere? Historians have been all over the place, we would have found it if it was there.”

“It wasn’t always,” Kaz tells you. “It’s been moved there. I have good information that the van Haarst house will act as a safe house for the stone while it’s being moved from hand to hand. They’ll keep it there overnight. I will be entering the estate with a team and taking it.”

He goes silent, as if waiting for any objections. You don’t really care about the morals of the affair, though. You have your money and you get to be the foremost expert on a historical favorite of yours. Robberies happen every day, not something to get teary eyed over.

When you don’t speak up, Kaz continues on. “They’ll be keeping the stone in a place no one can find. There will be a window of exactly one bell in which the old owner leaves the house and is replaced by the new owner, carefully staggered so the stadwatch aren’t alerted by too many people in the estate after hours. That means it would have to be a damn good hiding spot. If you were hiding a gemstone in this house, where would you put it?”

You consider the blueprints before you again. There are a thousand and one places you could hide something in there– tucked inside the grand piano, in a safe, under one of a hundred carpets– and there’s no way Brekker’s men could find it in time.

However, that means the person meant to be picking up the diamond wouldn’t be able to find it as well. They would have to find somewhere in the estate hidden to everyone else but the recipient of the gemstone.

The answer occurs to you in a flash. “Oh,” you say, “Secret room.”

Brekker blinks at you. “What?”

You point at the map. “It’s totally going in the secret room. I mean, they don’t want it to be found by anyone else, right? That’s, like, the whole point of a secret room.”

Were it not for the fact that he’s, well, Dirtyhands, you’d swear his voice turns sarcastic. “That was my understanding of a secret room, yes. Where is it?”

Were it not for the fact that he is in fact Dirtyhands, you would roll your eyes. “There’s an entrance off of the secondary hallway leading off of the dining room. Unlock the door using a little latch under the bottom of the ugly painting of the old duchess of Belendt.”

He stares at you. “How do you know that? It’s not on any map.”

You lift a shoulder. “I wanted to know why they’d keep such a foul portrait around. The elites of that time period were huge on perfectionism, every one of their paintings had to be absolutely glorious or it would get removed from their sight. That’s why there are so many old paintings in the surrounding villages, actually, the nobles would just leave these expensive oil paintings outside the castle because they couldn’t take the sight of them anymore. There was no reason they’d let such a dreadful portrait stay unless it was hiding something.”

You had been focused on the map in your hands during the majority of this little speech, fondly recalling little anecdotes from your history classes, but you remember yourself soon enough. You look up and Kaz is staring at you, almost fascinated.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Got distracted.”

He shakes his head brusquely, although there’s a hint of pink on the tops of his cheekbones that wasn’t there before. “No, no. It’s important information. So we should be aware of any suspicious paintings?”

“Yeah,” you muse, “just look for the bad ones. Pretend you’re an art critic or something.”

The edges of Kaz’s dour glare turn themselves up into something of a humored smirk. “Will do. Thank you for the advice, L/N.”

You nod. “Have fun with the heist. Hey, if you see any older books on the history of the family, would you mind grabbing one or two for me? I’ve been trying to do some research for ages, but the library keeps stalling on getting resources to me, no matter how many requests I send.”

Kaz’s brows draw close together. “That would be unbelievably risky. We can’t take more things than we need or we could be caught.”

You grin. “I know, I’m kidding. Just a joke.”

Kaz’s expression lightens microscopically. “Yes, a joke.”

He leaves soon enough, pushing his chair away from the desk and rolling up the blueprints with a crisp snap of the paper. He warns you to keep your mouth shut about the plans, but you’re not sure that he does it with the fire you expected of a notorious gang leader. Instead, the words are soft, like he’s cautioning a friend.

You don’t hear from him again, not for a while. You’re not sure when this mysterious diamond deal is going down, and you doubt the unlucky men Kaz will grift can go to the stadwatch about this. In fact, you have no idea if it’s happened at all until about a week later. You had gone about your day like normal, not suspecting a thing until the moment you unlocked your door.

And there, centered perfectly on your desk when you get back home despite the fact that you never gave keys to your apartment to anyone, are three books. Aged, cracked covers, gilded writing. You hesitantly pick up one and read the title under your breath:  A History of the Bendtsen Family, 1200-1500. Another:  The van Almelos of the Belendt Region:  Two Centuries of Political and Economic Legacy.

Kaz. He actually got the books. Never mind that you were joking, never mind that he knew that, Kaz Brekker went out of his way to risk a heist just so he could help you out with a research project. Saints. And they say chivalry is dead.

You don’t expect to get the chance to thank him for it until he randomly crosses your path not two weeks later. He’s alone again, miraculously turning up outside your company door just as you leave to walk home. Kaz informs you that he’ll need your services again, exchanging some kruge for more words. This time, he wants details on an office building down the street, one that used to be a city hall. You’re able to take him in yourself thanks to access granted to all historians for historic places, and turn a blind eye when he grabs a few documents regarding interport commerce.

He walked you to your door that night, lingering over the threshold like a teenager not wanting to leave a first date. He shows up again after a month, using an excuse that’s less polished and more finicky. The next time, he doesn’t have an excuse at all. It’s just him, standing in front of you. No money, no plan. He just wanted to see you.

