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g1rld1ary · 4 months

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the way i see you ; remus lupin x reader

➻ synopsis: you're an artist, but you never let any of your friends see your work. they finally attend one of your exhibits and see your feelings on paper

➻ word count: 4346

➻ content: swearing, allusions to sex, gryffindor reader but literally mentioned once, no pronouns but implied to be fem reader, kissing, no war AU!!

➻ the remus brainrot is strong rn

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You were an artist, you had been the whole time the boys knew you. Even in first year as a shy eleven year old, you were always scribbling away in a little sketchbook that lived in the big pockets of your robes. The hobby only developed as you got older, expanding mediums and filling countless sketchbooks. When you weren’t studying (or even when you were supposed to be) it was almost a given that you’d be working on a piece somewhere, far from the prying eyes of others.

Your friends caught glances of your art sometimes, doodles on the corner of your essays or notes, maybe a stray page left out in your dorm which told them you were good, but you never ever willingly let them see it. They didn’t know why, truthfully, you didn’t know either, but it had always been that way and everyone had more or less accepted that.

“Have you ever drawn me?” Sirius asked one afternoon as you all sat out by the Black Lake, cocky grin on his face.

“’Course,” You answered simply, moving to turn back to your conversation with Remus.

“Wait, really?”

“Well you have to have drawn me then, right? Can’t just be Padfoot!” James cut in quickly, making you laugh, nodding.

“Before everyone starts asking, lets just establish that I’ve drawn all of you at some point, okay?” You thought that would calm them down, but it only riled them up further, much to your chagrin.

“And you haven’t shown us?” Marlene cried dramatically.

“I deserve to see you capture my beauty!” Sirius collapsed in an exaggerated performance and you couldn’t decide whether you were amused or embarrassed, giggling and hiding your face in Remus’ shoulder. He merely pat you on the shoulder, shooting you a fond gaze you couldn’t see. James caught it though, and smirked in a way that Remus knew he was about to be embarrassed.

“Have you drawn Moony?” He asked, and you both looked at him suddenly.

“Prongs, don’t,” Remus said sternly, then turning to you, “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer… I know they must ruin the picture.” He gestured down to his scars. You just looked at him for a moment, utterly baffled.

“As if some silly scars would stop me from drawing you,” You said, a sweet smile on your lips, “You’re my biggest inspiration, Moony.” He blushed at that but the rest of your friends tactfully ignored it, though the boys shot him some shit-eating looks.

It was probably true that you drew Remus the most, but it was only because you spent the most time with him! Or, that’s what you told yourself anyway. Remus Lupin was your best friend in the world, and you loved him more than anything. Since you were always together and hanging out, clearly you’d draw him more, it was perfectly natural!

Your study sessions together in the library often devolved quickly, essays abandoned to the side, both of you falling into chatter as you studied and sketched him.

“What’re you drawing, dove?” He’d always ask, knowing you’d never tell. You’d simply press your lips into a cheeky smile, shaking your head resolutely.

“Uh-uh,” You’d say, “An artist never reveals her secrets.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s magicians, stupid,” He laughed, running a hand through his curls.

“Oh,” You frowned, “Well I’m that too, aren’t I?”

“Hardly,” He snorted, “Your essays are more doodles than writing.”

“Hey, Slughorn gave me a whole extra mark for the portrait I drew last week, so none of that.”

Or you’d follow him out of the pub you were all in when Remus needed a smoke, sitting on the blacked out window ledge as he lit up. You thought he might have been the most beautiful person in the world when he smoked, the way the lighter brought out the gold flecks in his eyes and hair and the shadows of night emphasised his unreal bone structure. You’d probably drawn him in that exact scenario hundreds of times, but it wasn’t your fault he looked like a fallen angel. When he leaned over to give you a puff you took it gratefully, if only for the proximity. You weren’t much of a smoker, but for Remus you’d let your lungs rot.

It was moments like that where you’d wonder what it would be like to kiss him, lean past the cigarette and put your mouth on his. Sometimes you thought he wanted it too, the way he’d get slightly too close for best friends, his own hand being the one to stick the dart into your mouth, sometimes so close your lips brushed his fingers. Moments like that made you wonder if he loved you back. Then later, when everyone was drunker, you’d see him stick his tongue down some prettier girl’s throat and you’d remember your place as his best friend. If it stung you tried not to show it, letting some sleazy guy a few years older than you buy you drinks until Peter told you it was time to leave.

Still, you were mostly alright with just being friends with Remus. You still got most of the benefits; his conversation, his dry humour, the ability to look at his gorgeous face. Who needed everything else? Plus, you could draw him whenever you wanted, doing whatever you wanted — not in a weird way. Mostly. You still would never admit that you’d drawn him holding your hand, or kissing you, or other things you desired… The magic of art, right?

After years of bugging, you finally submitted to your friends constant nagging. The day that you officially graduated Hogwarts was an emotional one. Seven years of constant laughter and magic (both literal and the sentimental kind) were over, and the world seemed too large and intimidating compared to the familiar walls of your school. Yet there was no stopping it, and you were all Hogwarts graduates.

While all your parents cried and reminisced over coffee in the Great Hall, your friends had gone for one last deep conversation by the Black Lake. Discussions of the future were unavoidable, but were mostly positive. Talks of trips you’d take, apartments you’d live in and hell you’d raise. When you all quietened down slightly, struck by it being the last time you’d sit in front of the lake, you cleared your throat.

“Um, I have something for you guys, a graduation gift.” From your purse you pulled the envelopes, all filled with fancy cardstock from the art shop near your family home. You’d drawn a simple grey-lead portrait of each of your friends, framed with a little message of congratulations. You watched anxiously as they each opened the envelopes, nervous all the hype would make the art seem inconsequential. Your fear couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Sirius gasped dramatically as he saw what it was, but a genuine smile followed straight after. James burst straight into tears, hardly getting the picture all the way out. You could tell Lily was trying not to follow, but seeing her boyfriend cry set off the waterworks for her. Marlene and Mary were inspecting the others, pointing out the little details you’d put in, like Mary’s favourite daisy earrings or the slit Marlene had impulsively shaved into her eyebrow only a few weeks before. Peter was bright pink, flattered to the highest degree. Remus was hard to read, simply staring at you with the strangest look in his eye. You couldn’t ask him about it though, being ambushed with hugs from every direction.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this talent from us,” Peter said, the rest agreeing.

“Didn’t know we had our very own Da Vinci hiding behind a Gryffindor tie,” Marlene added, making you blush and grin.

You dreaded to imagine what it would look like from an outsider’s perspective, the eight of you teary, sweaty messes all piled on top of each other. Well, seven of you.

“Come on, Moony,” James called in a sing-song voice, “If you can’t submit to a hug at our graduation I am going to give you the biggest, slobberiest kiss and you won’t be able to do a thing about it.” Remus snorted, rolling his eyes.

“You look like absolute wankers,” Was all he said, but joined the pile nonetheless, and you were extra glad he was mainly holding on to you. When you all finally pulled away it was minutes later, but the whole thing was strangely cathartic.

“We all have to promise that we’ll always be friends, no matter what,” Mary said, putting her pinky finger out. The rest of you agreed, sticking your pinkies in for a very convoluted eight way promise. With that sorted your friends started heading back up the hill to the school building, ready to leave Hogwarts forever and prepare for a long night of heavy drinking. Remus held you back. James sent you a suggestive glance when he noticed but left it that, drawing Lily in for a bittersweet kiss.

You turned to Remus, only for his eyes to be locked on the portrait. You’d spent so much time trying to get it perfect for him, practising the stupid knot he insisted on tying every day despite the rest of the school going with a less convoluted method of wearing their ties.

“Do you like it?” You asked, subconsciously twisting your ring around your pointer finger. Remus let out a half laugh.

“I love it, honest. It’s insane, really. That you can make this just like that. It’s just…” You searched his eyes for the rest of the sentence. “You make me look…” He didn’t finish but you knew immediately what he meant. Remus hated looking at himself, training his eyes down in the bathroom and opting to always be the photographer so he didn’t have to see himself in the final product. You knew of course it was because of his scars, but you genuinely couldn’t believe he thought they were ugly, much less made him ugly.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, just once,” You sighed, grabbing his free hand and interlocking your fingers, leading him back to where the others were waiting.

Four years out of Hogwarts and you’d all kept your promise. Of course you didn’t see each other quite as much as the boarding school schedule allowed, but the boys all had an apartment together which brought you together often enough — except James and Lily who were married and had moved down to Godric’s Hollow to raise baby Harry. That similarly brought you all to meet often, all determined to spoil Harry as his aunts and uncles.

You weren’t a full-time artist professionally, though you still did it just as much. You’d evolved to paints by then; living with a muggle because the rent was cheap had the added bonus of not having to worry about leaving your paintings on the easel since you didn’t really care what they thought about your art anyway.

Your friends were all huddled in the boys’ apartment living room, every seat taken as you all caught up. You were on the couch with Remus, absentmindedly running your hands through his hair as his head rested on your lap. You still weren’t dating, but Lily always said you might as well have been. You laughed her off every time — if he hadn’t said anything by now how could he feel the same way? You tried to pretend it didn’t still sting.

You’d tried dating, Remus too. He’d had countless partners since you’d finished school — even more one night stands. Nothing lasted more than a few months. You’d done slightly better, you made it about a year with some bloke that Remus hated before he revealed himself as a colossal dickhead, and you’d been mostly single since.

The group was trying to organise their next meeting.

“What about the movies next Friday? I wanna see that new muggle film, Knife Runner,” James suggested and you and Remus both snorted.

“Blade Runner, love,” Lily corrected with a giggle and James burst out laughing, making a quick joke at his own expense. You’d dug your planner out of your purse to check your availability and frowned, closing the book quickly.

“I can’t do next Friday, sorry, how about Saturday?”

“And what plans have you got on a Friday night, you minx?” Mary asked with wiggling eyebrows. Even Remus looked interested, which made your heart stutter.

“Just a work thing,” You answered quickly, not wanting to reveal the real reason.

“You lie like a rug!” Marlene yelled, sitting up from her spot on the floor. You winced, you shouldn’t have made an excuse that she could so easily disprove, being in the same department of the ministry. “What plans are you too embarrassed to tell us about, slag?” You laughed shortly, their assumptions were so completely off.

“It’s not what you think—”

“Not what you think my arse, who’s ‘Davis Show’ and why is he surrounded by hearts, you absolute tart!” Sirius cried, displaying the planner for everyone to see. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, wheezing as you looked at your friends’ faux-scandalised expressions.

“Look you twats, Davis Show isn’t a man. I’ve been invited to put my art in a show at the Davis Gallery down on Welking Road next week. I can assure you I’m not shagging a man named Davis.”

The whiplash was immediate, the gossip sniffing exchanged for celebrations, you couldn’t tell whose yelling was whose. Peter immediately ran to the kitchen for a bottle of champagne, passing glasses around the room. When the initial excitement wore down you were subjected to a million questions, and tried to answer each of them patiently.

“I can’t believe you weren’t gonna tell us,” Mary pouted and you sighed.

“You know how I get about my art,” You explained, “It’s not that I don’t love you all, obviously, it just makes me so nervous thinking about you guys all seeing my stuff.”

“You know we’re all coming now, right?” James said, wiping his glasses where the champagne bubbles had created smudges.

“You really don’t have to,” You put in quickly, “It’s so embarrassing.”

“Why won’t you let us appreciate you?” Marlene whined.

“It’s just, my art is like an extension of my soul. I don’t think I’d be able to recover if you didn’t think it was good.” Your friends grew rowdy at that, offended you’d even think they wouldn’t adore your art no matter what. You felt Remus put a hand on your thigh and gave him a weak smile, knowing he’d shut down the conversation if you wanted him to. You didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing though, especially when everyone was being so supportive. You figured everyone was so busy they’d forget it by the next week anyway.

Friday came, and you were a wreck of nerves. Although you’d sold pieces here and there throughout the years, this show would be the first time your art would be displayed as a collective, and you were terrified of rejection.

You’d figured your friends weren’t actually coming since none of them had really mentioned anything since. Apart from Lily, of course, who’d sent an owl to your desk that morning with a sweet good luck note and your favourite chocolate.

Even Remus hadn’t said anything when you went for coffee on your lunch break. That did puzzle you, you knew he would never go if he thought it would make you uncomfortable, but it wasn’t like him as your best friend to forget something so monumental in your life. You thought he was acting kind of weird though, more affectionate than he usually was. He kept looking at you longer than he should, and you wondered if you’d miscounted how far away the next full moon was. When you asked him about it he just brushed it off, looking down at his tea instead like he’d been caught.

“I love you,” He said and you laughed.

“I love you too, Lupin!” You cooed, patting him softly on the hand.

“You’re amazing, you know?” You arched a brow.

“What are you trying to make up for?” You asked suspiciously, giving him a once over to search for answers.

“Nothing, promise,” He smiled in a way that made your knees a little weak, “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“You’re gonna give me an ego,” You grumbled, packing up your things to get back to work. As you parted ways he pressed a kiss down to your cheek and you stumbled. Remus was never this affectionate as a person — a pat on the back, a hug if you needed one, yes, but he was never one for casual platonic kisses. You figured it must have been his way to apologise for not coming to the art show? But he knew you didn’t mind, so what was he apologising for? You tried to shake it off and get back to work, but you couldn’t get your closeness out of your head.

Evening fell and you were setting up your stall before the other patrons came in. Rearranging the paintings until you were pretty much perfectly happy, you looked around, still not fully believing you were really here. People were filtering in, well dressed and chattering softly as young waiters handed out flutes of champagne. You straightened out your silky black skirt in an effort to look more presentable, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

At first things were slow, and you almost regretted not inviting your friends, if only so they could make your area look more interesting. And once you let that thought in, you kind of regretted not inviting them anyway. After all, they were the dearest people in your life and this was such a meaningful event to you.

You couldn’t think about that for long though since people had begun to filter over to you, making polite small talk as they admired your paintings. You tried to be energetic, smiling widely if you ever locked eyes with someone. However, deep down, you just wanted your friends.

A little old woman approached you for a while, wanting to know the meaning behind basically every painting and you told her happily, sharing the memories that inspired each work.

“Seems like you’ve got some true friends,” She said, “I hope you keep them close.” You agreed, thanking her profusely as she bought a landscape of the Whomping Willow.

It was growing closer and closer to closing, and honestly, it had been a wonderful night. Seeing the way that people reacted and interacted with your art was a magical experience, and changed the way you thought about it entirely. You decided that if you ever got the opportunity again, you’d want to share it with everyone else.

You were just moving to start packing up when you heard a myriad of gasps.

“What the fuck, dude?” The unmistakeable voice of Marlene McKinnon said from behind you. You whipped around to meet them, breaking into a cheek splitting smile.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked, rushing over to scoop them all up into a hug.

“Fuck that, why didn’t you tell us that we’re your exhibition?” Sirius cried, running up to examine the paintings more clearly.

“And that they’re literally professional?” Peter added, eyes wide in wonder. You flushed red under their praise. If your friends thought your pencil portraits were good, they were nothing compared to your paintings.

Plus, every one of them was of your friends, or something sentimental to you all. Landscapes of Hogwarts, portraits of your friends, captured memories of long summer days, or life sketches from when you were all together. You watched them observe the paintings with nervous excitement, loving as they gave specific, personal compliments that only people who truly knew you could give.

“This our apartment,” Sirius said, pointing to one of your biggest pieces, “That’s our couch, the pillow Prongs has permanently ruined with butterbeer, that’s Moony!”

“There are a lot of paintings of Moony, aren’t there?” James whispered to you, wiggling his eyebrows. You flushed again. Sirius continued on, seeming (or pretending) not to have heard.

“We have to have this in the flat. Right boys?” Your eyes widened.

“Really?”

“For sure,” Peter said, “I’m buying this one too.” He gestured to one of him and James playing chess in the Gryffindor common room.

“And this is taking pride of place at home.” James pointed to a portrait of his and Lily’s wedding, and Lily similarly chose one of her and baby Harry. Marlene took one of her and Mary on the beach and Mary took one of the group at a house party. Half your paintings ended up being sold by the end of the night, and you couldn’t feel luckier. The only one who hadn’t said anything was Remus, who couldn’t keep his eyes off the paintings.

You shooed your friends out of the gallery once it really was closing time, and got to work packing away your things. You were deep in thought, reflecting on the wild day when someone cleared their throat behind you. It was Remus, and he moved to help you put your things away, stacking the paintings between bubble wrap to protect them.

“These are really beautiful,” He said, “I mean, we knew you were talented but… these are seriously on another level.”

“Thanks, Remus.” You smiled, unable to make eye contact as you watched him handle all the paintings you’d done of him. Portraits like the others, but also studies of his hands — god you were obsessed with his hands — his profile, and one less than innocent picture of his back, scars resting over muscles. You probably shouldn’t have put that one out, but to be fair you didn’t know he’d see it.

There was a somewhat awkward silence between the two of you. Not uncomfortable, per se, but there were definitely things you both wanted to say that neither knew how to.

“Let me drive you home,” Remus settled on and you nodded, letting him help you load your work into the boot of his car. You sat in the passenger seat, absentmindedly tapping your fingers on the dashboard to whatever radio station Remus had turned on. Remus stared straight ahead, knuckles pulled tight around the steering wheel.

“I’m really proud of you, you know. This whole show was incredible.” You went to thank him again but he kept talking. “I just wanted to know, um, there were a lot of paintings of me. I was just wondering why, why me?” You hesitated, unsure of what was going to come out of your mouth.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” You decided on with a bit of a sigh.

“You’ve said that before, what does that mean?” Your breath hitched. You definitely didn’t intend for it all to come out tonight, but if you didn’t say it now you doubted you ever would.

“You are the most beautiful person I know, Remus. I mean, even aside from your personality — which we know I have to be at least somewhat a fan of after all these years — you’re totally fit. Your eyes, your hair, God, your fucking bone structure, you’re literally a walking renaissance painting. And I know you think your scars make you ugly, but you don’t know how turned on I get thinking about how they’d feel on my skin.” Shit, you probably should’ve stopped talking.

You hadn’t realised he’d parked while you were rambling, but now you were sitting outside his apartment and he was looking at you with eyes that looked more like the wolf than him.

“I turn you on?” He whispered, voice suddenly gravelly as he leaned closer in to you.

“More than anything,” You breathed, brain buffering at the feeling of his breath on your face. Suddenly his mouth was on yours, hot and electric and not at all gentle. It felt like years of pent up frustration being let out all at once, and if he was anything like you, it probably was.

“Up,” He mumbled between kisses and you heard him undoing his seatbelt, hurrying to do the same. You barely disconnected to get out of the car, attaching yourself to his arm as he led the way up to the boys’ flat.

You made it up the three flights of stairs, not without Remus pushing you up against the stairwell wall to stick his tongue in your mouth, and stumbled straight into his bedroom, shedding layers as soon as the door was safely shut.

The next morning you awoke first, initially convinced you were dreaming when you saw him lying peacefully beside you. Eventually you rolled onto your side, ready to get out of bed for a glass of water when his nightstand caught your eye. There, in pride of place, was your graduation portrait of him, with a polaroid of the two of you stuck to the corner. Maybe he really had liked you as long as you’d liked him.

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melancholyhigh · 1 year

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ARTWORK

ft. leon x artist!reader

synopsis. you're an artist, and leon's your muse.

content. 1.5k words. fluff, smut. nude painting, leon's pov, needy leon, praise kink, masturbation, handjob.

note. this was j supposed to be fluff but i got ahead of myself.

masterlist. i love your guy's feedback :3

“Paint me like one of your French girls.”

You laugh at Leon’s statement. He’s perched on the small, green couch in your home art studio, wearing nothing but his pink, fluffy robe as you prepare your oil paints.

“You’re my first French girl, Leon.”

–-

You had suggested painting him nude while you were both in bed, lazing around. You’re in each other’s hold, Leon’s arms around your waist and face on your chest when he asks about any new projects you had in mind.

He loves hearing about what art piece you were doing or planned to do. It was how you expressed yourself, whether there was a deeper meaning or none at all. He found it beautiful. Every work you do it had a bit of your personality in it. He could tell your work from thousands by the intricate details they carry.

When you told Leon you wanted to paint him, he wasn’t too surprised. You mentioned he was your favourite thing to draw or think of when you had art block. The admission had left him sputtering, his face red as he tried to get his words out.

On the third date, you showed him your sketchbook, pages littered with drawings and portraits of him. Some were quick sketches, while other’s looked like you took time to get every detail of him.

You’re always on my mind, Leon. You had confessed. Was it a little creepy? At that moment, flipping through the drawings of him, the attention to detail they held, he’d say it was romantic.

People have always said he was pretty as a picture, yet you’re the only one that makes his heart beat faster and his tummy fill with butterflies when you say he’s the type of gorgeous you’d find in a painting.

“A nude painting,” you specify. It was as if you told Leon he was the object of your affection for the first time again. His head buries into your chest, trying to hide his flushed face. You smile at his sudden bashfulness.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, baby.” You run your fingers through his soft hair. “I want to try something new, but it’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“‘S fine, angel. But can’t you use a picture?”

“Where’s the fun in that, pretty boy.”

He groans, muffled by your shirt, and you giggle.

He loves to please you — in more ways than one — and nothing compares to the smile that graces your face, so he agrees. It’s not like Leon’s uncomfortable with you looking at him bare and vulnerable. There were other problems he was worried would interrupt your craftwork.

–-

Leon leans back into the couch, doing just as you instructed. His bare back hits the soft cushioning, and it’s surprisingly comfortable.

His robe is off, on the floor next to your easel. He rests his chin on his hand, supported on the arm of the couch.

He’s nervous. You said it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but this almost feels more intimate than being intertwined with you in bed.

Maybe it’s the gaze you hold when you’re analysing him, grasping the compositions and layering basic shapes onto the canvas.

He can’t help but think of when you told him he’s your favourite canvas to mark up. Sucking the reddish marks into his skin which turn the prettiest shade of purple, as you like to put it. Or when you said the colour on his cheek was your favourite shade of pink.

You always did like to rile him up, muttering the filthiest things to him in the most mundane setting, just like right now.

“Spread your legs wider, Leon.” You mumble in a casual tone as if you don’t know the implications of your own words. You’re so engrossed with getting your work right you probably don’t.

It’s so fucking sexy seeing you in your element. Your brows pinched together, and your face serious with concentration.

He obediently listens to you, parting his legs wide, and the problem he wishes wouldn’t happen is currently hardening between his thighs. You don’t notice, mixing paints to ensure it's the correct shade.

You’re probably 30 minutes into painting, and he’s already hard. You said you’d take a while to finish, and he could tap out whenever he wants to, but he doesn’t want to disappoint.

Finally, you’re looking up from the canvas and towards Leon. Your brows quirked up in surprise when trying to examine his features, studying the curve of his nose and the sharpness of his jawline to imitate on the canvas. His face is pink, the shade you know and adore so much.

Your eyes trail down his body, his dick fully erect, slapping against his stomach. Your gaze is on his face again with a smirk on your lips.

He knows, you know, he’s rock-hard simply from the glances you take at him and the words you mutter. His lashes flutter, and he moves his hand to cover his face while the other is shamefully obscuring his cock.

“Be a good boy, and don’t move, Leon. I want to make sure everything looks good.” You say, and he thinks you aren’t going to acknowledge his 7-inch problem.

“Oh, and make sure your pretty dick is hard for me, okay, baby?” You go back to your painting, trying to hide your smug expression.

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his nerves, but he relents, going into position, not before giving his cock a firm squeeze.

“Don’t cum too, okay? I want to be the one making you cry.”

A few hours pass, and Leon is on the verge of tears. He listened to what you said, only providing himself with enough stimulation to keep his cock hard but not enough to tip him over the edge into bliss.

Precum leaks from the head down to the shaft. His dick is red and spent. He wants nothing more than for you to stop painting and make him cum.

“I’m almost done. You’ve been such a good boy for me, baby.”

Your words are almost enough to make him spill his cum over the expensive fabric of your eccentric couch.

You’re adding the finishing touches to the painting with each stroke, making sure you get the placement of each mole or freckle correct and each vein of his cock following to the tip right.

You swear he belongs in a museum. No art can replicate how beautiful he truly is.

“I’m done.” You sigh, moving to get up to rid your skin of paint.

After rinsing yourself off the paint, you make your way to Leon. You get comfortable in a seat on the couch right next to him. He’s breathing heavily in anticipation, looking up at you through his long lashes. Pretty, pink lips parted as pretty gasps left him.

You cup his face, pressing your lips to his. The kiss is soft as you move your lips slowly in unison. He breathes out your name when you pull away. One of your hands moves to his throat, softly squeezing. Leon whimpers, his hands moving to hold your waist.

“Good job, baby. You didn’t cum once. I know it hurts, but I'm going to make you feel better,” you whisper, softly kissing his flushed forehead.

Your hand moves to his pulsing cock, and gives it a soft squeeze, relishing the whine Leon lets out. Your touch sends goosebumps along his skin, and he plants his head into the crook of your neck.

His hips eagerly buck into your hold. He’s practically sobbing into your neck, his soft hair tickling the underside of your jaw. You rest your chin on top of his head, smelling the fragrance of his shampoo.

You thumb the slit on the tip of his cock, using his precum as a lubricant to start moving your hand back and forth on his shaft.

You start at a slow pace. You don’t want Leon cumming quickly, wanting to enjoy every cry and whimper.

The soft shlick noise of you jerking Leon’s cock fills the room with his desperate cries. He pulls back away from the crook of your neck, tears flowing down his blushing face.

“Please, please, please, g– go faster, angel. I’ve been such a good boy for you. Let me cum, please.” He pleads, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. His hips rutted frantically into your palm. How could you deny your boy?

“Okay, pretty baby. Cum for me.” You say softly, picking up the pace of jerking him off.

He whimpers loudly, thighs quivering lightly as his orgasm crashes and hot spurts of his cum spill onto your hand. He’s panting, dazed with lust and staring at you with what seems like hearts in his eyes.

“T- thank you, thank you, s’much.” Leon gasps like a broken record, and you think he’s fucked himself dumb with your hand.

You peck his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up so I can show you my favourite artwork yet.”

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ckret2 · 4 days

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@space-bowl Hi you didn't ask for an essay on this! But I happen to have a detailed headcanon, canon citations, and a piece of art I'm currently eager to procrastinate on so I wrote one anyway!

I base the headcanon that Bill isn't a very good artist on the canonical self-portraits he makes in Journal 3 while possessing Ford:

That looks like the Euclidean equivalent of stick figures to me. I'm not impressed by his artistic prowess.

We know he didn't smuggle out the book he's working on in Theraprism. The Theraprism staff says "you have been contacted through this book against our rules" and includes a photo of Bill working on the journal—if the book was in their hands when they spied him working on it and confiscated it to write a letter in it, then they wouldn't have let it leave the Theraprism. So TBOB is already outside Theraprism when the staff finds Bill making contact with the readers. Plus Ford already knows TBOB exists at the beginning of the book—meaning it was already out in the world before Bill's death.

And so: the book Bill's working on in Theraprism is a different book, through which he (and then the staff) is making psychic contact with TBOB and manipulating TBOB's contents. TBOB never came into Theraprism, and the book Bill was working on in arts & crafts never left Theraprism.

And he SAYS at the start of the book he's manipulating TBOB's contents remotely. When he describes what the book contains, right beside the table of contents, one of the items is:

"Paper" made from pressed, pureed human brain matter. I can invade anything with neurons, so I can project anything I want in here!

In the photo of him working on his end of this TBOB tin-can-telephone, he's beaming his thoughts straight from his mind onto the page (and, presumably, through that page to our page):

On top of that, note what his supplies are: paper, scissors, tape, and glue. We see a clipped-out picture and bits of paper pasted into the journal. He only has one black marker, no other drawing/coloring materials. The journal Bill's making in Theraprism isn't a sketchbook: it's a scrapbook.

And the one time we see Bill deliberately focus on the graphic design aspect of the book, the end result is...

Graphic Design Is My Passion-looking ass.

So here's what I believe: the contents of The Book Of Bill are made up half of a collage of cut-up papers and pictures Bill pasted into his end of the book (magazine pages, textbook pages, newspaper clippings, chapter 2 of The Great Gatsby, etc) and then psychically altered the text of to suit his needs; and half of images that Bill projected straight from his mind onto the pages without needing to actually do any art (such as every time Bill himself pops onto the page to talk directly to the reader).

Still requires a little graphic design work on his end; but if he's largely just slapping down pages of somebody else's completed graphic design work, that takes a lot of the required skill out of it. Definitely doesn't require him to know how to draw.

#meta #bill cipher #the book of bill #gravity falls

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months

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Fingers crossed for an update of Passion for Fashion 💖❓ sorry for the bother but I've just become addicted to reading that Au lololol I've read it over and over again for like a hundred times now

"Give me a spin," Dan demands, keeping a critical eye on the suit pants as the man did as he was told. He clicks his tongue in sharp disapproval before falling into a crouch and fidgeting with the hem.

Danny thinks the suit came out looking fantastic for a stupid theme like question marks. The client was also a rather exciting guy, randomly spewing riddles at them as Dan worked on his outfit and Danny cooked them lunch.

Edward Nigma had shown up on their doorstep with a cheerful greeting at five a.m. Danny wanted to tell Edward that anything before nine a.m. should be illegal, but Dan was happy to welcome him in.

Dan had forgotten to sleep again and didn't realize the early morning start. Danny was getting rather tired of the ghost rushing about with an insane amount of energy, only to crash when his human body could no longer sustain his habits.

After letting Edward get comfortable on the half-buried couch of clothing, Danny wandered back upstairs to his bedroom. It was the only room—besides the bathroom—where there wasn't a bunch of fabric and sewing instruments thrown about. He crashed on his bed and didn't wake up until two more hours later.

By that point, when he had done his morning routine and wandered downstairs, he found Edward sitting crosslegged in a ring of paper. The paper had multiple sketched designs of various suits.

A little to his right was Dan, whose hand was nothing but a blur as it raced across his sketchbook. Danny could make out that he stopped, ever so often, to switch out the coloring pencils for shades of green and purple, but doing it at such a speed that he doubted regular humans would be able to tell.

It meant his drawings were done at an insanely fast pace. He wondered if his Obsession made it possible not to burn a hole through the paper. Was there a way to test that? Ghosts did have an effect on their environments just as the environments had an effect on their forming.

Edward was comparing two papers in his hands with a critical eye. He looked up as Danny stumbled down the stairs- he had never been a morning person. He held up the designs for Danny to see, asking, " What is the most dangerous thing to give a man in a crowd?"

Half asleep, Danny didn't miss a beat in muttering, "Power."

Edward seemed pleased by his response, putting the left one back into the ring of papers before shifting around to face a new side of the ring. There, he ran his fingers over the designs, muttering, "It needs to be powerful."

Right.

"I'm making breakfast if anyone-"

"No need. Edward ordered us some. Your burrito is over there somewhere," Dan cut him off, turning to the next page without lifting his head. "It's part of my commission."

"Free food?"

"For a week"

"Nice"

Edward glances at them. "I can keep feeding you if you answer more riddles."

Danny takes a big bite out of his bean burrito, savoring the explosion of flavor that dances over before nodding his head. "I promise I'll try to answer as many as I can but I'm not the best at them."

The man frowns, turning away back to this pile of papers. "If you're not going to play my game, you don't need to waste the air you breathe in."

Both Fentons freeze at that, snapping their heads in Edward's direction. Now, correct him if he is wrong, but that sounded a whole lot like a threat to Danny. He made eye contact with Dan, tracing the youthful human face that held the same bloodlust as his adult form.

Was Edward aware he had just issued a Ghost Challenge to the one Fenotn, the least human, thus the one with the least humanity of them all, madness cured or not? Is he aware that Dan was putting down his drawings, his teeth more sharp, and his hands curled into claws?

Danny sprung to his feet, mouth open in a shout just as Dan was about to leap-

Ding Dong.

The front doorbell cuts through the air like a knife through hot butter. Dan's ghost instincts all but vanish as his eyes light up in joy. He goes through with his leap, but it's only to go over Edward's form and roll to a stop on the other side, heading towards the door. "My second client!"

Danny breathes a sigh of relief, flopping back down in his seat. He ignores Edward, savoring his food with a deep hunger. Clockwork had sent them over with enough funds to survive, and there were no bills they needed to cover (if there were, no one had bothered to come collect from the Fentons or cut their services), but that was a limit to how loose they could be with their spending.

Danny thought eating out was a luxury he would miss out on until he returned home. Of course, he got a coffee or something occasionally, but that made this free food all the more tasty.

"I was thinking something more eco-friendly," The redhead woman from the runway told Dan as she scanned the room with a hint of distaste. "Are you aware of the damage to the Earth these fabric stores cause?"

Dan eyed her with equal distance. "Are you aware of how little I care about that?"

Edward snaps his head up with a gasp. "Did he really say that to Ivy?"

"I thought her name was Pamela," Danny asks, which causes the green woman to snap a glare at him. He shrugs helplessly at her rage, reminded of Sam in a heartbreaking moment. "Miss, look around you. Do you honestly think ants like us have any say with the fabric companies?"

"You could stop giving them business!" She hisses as Dan rolls his eyes.

"We bought almost everything from a second-hand store or a discount store. The poor don't get to make eco-friendly decisions. They make ones that help them stay off the streets." Danny explains gently, making sure his voice is not dismissive or condescending. He thinks back to nights when he had to talk Sam down from doing something crazy- like setting a building on fire for them and cutting down the oldest trees in Amity Park. "You have the means to make a change."

Pamela raises a brow. "I do make a change. Permanently."

"Oh, that's great. How many trees have you replanted?" Danny asks, smiling widely. It's odd how she reacts to his question, body still going in surprise.

"What?"

"I mean, I figured you would be focusing on healing the earth instead of causing it more scars by engaging in human wars, right?" Danny tilts his head, aware of Edward's flabbergasted look and Dan's apparent boredom with the conversation. "You're different from the big corporations who don't care who or what they hurt to reach their end goal, right? "

Pamela opens and closes her mouth before she snaps her back straight. "That wouldn't save the Earth! Humans are a plague!"

"Humans can also be a cure if the right ones get started." Danny counters quickly. "I mean, what have you done for the rivers around Gotham? The water that flows through there affects the plant life just as much. Also, plants and green help lower depression, and Gotham needs help. Plant some pretty flowers and gardens, and watch the neighborhoods flock to them. If you can convince the people to love the plants as much as you do, they will join you in keeping them safe."

Pamela's eyes narrow. "Don't you dare lecture me about how to save the Earth."

Danny shrugs, stepping away from her. A sudden strong perfume fills the air, causing his nose to wrinkle. It smells like his grandmother's house and is not welcoming. "Wasn't a lecture, but if you take it as such, there is no point in talking about it anymore."

"You're going to die for me," she suddenly says, popping out her hip and smirking at him.

"That's nothing special, Danny would die for a pizza." Dan cuts in

"I would die for an extra cheese pizza." Danny corrects, pointing his finger at his counterpart. "You would die for less."

"Oh, to be dead. In the arms of the most handsome EverBurning to ever live." Dan sighs dramatically, leaning into three pieces of cloth behind him, one hand on his forehead.

Danny threw his hands in the air. He's sick and tired of hearing about the ghost they knew for only ten minutes. "Killer Croc is never going to give you a chance, Dan. Move on!"

"We could have been forever if it weren't for my age!" Dan hisses right back, "You wouldn't understand! It's not like you or Samantha turned five!"

"Who's fault do you think that was? " Danny yells back, stepping around the wide-eyed Edward to snare into Dan's face. Pamela has taken three steps back, looking confused more than anything, mouthing Killer's name with clear disbelief.

"I wasn't the one that messed up the timeline!" Dan hisses, switching over to Spanish. Sometimes, the fake twins found themselves doing that whenever they got too emotional.

"You destroyed the world!"

"As it was foretold!"

"What does that even mean!?"

Ding Dong.

Once again, the doorbell cuts through the tension, making Danny huff. He pushes past Dan, who punches him in the arm but doesn't stop him from throwing the door open. Outside stands Tim Drake, with a bouquet of flowers and a nervous smile.

"I'm here for the suit," Tim says, holding out the flowers. "I know you said I didn't have to pay you, but I thought it was rude to not offer anything-"

"Buy me pizza." Danny cuts him off with dead-set eyes. "Double crust."

Tim startles. "Oh. Sure?"

Danny can feel his face stretch out into a grin. It lights up his whole face—Sam and Tucker had told him many times before—and he just knows it makes him appear lighter and friendlier. Tim's face goes very red as Danny takes his flowers. "It's a date. Come on in. Dan can get your measurements for the resize, and I can get ready in the meantime."

"Okay." Tim follows after him in a daze, stumbling over the fabric rolls Dan had stacked against the wall. He tries to avoid tipping but tangles himself in the string of cloth examples, still strung up everywhere. Danny quickly reaches out to steady him with a laugh.

"Yeah, this place is a bit of a mess," he tells the other. "It's slightly better today since Dan has some guests."

He leads Tim back into the living room, surprised to find that the awful smell has disappeared, Edward is currently being measured by Dan in his underwear, and Pamela is flipping through Dan's designs with a thought frown.

Huh, maybe Dan managed to calm her down. How? He's unsure, but that ghost always seemed to have the oddest people skills.

Tim gulps loudly when he finally spots everyone. "These are his guests?!"

"It's one of the Waynes." Edward cheers, arms held out to his sides as Dan places the measuring tap from his armpit to his waist. "Tim Drake, right? I had you in one of my riddles three months ago!"

"That's funny. I induced his father with pheromones around the same time." Pamela speaks up, giving Tim a friendly smile. It's the most welcoming expression she's worn since she got here.

Also ew, why would she tell someone she hooked up with their dad to their face like that?

Tim pales dramatically, reaching out to clutch Danny's arm. He pats it gently, hoping to comfort him from such a bizarre comment. "Dan, when you finish with Edward, can you message Tim for his adjustments. We're going on a date."

Dan glances over at him. "Whore"

"Just because I've gone on dates while Killer didn't even give you the time of day doesn't mean you can call me names, Dan."

"Whore but affectionately," Dan says after a long pause, and Danny nods.

"That's better." He pats Tim again on the shoulder- aware of his strange fidgeting with a ring on his finger that imitates a strange faint beeping. "I'll go upstairs to get ready. Who knows, maybe we'll find Batman."

Edward and Pamela laugh as if Danny said a funny joke and Tim's face aging a few more nervous lines. "Maybe"

He leaves Tim to take a seat next to Pamela. She leans over to show Dan's designs for her Leaf theme act and asks for his opinion. Tim fidgets even more with his ring as he answers her, voice shaky and cracking.

She seems highly amused.

His pale face stands out among the sea of handing red glimmering fabric around his head, and Danny is startled for a second by the idea that he is pretending to be scared, much like an actor before a red stage curtains.

It takes a particular skill to pull off an act that good. Almost an inhuman amount. One could even claim it was.... Bat-man-like.

I have a lead, Danny thinks with glee as he quickly climbs the stairs. He is careful not to step on bundles of yarn that Dan has stacked there. I finally have a lead!

He's going to charm the pants off of Tim to get him to tell him everything about Batman.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #passion for fashion #Part 7 #Tim is pretending to be a sacred civilian #Dan and Danny bicker but no one else is allowed to say bad things about them #Ivy tried to dose them in pheromone only to come off smelling like old lady #Dan is in fact bitter Danny's dating life is taking off #Edward almost got mauled and he didn't know it

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elmushterri · 3 months

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I filled an entire page of my sketchbook with Nori!

I love them sm!!! This has to be one of my favorite of your rewrites, I seriously did not think I could actually care abt PJ Masks past the age of 6 but now I'm obsessed 😭

On another note, just a random thing I'm curious about, before breaking off from GunnTech, did the main three basically live at the facility since they were initiated? I guess they do from what I’ve seen, but I was just wondering if they ever had to go to like. School or something, when they're not training. And if they ever got to see their family again (though I doubt both the kids and their family would want to lol)

And one more thing, totally important and necessary to ask, how does Nori acquire the kids? (..that doesnt sound right)

Like does he break in to the facility from time to time or did they just bring them with him when they left GunnTech or does he take them in when he finds them just out and about??

NORI… OUR FAVOURITE PROBLEM! The way you draw eyes scratches my brain /positive.

I think the idea is that everyone does live at GunnTech, they have rooms and go to school. GunnTech also has a prison somewhere (like, sci fi, clean, sterile white prison, a glass front-wall for cells instead of bars, and that’s where everyone gets put in Season 4. But, before that, when the main three villains (or at least, just Luna and Nori) escaped, it wasn’t totally locked down so they had to walk out suspiciously/tell the security guards reasons (you need to give reasons when leaving GunnTech so, “I’m hanging out with a friend” comes with ‘who is the friend + give us contact details’) and then probably remove a tracker (unsure as to whether the wristbands are the trackers or the trackers are put into their chest implants), and try to avoid getting caught for the rest of the time (until season 3-4 ofc). The main story probably begins with the three MCs trying to find them and bring them back. Romeo’s wanted cause he stole tech, though, he’s not a mutant.

Nori risks his life basically (not literally but he risks huge punishment) by constantly breaking into the facility to get out new kids. Kids who haven’t yet been mutated all have one room (several large rooms for many kids’ bunk beds basically, not literally one big room 😭) and he goes in and saves one or two each time. Some kids don’t *want* to come with him, thinking this is a cool superhero opportunity. He has an easier time helping kids who are scared and having second thoughts. He’s very gentle.

Also reminder that Nori had their finger prints burned off yipeeee. He’s not letting that happen to the others. (It doesn’t happen to every kid, but GunnTech probably has categories (like, heroes: animals, space, spies, drivers, healers?) and if you’re in the (name is a work in progress) Spies Category (stealth category?) like Nori, you get your finger prints burned off.

Daisy is canonically one of the only two Ninjalino names we know! I might make her into a small side character so that art isn’t 100% solid but eh!

Also he can’t really just “take them back to their parents”. If you’re a child at GunnTech, your parents either gave you away for money or you’re an orphan.

Nori’s usually a sassy ‘problem’ but they have their really serious and gentle moments.

#night ninja #pj masks #gunntech au #pj masks night ninja #nori nakamura #fanart #ama #digitalart #myart #pjmasks #pj masks ninjalinos

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professorcalculusstanaccount · 1 year

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tintin is incredible at timing

(possibly) the final snippet I'll post from my story The Gypsum Maw, the previous part which follows directly before is here - I've been seeing comments asking about where to read the full thing, I'm afraid what I post is basically it - I have more pages in my sketchbook but I suspect they are only legible to me!

this post is already long so more notes and credits under the cut!

I asked for some help for coming up with friends for Chang! The gentle giant Masek was created by InkyTrink on Twitter and the super excitable Libby was created by dreamyopal, a discord mutual:

They came up with some great character notes and were super helpful providing feedback on my designs!

Writing this felt pretty odd in ways. I graduated in 2020 during the Plague Year so my class didnt get a public art showcase. I attended one last year and it was a bittersweet experience.

Reunions feel a bit like time travel, you see people after a few years and things change quite a lot. I wanted to explore this in my post canon series, Chang has grown up, found himself and has been able to live a fairly normal life with family and friends. Tintin in a way reflects that young adult insecurity about being stagnant, like you haven't been able to fully reach adulthood properly. His fame and status as a Young Boy Reporter is holding him captive, he longs for connection but is held back by expectations from both himself and the outside world.

I've also been inspired by the concept of 'queer time,' the concept that the lives of queer people progress differently to the lives of non queer people. It takes time to come to terms with yourself and to come out. Queer people are often excluded from milestones like marriage or having children. Tintin being confronted with his peers at a university highlights his insecurity about being left behind, but he's slowly making the journey to self acceptance by talking to others, and recognising common ground he has with others.

Chang's university isn't a one to one reference to a specific institution but in Belgium there was a secular movement in reaction to the dominance of the Catholic church, in which universities played a key role. There's references to art movements that were deemed "degenerate" by the Nazis here, such as Fauvism and Surrealism.

#tintin #fanart #adventures of tintin #comic #snowy #milou #captain haddock #archibald haddock #ramo nash #chang #the gypsum maw #long post #nazi mention #< in read more #claustrophobia #internalised homophobia

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romanteacism · 7 days

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Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Particular Risk

Synopsis: They say taking a risk could drown you-- but you knew it must be taken, and if you were to jump in the deep end, your knight would always follow you closely behind. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Realizations, Jealousy, Fluff, Princess Taking Risks PREVIOUS PART A/N: MWAH 💋

“No! I’ve already worn this last year— and this the year before that!” You explained as you tried to find a headpiece for your father’s name day celebration. It was a tradition that each name day of the king was celebrated with a masquerade ball— a tradition you had looked forward to each year, always amused and excited to attend such an event. Through the years, it had become vexing as you took it upon yourself to wear a headpiece unique and unlike the other you had worn or anything similar to other members of the court. “How about this, princess? It—“ You cut off the masque maker, “My cousin had already worn a mask similar to that one three years before,” You sighed, struggling to find the final piece of your ensemble for the ball that was fast approaching.

“If I may, princess— perhaps you have a design in mind? If none of these are to your liking, we are more than happy to create a piece completly unique to you.” The masque maker suggested, not wanting to leave their princess unhappy. You paused for a moment and thought about the proposition before nodding; Ser Aemond was quick to your aid and handed you your leather-bound sketchbook and charcoal. You smiled upon him in gratitude, trying to urge yourself to grow accustomed to the quickening in your heart each time your eyes met and your skin brushed. Aemond marveled at how quick you were to sketch what you desired, quickly creating what you wished. You tore the page and handed it to the masque maker. It was a mask in the intricate design of a butterfly wing. “And I want it to be made with sapphires and… and perhaps gold, if it’s not too heavy,” You say, pointing at the places you wished to put the precious gemstones. “Of course, princess, we shall make it right away,” The masque maker bowed and proceeded to leave with haste to complete your masque for the ball that was merely three days away.

As he left you, bit your lip and frowned, “Did you think I was too demanding?” You suddenly asked Ser Aemond as you rested your back on your settee. Second-guessing your particularity and having to ask the masque maker to make you a specific mask when, in truth, the masks he presented were completely adequate. “No, princess,” Aemond replied, questioning why you asked such a question. “Why would you think so?” You sighed and shrugged, “Well, it’s just… I feel guilty— maybe the masque maker thinks I do not think his designs are good to the point that I had to make my own; I do not wish to offend him…” You pouted, taking hold of the masques he had left, twirling the feather decoration between your fingers. “You are too kind, princess,” Aemond said, his heart warming and concerned at how such a little encounter made you feel guilty. “You know what it is you want— that is an admirable quality,” Aemond hummed.

“Is it? My mother always said my particularity is a sin because it makes me demanding,” You muttered. Aemond straightened his stance, “There is a difference between knowing what you want and demanding what you want, princess,” He said, “Being demanding is you take for granted all that you are given— asking and asking for more without even a speck of gratitude. That is not you, princess… that is never you,” You smiled at your knight as his words only made you fall deeper for him. “That is very kind of you to say,” You smiled, trying to reign in the flush that crept up your cheeks. Aemond bit the insides of his cheeks as he realized the smile on your lips was because of him.

When the day of the ball arrived, the keep was busied to prepare for the night's festivities. Ser Aemond stood outside your door as you were prepared for the party in your father’s name, observing and listening to your pacing footsteps as you frantically got ready. “Tighter, please.” You say as you steadied yourself by the poster of your bed. “Are you certain, princess? Can you even breathe?” Your handmaid questions, apprehension heavy in her voice. You nodded and took in a deep breath as your corset was tightened to your liking. You let out a sigh as your body was hugged further by the bodice of your dress. You moved towards your vanity as your handmaid began to style your hair. Theodore lept upon the table, and you cooed at your cat, who was almost fully grown, placing a special collar and a special headpiece on his head so he would not feel left out for the day’s gala.

A knock sounded out as your handmaiden finished styling your hair. You thanked her and dismissed her, and in exchange, Ser Aemond entered your chambers holding two silk boxes. “Your masque has arrived, princess,” Ser Aemond stated and placed down the boxes on your vanity table. A wide grin spread upon your lips as you inspected the mask made to your specifications and wants. He turned towards the other box, not certain of what it could contain, for he knew you had only sent out one design, but he did not question it.

You gently placed down the masque and stood, taking hold of the unopened box, and walked to Ser Aemond, urging him to take it. “Pardon, princess?” he asked as he was uncertain what you meant. “It’s yours— I sent them another design and asked them to make a mask for you,” You smiled. Aemond blinked. “I… I am not in need of a mask, princess— I am not a guest.” He said, but you only shook your head.

“All who will be in the hall later are in need to wear a masque! You are to be my side later on, are you not?” You question, and Ser Aemond nodded. “Of course, I will be by your side—but I do not need a mask— if anything, it would hinder me from my duty. I already only have one eye; it would be cumbersome if I wore a mask and obstructed the view of the other,” He explained, and you pursed your lips. “Which is why I designed one specifically for you,” You say and urge him once again to open the box. Ser Aemond did so hesitantly. Aemond pursed his lips as he was presented with a mask that matched yours. One that covered his damaged eye with a gleaming sapphire. Aemond swallowed thickly, at a loss for words. Had you known his secret? How did you know all that he hid?

“Do you not like it?” You asked, slight dread in your stomach as your knight only gaped upon the mask you designed. “No— I…I do,” He suddenly spoke, fearing he offended you. You bit your lip as you could not read his eye, “If you truly do not wish to wear a mask, I understand,” You said and tried to take it from his hold, but he hindered you. “No, I shall wear it. Thank you, princess,” your knight assured, and you nodded, hoping you did not force upon your knight the mask.

“Princess, the guests are arriving,” You hear a squire call out, and you move to wear your mask and carry Theodore in your arms. As you turned your gaze to your knight, Ser Aemond had already forgone his eyepatch and wore the mask that matched yours— a picture of unity that you could humor yourself with. You smiled as he led out his arm for you to take as the two of you went down to the reception hall. “Happy name day, Father!” You greeted as you saw your father standing by the great doors, already wearing his mask. “Thank you, my darling, and don’t you look lovely,” The king smiled, kissed his daughter on the cheek, and petted her beloved cat. The king moved to glance at the knight who stood behind his daughter, Ser Aemond giving a bow at the king, who gave a nod and noticed how Ser Aemond’s maks matched his daughter’s; the king said naught a word.

You took your place by the left of your brother, and your knight stood behind you. “Did you truly bejeweled your cat’s collar?” Your brother asked, looking upon Theodore, who was perfectly behaved in your arms. “Of course! No child of mine would be underdressed!” You say, placing a kiss on your cat’s back, and your brother lets out an amused breath as you claim the feline to be your child. You greeted the guests who attended the celebration, but you could not help but be distracted and glance towards your knight— sneaking a look upon him as he surveilled all who came and, if any, presented danger. Gods, the sapphire truly suited him. You could not help but think. You let out a breath and returned to face forward to return at the matter at hand, fearing Ser Aemond would notice your glances and learn of your affection for him.

When the party had moved to the great hall, you found your way back to your knight, ushering you along the crowded room. The two of you were supposed to make your way toward the long table at the end of the grand hall, but the call of your name, unchained by any title, made you both pause. Ser Aemond was quick to frown at who had the gall to call upon you so openly. He turned to you, and before he could utter a word, you left his side and readily ran towards the call. Aemond felt a twisting in his gut as you ran towards the man and threw your arms around him— the stranger twirling around and even went as far as to kiss your cheek. Aemond swallowed thickly, not knowing what to do. He knew he must be by your side, but he could not bear to be there when another took his place.

“I did not know you would attend! Why did you not write to me?” He heard your question, watching as you took hold of the man’s hand and pulled towards the end table, walking past him without another glance. Aemond’s hold on the hilt of his sword tightened as he followed you and the stranger whom your brother and your father readily and warmly welcomed. Absent was any recognition from your mother— which was not at all surprising. “You did not tell us you will attend!” Your brother greeted in surprise, hugging the man and giving him a clap on the back. “Of course, I would never miss the king’s name day,” He charmingly smiled, and Aemond watched you roll your eyes as if it were something amusing that completely flew over Aemond’s head— he could not even bear to look upon the man’s face as he was certain if he did, he would have to battle with the urge to maim him. Who was he?!

Throughout the whole night, you were enveloped with merriment and were entertained by the man that Aemond had slipped away form your side, and he was certain that you had not even noticed. He watched from a distance as you spun on the dance floor, laughing carelessly whilst in the arm of another. Aemond looked away, unable to bear such a scene. Jealousy was consuming him, but at the same time, he knew he had no right to feel such emotions, for he was only your knight. And yet, envy gnawed at him— coursing through his veins and making the scar of his eye throb and burn.

At the height of the party, you excused yourself to have a breath of fresh air; you looked around the hall in search of your knight. You had been trying to capture his gaze the whole night, trying to spot his unique silver hair, but he had been seamlessly in the crowd, denying you to gaze upon his lilac eye. You went towards the farthest balcony alone, wagering to yourself that your knight would somehow find you— that an unknown presence would pull him towards you. It did.

“I haven’t seen you the whole night,” You stated, staring at the moon at the distant sound of the party filled the quiet night. You had felt him creep up by his rightful place that he had abandoned the past few hours. “How could you? You were distracted,” Aemond answered, tone holding bitterness that he tried not to seep through, but jealousy was an erratic and unbridled emotion that not many could control. You finally turned to look upon your knight, your smile faltering as you saw his overly stoic demeanor, and he had removed the mask you had made especially for him. “You’re not wearing your mask anymore,” you said quietly, a tad disappointed. “I did not feel the need to, princess,” He answered coldly.

You blinked upon the furrow in his brows. “Are you well?” You questioned, the air between you tenser than it was just a few hours before. “Yes,” Ser Aemond answered curtly. “But you’re frowning,” Ser Aemond shook his head, “I am not, princess.” You playfully rolled your eyes and step closer to your knight. “You are, there’s a line between your brows,” You say, reaching up and trying to smoothen the crease on the middle of his face. But as you did, your knight jerked his head away— as if your touch had scorned him— he moved away as if he were disgusted. “I—“ You say and quickly retrieve your hand, your stomach twisting as you find offense in his actions. “I’m sorry,” You finished your sentence, not expecting him to react in such a way.

Aemond saw the hurt in your eyes, guilt creeping into his bloodstream, but it was overpowered by the jealousy he felt as he had to observe you with the stranger. “Go back to the party, princess,” He said, voice having the same tone of indifference it had during his first days as your sworn protector. “I… I do not understand you,” you said, resting your hand on your abdomen as the twist in your stomach never left. “One moment, you are warm and… and kind and obliging— then the next, you turn cold and detached… why do you do it?” You asked, as much as you hold affection for Ser Aemond, it was hard to overlook his differing treatment. It confuses you further, and you do not know if his sentiments were genuine or an act. Aemond shook his head once more, not wanting to answer your question.

“Just return to the party, princess— I’m certain he is waiting for you,” He gritted, not able to meet you in the eye. You frowned, noting the bitterness in his voice, a bitterness you had grown to know as you had felt it more often as of late. You turned your gaze upon his gritted jaw, then to his clenched fists. “Are you jealous?” You suddenly asked, his stature not of anger but rather of jealousy. His reactions are quite the same as yours as you felt such emotions. Aemond scoffed, “What kind of question is that?” He asked in ridicule, once again toeing the line of impertinence as he addressed you in such a tone.

“A simple one. Are you jealous?” You asked once more, curious as well if that was the emotion he felt and as to why he felt it and what it meant if he were actually jealous. “I do not know what you speak of, princess.” Aemond gritted, not wanting to admit that you knew the precise emotion he felt. You tried to meet his eye, trying to see if he uttered the truth, but he avoided your gaze. You bit your lip in defeat and embarrassment. “Very well then,” you nodded and walked past him and did as he said and returned to the party but your merriment had gone the moment your knight had left your side.

“Come, let me escort you to your chambers,” Aemond heard the man say as he linked his arms with yours. He could not believe what he heard and saw— you nodded and let him assist you, bidding your family good night, and they only let you go off with the stranger without question. Even your brother, who was overly protective of you when it came to your suitors, only nodded and bid you goodnight, not even batting an eye as he let the man escort you to your chambers. Aemond wanted to scream— to let out his frustrations at what was happening, at how you, the one who had insisted that she wanted nothing to do with a suitor or the opposite sex, let this man escort you to your room. He tried to listen in to your conversation as he trailed behind you in the halls, but your voices were hushed and could not be understood; it was as if you two spoke a secret language— familiarity between the two of you evident and only twisted the heart of Aemond.

You paused when you reached your door, smiling at the man. Ser Aemond held his breath as he watched you stand at the tip of your toes and give the man a kiss on the cheek. By gods, this was torture. What had he done to bear witness to such a scene? Aemond was ready to succumb to another dimension of hurt and envy, but before he could fall into a further pit of despair, he heard you speak. “Good night… brother,” You smiled fondly. Ser Aemond caught your eye as you quickly glanced at him before disappearing into your chambers, leaving him dumbfounded. Brother?

The next morning came, and everyone in the keep had a later start on the day except for Aemond, who still tried to piece together what you had said the night before. Borther? You had another brother? How did he not know? None had mentioned him before— he was absent from any other event— he was not even present in any of the portraits in the keep. How, then, could he be your brother!?

“Goo—Good morning, princess,” Aemond stuttered as you exited your chambers. His jealousy had simmered and instead turned into nerves as he did not know where the two of you stood after your conversation last night. “Good morning.” You replied curtly, walking past Ser Aemond, growing accustomed to the usual retaliation and routine of ignorance and silence whenever you and your knight would grow cross with one another. He followed you to the gardens, your usual lonesome place now housed your two brothers who waited for you. “There you are!” Your brother, whose name he was still yet to know, greeted. “I still cannot believe you did not tell us that you were coming! We could have prepared your room!” You greeted your brother as he assisted you to your chair. “Well, in truth, my coming was unplanned— I was only near the capitol as I had to buy supplies, and I thought I should come to the king’s celebration,” Your brother explained as he fought with you with the piece of pastry you were eyeing, smiling at his tease to acquire what you wanted but in the end, he only placed it onto your plate.

“I actually have to leave— I had just waited for you to wake so I could bid you goodbye.” The smile on your lips quickly disappeared. “But you’ve only just arrived! And we have not seen you in so long— must you truly go already?” You asked, disappointed upon the revelation. “I’m afraid so; they are waiting for me in the Citadel… but I assure you, I shall come once again during winter— that is if your mother allows me to step foot on capitol grounds.” Aemond frowned upon your other brother’s wording— the prince letting out an amused chuckle as he popped a berry into his mouth. “Fine. But if you are not here by the holidays, I’ll have Father send out men to come fetch you, I swear.” You say as you narrow your eyes, and your brother only smiles. “I know, you’ve done it before.”

Aemond followed as you and the prince bid goodbye to your brother by the gates. Aemond still wondered about what had happened— at how the man he thought was your suitor was your brother and how your brother was not acknowledged by the court. “Ser Aemond,” the prince nodded as he walked past your knight to attend his duties for the day. Aemond swallowed as he heard you sigh, the two of you now left alone and the tenseness in the air had never departed. You and Aemond were once again succumbed to the silence of indifference— one he hoped would be quick to be gone. It was nearing nightfall, the sky alight with the afterglow of the sun, and Aemond could no longer stomach the two of you not speaking.

Your knight pursed his lips and let out a grieved breath, daring to take hold of your arm and pull you into an alcove of an empty hall. “What is it?” You asked coldly. “I…. I—“ Your knight could not articulate his words— confusion and remorse taking hold of his senses. You stood there for a moment as Ser Aemond could not make out his words, but the confusion in his eye told you all that you needed to know. “Do you recall when I told you when my mother and father did not marry for love?” You questioned, and Ser Aemond only nodded. “Father loved another… and from that love came our half-brother.” You explained the deepest secret your family had to your knight. “He was born a moon before my mother and father married— but his mother had died during his birth. Instead of disregarding his existence, Father placed him in the care of a distant cousin— and the court has been fed the lie that he is our cousin when, in truth, he was our brother.”

“He is a bastard,” Aemond stated as he recalled all you had said. His words quickly made a frown slip to your face. “He, is my brother. No matter the state of legitimacy.” You said, and Aemond recoiled as he realized not all held the distaste for bastards as he did because not all had the same treatment he had from the bastards in his family. “I’m sorry, princess,” Aemond said in remorse, not even able to meet your gaze. You pursed your lips and rested your back upon the curved wall of the alcove as you assessed Ser Aemond. It should concern you that even though he had offended you, your heart still yearned for him. “I still do not understand you,” you say. “Whenever I think we are venturing towards a sense of normalcy— that we’re getting somewhat closer… you grow cold and distance yourself.” You hated this— you hated to sound as such before Ser Aemond because you knew, at its core, your relationship did not warrant any speck of closeness or anything that resembled intimacy. He was your knight, and you were simply his duty.

Aemond licked his lips as he had no words to explain why he did such action— well, he did have the words, but he knew he could not utter it. “That is just how I am, princess,” he reasoned, but you sighed and crossed your arms across your chest, looking to your left and momentarily distracting yourself with the view of the afterglow. “I do not believe you.” You say quietly. “You do not have to,” Aemond answered. “So last night… your reaction was not brought forth by jealousy— what was it then?” You questioned, daring to utter the question even though you took the risk of hurting your pride once more. Aemond bit his tongue, having no way out of the conversation. He swallowed thickly, and before he could listen to reason and before his sensibilities could hinder him, he spoke the truth. “It was.” You frowned and wondered if you heard correctly. “Why?” You questioned in disbelief.

Aemond turned to his right and stared out into the afterglow as well, knowing in himself there was no escape— he knew he must take the risk even if his station and pride would be on the line. “Because… because he took my place.” He said, not having the guts to offer half-truths or a made-up reason to defend his actions. “You had not even noticed my departure, for you were too consumed by his presence,” he mumbled, not able to hinder himself once more. “So you were jealous because you thought he was my suitor, and my attention was on him instead of you…” You trailed, your knight unmoving and providing no validation for your question. “Why would you be jealous?” In truth, you thought he had no care— that he was immune to such emotions, for your affections were certainly unrequited… wasn’t it?

You locked eyes with his unique lilac ones. The silence was palpitating but never uncomfortable. None uttered a word, but each moment you held your sworn protector’s gaze, you found your answer. You let out a shaky breath as you realized Ser Aemond’s gaze mirrored yours— that your emotions were one with his. And with such realizations, words were taken from you, and all you could do was close the damned gap between and take the risk. You stood on the tip of your toes and let your lips be met with your knight’s because you knew what you wanted, and what you wanted was him. Just him.

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inniebin · 1 year

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What nicknames bf!skz would give you~

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Pairing - ot8 x reader

Genre - Fluff, angst-ish for Seungmin (sorry minnie stans 😭)

CW - Smacking (affectionate!!), mention of worshipping, bad language.

Chan;

There was one time when him, Changbin and Jisung were working on an upcoming comeback and you were sitting on the couch with the younger members of 3racha while Chan was on his chair. He had gotten a notification on his phone and looked down to read it and spoke without looking up, "Baby girl, can you go get the food we ordered? It's just arrived." You stood up and ushered a quick "Yeah" as you left the room while Changbin and Jisung were looking at each other with their eyes wide. Chan hadn't realised he had called you 'baby girl' until you had left and he heard the other two burst into laughter and tapping his shoulder. He quickly smacked their heads and told them to shut up before you came back in. You came back and didn't even question why Changbin and Jisung were wiping tears from their eyes and catching their breath while Chan was blushing like crazy.

Minho;

You two were just cuddling on the couch watching some shitty movie on the TV when you looked up at Minho and called his name. "Hm?" he hummed without taking his eyes off of the screen. "I want a kitten" you said which got him to look down at you, smiling "Already have one." He laughed when he saw your confused face. "You do?" You thought he only had Soonie, Doongie and Dori. "Yeah, you. You're like a kitten, clingy as hell and always pestering me." You smacked his arm, "Hey! Rude..." He smirked at your reaction. "I never said that was a bad thing, Kitten." You blushed and tried to focus on the movie again, not before catching him smirking into your neck before giving it a peck.

Changbin;

Honestly? He calls you by a bunch of nicknames but his favourite has got to be 'princess'. He thinks that you look like a princess so he most definitely thinks that you should be treated like one. He pretty much worships you and the ground you walk on. You can't even go an hour without him calling you 'princess'. Be it when you're spending time together and just chilling or when he texts you while he's producing another song or practicing in the dance studio. If he's the one to text first then you should fully expect to see it starting with 'Princess' or 'Hey princess'. His goodbyes definitely include the word too, "Bye Princess!!" or "I love you, see you later princess ❤". Blushes like mad and tells you to stop when you call him a nickname but thinks it's fine to call you by one 24/7. Gets all giggly when you call him 'Prince' because he thinks it's cute that you two have matching nicknames.

Hyunjin;

Stays want to know why his favourite thing to paint are flowers. The answer? That's the nickname he has for you. He has a whole sketchbook just for drawing and painting flowers. If you dye your hair? He paints flowers only that colour until you change it. He has a second sketchbook that he fills with flowers. Every page is covered, except the middle two. Those two pages have a drawing of you in the the middle and at the top "My Flower" is written in cursive. Around the drawing of you are things he has written himself. Things that remind him of you and how he feels about you. On your 1 year anniversary he had given you the complete sketchbook and once you see the middle pages, you start to cry which in turn makes him cry too. Little did you know that he would do this every year and when your 4 year anniversary hit, instead of it being a drawing of you it was a drawing of a ring with the words 'Will You Marry Me?' at the top.

Jisung;

I know this is simple but... 'baby'. Whenever he's writing a romantic song he makes sure to have at least one 'baby' in it. He knows that you know it's his nickname for you so he found a way to dedicate every song to you without mentioning your name. I also think that Jisung would want to be more private with relationships. I'm talking private, not even the members know about you. Jisung told his members about you a few weeks after your 1 year anniversary, announcing it publically 2 months later. He thought that his first live after the announcement was hell. STAYs were constantly teasing him in the comments about finally knowing who 'baby' was in all his songs, making him blush while you're laughing at him from the other side of the room.

Felix;

He called you 'Chick' once when you firsted dating and it kinda just stuck with him. He was so happy when he was able to choose his SKZOO to be a chicken. Whenever they are touring and you're not able to join them, he'll steal some of his favourite perfumes of yours and spray Bbokari with them. He likes to pretend that it's you that he's hugging every night to help him fall asleep. Not before sending you a 'goodnight' voice message obviously. If you wear an outfit that he loves then he'll try find Bbokari a matching version and get you to take photos together and put the in the 'family photos' album on his phone.

Seungmin;

He doesn't really like nicknames so when he does use one on you it's normally 'love' and it normally means he's done something that he thinks you'll be mad at or he's just not had a good day. Today? His day was horrible. He kept messing up choreography to the point where he had to sit out and he just couldn't get his lines right in the studio. You walk through the front door to see all of the lights off, the only source being the reflection of Seungmin's phone on his face as you see him lying on the couch with himself wrapped in a blanket as you go to make yourself a drink in the kitchen. He notices you and whispers a small "Hey, love." Your attention is immediately shifted from your glass to him. "What's wrong?" You look at him with a worried expression. His eyes start to tear up, "Today was just shitty..." You rush over to him when you hear a quiver in his voice and kneel down so you can hug him. "Hey... you're fine, tomorrow will be better. I promise." You say before you tell him to scooch over and let you under the blanket so you can smother him in cuddles.

Jeongin;

He had just got back to your shared apartment after a long day of preparing for a comeback, stuff like practicing choreo and recording lines. He was too tired to even get himself to your bedroom because he caught sight of you watching TV on the couch and literally plopped next to you. His head was resting on your right shoulder and you moved your left hand up so you can play with his hair. "Hm... Bub that feels nice." He muttered as he started nodding off to sleep, 'Bub?' you thought. You decided not to wake him up and quiz him on it, deciding to do that in the morning so you could also see his flustered face.

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