#why do i get muse at work but then sometimes i get home and it poofs

[noblereason]

Okay but I am at work thinking about my little trio of muses and I hope I do them justice. I hope I write them ic because I sure can't tell bc my brain is like "dang this sucks". 😂

[gu6chan]

i would kill for a cup of this right now

[cheetabites]

☆彡 beyond limits ˳༄꠶

characters: park gyeong seok (player 246), kang dae ho (player 388), hwang in ho (player 001 / the frontman)

˳༄꠶ summary: them with a black cat / grumpy gf headcannons - purely sfw

park gyeong seok (player 246)

★ he himself isn’t much of a social person, but he doesn’t shy / avoid interaction with people like you do - after all, he kinda needs to have some sort of social skills with the job he has. but regardless, you both would go well together. most of the times you just live your lives as peacefully as possible, just getting through the day and coming home to eachother

★ even though you’re grumpy and withdrawn from other people, he knows how much you love him even if you don’t speak the words to him so often. he learned that what wasn’t expressed through words was shown through your actions; there’d be times where you’d pack him lunch - even though you know he usually picks something up at the food stands / convenience store - before he heads out to work another shift at the amusement park, or when you’d take the initiative when he was exhausted and you’d buy him random trinkets when you went out alone

★ as mentioned in my other post, his love language is quality time and words of affirmation (quality time is one of your love languages as well, so it makes it all the better). while there are very little people that you like and would give your energy to, with the people you love you get drunk on just spending time with them. there have been times where you’d caught yourself admiring him but when he’d confront you about it, you’d deny the hell out of it. for words of affirmation, with your personality, he tries to maintain boundaries by not coming off as too overbearing with his praises - meaning he tries his best to limit them - but you honestly love it and don’t make an effort to tell him cause you like to watch him cutely struggle

★ he knows you don’t like interacting with the other parents and their kids when you go to pick up his daughter, but it’s sometimes hard to avoid them when his daughter is such a social person. she’d take your hand - when there’d be a parent meeting or some other gathering where all the parents would be together - and take you to some of her friends so you could all play together. he would just watch with a tiny smile - seeing how even though you were uncomfortable, you held through it just to make na-yeon happy

★ you can act like you don’t want his touch / affection but the times where you pull him back into your embrace or stop him from getting up in the morning with your tired whine ultimately contradicts that. your act sometimes breaks, and you’ll constantly ask him why he has to do such a thing when he has you and why he’s leaving you

-

“but i don’t want you to go.” your eyebrows were flat against your face as you tiredly wiped the sleepiness away. his side of the bed cold and empty as you watched him rummage through the closet for an outfit to wear to work.

he abandoned the task momentarily with an affectionate sigh, his steps softly echoing against the floorboards as he made his way to your side. knowing him, he was probably going to try to explain that he wasn’t leaving you but that it was expected of him to go to work. but you weren’t having it with the lecture so once he was inches away from you, you wasted no time in getting him within your grip just so you could pull him down, his head resting on your chest (although the position was a bit awkward as you couldn’t fully pull him back into the ruffled sheets)

“why do you have to go to work anyways? you already have a muse right here in your bed.”

kang dae ho (player 388)

★ you and him were polar opposites; he was a golden retriever bathed in sunlight while you were a black cat that worshiped the moon. it’s so cute to see though. before you’d officially gotten together he’d admired and crushed on you from afar, wishing so badly that you had a positive opinion of him

★ he likes it when you style his hair for him, it gives him more time to just watch the subtle changes in your expression as you battle the task

★ since he’s such a social person i would say he has a fine circle of friends. he sometimes tries to urge you to join him when he’s invited to go out and pouts when you brush him off. he understands that you’re not really welcoming to those you didn’t know but he just wants you there with him you know? you don’t have to talk or do anything with anyone, he just wants to hold your hand while he does

★ he orders for you at restaurants. once you’d picked what you wanted all you had to do was tell him and he got that covered

★ when you’re overwhelmed and overstimulated, you’re prone to snapping, and let’s just say he doesn’t like when it happens. while you’re quiet most of the time and mind your own business, if you get irritated you can easily sharpen your words to daggers; which usually ends up with someone hurt. if it’s him, when you’d realized how you acted towards him you felt immense guilt; it’s even more painful because he forgives you so easily. you definitely make it up to him with extra cuddles and kisses - anything to see that beautiful smile back on his face

hwang in ho (player 001 / the frontman)

★ you could say that his personality is mutation of your own. he remains a sense of professionalism as he works as the frontman and doesn’t make any meaningless connections. to him, there were not many people on the island that he really had to adjust his personality for - but he could if the situation really called for it (like when he entered the games) - so it’s just you and him being the embodiment of grumpy x grumpy

★ your relationship would be pretty calm as well. besides the chaos he creates in the games, he’s not one for unnecessary drama and stress within his close relationships. he has other priorities and views it as a distraction, so he tries his best to figure out / compromise when problems arise

★ with him, as he is a busy man, i feel like you’d be the clingy one in the relationship - but you don’t show it and try your best to hide it. if he gets the hint of how needy you are for him though, he wouldn’t give in so easily. he wants you to speak on what you want; for you to become vulnerable with him so he can witness your face becoming red

★ when it’s a calm and easy day, you two would usually spend it in bed reading. i can just carefully picture you in his quarters resting in the crook of his arm reading - or not - while the glass panes get coated with the clear drops of rain

★ he knows that you don’t like people or interacting with them, so he makes your life pretty easy by creating strict rules for the guards - what they could and couldn’t do regarding you. while he’s protective, he knows you can take care of yourself so there’s no guards following you around monitoring / assisting you with everything you do. he doesn’t really trust the guards anyways; he picked him off of the streets just as he’d done with the players and with the shit he orders them to do, he doesn’t really know their moral standpoints on everything, so maybe it’s a good thing that they aren’t around you that much

the end! i hope you enjoyed <3!

[intoxicated-chan]

Okay this is an idea I’ve had for a while but imagine Miguel hasn’t had time to fuck his s/o due to spider duties and Alchemax shenanigans. And they’re soooooo fucking horny typically they come to Miggy whenever they have this problem but they don’t want to bother him so they bring out some old tools. Their vibrators from before they started dating. Miguel comes home however right during the middle of you using one of them and he’s soooo mad cause he wants to fuck you. I’ll leave the rest of the fic up to you. 💋 Love you so much!!

You Set My Soul Alight

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel is always busy and leaving you in a mess. But you feel bad bothering him so you look for your past methods to get off.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Supermassive Black Hole” by The Muse. Apologies this took a while.

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, pet names (Mi amor, cariño) cock blocking, female masturbation, biting, blood, restraints, begging, choking, slightly mean Miguel…

Want more Miguel Content, check out my Masterlist!!

“Miguel.” You moaned out and pushed up against the kitchen counter.

You felt one hand slip under your shirt and, the other went down to your pants, tugging them down.

“Yes, mi amor?” Miguel whispered in your ear, “Use your words.”

“Please… Hurry.” You whined.

His body was up against you. His fingers lightly graze your skin in fear but still were attentive as possible. But you jolted when you felt a finger push inside you.

“Slow.” He murmured, “Slow.”

You continue to whine and moan as his finger moves in and out, then a second finger was added.

“Migu-!” His hand that was previously toying with your skin was now clammed over your mouth.

“So impatient.” He chuckled, “I ought to-“

His phone rings loudly and he curses rather loudly. Marching over it and answering it, talking to whoever was on the other side. But by the looks and sound, it wasn’t good news.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n). I have to head back to the office.” Miguel tells you.

“Go back? But you just got home a couple of hours ago.” You questioned.

“Well, they let the intern do the filings. I have to head back and fix their mistake.”

You watched him head up to the bathroom, leaving you flustered and bothered.

It wasn’t the first time something like this happened. Whenever Miguel had the chance to finally touch you, something always has to interrupt him.

It would’ve been fine if it was for the last couple of days, but it just had to be weeks!

Miguel grumbles in his office, looking over the mess the employees let the intern make. And what’s worse? Oh yeah, he has to go back to the headquarters before Peter B. does something stupid. Why did he leave that idiot in charge again?

He grumbles even more when he gets the notification on his laptop, more emails sent, and more paperwork to look over. Sometimes he wishes he could just ditch work and head back to you. But he knows he’s the boss and he couldn’t be doing that.

And it wasn’t the first time this happened…

You felt Miguel’s crotch press up against yours, his lips kissed down to your neck, placing light kisses before biting down.

Your hands come up to his hair, pulling him away from your neck. You watch him as he smirks, licking the blood off his lips.

“What did I say before?” He murmurs.

“Miguel.” You huffed, “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please-“ His watch rang, making his hiss.

He grabs it, pressing a few buttons. A screen pops up, it’s Gwen, “Yes?”

“Um, how bad would it be if about a dozen villains escaped?”

“Gwen, you do not need me there.”

“Normally, yes. But if it’s all of them…”

“All of them?! How?!”

“I just got here!”

“I’m on my way.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, cariño, it’s-“

“Don’t apologize.” You sit up, “Go, I can take care of this.” Gesturing to the still-bleeding wound.

“I love you.” He places a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you too, Miguel.”

It wasn’t just frustrating for him, it was you as well.

You wanted to beg him to stay a little longer, but at the same time, it felt selfish. The HQ would’ve fallen to pieces if Miguel wasn’t there to control the situation.

And now, you laid back on the bed. Usually, you’d keep yourself busy with your work but the ache between your legs was getting unbearable by the second.

You huffed and opened the bedside table, last drawer, and hidden under a blanket was your vibrator. It’s been a while since you last used it, it was before Miguel became slammed with work. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

You took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing. With it up against your clit, you pressed the button. The vibrations made you jolt and your breath hitched. You closed your eyes and let yourself fall into your imagination while pleasure flows throughout your body.

You missed his touch. The way he made you feel. How careful he was with you like you were made of glass. But once he was sure of himself, he’d let himself go.

The way his hands come to your throat, squeezing it before his hands traveled down. But your favorite part is when he finally got to bite your neck. You knew it was his favorite and he wasn’t going to admit it.

Those nights that were pure bliss always heeded carefully, he wanted to be sure that you were okay and-

“Didn’t think you’d miss me this much.” Miguel leans on the door frame. Watching you cover yourself you, “No, no, don’t stop on my account.”

“I-I thought-“

“Yeah, the others had it handled. Came back home once I learned.” Miguel closes the door as he enters the shared bedroom, “So, what’s this?” Snatching the now turned-off toy, “How long have you been using this?”

“Just now.” You tell him.

He climbs onto the bed, “Am I really that disappointing in bed?” Miguel forces your legs open and pulls you closer to him, “Is that the only thing that can get you off?” He starts stripping himself.

“No! You’re more than enough.” You try to sit up but he pushes you back down.

“Then tell me why do you still have these?”

“B-Because you’re so busy, I didn’t want to bother you.”

As if his smirk couldn’t get anymore wider, “All you had to do was use your words.” Miguel holds your hands up against the headboard, using his webbing to keep them secure, “So, tell me. ¿Qué quieres?” (What do you want?)

“Please…”

“Please what?”

“Please, fuck me, Miguel.”

“See, was that so hard?” He chuckles.

He doesn’t bother wasting time preparing, he shoved himself in a single thrust. His hand comes to your throat, apply pressure.

Your legs tightly wrap around him, if he wasn’t already close to you, he is now.

“I’ve got a lot of making up to you.” He growls, “We have all day for it, keep your eyes on me and I’ll give you want you want.”

© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copy, translated, or put my work on any other platform without my permission.