Kaz calls it ‘checking up on an investment,’ but you get the feeling that it’s not something he usually does. He walks with you by the water, he buys you drinks at a bar not even in his own pocket. It’s unusually sweet, so you can’t bite back your questions anymore and confront him about it when he hovers in front of your door for the dozenth time.

“What is this about, Kaz?”

He blinks at you in surprise. “What?”

You gesture between the two of you. “All of this. This isn’t for a job anymore. Why?”

Kaz looks away. It’s rare for him to not have a perfect poker face. Perhaps it’s yet another sign that this means something more, something that you can’t help but wish for. “I wanted to make sure you were safe. I’ve called on you for several jobs that can risk the players involved in the game.”

You shake your head. “You’ve gone out of your way to make sure no one knows about me. It’s just us, Kaz. You did that on purpose.”

“Yes,” he admits at last, “I did. I wanted something for myself. Something that wasn’t as bad as the rest.”

He risks a glance over at you, and his shoulders square slightly when he realizes you aren’t trying to fight him on this, or worse, leave. “You’re good, Y/N. Good things don’t last long around here. I want to make sure you do. I want you to stay forever.”

With me, he means. He wants to keep you in his life. His eyes flicker to your hands, and although you know he won’t take them, not yet, he wants to. That’s why you finally put together the pieces. Kaz Brekker is not good at verbalizing his feelings. Perhaps he never will be. This is the best shot he can give you, and he could not even say the word ‘love’ if it ripped his heart out with bleeding fingertips.

You've had so much over the years, and it has never been enough. Not once, not ever. A thousand coffers could empty themselves, a hundred men die and be reborn. It has never once stopped you. This, by contrast, is nothing. A canal rat's promise, most likely broken before the night is through. You know it, Kaz knows it. This is nothing. 

Yet it is the most true thing you have ever had, the one solid stone in a wall about to come crumbling down. It is small, barely there at all, but still worth it. Maybe that is why you stay, for the hope. For him. It is enough.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @deadreaderssociety, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @eclliipsed, @mayfieldss, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy

[svltzmans]

bet - h.m.

hope mikaelson x fem! reader

warnings: smut 18+! wrote most of this late at night (sorry if there are nonsense sentences) reader and hope drink a teeny bit (but are both of legal drinking age) <3

"truth or dare?"

hope erupts into laughter. she's sure y/n wasn't actually asking her to play a sleepover game invented by twelve year olds.

then again, y/n had suggested crazier things after a drink or two.

playing a party game on the floor of hope's bedroom was tame.

"i'm serious," y/n insists, before inadvertently starting to giggle alongside hope. "which one?"

"truth, i guess, i don't trust you to give me a dare," hope had to get on y/n's nerves a bit, considering she was the reason they were playing this immature game in the first place.

y/n feigns offense, bringing her hand to her chest in exaggerated shock. "you don't trust me?"

"not with this. now, what do you wanna hear the truth about?" hope quips, taking a sip of her beverage.

"how can i make this as scandalous as possible?"

"so i can't trust you with truths either?"

y/n can't help but laugh at hope once again, and before they know it, they're both laughing until they're out of breath.

"so, have you ever faked an orgasm?"

hope practically chokes on air, taken aback by the forward nature of y/n's question.

y/n continues to laugh. "sorry, too forward?"

"i mean, it's truth or dare. might as well make it interesting. yeah, i have."

"no way." y/n stares at hope with a doubtful look in her face.

"i honestly don't think i've ever... not faked one."

"what? you've never...?"

"i mean, i have by myself. never with anyone else."

y/n couldn't believe the conversation she was having with hope. they had always been close, but not quite this close.

hope hides her face behind her hands. "don't look at me like that!"

"that's just... pathetic," y/n laughs before finishing her sentence. "people still can't make a girl cum."

hope's breath hitches at the vulgarity of the conversation. she'd be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying the tension.

"well, they otherwise were winners i suppose."

hope's attempt to defend her taste in partners fails miserably, with y/n stifling a laugh.

"what, like you could do better?" hope interjects smugly, crossing her arms dramatically across her chest.

"i bet i could."

hope is sure y/n is joking. they had shared many laughs throughout the night.

but y/n is looking at her in a way that tells her she's dead serious.

and before she knows it, she's leaning into y/n, pulling her lips into her own.

y/n is swift at lifting hope off the floor and into her lap, hands firm on her thighs.

hope's hips inadvertently rock back and forth, gasps escaping under her breath.

y/n flips them over, hovering over hope laying on her back.

"strip," she mutters, with a sudden confidence.

hope is quick to oblige, shuffling out of her outfit in record time.

"you're perfect," y/n lowly mumbles. "spread your legs."

hope almost whines at her command before following it.

y/n rests her head between hope's legs, lightly kissing her thighs.

hope had never experienced so much care in this type of situation - or been so filled with need.

"my god y/n just hurry up- oh,"

hope's complaint is interrupted by y/n's tongue on her aching clit, her hands pushing her thighs further apart.

she whines when y/n pulls away, a smirk plastered on her face.

"already fucking you better than the others, huh?" she taunts, inches away from hope's pussy.

hope pulls her back in by the hair. "keep doing that. we have a goal here, don't we?"

"touché," y/n mutters before sucking hope's clit into her mouth.

"fuck, y/n. just like that."

motivated by hope's praise, y/n is unrelenting. she didn't intend to go easy on her.

"you're so good at that," hope mewls, running her fingers through y/n's hair.

hope presses her legs together, the sight of y/n between them making her moan.

she rocks her hips back and forth, letting y/n's tongue roll over her in a way that nearly sends her over the edge.

"i'm, i'm close, so close," she manages to growl, her back arching into y/n. "please don't stop, you're gonna make me cum."

hope is blabbering the words out, her brain only able to focus on the feeling.

y/n makes eye contact with hope, looking deeply at her with an expression of pure desire, throwing her over the edge.

hope lets out a raspy moan, her vision briefly going black. she swears she's on another planet by the time her body finally relaxes.

y/n smirks up at hope. "i won the bet."

"that you did," she responds, still out of breath.

[rsanchezslut]

I just have this crazy image of like. Being DISASTROUSLY tired for whatever reason, maybe work was shit or Rick put you up to something that ended up going badly, and you’re just dragging your tired, achey feet back to your house so you collapse into bed…

And when you finally make it home, pushing open the door expecting dead silence and darkness, Rick is there on your couch waiting for you, a plate of dinner Beth made wrapped in cellophane, a sweaty beer he’s been saving for you next to it on the coffee table, watching TV of sorts or fiddling with an invention and whatnot.

And it used to be you’d get home from days like this to nothing, nobody. And maybe you’d give Rick a call for sex or attention or even just to tell him you miss him… but suddenly he’s waiting up for you, looking at you standing in the doorway to the living room as if he doesn’t know, is ignoring why you’re shocked.

N you don’t want to scare him off, so you sorta just float down next to him, not saying anything, sitting down and waiting for him to acknowledge you except it’s just…

“Well?” Rick says, giving you somewhat of bland look from out of the corner of his eye, “gonna say hi or what, baby?”

You’re not sure if it’s shock or exhaustion causing your silence to fester, the surprise of his presence or the unexpected joy that’s starting to simmer at the realization he had the idea to come see you.

“Hi, Rick,” you coo softly, tiredly, nudging into him as you sink next to him on the couch, and then when he doesn’t respond immediately, “What are you doing here?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I knew you didn’t want me around, I wouldn’t have come. I’m happy to leave.”

There’s no malice in his voice, none of the usual heat and tease, so it’s obvious there’s no intention behind the threat. Still, you reach out for him anyway, grabbing the hand closest to you as if to stop him from pulling out his portal gun suddenly.

“No,” you say, almost too quickly, too needy, causing his pinched face to melt somewhat. “No. I mean… I just wasn’t expecting you, is all.”

You lean in hesitantly to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek, a kiss he tilts to return when you pull away slowly, as if in fear that he wouldn’t be receptive. His lips are surprisingly gentle against yours, it’s more of a peck than his usual excited kiss, wet with passion and ferocity at the thought of what will happen next, but the tenderness isn’t unwanted, and in fact, fills you with a sudden warmth that quickly seems to overpower your fatigue from the day.

(And you find that it’s not lust or longing but rather a feeling of affection which seems to buzz under your skin, as if aching to be let out.)

Reaching a hand up to his jaw, you pull back to stare into Rick’s own eyes, suddenly going shy as he gestures to the plate of food he brought you.

“Thanks for coming,” you peck him again, this time fully pulling him away from the TV, “I’m really happy to see you, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says, shutting his eyes as he leans in closer to you. “Me too.”

[dotster001]

Hi! Saw your open request post, so why not try? I hope you don't mind and take your time if needed. Can I request a scenario (romantic/platonic) with dorm leaders to MC who really loves listening to music, like whenever you see them, there's always an earbuds/headphones/earphones plugged onto their ears, which result to not paying attention to their surroundings

A/N: I can't catch a break 😂 after my concussion, I got sick. I've turned into one of those infamous AO3 writers 😭 anyways, the rest of this event, writing might be every other day, or every two days. Hopefully this is what you were hoping for, darling!

Summary: Jack/Idia/Kalim/Floyd/Chenya

3k masterlist

A little concerned. What if you don't hear something dangerous and you get beat up about it? (This is NRC. It's a valid concern) Even if you can hear over your headphones, and you're just wearing them to keep outside noise to a tolerable level, he's still going to be concerned.

Are you hiding from your thoughts? That's not healthy either. He'll sit you down in an intervention that is just himself, and maybe Deuce, and you'll have to explain to him what your reasons are for wearing them or he'll never let it go.

If he's right, and you're wearing them to run away from your thoughts…you better be prepared to lie your ass off.

Totally judging your choice of headphones. No offense, but yours are totally lame, and I bet they don't even have ultra whopper bass mode. Meanwhile his are practically 4d.

Yeah, totally lame. You know, he invented a pair like yours…when he was five! Bahahahahaa imagine having a set of headphones that a five year old could make! So embarrassing, total npc stuff.

SEVENS! JUST ASK HIM TO GIVE YOU A BETTER PAIR ALREADY! He's been dropping very subtle hints about how he has better pairs just waiting for your ears! He really has to do everything around here 🙄 here's your better headphones in your favorite color, with surround sound and state of the art noise cancellation. *Sighs* Normies.

Whatcha listening to?

He'll tap your shoulder, then point to his ear with a smile. What he's asking is to listen to your music with you. At first it was to get inspiration for the music club, but eventually it was just because he likes listening to music with you.

One ear bud in his ear as he sits next to you on a bench, slowly leaning his head against yours, gently nudging you at key musical moments, the scent of sandalwood and incense filling your nostrils as he leans against your shoulder…

Another "whatcha listening to?"

Except the difference is he takes your headphones off and puts both in his ears. With Kalim it's a flustering moment. With Floyd you want to bop him in the nose. He'll hold them out of reach, and run away with them until he's bored.

He likes to listen to Shrimpy's music! Why are you keeping it all to yourself? That's not very nice of you. Guess he'll have to hold onto your headphones for a while bwahahahahaahahaha!

Oh. Chenya loves your headphones! 😁 For compleeeeeetley innocent reasons.

He definitely doesn't like them because he can stand directly behind you and wait and see how long it takes for you to notice a presence behind you.

If you take too long to notice his aura of chaos, and he wants to rush into the part where you jump, and swat at his invisible self, he'll blow on your neck. Yes, Chenya loves your headphones. Especially when the music is so loud that you can't hear him giggling 🤭

[annab-nana]

being teased about their weird cravings during pregnancy with Eddie🥺 he would give you so much shit for some of the things you wanted

he so would and he'd do it while getting you exactly what you wanted too

warnings: not proofread, pregnant!reader, use of pet names (sweetcheeks, sweetheart)

❀ masterlist ❀

"you're a weirdo, you know that, right?" eddie told you as he pulled the brownies out of the oven.

you scoffed, tossing another dorito in your mouth. "i know you of all people are not calling me a weirdo right now."

from where you sat on the counter, you could see the side of his face including his jaw dropping in faux shock. "i think wanting to eat doritos and brownies together trumps d and d nerd by at least fifty percent."

"eh,” you muttered with a shrug.

"eh?" he echoed, baffled by your nonchalance.

"yeah, eh, and anyway, you're the reason we're in this mess," you teased, swinging your feet back and forth as he discarded the oven mitts he wore and turned off the oven.

"i just love how it's always 'i got you into this mess' when you're complaining, but it's 'you creating life' and all this other great stuff when you're in a good mood," eddie spoke in a playful tone, his wide grin making you remember all the reasons you fell in love with him.

"just think about it, okay? it will be cheesy and chocolatey. the best of both worlds. the doritos will bring a crunchy aspect while the brownies will be softer and will add warmth. dare i say it, i've created something wonderful," you shared your ideas in excitement and awe while eddie came over to stand between your thighs, his hands resting on the counter on either side of you.

"oh, so now you created it? you may be the brains, sweetcheeks, but i just slaved over these brownies. i want my cut when this goes big," eddie said with an affirmative hum. he raised his eyebrows at you, playing along as if you two were really cutting a deal for a wonderous new invention.

your brows dropped into a furrow. "you were just calling me a weirdo and now you want in?"

"first off, sweetheart, i would never call you a weirdo. it's just not my style." you stared blankly at him as he spoke, trying to fight off the growing grin at his antics. "secondly, let's talk percentages. seventy-thirty seems reasonable enough to me, me getting the seventy of course, but based on the look on your face, i can settle for fifty-fifty, even split."

"let me get this straight," you play along, leaning in close as well. "you want half of the cut for my idea that you were just dogging?"

the corner of eddie's lips curled into a smirk while he crept ever so slightly closer to you. his face was inches from yours. "you're getting the idea."

you moved even closer, your lips lingering a centimeter or two away from his. "you're crazy, munson."

he closed the distance between you and pressed his lips to yours. he stepped closer, supporting his weight on the counter by leaning his hips between your legs. his hands moved to grip your waist and pulled you to the edge of the countertop. he whispered into the kiss, "you adore it, sweetheart."

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tag list: @fiction-is-life @jellyfishbeansontoast @daisyridleyss

[hydrngea]

𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇

a/n : ahhh i've been so busy lately but i finally got the chance to write this last night! rafe’s kinda ooc so I apologize in advance lol hope you enjoy <3

notes/summary : early mornings are for appreciating you | rafe cameron x f!reader, fluff, established relationship (you’ve been together for years) 

word count : 804

masterlist / latest rafe fic 

daylight unwraps the hues of the room while the sun shines through the window you had neglected to cover up last night. rafe rouses with the light, eyes straining open. 

it’s early; early enough for him to get up and close the curtains over the arbiture and fall back asleep with ease. but for some reason he finds himself too comfortable in the position he in right now-can’t get himself to abandon his spot on the bed and the warmth that radiates from you.

 he stretches closer beside you, turning to lay with his back towards the window and facing you. he leans himself against his palm while creating a barrier between you and the light. he’s glad you sleep on your stomach, means the sun won’t get into your eyes and you can stay asleep.

mindlessly, his free digits find the curve of your back and trace over your skin; the imprints of the wrinkled sheets left on your preassure points. the faded strech marks on the flip side of your arms. the freckles on your shoulder. 

he thinks his new favorite activity is finger painting over your features;t here’s just something about the way his calloused finger pads feel against the softness of your untouched complexion which could keep him occupied and content for hours.

rafe was never the inventive type, never good with shapes like an artist or spoken phrases like a poet. even with no knowledge of creative subjects he knew without having to study you for long that you were a work of art.

he thinks- even though he doesn’t know much about his existence- that god must of carved you just for him to admire. 

minutes pass. the tangerine mountains of the sunrise fade to the comforting yellow the of the day and the sky returning to its familiar morning blue.

his exhales synchronize with yours, the room filled with a comfortable silence which feels so underrated. 

you’re the one to break it, limbs shifting under the comforter you’ve mostly stolen off of him and lips smacking together as you awake. 

you lift your head from your pillow and look at rafe with unfocused eyes which are just beginning  to regulate to the abnormal amount of light that blankets the surface of the bedroom. 

“shouldve closed the blinds last night,” you say as  press your palms onto your eye sockets, and rafe can’t help but laugh. he pulls you on-top of him and you comply,  letting out your own breathy chuckle because of how clingy he’s acting so early in the morning. your nose grazes the side of his before you slump down over him, cheek resting on his bare chest and ear right over his heart. 

gentle lips brush on your hair and you melt on top of him, wrapping you own arms around his waist. he can feel your lips curving into a smile against his skin. “how long you’ve been staring at me?” you ask, head lifting from his chest to look at him.

“dunno.” he responds, voice still gruff. a hum exerts from you as you relax back into him. 

again the two of you fall into a warm silence, content with being within each others space. no words are said and he returns to stenciling you; drawing shapes and patterns while trying to memorize you shape and every minuscule detail about your body as if you’d disappear any moment. 

rafe thinks about all he didn’t do to deserve such a heaven sent gift like you. even after years together, there’s still a part of him who believes you deserve more, better. someone as pure as you. he thinks maybe he should express his gratitude towards you more often. 

he’s the one to cease the quiet this time, softly at first. “i feel like..” he fingers begin to drag over the same spot while he tries to come up with the right words to say. 

“like what?” 

“like you were made for me. like i was made for you.”

his words make you sit up, locking your eyes with his. “what has gotten into you today, mr. whipped cameron.” you whisper as you lower your mouth onto his and press a gentle kiss at the corner of his lips. 

 he chuckles into you, lightly squeezing your waist. “nothing.” 

 “nothing?” he lets out a sigh as you pull away with your brow furrowed.

“just promise me you’ll never leave.” 

“well if u keep saying stuff like that then why would i ever want to?” you say, dimples on display as your lips curve into a smile. 

he scoffs, and you let out a screech when rafe flips the two of you over so he hovers over you. your hands find his cheeks, and you lift yourself up just enough to meet him halfway. 

“i would never leave this.” you murmur against him, right before his lips spark over yours.

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

taglist (let me know if you would like to be added!) : @mrsstarkey1 @of-many-fandomss @maybankslover @penny4yourthoughts 

follow and reblog and i’ll do the same for you! 

[seancekitsch]

Hello!!! Good (Time of reading :p), could i request a lucifer x reader fic/headcanons (whatever fits) where the reader is new to hell and is way too nice for a place like this? They are in the hotel trying to get redeemed and to be safe.

If you need more ideas: reader cooking dinner for a tired lucifer

its a shortie but its cute!

“Charlie, can you set me up with the new sinner? Lucifer had asked, “like on a date?”

He genuinely didn’t know what he was signing up for, certainly not a fully planned excursion through every sector of the ring. 

But you had politely bodied every challenge, not only endearing him to you, but also the rest of hell. 

You’d politely watched and cheered and clapped at the sex shows, you’d graciously accepted meals in cannibal town, avoided angering any turf wars on picnics and walks. It was like you were trying to score most popular in the Pride Ring. But Lucifer knew that wasn’t the case, he knew this was just you. Sweet you, polite you, undeserving of Hell you. 

“Do you like onions?” you call from the kitchen, shaking him from his thoughts.

“Onions are fine!” He calls, getting up to join you. The smells from the hotel kitchen are divine, your third meal together today being a midnight snack. Lucifer leans over the counter, looking at where you mix diced onion and tomato in a bowl with ease, humming a light tune. 

You turn towards him, a coy smile on your face as you wink at him, then jostle the bowl you’re stirring.

“What are you doing here?” Lucifer asks, his mouth moving faster than his mind. That’s a rude question to ask. Some Sinners are secretive, some are sensitive. The ones at his daughter’s hotel aren’t… but they’re also a little different. 

“Making salsa from scratch,” you answer nonchalant, reaching past him to grab a spice off the rack, “Tastes better that way. I figured you could magic us up some chips?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, and he can’t help the way he feels his cheeks heat up. 

He chuckles, his hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly before a bowl of chips appears on the other side of the counter. 

“No I uh- I mean here, as in, you know,” he coughs, “Hell.”

You stir in chili flakes with a wooden spoon, but then stop when his words sink in. 

Shit, he thinks, I’ve fucked this up. 

“Well,” you clear your throat, “Thats a secret, Your Majesty.”

You’re toying with him.

“All I’ll say is that I have a good reason for being here.”

You usher him to try the salsa, and he gladly dips one of his chips into the bowl, scooping out a hefty portion. Lucifer lifts it to his lips, and the moment it reaches his tongue he’s reminded of Heaven. Not actual Heaven, not the feelings of hopelessness or frustration. The nostalgia of the joy he had when he was inventing, thousands of years ago. The experience of a product made with love. Maybe instead of an apple he should have tempted humanity with your salsa instead.

He’s a goner. 

You don’t ask him why he’s here, not in Hell, not in the hotel, not still making this date last almost twelve whole hours later. 

“Are you planning on a short stay?” He asks, silently praying for the first time in centuries to not get his hopes up.

“I’m trying to stay safe, at least until I decide,” there’s a secretive smile on your face, alluring and inviting. Lucifer wants to kiss you, wants to drop the first date gentleman act, wants to make a mess on the counter. But he won’t, and only because he doesn’t want to ruin your handiwork, and because he’s hungry. 

“It’s a good thing I can guarantee that while you’re making up your mind!” he reassures you, inching closer until his chest bumps your shoulder. 

You surprise him by leaning over, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. 

“I guess now if as good a time as any to tell you I’m notoriously indecisive then, hmm?”

Lucifer hopes you never make up your mind.

[strawberrystepmom]

senku x f!reader. reader has a background in agriculture. reader is referred to as princess in jest and the unpacking of the reason it upsets reader follows. reader and senku are both 25. post canon au where he and the other ishigami village settlers find a small settlement in california. robert is an oc created specifically for the au. wc 1.7k

divider thanks to @/cafekitsune as always

“You and Gen have a lot in common.”

Snorting at Senku’s words, you dab at the droplets of sweat on your hairline with the back of your gloved hand. He hasn’t been superbly helpful weeding the carrot patch but at least he has been decent company, the two of you working in parallel worlds and occasionally exchanging remarks about what you’re doing. This is generally how things just go when you’re together.

You won’t go so far as to say that you enjoy him, you barely know the man who stepped foot on shores not far from where you are now a little over a month ago, but it’s pleasant to have someone around who will listen to you ramble about whatever has been on your mind. You don’t judge him and he has never judged you, a silent mutual understanding that people will be people, the thread that ties the two of you together.

It doesn’t mean he isn’t observant, though, and he’s all too apt to share said observations with you.

“Why do you say that? Is it because we are both charming, hilarious, and beautiful?”

Senku chuckles while you wipe your free hand on your pants. Very glamorous, you think and laugh to yourself quietly. The sun hangs high enough in the sky you know it’s midday and you offer small waves to everyone who passes by you, smiling big enough people can see it even from a few feet away. You don’t have to do this but you go out of your way to do it, something that always strikes Senku as funny.

“Humble, too.” The scientist remarks and you look up at him, noticing he’s jotting notes away in a leatherbound notebook he swiped from the medical barn.

He has a makeshift ink pen, an invention of his own making, and he’s jotting down thoughts of how to improve the settlement. Watch towers, another well, perhaps mechanized farming equipment to keep you from having to do as much heavy lifting as you do.

“So you agree?” He chuckles again at your words and keeps scribbling, raising his brows. “You know I don’t point out the obvious, princess.”

The recent nickname makes you scoff but your cheeks warm. He heard the village doctor and navigator, two of your closest friends, call you the name in jest and he couldn’t possibly let it go considering what an apt descriptor it is.

“Don’t call me that, it’s bad enough that they do.” Sighing, you reposition your sunhat before leaning down to dig up another weed. “There’s nothing princess-y about me.”

Tossing a carrot down, you decide to rest a moment and sit down next to him in the yellowing grass. The weather is still moderate and pleasant but six weeks from now, it’s likely a small blanket of snow and frost will cover the world and your plants in the process so time is of the essence with the less hearty members of the settlement garden. You feel Senku looking at you but don’t entertain him by glancing back, situating yourself and stretching your legs out in front of you.

“No?” Senku shoots back and you groan, laying back in the grass and closing your eyes. He looks over you and shakes his head, placing the notebook on his thighs where his legs are crossed. “Let’s be honest with ourselves here. If this were thousands of years ago, you’d be in a big tower in a pretty dress waiting for some muscle-brained knight to come and slay a dragon for you.”

You want to be offended but you’re instead curious about what exactly makes him feel that way and how it relates to you and Gen at all.

“What do you mean? I can take care of myself and have managed to do it pretty well so far.”

Senku shakes his head. He can tell you aren’t offended thanks to the lightness in your tone and he appreciates that you don’t read between the lines considering there are none when he comes to him. He says what he means and you listen to it appreciatively.

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying you inspire that kind of action in people.” He shrugs. “Think about the stories I know you used to read. A princess never has to ask for devotion, she simply gets it.”

Raising a brow, he meets your eyes and glances further out in the distance where one of the villagers he brought with him, Ginro, slumps in the fields while pulling weeds. The blonde man keeps glancing in your direction and waving before tilting his face downward to make sure you notice that he’s doing what you asked him to.

“I’ve never seen Ginro work so hard,” the scientist sniffs and you laugh louder than intended, bringing your hand to cover your mouth to stifle the noise.

“Not very fair of you to start with the easy target, Ishigami.”

He snickers and looks across the settlement, seeing if he can spot any of the others he has brought with him that have been more than happy to assist with anything you ask them to. You flash a smile, flutter your lashes if you have to, and shit seems to get done. It’s how you did things before you were petrified too.

“I overheard Hyoga arguing with Robert about being the one to escort you on the next foraging expedition.”

Thinking about the white haired man you feel a little uncertain of yourself and you look away. You find him extremely handsome despite his evasive nature and the two of you have only had a handful of conversations but he’s surprisingly helpful when necessary, you simply go out of your way trying to avoid asking for his help because he makes you nervous. Robert, on the other hand, is an issue that has followed you even thousands of years into the future (pro tip: don’t get petrified and then depetrified near a man harassing you in a club) but he insists on being your personal security whenever he can.

You make a note to genuinely contemplate trying your luck by asking Hyoga personally to accompany you but for now, you turn your attention back to your spiky haired companion.

“No you didn’t. Besides, we haven’t even planned a trip before winter even though we need to make one.”

Senku purses his lips and continues to look around the lands surrounding him.

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Considering his question for a moment, you hum and tilt your head. He hasn’t lied to you but this specific instance feels like a stretch.

“So you heard Big Mouth Bobby mention me and now I’m a princess? Seems like that criteria is a little unfair.”

Senku shifts where he sits and stretches his legs out in front of him to match your position. You shade your eyes from the sun with your palm and look up at him to find he’s glancing over his shoulder at you, shaking his head.

“You seem to think I’m telling you that it’s a bad thing people like and want to be liked by you.”

Shrugging, you settle back against the grass and kick your feet gently. He watches your every move and you feel observed and viewed rather than enjoyed, something about him that always makes you squirm despite yourself.

“Maybe you’re right.”

Senku smiles.

“I’m always right.”

You laugh and shake your head, shutting your eyes to keep from being further intimidated by his weighted glance. If he has any other assessments he’s clearly going to keep them to himself so you press forward, sun warming your face while you speak.

“I don’t get how that relates to me and Gen being similar though. Is he a princess too?”

A chuckle from your companion. At least you can always make him laugh even if you know your other charms won’t work on him. Looks have no effect on Senku nor do fluttering lashes or cute, coy smiles - he judges people off of their character only and you admire the depth it takes for him to do so.

“Oh yeah, that.” He picks his notebook back up and begins scribbling again. “You’re both very persuasive and understand people better than they think.”

Giggling, you sigh contentedly and even Senku finds himself a little bit drawn to the sound. You are charming and sweet and funny and perhaps a bit too honest beneath the slightly self deprecating humor you use to keep people from knowing who you really are. Even Senku can acknowledge all of these things - they’re true, after all. Proven and quantifiable.

“Well, thank you. The power of people skills can never be underestimated in a world where half of the people you meet want to kill you and the other half probably want to kill themselves because we don’t have social media to numb their brains.”

Again with that too honest humor. The scientist shakes his head and scribbles down a doodle for the vision he has for the tower he’s going to build in the coming weeks, halfway between your fields and the little cabin you call home. It’s the perfect position to see the entire settlement and he assumes the only reason you don’t have one yet is that you’ve lacked the people to assist with making it.

He may not be a muscle-brained knight, saving you while you sit forlornly in a tower, but he can be the genius that builds the tower you’ll help create the future society all of you will someday live in from. It’s a far more noble cause if you ask him.

“Keep it up.” He adds simply and you shield your eyes from the sun again, opening them to meet his. You offer a thumbs up and a grin and he shakes his head.

“I am going to tell Gen you called him a princess, though.”

Senku scoffs and leans back, still glancing down at you.

“Well then you’d be lying and it isn’t good to lie, now is it?”

You sit up, ready to argue back and forth but you’re interrupted by Ginro calling your name from a distance and approaching you, three carrots in his fist. Senku rises to standing and reassuringly pats your shoulder with the hand not holding his notebook.

“Looks like your savior is on his way, princess.”

You sigh, shaking your head and waving the scientist goodbye when he parts, watching him leave before plastering on your best persuasive smile and greeting Ginro exuberantly.

[hazbinshusk]

Can I get a uhh…a Husk? With a side of..uhh…kiss prompt 19? For no other reason than that I think it’ll be a silly goofy time-

I won't lie - this one has been stumping me for a while because why would husk ever consent to being underwater? but I think I came up with a work around. so, here's...

prompt #19: a kiss underwater.

The growl that rips itself from Husk’s throat goes beyond his usual irritation, and your amused smile turns to a sympathetic pout as you set a stack of fresh, fluffy towels on the toilet seat. You turn to see him glowering down at himself, and you hurry forward when he makes move to grab at the fur of his chest.

“Hey, stop!” you urge him gently, catching hold of his wrist before his claws can tangle in the mess of sticky fur at the base of his throat. “Stop. You’re just going to end up ripping it out.”

Husk almost hisses under his breath, but he takes your point when you release his arm and a few tufts of fur come with it, glued to your palm. “Gonna fuckin’ kill Pentious.”

The corner of your lips twitches upward, and you reach up to take the hat from his head, his ears flicking briefly before returning to where he presses them back against his skull apprehensively. You don’t often see him without his hat, and you push back the desire to run your fingers through the hair he hides beneath it and set his hat on the edge of the sink.

“I don’t think anyone would blame you,” you say idly, moving past him and leaning into the shower stall to turn the shower on. It groans for a second before a steaming spray fills the stall. “But Charlie might have a few issues with it.”

“She can kiss my ass, too.” he grumbles, and you smile sympathetically. Pentious’ latest invention had an… explosive side effect, coating those of you who had been patronising the bar in a sticky, foul-smelling goop that was apparently the closest thing Hell had to rubber cement when it came in contact with fur. Angel had been so pissed that his hair was ruined that he’d actually forgone any suggestions of soaping up Husk, storming upstairs and shouting to the ceiling about a bath.

Husk had looked ready to commit murder, but you’d managed to haul him upstairs while Sir Pentious slithered around barking at his eggs about mismeasuring whatever chemicals he’d tossed in that damned thing.

Now, the cat stands fuming in your bathroom – with the reasoning that you have far more in the way of soaps and shampoos at your disposal – and despite his fury, he still manages to blush when you pull your shirt off over your head.

“Doll,” he coughs, casting his eyes to the floor. “I can—”

“Look, this stuff really stinks,” you say, grimacing apologetically. Still, you force yourself to keep your voice casual and matter-of-fact as you unzip your jeans. “And I’m just going to say it – it’s going to take both of us to get all that crap out of your fur. So… keep your pants on, I’ll keep these on—” you gesture down at your bra and underwear, sparing a second to silently thank whoever is listening that you at least wore a nice set today – “And we’ll get… get you out of the shower a hell of a lot quicker. Okay?”

Husk swallows heavily before nodding. “Fine. Jus’… let’s get this shit off’a me.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Between the heat of the water and the flush you can feel burning through your body at being soaking wet and near naked next so close to Husk… it’s a miracle you haven’t passed out. You swear, the only thing keeping your mind on the task at hand is just how miserable the bartender looks.

His fur is soaked and weighed down by the water, leaving him utterly bedraggled. He stands frozen under the spray, soft groans occasionally escaping him as you scrub soap gently over his chest. In an attempt to keep his wings as dry as possible, Husk is standing by the open door of the shower stall, caging you in against the wall. The stench of the goop is receding, replaced by the fragrance of bergamot and rose from your shampoo. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, and you jump, startled, as you feel his claws brush over your hips.

Husk takes hold of them tentatively, and despite the heat, you realize he’s trembling.

“Husk?” you ask gently, stilling your hands. His stomach twitches under your touch, but you feel his hands tighten on your hips when you move to draw away. “You okay?”

He nods, swallowing. “Yeah, baby, I jus’… I hate this.”

“I’m sorry,” you frown, fingers curling against his stomach despite yourself. “But I’m… I’ve almost got it all out, and then I promise, I’ll keep my hands to myself. I- I know you don’t like—”

“’s not it,” Husk shakes his head, water dripping from his muzzle. “Shit, I—that’s not what I meant. It’s the fuckin’… the water. An’ everythin’ smells like you in here and it’s drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy.”

Biting your lip as you take in his words, you slowly flatten your palm against his stomach again experimentally, and Husk exhales a curse under his breath as your fingers card through his fur to graze the skin beneath. His claws squeeze reflexively on your hips, thumbs catching in the waistband of your underwear. It’s brief, but the gesture makes your heart thrum heavily against your ribs.

Still, you try for humour in an attempt to ease the sudden tension you’re feeling. “I know it’s not your… usual scent, but…”

“’s fuckin’ intoxicatin’.” Husk tells you, his voice rough, barely audible over the pounding water. Still, it’s all you find yourself able to hear. “You’re intox… fuck…”

He basically moans, and the sound goes straight between your legs.

“And… and now you’re half-naked and you’re touchin’ me and it feels so…” he groans, letting his head fall back. “And I’m standin’ in front of ya, tryin’ not to fuck it up, an’ all I can think about is that I look like a goddamn drowned rat.”

You smile even while your stomach flips at his words, a soft laugh slipping out between your lips. You reach up to tilt his face back down towards yours, taking the time to carefully push and brush fur away from his face so you can see him properly. He watches you with wide pupils as you do, a kind of guarded surprise burning behind them.

His ear twitches as you tuck his fur away from his eyes, and you dare to let your fingertips ghost along the edge of it. It flicks automatically and your smile widens. Husk lets out a sound something like a quiet ‘mew’ in response, his muzzle stained with pink.

“Not so much a wet rat,” you tell him, smoothing your fingers along his muzzle carefully to cup his cheeks. “But maybe I could take your mind off it?”

Husk swallows, and you can feel the tips of his claws against the small of your back. “How’re –”

You lean up on your toes and bring his mouth down to yours. Husk’s breath catches against your lips as you kiss him, a gasp of surprise that melts into a soft, soft moan that sends a shiver along your spine that has nothing to do with the water cooling on your skin. His hands tighten on your hips, slide up to your waist, his touch tickling against your ribs as you lean into him. His fur sticks uncomfortably to your palms but you don’t care, you don’t care about anything other than that you’re kissing him.

When you pull away, Husk blinks back at you slowly, that surprise still etched on his features. But there’s a soft, warm smile there, too.

You clear your throat, smiling back at him bashfully. “Did it… did it work?”

Husk exhales, the breath both disbelieving and amused.

“Good.” you reach back to tilt the shower head to wash away the bubbles still clinging to some of his fur. “So… what do you say we finish washing up, spend some quality time with my hairdryer and… every towel in this wing of the hotel, and, uh…” you bite your lip, smile widening. “We see just how soft that fur of yours gets now that it’s had some quality time with my conditioner.”

Husk chuckles, his wings fluttering behind him as the last of the soap flows down into the drain. “I think I’d like that.”

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø