#how to get rid of moles

[iwakuraz]

I don't understand why I'm always in so much physical pain? does god hate me or am I actually doing something wrong to cause this

[parzival-ak]

beautiful gorgeous stunning man

more of oscar at cannes lions festival!

[athenalvss]

Wally west X batsis!reader please 🙏😩

Maybe where she's looking hot asf at a party Bruce is holding in the wayne manor ball room and all the JL and young justice and teen titans are they and someone's flirting with reader and he realises he needs to swoop in real fast. Dick, Roy, Jason, Kyle and Donna are his biggest wingmen

NERVOUS

summary: Wally is madly in love with you, but he's scared of you and your dad, but his friends try not to let that stop him.

pairing: Wally west x batsis!reader

part one- part two

note: idk what I did lol I tried to write smt cute but idk what happened to me. AND officially Wally west has a masterlist

open request - wally west masterlist

The crystal chandeliers in the living room shone like stars, and you, with that damn impeccable wine colored dress and the innate bearing of a Wayne, seemed unattainable to anyone, untouchable, as if you were the most valuable jewel in Gotham.

You were gorgeous, completely mesmerizing to anyone, but even more so to Wally. But it wasn't anything new to anyone; it wasn't the first time he'd looked at you like that. In fact, he'd been doing it for years.

He met you when you were both teenagers, a couple of years after becoming friends with Dick. You weren't yet an active part of the vigilante world; Bruce didn't want to risk anything happening to you, but it was only a matter of time before you made a place for yourself in his world, at least working from the Batcave, providing information and conducting major investigations.

But even then, at a young age, you were a whirlwind; sharp, brilliant, with that dangerous mix of charm and sarcasm that left him speechless.

And tonight, seeing you like this, with that dress that hugged your curves with lethal precision, with that presence, while you were laughing at something that idiot Atlantean ambassador said, I felt like I couldn't keep pretending anymore.

Because now you weren't just his teenage crush, you weren't two kids anymore. He was a grown man, and you were a beautiful woman. He had to do something. He couldn't breathe at the thought of someone else getting there first.

I had to do something. I couldn't just stand there like another spectator while someone else refilled your glass and said things he wished he'd whispered to you years ago.

I couldn't breathe at the thought of someone else getting there first. Of someone else stealing your smiles, your secrets, your nights.

"Would you stop staring at my sister?" Dick asked, appearing at his side.

Wally didn't take his eyes off you, still watching every inch of you. How the hell could he get close to you if every time he spoke he was just talking nonsense? Maybe you liked that half-fish guy? Or maybe... did you always have that mole on your right breast?

"You've already broken him, you asked him for a very difficult task, Dick," Jason announced from a corner, holding a glass.

"He hasn't blinked in three minutes," Roy added, chewing on something. "Literally. I'm worried about his nervous system."

Donna placed a hand on Wally's shoulder, with that trained calm she used when someone was about to explode. "We know you can do it. But if you need help... well, we're bored, and it's a worthy cause."

"Perfect," Jason said, crossing his arms. "This is officially a field operation."

—What? No, you don't need a gun to th——Wally looked at them, somewhere between frustrated and scared.

"No one mentioned a gun," Donna interrupted, already pulling a small transmitter from her purse. "Right, Jason?"

Silence.

Jason smiled. “Didn’t you want to get rid of that guy over there?”

—Yeah, but not like that! We're not going to shoot anyone. —Wally raised his hands nervously.

"Shoot him?" Jason let out a dry laugh. "Don't worry so much about the guy, focus on keeping up with my sister."

Wally looked at him as if he'd been stabbed straight through the ego. "What kind of motivation is that?"

— a realist, —Roy chimed in naturally as he looked you up and down from afar— She's so fine, and you're... well, you're you.

"Thanks, Roy," Wally replied with a bitter smile. "It's nice to have friends like that."

"We're not your friends right now, at least not me," Jason clarified. "You want to flirt with my sister, it's totally disgusting. And Roy, shut up."

Roy threw up his hands, offended but amused. "I only tell the truth. Do you want me to lie? Do you want me to tell him he has a chance without our help?"

"Yeah!" Wally exclaimed. "Lie to me a little! Some emotional support wouldn't hurt, you know?"

—Perfect, everyone shut up —Donna took a small transmitter out of her bag— Put this on, Wally

Wally looked at her with a mixture of surprise and resignation, while Donna skillfully adjusted the transmitter behind his ear. "What's this?" he asked, somewhat nervously.

"A direct channel to us," Donna replied with a reassuring smile. "We'll guide you in real time so you don't make a fool of yourself."

"Really?" Wally blinked in disbelief. "Is this to save me from myself?"

"Exactly," Jason crossed his arms with a wry smile. "Now you really have no excuses."

Roy leaned closer, his tone more serious. "We're here to make sure you don't die virgin."

"You're an idiot Roy." Dick looked at him seriously.

Donna stepped back, assessing him like a soldier before entering the battlefield. “Ready.”

"Already?" Wally asked, feeling like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

"Okay. Give me two minutes," Donna said, turning toward the dance floor. "And you, breathe. Straighten your back. And for the love of the Titans... don't look at that mole again."

"I wasn't going to look at the mole!" Wally protested.

Dick just patted him on the shoulder. “Good luck, West.”

And then Donna moved forward. She crossed the room with the kind of confidence that could make politicians and aliens alike tremble. By the time she reached you, your glass was already half empty, and the Atlantean ambassador was rambling on about some unimportant maritime treaty.

"Shall I steal her from you for a second?" she asked, with a charming smile. She placed a hand on your back and gently guided you away from the Atlantean ambassador. You didn't ask any questions. You knew that if Donna pulled you out of a conversation, it was for a reason.

"I owe you one," you murmured.

"You'll pay me back," she replied with a half smile before disappearing into the crowd.

You turned to go back to the middle of the room and that's when you saw Wally, just passing by, drink in hand.

His eyes found you. He stopped.

"Hey," you said, before him. Had he always had those green eyes? oh god, he has a new freckle.

"Hey," he repeated, his voice steadier than he felt inside.

>Roy: He's in! We've got eye contact!

Jason: He shouldn't be talking nonsense.

Donna: Okay, let's let him breathe.

Dick: Shhh, turn it down. He's nervous.

"Are you having fun?" you asked with a genuine smile.

"Sort of. Not as much food as I expected," Wally replied without thinking. Then he laughed at himself. "Though... I think the night's looking up now."

Roy: There! Good one! Point for the unforced comment.

Jason: I give it half a point.

"Do you want to get some fresh air? We can go... to the garden, if you like," he suggested, as if he didn't want to miss the moment.

"Sure," you replied. "Besides, they made some nice arrangements in the garden, you have to appreciate them..."

idiot, idiot, idiot, what did I just say?

You walked together without saying much at first, through the French doors that led to the garden. The fresh air enveloped them with a faint scent of jasmine and damp earth. Inside, the party continued to echo in the distance.

Wally nervously ran a hand down the back of his neck as you leaned your arms on the stone railing overlooking the lower garden.

"It's a very nice view..." he murmured.

"Yes, it is," you replied softly, without looking at him. "If you think this view is great, you can't imagine what it looks like from my room." I just invited him to my room, shit

Roy:…

Donna: THAT'S IT GIRL, SHOW HIM!

Jason: I refuse to process it.

Dick: Don't go there, Wally, don't go fucking there!

Wally choked slightly on his own breath. “From your room… do you have the best view of Gotham?” he tried pathetically.

You shrugged, amused. “Depends on what you want to see” You leaned a little closer, enjoying the mix of nervousness and tenderness he exuded, "So... do you want to see the city with me from my room sometime?"

Wally swallowed, as if he was about to say something big.

Roy: IT'S NOW, IT'S NOW!!

Donna: Don't think about it anymore, just come closer!

Jason: If they kiss, I'm cutting the channel.

Dick: Shhh, shhh, Wally's going to—

They were a second away from getting close, from finally breaking the tension, finally going to be able to live in peace, damn those beautiful eyelashes…

"tsk, fucking disgusting."

You both turned. Damian. Standing like a shadow in the bushes. Arms crossed. “Stay away from my sister or I’ll bury you alive” face.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, visibly fed up.

Damian raised an eyebrow with absolute calm. "By keeping you from making stupid decisions."

Wally opened his mouth to defend himself, but Damian glared at him before any words came out. "Slowly back away from my sister..."

BONUS SCENE

In a secluded corner of the room, away from the hustle and bustle of string music, some League members share light conversation and moderate drinks. Barry Allen glides among them with his usual restrained energy, stopping next to Bruce, who watches silently from a vantage point.

His gaze is fixed on something beyond the crowd: on the garden, where his daughter and a young redhead in a suit are laughing too close to the edge.

Barry smiles, then follows her gaze. His expression changes slightly. "Oh, I get it."

"he's too close."

Barry was holding back a laugh at Bruce's intense concern for his daughter. "Come on, Bruce. He's nervous, not a danger. He's been avoiding her for years; her breathing by his side is progress."

Bruce finally turns his face toward Barry—Tell your nephew to stay away from my daughter, not to bother her.

"I really don't think it'll bother her. Oh look, she's getting closer."

Bruce discreetly reaches for the communicator hidden in his ear. He taps a channel. He doesn't change his tone of voice.

"Damian, now."

[inkskinned]

so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

[luveline]

HI PRETTY !!! I'm completely enamored with your pregnant bombshell x reid and I wondering if you'd write a little drabble about the 'S' necklace she has?? like did spence give it to her or did she just surprise him by wearing his initial?

“Kiss,” you demand, pulling him by the hand. 

“Too tired.” 

“Gonna pretend you didn’t just say you’re too tired to kiss your perfect girlfriend,” you mumble, not even having raised your head for said kiss. You’re exhausted too, but not too tired for him. “Please? If you want to.” 

“Too tired,” he says again, slouching across the bed to put his head on your pillow. 

Spencer kisses you and sets all your nerves on fire, though it’s not the first time. It’s not the hundredth time. It’s not even a proper kiss, he’s just pressing his lips to yours as his arm wraps around your waist in a fuzzy-feeling hug. 

“Love you,” he says, “sorry if I fall asleep on you.” 

“No, don’t,” you whisper. 

“I can’t stay awake.” 

You caress his cheek. “I have something I want you to look at, first, please.” 

“Weird mole?” 

“I’m never weird. Look, you’ll like it, I think.” 

You’ve been trying to show him since he got home, but he’d ricocheted between dinner and dishes and the shower, and you’d fallen into bed together having nearly forgotten. “What is it?” he asks finally, interest piqued. He kisses you quickly. “You know I like your face.” 

“I’m not showing you my face, baby, it’s this.” 

You pull the necklace hanging from your neck out of your sleep shirt, the little pendant twisting in circles. You press your pinky behind it and hold it at an angle for his viewing pleasure.

“See?” 

“Is that an ‘S’?” he asks. “For me?” 

“Who else, babe?” 

You put it down on your chest. He watches it rise and fall, his hand sliding up your stomach, resting over your diaphragm. “Where’d you get that?” 

“Do you like it?” 

He turns your face to his. “I love you,” he says softly, leaning in, the tip of his nose pressing to the side of yours. “You don’t have to wear that.” 

“I want to wear it, Spencer, that’s why I bought it. Gimme a good kiss. I deserve it.” 

He laughs but manages a good, albeit sluggish kiss. “You really are tired, aren’t you?” you ask, curling around him protectively, his hair silken between your fingers as you scratch his scalp. 

“No, let’s stay up forever,” he says. 

His hand snakes between you. He pinches the ‘S’ between two fingers, even with his eyes closed and his face sinking into the pillow next to you. 

“I’ll get one for you,” he says. 

“That’s okay. I just wanted to feel like you’re with me when you’re not.” 

“M’always with you.” He gets a second wind, if only for a few seconds, kiss kiss kissing the skin below your ear, his voice like warmed honey. “All the time. You can’t get rid of me, I’m like shingles, or chronic hives.” 

“How romantic.” You make sure the blanket is up over his shoulders and give him a last goodnight kiss. “Love you.” 

Spencer will make a much bigger deal of the necklace in the morning when he remembers what you’ve bought and why, but tonight he mumbles nonsense praise into your cheek and falls asleep with his hand on your collar. 

[yumeka-sxf]

After the exciting start of a new Garden arc last time, today's new chapter did not disappoint either! First thing I noticed upon reading is - Yor's new outfit! (though you're not being very discreet with that "Garden" badge 😅)

Also that little lemur guy in the upper left of the panel is like "Wtf?!" I would think that too if a person suddenly leaped onto the tree branch next to me 🤣 (you can see him scurrying away in the next panel underneath...nice little detail from Endo there.)

Before I get into specifics of this chapter, I wanted to analyze the exchange between Yor and Hemlock in the jeep - namely, the Hemlock/Nightfall parallel, with Hemlock accusing Yor of losing her edge due to "playing house" for too long, which is exactly what Nightfall said to Twilight when she first appeared.

This made me think of an interview with Endo that was shared in the recent iterations of the SxF exhibition that's going on in Japan: when asked which character has changed the most in the series so far, he said Yor while also mentioning that Loid has barely changed. And I can see why that's the case with how Yor responded to Hemlock. Her experience during the cruise arc made her understand her own development - that now more than ever she wants to continue her work because she has more people she desires to protect.

She actually recognizes her own change and embraces it, while Loid...still hasn't gotten there yet. If we compare this exchange between Yor and Hemlock with the one between Loid and Nightfall, Loid clearly doesn't have this same self recognition about how living with the Forgers has changed him. He either genuinely doesn't know or he's in denial, which is why Nightfall is the one who points it out, and even when she tells him, he doesn't have a response.

One could argue that this may have been the case in old chapters, but ever since the mole hunt arc, he has recognized himself how he's changed. I do agree that the mole hunt arc made him realize that he's "softening" in a way, but he sees this as a detriment more than anything else. Unlike Yor who sees how her love for the Forgers has made her stronger, Loid sees it as something that will make him weaker rather than fuel his resolve.

We haven't seen much of Loid's deep inner thoughts since the end of the mole hunt arc, so only time will tell if he'll start to see his own development as something to be accepted rather than pushed away (just a note that I don't have a specific link for this part of the interview, but Fasionnessutsu shared screenshots of it in a thread here).

But anyway, back to other thoughts about this chapter, it was no surprise that even though Yor and McMahon changed into these safari-looking outfits, Hemlock is still wearing his suit. Why am I not surprised someone like him would totally refuse to wear that? 😂

And omg, the fact that Yor is still hung up about the "welcome home" kiss 😂 The fact that she's so earnest about it all this time later means...something, lol.

Also McMahon having a wife...it was kind of vague here but I wonder if she knows about his undercover work? Probably not, but would be interesting to see how much of his marital situation mirrors Yor's.

We apparently got another minor character introduced in this chapter - McMahon's pet falcon (and scouting assistant) Keekee.

In the Japanese version he calls her "Kiki-chan," with "kiki" being the sound she makes. It's nothing big, but I just found it amusing that a stoic, no-nonsense guy like McMahon calls his pet bird "-chan" 😅

The flower that Damian and company found has returned! I mentioned in my last chapter post that it may have some connection to Anya's past - we'll see!

This chapter ends on quite the cliffhanger, with Hemlock attacking Yor because, according to him, she's an impediment to his work and he's allowed to get rid of such impediments. We've already seen several examples of how quick to kill he is. Compared to Yor who tries her best to only kill "bad guys," Hemlock's first notion for anything in his way is to kill, whether it's the deer he's supposed to protect, or a fellow assassin he thinks is dragging him down.

Again, there's parallels that can be drawn between him and Nightfall, but unlike Nightfall whose obsession is fueled by idolizing Twilight, Hemlock's obsession seems to be fueled by animosity for Yor. Where that animosity came from is something we'll hopefully see in upcoming chapters. My theory is that, at some point, Hemlock idolized Yor and is now upset that she seems to have "softened," or he's always been jealous of her and now is even more enraged that she's not taking her job seriously anymore. Whatever the case is, I look forward to seeing how it plays out 👀

[artspats]

Greedy

NSFW!

The diner is loud, the chatter and clinking of silverware against plates. The neon sign outside flickers against the windows, casting a glow over Art’s face as he takes a slow sip of his milkshake, eyes locked on you.

“See?” he says, licking a stray drop of vanilla from his thumb. “Told you these were the best in town.”

You laugh, stirring yours with the straw. “I don’t know if they live up to all the hype.”

Art smirks. “You’re saying that so I’ll keep trying to convince you?”

You shake your head, but the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to in this entire place—makes your stomach flip. It’s dangerous, the way he makes you feel. Like this is normal. Like this isn’t something you’ll have to lie about when you go home.

By the time you leave the diner, the air outside is cool, the pavement damp from an earlier drizzle. You follow him to his car, his hand grazing the small of your back as you walk. It’s nothing, barely a touch, but it makes your breath catch.

Then, just as he unlocks the door, you hesitate.

Art notices. “What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. It’s everything. It’s the way his fingers brushed against yours when he paid for your food. It’s the way he leaned in closer than necessary to hear you over the diner noise. It’s the way your heart pounds every time he looks at you like that.

And then—like he can hear every thought in your head—he steps closer.

You don’t know who moves first, only that one second you’re staring at his lips, and the next, you’re kissing him like you won’t get another chance. His back hits the car door, his hands sliding up your waist, pulling you in. The kiss is messy, mindless, teeth and tongues and a little too much need.

His fingers tighten at your hips. “Get in,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough.

You do and your memories start to mix-

“Come on, come on, like that, keep it up,”

“Don’t stop, keep moving,” you ran to not miss the ball, it all sounds to similar now—

“That’s it, keep moving,” now you try to move faster.

“Come on, you’re a champ, give me another one,” sweat dripped down your forehead, a twist of your hand and SMACK!

“One more, mhm, I know, just give me one more,” you sweat now too, you let yourself fall down and—SMACK!

God, you almost knock his breath away with that one.

“Shit, just like that!” the way he smiled and ran to hug you.

“Shit— just like that...” he readjusts your hips.

It’s like... he was talking to you about tennis, was everything about tennis?

His hands are on your waist, and you feel like you’re going to collapse at any moment. Everything feels so tight—his cologne makes you dizzy, and the streetlamp light barely reflects in the rearview mirror.

His hands go to your back, reaching for the clasp of your bra. “Sorry... can I?,”. You almost laugh, he has you riding his dick in the backseat of his car and still asks your permission to take off the only garment that supports your little dignity.

“Yes...” you hold on to his shoulders, he peels off the bra from you. He looks down and immediately gives them a light squeeze, making you release air that you didn’t know you were holding.

“Fuck— you’re pretty...” He looks into your eyes, and you finally feel naked, your insides clenching at his words. It’s as if he can read your thoughts, how much you’ve dreamed of him like this.

You kiss him to get rid of your thoughts. He sighs and keeps moving you. He kisses down your neck, through the middle of your throat, in the middle of your clavicles, tracing the parallel with his tongue before going down to kiss the mole right next to your nipple. Kissing his way to the other to kiss now only your nipple.

His hot sighs on your wet skin make your skin bristle, and you can’t hold back a moan.

He smiles and soon you erase the smile from his silly face, stamping your hips. Being a double-edged sword since you now feel full.

Right there... there it is.

He seems to notice and lifts his hips. “There it is...” he moves you a little, “yeah...” his moans echo on your thoughts. Eyebrows furrowed as he watches himself going in and out of you.

His expression has you in a trance, wanting to see more changes in his handsome face. He tilts his head back while you accelerate the movement with the help of his hands.

You can’t resist and kiss his neck, over and over, until you reach his lips. He moans even more because of the increased speed.

“Art—“ you moan his name, your breath constant on his cupid’s bow.

God he sounds so good.

He squeezes your ass when you do it, kissing you gently while he feels like exploding, which he doesn’t take long to. He cums inside the condom with a groan and before you can protest a last thrust has you gasping for air and holding his shoulders tighter.

“God...” Art groans, his head tilted back against the seat, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. His hands, warm and strong, stay on your hips for just a second longer before they slip away.

The car is thick with heat, the windows fogged, the scent of sweat and him wrapping around you. You shift, legs shaky, reaching for your bra, but Art beats you to it. He holds it up with a smirk, letting the straps dangle from his fingers.

“You’re real proud of yourself, huh?” you say, voice hoarse.

His smirk deepens. “Maybe.” His fingers hooking onto the strap first. “Let me.”

The buzz of your phone cuts through the moment. You check it.

<<Mom: Where are you?>>

Your stomach clenches. You wipe your thumb against your damp skin before typing back, <<Still at school. Be home soon.>>

The lie comes easy now. Too easy.

Art is already pulling his shirt on, checking the time on his dashboard. “I should get you home,” he says, and even though you know he’s right, part of you doesn’t want this night to end.

The drive is quiet except for the sound of the engine, the occasional hum from him as he taps his fingers against the wheel. When he pulls up a block away from your house, he puts the car in park but doesn’t unlock the doors just yet.

You hesitate, not reaching for the handle right away. Art watches you, like he knows what you’re thinking.

Then, with that same cocky ease, he tilts his head, grinning. “Told you the milkshakes were good.”

You scoff. “Yeah. Totally the highlight of the night.”

He chuckles, low and knowing, then leans in. His hand slides up your thigh, stopping just before your knee, and he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s softer than you expect. Less teasing, more something else. Something you’re too scared to name.

When he pulls back, he taps your knee once, like a silent go on, before you change your mind.

You swallow and reach for the handle. The cold air bites at your skin the second you step out. As you walk up the street to your house, you can still feel his lips on yours, his touch seared into your skin.

You don’t look back. Because if you do you might kiss him again.

-

Part 1: Baseline

Part 2: Smartie

Part 3: Needy

Part 5: Heady

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Nineteen

TW - I cannot stress this enough; Eddie's junk is not of this world

“You want hot chocolate?”

“Hot cho-co-late,” Eddie repeats carefully.

“I’m having one,” and since it’s Christmas, Steve gets out a small pot to make it properly on the stove top.

Steve’s stirring the slowly heating milk when he hears back back door open, and turns to see Eddie looking out, “Stee. Snowing.”

“Is it?” Steve comes out to look, “oh yeah. That’s nice right?”

“Pretty,” Eddie says, sticking his hand out and letting one of the big fat flakes settle on his fingers. Steve has a vivid memory of the last time they were in this doorway, watching the snow together, and just how different things are right now hits him all over again. Eddie sniffs the snowflake before shoving it in his mouth, “cold water.”

“You got it baby, come on, lets have hot chocolates and watch the snow.”

When Steve tells Eddie he can’t wear his hat to bed, Eddie pouts, but he does arrange it carefully on the desk, next to Steve’s flower crown. Steve has to blink back more stupid tears at the sight, and forces himself to take a deep breath and get into bed.

“Eybrows,” Eddie says, tracing them carefully with the point of his claw, “nose,” and then he veers off a little bit, “one mole. Two mole. Three mole.” Steve shivers where Eddie’s claw drags over his throat and then back up, shifting a little in bed, “mouth.”

“What are you doing baby?”

“Gro-seree list. All the things Eddidie likes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters to himself, “how the hell are you so smooth?” He can feel himself blushing a little, which is just ridiculous.

“Not like,” Eddie rubs a knuckle through Steve’s scraggly stubble. He really does need to shave that off; he’s not drowning in a pit of despair any more, there’s no real excuse for the sad facial hair.

“No?”

Eddie shakes his head, rubbing fingertips across the smooth apple of Steve’s cheek, “good,” and then into the stubble, “bad.”

“This is smooth,” Steve tells Eddie, running his fingertips along Eddie’s arm, “this is rough,” he rubs at the stubble on Eddie’s head to demonstrate.

“Rough bad.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll get rid of it in the morning, okay?”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Breakfast morning lunch afternoon dinner night bed.”

Steve has to cogitate on that for a second, “yeah, yeah that’s right. Morning is after breakfast and before lunch. Afternoon is after lunch but before dinner.”

Eddie hums, settling down next to Steve in bed, his head resting on Steve’s shoulder, “before Hawkins Indiana, Eddidie in The Upside down.”

“That’s right baby, you got it.”

“After Monday Tuesday.”

“Yup, that’s right,” Steve yawns, “you have a good Christmas?”

“Many good. Christmas Tomorrow?”

Steve chuckles, “Christmas isn’t for a whole year. You remember what a year is?”

“January February March April...”

When Steve wakes up, it’s to the sight of Eddie’s feet right in the air. He’s lying on his back next to Steve, legs held straight up. He’s curling his toes. Sometimes all of them, sometimes just the big ones. His sleep pants have fallen down past his knees, and Steve lies there a while, just watching.

Eddie’s speaking, and Steve thinks it may have woken him despite Eddie’s obvious attempts to be very very quiet; he’s currently counting to ten. And then he says the days of the week, the months, the alphabet. He spells his name. He waves his feet around a little, and then bends his knobbly knees in turn, making circles like he’s riding an imaginary bicycle. He’s singing something to himself. ABBA, Steve finally makes out, it’s a bit mangled, ‘soopa troopa,’ the way Eddie sings it. Just the one line, over and over, ‘light’s are gonna’ blind me, shining like the sun,’ Eddie must have picked it up off the TV or the radio.

Steve must shift, or make a sound, and he gives himself away eventually, Eddie realizing he’s awake, “Stee. Morning. Breakfast food?”

“Morning baby.”

“Stee?”

“Yeah?”

“Eddidie baby, then Stee..?”

“Oh. You want a- hmmm.” Steve thinks, “how about sweetheart?”

Eddie looks terribly affronted, “Stee not food.”

Steve lifts his own leg out from under the covers, wriggling three toes at Eddie, “kind of am.”

Eddie actually makes a noise, so shocked a little puff of air escapes him as he splutters, “no!”

Steve can’t help his laughter, “too soon?”

“All tomorrows too soon!”

“Okay, okay. I won’t joke about it.” Steve thinks again, but most things he comes up with are kind of food adjacent. Joyce has kind of cornered the market on ‘honey.’ “How about love?”

“I love you.”

“I know baby, I love you too. But that’s what you could call me. Love.”

“Stee love.”

They brush their teeth together, elbow to elbow, “we really should shower.” They haven’t washed up since Christmas eve, when Steve dragged Eddie out of the pool. Steve inspects the tub; it’s streaked with disgusting gritty filth on the bottom, and the dirty blanket and clothes are still shoved into the corner of the bathroom where Steve left them.

They might be salvageable on a long enough wash, but Steve wants to get a trash bag rather than put them in his basket, they are really gross. He also hasn’t really done any meaningful amount of cleaning or tidying since the night Eddie bit his toes off...which between the injury and the moping, he felt he had a valid excuse to ignore the state of the house.

Not really now though, “I tell you what, lets have breakfast, and then do a little cleaning and some laundry, and then we shower, sound good?”

“Breakfast good.”

“Okay, I’ll just deal with this a minute,” and Eddie sits on the lid of the toilet, watching avidly as Steve shaves.

“Okay, so this goes in here,” Steve loads the washer, leaving the trash sack of really gross stuff for a separate wash later, “and then we measure the detergent like this.”

“Eddidie can?”

“Sure baby,” Steve tips the power back into the box, giving the scoop to Eddie so he can do it. Eddie carefully pours where Steve points. “Now, this is clothes, so we press this,” he points to the dial, and then the button, “so that gets rid of the dirt, and our clothes will be nice and clean.”

Eddie does it, and then grins big when the machine starts up, “done.”

“Good job, okay, so we give it a while, then we come back and set it drying, okay?”

“Okay.” Eddie waves at the machine, “bye bye dirt.”

“Help?”

“That’s real nice baby yeah, like this,” and Steve demonstrates as he moves along the book cases, around the TV, carefully dusting his mothers ornaments and picture frames, “you got it?”

“Got it.”

Steve leaves him to it, and goes and cleans the kitchen. Jon and Hopper did a great job yesterday, and Steve’s really grateful considering the amount of people who ate here, but there’s still an amount of post Christmas carnage to clear up. He takes the trash bag out since it’s filled with wrapping paper, then comes back and starts emptying the drying rack, getting the kitchen clean.

When he goes back into the lounge, Eddie’s done dusting, and he’s carefully arranging all his new things; he puts his new VHS next to the TV, ready for later.

“You want to vacuum?” Steve asks him.

“Vacuum?”

Steve retrieves it from the utility, plugging it in for Eddie and showing him how it works. “Dry?” Eddie shouts over the noise.

“No,” Steve calls back, immediately understanding the link between the hoover and the hairdryer, “clean!”

Eddie takes the hoover, and once Steve shows him how to move the plug from socket to socket, he does the whole downstairs of the house. After, they sit on the couch for a bit, Eddie’s new legs a little shaky with exertion, “you want to try a coffee?”

“Try a coffee. Want. Please.”

“Okay,” Steve makes them both a mug of coffee, making Eddie’s a little sweeter and milkier then his own, and Eddie drinks the whole thing happily. Steve figures if a beer doesn’t hurt, then a little coffee won’t either.

It turns out twenty minutes later that a bit of coffee can have side effects; they find themselves dealing with Eddie’s first poop.

“Cross the bridge,” Eddie had declared hilariously, after producing what was possibly the most heinous fart Steve had ever heard. Steve scrubs the tub while Eddie sits on the toilet, staying present but trying to give Eddie the illusion of privacy.

“Pee more bad then poop,” Eddie tells him.

“Well, at least this one doesn’t hurt, huh baby?”

“Not hurt. No ow.”

“Pee doesn’t hurt now though, does it? Just that first one?” Steve checks.

“No. No ow pee. Called first?”

“Good. That’s good.” Steve gets the shower head down to rinse away the last of the cleaning product, leaving a shiny white tub behind, “uhm...first is. One. That comes first. Monday comes first, January.”

Eddie hums, frowning like he does when he hasn’t quite grasped it yet. To be fair, Steve knows he can’t always give the best explanation for these things. “Not ow,” Eddie tells him, back onto safer ground.

“So if its not ow, we say it doesn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Eddie parrots back, “no ow. It doesn’t hurt. Okay.”

“That’s right baby.”

Eddie awkwardly wipes and then flushes while Steve gets the water hot for his shower, he waves at the toilet, and says, “bye bye poop,” Steve covering his face with his hand to try and muffle his snort of laughter. Eddie strips off, putting all his things in the hamper, “Stee love in tub?”

“You go first.”

Eddie frowns, “no, together.”

“I…” and Steve can’t, actually, think of a real reason why not, so he gets undressed too.

Steve shampoos and then conditions his hair while Eddie stands under the water, doing little swaps back and forth when Steve needs to rinse. Eddie’s doing a half hearted job, he keeps getting distracted by the feel of the splashing water, watching fascinated as it drips from his fingers, so Steve eventually intervenes. Steve carefully scrubbing Eddie down with the wash cloth; he’s so thin, Steve can almost make out his thigh-bones. His knees, ankles and elbows protrude and Steve could fit his fingers between Eddie’s ribs.

“You hungry? I think there’s left over cobbler in the fridge.”

Eddie nods, “cobbler. Sorry canned filling. Idge cold. Make hot?”

“Yeah I can warm it up for you.”

Once Steve’s done, Eddie limpets himself to Steve. The stubble on his head is starting to turn dark, like Eddie has a five o’clock shadow on his head, and it’s rough on Steve’s shoulder, prickling him. Steve doesn’t mind though. Steve rubs his back, following the knobs of his spine.

“We should get out,” Steve says absently.

“Maybe,” Eddie replies, making Steve snort a laugh, kissing the top of Eddie’s prickly head.

Eddie responds by leaning up to kiss Steve properly, slow and soft, “first?” He asks after.

“First what baby?”

“First kiss today?”

Steve thinks about it, “yeah. Yeap you’re right. First kiss of the day, right there.”

Eddie grins, “first kiss of the day tomorrow?”

“We can do that.”

Eddie suddenly lights up, “license first! Eddidie car after!”

“That’s it baby, exactly right,” Steve tells him, Eddie clearly finally grasping the concept.

“Called before sleep kiss?”

“That would be last. Last kiss of the day.”

“December last? Sunday?”

“Yeah, yeah baby, you got it.”

Eddie nods like there was never any doubt, leaning in to kiss Steve again. Still slow and sweet, a soft touch of lips, Eddie’s arms wrapped around Steve’s middle, holding them close. It takes a minute to register the movement, something pressing against the crease of Steve’s thigh. He leans back a little to look down.

The top of Eddie’s slit has parted; the opening wide enough to permit the...Steve doesn’t even know. It’s worming against Steve’s skin, the flesh the same color as Eddie at the base, but darkening to near black at the rounded head.

It moves freely, probably roughly the same thickness as Steve’s own cock when he’s hard. Steve watches as it moves...like it’s looking for something. It moves like a snake. Like an octopus tentacle. Nudging and casting about across the skin of Steve’s hip; when it wriggles back the other way, finding Steve’s pubic hair, it nuzzles in against it.

“Eddie,” Steve swallows thickly, stunned into a frozen state of fascination, he's pretty sure he hasn't blinked in a minute, his heart thudding loud in his ears, “what-I mean. What is that?”

“Eddidie?” Eddie says, gently reaching between them to touch Steve’s own soft cock.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve breathes.

Eddie’s hand slides across, touching...himself? Steve guesses?...with his fingers. The...thing seems to wake up again, tangling itself with Eddie’s fingers easily. It’s very...twisty. And bendy. The thing looks like it has a, a kind of grip on Eddie’s fingers, almost.

And then the end starts to open, six petals that slowly start to peel apart, and Steve panics, jerking away, pushing Eddie’s hips away with both hands and holding him there at arms length.

Eddie’s...dick? Seems to startle, zipping back inside him like it was never there. “Holy shit. Holy shit,” Steve breathes, drawing in only slightly panicked breaths. He can feel his heart banging away in his chest, “pants.” He croaks out, desperately, “we should both put on pants.”

Part Twenty One

[moon-ayyye]

Not that I have any experience or idea, but crime lord work seems to take up a fuck tonne of time. So Jason, fresh off the boat and setting up his gang, wouldn't have time to do shit. Doesn't reveal himself to the bats purely because any time he even steps away, his operations fall apart in some looney tunes ass way. It's a curse (and a blessing. You know what the fuck I'm about with the bats and Jason)

Setting up supply lines and cutting off drugs from competitors? Shit takes so long that Chemo drops before Jason makes a move against the bats. He doesn't really feel sad that Dick is dead, and so he decides to focus up on his operation instead and he'll handle the joker once he gets there. That's future Jason's bullshit to sort out

Titans Tower? Please. Kate was on maternity leave and nobody in this bitch knows how to handle computers like she did. His hair grew even whiter trying to wrangle that whole clown fest. The little bastard will be fucked up by someone else eventually, why deal with that child when there are plenty of other children (middle aged men and women) he needs to deal with?

Brothers in Blood? Mark's reports say he has a mole he needs to get rid of, and some of the kids down the block are trying to spy on Black Mask, so he needs to shut that shit down real quick. He's not expanding to New York. Who cares what they think of Dick? He's got better things to do than reach out

Date night? Rose doesn't have time for that. Some asshole kept comparing her to Deathstroke, and Jason kneecapped him. She's skipping straight to dessert.

Rose joining would increase efficiency because nobody wants to deal with a pent up and frustrated Ravager or Red Hood. They were too busy to have sex for a week and ended up destroying 3 city blocks trying to take down Black mask. They stole his desk, obviously.

He stops wearing his helmet because if he has to deal with this shit, he needs his henchmen to see the disappointment on his face. It actually reduces issues by 20%. Being in your 40's and having a 19 year old look at you like you're a particularly stupid child was a surprisingly good deterrant to fucking up. Who could've guessed?

[writing-mlm]

Hi, may I request a Tim Drake x male!reader story ? The reader is androgynous, has a rock/punk style, is a Japanese exorcist who dislikes heroes, and has an impulsive, shameless, and slightly paranoid personality. A fluff piece, please. Sorry for asking a lot, take care of yourself !

Stay for dinner-breakfast

Summary: Tim’s in a situationship with someone who hates heroes, this is just great. Pairing: Tim Drake x Male!Reader Wc: 3.8k tags/warnings: Japanese reader, way too many Blue Exorcist references, small demon fight

When most people familiar enough with demons or even the Justice League mention needing an exorcist, minds immediately go to the infamous John Constantine. The guy who managed to trick God and Satan, making himself nearly immortal. The guy who, admittedly, could probably control most demons with the flick of his cigarette.

Tim’s mind, however, wanders to a guy he met during his time abroad. When he had to do some Red Robin stuff that took him to Japan. He reminisces about it as if it was decades ago, in reality, it was two years ago. Hardly even two years, if he’s being honest. But he rarely is. 

While Bruce and Dick argue about whether or not they should call up John (the last time they did, Constantine ended up summoning more demons to deal with the initial demons and then blew up a building to get rid of the extra demons) (it cost Wayne Enterprises too much to justify asking that man for help again) Tim fishes out his phone. It doesn’t take him long to find the contact; it’s been what… a week since you’ve last spoken. He’s texted exactly three people within that week; Kon, Bart, and Jason. Jason because he wanted to know if he could join a drug bust he knew Jason had coming up. 

The answer was no. 

The phone rings as he spins in the chair, waiting until he hears that it’s connecting. Seriously, it’s already been three whole rings, what’s the hold-up?

“Whaddya want, hero boy?” You ask without looking down at the phone. Probably because you’re jumping from the ledge of a roof to a lamppost and then to the top of a vending machine. 

“You busy?” He asks, looking at the mole underneath your jaw. He hadn’t known that. Your head tilts from side to side as you make a noise. 

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” Glancing down at the phone, you wink and then pocket the phone. 

“There’s a demon in Gotham, could use the help.” He says, barely able to see as you’re fighting a demon. His eyes glance up at the contact name Okumura, unassuming to most because it is someone’s last name but to Tim, it’s so much more. 

He thought it was absolutely hilarious that you were an exorcist from Japan, raised by a priest, with a twin brother, and had the same hobbies as the anime where the main character is an exorcist from Japan, raised by a priest, with a twin brother. You didn’t think it was nearly as funny. The first time he mentioned it you kicked him from a rooftop— it was three stories, he was fine. 

“Like now?” You ask, picking your sword— just like the anime character, he’d gladly remind you— and cutting the demon in half with a mumbled but strong prayer. 

“Yes,” He nods, looking at the live feed of a demon messing up the finance district of Gotham. 

“Fine,” You grumble. “You’re lucky I finished my work for the day. See you in a minute.” 

“Kay, bye!” He hangs up and removes an earbud, calling for Bruce and Dick who haven’t stopped arguing. He wonders how they’d get anything done without him. They stop and look towards him as he waves his phone. “I have someone coming in for the demons.” He announces and Dick just hopes it’s not one of his friends from his YJ time. He cannot deal with those kids after finding out they watched Santa Claus get killed by a sentient meteor and then spent the next five months delivering gifts. 

“It isn’t Constantine, right?” Bruce asks, arms crossed and a disapproving glare ready to be plastered on his face. 

“That white man has nothing on me,” You chuckle, entering the Batcave through the door, spinning a set of skeleton keys on your index finger before putting them back into your pocket. Pointedly, Tim looks off to the wall with a see, anime guy look before turning back to the task at hand. 

“Who…?” Dick slowly asks while Bruce is having second thoughts about letting Tim back into the cave ever again.

“That’s Okumura,” He responds, standing up from the chair to greet you.

You’re wearing a pair of jorts— but the good kind, not the weird-looking ones— with hand-bleach-painted crosses on the leg, chunky beige leg warmers over a pair of shiny black loafers and an extremely large sweater that falls off your shoulder as you run down the stairs overtop a black turtleneck. 

There’s a pair of red shades on the top of your head, they curve at the top in a way that makes it look as though you have horns. Tim decides to not comment on the obvious joke he could make. But you can tell he wants to make it because of the glint in his eyes.

“Hello!” You nod without looking at them, too focused on not tripping over the steps, and give the group a small two-finger wave. “Tim calls me Okumura, it is not my name, though.” The hand that was doing the wave meets his hand and you do a funky little handshake before you look over at them for the first time. You frown, looking at their suits. It’s not even a frown, it’s damn near a scowl. You look at Tim who just shrugs; he would’ve thought you knew he was with his hero family.

“I’ll head out the demon; tell them not to follow me,” You tell Tim and he nods, sending you the location of the fight. While he does that, you look around for a different exit when you see his motorcycle parked, ready to go. “I’m stealing your motorbike again!” You call as you’re rushing over to it. 

“Kay!” He replies, head still buried in his phone. The motorcycle reeves to life as you jump on it; Bruce nearly stops you but the door to the cave is opening and you’re off faster than he can move. Slowly, he turns towards Tim with his arms crossed and a lecture waiting to happen.

“You better have a good explanation for that,” Bruce says once the door closes again. 

“That’s my exorcist friend,” He explains with a shrug. 

“You have friends outside of Kon?” Jason asks, a teasing tone to his voice but Tim can tell it genuinely surprised Dick. He doesn’t know if he should be hurt by that. 

“Yeah,” He shrugs. 

“And he’s an exorcist?” Bruce asks, looking at where the motorcycle once sat. He really hopes you don’t break it.

“Yup.”

“How did he get here so fast?” Dick asks, a little worried Tim was hiding a person in the manor.

“Funny story,” Tim smiles, looking up at them before looking down again, leaving them hanging. Jason grumbles, air strangling him while Bruce just sighs and looks back to the live feed. Thankfully you’d already arrived at the scene and to Tim and your credit, you’re dealing with the demons fairly easily. It’s surprising that your face is hidden from the public’s view, he hadn’t seen a mask but he also hadn’t seen the giant sword so. Probably some magic he won’t care about but probably should learn.

“Let’s go, fifteen Joker goons spotted around the site.” In a fluid motion, Tim puts his mask on and follows Bruce into the Batmobile. 

When Tim gets out of the car, he immediately finds you. You’re on top of a demon, riding it in the air while laughing and stabbing a nearby demon. He stops for a moment, wondering how you managed to wrangle a demon enough to sit on its back as if it were a horse. He then sees the knife in its head and he understands. He’s nearly jealous of the sight. 

Tim finally joins the others in the fight, narrowly avoiding the demons spawning from someplace he hasn’t found out yet. But you have, because you kill the flying horse demon and land softly behind Tim, cutting a demon away before it can sneak up on him. He shouts a thank you, pushing two goons back with his staff.

“I said no heroes!” You shout as you’re running past, heading towards a glowing manhole. How he hadn’t noticed it before; he won’t ever know. 

“Did he say no heroes?” Dick grunts, pushing back two goons that tried to jump him. 

“Yeah, he got issues with them.” Tim laughed before he was punched in the stomach by the goon he’d been fighting. He grumbles, holding the spot for a second before he knocks the goon out. “How many more are left?” He asks.

“Four,” Bruce says as he knocks out one of them. “Three.”

He goes to reply when there’s a loud explosion from the manhole and he looks over. Blue smoke rises out from the holes and he abandons trying to help the others fight the remaining goons in favor of finding you in the chaos. He doesn’t know what the smoke is but he assumes it’s some type of Joker Gas and he knows you’re not used to that. 

Putting a respirator on his face, he moves the manhole cover and jumps down. He squints into the blue fog, listening for noises but there’s a lot. There are hundreds of insect demons scurrying around him, hissing from the pipes, and he stops to really listen. He hears a string of coughs and follows it, the smoke getting thicker but he sees the faint outline of you lying on your back. 

“You don’ need a mask,” You huff, waving your hand in an attempt to move the smoke. “It is not poison.” 

“What is it?” He asks, removing the respirator as the smoke starts to clear, escaping up to the manhole. Your figure gets clearer, he can see your shirt and your hands resting on your stomach. 

“Spell,” You respond. “A… boobtrap for the talisman.”

“Boobytrap.” He corrects, putting the small device back into his pocket.

“That is what I said.” You blink, sitting up. He doesn’t fight you on that and helps you to your feet before he stops, hand still in yours. Now that you’re up close, he can really see you and when his eyes trail down, he inhales sharply and looks away.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” He says, covering his mouth with his free hand. 

“What? Did I get ugly? Do I look like you?” You ask, genuinely concerned as you pat your face but calm down when you feel your features. 

“Worse,” He grins and reaches around to grab your newly formed tail. “You really are Okumura now!” You shout, tugging at the tail only to wince because it’s connected to you. It only makes him laugh harder and you shout again, shaking him.

“This is not funny!” You tell him and then pause. “Thhhis,” You repeat and then cover your mouth. His eyebrows raise and, to his credit, he stops laughing. At least until you remove your hand and open your mouth, showing off the newly formed sharp canines. He barks a laugh and then pushes your hair away from your ear and you watch in horror as he spins on his heel to hide his expression. 

“You two okay down there?” Dick shouts from the top of the manhole.

“Fine!” Tim replies through his laugh. 

“That was one voice!”

“Fine!” You reply, even though you’re freaking out as your fingers trace over the suddenly sharp ears on your head. 

“I'm cursed!” You cry, dropping your head onto Tim’s shoulder, your ear nearly poking him in the eye. “This is your fault.” Pushing him away, you pick up your sword from the floor and resheath it with ease. “Never trust a hero,” You grunt, rushing over to the manhole.

“My fault?” He echos, following you out of the manhole. 

“You called me into your freaky city!” Climbing to the top of the manhole, you sit and kick his face. Not too hard, though. He shouts, holding his nose with one hand and the railing with the other. Standing up, you redo your hair over your ears and try to stuff the tail into your pants but it swings wildly and then wraps around something that’s behind you. 

When you look at what it was holding, you find it’s wrapped around Tim’s hand, helping him out of the manhole. 

“I think it likes you,” You grin despite yourself. 

“So, you like the tail?” He asks, checking his nose through the reflective metal of his staff. Thankfully his nose wasn’t broken, but it was throbbing in pain. Red on the end and he’s rubbing it with his free hand. You shrug, crossing your arms. 

“If it holds you like that,” Winking, he rolls his eyes under the mask and looks over at his family. Your eyes follow and you check your phone; there are no texts from anyone but you pretend that there are. 

“Wow, glad we settled that then.” He hums, smiling at you. 

“Mhmm, well, bye!” 

“Wait—“ He grabs the tail as you’re walking away and you grunt, eyes wide as you turn to look at him. Your eyes dart to and from the tail, watching as his fingers absentmindedly play with the soft furs on the end. “Stay for dinner, you did say I owed you.” When you first met, you’d gotten a glorious dinner and he ran into you, spilling it right into a sewer drain. You still think about that day and get upset. 

“Is it…” You cringe as you can’t find the right word. “American food?” He chuckles, remembering the countless videos you’ve sent him with angry and crying emojis. Hotdogs in jello, white bread soaked in water, mashed potatoes made out of potato chips, and boiled plain, unseasoned chicken with unwashed white rice.

“It’s not the American food you sent me.” He promises. “It’s good, I like it.” Your face scrunches as that’s not much to go off of; the man drinks Monster Energy’s like it's water. You’re sure it’s melted off his taste buds at this point.

“But you also like the vending machine cakes.” 

“It was good.” He defends. “But this is really good, trust me?”

“I wasn’t invited by B,” You glance over at the scowling Batman and glare back. Tim grabs your face, turning you to look back at him. You smile at him in a way that makes his stomach flutter and he clears his throat, dropping his hand. 

“Ugh! B, can he stay for dinner?” He asks, pressing his finger against his earpiece. 

“No.”

“He said yes,” He smiles and you struggle to still say no to him.

“I have to speak to the council about this—“ You gesture to your newly formed tail and ears. “Raincheck.”

Tim sighs but relents. 

“We’ll make your favorite next time; as a thank you.” He promises and you nod, waving before jogging up to a random door. The team watches as you pull out the keys and open the door, showing the headquarters of the council you work for. You wave again, your tail waving along before the door closes. 

“Better than Constantine,” Jason says as he looks at the ash on the ground. 

—

“That skirt does not go with that shirt,” Damian stops at Tim’s door, blinking at the oak door as Tim laughs. “I regret buying you VIP and custom makeup,” Now, Damian’s no idiot. He has friends and Jon, much to his chagrin, has gotten him into Roblox. So he knows very well that Tim is talking about Dress to Impress. 

“What? It looks cute!” Another voice defends, a voice that isn’t one he’s familiar with. He’d assumed Tim was talking to Kon, maybe Bart, or even himself. “You’re the one wearing a neon green fur hat when the theme is Victorian!” Carefully, he grabs onto the brass doorknob, pressing his other hand to the door and slowly turns it. 

“It’s camp,” Tim replies. He’s sitting on his bed with his legs crossed and laptop perched between them. Regrettably, he’s in an old band t-shirt and sweats; not company attire Damian would later remark. Across from him, sitting with their back to the door, Damian stares at the dangling sword earrings and then the tattered Eastern Youth shirt overtop a pair of leather pants. But his focus is on the tail swishing back and forth. 

“It’s ugly, just like your face,” You remark. Tim smiles, still looking down at his laptop, and moves his leg to kick you. You grab his ankle before he can and extend his leg, tossing your own over it. He shifts so both his legs are out and you naturally sit with your legs intertwined. 

Damian turns his nose up and leaves the room, the door softly locking behind him. 

“Pretty sure you weren’t saying that earlier,” Tim chides after the door had closed, watching as Damian’s footsteps leave from his door. 

“I did,” You hum, showing how you’d gotten first place and he’d gotten dead last. He rolls his eyes, leaves the game, and turns off your iPad. Next time he’ll just rig the game, clearly, the lobby didn’t understand his vision. 

“You should stay for dinner,” Your face contorts at the idea and you scoot closer to him until your ankles reach his back and his knees are at your ribs. “They’re not bad, not right now, at least.” He adds, messing with your studded belt. 

“I don’t like heroes, Tim,” You remind him. He frowns, eyes meeting your own. “And Bruce definitely will not welcome me after the curse,” Right, the whole demon curse. His eyes move to your tail that’s now wrapping around his left leg, the soft hairs brushing against his calf. While you’re not wrong, Bruce would have a heart attack if Tim was caught letting a demon (it's temporary, the council assured you) inside his house. 

“Fuck what Bruce has to say; I have my place! I run the company now, too,” He shrugs. 

“So why are we at the manor?” You tilt your head and he shrugs again. 

“Alfred offered to make my favorite for dinner because I haven’t visited since the whole demon thing.” You tut, leaning forward so your head rests on his chest. He looks at your awkwardly folded pose and pushes your legs. Getting the hint, you lift yourself and fold your legs underneath you. He lays his head on top of yours, using his phone behind your back. 

The two of you sit in silence until your legs go numb and you turn around, now watching as he scrolls through his socials. He shifts so one arm holds you close and locks his legs over yours while you hold his hand. 

Now, despite how it may look, you and Tim were not in a relationship. Nearly, you’ll both admit that much. But nothing that ever surpassed longing glances and touching that lasted far too long for the two of you to simply be friends. 

And that was for one simple reason.

Tim was a hero. 

You don’t hate heroes, simply a strong dislike towards them. For a multitude of reasons, enough for a twenty-page paper. Tim would know, he had you make one when you first rejected him. You don’t really trust them, all of them except for Tim. And maybe his strange friend Kon, but that’s about it. All of the rest can leave you the hell alone. 

Your phone buzzes and you spare it a glance; a call from your superior. 

“I gotta go,” You tell him but make no move to leave. He just hums, still scrolling on his phone. “There’s probably an attack and I’m needed.”

“That’s crazy,” He mutters, showing you a video of a cat lying down in an empty fishbowl. 

“And Alfred will probably come up soon,” The time is around when dinner is usually ready.

“Probably,” He agrees. Your phone starts ringing again and you stare at it. 

“I really should be going,” 

“You really shouldn’t.” He drops his phone to hold you with both arms.

“I’ll get in trouble,” You look up at him and he just blinks. “They’ll take my keys away.” He relents and lets you stand but you don’t move. He raises an eyebrow and you smile before flicking him with your tail and getting up. 

He spluttered at the hairs, wiping his mouth as you shoved your feet into your boots. 

“See you,” You wave before opening his bedroom door to your boss's room. He sees the woman sitting on the edge of her desk, dangling her phone. She sees him and you quickly shut the door. 

Flopping onto his back, Tim runs his hands down his face and stares at the ceiling. He rolls over and looks down at your iPad, deciding he’ll just keep it until you notice it’s gone.

—

“Still have an issue with me being a hero?” Tim asks as you’re cooking in his apartment. You’re making breakfast for dinner, considering he’d come back at three in the morning and you’d skipped breakfast in favor of dealing with some demons terrorizing school.

“Yes, Tim.” You reply, setting a third pancake onto the plate. He leans against your back, staring at the side of your face while making sure to be careful of your sharp ear. Your tail pulls him closer and he snickers. “The tail has nothing to do with me,” You grumble, side-glancing at him. 

“Even if I say pretty please?” He bats his long eyelashes, making sure that they tickle your face. 

“You’re making a very convincing argument,” You laugh, pushing his face away. With a small snicker, he pulls his face and adjusts his grip on you. Tim sighs into your shoulder and then steals a piece of bacon, narrowly avoiding the slap from the spatula.

“Can I just be the one hero you like?” He hops onto the counter, watching as you continue to cook. 

“You already are,” You watch from the corner of your eye as he flicks his hair out of his face, studying you. He watches you for another minute or two, offering up forks when it’s time to plate the food. He’s clearly thinking as he pours the cups of juice, smiling while he jumps back on the counter before he eventually speaks up. 

“Can I take you on a date, then?” He asks, eyes flickering from the last pancake to your face. Pausing mid-flip, you shrug. Taking a moment to think about it, Tim watches as your tail slowly moves side to side before it settles on the back of the couch.

“It would be faster if you just kissed me, if I’m being honest.” You chuckle and his eyebrows raise. 

“You’re telling me all of this could’ve been avoided with… a kiss?” He slowly asks and you nod, turning the fire off and then moving to be in front of him. He reaches for you, his fingers curling under your jaw as you stare up at him. Opening his legs, you sit between them and mess with the hair around his face. 

“I just wanted to see some initiative,” You hum and he rolls his eyes before crashing his lips into yours.

[film-in-my-soul]

taxonomy | 532 | historymiss

Summary: Jayce can’t look at him. God, how to explain? That Viktor consumed him the way Hextech did? That he wanted nothing more than to make a complete taxonomy of his partner, from the red rings his goggles left around his eyes to the mole that peeked out of his collar even now? That he was, and always had been, a complete and utter fucking fool?

The Secret Equation of Chocolates | 1,379 | CaptainHollow / @captainhollowstories

Summary: Someone left a box of chocolates on Viktor’s desk. He attempts to figure out why.

and they were roommates | 1,392 | historymiss

Summary: Jayce’s eyes dart across his face, and Viktor wonders what he sees. The narrow lines drawn by a childhood of illness and malnutrition? The shadows he can’t seem to get rid of, no matter how many years he spends in Piltover? Or the mind behind it all that calls out so desperately for another?

Lost in my Head | 4,694 | ironcy / @ironcy

Summary: "Jesus, Vik," Jayce said. There was a slightly sharp edge to his voice that was entirely unfamiliar. "Because I was - fuck, because I'm embarrassed." Viktor notices a pattern: the days grow short and Jayce stops smiling.

(see more recommendations below!)

A Lifetime Giving You My Heart | 1,815 | Frawg_Spawn

Summary: “Please, go to bed,” Viktor implores. “I’ll be along shortly.” Jayce only concedes to leave after he’s received not one, not two, but three reassuring kisses.

An Un-Scientific Breakthrough | 2,270 | OrangeChickenPillow / @orangechickenpillow

Summary: Without thinking, Jayce brought his other hand up, placing one on either side of Viktor’s neck. The smaller man didn’t seem to notice, so there was nothing to stop Jayce when he began to squeeze lightly. Running his thumbs along the back of Viktor’s shoulders, he sought out the collections of tense muscles. When he found a particularly bad spot, he dug his thumb into it, rubbing circles against the knot. “Ow, Jayce,” Viktor jumped, craning his head around to shoot the man an annoyed look. “What are you doing?” “Trying to get these knots out,” Jayce shot back plainly. “Well… stop it,” Viktor chuckled nervously, but there was hardly any punch to his tone. Jayce didn’t stop. He knew that he couldn’t have even if he wanted to.

Catch the Fire | 2,822 | Avelera / @avelera

Summary: An extended version of Viktor's awakening scene in Arcane 2.02 "Watch It All Burn" Viktor knows that Jayce's arms around him are the only thing keeping the voice of the Hexcore at bay. He knows he has only a few moments before it takes him away from Jayce forever. He will have to make these moments count.

Vitya | 3,138 | AppleSharon / @applesharonfiction

Summary: “Do you have many friends down here?” Jayce presses the issue, realizing how little he knows about Viktor. He wants to know as much about Viktor as possible. Viktor shrugs and wraps his free arm around his waistcoat, bringing his cane closer to his body as he walks. “Not really.” Early into their partnership, Jayce wants to learn as much as he can about Viktor. Viktor makes it difficult until he doesn't.

Oh No, Mistletoe | 3,544 | zillac / @zillac

Summary: Viktor doesn’t know anything about mistletoe. If Jayce had known that before kissing Viktor, perhaps they might have avoided some misunderstandings.

Academy Tattoo and Piercing | 5,622 | bluejorts / @wolverineheight

Summary: Jayce takes a deep, steadying breath. He can do this. He's been looking for an apprenticeship for MONTHS.

Heaven | 1,792 | LiterallyThePresident

Summary: Heaven was the instant boner that sprung up when an irate Viktor whacked him with his cane, cluing Viktor in on the fact that his partner had a certain taste for pain. Heaven was the spark of intrigue in his eyes when he asked Jayce to teach him how to indulge those tastes.

one simple trick | 2,644 | weatheredlaw / @weatheredlaw

Summary: "Are you scared of fireworks?” Viktor asks, loading the last of the plates in the dishwasher as Jayce looks out the window for the tenth time and says, Maybe we could watch a movie?

Captivated (but I’m so confused) | 3,285 | InAllPossibilities

Summary: “Gods, I love you.” “Fuck, I love you, you brilliant bastard.” “Bye, I love you!” In the early days of hexgate technology development, Jayce starts saying those three little words. Viktor can’t solve the equation of what it all means.

Occam's Razor | 3,718 | RedNightingale

Summary: “Let’s go clubbing tonight. Find a guy you like, see how it flows, and then you can decide what to do with that coworker of yours.” Completely unforeseeable consequences that no one could have possibly predicted ensue.

City of Sunlight | 9,843 | Tlon / @tlonista

Summary: Leaving Zaun for the academy is supposed to give Viktor a new life. Instead it drops him into a world where he never quite fits, until he meets the one man who can make it feel like home. Or, five times Viktor felt out of place in Piltover, and one time he didn't.

Whistled a Tune to the Window | 14,809 | 27dragons / @27dragons

Summary: In which Caitlyn bullies the boys to go with her on a skiing holiday, even tho Jayce has massive trauma about snow and Viktor is too frail for skiing but WHATEVER, and also there's only one bed. (Caitlyn might have planned it that way.)

Novocaine for the soul | 1,931 | MGCraig

Summary: Historically, Jayce doesn’t say filthy stuff in bed. Just a lot of choked-off swearing and repeating Viktor’s name like a prayer and the inherent filthiness of otherwise milquetoast phrases like lift your hips for me and stay just like that and I got you, it’s okay. Sometimes he says something truly transcendental, but it’s always in the moment, always unplanned. Sometimes he forgets he said it at all until Viktor’s reminding him after and saying you should talk like that more often, Jayce. So that’s what Jayce is trying to do. He’s really nothing if not eager to please Viktor.

Lost Time | 2,017 | spicedrobot / @spicedrobot

Summary: Viktor was wrong about so many things, but he wasn't wrong about this. Jayce had understood.

gravity field | 2,718 | eloboosting

Summary: It was with no surprise that he ended up distracted. Unable to concentrate on their work, more scatterbrained and tangential than usual. But it wasn’t an issue, not until he nearly slammed his own hand with a hammer and Viktor stopped him with a concerned, “Are you all right?” He was as all right as a man desperately pining after his male partner and best friend could be. His male partner and best friend who seemed to be fucking every eligible man in Piltover with even the slightest resemblance to Jayce himself.

Favors | 3,220 | the_patron_saint

Summary: Viktor's leg cramps up after hours in the lab, and Jayce offers to give him a massage.

nature of praising | 3,849 | Lorrens

Summary: Jayce is exceptionally receptive to the praise. Viktor finds this fact curious.

Like pressing a kiss to an oncoming train | 4,069 | hexhomos

Summary: Weird. Weird. Viktor had looked so pleased just a few moments ago. Almost glowing. Maybe even happy, for a split second; the sort of thing he only ever is when one of his prototypes turns out successful. Jayce had managed to land a comment smart enough to wring a laugh out of Viktor; and he'd smiled like they were having fun, but now here's that thing again. The borders, the quiet nudging, pushing him away as if he's unable to recognize it. No one else does this to him, not anymore; not when his face is on the newspapers and his name is on everyone's mouths. It's only Viktor. "Do you hate me?" Jayce asks, before he has a chance to process which words his mouth is forming. It feels childish, out in the open cold, spoken like that. It feels like a stupid thought.

Head like a hole | 4,220 | MGCraig

Summary: “You don’t really think you’ll…die,” Jayce says. “You mean that as like, a hyperbole. Right?” “Jayce,” Viktor says. He yanks his bleeding hand free from under Jayce’s hold and rips open Jayce’s dress shirt with both hands, buttons popping across the linoleum. “Look at me. Something is wrong. I don’t know what the hexcore did to me, but my body is saying that if you don’t do this it will shut down. So please, Jayce, help me.”

Notes on delicate treatment | 4,485 | MGCraig

Summary: The thing is, Jayce isn’t worried that he won’t enjoy choking Viktor out. He isn’t worried that it won’t be fun to pin him down and leave long-lasting bruises and ruin him for other men, or whatever power play it is he wants from Jayce. Far from it, actually. Jayce is worried that he’ll like it too much.

It's been six months | 4,768 | MGCraig

Summary: Maybe it’s the laser focus that makes him so appealing. Maybe it’s the thrill of stealing his attention from his work, the prospect of being the most important thing to him for even a moment. Okay. Maybe Jayce is a little obsessed. But Viktor was the only person who believed in him—and hextech. Viktor saved his life. At this point, he’s split his memories into two sections: before-Viktor, and after. “Jayce,” Viktor says, and turns without warning. Jayce is still staring at him. Phenomenal.

Something to hold when I lose my grip | 6,515 | MGCraig

Summary: This isn’t their first attempt to relieve Viktor’s stress. Viktor’s been wound tighter and tighter every day over the last several weeks, it seems. He’s in and out of bed, joining Jayce sometimes as late as three in the morning and then still tossing and turning, and Jayce can’t do much but avoid the condescension of asking can I help and just quietly try to help. But nothing’s worked so far.

System of touch and gentle persuasion | 6,635 | MGCraig

Summary: Four times Jayce was jealous over Viktor, and the one time he acted on it.

Practical solutions for executive burnout | 8,133 | MGCraig

Summary: Jayce slumps back against the wall and Viktor squeezes back across to face him. It’s the only position that maximizes their space in the box, even though Jayce is still intimately aware of the mere inch or two that separates their bodies. “Surely our panel got pushed to the next timeslot,” Viktor offers. “They’ll be back soon.” “Viktor,” Jayce says. “We’re stuck in a box.”

deeper glens. | 8,861 | PineAndPetrichor

Summary: Jayce says, “I’ve given massages before. It could help." Viktor’s eyes fly open on the pillow. “What? To who?" “Girls.” Viktor’s cheeks darken. "And family." Oh, Jayce really fucked it up now.

knowledge (and all of its consequences) | 23,233 | Folie_a_duex

Summary: He’s familiar with the space Viktor takes up, standing next to him by the blackboard or sitting down at the tables. He knows how Viktor will shuffle underneath Jayce’s arm to correct a mistake in his maths, or rewrite a messy theory while Jayce prattles on about the next steps. He knows the surprising sturdiness of Viktor’s cane, as it smacks at his ankles when Jayce doesn’t make room fast enough. Viktor is no stranger to Jayce.

Blog Info ☆ 2025 Reclists ☆ 2024 Reclists

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hi! Imma resend my req then cause yep.

Could I pls get Nico with a super rich pretty boy (mortal) that’s like very affectionate and looks like a airhead but just like completely changes when it comes down to business like becomes super serious? And he’s like super big in making Nico blush with lavish and thoughtful gifts or trips to compensate cause he can’t like fight monsters? Feeel free to decline!

Ps: I loved ur Connor stoll x mortal fic!

Hey <333 so this was kinda changed around a bit and also mixed with a request for Nico x Son of Eros from ages ago, so whoever asked for that, here it is!

red roses and ghost flowers---Nico x flirty son of Eros

»»————-　★　————-««

-Nico doesn’t know how to react.

-First of all, touch is a big no no for him, it makes him feel claustrophobic and stuck and there’s a lot of reasons he really doesn’t like that feeling. But then you came along, and suddenly maybe if he’s outside in the open spaces and you run up and wrap your arm around his shoulder, it might just be okay. 

-You just wear the prettiest rings and give him the prettiest rings, that holding hands isn’t the worst thing. Just because of the rings. Definitely. Not because of how your knuckles sit against his the way your thumb rubs against the scars covering his palms. 

-His hands. Holy Hades, you seemed to have this obsession with doing that silly bow and pressing your lips to the back of his hand every time he saw you. 

-Which was a lot. 

-Maybe it was meant to be, or maybe it was because Nico sort of detoured a little to wander past the Eros cabin or pop into the arts and crafts center. Just to see how Annabeth was doing teaching the weaving classes, of course. Not because you were usually in the back making another little thing.

-Nico ended up with a lot of those little things. They filled an entire coffin shaped shelf in his by now, but he couldn’t exactly get rid of them. The skull shaped candle was just too on point, you must’ve found a real skull for comparison, and that was dedication Nico couldn’t just throw away. And then there was a vinyl record of an old band Maria had taken him to with Bianca. However you had found that, it must've taken a lot of time and money. It would be rude to get rid of something like that.

-Of course the bouquets were always chucked out every few days, but only when Nico had touched the soft petals with a smile too much and they’d started to shrivel.

-Nico was still convinced Hazel was the mole, running to find you every time the sunflowers or the red roses or the ghost flowers [He hated to admit that they were really cool] wilted, because then another bunch of flowers would turn up on the doorstep of the Hades cabin with a pink silk holding them together. 

-Even the Mythomagic cards you’d found stayed on the shelf, although Nico already had them. They were from you. It would be rude. And they sort of made him grin a little bit. You paid so much attention, why wouldn’t that make him grin? 

-Especially because, well, you could be paying attention to anyone else. Literally anyone. There were people clawing their way into the sparring classes you went to. Not that they had much of a reason to watch, you spent most of the time holding a sword and then blinking in confusion at the instructor, who’d given up by now. 

-Archery was a whole different story though, and Nico had to admit, he had sort of gone to watch you do that a few times. 

-On one hand, you weren't exactly bad looking, but on the other hand all he could see was Eros laughing cruelly and launching volley after volley of heart shaped arrows into Nico’s limbs in that shadowy place filled with broken statues and pillars. It was safe to say he had a bit to work through, but the fact you still ran up with a grin considering the first time Nico met you, he had a full blown panic attack and then Jason nearly bit you, he figured you couldn’t do much harm. 

-The son of Jupiter still watched your interactions carefully, but Nico had convinced him to tone down the growling part. 

-Then you’d both bonded over the fact that your dads sucked majorly, and now Nico was sort of concerned that Jason might steal his- his… his whatever you were [apart from way too pretty]

-Nico had to admit, you were really good looking. Something about the shininess of your eyes and the way your smile was so sharp had to be some sort of love god trickery, but it made his stomach fill with the souls of the departed and shadows to thicken in the corner. 

-You didn’t even mind when the grass wilted around him and the air got a bit too cold to be normal. 

-One time you even picked him up and just carried Nico princess style to the pavement that couldn’t shrivel and turn brown. That certainly helped the bad feelings inside his head take a break and admire your arms. 

-He figured when you showed up one night in your normal camp clothes and a pink bow tie to take him to the first showing of Scream 6 [Nico liked explaining how many stabs it would actually take to kill the characters], that there really was no back peddling.

-So he took the bouquet of ghost flowers from you and then held both the flowers… and your hand. 

»»————-　★　————-««

[weebsinstash]

I'm on my betrayal loving bullshit again thinking of some shit like, the typical hero plot where one lies to an ally to intentionally mislead them and keep them away from danger, but it's hidden under the guise of, something that can be REALLY shitty on the surface, and I'm thinking about a yandere coming to "collect" you after revealing the truth and you're all "oh, ok, I understand! I'm still staying here and not coming back with you though :)"

Batman showing up at your apartment, "listen I know I started voicing complaints and even initiated the vote to kick you from the Justice League BUT it was all part of my contingency plan, there was a mole in the League connected to Darkseid and--" and you just hit him with "ok great thats awesome good for you um, I destroyed my costume and threw it in the garbage and I'm an alcoholic now and also thanks for making me realize how much I hate myself and how I never belonged anywhere, you can go now ok thanks byeeee :')" and here therein commences the mass surveillance on your phone/house/walking routes/internet use/the inside of your bedroom--

Same idea twice really but, Miguel coming back from those one ideas I had, "hey, I'm sorry I kicked you out of the Spider Society because you weren't trying to date anyone in your universe, also maybe we fooled around a little and had mutual feelings and I broke your heart by kicking you out and trying to get you to date in your own universe, but it turns out canon isn't real, so, 👉👈🥺❤️?" and here you are, "oh cool, I wish you happiness with whomever you choose :) I'm glad I'm 'allowed' to be single since, you know, you proved to me i dont belong anywhere :)"

Gojo "I'm sorry I bullied you and called you weak when you wanted to go up against this one curse but it was actually way stronger than you and you would have died if I hadn't talked you out of it" Satoru standing there with disbelief as he sees you've gotten rid of anything to do with Jujutsu Tech (uniform, equipment, or otherwise), "being a sorceror is stupid. You were right, I'm NOT cut out for it. I think I want to settle down. I'm gonna give Nanami a call"

You gotta take the character that's totally down bad for you and have them absolutely break your heart and then when they come back for you and reveal, actually, they may have had an extremely good reason for doing so and never wanted to anyways, you're just like "actually you know what? You opened up deeper psychological wounds inside of me and fundamentally damaged me and I don't think I can be the same person you remember me as anymore" and leaving them DESPERATE to keep you, any version of you, in their lives at all costs

[beenbaanbuun]

chevrolet w/ mechanic!Jongho

words - 3.1 k (i’m planning a part 2)

genre - smut

warnings - smoking, bff!yunho, pining, dom!jongho, sub!reader, begging, boot riding, light clit play, nicknames, light degradation, insecurity, making out, kneeling (i’m a slut for kneeling…) and i think that’s it

——————————————————————————

By the door to the garage stands a tall man with a cigarette between his lips. Handsome is too light of a descriptor for this man. Sure, it was accurate, but it does him no justice. Because not only is he hot as fuck, but he is also huge. Wide shoulders lead to thick arms that carry strong, veiny hands and long, lithe fingers. His honey skin is completely clear except for a single mole on his neck that serves to remind you that he is an actual human and not just a daydream that you’ve thought up within your romance-deprived mind.

You sigh loudly as you drop your head into your palm, elbow resting on your knee as you sit cross-legged on the hood of one of Yunho’s cars. No doubt he was silently seething about you using his precious 1967 Chevy Impala as nothing more than somewhere to perch, but he’d learned a long time ago that scolding you for it is futile. Besides, where else was going to give you such a perfect view of Jongho?

“Stop staring at him,” Yunho grumbles to you, breaking out of your trance as he pushes a tyre past you, “you’re being weird.”

You watch him as he leans it against the body of one of his customers’ cars before bobbing down to take a closer look at the wheel of the car. If you were listening to him just a few moments prior, you’d know exactly what was wrong with the car. It's just that as Yunho was monologuing about the wheel rims, Jongho was also unzipping his overalls and pulling them free from his top half. How could you focus on anything else when the man of your dreams was practically undressing himself in front of you?

“I’m not being weird,” you say as you go back to watching Jongho just in time to see him flick the ash away from the tip of the cigarette. The sleeve of his black t-shirt constricts around his bicep as he lifts the almost burnt-out cig back to his lips to take another puff. You swallow down a wad of drool that had gathered upon your tongue. It's a shame you can’t so easily get rid of the moisture that had gathered uncomfortably between your thighs.

“You know, just because you do something every day, it doesn't mean it isn't weird?” He sends a sarcastic smile in your direction, but you miss it, too focused on the way Jongho’s lips purse to exhale a plume of white smoke into the air. You lick your lips just as he takes one final drag and you feel your heart skip a beat as he tosses the butt to the floor and stomps it out with one giant combat boot. Oh, to be that cigarette, you think to yourself before shaking yourself out of your dizzy stupor.

Your eyes flicker away from him as he pushes himself away from the garage door frame and turns to walk back inside. The thud of his heavy boots against the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down your spine because even though you’re not watching him, you can hear him growing closer to you. Slow, careful footsteps grow louder and louder as his soles thud against the floor. Over and over they ring through your head like a metronome until at last they come to a stop right in front of the Chevy.

Carefully, you lift your gaze, letting it scan every inch of him until you reach his face. Thick thighs hidden by his tight denim overalls that you’d just love to rip open and see what's underneath. You bet they're soft; perfect to dig your teeth into as you sit between them. Stomach that you just know is toned to the point where it looks like it's been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself. Arms folded over his chest, muscular and ready to slip around your throat and choke you until you're gasping for breath. Jaw set in stone as he stares down at you with a steely gaze and a taunting smirk playing on his lips.

You suck in a sharp breath as he looks you up and down, eyes lingering on your cleavage for just a moment or two before making their way up to your face. Behind the initial iciness you see in them, there's something else. A hint of playfulness, perhaps, although it looks a little more sinister. You shudder underneath it, pulling your eyes from his to study your fingers instead.

“Hey, Yun?” He calls out to the other man, yet never once takes his eyes off of you. All pretty, sitting there in those jersey shorts that sit flush against the bulge of your pretty thighs, and that low-cut top that shows too much for him not to sneak a glance every once in a while. The way your nipples peek through the thin material lets him know that you forewent a bra when you were getting dressed this morning. They pebble up as the cool afternoon brushes against them. Jongho can barely pull his eyes away from them.

“What?” Yunho grunts as he uses a cloth to wipe a grease stain from the chrome spokes of the wheel he was messing with.

“Do you want to take the afternoon off?” You don't need to look at Yunho to see his excitement at the suggestion. The clattering of metal tools against the cement was enough for you to understand that yes, Yunho definitely wants to take the afternoon off. “I’ll finish up here and take the Princess home when I’m done. I’m sure she can be patient and sit on her little throne until I’m finished, can't you?”

No. You absolutely cannot be alone in a room with Jongho. It takes a lot for you to be in a room with him when Yunho is there too. Being with him alone would break your sanity in two. Absolutely not.

“I can walk,” you say, voice wavering so much it's practically a whimper. God, you sound pathetic.

“Don’t be silly,” Jongho purrs, from where he stands above you, “I'm sure I speak for both of us when I say it’ll make us feel better if one of us sees you get home safe.”

“Then Yuyu can take me,” you spit out a little too quickly. Yunho lets out a snicker, and if Jongho’s imposing form wasn't blocking you from his view, you'd shoot him a middle finger in payment.

“I was going to visit Mingi,” his boyfriend that he insists isn't actually his boyfriend, “and his cafe is in the opposite direction to your house...”

Despite him not saying the word, you know it's a no. Whether he just wants to see you suffer as you try and keep your desperation for Jongho under lock whilst you're alone together is an entirely different question; you wouldn’t be surprised if that really was the case. He seems to find the way you squirm whenever the other man is near amusing.

“I’ll take care of you, Princess,” a finger gently brushes against your chin, tilting your head up until you lock eyes with Jongho’s once more. His tongue darts out to wet his lips - those plush pink lips - before disappearing once more, leaving nothing but a trail of spit in its wake. That pool between your legs only grows, “I’ll treat you even better than Yuyu does.”

You hear the condescending use of the nickname you have for Yunho; it goes hand in hand with the way he slurs the word, Princess. All of it makes you feel tiny beneath him and you just know that you won't make it out of this garage alive.

“So I’m good to go, yeah?” Jongho calls out a reply that you hardly register, and before you know it, Yunho is hopping into his regular car and driving off into the distance. The rumbling of his engine covers the sound of blood rushing through your ears until it doesn't. Until everything is silent and it's just you and him.

Jongho.

The man you’d been thirsting after from the very moment you spotted him. Always avoiding talking with him in favour of watching him. The way he smiles as he talks with Yunho, or furrows his brow when he’s studying an engine. The way he bites his lip as he lifts heavy metal pieces into his arms and sighs long and hard whenever he gets to put them down. The way he laughs whenever he’s told a joke and frowns when he’s made a mistake. Watching all that has just added to your fixation on him.

And now you are alone together.

You're alone with him. Alone and you don't know how to act. Yunho has always been a buffer to lead the conversation but now he isn't there and your mind has just gone blank. You hope Jongho says something first since you can't think of anything to say, but you also hope he doesn't say anything at all. What would you even reply? Something completely idiotic, more than likely. Something that makes you look like an absolute fool in front of the man you’d been silently wishing would pay you even a modicum of attention for the past year.

Well, his attention is finally on you so you need to be perfect. Desirable, but not to the point where you seem desperate. Intelligent, but not to the point where you seem like a smart-ass. Agreeable, but not to the point of being a pushover. You just need to be perfect.

How the fuck do you be perfect?

Jongho finally slips his finger away from your chin, but you darent look away. Are you supposed to? Is that what he wants? Oh god, what if he thinks you’re being weird by holding eye contact for so long?

“You can relax, Princess,” he chuckles, eyes crinkling up at the corners as he smiles. So pretty, you think. “Untense those shoulders and take a deep breath for me, hm? Can't have you feeling overwhelmed before we even start, now can we?

You do as he asks, for him.

Your shoulders drop a few inches and your chest rises and falls dramatically.

Relax… for him.

“That's a good girl,” he utters, voice low and breathy in a way that goes straight to your pussy. “Sit tight while I go and lock up, okay?”

You nod blindly before your brain kicks in just a second later. Lock up? You thought Jongho was supposed to be driving you home, yet his car sits on the far side of the garage, very much inside. If he locks up then…

“I thought you were going to drive me back to mine?” you finally say as Jongho pushes the door shut and locks it with a key he slips from his pocket. You hear the lock click and as soon as it does, he is on his way back to you, heavy boots thudding against the floor. They remind you of a clock, this time, counting down the seconds as he stalks closer to you; the seconds until you reach your demise.

“I mean if you want me to, I will,” he shrugs as he passes the car Yunho had been working on, “but I was hoping you’d want me to do… other things for you.”

Tick tock, tick tock.

His feet taunt you as he takes the longer route to get to you. They drag out your torture, the stickiness of your pussy growing as your thoughts seem to race through your brain at a speed too fast for you to comprehend. Thoughts about what you should be doing to appear perfect simply come and go, much too fast for you to dwell on them. You don't have the brain power to try and slow them down, so you just sit there dumbly as Jongho finally comes to a stop in front of you.

His footsteps come to a stop, the clock that counts down to your doom falling silent.

“I mean, you spend all that time staring at me and you think I don't notice, but I do,” he lays his hands down on the hood, pressing his weight down onto them as he leans over you. Your eyes go wide as his face comes to rest mere inches from your own, hot breath fanning over your face. From this distance you can smell the cigarette smoke that permeates his clothes, mixing deliciously with the gasoline and car oil that swims through the air of the garage. It's intoxicating. “I saw the way you stared at me during my cig break; eyes all glossed over as you sat and fidgeted and pretended that you weren't already dripping for me. God, I bet it's like a fucking ocean down there, Princess, all slick and ready for me.”

With two fingers, he walks his hand closer to you until it catches on your knee. You break eye contact to stare it at as it slithers its way up your thigh, rising higher and higher until his fingers catch on the seam of your shorts. He hums your name to bring your attention back to him. You obey.

“Can I?” he whispers as he pushes his face even closer. His lips are millimetres from your own; you’d barely have to move to take a kiss from him, “Or do you still want me to drive you home?”

You do it.

You close the gap.

All caution flies out of the window as you dive right in, pressing your lips hard against his own. No more thoughts of whether or not you’re perfect enough as you take what you want from him. He tastes of mint and smoke and it makes you dizzy. He kisses you back almost immediately, lips sloppily dancing over yours as if he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him. You moan into his mouth. He reciprocates it with one of his own, and the sound is just as beautiful as you imagined. Soft and musical and just as pretty as he is. It just makes you dive in deeper, arms swinging up until they're wrapped around his neck to hold him close. He takes that as a green light and dips his fingers into your shorts.

They travel up the inner seam, heading straight to your aching pussy. You’re sure he can already feel just how wet you are, just from feeling your inner thighs. When he smiles against your lips, you know you're right. They linger there for a few seconds, playing with the stickiness for just a moment or two before continuing their journey to the apex of your thighs.

When they reach it, Jongho stills his movements for just a moment or two. His lips pull away from yours so he can let out a soft chuckle. “No panties and no bra?” He tilts a brow as he flicks a finger against your clit, drawing another sound from your lips. “I didn't realise I was dealing such a slut,” he growls as he lunges forward to attack your lips once more. His tongue immediately darts out to brush against your lips and demand entry. You give it to him, bottom jaw going slack as you let him lick into your mouth.

His finger begins to tap at your clit with the same metronomic pace as his footsteps from earlier. Each hit sends a shiver down your spine as a jolt of pleasure lurches through you. But it's not enough, and as soon as it's there, it's gone again. It's torturous in the best way possible, and it leaves you wanting more.

“More,” you whine as you pull away for breath, “Jongho, I want more.”

“More?” he teases, stopping his finger in place against your clit, “you’re a greedy little thing, aren't you?” He slips his fingers completely free from your shorts and takes a step back from the car. “How about you get on your knees and beg? If you prove that you can be the good little slut I know you are, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

It's a deal too good to pass up, so as quickly as you can you slide off the bonnet and drop to your knees. The bare concrete scuffs your skin, but you barely give a wince, too lost in the lust that clouds your brain that you don't even register the pain. It's a small price to pay to get what you want, anyway.

“Hands behind your back,” he says as he stares you down. You do as he says within mere milliseconds. It makes him smile to see you obey so quickly, “legs spread, too.”

Again, you do it, shuffling your knees against the concrete until they sit shoulder-width. You're sure there's a wet patch on the material, but you don't blush. In fact, you're rather happy to show him just how much of an effect he has on you. It only feels right after pining over him for a year; he deserves to know just how much you need him.

He studies your form, his annoyingly cocky gaze brushing up and down your body like he has all the time in the world; like you're not at his feet desperately wanting more. He huffs out a breath before using one of his boots to kick your knees even wider, spreading your thighs until they ache due to the stretch. You whine up at him, only getting a sly smile in response. “What?” he coos, “I told you to spread your legs, didn’t I?”

And you suppose he's right; he did ask you to spread your legs. You just didn't know that meant for you to spread them until you couldn't anymore. Until you could feel the chill of the room brush against your wet thighs, the gusset of your shorts barely covering your pussy, never mind anything else. You shiver at a particularly cold draught, and Jongho laughs.

And then something colder hits your core. Icy and hard, just like the steel toe cap of a boot. You glance down to make sure you're not going insane; the big black tip of Jongho’s shoe pressing up against your clothes pussy is enough evidence that you're not. You swallow hard as he moves it back and forth against your slit, dragging the inner seam of your shorts against you. You inhale a shuddery breath as your gaze travels back up to his face.

His stupidly handsome face.

“You like that?” you nod, “then be a good girl. Do what I told you to, and I’ll let you cum on my boot. Beg, Princess.”

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (27)

Aemond & Arianwyn take both their first dragonflight and bath together.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: suggestive themes

Author's Note: Was originally made up of two chapters: Vhagar & Emrys & The Bath

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

There was nothing in the world so beautiful as Aria. The gods had created many beautiful things, but Aemond knew his wife was their greatest achievement. Even now, with half her face buried in a pillow, her lips parted, and her hair a wild silver thicket atop her head. Another day, he would use these few hours before she woke to capture that beauty, if Kiran could find where his childhood servants had stored his fine parchment and charcoal. Thought it was likely they had discarded them after he furor with which he commanded they be taken away. Today, however, he had something else in mind.

“Wake up, Aria,” he whispered, brushing a hand through that wonderful hair. “It’s almost dawn, and I have great plans for us today.”

Her one visible eye peeked open to glance at the window. She groaned, rolling out of his grasp. “What plans could possibly require my getting out of bed before the sun has risen?”

Though she could not see him, he raised a brow. “As I recall, you woke before the sun rose yesterday.”

“That was different,” her voice was muffled as she buried herself further beneath the blankets like a mole burrowing in the earth, “and you may also recall that I did not get out of bed until much later. You may try to tempt me with more lecherous activities, but I have had very little sleep these last two nights, and I will not make promises I may be unable to keep.”

Aemond leaned back, unsure how to proceed. He had expected her to notice he was in his riding leathers, but it seemed that after so many years apart, he had forgotten just how much mornings disagreed with her. Without him to force her out of bed and into some activity, it likely grew worse while she was on Dragonstone.

But as much as she hated mornings, she loved dragonriding more.

“I suppose we can just laze about,” he said, lying beside her, “Vhagar and Emrys have waited this long to meet. What does it matter if they must wait a while longer?”

The morning light vanished as Aria threw the blankets aside – and on top of him – as eagerly as a prisoner ridding himself of his chains. Without a word, she leaped out of bed and into the courtyard.

Aemond laughed as he disentangled himself and chased after her. “So your husband cannot tempt you, but Vhagar can?”

“Vhagar is a queen!” she shouted back from the second – and until only the day before – empty bedchamber. When Aemond snuck in, she had managed to locate her own riding leathers in one of the trunks strewn about the room and was fumbling with the laces of her cuirass. “The ‘Queen of All Dragons!’ I cannot disobey the wishes of a queen. A mere prince, on the other hand…”

Her teasing was cut off when Aemond snuck up behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist. She giggled, leaning back into his chest. “Surely, I am more than a ‘mere Prince,’” he whispered, pressing his cheek against hers as he took the laces from her. Somehow, dressing her sent the same thrill through him as undressing her did. “I am also the Lord of Runestone. Surely that must elevate my standing.”

“Lord Consort of Runestone, my love,” she corrected, turning her head to kiss his jaw. Already, she had found a spot to drive him absolutely mad. He needed to find hers in return. He could not allow her torment to go unanswered. “And in my eyes, there is no higher standing.”

He yanked on the cords of her cuirass, squeezing another delightful laugh out of her. “I am honored, my lady.”

Once he finished with her cuirass, he continued dressing her, though he was hindered by her kisses whenever he came close to her lips. After one such kiss, he dropped a bracer on the floor as he instinctively moved to cup her face.

“If you don’t stop, we’ll never make it out of the castle,” he scolded with a grin.

Aria pouted, “If you want me to, I’ll stop.”

He sighed as he knelt to pick up the bracer. It was a different set than the one she wore as a girl, now shaped for a woman’s body – for her body, with all the delightful dips and curves he had savored and vowed to memorize. The dark brown riding leathers had been fortified with thin plates of engraved bronze – the symbol of her house.

It was not one of the original sets of armor that her ancestors had passed down through centuries upon centuries. None of the ancient suits would fit Aria. She was far too short, and the Bronze Kings – and the queens who stood beside them – had been tall and hearty. Still, the Lady of Runestone needed her runes.

As he finally latched her bracer in place, he examined the engravings upon it. A larger bracer meant room for more runes. Two lines wrapped around her wrist, forming an incantation, a plea for strength, agility, and the blessings of nature. Perfect for a cavalryman or a dragonrider. The rest of the metal was decorated with runes interspersed with traditional Valish patterns and the blackened iron studs of the Royce sigil.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he admitted. “But I also don’t want to take all this off only to have to put it back on again. And Vhagar is waiting for us.”

“And Emrys,” Aria added, looping her arms around his neck. “He has missed you.”

“I have missed him, as well,” he said, pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead. He had always shared an unusually close bond with Emrys – closer than most bonded dragons would ever be with anyone other than their riders. It had always puzzled the Dragonkeepers, but it gave him comfort. He always knew that, should he never claim a dragon of his own, he could ride with Aria atop her little black dread. “Now, let us eat quickly, so we do not have to miss him much longer.”

Within half an hour, they were mounting their horses in the outer yard. While Aria rode for the Dragonpit, Aemond had to venture outside the city to the hill where Vhagar made her den. He had planned for Aria to take a coach, but she insisted on riding in the open so she could better see the city. He would have argued against it had there not been four Bronze Guard, rather than the usual two, to escort and protect her.

Yet when she rode through the gates, only Sers Warren and Sterlan followed, leaving Ser Ruban Woodhull and one of the new knights behind.

“Why are you not following your charge, Sers?” Aemond asked, tugging at the fingers of his gloves to prevent his horse from sensing his tension and suspicion.

Ruban’s glare remained solid as rock as he answered, “You are our charge today, my prince.”

“Pardon?”

The unfamiliar knight nudged his horse forward. “Ser Warren assigned us to your protection for today, including escorting you through the city.”

“Why?” Aemond took no measures to conceal his displeasure. It was years ago that he was finally able to shake off the overbearing presence of the Targaryen house guards. He was not eager to be followed once more.

“Our mission is to protect the Royces of Runestone,” Ruban explained, sounding no more pleased by the situation than Aemond was. “That now includes you, my prince, as Lady Arianwyn’s Consort.”

He was almost offended. “I am more than capable of ensuring my own protection, as both Ser Harrold Westerling and Criston Cole can attest.”

Ruban was unfazed. “Be that as it may, I can only repeat the orders I was given by my commander. Today, that is to accompany you.”

Under Ruban’s cold stare, Aemond felt like he had again been caught sneaking into Aria’s rooms. Ruban was always suspicious of Aemond's intentions, even as a mere boy. In all fairness, if Aria had remained in the Red Keep, Aemond was sure he would have eventually snuck into her bedchamber to do precisely what the knight feared.

There was another reason to thank the gods for allowing him to wed Aria – Ser Ruban could not kill him for deflowering her when they were lawfully married. Though judging by the set of his brows, he still felt the urge—a mother hen in bronze armor.

Failing to come up with an argument that had even the slightest chance of swaying Ruban, Aemond only sighed. “Must you?”

Ruban did not smile. He never did, as far as Aemond knew. But there was a glint in his eyes that gave Aemond the distinct impression that he was enjoying this. “We must, my prince.”

Aemond muttered his begrudging assent as he kicked his horse into a gallop, leaving the knights scrambling to keep up with him as he rode to Vhagar.

Emrys was already saddled and waiting for Arianwyn when she arrived.

“He’s like a hound eager to shed his leash,” Ser Warren laughed, though Emrys’ leash consisted of six lines of braided ship rope, each held by a trained Dragonkeeper. One of them must have mentioned Vhagar near him, as he was far more agitated than he usually was when Arianwyn hadn’t seen him for several days.

“Lykirī, Emrys,” Arianwyn called as she squeezed Ser Sterlan’s wrist in thanks. “Konīr aderī vunna, yn ēlī Dantȳmi ivestran bēvilan.” Calm down. I will be there soon. But I must speak to Dantis first.

He whined, a pitiful noise from such an intimidating beast, but indeed settled, however impatiently.

Arianwyn turned to Elder Dantis, the highest-ranking Elder of Dragonkeepers, speaking in the common tongue to prevent Emrys from listening to their conversation – he always pouted when she talked about him to others. “How has he been? I regret that I have not come to see him.”

Dantis stared down at her silently. It was not unlike him, but still frustrating. His gaze dropped to her new armor and the ring of runes set into her collar. Curious, he had never truly approved of her and Aemond’s obsession with the runes. Arianwyn braced for a scolding, for some lecture about how invoking the magic of her First Men ancestors would offend her Valyrian ones. But he just reached out, pulling the collar aside to expose her bruises.

“This happened two nights ago, yes?” he asked, though it was more a statement than a question.

Arianwyn nodded.

Dantis frowned. “He felt it.”

“What do you mean?”

The Dragonkeeper pointed to Emrys and shouted a command. The keepers holding him tugged on their ropes, and Emrys reared his head back, showing the smoky black scales of his neck and the two red gashes just beneath his jaw.

“Two nights ago,” Dantis explained, “he awoke from his slumber, greatly disturbed. He roared with such ferocity and desperation. When we made it to his den, he was clawing at his throat. He tried to burn us, but he could summon no fire, as if there was no air within him to allow it to ignite. But when he finally…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. “He has Balerion’s blood. That much is certain.”

Arianwyn could not tear her eyes from the marks on her beloved dragon’s neck. Two cuts, the just like her. He had done that to himself because he felt her pain. He had felt the breathlessness of her choking as her father came so close to killing her – to killing them both.

“Do not fret, Lady,” Dantis said, his stern demeanor fading if only for a moment. “The wounds are small, and he is young. He will heal quickly.” With that, he bowed to Arianwyn and motioned for the Dragonkeepers to bring Emrys forward.

Emrys bounded toward his rider, unable to contain his excitement. He nudged her with his snout, prodding her until she embraced him. Though at his size, it looked more like her simply splaying her arms across his scales rather than a true embrace.

“Hāro tubȳti mēro rȳ,” she laughed. It has only been three days.

He snorted, shaking his head dismissively. Gently, he nudged his nose against Arianwyn’s neck, his hot breath soothing the ache of her bruises as he whined.

“Ȳgha iksan. Jāla kesan,” she said. “Aohon kesā.” I am fine. It will heal. As will you.

He squinted his large icy-blue eyes in an expression of suspicious disbelief that would look at home on the face of a cranky toddler, but seemed to accept her words.

Arianwyn patted his jaw. “Ao Vhagosa rhaeniluks?” Do you want to meet Vhagar?

His eyes went wide, and his tail swung with wild excitement as he pushed her toward his side with his snout. Laughing, she walked alongside him, running a hand across his smooth scales until she reached the saddle.

“Ziry se Aemond īlōn jumbis,” she whispered as she strapped herself into her seat. “Sōvēs!” She and Aemond are waiting for us.

Emrys needed no command. As soon as Arianwyn was strapped in, he was already surging forward in the courtyard, building the speed he needed to take to the air. As he soared higher and higher, he let out a jubilant trill, the sound echoing off the red-tiled roofs of King’s Landing.

In the sky, Arianwyn felt her heart beating in tandem with his. Even as he twirled excitedly through his ascent, she never felt afraid. Daemon and Caraxes were far away, their threats without teeth. Nothing was stopping her from flying forever, from going wherever she wanted.

Nothing except that she was already precisely where she wanted to be.

As the city fell away behind them and the sprawling fields of the Tourney Grounds came into view, Arianwyn saw Vhagar for the first time in six years.

The sight of the massive beast still took her breath away. To think that there were once hundreds of dragons even larger than her in the world, that her ancestors wielded such unfathomable power, was humbling and awe-inspiring. And the fact that her husband had claimed her as a young boy made Arianwyn’s heart swell with pride.

Aemond was standing by Vhagar’s side when Emrys landed on the opposite side of the field, his hand on one of the many ropes attached to her saddle. The she-dragon was tense, her tail flicking back and forth rapidly as she assessed both the new, small creature across from her and the two bronze-clad knights some yards off. But Aemond kept speaking to her, telling her – again – of how he had spent years loving Aria. How they had grown together. How it had been he, at only a few months old, who had selected the glistening black egg for her cradle.

How, since the last time he saw Vhagar, they had married.

Indeed, Vhagar turned to him, drinking in his scent to find it mixed with another—the smell of cold wind and smoke.

“Issa ñuhon,” he whispered. “Se iksan zȳhon.” She is mine. And I am hers.

Vhagar made a hesitant sound, still unsure. Ever since she had felt his pain that first night, she had been so protective of her rider.

Sensing her skepticism, Aemond leaned in to reassure her. “Istas va ynot rāeniot raketas. Ziry rizmorzo jesurtā. Lo ōdretaks, ziry yne ōdretas. Aria va mōriot yne ōdretas.” She was with me on the beach. You sprayed her with sand. When I was hurt, she defended me. Aria has always defended me.

At the memory of spraying that scared little girl with sand, Vhagar let out a rumbling growl that Aemond had always interpreted as laughter. At least she was relaxed enough to find humor in his words.

He turned to Aria, now standing beside Emrys, who was staring at Vhagar with wide eyes, and beckoned her forward with a wave of his hand.

She whispered something to Emrys before leading him forward. He leaned into her as they strolled across the field. When they were close enough for Vhagar to make out the details of the young dragon, she rose from her crouch, her predator’s head tilting.

“Lykirī, Vhagar!” Aemond shouted, tightening his grip on her reins. “Mazumbās!” Stay calm, Vhagar! Stand down!

She did not. She huffed, the sound almost a command.

A command that Emrys obeyed.

While Aria had frozen where she stood, Emrys continued forward, despite his rider’s pleas for him to return to her. He did not stop until he stood directly before the Queen of All Dragons.

Though he was nearly as large as Syrax, a dragon twenty years his elder, he was still dwarfed by Vhagar. But he stood perfectly still as she craned her neck to examine him.

Aemond continued to shout commands at Vhagar, begging her to withdraw.

She did not. Rather, she pressed her cheek against Emrys’ neck, rumbling with affection when he nuzzled her in return.

Aria ran to his side, out of breath and panicky. “What are they doing?”

Vhagar had wrapped her tail around Emrys as she carefully inspected each horn on his head, the younger dragon crooning under the attention.

“I think…” Aemond laughed, wrapping his arms around Aria, holding her just as his dragon held hers. He had never seen Vhagar like this, especially not with another dragon. She had always been happy to keep her distance from the others, but something about Emrys sparked something new within her, a joy he had never seen before that made her seem almost youthful.

And then it was clear. “I think he reminds her of Balerion.”

Aria laughed with him as they looked upon their dragons, the fearsome beasts that had given their family the power to conquer the realm, snuggling each other like a pair of cats. “Her and all the city, apparently.”

The dragons continued their display for so long that by the time they finally turned to their riders, Aemond was sitting on the grass, leaning back on his arms as Aria napped with her head in his lap.

“Jemēla majaqāt tatōt daor?” he asked. Are you finished admiring yourselves?

Vhagar blew a defensive puff of smoke, while Emrys ducked his head sheepishly.

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head as he nudged his sleeping wife. “Wake up, Aria. We’re finally ready to fly.”

Emrys groaned with disappointment when Arianwyn turned him back to the city, while Aemond and Vhagar descended to the Tourney Grounds. The old she-dragon hadn’t been happy either, but Arianwyn doubted she whined as much as Emrys.

They had such fun together. Vhagar even tried to coax Emrys to fly upside down with her, but he got nervous every time he tilted too slowly and began to lose altitude. She demonstrated how to keep airborne for so long that Aemond had nearly been sick, but he still never quite caught on. The dragons had only stopped their nauseating attempts when their riders assured them they would fly together again many times.

But even now, Emrys grumbled, not wanting to leave Vhagar behind.

“Ziry tolī uēpys issa,” Arianwyn chided, “se ao… olvȳni iksā.” She is too old, and you are... a lot.

Vhagar was, indeed, a century and a half older than him. There could be no doubt that his boundless energy would, at some point, start to grate on her. It was better to keep their meetings short until the Queen of the Dragons was used to her new friend: “Zūgītsos,” as Aemond named him that afternoon—the Little Dread.

Emrys shivered, purposefully rattling her in her saddle in protest. But his rider was not swayed.

Arianwyn rolled her eyes as she guided him down to the Dragonpit. “Ao Vhagroma ninkiot vulūks?” Do you want to sleep in the field with her?

That, at least, seemed to sate him enough that he protested no further, landing in the courtyard of the Dragonpit without fuss. But when his rider dismounted, he let out a forlorn whimper.

“Drūr āmāzīnna,” she assured him, with a final pat to his nose. “Zijomy arlī sōvīli.” I will be back tomorrow. We shall fly with her again then.

He snorted against her palm—a question.

“Kīvan,” she replied. I promise.

With that, Emrys lazily blinked his bright eyes and lovingly nudged her shoulder. But as he turned back to the Dragonkeepers to follow them to his den, he made it quite clear that he would not wait patiently. He was already having fun with the monks, brushing his tail against their feet to make them stumble and whooping proudly when they did.

Aemond was not in the solar when Arianwyn arrived back at their quarters. But she didn’t have time to consider why, not when the apartments captured her awe and attention so entirely.

Brightly painted vases containing small trees and flower bushes dotted the courtyard, their colors reflecting in the newly-polished bronze shields, armor, and weaponry set out on display with Aemond’s own steel.

In the solar, a familiar, massive tapestry of the crowning of Yorwyck I, the first of the Bronze Kings, hung on the wall opposite the mural of Aegon’s burning of Harrenhal. For millennia, it had hung in the entry hall of Runestone, a tradition that Ser Gerold had broken when he brought it to Arianwyn for her tenth nameday. New bookshelves had been brought in and stuffed full, though two open chests, brimming with even more books, still sat in the corner of the room. Above the hearth, two bronze swords with runes engraved in their fullers were newly mounted.

As she looked around the room at each new addition, from an entire set of polished bronze armor to a small, ordinary wooden trinket box, Arianwyn realized they were all her things. Everything she had ever owned – save for the few measly possessions that remained on Dragonstone – was here.

“I know we’ll have to pack it all up again when we go to Runestone,” Aemond mused from where he now stood beneath the doorframe. He smiled as he removed his gloves, never taking his eyes off his wife’s face. “But as long as we have to stay here while my mother plans her feasts and celebrations, I want it to feel like home.”

Arianwyn surged forward, leaping into his arms as she brought her lips to his. He dropped his gloves, wrapping his hands around her waist and laughing at her enthusiasm.“You are my home, Aemond,” she said when she finally pulled away, “I don’t need anything else. Still, I appreciate the gesture.”

He blushed, then kissed her forehead. “You are my home, as well. Ñuha prūmia se ñuha lenton.” My heart and my home.

“Ñuha prūmia se ñuha lenton,” she echoed, drawing him into another kiss.

Aemond groaned when Aria pulled away, keeping only their little fingers entwined as she guided him through the courtyard. After all Vhagar had put him through that morning, he surely deserved more than that, but he followed her into his dressing room.

“It is not as grand a gesture as yours,” she whispered, lithe fingers unfastening the buckles of his riding coat. “But I hope you still enjoy it.”

For a moment, Aemond wondered why she brought him there instead of one of the bedrooms, but then a waft of perfumed steam at last drew his attention away from Aria’s face and to the large tub in the middle of the room, filled with steaming water. The table beside it held all manner of soaps and oils, including many he did not recognize. Aria’s, then.

“When did you arrange this?” he asked. She had been with him practically every moment since they woke, and he had watched as she left for the Dragonpit. When had she found the time?

She just smiled as she continued to undress him. “Ser Sterlan sent a raven from the Dragonpit while we were flying.”

“You had a raven sent?” Aemond asked in disbelief, raising his arms as she instructed to allow her to remove his shirt. “So there would be a bath ready when we returned?”

Her eyes danced with amusement as she busied herself with the laces of his trousers. When she finished, she hooked her thumbs in his waistband and looked back up at him with a feigned pout he longed to kiss away. “Do you not want to take a bath with me?”

He tightened his lips as he stifled a smile, doing his best to look annoyed, and grabbed her chin. “You are a wicked thing, little wife of mine.”

With a single tug pulling him closer to her, Aria’s pout melted into a great smile. She wrapped a hand around his neck and brought him down for a kiss.

“I knew you would,” she whispered against him, trailing a finger down his bare chest. “Now, I certainly hope you can get my clothes off faster than you put them on, or else the water will go cold.”

Aemond pressed his forehead to hers and obeyed without protest, ridding her of her armor so quickly that he snapped nearly every lace. By the time she was bare, only her left bracer remained intact.

“You have to stop tearing my clothes or Brynna will want to have words with you,” she teased, stepping into the tub, holding his outstretched hand for balance.

He gave a smug grin as he got in behind her, lowering himself to recline against the opposite side of the tub. His eyes wandered to where Aria’s tangled curls fell across her chest, hiding her breasts from him like vines encroaching upon a wall. A quick flick of his hand across the surface of the bath wet it enough to uncover most of the view. “Then I suppose I should be grateful that she is currently confined to the Maester’s Tower.”

She scoffed and splashed water into his face. “Don’t think that will keep you safe,” she taunted, “There is not a jailer in the world who could hold her, let alone poor Orwyle.”

“In my experience, Orwyle is a more than capable jailer,” he replied with latent annoyance.

“I am not your jailer, my prince.”

“Then let me go!”

“You know I cannot.”

Aemond swallowed the bitter memory. Jailer had been one of the tamer things he’d called the Grand Maester during his time in that accursed tower. He had apologized for all of it once he matured enough to realize Orwyle had only been doing what was best for him, but the anger and fear he felt still lingered deep within him. Aria could know none of it.

“Well, you weren’t exactly a model patient,” she said with an innocent smile, as if she weren't the overly dramatic one when it came to illness.

“And what would you know about it?” He asked as he reached a hand beneath the water to grip her ankle and pull her towards him. His letters had contained complaints, yes, but never any reports of his misbehaviors.

She giggled as she nestled herself between his legs, wrapping her own around his waist, her cool touch a delicious contrast to the water’s heat. “Orwyle told me.”

Aemond’s stomach turned leaden. “When?”

“In his notes. The ones he put in your letters when he was writing for you,” Aria explained, leaning back to grab a plush cloth and a small block of soap from the table beside them. It did not seem as if she knew; if she did, she would not be humming as she lathered the cloth. Still, he had to know for sure that Orwyle had not broken his promise. He wrapped his hands around her wrists, forcing her to stop. “Aemond?”

“You and Orwyle were exchanging secret messages in my letters? Why? What did he say?” He sounded desperate, he knew. He was. Aria tugged against his grip, and he realized he was squeezing her too tightly. “I’m sorry.” He released her, rubbing at the slight redness on her skin to soothe the ache. “I’m just… confused.”

Aria, his sweet, kind Aria, did not scold him. “It was only a few times, and he never said much. He just didn’t want me to think him as dictatorial as you made him out to be.”

Relief flooded him, and he leaned into her touch. “In truth, he wasn’t. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten angry.”

“He shouldn’t have kept it a secret from you,” she said as she began to wash his chest. “I thought you knew, or I would have told you.”

Aemond knew she meant it as a reassurance, but the words only drove the guilt of keeping his own secret deeper.

They sat in the water in comfortable silence, taking turns washing each other between soft, languid kisses. Arianwyn was deliriously happy, lying back against Aemond’s chest as he massaged soaps and oils into her hair with his long, nimble fingers. It took all her effort to keep her eyes open, but she did. She wanted to watch him. To see his sapphire reflect sunlight off the bathwater. To see the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly each time she smiled or moaned at his delicate touches. To see the perpetual tightness of his jaw fade as he let himself relax entirely with her in his arms.

Aemond’s hands stilled, his gaze distant. “I hope…” He huffed and shook his head, falling silent once more.

“What is it, my love?” Arianwyn asked, reaching up to hold his face.

He turned away from her hand and shook his head again. “Just a passing thought. Silly, really.”

“Well, that makes me want to know even more,” she countered, sitting up and turning around to face him. He smiled but didn’t look at her, focusing instead on the ripples in the water until they stilled.

He sighed, biting his lip. “I was going to say that I hope our children have your hair.”

A vision seized Arianwyn. A little boy with her curls and Aemond’s crooked grin. A little girl with his eyes and her nose. And more. An entire clutch’s worth of little silver-haired Royces.

For any children they had would be Royces, not Targaryens. House Royce had ruled over Runestone since before the Andals came to Westeros. That precedent could not be changed. Besides, Aemond would inherit no title to pass to his children. Any other man would balk at the prospect, but he would not. Of that, Arianwyn was sure. He had always been fascinated by the history of her family. And at Runestone, he would be the Lord Consort, rather than the ignored second son of the King.

There he was, sitting against Vhagar’s side, the little boy sitting next to him, the little girl on his lap. A book lay open beside him, with large words and colorful illustrations. Two young dragons, one of deepest blue, one mottled reddish-brown, danced at their feet. A family. Their family.

She was there too, clad in bronze armor and standing where Vhagar and Emrys pressed their heads together as they lay on the soft green hills of Runestone. Both dragons looked down at the babe in Arianwyn’s arms, swaddled in bronze and black wool and staring back at them with wide silver eyes and an arm outstretched.

When bay and lake and sea are crossed and conquered.

Helaena was right, in her odd way. They should wait for Runestone.

“Oh, Aria, I’m so sorry,” Aemond’s words pulled her out of the vision, and she found herself tucked into his embrace. A cold tear spilled down her cheek, dropping into the bath. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Why would that ever upset me?” she asked, her voice feeling distant.

He pulled away, pressing his brow to hers. “You looked stricken. Sad. I thought… ”

“I do want to have children,” she murmured. Aemond’s sigh and the tightening of his grip on her waist confirmed what he had feared. “I was imagining what they would be like, that’s all.”

Aemond grinned, pulling her close and kissing her neck. “Were they beautiful?”

“Yes, but – ” She was silenced by a deep, thorough kiss.

“But nothing,” he pulled her onto his lap, his growing arousal pressing against her. “They will be perfect. How could they be anything else with you as their mother?”

“No, Aemond.”

His grip on her loosened. Now he looked stricken, mouth agape and eye watering. “Aria? I don’t understand.”

She embraced him, needing to feel him. His heat. His strength. His heart beating strong and steady. If she didn’t, he might slip away. A decade of waiting wasted on mere days. She wanted more. She needed more.

Aemond held her closer. “Tell me what’s wrong, ñuha prūmia.”

“I want to have children – your children,” she cried. “A whole army of them. But not yet.”

“If it’s what we both want, why do we have to wait?” He rubbed his hand across her back, each movement growing smaller and more precise, until she could make out the shape of a rune. Peace. “We could get started right here, right now.”

Arianwyn shook her head. “Because… I am selfish,” she explained. “We only just found each other. I want a while for just the two of us.”

Aemond’s shoulders fell. “Oh my darling,” he said against her skin. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, each one an assurance and apology. He drew another rune on her back. Their rune. “I did not think. Forgive me.”

“Just…” she sighed, slumping against him. “Just give me more time? Give us more time.”

“I will give you eternity if that is what you want, ñuha jorrāeliarzy.”

A smile crept onto her face as he turned her around, laying her back against his chest to continue massaging the oils and soaps into her hair. Their sweet silence returned. They did not need words. Aemond spoke to her with every tender brush of his fingers, and she to him with a single, slow blink.

“I will pray that they have your hair,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

She pushed back against his chest, savoring the closeness. “And I will pray that they have your eyes.”

“Then it is decided: your hair and my eyes,” he said as he lowered her into the water to rinse her beautiful curls. “I can hardly wait – but I will.”

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[flippinpancakes64]

can you write cullens x reader who is insecure about their acne? 😽

The Cullens with a reader who is insecure about their acne

Again with you people being inside my walls. I’m convinced someone has a camera in here.

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

He thinks you’re perfect either way

He loves you, acne or not

He’s rich so if you want to do like a chemical peel or something else that’s expensive but will help with the acne he will do it no questions asked

And yes you can use his cold hands if your face starts to burn up from it

He hears what people think, but he doesn’t tell you

And if anyone tries to say something to you they are getting decked

Alice:

This is her department

She’s all about fashion and makeup, i feel like she knows about skincare too

She does everything she can to help you

Creams, treatments, washes

But she’s also very clear that she loves you no matter what

She’s helping you because you want the help

She also doesn’t lead you on with false hope

“I just saw that this cream doesn’t actually help you much in the future, so let’s try something else”

Jasper:

Genuinely doesn’t notice

He just sees you, feels your beautiful emotions, and loves you

But he definitely understands the most out of everyone

He has all of his scars that he hates but he can’t control

On really bad days, he uses his ability to help you feel better

But again he’s super supportive in anything that you try to help get rid of your acne

He reads up a bit on what’s supposed to help the most and he tries to do that

But more than anything he’s very understanding

Rosalie:

She is perfect, so you’re a little hesitant to bring up your insecurities around her

But she’s so nice

She keeps up with beauty trends and products throughout the years, so she has some stuff for you to try

She will do anything with you

You feel weird about using this new product? She’ll get in the bathroom with you and put it on too

And don’t even get me started on people at school

I’ve already established she will kill someone for being mean to you

That still applies here

Emmett:

He feels a lil crazy

He genuinely didn’t even notice that you had acne

Bro thought it was freckles or moles or smthn

So when you start complaining about it saying you hate it he’s like “no you’re perfect i love your birthmarks”

Cue the deadpan from you

He just steps back from that side of things

He lets you handle that cause he doesn’t know what he’s talking about lol

But he will beat a bitch up for you so you have that going at least

Esme:

She knows the struggle

I feel like she probably had pretty bad acne for a while when she was a teenager

She tells you all of the things that used to help her

She’s there for you every step of the way

Constantly reassuring you that she still finds you attractive no matter what

And yes she will fund any treatment you want to try

She just loves you and wants you to be happy

Carlisle:

Just looked it up, he is a surgeon (meow 😼 yummy)

So dermatology is not his strong suit

But working in a small town he has to know a little about everything

So he can help you on the surface level (telling you to wash your face, what foods to avoid, etc)

But he’s much quicker to schedule you an appointment with an actual dermatologist

But again, this only happens if you expressly state that you hate your acne and want it fixed

You don’t have to change anything for him

Vampire! Bella:

Some kids used to call her pizza face in middle school

So she knows the feeling

Nothing ever worked for her tho so she doesn’t really know how to help

It just sort of evened out as she got older

But she’s supportive with whatever you want to do

Or don’t want to do

If you never try anything to get rid of your acne then she’s okay

She loves you for you and you don’t need to change anything for her