[ravstars]

Bad date (ᗒ⩊ᗕ)

⌇Wanderer/ Scaramouche x Reader.ᐟ

જ⁀➴Smut: Your usually stoic and ignorant college roommate seems abnormaly engrossed in the date you had planned with a mutual friend, insisting on giving you advice on how to dress, etc. When you come back that same evening, all pouty and disappointed, telling him about how bad it had went, he can't help but show you what you're missing out on with him.

a/n: Careful, this is smut! If you do decide to read it, i hope you enjoy! This is AFAB and Scara does refer to the reader as a good girl. I am still kind of figuring this whole layout thing out as I go so I might change some stuff up sometimes. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Scaramouche was very annoyed.

As if you weren't insuffrable enough, having a date with some imbecile, who you both knew from some party you forced him to go a few months back, made you even more intolerable than before. Why would you go out on a date with some ugly idiot anyway? He huffs, deciding to check in on your pathetic state of getting ready for an immature frat boy.

You were sitting down on the floor infront of your dresser, messily looking through every dress you had. Scara doesn't hesitate to put his hand on your head, making you flinch away and complain about ruining your hair.

''I don't understand what your issue is, just pick a random dress, why are you being so peculiar about this? It's quite frankly pitiful." He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as you don't even look at him once.

"The white one or this navy one?" You hold two options up, one navy denim dress and one classy white dress with intracate details. He looks at both and decides to indulge himself for this once. It's not like he gets to take you out anyway, so he might as well make you work for his opinion.

''Try both on.'' He simply states, his expression unreadable. You hesitate but agree nonetheless. Getting up with an exasperated sigh and kicking him out until you try the first dress on. You decide to indulge him and show him the first dress — the navy one. You step out of your room, spinning for your roommate, waiting for a reaction.

“Well?”

“It kinda makes you look weird.” He says, suppressing a smirk. You looked ravishing in his truthful opinion, yet he would never admit that.

You huff, wordlessly turning back into your room and trying the other dress on. A pretty basic white dress, fitting for any occasion.

Stepping out once more you’re greeted with complete silence. You spin suspiciously, brows furrowed

“Wear the other one.” He simply says before turning on his feet and leaving you be.

Did this one look that bad? If only it did, Scaramouche thought.

Due to the uncertainty he had left behind, you do decide to wear the navy dress, getting ready as usual. Time had finally come and you couldn’t wait to meet your date, you couldn’t be blamed for being so excited, could you? You walk out that door and leave to the restaurant, Scaramouche unenthusiastic in his goodbyes, the only thing him having said to you being a mumble of ‘…you better stay safe… I don’t want to be responsible for anything later’.

Apropos later… well, it wasn’t an ideal date.

“Look, I arrived there and, first of, he was 10 minutes late. It’s not like that’s a big deal in itself but considering how he didn’t have any manners, it just adds to everything. He kept asking invasive questions and even asked me if I was interested in sleeping with him 30 minutes in. Who does that?” You groan, taking another sip of your energy drink, now a few hours later and at home again, in a big T-shirt as you vented to Scaramouche, who hadn’t said a word the entire time.

“It was horrible, Scara. Why do all the men interested in me have to be such douchebags?”

“Hm,” He mused, the corners of his lips twitching upwards, “Maybe because you’re the one choosing those idiots.” He was a selfish man, he knew that, especially when he felt great gratification when he found out your date had gone terribly. He only offered an energy drink in consolation and an ear, though, he was just an actor like that.

“Oh, and where are those non-douchebags I’m supposedly not choosing then?” You sigh, putting the drink down

“Tch. Dumbass, right here.”

“Huh?”

You turn to him, seeing him with a determined look, his eyes seeking out yours.

“You heard me.” He simply says, as if challenging you to make sense of what he’s telling you.

“Stop saying things like that, Scara…” you grumble, looking down.

“And what if I don’t, hm?”

You feel both of his arms encasing your body, having semi-crawled on top of you. You look up and your noses almost touch as you do. He looks different to you from this angle and you see the faint blush on his cheeks. You look into his eyes and he meets yours the same way. It’s as if he’s asking for permission as he bumps his nose against yours, your lips gaping in silent consent. His eyes flicker down to your lips before he closes them and finally leans in.

His lips press softly against yours, testing the waters with how far you’re willing to take it tonight. As you make no move to pull away he lets his tongue swipe across your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter your mouth.

His tongue curled around yours in a passionate dance of growing arousal. His hands have found their way to your waist, his nails softly digging into the soft skin of your sides.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” He purrs out, breaking the kiss to look at your flushed expression

“Watching you go out with these weird, undeserving dimwits…” He kisses along your jaw before trailing gently down your neck. You can’t help the sound at the back of your throat when he sucks particularly hard at one spot on your neck. He chuckles under his breath before continuing his work on you. His hands trail down to your thighs and squeeze gently, parting them slowly settling in between

“Are you sure about this, Scara?” You ask, looking up at him from underneath. His lips are shiny, as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting your saliva on them, so sweet, he thinks to himself.

“Are you sure about this, princess?” He answers with a question back, eyeing your expression with smug curiosity, making you gulp. You have never been this close to him before, what did you even feel for him in the first place? All you knew was you wanted him and you craved his touch deeply.

“I am, I want this.” You reassure shyly, earning a light chuckle from the man above you.

He responds by pressing his lips against yours again, this time more powerful, grinding up against you slowly. He hums at your reciprocation, your hands flat against his chest.

“Mm, may I?” He mumbles into your mouth, hands itching up to play with the hem of your oversized T-shirt. You hum, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer. He dares to slip his hand under your shirt for the first time, losing his mind at the feel of your skin. You were always perfect to him, there was no doubt, but right now - this has to be his favorite way of seeing you. He feels you up, hands roaming your hips, rubbing his thumb over the fabric of your underwear on your hip.

“So perfect… haah…” He pulls away with a gasp, his free hand on your jaw “You’re so perfect.”

You can’t comprehend what’s happening, the words coming out of his mouth. He hooks his two fingers under the fabric, startling you. He waits for you to adjust before tugging the fabric down your thighs.

“I can’t wait anymore.” He admits and you nod, closing your eyes. “No, no, look at me, open those eyes, keep your pretty eyes on me.”

Pushing up your shirt he feasts upon your anatomy, kissing and tasting your warm and flushed skin. He groans, growing needy at your gasps and moans.

His fingers find your cunt, gently rubbing your clit, as he relishes in the noises you make, squirming against him.

“I can feel you getting wetter and wetter, hm?” He’s breathless, trying to appear calm and collected, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“It’s unfair…” you start, making him stutter in his movements “You have to take your clothes off too.” He chuckles at your complaint, taking his hands off you momentarily to pull his shirt off. Your hands find his bare skin, smoothing over him, over anything you could see - beauty marks, scars, anything and he swears he could die, drowning in your touch, in your attention, in your love.

You begin to feel your core aching, longing for something of him, a fragment, a piece, anything you could get.

“Please,” you urge and he immediately knows what you want. So he enters one finger into you and opens you up, preparing you gently. Your eyes flutter shut in response, squeezing closed.

His eyes are trained on you, watching every reaction and every expression you made. He leans down to kiss the spot under your ear, feeling you shudder against him.

“Can I put in another one?” He asks, feeling that you were ready for it. He doesn’t hesitate when you nod, groaning as he feels you around his fingers.He grows impatient soon, pulling his fingers out of you just as you were about to cum, making you whine at the loss of contact.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, working on unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down to his knees. Your eyes fixate on him, straining painfully.

“Are you okay?” He makes sure one last time, as he tugs down his boxers and you can barely nod, not trusting your voice.

“Ah, shit,” he lubes his cock up with your juices, grinding up and down your folds for as long as he can take.

“Put it in, please,” You force out, hands reaching out for his own. As he intertwines your hands he pushes his tip in, both of you panting in pleasure and maybe overwhelming emotions. He bottoms out quickly, leaning down to be close to you, yearning for more and more and more of you.

Whimpering, he starts to set a pace fitting both of you. He’s never felt so vulnerable before. Being so intimate with you, of all people, it made his heart ache. He liked you - No, he loved you, but he could only express that through his actions right now. He starts to go faster, hitting that spot in you making you roll your eyes.

“Oh, good girl, such a good girl- ah,” he kissed you desperately, the pleasure burning in his veins. He felt so good, it was all he could think about. The feeling of you, hot and a mess under him, was pushing him further and further to the peak of pleasure already.

“I’m close,” he pants, “are you close?”

“Mhm, I’m so close…” you hold onto him tighter, feeling each other.

His hold on you suddenly tightens before his hips stutter against yours, burying himself to the hilt as the pleasure takes over both of you, your orgasm hitting you right where you needed.

“Fuck,” he heaves, eyes searching yours, “are you okay?”

“Ye- hahh, yeah, are you?” your pupils dilate, your body shaking

“Yes, yes, I’m…” he trails off, slumping against you. Mind too dazed for anything else, you close your eyes, letting the exhaustion catch up to you.

You wake up the next day that Saturday, surprisingly in your bed, in fresh clothes and unsurprisingly sore. You sit up in bed, recalling the previous night when you hear a knock on your door.

“Yeah?”

“I made breakfast, get up, sleepyhead.” Scaramouche opens the door, and his eyes soften seeing you in bed

“You good?”

“I’m sore, you dumbass.” You groan with a smile

“You weren’t complaining yesterday.” He scoffs, walking into your room and pulling you up, helping you

“Don’t be so dramatic, my god.” you both laugh, and you hit his shoulder, making him scowl playfully.

[crownmemes]

Flirting Sentences, Vol. 3

(Sentences for flirting muses, with varying levels of brashness. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Can I walk you home?"

"Brooding. Good look. Do you practice in the mirror?"

"I think we're supposed to kiss now..."

"If you're trying to impress me, it's working!"

"Why don't you ask me on a proper date?"

"I used to try to get you to look at my legs."

"You know, if you ask a girl out for coffee, you should have something to say."

"You know, I used to have a huge crush on you."

"Have dinner with me? Just the two of us?"

"You're in over your head. You're not fully committed to this task, and because of that, you will fail."

"You have beautiful eyes."

"I'm into you because you're hot. And smart. In that order, but both are needed."

"There's this Italian restaurant I managed to book a table at, if you're still keen on going on a proper date."

"Do you have any idea how much I missed watching you get dressed in the morning?"

"This is the wrong time to be strong and silent and so... Attractive."

"You want to kiss me, don't you?"

"Do you know what I'd like? Really like?"

"Kiss me like you hate me."

"I knew you didn't stay in town for the lovely weather."

"You are the most perfect and beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"You just can't stay away, can you?"

"I love your lipstick."

"Suits you, flustered. It's a good look."

"You look very beautiful tonight. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Say, why don't we carry on this delightful conversation over a cocktail?"

"Well, I must say, you are anything but dull!"

"I was just wondering if, um- If you might like to come out for a drink with me sometime?"

"I must say, you're much prettier than your predecessor."

"May I have this dance?"

"Well, that is an interesting way to say hello!"

"I've seen your picture in the newspaper. You're way hotter in person."

"Oh, and here I thought you were getting all kinky with me!"

"Are you like this with all your women?"

"Are you saying you want to date me?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you have lovely hands?"

"What are you going to do? Spank me?"

"So, have you got a boyfriend, or...?"

"Are you growing a beard? I've always had rather a soft spot for bearded men."

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

“I love you.”

Various jjba characters and how they express their affection for you

Content: lots of fluff and physical affection, inclusion of Dio being shallow and manipulative, alcohol and alcoholism mentioned, slightly suggestive

Written in headcanons style

Characters: Joseph Joestar (part 2), DIO, Rohan Kishibe, Bruno Bucciarati, Leone Abbacchio, Guido Mista, Gyro Zeppeli

-Joseph Joestar: You will be drowning in his loud affection one way or another. Such a physically affectionate partner, his lips pressed all over you, a constant flirt with wandering hands (and sometimes wandering eyes). He always aims to impress you or show off, and makes an effort to remember your likes and dislikes. He might tease, but he’s usually careful to not push you too far. Always jumping in to defend you; your sad face cuts him deeper than you know. You shouldn’t ever have to cry out of anguish, it is something he simply won’t stand for. If you do cry around him, you can guarantee he won’t be resting til you’re smiling again. He puts every effort into making you feel better when you’re down; it’s one of the rare moments you see him choose to behave seriously in front of you.

-DIO: Love…When you’re around him and he says his affection for you is deep and endless, it is very believable. He had such a way with words he could convince you of most anything, honestly. He could tell you you were the only one he ever saw, his favorite, he wishes he could spend his eternity by your side and of course he would if it wouldn’t be so cruel to take your humanity by turning you into a vampire. Or so he says.

It sounds ridiculous when you reflect on it when you’re away from him. Of course he’s just telling you what you want to hear, why do you keep coming back?!

And yet you return and return and return. Even though it was only shallow lust, if it came from Lord Dio it felt like you were with your soulmate. Maybe that’s the limit of the affection he will ever feel for you. A lust, a desire just deep enough that he will put some effort into taking care of you. His “love” comes from words, waxing empty poetic to you. And, of course, promising to give you whatever it is you truly want. He will make it happen. All you need to do is swear your loyalty to him, and he will grant you any desire you seek…

And if that desire is him? You can have your fill whenever you please~

-Rohan Kishibe: He is not a subtle man, nor does he try to be. A mere glance will show you the true impact you have on him…after all…you so often appear in his works. And so blatantly too. This character has your eyes. That character has a birthmark just like yours. One says things you would say. One dresses in your style. A piece of you, each time. It is how he wants it. He is proud to admit you are his ultimate muse, his favorite inspiration. Whenever he’s fighting art block, he turns to you.

Though, he is not so good with actually verbalizing the depths of his affection for you. He’s not the best at physical affection either. He won’t hold hands for long, he often doesn’t know how to respond to kisses and hugs, and usually he doesn’t get too close at night, if he even comes to bed at all.

It is enough for you. It doesn’t matter so much to you that he isn’t an expert in verbal or physical affection. You feel every ounce of his passionate love for you when he asks you to model for him, even though you know an exceptionally brilliant artist like him doesn’t need you to do a basic pose for him. And it does not go unnoticed to you that the poses he requests are always very comfortable for you to hold on the couch.

-Bruno Bucciarati: He takes care of you. It is what he does, and it is how he shows his love. You’re eating at a restaurant, he will pay the check. Stuck in a crowd? His hand will be on the small of your back, maybe subconsciously, or maybe deliberately, so he won’t lose track of you. He’ll drive you home at night, and wait til he sees you’re safely inside. He is a sanctuary.

Though he is not the most in tune with his emotions, and clear communication is difficult for him sometimes, but damnit if he doesn’t try for your sake. He’s very busy, but he makes an effort to carve out some time for you where you can both have some peace and quiet, and a heart-to-heart.

When it’s just the two of you, he’s able to lower that guard of his. You can always tell he’s tired. But he puts you and everyone else he cares about first, every time.

You lean against his chest. He is so tense, but he allows himself to slump his shoulders and hold you close. He talks for a bit, just being honest with you, vulnerable. And then he goes quiet, his chin resting against the top of your head.

His breathing is soft, his hands gently slide down your arms…he had fallen asleep. A rare opportunity for you to take care of him without him protesting has finally presented itself…

-Leone Abbacchio: Sure he is a jaded and broken and horribly grumpy man but he is also very capable of affection and care, even if he’s not the best at showing it. Despite his crass personality, he has suffered so much, so he can also empathize much more than you’d initially think. Though that doesn’t make him great at giving you comfort or affirming speeches. His love comes from reassurance; usually words are unnecessary. He’ll always sit beside you wherever you go. If someone tries to take his spot next to you at a restaurant, he’ll drag them out of that seat if he has to. What is his is also yours. You want to drink his wine? Sure, don’t mind the purple lipstick on the rim of the glass. The depth of his physical affection is deepest when you share a quiet evening together. His hand on your shoulder, face pressed against your neck. Whether it’s him taking a quick moment to reflect (you’re his pillar, and he’s reminded of it especially when his troubles seem to melt away when he presses his forehead against the back of your neck), or he’s a little drunk and trusts you to straighten him out (his pillar, his pillar…even when he’s indulged in too many bad habits and slurs his words and stains your neck with purple lipstick as he falls asleep nestled against you, you are always so kind and patient to him, but always firm). He is broken, his regrets follow him like a vengeful ghost, he will never be good enough for you in his own eyes. But damn it if he won’t at least try.

-Guido Mista: His hand in yours, quick kisses up your arms all the way up to your cheek. His bullets swirling around him constantly gushing about how nice and amazing you are and begging Mista to go see you again so they can Also see you. The mercilessness when he digs his fingers into your skin and tickles you until he ends up getting hurt from your elbow hitting his nose on accident from your squirming.

He calls your name just to get you to look at him. He thinks you smell SO good, especially after you freshen up with your favorite scent, but he actually worries about looking weird around you so he might not say anything. Guess he doesn’t realize it’s much weirder to silently sneak in sniffs instead of telling you he likes how you smell. He’s even more impulsive than usual when you’re involved. If he has money in his pocket and you seem slightly interested in something you can bet he’s opening up his wallet and buying it for you.

You do a lot for him, a steady and familiar comfort in his crazy life…so let him blow a couple bucks on you when he wants to. Seeing you happy when he manages to get you something you like is one of his greatest joys in life.

-Gyro Zeppeli: Watch his hands, he’ll put them all over you when the opportunity presents itself. He’s not a gentleman, you already knew that. He doesn’t even try to talk like one. He loves how you feel in his lap, and he’s not shy about saying it out loud. One of life’s greatest joys is a drink in one hand, and his other hand supporting the back of a cute thing like you sitting on his thighs. If you walk by him, you Know that man is gonna try and playfully spank you. Put your hands in his hair, he loves when you play with it, but choose your timing because it might put him in a mood if you tug on it. And of course he’ll delight you with the spin, if you let him. He uses it so gently with you, easing your sore muscles after a long day, or sending pleasant sensations rippling across your skin. Or using it to cause a bit of mischief. A sudden jolt through your body when he wants your attention, or a relentless tickling that has you laughing and writhing and begging him to knock it off.

He holds onto you like a teddy bear when the two of you snuggle up for the night. His muscular arms wrapped around you, clinging to you, snuggling his face against you.

It can be suffocating at times. He’s just so. Big and strong. But damn do you feel safe, and you haven’t the heart to push him away when he wants to hold you at night.

He does this thing where he gives you something he values, so you can hold onto it for him and give it back to him later. It’s how he shows his trust for you. Hold on to one of his belt buckles, or his goggles, or his hat…give it back at your leisure. He insists. He knows you’ll keep it safe, and it’ll remind you of him if you hold onto it. In his eyes it’s a win win.

[redbleedingrose]

Can you please write cute fluff headcanons of the acotar men ( whichever you want to write about) pampering their fem s/o with a massage because they see her tense with stress? Please and thank you .

Pleaseeee, the Bat Boys and Vanserra Bro's know how to treat their girls, especially when they are stressy spaghetti!!

I kind of want to split this up into a mini series, so I will do Rhys first. Let me know who y'all want second in the comments!

Rhysand

okay first off, why are you even stressed? This male does his very best to make sure his darling is never worried about anything.

But its okay, sometimes your emotions get the better of you. Not your fault darling, you're just his sweet girl who likes to worry your pretty head about things like how emotionally constipated Az is, or how Cassian is working overtime with his training after throwing out his back (embarrassing for the old ass male), and how Morr is being too secretive these past few months and something is definitely going on with her. Rhys thinks it is so adorable how you worry about the members of the inner circle, how you take care of them in the ways that they need.

He loves watching you pitter patter around the apothecary, trying to gather materials to create a balm for Cass' back. And he can't help but muse over you fussing over Azriel, forcing him into the settee in your office and having yourselves a little therapy session (he knows he will hear the tea about it later when you both go to bed, and he cannot wait). He does moan and groan when you plan for a girls night out with Amren and Morr, he wants to have some alone time with his mate, but you settle into his lap and pepper kisses all over his face and neck putting him into a lovesick daze before rushing off with a promise of what is to come when you arrive home from your night.

Anyway, you do sometimes get overwhelmed, you care so much. You worry about Rhysand, you worry about the inner circle, and more, you worry about Velaris and the entire night court. Being the first high lady of the Night Court has designed a load of pressure on you to be perfect at all times, to always say and do the right thing. And Rhys, well he grew up with that pressure. He knew this was going to happen to him, but he cannot imagine the stress you give yourself. Again, you care so deeply, and that is one of the things that made Rhys fall for you, so much so, he physically aches when you aren't around.

You always try to hide when you feel overwhelmed, too embarrassed and ashamed to admit it. Part of you doesn't want to bother the high lord, knowing he, himself, is incredibly busy putting out fires on a daily basis, and handling it with such grace. It is almost annoying how effortless Rhys rules. But Rhys knows. He knows you, and he knows your heart and soul. You don't have to tell him you are feeling overwhelmed.

He can feel it, he can see it. He notices everything about you. He clocks the crinkle of concern between your eyebrows, the way your hands shake ever so slightly as you read through and sign the most tedious and boring paperwork, the way you twist and turn the custom wedding ring on your finger, the way you shake your right leg as it rests across your other leg and how you pause it when you finally become aware you are doing it, only to start again. You are teeming with anxiety, and he will do everything in his power to get you to relax. He can't have his beautiful wife worried like this, oh no, not at all. You are too good, too pure, too precious to him to ever allow such a thing.

After deciding he has seen enough of his pretty girl worrying, he swoops you up, out of your chair and into his arms, right where you belong, carrying you just like he did on your wedding night, his stunning bride. He ignores your protests with a firm shake of his head, and kissing the side of your head with a small hum, tightening his grip on your squirming thighs and right at the edge of your breast, carrying you out of your office and into your shared bath. Halfway to the bathroom, you gave up your fussing and settled into his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your head into his warm chest. He sets you down gently onto the counter, and traces his hands up your sides and settling onto your jaw, softly kissing every part of your face he can reach, focusing his attention on your rounded cheeks, pouted lips, fluttering eyes and your temple instead of answering your questions on what you are doing in your bathroom when you each have mountains of paperwork lining your desks that need to be completed before the winter solstice next week. "Darling, I don't mean to hush you, but hush. You, my mesmerizing mate, are too stressed out for your own good. I don't want you to worry about a single thing, and I will take care of it."

You immediately go into full denial mode, rambling with a quivering lip, "I can handle it Rhys, I am High Lady, and this is my duty, and I know what I am doing." Your husbands violet eyes twinkle as they normally do when they are focused in on you, and he listens on as you bubble out excuses and far fetched tales describing how you "really aren't stressed" and have "no idea what he is talking about," all the while rubbing at your tense shoulders and kissing the side of your mouth until he finally hushes you again. "S'alright baby, I know. I know you can handle it and that you know what you are doing. But if I am being honest, sometimes I get overwhelmed. And I just need you, I need you to be close to me. So will you please take this bath with me doll? I will even feed you chocolate covered strawberries and give you a massage with that lavander oil you love so much after."

The pecks to the side of your mouth were enough to convince you to stay with your mate, and follow through on his plans for a relaxing evening, but you didn't need to tell him that. The chocolate covered strawberries and full body massage are just an added bonus. The quirk of your lips is enough for your mate to vanish both your clothes and place you into the warm bath in front of him, holding your back close to his chest. He washes your hair, even letting the conditioner sit in while he presses his fingers into the tight knots in between your shoulder blades. After washing each other off, you both find yourselves snuggling in your bed designed for his large illyrian wings. You lay your head against his corded chest, giving into the deep sleep that calls you as he holds you pressed up against him.

Thank you so much for reading! Please like, comment, and reblog! It mean's the world to me.

Here is more of my work: Masterlist

[russellsppttemplates]

Could you do a Lando blurb Where he takes Tilly and Fraser for the first time to McLaren HQ after the Chinese GP for the debrief and to give reader a break due to her pregnancy, and they are enchanted by the old models of McLaren's F1 cars

"Why did mummy stay at home? Didn't she want to tag along with us?", Matilda mused as Lando looked for a parking spot outside the Center.

"She would've liked to come, I'm sure, but mummy needs to rest as much as she can now that Charlotte is getting bigger", Lando smiled at the thought.

"It's true - did you see that she fell asleep yesterday when we were colouring in? And then sometimes she says that Lottie kicks her tummy a lot - it tickles my hands when I touch it", Fraser beamed.

"That's why we have to be gentle with mummy - we always need to be gentle and kind with her, but now, we need to be extra gentle and kind, okay?", Lando offered.

Getting out of the car, the kids held Lando's hands and walked into the building, waving at anyone who greeted them.

"Is it bring your kids to workd day?", Sophie asked as she watched them walk on the corridor.

"It's we are letting mummy rest day!", Fraser beamed, "she's getting tired now that she's growing our sister in her tummy", he explained.

"This is very nice of you then - are you going to see the cars? The team brought them back out yesterday from the workshop", she suggested.

Lando nodded and thanked her, heading with your children to the exhibition room.

"Can we touch them, daddy?", Matilda asked.

"You can, but you have to be careful, okay? The team worked really hard and we can't undo their work", Lando added before letting the kids know which ones he had the privilege to drive, the ones he raced in and the ones that held important memories for the sport.

"This is the one in the picture that mummy has on her bedside table", Matilda stated as she touched the car that Lando won his first race with.

The memory was special and you couldn't remove the old photo from your bedside table. You and Lando looked younger, but happier all the same at his achievement.

"Yes, that's the one", Lando assured, "it was a very special day", he smiled.

"This one is so pretty, can you pick me up so I can look inside, please?", Fraser asked Lando.

"Me too, please daddy! After Fraser!", Matilda stood next to Lando.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[mercy-burning]

Christmas Miracles

Mercy’s Ficmas 2024 | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer aims to comfort you after a rather explosive breakup with your boyfriend during your Christmas party. Category: Fluff Content: Yelling, sad Reader, drunk Penelope (she's my fav, what can I say), a mistletoe kiss, Spencer is a yearner (he is also my fav, what can I say) Word Count: 2.6k

The first day of Ficmas has arrived! I'm starting you off strong with some short 'n sweet fluffy pining goodness <3 (who am I lmao)

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

It's not uncommon for the holidays to be a lonely, depressing time for some. It's covered up in ribbons and bows and sparkling lights, but really, under the surface can lie a lot of darkness.

Spencer can see that in you— Not just this holiday season, though it's apparent now more than ever just how unhappy and exhausted you seem. When you're at work day after day, constantly thinking about and putting away criminals, and even then you seem more happy than you do when you're around your significant other, that's when there's a problem. And surely you must know how your friends have noticed... There's no way you couldn't have; It's practically all of your jobs to notice.

Still, you don't say or change anything about it.

He knows it isn't his place, but Spencer wonders why. His heart breaks for you, each and every time the jet touches down and your eyes darken with the realization that you're one step closer to going home. Home should be an escape from work, and not the other way around. Many times he's even offered to go somewhere with you as a distraction, a silent confession that screams, "I know you're not happy, but it doesn't have to be that way. You don't deserve to feel that way. And I'm here for you." Sometimes you agree and tag along, sometimes you don't. Every time, Spencer wishes you could see yourself the same way he and everyone else does.

And more than anything, he wishes that asshole of a man that calls himself your boyfriend would fall off the face of the Earth. In fact, "asshole" is too tame of a word to describe him, and "man" way too kind.

Much is apparent as the muffled argument rings high and dims the twinkling atmosphere of your apartment. The lights on your Christmas tree flicker in and out like they know that something is inherently wrong, like they're dying out and being suffocated by the thick tension.

Spencer's heartbeat flickers right alongside them, his gut twisting as your hurt and angry words cut through, sharp as a knife.

Finally, Derek's voice offers a bit of distraction, though not a very good one. "So, when are you going to swoop in and save the day?"

He winces. "She doesn't want my help. I already do what I can, but... It's best to let her handle it the way she wants to."

"Seriously? She's having a miserable time at her own Christmas party because of that dickwad, and you and I both know damn well that you're the only one who's gonna be able to help her out of it."

This time, your boyfriend raises his voice, cutting you off and making Spencer jump. He looks at the ground and continues the conversation with Morgan to try and distract himself. "I'll do what I can, but I'm not..."

He can't think of the right words, though Morgan seems to get the sentiment; He playfully nudges him with his elbow. "Why not? It's not exactly a big secret that you're in love with her or anything. And besides, we all know you'd treat her a thousand times better than—"

"It doesn't matter, okay? I'm not going do anything like that; I mean, they haven't even technically broken up, anyway, so... No."

Morgan sighs, and JJ offers a thought— how the last thing a woman wants after a fight with a man is another man to swoop in and try to whisk her away, no matter how good his intentions are. Morgan explains in turn that he's not actually suggesting any flat-out advances, and in a matter of minutes, the entire BAU ends up in a discussion weighing Spencer's options.

And then, the musing amongst the group comes to a close, but only at the screeching sound of your voice.

"You know what? Then you can leave!"

There's a collective gasp, a holding of breaths and clutching of champagne glasses in anticipation of the end, which comes crashing in with a resounding and cathartic, "And don't you ever come back! We're through! I never want to see your stupid face ever again!"

The door slams, and an immediate hushed chorus of cheers is not far behind. Morgan firmly pats Spencer's shoulder, as Rossi raises his glass and muses, "It's a Christmas miracle."

The real miracle, Spencer thinks, is you; even as your spirit waltzes back into the living area in pieces. Easily the most bright and beautiful soul he's ever known, it nearly crushes him to know how awful you probably feel in that moment, for something that isn't even your fault. He sympathizes, but more than anything he wants to reassure you that nothing could ever deter his steadfast belief in the simple fact that you are the only miracle one could ever need.

Penelope rushes to your side and embraces you in a warm hug, to which you drop your gaze to your feet.

"I'm sorry... I ruined your night."

"My dear, you've ruined absolutely nothing," Rossi offers gently.

His words elicit a sniffle from you, and then you're turning your head into Penelope's shoulder, hiding your face and slumping full-force into her arms. JJ and Emily rush over and pile on in a group hug, handing their drinks to Hotch. He's stayed verbally neutral over the situation, but Spencer can see the relief and hope resting in his expression as your grief slowly dissipates. A Christmas miracle, indeed, his smile seems to say.

The lights on the tree seem to brighten at the breath of fresh, unwavering life in the atmosphere that feels very much like love. A proper family. A support system. A warmth.

Spencer feels that warmth vibrantly in his fingertips— Even hours later in the cold, out on your balcony as he mindlessly observes the city below, every sharp breath of December air filling his lungs in slow, steady cycles. New snow isn't falling, but the streets are glittering with what's already there, every speeding headlight making the ground dance below him.

He wishes it were more quiet; something about the eerie silence of winter and the unexplainable feeling that somehow it might heal something within himself. Everything is always so loud, even as he closes his eyes to drift off into sleep. There's always some sort of man-made noise going on, whether it be a fan, or traffic outside his window, or even the quiet rustling of Hotch's paperwork on the way home from a case. For once, he thinks, it might be nice to drift off with nothing but the winter wind carrying him to sleep.

For now, though, he settles for car engines and crunching snow and the muffled bellows of joy beyond your patio door.

The joy crescendos for a moment, and Spencer turns his head to catch your glowing silhouette emerging from the door. The warmth he feels only pulses, hotter and brighter than before.

"There you are," you exclaim softly, stepping outside and closing the door. "Aren't you freezing out here?"

"Not really," he muses.

You take stance beside him, crossing your arms and overlooking the streets just as he'd been doing moments before. A soft smile ghosts over your lips, and on a breath out, your shoulders relax. "Great view, huh?"

"It is," Spencer confirms. "It's certainly better than the buildings I get to look at."

The laugh that escapes you in a cloud of visible air is quite possibly the most beautiful sound to him, especially when it's because of something he said. If he could indulge in the pleasure of making you laugh for the rest of his life, he would take the chance in a heartbeat.

"Well, then you're welcome on my balcony any time."

"Thank you," he says, trying not to give himself away as he feels the butterflies creeping their way in. With a nervous smile, he clutches his scarf. "I'll hold you to it. It's a nice balcony."

He kicks himself for that last part, inwardly cursing his inability to filter out the awkward, unnecessary sentences. He could keep talking and make it worse, but he ultimately decides that scrunching his nose in shame and passing it off as being chilled is the better choice. If you notice, you don't let on.

Taking that as a good sign, Spencer tries to relax. He breathes out, and you turn to him. "Are you... having a good time tonight?"

"Of course I am," he answers, perhaps a little too quickly. "I mean, you throw a great party."

You laugh again. This time the sound huffs out of you with a resounding sadness that cracks his heart once more. "It's not anything, really— just some lights, music, and drinks... But thank you anyway."

Before he has time to think better of it, Spencer calls you out by name, quick to defend you. But then he pauses, unsure of what else to say. He doesn't want to bring up your breakup and make you feel worse, but... what else can he do? The only thing that feels right is the need to remind you how inherently good you are.

So, that's what he does.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short. I... We all love you and we're glad to be with you, regardless of how... grand it is. Just being yourself is grand enough. You don't even need the lights or the drinks, or... him. You're better than all of those things combined."

At first you look pained, the mention of your ex-boyfriend exacting immense pressure on a fresh bruise, and Spencer almost regrets it— almost; Your features soften moments later as his words settle in and seem to melt away the pain, revealing a layer of disbelief and confusion. And then, softness.

Your lip trembles as you struggle to speak. "You don't... have to... say that."

"Yes. I do." As firmly as he possibly can while still being gentle, he reaches out and clutches your hands with his own. He hopes that whatever warmth he has immediately draws itself to you and wakes you up. He wills it to comfort you and make you see—make you feel. His fingers are desperate in their pursuit to love you, their grip unwavering and brimming with hope.

When your eyes meet his, he nearly collapses. There's so much love and relief and bewilderment sparkling in them that he suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to get lost in their depths—to explore and study each emotion until he knows every aspect of you. He almost forgets how to speak for a moment, his mouth dry and the concept of what he wants to tell you being clear as day, reflected in your eyes, as the words themselves slowly become less tangible.

All he can manage to say is the simple, unabashed truth. The love he has for you rests perfectly within those three words, anyway. They ring out and linger in the December air, floating softly around you like a feather, until it lands on your nose and wakes you up from your deep, dark reverie, releasing you into the light once again.

"You're utterly remarkable."

You clutch onto his hands like you've just been pulled from a frozen lake, grasping for any semblance of stability, and he's right there to guide you as you draw yourself closer to him. His heart beats loud and fast as you sigh out and smile, tears welling in your glimmering eyes.

"Thank you, Spencer," you breathe out sincerely in a broken whisper.

He smiles back at you, a weight lifting from his chest as he tells you, "Of course." As if it's the most natural thing in the world to express how wonderful you are.

A sudden burst of energy comes sweeping across the balcony as a loud, bellowing voice makes an expression of their own. It's Penelope, giggling and bubbly as ever.

"Hey! You two! It's present time! Get your pretty faces in here pronto!"

She's gone as quickly as she had appeared, leaving the door open a crack as you laugh and drag Spencer by the hand to follow.

He's grateful for the shift in activity, unsure how much longer he could have been out there alone with you before he said something he regretted. Not that he'd been looking for anything theatrical by any means, but in truth, the entire evening feels like it had been a movie, wrapped up in a neat little bow as the two of you cross the threshold into the rolling credits. The rest of his feelings he could deal with tomorrow, but for now, he's satisfied with this conclusion.

You stop as you approach the door, huffing a short laugh.

"What is it?" Spencer asks as you let go of him and turn around, plucking something from the panel of wood. From your delicate finger hangs a bundle of mistletoe. It sways gently in the wind before you clutch it in the palm of your hand.

"I always come out here after a fight... Guess I figured he might try to make it up to me or something... Like I knew he was going to let me down again..."

The words are sad, but your tone drips with amusement, or something close to it. You feel the plant in your hand, looking down at it and then back at Spencer.

His body freezes under your gaze, the implications sending him into a numbing warmth that both pleases and scares him in equal measure.

"You never let me down," you continue, stepping closer and interlocking his hand with yours, the mistletoe trapped in between. "I want to thank you for that."

Your face leans in, and at this point his heart is beating so loudly he can hear it drowning everything else out. He can barely hear himself stutter out, "It's not a problem, really... And I know you just got out of a relationship, so... You don't have to..."

"Yes. I do."

You kiss his cheek, firmly and quickly, and yet you don't fully retreat. Your lips linger near his jawline, and you squeeze his hand and whisper, "Thank you," against his skin.

He can feel the words worming their way into his pores and leaving trickles of static in their wake, spreading through him like lightning. Their sincerity moves him, and drives home your miraculousness with such force that he can't help but tilt his head down and capture the lips that uttered them in a swift, soft kiss of his own.

You press yourself into him effortlessly, a gesture that makes him wish he had the ability to stop time and keep it trapped in the palm of his hand and yours, like the mistletoe. He could spend forever in this moment if he were granted it.

But alas, time cannot be stopped, and neither can Penelope Garcia.

She bangs on the door and yells impatiently again. "Presents!"

You and Spencer break away in a collective laugh. He feels lightheaded and lovesick, every nerve ending alight with your essence.

"Okay, okay!" you yell over your shoulder, removing yourself from him completely this time and taking the mistletoe with you. You shove it in his coat pocket with an adorable scrunch of the nose and shuffle inside.

The moment you're out of sight, pulled back into the party and leaving him alone on the balcony to follow, he finally breathes out. And the slow inevitable smile that break out over his face feels bright enough to light the entire city.

The mistletoe hums vibrantly in his pocket through the rest of the night—his very own tangible reminder of a miracle; That time, for one brief moment, could stand still.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Rafayel: Don't Look At Him | 18+

So my solid rule of thumb is that if a fic is 1k words or longer, it's no longer a drabble...and this is just over 1k. I wrote this before work in like 15 minutes though, but I hope it's still enjoyable! OH! and this was a request, by the way, so hope the requester enjoys this!

♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Pairings: Rafayel x Reader ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Warnings: Unsafe Sex, Creampie, AFAB Reader, Jealousy, Wall Sex, Quickie ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Synopsis: Rafayel is jealous that you were so close to Sylus in the N109 zone and decided to remind you just why you come home to him instead. ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Word Count: 1k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Rafayel

Don't Look At Him

There were few things scarier than when Rafayel let his perfectly made facade disappear. You had noticed it before, how sometimes he seemed a bit more rigid. He always seemed so carefree and lax, but he had fought alongside you before, you knew there was something he hid all too well from most people. Hell, there was that time you had a stalker and he almost incinerated him on sight the moment the man tried to attack you. The cold look in his eyes that day, the serious tone, you just knew he wasn’t all that he tried to make himself out to be. He was so much more and he never let you peel back those layers.

So when he allowed his quirky, artist persona to fade for a little while, you knew you were in deep shit, “So you have a new boyfriend, then?” his words were far colder than you were used to. He had gotten upset before, but it was always cute pouting, this was dangerous.

“Raf, I had to use him to not die in the N109 zone, and we just happened to hit it off and became…sort of friends…business partners?” you trailed off, “Listen, there is nothing romantic going on between me and Sylus.” you tried reasoning with him. You heard his footsteps get closer and suddenly you were up against a wall. He could’ve slammed you against it, but you could feel his hand behind your head, making sure you didn’t get injured. Even pissed he was looking out for your safety.

“Is that so?” he mused, “Are you sure about that? You two looked awfully close,” he said, trailing over your body. You squirm underneath his touch and he shakes his head, “I guess I just need to remind you exactly how devout I am for you,” his breath whispered your name almost like a prayer.

You didn’t know what to expect, but feeling him hiking up your shirt and working off your shorts wasn’t one of them, “R-Raf!,” you gasped out, feeling him taking your pants off as he looked you up and down, licking his lips.

“Sorry, my heart,” he groaned, “I don’t have time to waste right now,” he said, “I’ll be worshiping you later, but for now I need to be in you,” what the hell did he mean by that? His hand went over your entrance the moment he had your pants and underwear down your knees, his fingers finding their mark as he pushed them inside of you with urgency.

You growled out a small curse, shivering at how he began working you open against the wall of his studio…against the fucking entryway because that was as far as you had made it. His fingers felt delightful and you wanted more, rolling your hips and whimpering. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that was more teeth than tongue at this point, his desperation clear.

You heard him working his pants off, the buckle a clear indicator and you didn’t even get a chance to look down with how he was pressing you against the wall. You could feel his cock against your thigh as he worked on hiking your legs up, supporting you as he prodded at your entrance. He had barely worked his fingers in you and now you could feel his cock and gods everything was a blur.

Rafayel plunged his cock into you, making you all but scream his name against his lips as he kept you there. “Fuck,” he groaned out, “So wet, so tight,” he murmured, his forehead now against yours as he began pumping into you. Your entire body jostled with every thrust and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders for some form of support.

This entire situation was hot and you didn’t know where it all came from. One moment you were coming to the studio, the next you were being pressed and fucked into the wall next to the coat rack because this man was jealous. You couldn’t even say anything as his mouth began leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw and to your neck.

You whimpered at feeling his teeth biting into you, sure enough leaving a mark and possibly drawing blood but you were too fucked out to care. The drag of his cock inside of you was the only sensation you could focus on, closing your eyes and letting out small whimpers and cries. The familiar coil inside of you building faster than anticipated. Rafayel leaned closer, making sure his pelvis was flush to your front so with every stroke he was grazing your clit.

“R-Raf, fuck, mhm-” You were whimpering his name now, so close to release; the feel of his pulsating cock signaled his own. 

“I know, I know,” he groaned, “Wanna feel you soak my cock, fuck -hng please, m-my heart, cum for me,” he gritted out, closing his eyes for a moment before he reopened them and locked his gaze with your own. That was all it took as you clenched tighter, coming undone all over him and possibly soaking his shirt that was in the way. You were whimpering, your clutch on his shoulders stronger as he pulled shaking gasps from you.

He groaned loud against your ear as he spilled inside of you, his seed warming your insides with every stroke and his mouth came back to yours in a sloppy kiss. You groaned into it, tongue playing with his own as you savored the feeling of his languid thrusts into your sopping core. It took a few moments for him to still, catching his breath and panting against your mouth.

“Fuck…Raf,” This was probably the first quickie you ever had with him, normally he liked to take his time with you. The thought was hot though as you clenched down again on his length, earning a groan from him,

“I’m not done with you, my pearl,” he murmured and you gave him a small look of surprise.

“But you just…?” you began and he smirked.

“When have you known me for only doing one round?” his tone was lightening up again, returning to the more familiar Rafayel you knew, “Although this time I want it to be on a bed so I can take my time,” his tone trailed off and you flushed. The day was apparently still young, and your boyfriend had plans to fuck you so dumb you probably wouldn’t remember any man’s name other than his own.

Me? Writing Top Rafayel? I mean...it sometimes happens.

[candiedspit]

Smear Frame (1992)

The night I got home from the hospital, we had peas and squash and good chicken. Nobody spoke. The radio spoke for us; vitamin deficiencies, lights spotted across Vegas, another building demolition. The first couple of days, I stayed in my room throwing a ball against the wall, doing long division in my head. The television playing a documentary about squid brains. On the third night, mama asked what I was planning to do.

You can be a thing in the world, she told me.

We were in the kitchen, the evening light staining the windows above the sink.

You do have a choice, she continued. But you choose to suffer like an idiot. Even the rabbit knows better than to follow the wolf.

Learn something, Jane.

And she left the room. I held her words in the belly of my chest, going over them again and again. That night, I got dressed in my trench coat and went out to the middle of town. The lights were buoyant and fresh, amazing slashes, amazing range. The moon was pinned against the skies like a cop’s badge. I stepped into Lousy’s which was a bar I had been to before. I liked it because it was dark and cold. I often pretended I was in a cave or in some sort of comet, minutes away from approaching the quiet tendrils of earth.

I ordered a Shirley temple and sat at the bar watching the bartender spin and shake and serve drinks.

What’s the drink with the longest name? I asked.

A terrible, unearthed bitter and lame dirt tonic, he said.

I mused on this for a while and eventually someone spoke to me. An older woman wearing red and large earrings asked me what time it was. I shrugged.

Maybe sometime around midnight, I said.

Don’t you have a watch? She asked. What kinda man doesn’t have a watch?

The question of my masculinity continues to come under fire, I laughed.

So, what’s your problem? She asked. Why are you here at maybe sometime around midnight?

I got out of the loony bin last weekend, I said. I’m trying to map out the world again.

How long were you in there for?

Six weeks, I said.

Do they zap your brain? She asked. I had a cousin like that, always in and out of those places.

How is he doing? I asked.

On the side of the road, she said. Begging for cash, not hiding the bad time he’s having.

That’s admirable. But no, they didn’t zap my brain.

Did they strangle you with Valium?

I was never sedated, I said.

Who put you there?

My parents, I said, I was seeing the holes in the plot, could see the failing strings in the fabric of the universe, the whole picture. I stoped eating, stopped sleeping. All I did was play chess with spirits and paint my nails over and over again. I showed the woman my hands. See? They’re clean.

The woman was quiet, sipped on her drink. I continued.

It was sorta nice, I admitted, not speaking to anyone but sounding out the idea.

Being taken care of like an infant who can’t speak. You get medication in the morning and you moan about the news. Someone starts screaming. Someone stops screaming. You go into a dreamless, milky sleep. And your roommate mumbles in his sleep, sweet robotic poems. And you don’t have a pencil so you commit them to memory; a fog roars, abstain, chapel, chapel, chapel. And you disappear from the world. Headlines float around every day and you wander around the unit making funny faces to entertain yourself and someone calls you and they ask how you are and you tell them you can’t wait to go home. And then you get home and the world is indifferent.

Cheers, the woman said.

And we clinked our glasses. Around three, the woman stood up and gave me her number and shook my hand and left. I kept the slip of paper in my coat pocket. I went out to walk by the river-end, watching the rising of the waters, the night reflected on the surface, dark rivulets. A sort of vile peace.

A couple of months afterward, I found work at a fish market. Slicing trout in half and packaging swordfish into white papers. The work was mindless, bleeding work. Nobody spoke to me. I smoked cigarettes. When I got home, the house smelled of blood.

A while later on, I called the woman. I was on my way home from work. I had not spoken to another human being in ten hours. I had forgotten what my voice sounded like. I could see myself getting slower by the minute. Words died in my head like vermin. The woman answered within four rings. I explained who I was. The boy in the trench coat. It was nighttime and we spoke for a while. You were drinking a tall martini and every so often would dive into your purse to fix your lipstick.

You sound different, she said.

I feel different, I said. I feel like an aspirin. I feel like a headache that won’t resolve.

Where are you? She asked.

By the river, I said. I like seeing the water enunciate. Where are you?

She told me she was making tea for her husband.

He’s not feeling well, she said. I’m doing what people say to do; ginger and saltines and warm baths. But he’s persistent with his pain.

Some people are, I said.

The clouds are fragrant tonight, I continued.

It’s getting late. I can see my mother checking the time, fidgeting in the kitchen then checking again. It’s something I relish. Getting home late. The worry she must feel. The worst things happen in your brain. Perhaps I fell down a flight of stairs. Perhaps I cut my hand open on a knife and I’m in the hospital bleeding out beneath the fluorescent lights. She has a feeling but doesn’t want to endorse the feeling in case it becomes a truth. And when I arrive at last, the feeling subsides and instead is replaced with a mute disappointment. I am the one she loves but not the one she missed.

I began to call the woman—whose name I never bothered to ask for, I wanted to name her myself—often. When I was on my lunch break barely eating a tuna sandwich. When I was smoking cigarettes. When I was in my room reading the newspaper and playing with myself. When I was half asleep.

Once, I was naked in bed with the radio on, and there was a sullen exasperation in my stomach. I felt as though I knew when I was going to die and if I focused long enough the date would come to me, would emerge from the foggy brain matter and I would be freed. I had been thinking of death for weeks. Death was my babe, my habit. I had visions of my own death. Dying struck by a moving car and being stuck in the tire. An aneurysm so I’m alive one moment and exploding the next. Being stunned by a bullet and feeling my cells gasp in unison.

Death is an orgasm, I told the woman one night. Death is a great, wondrous love. You go into the light. You feel peace for the first time in your pathetic silly little life.

You sound twisted, the woman said. Death is what you avoid, everything you do, you do to put death out. Your bravado is not going to protect you from what will happen or what has happened.

That winter I was sleepless. I slept for thirty minutes at a time, watched the sunrise slur into my windows, made tea for my parents and gutted samurai fish and wrapped tuna and walked around town, dreaming of poisonous gas. Sometimes, I choked on my visions.

One afternoon, I felt a pop in the back of my head and walked out of work during my lunch break. And walked straight home. When my mother saw me, she placed me on the couch and pointed a flashlight in my eyes and placed a cold towel on my forehead. I mumbled for the angels.

I had been in the hospital for two weeks when I called the woman, I had been blotted out and cast into a week of sleep. I was feeling alright.

What kind of dreams have you been having? The woman asked,

I don’t dream, I told her. I stumble in and out of sleep like a newly born calf. I feel like I’m full of milk, a white calmness in my arteries, a saline stillness.

Come see me, I said. Come see my blue scrubs and bandaged fingers and dirty acne and limp, sedated gait.

I will, she said.

It was New Year’s Eve when she came. The nurses had hung up garlands and the television played the ball drop in New York City; that mirage a thousand light years away.

We were given virgin champagne and the nurses counted down with us and the woman was there, her hand on my back.

Focus on living one breath at a time, she said. Count the breaths until you forget you’re even counting.

The year turned over onto her stomach. That night, I laid down and recounted the poem again.

Chapel. Chapel. Chapel.

[sixosix]

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO | LYNEY

notes wc 3.9k lyney pov back again babyyy (and he’s acting a little crazy) 🫶 enjoy the chapter!

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Lyney hasn't uttered a single word on the way back to their house. Not a single word, but he doesn’t need to. It shows, anyway—the skip on his steps, the ever-present smile seemingly stuck on his face, and a glow in his eyes that no one has seen before.

Lynette must have caught it, too. She keeps glancing at him, suspicious.

Damage control wasn’t all that difficult when you’re well-loved by the people of Fontaine. They were out searching for Lyney, demanding refunds if they were going to discontinue, but they were appeased eventually. Lyney and Lynette resumed the show, apologized for the emergency, and the audience was won back by their enthusiasm and charm (and lies).

Still, Lynette pushes on with her stern words.

“That was careless, Lyney.” She locks the door. “Everyone was watching.”

Lyney prepares two cups of tea, dancing around the kitchen to boil water. “You know exactly why I did it.”

Lynette sits on a chair and watches him. Her gaze expresses more than her face sometimes. “I know. But I won’t let you escape from dealing with the backlash.”

Lyney smiles. “If anything, I should be saying that to you.”

His dear sister huffs, turning away. “So it was them I saw by the alley… I recognized the Traveler right away, but I found it strange that there was a familiar figure pressed up close against him.”

Lyney makes a face. He doesn’t want to imagine that—he might break something, and Freminet is an expert, but not when it comes to teacups.

Lyney breathed in deeply, letting the muffled cheers from the other side of the curtain fill his ears. His sister settled beside him, her expression troubled.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do you not feel like performing today?”

“No,” Lynette said. “I thought I saw something strange on the way here.”

That was alright. That meant Lynette wasn’t too nervous if she was letting her mind wander.

“Oh?” he said. Lyney looked for his hat, finding it underneath the stool he was on. Ah, Rosseland must have crawled in and put it there.

“I thought I saw the Traveler,” Lynette said, “in an alley doing something…” 

Oh my, Lyney mused in his head.

“With Y/N,” Lynette continued.

All at once, the noise became like streaming water. He didn’t hear Lynette calling for him. He didn’t hear her say she was most likely mistaken. His mind was blank the moment he heard your name.

It was a touchy subject.

She tapped his shoulder. “Lyney.”

“Haha,” Lyney said, choking on his own lies. “Have your eyes finally deceived you, dear sister?”

Lynette looked at him worriedly.

“And with the Traveler, really?” Lyney scoffed, moving his hat to his head. “I’m afraid it might’ve just been lookalikes getting handsy and couldn’t wait to get home.”

But the thought of it… Lyney scowled and looked at himself in the mirror, finding his own expression terrifying. He really needed to work on that.

Lynette has a ghost of a smile on her lips as Lyney spaced out, the devil.

“Y/N told us not to tell ‘Father’,” she recalls, casually, as if that isn’t the biggest source of Lyney’s headache at the moment. “What will you do?”

Lyney pauses, his hands hovering over a jar of sugar cubes, his back turned to his sister. “We’ve yet to hear news from ‘Father’, right?”

Lynette won’t be able to tell the expression he’s making, but she knows him well enough to figure out what he’s thinking. “Yes.”

Lyney hums, grinning. “I’ll be taking this opportunity.”

His sister has that same look backstage. Her eyes flicker to him, then return back to the table as if unsure of voicing her thoughts. Instead, she says, “What if Y/N doesn’t want to stay?”

“I’ll just clear up misunderstandings, at least! Maybe then, she’ll want to stay.” Lyney presses his palms against the table, looking at Lynette with a gleam in his eye. “I’ll tell her that I never wanted to be the next king. I’ll tell her the truth.”

Lynette’s brows furrow. “It wouldn’t be that simple.”

The water simmers. Lyney’s face is terrifyingly blank, not like the spitfire of his words as he says, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lynette leans back, still frowning. She looks mildly startled. Lyney must have been making a scary face again. He clears his expression and forces a smile.

A tuneful beat on the door cuts through the tension rising in the room. It swings open and reveals a frazzled blond.

“Freminet!” Lyney greets, his shoulders loosening. “Let me also prepare tea for you.”

“How was it?” Lynette asks as their brother nearly sinks to the seat as if prepared to melt against it.

Freminet sighs heavily, world-weary. “I didn’t really hear anyone talking about anything else about your show. They were all chattering about your last trick. The one outside the Epiclese—with the fireworks?”

“Good,” Lyney resists the urge to pat himself on the back. “It seems the diversion has worked. Though, we still have to be perfectly sure.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Lynette mutters.

“Why the sudden notice, anyway?” Freminet mumbles, pressing his face against the glass table. “Did something happen?”

“Y/N was at the show.”

The only sound that fills the room is the whistling kettle. Lyney wordlessly pours it into the three cups and hands them to his siblings, one already preparing her tea and the other looking like he hasn’t quite taken in what Lyney said. 

“What!” Freminet stands up from his chair, utterly gobsmacked. “Where? I thought—”

Lyney stares at the cup of boiling water that nearly spilled over from Freminet’s outburst. “Careful, now. That will burn you,” he chides, yet his expression is serene.

Lyney doesn’t even need tea. It looks like the tea would do nothing when he’s already acting like the Sevens have blessed him personally.

Lynette prepares Freminet’s tea for him as Freminet continues, “At—at the show? Is that why you were asking if anyone was talking about it?”

Lynette slides Freminet’s tea over to him. “Mhm. We were making sure no one would harm Y/N while she was in Fontaine. Lyney already made up an excuse, but some people might not believe it.”

“While in Fontaine?” Freminet falters, sipping on his tea. “Y/N’s not staying?”

“Afraid not,” Lyney says bitterly. “She’s working under Master Childe now, and he never stays in one place too long. It’s a miracle he took a pit stop here.”

“It’s strange,” Lynette wonders thoughtfully. “I thought I heard Master Childe is here for something personal.”

“Maybe Y/N became Master Childe’s personal recruit,” Freminet supplies. “Y/N’s really strong.”

Lyney’s face scrunches up. He changes the subject swiftly. “Freminet, do you want to meet up with Y/N? You were her first friend, right?”

“With whom?” Freminet asks suspiciously.

“With me!” Lyney beams, a flourish with his gesture. “I invited Y/N over to spar with me outside the city. Just like old times, no?”

“No thanks.” Freminet’s expression turns haunted. “I don’t want to be alone with you and Y/N. I always feel like I’m intruding.”

“He just gets too handsy and can’t wait to get home, doesn’t he?” Lynette chimes in. “That's why I don't watch, either.”

Freminet doesn’t understand it, but Lyney’s face explodes in a blush.

“Hey!” Lyney huffs. “Suit yourself. I’ll tell Y/N you skipped out on a reunion.”

Freminet smiles. “Tell Y/N I missed her a lot, and she should come visit us.”

Lyney sighs, because he can never even pretend to be furious when Freminet is simply too sweet. He ruffles Freminet’s hair, toppling over his beret. “Alright,” he says fondly, “I’ll pass the message.”

Lynette waves. “Don’t have too much fun, now.”

THEN

Things became a lot more tense when you left.

Freminet and Lynette were devastated when Lyney told them that you stormed off. His arm felt as numb as what he was feeling at the time, and to think that it was all you left for him. He didn’t tell anyone else anything, but the rest of them got the gist of it when you didn’t appear the next day or the day after that.

Most of the orphans didn’t care; in fact, some had the gall to look relieved when rumors of your transfer began floating around. When Lyney heard one about how you must’ve died sneaking off to another mission, he snapped. He yelled and told them that they didn’t know anything—they never bothered to know who you were. They didn’t have the right to talk if they were only there to stain your name.

Lyney bore the brunt of it. Anyone could tell he was hurt by it the most.

Once, after Lyney was told off for mouthing off, Lynette found him in the far corner of the training room, his knees tucked to his chest and his eyes stormy.

Lynette sat down beside him and stared ahead. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Don’t be too harsh on yourself, Lyney.”

Lyney glared at the floor. “I’m not mad at myself. I’m not the one who left.”

Lynette turned to him, surprised. “You’re mad at Y/N?”

He sat up straight and exhaled sharply. “She got a Vision. That’s what she always wanted, to become ‘Father’s successor. Now that she can have it, she runs.”

“Maybe that's not what she really wanted.”

“That's what she hated me for,” Lyney clarified.

“You don’t really hate her, do you? Did you think it was only right for you to hate her because she did to you? I can tell when you’re lying straight through your teeth, Lyney.”

Lyney didn’t say anything in reply because he knew everything that would come out would just be a lie. But when it came to Lynette, his silence was louder than words.

“Y/N will be back. This is her home, too.” Lynette said softly. “Come on, wipe that look off your face.”

Lyney blinked, desperately wiping away whatever expression he didn’t even know he was making.

“I didn’t think it was true,” Lynette said offhandedly. What a turn of events, to have Lynette talk more than Lyney. At his impatient frown, she clarified, “I noticed that you can never control your expressions well when it comes to Y/N.”

Lyney wasn’t sure if Lynette pointed it out to rub on Lyney’s face that what he felt was real, or to remind him that fragile things like emotions in their line of work are a weakness. Maybe it was both. It was his first mistake to be curious and end up falling face-forward for you—and now he ended up like this, furious for reasons he couldn’t understand.

It didn’t take long before ‘Father’ stopped mentioning you, before the orphans acted like you never existed, and before your existence felt like just a secret shared between the three.

It took a year for them to realize that this was no longer your home. You never returned.

Lyney speeds past fields of grass. He had taken the long route, circling around; he didn’t want to deal with anyone recognizing him—he was already running a little late. When he sees your figure, standing still underneath the bridge for Aquabuses overhead, he feels his chest glow.

You’ve shed off the large skirt and now wore a simple dress, smeared with dirt on the edges. Lyney wants to reach out and dust it off, to fix it for you. But Lyney is also getting a feeling that he shouldn’t ruin the picture you’ve made for yourself.

“Hey,” Lyney says, and he was fully expecting it when your arm lashed out and aimed right at his face. He grins at your stunned expression. “I still just want to talk first.”

“Sorry,” you say, flinching away. “I was in deep thought.”

Lyney settles beside you, hoping to ease you into his presence. There is nothing special about the view. It was just water for miles, architecture that stretched over to the next island, and the sunset. He much prefers it when he looks at you.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Lyney, listen.” You fidget nervously. “About Lord Tartaglia… I didn’t actually know where he was. I was just—I didn’t—”

“That makes sense.” Lyney nods thoughtfully. He thinks back to all the rumors he’s heard before about the man. “I've heard that Master Childe likes doing things on his own. And I'm glad you were just taken to another faction.”

“Oh.” A beat. “Yeah, right.”

“Wait, don’t tell me,” Lyney gasps. Your shoulders stiffen, and Lyney just knew he hit the jackpot. “Master Childe doesn’t even know you’re following him! Why are you following him?”

Were you actually his personal subordinate? Was Freminet right?

“Why am I—” Your jaw goes slack, perhaps in awe of his deduction skills. “You know what, never mind. Let’s stop talking about Lord Tartaglia.” And that title, too. Did Master Childe make his subordinates call his Lordship that? “What did you call me here for, Lyney?”

“I just wanted to catch up, like what we’re doing now.”

“Great.” You clap your hands. “We’ve caught up. I’ve got other things to do, you know.”

Lyney smiles instead. “Would you like to spar?”

Your gaze is intense, yet far away. “If you want,” you cede, which isn’t a blatant yes, but Lyney knows it’s one.

“It is an honor,” he says.

You frown. “Are you trying to do something?”

“Can’t the reason just be that I missed this? That I missed doing this with you?”

“...Fine.”

Your gaze sharpens, and you charge straightaway. Lyney moves his arm just in time; it still stings, just as he remembers. but it doesn’t hurt as bad now. In the same breath, you swipe again, your polearm spinning in that same hypnotizing circle as you strike at him. Lyney swerves aside or blocks it off each time, unaware of the crazed grin on his face.

He shoots off three different arrows, waiting for the perfect moment while you’re deflecting them. As always, you move with ease, flowing through your movements like Lyney would be wrong to disrupt it.

As a kid, he could watch in awe as you get to do cool moves, but now, Lyney just appreciates the way your piercing gaze cuts through him and how you nearly beckon him with your body. Try, if you dare.

Lyney doesn’t want to show off; he wants to catch you off guard. He performs the same trick as last time—he disappears and materializes from thin air to your back. It doesn’t work, as he expected, but you’re now wary of his weapon.

Lyney blows a little air to your ear; you yelp and flutter away from him. Lyney uses this opportunity to hold your polearm down with his free arm. He flicks his hand and traps your back onto his chest with an arrow to your neck.

“What the hell?” You breathe sharply, your throat brushing against the shaft of his arrow, “I don’t think this is how you use an arrow.”

“How am I supposed to win without a little bend to the rules?”

You frown at him, your face upside down in his view. “That was unfair.”

“I have to be if I want to beat you.”

You laugh. Lyney feels the shake of your body pressed against him, and he’s entranced. He wants this, over and over again—you could numb him until he can’t breathe, and still, he wouldn’t let this go.

You’re glowing. This is exactly what Lyney wanted to see. If you were still keeping a wall up, then he would have to keep talking your language.

You tap his arm twice. Lyney loosens his grip and tries to calm himself. If you turn to look at him, you’d laugh for an entirely different reason—his face is too red. He decides to pick your weapon up instead but pauses at the sight of it. It looks old. It’s to the point where it shouldn’t even be used.

Lyney realizes it looks strangely familiar. “Is this the same one from the House?”

You stretch your arms. “Oh, that? Yeah, I still use it.”

“That’s dangerous.” Lyney grabs your hand and studies the red scratches on your palm. It’s littered with scars.

You tug your hand away. “That’s just because I was handling flowers—some of them have nasty thorns, you know.“

Lyney lifts an eyebrow. “Really, now? I’m getting you a new one.”

“What— It was actually from flowers! And I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“That’s sweet,” Lyney says breezily, mentally filing through connections he might have to gift you the perfect weapon—so perfect that you couldn’t resist. “I’ll get you a new one. Does Master Childe not provide equipment for his recruits?”

“Fine, suit yourself. It’s your money.”

Lyney grins. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“But let me keep it,” you say, reaching for it. “That polearm still means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” Lyney smiles and tosses it back to you. “So you work for Master Childe? Is that why you and the Traveler are close?”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “You ask too many questions. Mind your own Harbinger, will you?”

“That was your ‘Father’, too.”

The atmosphere goes a little cold. “Did she send you to this? To talk to me?”

“No, of course not,” Lyney says. “And if ‘Father’ sent me, I wouldn’t have gone. This is all out of my own will.”

It seems you’re strangely keen on avoiding the topic of ‘Father’. And Aether, too, unfortunately. At least Lyney could tell that there was truth to your confession about pride. If he were in your shoes, he would’ve felt the same.

“You know, I never wanted to be her successor,” Lyney says. Your shoulder stiffens. You turn to him, watching his expression closely. Lyney continues, allowing for his expression to be open. “Our fight was just a misunderstanding—I never intended to take anything from you.”

“Right,” you say quietly. You sound wounded.

“I’m sorry,” Lyney says.

“Don’t be sorry. None of it was you,” you sigh. “I told you, didn’t I?” Your eyes then narrow on his lips. “Are you hiding something? I don’t like the look on your face.”

“What?” Lyney chuckles, unsure. “I’m just smiling?”

“Yeah. It looks fake. You look weird smiling like that.”

Lyney feels his heart drop. He feels as if he was charged over by a strike of lightning. And then he laughs, because of course, if he knew you better than anyone, you’d also do to him.

“You make me swoon,” he says dreamily, tugging on your gown as if pawing for it like a cat.

“You haven’t changed much,” you tell him, glancing down at his arms as they curve around you, like before. Like they’ve made a home for themselves there.

“You’ve changed in some ways,” Lyney hums appreciatively, eyeing you.

“Gross!” You slap his arm in hopes of freeing you, but he doesn’t budge. “What are you doing? Let go.”

He grins brightly, and his cheeks ache faintly. He has missed this so, so much. “Still both bark and bite, though.”

“Is this why most of your audience were women? Is this how your shows are always sold out?” you ask, gesturing to how there are no inches between your clothes.

Lyney smiles, less softer, more suggestive. “What? You think I sweet-talk them into buying tickets like this? You think that’d work?”

He curls his arms tighter and draws nearer, your breath on his face. He knows he won when he hears and feels it audibly hitching. Your eyes narrow, hands moving to his arms as if prepared to push him off if he moves any closer.

Lyney bursts out laughing. “Well, I won’t lie and tell you that some of our loyal fans are those who fell for my charm, but, chérie, did you already forget my whole speech about loyalty? I’m hurt.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” you huff. Lyney doesn’t mind how he feels it gust against his skin. It makes this all the more real: you, in his arms, living and breathing, and thankfully not pulling away. “You magicians and your fabricated lies.”

“No faith in me whatsoever,” Lyney sighs, but deep down, he’s thoroughly enjoying how you’re acting like his jealous girlfriend. You’re so cute.

“You would know if I was lying to your face, trust me,” he says.

He doesn’t know why, but it took your soft expression, your palms on his chest, your skin brushing against his, to understand that Lynette was right: he could never hate you. He hated how you disappeared without a trace and came back without warning. He hated how you were still as closed off and wary of him as you were on the first day he met you. But this all led you back to him—how could he ever not be grateful for it?

Lyney pulls back, and as much as it pains him to do so, that sad look on your face hurts him even more. He scans his surroundings and brightens.

“Lyney?” you ask, watching as he scrambles over to a bush growing by a pillar.

He plucks a beautiful flower from it and hands them to you. It’s a Marcotte, bright and beautiful. No theatrical tricks. You watched it happen.

“You’re trying too hard to win me back,” you murmur. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Did you have to do anything? I just want to do it,” Lyney says, his voice equally quiet.

It’s just the two of you outside of the city, with the wind whipping through the grass, the world falling hushed enough for Lyney to pick up the faint beat of your heart. You’re silent, thinking deeply, Lyney can tell. He doesn’t want to interrupt, content with figuring out the complicated expressions on your face as you stare at the flower.

“Idiot,” you say, pushing a finger to the space between his brows. “You’re too soft for your line of work. Hey, tell me, what has the House been up to anyway?”

Lyney pauses. “You’re not aware of it already?”

“Well, no, not really,” you say nervously. “I haven’t been paying too close attention. And I haven’t heard anything about the House in years.”

He smiles. “Don’t worry. We’re not up to anything right now.”

It wasn’t a total lie, at least.

By the time Lyney returns home, the lights inside are switched off. The curtains haven’t been drawn, allowing for the moonlight to pour in and illuminate Lynette sitting on the couch, her eyes snapping to him instantly.

“She’s hiding something,” Lyney says, locking the door with a troubled expression. “I just don’t know what. I can’t start looking into it if I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“I suppose there would’ve been something up,” Lynette sighs, crossing her legs. “Have you asked why she’s close with the Traveler?”

“I didn’t get a good answer.” Lyney flings his hat aside. “Have you found anything good?”

“Garrick knew something.” Garrick is one of their magic crew, helping Lyney perform seamlessly. “He told me that he recognized Y/N milling about—but it wasn’t just recently. He told me that he swore he’d seen her before, just in Fontaine City, months before the show.”

“Interesting,” Lyney murmurs, his brows drawn together. He’ll have to think about that later.

Lynette looks at her brother, her eyes carefully blank. “Are you sure doing this won’t drive her away again?”

Behind Lyney, the moonlight scatters all over. It is a little hard to tell what face he’s making. “I’m doing this exactly because I’m trying not to drive her away.”

YAAAAAYYY NEW CHAPTER!!!!!!! more lyney and reader interactions!!!!!!!!!1 more of the siblings ! !! <333 TYSM FOR READING, and, as always, lmk what u think <3

but before you go!! once again we are blessed with fanart but this time with emanami too!

look at her little doodles of this chapter its so CUTE

AND OF COURSE. AKAGI'S LYNEY!!! check this out he looks so fine

TAGLIST.

@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz @auranny @motherscrustytoenailclippings @lovelyevil @iawaaaaaaa @rionah @esmetrees @cherryig @kzhwaif @mystiquemare @unknownlololol @sanluvssu @blvdmrcnry @kascar-chronicle @idontevenknow129 @tarathecogsci @lunavixia @beaniedoodz @wendolrea @avalordream @egoistars @rains-mae @magnificentfireball @poemzcheng

[mingis-orangejuice]

Asking the L&Ds boys "What are we?" Part 3: Rafayel

Summary: MC and her boy have been in a sort of situation-ship but MC wants to know why they haven't officially called her their girlfriend

a/n: This ended up being much longer than I thought so I'm making it into 4 parts (one for each boy) Here's Rafayel's part. I'm still writing Sylus' part, so it might take a little longer to come out

Genres/Warnings: angst, fluff, kinda slow burn, a little suggestive

Word count: 1114

Other parts: 1, 2, 4

Under the dazzling lights of an enormous banquet hall, you stand alone awkwardly looking at your phone. It was another one of Rafayel’s art shows. While you love to support him and his art, after going to about 4 different events in one week it gets old. Thomas was really running Rafayel rampant these past few weeks to get him to sell as much as possible before he goes off on one of his random solo trips. And even tho Rafayel hates these types of events he knew it would be good for his image and his wallet (not that he needs it) 

Why did Rafayel have to leave you by yourself? You hated going to big fancy events the only plus side of coming to these was getting to spend time with your boyfriend… wait was he your boyfriend? You guys never actually had that conversation but he gets pretty boyfriend-y when you guys are alone he calls you every night before bed to tell you goodnight, takes you on expensive overnight trips and gets all pouty if you don’t stay the night, but he also still calls you Miss bodyguard but sometimes calls you his muse. What does that even mean? Was he just playing with you or was there something more? 

You were thinking so hard about this that your facial expression looked pretty intense. You didn't even notice that most people at the event were actively avoiding you since you looked like you were ready to explode.

“Hey babe,” a voice from behind you snapped you out of your deep thought. Your expression changed to one of confusion and disgust at the random man who felt that it was ok to call you babe “Are you here alone? I can show you around. I know everything about these art pieces.”

You looked at him, now with a blank expression “Really?” you questioned sarcasm heavily coating your voice. Where is Rafayel? Why is he taking so long to come back? Thomas said he’d only be gone for a few minutes, but it's been over half an hour and now some creep is trying to talk to you.

“Yeah, I'm close personal friends with the artist, I’m actually his inspiration for most of his work, I’m basically an artist too he should be giving me half the profits from these since I’m such an integral part of his work, but I let him keep all of it since we’re such good friends” He steps closer to you as he spouts his nonsense. You, looking rightfully annoyed with him step back but this guy doesn’t get the hint and keeps stepping closer “What d’ you say, babe? Wanna spend the rest of the night with a real artist?  He continues to advance towards you while you step back even further, in your mission to get away from this creep you didn't notice one of the wires running along the floor that connected to one of the lights illuminating an art piece. You tripped backwards. Luckily a firm pair of arms was there to catch you before you hit the floor.

You look up to see who your saviour is. And to your surprise, it was none other than Rafayel. “For a bodyguard, you’re very clumsy” he chucked while steadying you.

“It’s not my fault,” you say preparing to defend yourself.

“I know, it was his” Rafayel points to the creep that had been pursuing you. “What do you think you’re doing pestering MY muse? She clearly doesn't like you can’t you take a hint or is that head of yours just full of fish tank pebbles”

“Just who do you think you are, if you hadn’t come in and ruined everything she woulda gone home with me” The creep angrily stepped towards you and Rafayel. He looks towards you trying to grab your wrist “Babe tell this guy to fuck off so we can get back to our conversation alright.”

Rafayel quickly swats his hand away “Why would she go home with a loser who pretends to be an artist just to get in her pants, when she can have this real artist who gets to be in her pants every night?” Rafayel says with a shit-eating grin. 

“Raf!” You lightly slap his chest a little amused and a bit embarrassed that he would say something like that out loud.

“Yeah, whatever she’s ugly anyway” The creep tries to leave, but Rafayel signals to some of the staff to grab that guy and remove him from the event. As the staff are holding the creep by the arms Rafayel brings his face close to his. “You’re lucky I’m only having them throw you out of the venue for talking about my muse like that.”

Later once the event was over, you and Rafayel were sitting in his living room, he was sketching some new ideas for paintings, and you were absent mindlessly playing on your phone, the questions from earlier still buzzing through your head. While lost in thought Rafayel lays his head on your shoulder. This makes your heart skip a beat and breaks you out of your trance.

“What are we ?” you suddenly ask slightly turning your head to where Rafalye was leaning.

“What?” he lifts his head off your shoulder to look at you confused.

You took a deep breath before starting, scared of confrontation, but you just had to know “When we were at your art show you kept calling me your muse, and apart from that you also act like my boyfriend most days, but you’ve never said that you were and you’ve also never called me your girlfriend. So I’ll ask again, what are we?”

“What, I thought it was obvious?” he said with a little smile. He takes both your hands into his and looks into your eyes

“Well, it's not obvious to me, so?” you wanted to look away from his gaze but you were afraid if you did you wouldn’t have the courage to look back at him again.

“You’re my muse,” he said excitedly, smile growing even bigger.

“I knew it, that's all I am to you just some inspiration for your art ” You sigh and get up to leave but he holds tighter to your hands

Is that what you think a muse is ?” He laughed softly. “To me a muse not only inspires my art but is my art, everything I do is for my muse. My muse consumes my every waking thought, I need her to be around me at all times to even function properly. You’re more than just a girlfriend to me, you’re my most precious muse.”

[yestrday]

I just, househusband Zhongli crumbs, I beg, everything you write is just gold ❤️❤️❤️

househusband zhongli is everything to me :((( i wanna go home and see him in an apron with his fancy liyue cuisine all ready for me uhuhuhu....

you might like: yandere! genshin malewives + zhongli

🐲 yandere! malewife zhongli

his biggest red flag is spending big amounts of money behind your back and not even realizing what he's done wrong unless you jam it into that thick skull of his. he'll be explaining to you why buying that noctiluous jade is a worthwhile endeavor till you hit him with the 'and????!!! what do we even need a noctiluous jade for!' and he opens his mouth and closes it when he finally thinks.

when he sees you overworking yourself, he gently closes the laptop and guides you towards the bed. it hurts his heart to see you so tired. look at your eyebags! just terrible. he tucks you into bed and makes you wait as he brings over the pot of tea he's been boiling for over an hour now.

a lot of the neighborhood grannies fawn over him like they're back to being little schoolgirls. sometimes when you come home early from work you'll see zhongli sat on the porch giving a history lecture with that buttery voice of his while the grannies are crowded around him with shy smiles, giggling behind their fans.

gets really moody when he smells someone's perfume on you. he tries his best to not let his jealousy steep into his interactions with you, but you can tell something's up when his normally gentle voice is suddenly clipped and curt with you.

has a black belt in karen. he's stated multiple times that he's more than willing to... approach your boss to have a civil one-on-one chat with him about your working conditions. these musings of his happen every time he sees you stumbling into the house, just barely delirious.

doesn't pay others much attention. whenever the two of you are on dates, his attention is on you and you only. he'll acknowledge their presence when needed be, but everything else slips by him when you're just too endearing not to look away from.

you don't trust him on groceries, not when you think that he might come home with high-end brands instead of sticking to the budget. the two of you often go grocery shopping together, and you have to drag him to the normal supermarket and not the all-organic alternative sitting right beside it.

is strangely eager when it comes to giving gifts to your nephews and nieces, should you have any. christmas and birthdays are the only times you'll give in to zhongli's overspending because he always hits you with the 'those children only deserve the very best...!' so you feel guilty. you can see how gentle his eyes are whenever he holds one of the little ones in his arms or how he quietly anticipates their happy little smiles whenever they unbox your gifts.

after that, he always muses about wanting to have a family of his own... while giving you one of those looks. mmm1. those family reunions always leave you sore the day after. not because of the reunion itself, but rather, what they've brought on after.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Prompt 7 with Malleus? And the reader as the ghost? 😳

Visions of the Past; Malleus Draconia

Content; Gender-neutral reader, hurt/comfort, pining left unresolved

Content Warning; Reader death (not heavily described)

Word Count; 700+

Please do not put my work into AI. If you would like to see more of my work check out my masterlist!

Time heals all wounds. But Malleus knew that wasn’t true. Yes, time may heal physical wounds, although not always perfectly, but it no longer weeps or festers. Whereas emotional wounds, such as trauma, grief, and anger do not fade or heal in the same manner as a cut would.

Malleus was standing outside the entrance of Ramshackle, once his nightly walking grounds turned to the home of the first person that befriended him for him. The first person who didn’t know or care, even after finding out about his identity, that he was the Malleus Draconia. A magicless human who treated him as they did with others, but with a tad bit more ease, humour, and kindness since they were friends.

Were friends.

His heart knew though that you weren’t just friends. He had felt this emotion before to some extent with his passion for gargoyles, but they paled in comparison to you.

Your brightness. Your laugh. Your little mannerisms that most wouldn’t pay attention to, but he did. 

“Do you think we’ll still be friends when we’re older,” you mused while on one of your nightly walks with Malleus. Malleus furrowed his brow and looked at you quizzically, “Why wouldn’t we be? I have no intention of not being in your life.” You had stopped moving forward and Malleus came to a stop beside you. “Well, I don’t know. You’re a prince, future king, and you might get swapped in royal business and duties…” You pursed your lips, an unpleasant taste in your mouth. “And isn’t that more important?”  “Do you not like spending time with me?” Malleus’ voice was more sharp, on edge. “NO!” You shouted, the word echoing a bit in the quiet night. “I like spending time with you. I love it!” Malleus looked at you with confusion, and if he were looking at anyone else the way he had been in the past minute, they would have been grovelling, asking for forgiveness. But not you.  “Then why did you bring it up in the first place? Should there not be time, I will simply make it,” he said quietly. A small smile and chuckle replaced the irritated look of moments prior, “I will even make it ‘royal business’ as you put it.” You cough-laughed at his statement, but you only laughed harder when you looked at him to see a baffled expression.  Malleus chuckled lightly, joining your amusement, even though he didn’t understand what was so funny that had you tearing up. You let out a long sigh, recollecting yourself. “Well, I’ll be there then, promise.”

And you had held that promise. Despite both of your hectic lives, you both met at least twice a month. If neither of you had the time? Well, Malleus would just show up outside your place, like old times, and you would both go about the property. Sometimes talking away, and other times in silence, just happy to be next to each other again.

Malleus knew he liked you, loved you even — the way he felt more like himself when he was around you, and a tinge of jealousy made that distinction clear — and he was planning on asking you if you felt the same.

But he didn’t have the chance.

He would never have the chance.

He knew that he wouldn’t have many years with you, but he had planned that it was old age that took you away from him.

Ramshackle had not changed, but Malleus could still smell the scent of soot, even after all of these years. The foyer stopped, and Malleus looked into the gloom of the burnt ruins.

“ … do you remember our promise?”

He had been coming here, once a fortnight, asking the same question and hoping for an answer. Every time all he ever received was the sound of rotting wood and the scampering of mice.

He took in a breath and was ready to leave, to go back to his duties, but he stopped.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He couldn’t see you, but you were here. And that was all that mattered to Malleus. That although you may not physically be here anymore, he had not lost you.

Time may heal all wounds, but Malleus didn’t want this wound to heal. He didn’t want to lose you, not again.

. . .

. . .

A/N; Hope you enjoyed what I came up with for this combination! And *hands you an emotional dragon fae that misses you*

~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @bloomstruck @eynnwwyjth @keii-starz @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @syrenkitsune @the-v-lociraptor @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii