#standing under a plethora of stars
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Geminids ✨
#those clouds had me going for a moment there#but they kept it moving so#standing under a plethora of stars#in the freezing cold#is all a girl rly needs#was worth not feeling my toes for quite some time after#was standing there for almost 2 hours 🤷🏻♀️#geminids#meteor shower#astrophotography#mine#naturecore#dark asthetic
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Miguel's Personal Hairdresser
*wavy/curly haired, dilf, dad bod! Miguel propaganda!! Miguel is literally 40, i do not even care*
"I look like a neglected dog, baby." Miguel stares into the mirror, ruffling the grown out undercut that cascaded down his neck before huffing in annoyance.
"Noooo, I love your hair, Miggy! You look so handsome, you CAN'T cut it... those men at the barbershop always mess it up, they don't know how to do it." You whine, rushing into the bathroom where your older boyfriend is grabbing at the slightly frizzed waves framing his masculine face.
"¿En serio? They don't know how to do their jobs, baby?" Miguel smirks, glancing down at your tempered form as you begin opening and closing drawers frantically, pulling out a plethora of products.
"I think I've been going to Mateo since before you were even born..."
"Okay, you are NOT that old."
...
Miguel never paid too much mind to his hair... he just didn't care. Not until he met you, at least.
You couldn't care more, always resorting to brushing back stray whisps when cuddling with him, wrapping a tighter wave around your finger, watching it unravel.
Miguel didn't truly understand how much you loved his hair until you almost fell to your knees one particularly hot summer, after he swore he was gonna shave it all off.
...
"You're taking such good care of me sweetheart." Miguel hums as you massage at his damp hair, gently untangling his thick hair.
"Only the best for my man." You smile as he slightly readjusts his broad body in the stiff kitchen chair you dragged into the bathroom, pudgy arms crossed across his chest. His sharp but smiley eyes follow your movements as you section his hair off, the hair clip barely latching onto the small amount of hair you separate. You feel him tense under you as you reach towards the hair scissors resting on the counter.
"You have to trust me, Miggy. Do you trust me?"
"Mm course I do, baby."
...
Miguel laughs in response to you telling him to stand up, readjusting the skeletal-like chair (that was making his plump ass way too sore) away from the mirror as to not "ruin the surprise". As you re-situate, Miguel quickly glances down at the tiled floor, secretly breathing a sigh of relief when he doesn't see his entire head of hair resting at his feet.
Grabbing his soft stomach, you walk him back to the chair, patting his hip to have him sit down before you pump a dime of curl cream into your hands, smoothing it through his hair and finger coiling some especially droopy waves. Miguel rests his eyes as he feels your fingers dancing all around his head, completely releasing the weight of his head into your hands when you scrunch his strands up to the crown of his head, face heating up when you kiss his forehead.
"Sooo handsome... you're so pretty, Miggy. " You hum and Miguel swears he's seeing stars. Hearts pounding in sync, Miguel pulls you closer by the waist, thick hands skimming up and down your sides before he slightly lifts up your top, cranning his neck to press his lips to the exposed skin. He feels so sleepy, so intoxicated, and you can tell. His eyes slump in on themselves, half shut as he dreamily stares up at you. Your touch was putting him to sleep, like a big, strong baby.
"I'm almost done... and you look very dapper." You giggle, releasing his curls as you move to grab your diffuser.
...
"Ahhh, okay, okay!! Baby, you look soooo good! Tell Mateo to move over, I'm taking his chair."
Miguel chuckles as your excited hands block his vision, feeling you shake and jump out of pure pride.
"Okay! Three, two, one, tada!!!!!" You gasp, almost in surprise of your own skill as Miguel grabs his glasses off of the counter and pushes them onto his face.
"Maybe you're right baby, poor Mateo... you're gonna put him outta buisness." Miguel leans towards the mirror, smiling in astonishment at how curly his hair can really be when nourished.
"You like it?" You hug his chubby side as he continues studying himself.
"I do, baby. I love it. You really worked your magic on me, huh? Thank you bebe."
...
"Do you think you could dye this?" Miguel's question catches you slightly off-guard, making you turn to look at him as he sits on the couch. There he is, your big, beautiful man absent-mindedly twirling a unique wave around his finger as he read a comically large novel. The strand lacked the color of the rest of his dark-chesnut hair, marking his many years of being, simply put, human. It layed against his tan forehead, isolated and bold.
"Why would I do that?" Your shocked tone tears his attention away from his book, furrowed brows forcing a small laugh from his throat.
"Well... don't you think it makes me look... old?"
Unsure of himself, feeling silly, he mumbles almost to himself as he returns to his book.
"Aye, put the book down. You know how beautiful you are?" You sit yourself on his lap, holding onto his cheeks as he places his book mark into the inner spine of his book. You feel him softly chuckle against you.
"I'm serious." You reiterate, face stoic.
"I'm very lucky to have you. So good to me... I just hope you know I can keep up with you." Miguel smirks, covering up his slight slip of insecurity, both of his hands encasing your hips.
"Mhmm... why don't you remind me?"
Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo
Gotta get back into it, feeling so rusty 😫
#fem reader#size difference#age difference#miguel o'hara#miguel headcanons#miguel x reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman#dadbod!miguel
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you- through hyunjin's eyes.
words: 1,034 pairing: hwang hyunjin x gn reader genre: fluff, artsy hyunjin, quite romantic really, artsy hyunjin is literally so in love with you.
The Louvre is especially crowded today. People cascading down the stairs in crowds as you make your way up with your lover's hand in yours on a relatively colder Paris Thursday evening. The pair of you are making your way to the Greek exhibition section of the museum.
"Oh look we're here." Hyunjin's words come out as a sparse cloud of white vapour from his pink lips as he takes your hand and leads you to the section you both have been looking for. Upon entering you're greeted with a plethora of delicately crafted statues. You let out a soft exhale in wonder as your gaze observes the statues. "It's amazing how stone figures can look so delicate and silky.", your face stretched into a wide eyed smile as you took in the sight Hyunjin hummed in agreement as he shifted his gaze towards your fascinated and awestruck features.
Hyunjin has his gaze fixated on you through the scarf around his neck that covers the near lower half of his face. As you both strolled away around the gallery, you admired the art, with your hand in his, while Hyunjin was rather oblivious of the artistry of the porcelain statues, giving you only a few hums and chuckles as his response, every time you asked him anything rhetorical about the intricate physiognomy of the statues. Make no mistakes here, Hyunjin is a lover and admirer of almost any form of art by his heart. But today, at this very occasion, standing in the world's most prestigious art museum,
he can't help himself.
The only art capable of capturing and holding his gaze present in this very gallery, is you. No art satisfied his heart, quenched his thirst now that he knows what it's like to be able to look at you at your rawest.
Your eyes widening every time you make your way to a new statue, right before crinkling into a smile as they sparkle in exhilaration. The curve of your eyelashes that surround your sclera, creating the faintest shadow due to the lighting. The faint yet visible rosy red shade of your nose, shining under the lights of the gallery. The silhouette of your hair right above your eyes as they fall in uneven strands, framing your face. The rising of your awestruck eyebrows at the sight before you. The round of your cheeks when they rise as you smile your widest not caring if you look good or not. The lopsidedness of your true smile revealing your teeth that adorn your face perfectly. Every little bump, spot and pore of your skin. He could never get tired of it all.
Hyunjin's heart gave him the impression that it could explode. He loved it. He loved every little aspect of you, that maybe you haven't even discovered. His heart feels so full at times like this. You're a breath of fresh air, a healing breeze on a tiring day. You're just so human and real. Every little spot, bump, hair, line, curve and hollow added to the masterpiece that's you. He couldn't care less about the symmetry. He loves all your little details. Every time he has painted you, with or without clothes, he's just left breathless by the end of it, you're just so perfect, those brush strokes could never do you justice. He thanks his lucky stars everyday to be able to be this close to you, to be able to know you to the extent he does.
"Hyunnie are you feeling okay?" you squeeze his hand when you spot him quieter than usual.
"Huh? Yes yes. I'm fine I was just observing the statue a little too deeply." he snaps out of his trance with an embarrassed chuckle. "You haven't said much since we've been here, is there something I can help with?" you ask, placing your hand on his cold cheek. "I promise, I'm fine baby. I can get too immersed sometimes you know, it's nothing more." He reassured you with a firm squeeze on your hand that he had been holding. You giggle in response, "Oh I see my boyfriend's nerdy artist side is really enjoying this visit then. I'm glad." That full and whole feeling in his heart intensifies at the sound of your hearty giggle. He pulls you close gently by the waist, to plant a kiss on your forehead, "Can I take pictures of you here?". His breath fans your lips as he seeks permission, "Just my personal collection." You smile at his cuteness and nod in approval.
The next few minutes are accompanied by flash less clicks of his camera and your wide varieties of poses. You're not that great of a poser, so he helps you and guides you through it as usual. He does love it when you do your own thing though. He thinks it captures your essence the best. When he's done he gives you a thumbs up and you make your way back to him to look at his captures. He shows them to you with pride, "You're so gorgeous, hun." he mutters as he continues showing you his clicks. "It's mostly just your photography." you chuckle. He rolls his eyes at you a little and shakes his head.
Hyunjin is a lot of things but something he isn't is a verbally expressive person. He struggles to say the right things, at the right time and voice exactly how he feels despite being a deeply emotional person. So he always tries to show you what he sees through the clicks of his camera, a few poems here and there and paintings and sketches carefully hand drawn with love. He never thought of them as much, but this was his way of expressing his whole hearted admiration and love for you. He swears one day he'll make you see yourself in all your glory just the way he sees you.
Hyunjin puts his hand under your chin and makes you look up to face him, he places a tender and lingering kiss to your mouth that catches you off guard.
"These pixels could never begin to interpret your beauty, and I'm just an amateur with a camera, Y/N."
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Never Good Enough // Mickey Garcia
Summary: People always leave Fanboy. He goes through pilots like chump change. Is it him? Is he the problem? What happens when one of the many times you’ve tried to console your husband when his demons become to brutal?
Warnings: Left Behind trope. Spooky dream vibes. Depressed Mickey. F-18 crash.
Author Note: Day Nineteen of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Left Behind. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.
Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist
“Honey, I think you might be reading into this a little more than you should be.” Mickey Garcia could be described by a lot of people as a lot of different things. He could be described by his colleagues as a genuine soul whose love for aviators made excelling in his career easy. His friend could say that he had one of the most endemic memories to date– holding a plethora of knowledge about star wars, star trek and battle star galactica, basically any and all shows and movies that end in the word star at the tip of his tongue.
Fanboy is a team player, he thrives off the people he chooses to surround himself with. He’s a social butterfly who goes from person to person through the night collecting stories and making memories laced in drunken hazes or sober serenity. He could be described as a compassionate person who goes above and beyond for the people in his life. 2
But most importantly, his wife, Y/n, could describe Mickey as a life partner who consistently shows that he is one of the best people you could ever know. He knows how to crack a joke at the right moment and lighten any mood you might find yourself in. His love for his passions and career and his wife surfaces any kind of love anyone had ever seen.
Because Mickey Fanboy Garcia is good people. Simply put– he’s the best kind of person you want on your team.
But despite all that, despite all the kind and gracious things people say about him–Fanboy couldn't feel any further from it.
“But I'm not.” It was the way your husband said it that made you question if you were the one who wasn't taking his concerns as seriously as you should be. Mickey stood in the shower with his head under the warmth of the running water, hiding his tears as the muscles in his back clenched in anger. “Payback was my longest standing front seater, everyone leaves.”
You knew it was hard on your husband to say goodbye to people who he trusted with his life. You could remember the last time Mickey was separated from his front seater. Erin was a dear friend, but you hadn’t seen her in a few years.
“Everyone always ends up leaving me and I don't know what to do with myself.” You had a feeling this could have been about more than just Payback's new posting. There was an underlying tone of self sorrow that you picked up on as you turned around to face your husband as he showered. As you let out a soft but audible sigh, you knew that there had to be more. “Six months–six months is the longest I've had a front seater for and you wanna stand here and tell me I'm not the problem?”
You and Mickey didn’t argue an awful lot, again, he was as kind as kind could be. But he was struggling, he had concocted this ideology in his mind that everyone around him, all his friends, his family, you, we’re going to leave. Abandon him sooner or later.
And it didn’t help that you and Mickey had been working so much as of late that your conflicting schedules were beginning to take a toll on your ability to communicate properly.
“I don’t think it's you babe–” You began as you made your way over to the shower door. The fog from the shower made the glass its home as you pushed it open, watching as your husband's muscles tightened at your response. But you persisted, hesitantly. “Erin, Reuban, even the guys before like Luke and Mitch, they were either stationed out or just got caught up in the reshuffle, I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with you.”
Mickey Garcia was genuinely the best person you knew. So when he turned around with veins popping in his neck from frustration, you didn't know how to process the way his tone echoed off the walls around you. It didn't sound like your husband, the man you loved so dearly. The man who was usually the level headed, logical partner out of the two of you.
“Y/n, just stop.” You had to pause and take a minute to register what was going on. “You've been working nights, weekends, hell you've even been working my days off– I know somethings going on.” You really had to hold your tongue as Mickey let loose. You knew it was coming from a place of anger and frustration, but regardless it was missguided, it wasn't appreciated, and it certainly could have been handled in a better way. “If you’re gonna leave too, just fucking do it.”
Your husband never swore at you the way he just had. Mickey wasn’t himself, you couldn’t recognise the sadness in his eyes. The pain behind his tears. He was crumbling under the weight of being left behind over and over and over again by the people who mattered most.
“You think I’d leave you?” You had to make sure you had all the dots connected before you decided to let your frustration run wild. “You think that because the people you work with change and that I’ve taken on a bigger role in the company that I’d leave you?”
“Everyone leaves me!!” Mickey finally snapped as he ran his hands through his wet, dark brown locks. Completely soaked and clinging to his scalp and neck. “Everyone—so yeah, with the track record I’ve got going babe I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before you decide I’m not good enough for you either!” You stood there completely speechless, in all the years you had known your husband you had never seen him so broken, so full of self doubt and self loathing that he had begun to take it out on you. “I’m not good enough—“ But then, the gentle stream of tears turned into someone more violent and all consuming.
“Honey—“ You cooed as you watched your husband shake his head as painful sobs ripped through his chest. The walls were all closing in on him. Those shoulders of his that you thought could have carried the weight of the world, slumped in utter defeat and soon enough—Mickey Fanboy Garcia was on his knees under the warm stream of water, crying out for someone to stay with him. “Oh Mick, honey.”
“Everyone always leaves.” It came out like a mantra, the voices inside his mind wouldn’t stop. “You’ll leave too, and I’ll be all alone and I don’t know what I keep doing wrong.” You had to do something, consol your husband so that he knew he wasn’t alone. He had his demons but you were there to fend them off, like a knight in shining armor.
As Mickey kneeled under the warm stream, crying into the palms of his hands, you stripped off your clothes. Articles laid strewn across the bathroom floor haphazardly as you stepped into the shower and kneeled with your husband.
But you can't control a nightmare that isn't yours, and you can't decide what happens next in someone else's dreams.
It was only then did the nightmare Mickey thought he was already living turn into an all out hellscape. Your touch, usually so warm and comforting, was as cold as ice. So cold it damn near burned his cheeks. When Mickey looked up to meet your gaze he saw nothing but dark eyes that allowed him to peer into your soul. Nothing remained but a darkness so unholy that it made him jump about three feet away from you into the glass of the shower.
“We all left you Fanboy.” It wasn’t your voice anymore, but Paybacks. “Wake up!” It was your body, but your voice had been contorted into something straight from hell.
Mickey cried as you crawled towards him, he cowered in the corner of the shower as you cornered him in, trapping him without any kind of defense as you chuckled and smirked—the corners of your lips exaggerated to the point it looked as if your lips had been pinned to your cheeks.
“Wake up, don’t you smell the burning fuel?”
In that very moment Mickey gasped as the overwhelming smell of burning jet fuel choked his airways. Suddenly he wasn’t in the shower anymore—he was in the snowy pine fields laying on his back looking up at the clouds above.
“Y/n?” He moaned as he rolled over, still coughing and splattering as he tried to gather his bearings. What had happened? Where was he? Oh. The mission. “Payback?”
Groaning as he rose to his knees, Mickey took his helmet off and looked around the burning rubble and debris from the F-18 he’d just been in. Parts laid sprawled over the snowy field as small pockets of fire burned the twisted chunks of aluminum and carbon fiber.
The more he looked the more he came to terms with what had happened. It was a surface to air missile.
“PAYBACK!?” Mickey shouted as he stumbled weakly to his feet, coughing up blood as he did so from his prominent injuries. How was he even alive? “REUBEN!?” His throat was cut up. Torn apart from shouting and yelling at the top of his lungs as he walked and walked and walked through the forest to try and find his front seater.
A panic deep inside him began to bubble over when Mickey realised that his biggest fear was coming to fruition. And when he heard the helicopter buzzing not too far from where he stood he knew that he was being left behind, he knew he was going to be left behind to die alone.
“HEY!” He shouted as he ran as fast as he could, sprinting through the thick covering of snow as he saw Payback being hoisted into the air. “I'M HERE! WAIT!”
No one could see him, no one could hear him. All Mickey could think about was you, his beautiful wife, being left to stamp his wing into his coffin.
“PLEASE! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!”
But it was all to no avail, the rescue helicopter turned around and began to fly away. In the opposite direction from where Mickey stood. And his biggest fears came true.
Mickey Fanboy Garcia wasn’t good enough to be saved. He wasn’t good enough to not be left behind, and he certainly wasn’t going to be rescued.
He’d been left behind.
***~***~***~***~***~**~***~***~***~***~
Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt
#ailesswhumptober2023#leahs whumptober masterlist#mickey garcia#mickey fanboy garcia#mickey garcia angst#mickey garcia whump
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1-the character everyone gets wrong for Gravity Falls and 16-you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc) for Star Wars ??
The character everyone gets wrong (Gravity Falls)
I want to preface this answer by saying that I think there are a plethora of fantastic Gravity Falls fics, comics, and metas out there that address and explore Stanley's possible mental health issues in light of everything we've learned about his backstory, which is pretty damn bleak. And yes, I do enjoy reading this angst.
The fandom tends to focus on this particular side of Stanley and with good reason - it is absolutely fertile ground for analysis and there is no doubt he is a tortured individual.
But there is a tendency to "blorbo-ize" Stan and his sympathetic history. While he was absolutely forced into some horrendous situations and had to make decisions based solely on survival probability, this is also a man who has a rap sheet a mile long, has outstanding warrants throughout the majority of the country, and is heavily, heavily implied to have been dealing in cartel business.
You don't get that far in these circles without having a backbone of steel and the capacity to do some seriously shady - and bloody - shit. Sure, Stan eventually bailed from the more hardcore aspects of his existence. And this isn't to say he's fundamentally a bad person or even liked everything he was doing - but he is a dangerous man, whether that danger comes at the end of a gun barrel or a marked ace of spades.
And I think this aspect of his character gets underplayed in a lot of fandom. (Interestingly enough, Ford is the one who is generally allocated this role, due to his dimensional hobo life on the run. And Ford is a badass, but Stan is equal to his brother in this, albeit in a different context). Stan maybe wants to forget that part of his life (understandable), but he didn't get as far as he did being a criminal (you don't get to rack up that kind of sheet and stay mostly clear of the law without some considerable feats) without developing certain skills and he'd be dead five times over if he weren't some kind of threat. Yes, by the time we meet him in the show, those instincts may have been dulled, likely intentionally, but this is the same man who admits to having 10 firearms in his household, even if his reasoning is (seemingly) ludicrous.
Runners-up: Mabel and the Flanderization of her zaniness. (Let's not forget she put the majority of the puzzle pieces together in Not What He Seems). Ford's seemingly god-like combat skills (the man gets his ass handed to him on multiple occasions in the show and is in constant need of rescue after he comes back from the Portal. Don't get me wrong - I love a badass Ford - but he wasn't exactly batting 1.000 after returning to Gravity Falls).
16. You can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc) (Star Wars)
I fully expect to get pilloried by certain factions of the fandom for this opinion, and to be honest, it's been a long-standing thorn in my side.
The Jedi were not 100% without fault and yes, some of decisions they made fed into their ultimate demise.
Was it deserved? No. Were they evil? No.
Were they a stagnant organization led by a creature who had lived long enough to distance himself from the day-to-day concerns of the majority of mortal beings under his care? Yes. Did they have an effective strategy to combat their massive, massive PR problem - a problem which ended up with them characterized as a baby-snatching cult of superbeings that could easily usurp the will of a (corrupt) Republic government? Nooooo, not at all.
They refused to play politics. Until they had to play politics. And they lost on all sides.
There was so much emphasis on tradition and purity of said tradition in the organization - even if the highest members of the Council didn't necessarily 100% agree with this - the mythology of it was present enough in the Jedi Temple, that constant, subtle pressure to do things in a certain way, to avoid wholly the Dark Side (even if the individual teachings of the Masters went against this). The Jedi wanted to change, but at the same time, couldn't budge the 1,000 ton boulder of their past until it was too late to avoid Palpatine's machinations.
The ultimate tragedy is that the Jedi meant well, but couldn't collectively nudge their organization towards change.
And they did make some baffling decisions - Anakin being allowed to train at all being peak among them. (And then letting Obi-wan - a grieving 25-year old being held hostage by a deathbed promise - to train Anakin, as per the "will of the Force..." This was not well-thought out by anyone involed.)
Dooku had legitimate criticisms of the Order, even if he ultimately expressed his grievances by betraying everyone and everything he loved and aligning himself with an ultimate evil that not even he could overcome. Qui-gon, for all of his many fault, had some great ideas for the Order and should have been on the Council - if for not other reason, than to upset the status quo (and yes, I know he turned it down, and that's another story altogether).
It feels, that in a certain way, the Jedi were crushed by their own mythology, and by the time that leviathan breached the surface, it was far too late for change.
Discussions of the Jedi have a tendency to polarize quickly, and I'd love for there to be more space for exploration of where they did fail without consigning the whole organization to the out-of-touch and evil-by-incompetence box.
(And caveat lector: post this fully admitting I haven't meditated on Star Wars lore in quite some time, so excuse some of the broader strokes of this analysis).
Ask me a spicy fandom question
#hello there#ask legobiwan#gravity falls#stan pines#mabel pines#ford pines#star wars#the jedi#there's a whole other category for my sincere dislike of human!bill but that's not germane to these particular questions#so i'll just leave that little tidbit in the tags
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Matthew 11:12
This fic has some heavier themes: Non-Con/Dub-Con, Somnophilia, Violence, Blood, if that isn't your cup of tea then I recommend not reading!
Let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy xoxo
-Ichigo
18+ only, Minors DNI, NSFW.
Includes: Dacryphilia, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Somnophilia, Violence, Blood
All rights reserved: do not translate, plagiarize, claim my writing or cross post it on any other platforms, leave my writing alone.
The night had arrived with the grace of a glass falling to the tiles, shattering into a plethora of lights and stars that could barely be seen. The streets and the nights were what Dabi knew; he could map the back streets and the vendors with the ease of someone all too used to passing by unnoticed.
He hurried through the crowds, turning sharply down a grimy back alley that many passed without so much as a sideways glance, all too eager to hurry past it. Another turn and he was climbing the stairs of an apartment building that looked like it should have been condemned a decade ago.
In that apartment, amongst the dregs of society, Dabi’s heart rested, behind locked doors, vulnerable to no one but its owner.
Everything Dabi had in life, he had because he took it. He had the money for this shitty apartment because he took it from those who didn’t deserve it. He had the clothes on his back because he took them from shops that wouldn’t even notice they were gone. He didn’t have to worry about people fucking with him because he burned them to ash like the trash they were. He took to survive. Dog eat dog world.
the violent take it by force.
And yet. And yet, standing in the doorway of his room, small enough to make a cupboard look like the Hilton, he watched you as you slept in his bed, unaware and vulnerable.
He didn’t have to take you. You were the only thing in his life that had given itself to him willingly. When he met you that night in the club, he’d thought you were just going to be a way to pass the time, make the night more interesting. How wrong and right he was. You certainly made his night more interesting, only you had bewitched him, even when he’d fucked you that night, even though he’d just came he felt like his heart was going to burst when you stood up to leave; he felt like his self-control was going to snap when you winked and promised him more.
Dabi looked at you now. The girl with no fear. The girl who didn’t look at him in disgust. The girl that picked him. That chose him. He was that girl’s number one, her first choice, the man she’d chosen over everyone else.
In return, you didn’t ask anything of him. Dabi didn’t know what to do with that.
the violent take it by force.
You’d fallen asleep waiting for him, dressed in a t-shirt you’d stolen from him, claiming that you loved the smell of him, that it made you feel safe and comfortable. Dabi’s insides had twisted when you’d told him that; what the fuck was wrong with you? You loved the scent of burning human flesh? Of smoke? Of misery and ineptitude? You’d smiled and laughed, kissing him gently and simply saying you liked him.
What was there to like? Dabi wasn’t a good person. Good people would see a pretty girl lying in their bed wearing their clothes and tuck them back under the duvet that they’d kicked off of them. Good people didn’t think about how your thighs looked so soft, spread open and inviting to any sick fucker that could have walked through the door
No one would dare. Under pain of death.
Good people wouldn’t be thinking about shoving themselves into vulnerable places, disregarding your tears and taking, taking.
Good people wouldn’t get turned on by the thought. Dabi was harder than he could handle.
the violent take it by force.
He locked the door behind himself. Setting down the bag by the door and kicking off his boots and coat. He undressed himself silently, unable to take his eyes off you.
Settling between your legs, Dabi spread your thighs, scarred hands a stark contrast to the unmarked glory of your skin. You hadn’t bothered with underwear, and he wouldn’t pretend that that would have stopped him.
He dragged one finger over the hood of your clit, pinching it and then running it between your folds. You were already wet. Already ready for him. Always so willing.
After shimmying down the bed, he ran his tongue through your labia, fingers digging into the plush meat of your thighs and spreading you open so he could spear you on his tongue. Above him, he could see you shifting, moaning quietly as he lapped at your cunt and clit, drinking down everything you gave him. You always just gave to him. Always so wiling. You seemed so much softer and warmer than normal.
Even as he violated you, desecrated you, you were totally at ease under his hands.
the violent take it by force.
He rose up, spitting into his hand and stroking over his hard cock, weeping with precum and a violent red. Dabi hiked your hips up to rest on his thighs, pushing his shirt up to grasp at your little tits that he loved so much as he slammed himself home.
He was brutal, stretching you open with little prep and finally, finally you woke up, eyes snapping open and mouth opening to scream.
Narrowing his eyes, Dabi wrapped his hands around your throat, ignoring the burning behind his eyes when yours, so wide, so confused, met his.
the violent take it by force.
“Shut up,” he said, choking on a groan as your walls clenched around him, body relaxing as he continued his assault on your cervix, slamming his cock into you like he wanted to burst through your stomach. You tried to choke out something, cut off sounds spilling from your open mouth.
“Shut the fuck up.” He whimpered, arms beginning to tire and shake. “Shut up, or I’ll fucking kill you.” He leaned his weight down over you, and he felt his cock twitch as your eyes widened when the pressure on your throat increased to unbearable. He was so close. Close to coming, close to losing you, close to crying.
Those beautiful hands he loved, that had been scrabbing at his arms pathetically reached up to grasp his face, fingers finding purchase between the staples that held him together. And then they dug in, and pulled.
You touched skin that hadn’t been touched in nearly a decade, so delicate and painful.
The skin of someone he had buried and burned.
Dabi’s hands left your throat as he screamed, coming up to grab at yours, not pulling them away for fear you’d tear his skin off.
You gasped loudly, drawing in deep breaths, moaning pathetically around the cock that was invading you. What a wakeup call. Your hands fell down beside your head as you gasped, Dabi’s own grasping at his face as he whimpered.
You held one before you, noting that it was drenched in blood. Between the gaps you saw azure flames staring back at you.
Holding Dabi’s eyes you drew the fingers into your mouth, moaning deeply at the metallic iron that washed over your tongue. Not unlike the taste when you’d run your tongue over Dabi’s staples, laving kisses on them.
Dabi groaned at the sight, at the wild look in your eyes, unable to stop himself from grinding forward, loving how your body not once tried to reject him, always sucking him in, demanding more.
Your legs crossed behind his arse and pulled him closer. To say he was shocked was an understatement. Staring down at you through his fingers, hands on his cheeks, holding himself together, weeping blood, he saw that you weren’t angry with him. The look in your eyes was greedy, dark, and so loving.
It drew a sob from his throat.
“It’s okay.” You said, other hand of bloodied fingers coming down to rub at your clit, head thrown back in ecstasy, “It’s okay, Dabi. You’re being so good for me. My baby taking such good care of me.”
Dabi couldn’t stop the bloody tears as they spilled down his cheeks, sobbing desperately as he began to fuck back into you, drawing his hips back and swivelling them up. A wet sob caught in his throat as it was replaced by a moan, the sounds of your sopping wet cunt squelching as he defiled you bringing him to a precipice.
Panting in your face, eyes ablaze, you thought Dabi was beautiful. He was setting a brutal pace, and you knew you’d be aching tomorrow, but you didn’t care. He was filling the emptiness inside you, forcing himself into places that you were too afraid to let anyone else into. Dabi was the only one that would dare to clamber over your defences, and to make sure that you wouldn’t ever forget him.
A particularly brutal thrust had you wailing, legs trembling, and back arching as you came.
“Fuck, please, baby, please, I’m gonna cum, please, please.” Dabi begged, hands clutching at the sheet by your head desperately, and you threw your arms around his neck, breathing into his ear,
“Come for me, that’s it, my good boy, such a good boy.”
With a sob, with a screech, Dabi bottomed out in you, wailing into your neck as he emptied himself in you. Between his incoherent wails, you could’ve sworn you heard him say -
He collapsed on you, breathless, and you peppered kisses on the skin of his forehead, his eyes, lapping up the bloody tears.
A moment passed, and he reared his head,
“I’m sorr-“ you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself on his tongue, both groaning. The amount of time you both spent kissing each other was endless.
“Shut up, Dabi.” You murmured against his lips, “You were so kind, darling, eating me out like that. I was planning on surprising you, but you wanted to surprise me instead. Such a sweet boy.”
Dabi began trembling and you shushed him, running one hand through his hair, pressing him into your neck, the other running up his spine as he cried.
“You didn’t hurt me, Dabi. You’re not a bad person. I love you too.”
You felt his cock stiffen inside you again, and you grinned into his hair.
“I want you to make sure to kiss me this time.”
Nodding, Dabi swivelled his hips, heart soaring in joy when you giggled.
He was good. He was good to you. He didn’t have to take from you. You would give him everything. He would give you everything. No matter what. You had clawed under his defences, and devoured him.
“I love you, Dabi.”
He’d give you everything. Every part of him. It was yours to use.
He rose and pressed a deep kiss to your lips, and as your lips parted to accept his tongue, he let you swallow and devour the last piece of him.
“Touya.”
From the time of John Baptist hitherto, the kingdom of God suffereth violence,
and the violent take it by force.
#todoroki touya#touya smut#dabi smut#dabi x reader#dabi x y/n#non consensual touching#tw sa#tw injury#tw blo0d#cw: somno
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Can you write headcanons for morpheus with a violinist reader? Please ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Absolutely! ❤️❤️❤️
fun fact: when I was away on holiday with my mates family, I learnt that her dad was not only a guitarist but also a violinist. (beginner obviously)
A/n: this went on for quite a bit that it kinda became a slight Drabble and got a tad of a brain fart on how to finish it at the end…oops 🦦
It’s no real secret that Morpheus held his artists, writers and musicians to the highest degree. After all they inspire and ignite dreams within others whilst actively achieving their own along the way.
They are what kept the dreaming alive in Morpheus’s opinion for without it them, where would he, the dreaming and it’s populace be if not lost to the stars.
So when the lord of the realm of dreams started indulging in romantic relations with you, a violinist, after a coincidental interaction at a recent recital of yours down at your towns local theatre. It was bound to become an inside joke that only the two of you would understand. Much like all relationships did when reminiscing on the first meet cute.
Morpheus knew of the works you have, will and never get the chance to perform within your lifetime. They were his personal favourites as he could feel the amount of effort, love and respect you had as a violinist. Each piece was a either a love letter to the people who started and ignited the dreams of yours and others to per-sue a familiar path. Wether they be family, friends or historical figureheads who paved the way for future generations.
He even found a love for the pieces that sang of a lost love, a bygone friendship or that of a unfortunate tragedy. Without the use of the voice of a singer, the music was gifted the ability to tell the story instead through the vast compositions.
Throughout the story’s highest of highs and lowest of lows, the music flowed from one pivotal moment to the next like that of a flowing river, transitioning with seamless ease. These were the moments that morpheus loved the most about music and to have you possessing such an ability made him feel all the more blessed.
When you weren’t playing the violin however, morpheus would take your hands in his and runs his fingertips against the callouses of your hands with such a tenderness.
Even going so far as to press kisses against them as a sign of his worship of you; Which left you with a sense of pride swelling with your chest alongside an abundance of love towards the endless. For even without the use of words Morpheus manages to recapture your heart each and every time that it sparked a plethora of ideas for future pieces.
Yet it was proven a difficult to somehow convey your every thought, from the first to last, you’ve ever convinced about morpheus never less the emotions he made you feel. For no amount of time and effort put into the creation of something befitting of someone of your lovers status was no easy feet to accomplish.
For you to encapsulate what Morpheus meant to you was to re-enact your emotions, your thought process, to even your physical stance of when you first met him during the recital. How he seemed to stand out in the crowd despite it not being his intention as he could easily blend in amongst the human populace, if he so wished.
You remembered the entranced state he put you under when he seeked you out personally for your music had -as he had so eloquently said- ensnared him mind, body and soul. And said it with the straightest face you have ever seen on another person.
You had even kept yourself up at night trying to perfect it until it met your standards but failed to realise that without your presence within the dreaming, morpheus has became worried that something had befell you and made haste to the waking realm at once to where he now stood in the doorway of your room.
“My beloved.” You looked up to be greeted with starry eyes that glowed their silver light into your own, glimmering with worry much like his voice did. “What ales you from sleeping?” He speaks softly as he gets you to lower the violin back into it’s casing, placing the bow next to it as he began massaging the tense muscles that held the instrument by the neck.
“I’m trying to make something for you but nothing seems perfect enough or gift you for our upcoming anniversary.” You told him whilst fighting back a yawn. Sudden drowsiness seemed to be the major effect that Morpheus had on you whenever you were within his presence; Something of which that wasn’t uncommon on sleepless nights like these.
“Perfect or not I’d still encase them within the finest frames in my palace walls for all to see.” Anything thing about dating Morpheus was that of his tendency to display everything you did to the people of the dreaming. Whilst it was pleasing and all you did create them with your lover and loved alone in mind.
Your apprehension must’ve been clear enough to be seen within the dimly light room as Morpheus’s face softens as he rested his forehead against yours so he could stare deeper into your eyes. “What is it my love? Does that not please you?”
“Everything I make, I make with you in mind Morpheus,” you tell him, “whilst I’m honoured that you wish to share my creations with the dreaming folk…I just wish you’d act on your selfishness and horde them for only your eyes to see.”
Morpheus’s face held no emotion for a brief moment before a soft smile blessed his plush, pouty lips. “If that is what my muse wishes then so be it. I wasn’t fond of sharing what I now know was intended for my eyes alone in the first place.” He replied, pressing a kiss against your lips before adding on, “though I’m not ashamed in showing how extraordinarily talented you are, for it sends a reminder that you are no one else’s but mine and I’m yours.”
#the sandman headcanons#the sandman fluff#the sandman fic#the sandman fanfic#the sandman x you#the sandman imagine#the sandman imagines#the sandman x reader#dream of the endless imagine#dream of the endless x reader#dream of the endless imagines#dream of the endless x you#morpheus fanfiction#morpheus fic#morpheus imagine#morpheus imagines#morpheus x you#morpheus x reader
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[9] 𝔹𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 & ꜱᴛᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ
yandere!xiao x (gender neutral) reader
cw: modern au, yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping/captivity, dark/obsessive thoughts, implied stockholm syndrome, brief mentions of murder/death
previous chapter → [bitter & dry]
Xiao shouldn’t be alarmed by Ajax’s obnoxious way of inserting himself into everyone’s business, especially when there isn’t a single place he belongs, but this most recent curveball has left him reeling. It’s a gross feeling, one that sinks like a stone in the pit of his stomach and remains no matter what he does to rid himself of it. He can’t bother finishing the rest of his meal and is eternally grateful when Zhongli requests the bill instead of ordering dessert like Ajax suggested. Despite the afternoon sun hanging in a cloudy sky, a creeping cold has settled under his skin, fueling all of his worries with its ferocious chill.
One fact has become as transparent as the cleanest sheet of ice: Ajax is a threat he can no longer ignore—a shadow who now stands before him rather than behind.
He contemplates a variety of scenarios on the way back to the office, dull, uninterested eyes hiding a plethora of macabre thoughts. If Ajax is observant enough to keep a mental image of Xiao’s handwriting and nimble enough to swipe his grocery list when he isn’t paying attention, what else can he do? That picture he took doesn’t depict two people getting into an argument and hugging it out, and Ajax knows that. He’s intelligent—that much is obvious. If Ajax isn’t going to strike him down like any normal person would, what else will he do? What could he possibly gain from meddling in Xiao’s life like this? If he plans to tell Boss Zhongli—if he tries to use this as leverage to get closer to his secret—it will spell doom for the secret paradise he’s immersed himself in for months now.
He’ll really kill him if that happens.
“I’m heading out early.”
Xiao blinks and suddenly the once sparkling sun has dissolved into the horizon in a lapse he hardly noticed.
“Do what you must,” he mutters, eyes never leaving his computer screen. The spreadsheet glares at him with its columns and rows, data sets twinkling like analytical stars in a white space.
“It’s not healthy to overwork yourself.”
“It’s not healthy to force unnecessary suggestions on others.” The sharpness that lines his words is unintentional, but he does nothing to make that distinction clear. Xiao inhales a deep breath, holds it, and then releases it. “Just go home. You’ve done enough work for today.”
As if acting like a child is the equivalent of a long day’s labor.
Ajax leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I was only joking. Earlier at Wanmin, I mean. I don’t really know what your handwriting’s like, nor do I have any special interest in it. I was hoping the jokes would loosen you up a little—make it more casual.”
Well, it didn’t, he wants to say.
Xiao rubs circles into his temples to ease the encroaching migraine.
“You worry too much.” He chuckles at his own remark. “Who cares if a prickly guy like you enjoys sweets? Everyone has a sweet tooth, yeah? Don’t take it to heart.”
“Sure.”
“Then are we good? I just wanted to clear that up.”
“We’re fine.”
“Cool. I’m just trying to make this internship as fun and fulfilling as possible. I hope you’ll understand as my senior.”
Xiao peers at him and for a split second he envisions twisting a wickedly sharp knife into his stomach. “I understand.”
Ajax flashes him a tiny smile. “Then I’ll be on my way. Have a good night. Don’t work too hard.”
His steps echo down the hall, growing increasingly faint until he can’t hear them anymore. And then, moments later, the distinct sound of shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor invades his ears. Ajax pokes his head back inside, his expression brightening like the windows in a haunted dollhouse.
“I almost forgot!”
Xiao raises an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure if anyone came to your office today, but they’re starting to get a headcount of everyone who’ll be attending the party at the end of the month. Boss Zhongli and I are going. You should come, too!”
“I’m not interested in parties.”
“But it’ll be a good time, and we can use it as an opportunity to get to know each other better. At least give it some thought. You never know; you might just change your mind.”
Xiao stares at the space where he once stood. Silence envelops the room.
That will never happen.
It’s half past ten when Xiao finally forces himself to stop. He shuts his monitor off, gathers his briefcase and jacket, and locks the door on his way out. As he walks down the hall, he admires the lights from other nearby buildings and it faintly reminds him of a jar with foil taped over the mouth, individual holes poked into it with a toothpick. There’s a person in every window—someone working, drinking and eating, living. All types of flavors reside in those boxes of light. There are people just like him—people going through the same daily routine. But unlike them, Xiao has a reason to endure this vicious cycle of mundanity. He has a special secret.
He carries on with his night, ignoring the illumination of hundreds of lives, and makes his way to the elevator after shutting off the rest of the lights in the office. Even if he’s overheard his coworkers complain about how creepy the building gets at night—at how empty and quiet it is—he’s found that he enjoys the peace. When the living contents of the room have been purged, he can allow himself the luxury of simple relaxation.
Crowds have never been his favorite. It was like that even when he was young. After his boss had rescued him and ensured that the horrible man would be prosecuted for his crimes, Xiao needed a lot of time and convincing to actually step foot outside again. Zhongli was patient. He never forced him—never once laid a hand on him unless Xiao was the one who came to him for physical touch. He respected his boundaries. He cared for him.
It was the beginning of spring when he finally gathered the courage to go outside. The ice had melted into reflective puddles and the flesh-numbing weather had slid away into dark, scary corners. Spring arrived with rain, comfortable temperatures, and the earthy scent of blossoming trees and growing saplings. Xiao had pressed himself against the window overlooking the fenced-in backyard, where a large ginkgo tree rose up from the ground, bare and lonely. Zhongli had approached him, a glass jar in one hand and a net in the other.
“Many creatures return to Liyue in the spring. It’s a time of rebirth and growth.” Indicating the jar with a shake, he offered Xiao a friendly smile. “Perhaps you would like to catch some insects? You can put them in this jar for observation before releasing them. How does that sound?”
Xiao turned to look at him, a single question festering in his yellow gaze.
“It’s very safe. Most butterflies native to Liyue are harmless. You’ll be all right.”
Xiao wanted to go out there, but his body wouldn’t let him. It remained rooted to the floor, and all he could do was peer helplessly out the window. He inhaled a shaky breath, steeling himself. There was a fence; he would be okay. And Zhongli would be with him.
His hands curled into determined fists. “I want to catch one for you.”
It was the first time Zhongli had ever seen an inkling of curiosity cross Xiao’s emotionless face. And for Xiao, who swung the net as if it were a weapon and stumbled through the yard with the intent to capture and release, it was the first time he had ever used his hands to cradle a beauty so fragile.
Xiao’s eyelids can barely stay open as he drags himself to the supermarket. He retrieves the crumpled list from his pocket, courtesy of Ajax’s ignorance, and scans each word. His secret’s handwriting is the only thing keeping him awake. Even the flowery doodles and incoherent scribbles are sweet. If he could, he’d have this work of art framed. It’s just too precious not to preserve.
He’s in the process of reaching for a box of cake mix when a sudden thump resounds from behind him. He pivots and immediately wishes he hadn’t.
Lying on the floor, pale-faced and sweating, is a young man with golden blond hair. Xiao blinks, rubs his eyes, and then blinks again. He looks between the man and the cake mix, as if debating which is more important, before bending down to get a closer look at him. Xiao pokes his arm, but he doesn’t stir.
“Hey.” Another poke. “Get up.”
It takes a few more insistent shakes and a louder inflection, but the boy sits up with a gasp, dizzying himself in the process. He stares at Xiao, bloodshot eyes narrowed in bewildered scrutiny.
“Am I bothering you?”
“You fell just now.”
“I did?” His eyes flick to the floor. “Huh... I guess I did.”
Is he serious? Xiao wonders, watching the man flex his fingers and then admire his surroundings. What’s up with him? He looks…not well.
Xiao rises from his spot on the ground and resumes his observation of the cake mix. It’s lemon raspberry-flavored. He’s not sure if he could tolerate such overbearing flavors, but if it’s what his secret wants he has no choice but to endure it.
“I’m sorry to ask this of you, but could you help me back to my place? It’s late and I don’t really remember the way… I hardly got any sleep last night and I’ve been putting up posters all day long. I’m exhausted.”
He stares at him, unable to determine his flavor profile. Disregarding taste, he realizes that the young man is sunshine in a polluted sky. Once bright and happy, he’s been reduced to a husk of a person—someone who has no need to keep track of things like time and health because he’s lost everything valuable in his life. He’s just a ghost in this world, gliding through each day without any purpose. Transparent and lonesome—a nobody.
Even though he wants to decline, he asks, “Do you live nearby?”
“Not exactly. If it’s out of your way, I understand. I’m just worried I’ll pass out again. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
“I don’t know you.”
“I’m Aether.” He offers him a strained smile. “Now you know me.”
“I’m shopping, so I can’t.”
“I can cover the fee. Consider it remuneration for bringing me home. So how about it?”
Xiao doesn’t need his charity. He shouldn’t even entertain the idea of accompanying this man, not when he’s already spent so much time away from his secret. You’re probably worried sick right now, checking the time over and over as you agonize over his whereabouts. He doesn’t want you to fret.
“I’ll even carry some of the bags.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“But I do.” Aether inhales a rattling breath and shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be so persistent. If you don’t want to do it, it’s fine. I can find somewhere to sleep until morning comes.”
As Xiao analyzes this blotted, gloomy star, it occurs to him that he’s seen him before. In the background, taping posters to lampposts and handing them out on the street. He’s certain he saw him; otherwise he wouldn’t recall his blond hair as it’s weaved together in a messy braid.
“Fine,” he spits, scowling. “I’ll help you.”
“Thank you. Really, I mean it. I’ll make sure to pay you back for this.”
“Don’t bother. I don’t need it.”
Aether ignores the ice in his voice and instead rises to his feet on wobbling legs. He grabs the shopping cart to balance himself and then gives him a confident thumbs-up.
Wordlessly, Xiao strides down the aisle to retrieve the rest of the items on the list. Sunshine incarnate doesn’t force any unnecessary conversation and instead chooses to observe with pursed lips, which is the only blessing to come out of this troublesome situation. Xiao supposes he’d rather deal with a lost soul like Aether than face Ajax and his unpredictable behaviors. Unlike his coworker, the man before him is a stranger and he does not have any inklings about where his secret is or what they’re doing. And knowing that he’s safe in Aether’s company is so very cathartic. For now, at least.
Aether’s hopelessness reminds him of himself and the days spent in cramped solitude. He knows firsthand what it’s like to witness the world shun you, forcing you to shatter your heart and dispose of its gooey contents for the sake of survival. He would know that better than anyone else, which is why he can understand Aether’s struggle. Sort of. Although sympathizing with him won’t erase the fact that he’s clinging to him like a barnacle, it does diminish the tension in Xiao’s shoulders.
By the time he’s finished gathering everything on the list and has paid the total at the register, he’s already yearning for the comforts of home. Work is one thing, but braving both that and shopping is another challenge entirely. Thankfully Aether isn’t as talkative as Ajax, and he only ever offers conversation if it’s a hollow observation or a direction towards his place. Xiao stands beside him on the train, watching the starved man sway in and out of consciousness. Like Aether, he’s also feeling drowsy after a long day. If only he could speed time up and arrive at his destination faster, there wouldn’t be any need for useless, candy-coated daydreams.
Despite the fact that Xiao is close to his secret—he’s your friend, according to you—he’s never actually stepped foot near your apartment. He certainly hasn’t been inside either, but when Aether fumbles with the keys and trudges inside the dark space Xiao is inclined to follow. He sets the groceries down on a table and stares at the walls, each one decorated with a collage of posters, cards, and small tapestries. There is life inside this place—a variation of clashing interests and hobbies. He can’t quite tell when Aether’s flavor stops and where yours begins, but it’s a healthy balance of sweet and sunshine.
Aether, who sets the bags he had been carrying at his feet before trudging over to a weathered armchair and flopping down, notices his curious stare as he admires the photographs strung up on the walls.
“(Name) is my best friend. Or was. Um... Well, you get what I mean.” Aether sighs to himself as he turns his gaze towards the ceiling. “We just…clicked. I was looking for a roommate and so were they, and one day we just started living together.” Inhaling a deep breath, he wrings his hands. “It's really tough.”
“What happened?”
“I…don’t know. The police think they ran away, but I find that hard to believe. (Name) wasn’t the type to just…give up and leave. Nothing’s come up yet in their search, so I keep putting up posters in hopes that someone knows something. But…”
“You haven’t gotten anything,” Xiao finishes, scanning a group photo of you, Aether, and some unrecognizable faces. Other friends, most likely. Pure elation radiates from the scene and Xiao’s lips quiver slightly when he spies how bright your smile is. “That’s unfortunate.”
“Yeah… It’s kind of hard to do much when you don’t have any solid leads.” Aether sits up and retrieves a mobile phone from the round coffee table. “(Name) left something a day before their disappearance.”
He beckons for Xiao to come over and he hesitates, holding your mirth-filled stare for a moment, before shuffling towards the chair. With nimble fingers, Aether swipes to the photo album and clicks on the most recent video. Dated nearly four months ago now, it’s only a minute long and showcases his secret in what he’s certain is their bedroom.
You balance your phone for the first few seconds before sitting cross-legged on the floor. After inhaling a steeling breath, you face the camera. “For the person or people who may watch this video, I’m already gone. There’s no need to look for me. In fact, I’d be happier if you didn’t.” A sheepish laugh squeezes past your lips. “I’m disabling the password lock on my phone so this video is easier to find and I’m hoping the first one who sees it is Aether. Just know that I’m okay where I am. I’m safe and I don’t plan on coming back anytime soon.” Your eyes wander to something off-screen and for a moment you seem to be trapped in thought. Eventually, your eyes fill with light and an odd smile claws at your face. “It’ll be annoying if I’m found before everything happens, so please keep your nose out of my life from here on out. Aether, I hope you find your sister and I hope we can meet again someday. I’ll treat you to a delicious meal when that happens. I promise!”
And then you reach for the camera and the video ends.
As if broken from a trance, Xiao blinks rapidly. “Where did they go?”
A foolish question, considering he holds the answer, but he asks it only to fill the gap in the air—a cursed void of silence that continues to grow and swallow, its darkness nearly reaching Xiao’s feet. If he can’t find the right words, Aether might suspect him and then the life he so carefully cultivated will wither and die. And if that happens, he will shrivel alongside it.
“I wish I knew.” Aether holds the phone against his chest, his eyes brimming with tears. When he speaks again his voice is subdued, an intonation laced with flat defeat. “I wish I knew…”
In the corner, the shadow perches on a shelf, its head cocked as it listens. Xiao plasters a frown onto his face and moves to grab the groceries.
How well do you know your secret? it seems to ask, burning holes into Xiao with wide, beady eyes.
Xiao knows you. He knows you well. And yet when he makes these mental affirmations, his chest clenches—a significant betrayal he pushes to the corners of his mind. Silenced for now but not forgotten. Never forgotten.
“Sorry, sorry. This isn’t therapy. What am I doing, burdening you like this? My bad.” Aether pops up from the cushions like a reanimated corpse springing from its grave. He sets your phone back on the table before turning to face him. With a sniffle, he wipes his tears and asks, “You need to get back home, right? I won’t keep you any longer.”
Xiao gathers the rest of the groceries, hanging them along his arms like a family of bats, and stands at the door. Aether holds it open for him, a gentle smile turning his lips upwards. His eyes are dull, uninspired, and like Xiao he is also starved of something.
Companionship.
“Thanks for helping me. Next time we meet I hope I’ll have a clearer head.”
He nods and without another word he steps out into the frosty night. The first flecks of snow paint the sky, pure and soft. Winter is just beginning to wrap its glacial arms around Liyue. He holds his hand out and watches as snowflakes gather on his palm, dissolving as quickly as a heartbeat.
There won’t be a next time.
His door greets him as it always does: silent, motionless, and unassuming. The peephole bores into his forehead when he sets the groceries on the ground and digs his key out of his pocket. Once the key fits into the hole and the door’s pushed open, he joins the shadows in the desolate hall. Inhaling the sterile scent of home, he drags the rest of the bags inside before shutting the door and flicking on the lights.
“I’m home.”
As if on cue, you come staggering out of his room, sleep clouding your eyes. You yawn, lifting your arms up in a satisfying stretch, and he notices you’re wearing an old shirt of his. A pipevine swallowtail is printed onto the fabric, a decal with so much life and detail that it’s almost tangible.
“Welcome back!” you exclaim, grinning. When he loosens his tie and shrugs off his jacket, letting an exhausted sigh slip, you frown. “Rough day?”
“It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“Oh, I have the cure for bad days! Do you have your phone?” He stares at you, eyes narrowed in suspicion, before nodding slowly. “Can I see it?”
“I suppose…” He produces it from his pocket and you snatch it from him. While he slips his shoes off, you scurry into his room before coming out with something clenched in your fist. “Is there a meaning to this?”
“You’ll see.” You plop down on the sofa and pat the empty space beside you. “Come on! Sit, sit! You’ll like this.”
Xiao hesitates by the door, clutching his briefcase so tightly that his knuckles whiten. The distance between the two of you feels too far for his liking, but he forces himself to take a step forward and then another until, eventually, he’s reluctantly sitting on the soft cushions. They depress under the combined weight. You’re holding his phone in your delicate hands, which now has a headphone cord plugged into the audio jack.
“You missed the sunset, so we couldn’t do this when the sky looked pretty,” you mumble. “But it’ll still work regardless of that. Here, put your password in.”
The phone is in his hands now and he types the code in with numb fingers. He passes it to you, gazing at the serene expression on your lovely face, and his chest is overcome with a bitter, burning pain. He’s certain it’s a side effect of today’s terrible events, all mixing together with his stress to create a disgusting concoction of paranoia and irritation. Even though he’s in his safe space with his secret, there’s a niggling sense of dread that’s starting to gnaw on him. His heart is the most affected; it beats out a sullen rhythm within his ribs, a steady, sad thrum that reminds him of snowy evenings and derelict cities.
Something’s being shoved into his ear and his thoughts are abruptly curbed. He jerks away, startled, and gives you a wide-eyed look.
“It’s just an earbud.” You point to the other one in your ear. “Do you like music?”
“I…don’t know.”
“Well, have you listened to anything enjoyable? How about a specific genre or an artist you really like?”
He blinks back at you. “I don’t have one.”
Your lips part in a dramatic gasp. “Then this is going to change your life.” You type something into the search engine and scroll through the various results, humming all the while. “When I’m sad or angry, I like to listen to music. It always does the trick and there isn’t any spell required. It’s its own type of magic. You just put it on and listen. Like this.”
After you tap on the video and it loads, a soothing melody begins to play. It’s unlike anything he’s ever heard before—so pleasant and calming that it temporarily replaces all of the bad memories of his workday with fond recollections of the time he’s spent with you. Like an enchanted switch flipping, the world brightens vividly and the pain in his chest slowly dissolves into a mere itch.
“I don’t see the point of—”
“Just feel the music.” Leaning back against the sofa, you reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Your imagination does the rest.”
Xiao glances at the phone lying in your lap and then eyes his reflection on the blank TV screen. It returns his puzzled countenance with furrowed brows.
My imagination?
He can’t remember a time when that did him any good, but when he listens to the way each instrument complements the other he’s put at peace. It’s as if everything in the world has aligned perfectly and there is no longer any sadness. Ajax melts away into the murkiness in his head, his boss’s helpful advice blends into the piano score, and the news reports about missing people and murders become nonexistent. All of this bitterness is broken into miniature shards, brushed into a waste bin, and replaced with sweeter feelings. If this is what happiness sounds like, he’d like to hear it for the rest of his life.
Xiao’s fingers curl around yours and he grips your hand. “It’s nice,” he admits once the song reaches its conclusion. “I don’t mind it.”
“I’m glad! I used to listen to this on my way home from work and sometimes my roommate would play it when he was stressed. Music really is the panacea for sadness, isn’t it?” As if overcome with nostalgia, your eyes glaze over with a forlorn longing. “I miss him. I wonder how he’s doing.”
“He’s fine. Probably…”
It’s far from the truth, but he can’t exactly tell his secret he was inside the apartment now, can he?
“Would you ever let me see him? I don’t want him to think anything bad happened to me.”
Xiao ponders it for a moment, weighs the pros and cons of it, and then shakes his head. “I can’t do that. It’s for your safety, so I can’t…”
You can’t see anyone else. You don’t need anyone else.
“I understand. It was a close call with your boss. Maybe one day?”
“Maybe.”
“I feel bad. I kind of left him without explaining anything. His sister’s missing, too.” Darkness scrawls itself on your face and from where he sits he can just make out the beginnings of a vicious glower. But as quick as it tainted your perfect face, it dissipates and a broad smile blooms freely on your lips. You jump up from the sofa after removing the earbud and handing it to him. It’s weightless in his hand, a stiff, lifeless thing. “We should probably put the groceries away.”
“(Name).”
“Hm?” You bend down to gather the bags. “What’s up?”
Xiao stares at you.
“What?”
“It’s nothing. Forget about it.”
“Okay? You know you can tell me anything, right, Xiao?”
“Right.”
“Then don’t hold back.” You tilt your head and the shadow mirrors your actions. He’s not sure when it returned, but it’s there and it’s watching. “I’d like to know what’s on your mind. I care about you, after all.”
“How much?”
“So much.” Humming, you stalk towards the kitchen. “Come on, then. These groceries won’t put themselves away, my friend.”
“I care about you, too,” he whispers, pocketing his phone before suspicion can devour him.
So much that it’s not natural.
next chapter → [bitter & classified cream]
#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin impact x reader#yandere xiao#yandere xiao x reader#bittersweet secret#bittersweet secret chapter nine
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by our red string of fate.
Part 2
Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x fem! Reader
Summary: A midnight sojourn in the courtyard for some fresh air, private talks and personal revelations. Aemond challenges his love interest on the validity of her romantic pursuit + a stolen kiss in the godswood while parties search for the missing prince.
Word Count: 6.8k
Author’s Note: Third person perspective, reader/she (Y/N) is from an unspecified house with limited knowledge of the Targaryens. Some deviation of timelines and of HOTD canon/ details. Multi-part wip / slow burn, angst, light NSFW (more is coming!), language, soft feels.
Hope you stick around and enjoy - thx so much for the love so far! LMK if you want to be tagged.
Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4
the same feeling of not belonging, of futility, wherever i go: i pretend interest in what matters nothing to me. i bestir myself mechanically or out of charity, without ever being caught up, without ever being somewhere.
what attracts me is elsewhere, and i don’t know what that elsewhere is.
They make it outside and there’s a sensation of being able to breathe again as Aemond escorts her to a small courtyard tucked away in a far corner of the keep. She consents to the path, equally willing to put more distance between them and the scene they’ve just left, knowing this is his intention too.
Upon arrival, he doesn’t immediately let her go, instead continuing his steps to take her to the furthest reach of the small open square where they now stand in silence.
It’s quiet under the open sky, offering a welcomed reprieve amid a sea of glittering stars that seem to dance and dazzle from up above. The night is inky, beautiful, and the gentle breeze coming off Blackwater Bay cools them as it carries with it the heady scent of floral blooms - a plethora of which thrive in the well-maintained gardens close by.
Combined with the faint sounds of waves crashing continuously against the rocks below, the experience becomes wondrous for the senses. Their surroundings and all the minute details contribute to the atmosphere, soothing them in a way that seeks to offer solace. And for the first time tonight, it feels like they’ve both finally obtained a highly sought serenity.
After some time has elapsed, Aemond releases her with hesitation, immediately feeling the loss of this action. She also misses the physical contact, instantly mourning the touch and how perfectly her hand had fit within his own.
And then there was the way his thumb had glided along the top of hers so softly, for several minutes actually, and she misses that too. It’s such a telling gesture, one of stark contrast to the tough love she’d just witnessed in the King’s personal chambers, and it alludes to a more hidden tenderness within him.
The thought is riveting, and she finds that she desperately wants to explore this theory by delving further into the darkness of the stunning and perplexing dragonlord before her. It pulls at her - this sudden wish to discover the very depth of him, every facet that is good and evil. All the madness he keeps locked up.
Her heart races at the thought of what they could have, transforming her into a bundle of nerves once more. It’s a startling realization, but she can’t deny that she wants him - ever thankful to the darkness for concealing the flush that begins to rise with the direction of her thoughts. She doesn’t want to be that obvious, not yet.
Leaning against one of the building columns, she relaxes further, finding the random chirping of concealed insects an odd delight. There’s a welcoming in the chill of the night air as well, which although without invitation, it offers support in tampering down her lust and the accompaniment of so many new emotions. There’s a whirlwind brewing within her by this newfound desire.
She closes her eyes, allowing the residual tension from before to subside, comforted that they no longer have an audience. And she waits, in no great rush, but hoping nonetheless that he will make the next move. He has to, he must, because her mind is drawing blanks again over his nearness.
i’ve been setting myself up for the fall, and i’ve been keeping secrets from my heart and from my soul.
Aemond considers the moon’s location in the sky to gauge the time, though it’s not for any particular reason other than to give her some space to breathe, recompose. He doesn’t push her, remaining patient, motionless as he waits beside her.
The thoughtfulness of the gesture isn’t lost on her either, how it gives indication to his maturity and attests to a high level of self-awareness that so many others lack. But eventually he does clear his throat, an audible sound so that it comes as no surprise that he’s ready to interrupt their perceived tranquility. It’s stemmed mostly from a place of concern, but he’s also ready to move forward.
“Are you alright?”
His smooth silvery voice caresses her, low and sensual, but there’s also a genuineness to what he’s asking. She responds without opening her eyes, needing a few more moments in the pleasant dark behind her eyelids.
“I’m okay.”
It’s a simple question and the consideration is touching, enough for her to soften further. She becomes unbothered by the prospect of him observing her too, thinking he probably is as he falls silent again.
The energy shift is one of peace though, blanketing them in renewed comfort and she realizes there’s no rush for words, no need to be edgy either. It’s pleasant enough simply being with him, and now that they’re alone, the actuality of their unity can finally begin to manifest.
It hits Aemond hard when it does.
She’s actually real and she’s right next to me. It's an odd realization, though he doesn't fully understand why. Regardless, the nature of the occasion, their reality, seems to fall more in line with something that might be dreamt, never actually experienced. At least not for him.
He studies her, the way her face becomes illuminated by moon-glow to soften all the angles. She’s lovely and he’s unapologetic in his want of her. It's no secret that she is everything he has always been so desperately attracted to, and he won’t deny this to himself. But he wants to know her mind too.
Everything about you.
He’s appreciating the view when she opens her arms, as if to allow the wind a chance to kiss more of her body in an attempt to cool it. And it’s beguiling, everything he finds he’s wanting to do himself - kiss her everywhere, openly with abandon. It reduces him to unjustly curse the wind, something he’s never done before, but that he does now with such grevious envy.
Aemond gets heated, and the fervor continues to evolve with every significant rise and fall of her chest that he’s taken notice of. Seven hells I want you! Her dress is low enough to see that she’s clearly stacked and the knowledge of this makes him twitch, marveling over everything on current display. His sigh of longing is sound as many arduous notions begin to circulate in his mind, every single one revolving around her.
Damn that gorgeous mouth.
He experiences an unwarranted bout of jealousy when he considers the lucky bastard who undoubtedly gets to call this woman his. Surely there is someone, he rationalizes, wondering who and where the fuck that prick might be. And as she’s clearly not from the capital - he’s certain of this because he’s been here his entire life and would not have been unaware of her existence until now - why have they left her alone?
Or maybe she is alone.
He’s struggling to see how she could be unattached though, especially when everything about her has an allure. Only a fucking idiot would glance past this. Even still, he holds a small measure of hope that it might be true. He really needs it to be true, otherwise he thinks he may have to make plans to steal her away.
That’s just how strong he feels towards her already - finding enjoyment in her presence, enamored by her beauty and spirit. She was about to slap Aegon, after all. As if that wouldn’t be reason enough to fall hard for her…but he already was feeling that way, like he was falling.
And to further rationalize these feelings, its also not lost on him how much of a relief it is to see that she’s not associating him with anything of either great prominence nor failure. Admittedly being a Targaryen is pretty fucking apparent, but Aemond hasn’t sensed an overt judgement in her character, and it gives him hope of feeling seen - like maybe she could understand him.
Maybe it's too good to be true, or maybe this is all meant to happen.
though my touch magnifies, you pull away, you don't know why.
He recalls the wine, noticing the darkened spots when she moves some fallen hair back behind her shoulder. It's primarily concentrated on her sleeve, but it's noticeable and it further annoys him when he reaches out to her, touching the expensive fabric to find how saturated it’s remained.
Aegon - sometimes it really grates his nerves being related to such a grand fuck up. He thinks he could literally kill his brother for such blatant disregard of something so beautiful, someone so exquisite.
And it wouldn’t take much convincing to do further harm to him just to prove this point, knowing how overdue it’s been when he considers the disrespectful treatment over the years towards both their mother and sister. Nobody else had ever dared to try, so tonight Aemond had made progress, finding that line easier to cross than anticipated.
I would do it again. He’s vexed with the staining and without thought, he starts dabbing at it absently, using the cloth he’d snatched earlier for his bleeding knuckles. All but forgotten until now as he tries to absorb…anything, to no avail.
“Nothing but stupid bastards everywhere.”
He mutters this more to himself than her, but it's enough for her to open her eyes again - something she feels it's time to do at the start of him pulling softly at her arm, holding her wrist. He’s moved in close again, his head tilted down as his hands concentrate on the fruitless task he’s currently busied himself with.
She turns her face towards his, only slightly so she can actually see him without bumping heads. He’s aware of her movement, and it draws his attention back to her face as soon as he feels her eyes on him. At last.
Looking at her from under his brow, his fingers stop moving, merely holding onto her hand as their eyes meet again. And he’s trying to stifle the impulse to pull her in, straight into his arms to hold tight and whisper apologies on behalf of Aegon and everyone else in this wretched place. It would be so easy, but instead he gives a small smile before releasing her and stepping back, just out of arm’s reach.
There's a sense of self preservation that surfaces when she speaks to him, but her words aren’t harsh or ungrateful. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She’s simply being cautious, curious.
“That bad then?” He scoffs a bit, crossing his arms over his chest, but her question is not very surprising to hear. And he elaborates upon seeing her confusion, thinking the entire situation a bit tragic. His hatred for this place reaches a new high.
“Your experience here, it hasn’t been so good until now.” He makes an all-encompassing gesture with his observation, putting King’s Landing on blast.
She notes the sarcasm, but also the way he adds until now, as if he’s already convinced himself that he’s going to be the turning point for her. Really, there is no discrepancy in the assumption, and his kindness towards her recalls a level of care she’s been lacking from another human being. It all means so much.
It's a foolish thing, she must admit, for as much as she loves adventuring as it were, these are the moments when she feels the most alone, inadequate. That, coupled with a general homesickness and longing for some familiarity is something she’s been trying to tame, but failing miserably at since she arrived.
And maybe he can see this.
But a part of her wonders how real this is between them, because now she’s having some doubts - this just doesn’t happen in real life. It certainly doesn’t happen to me. And it leaves her to question the way this PRINCE, who she doesn’t even know, is making her feel so important. And is it because this is real or is it because she’s projecting her needs onto him?
No, she can’t believe the latter.
This just feels different, and he is different - her intuition would agree. Everything about him feels sincere, even his quiet laugh when she finally responds, confirming his assumption that her time has for the most part been shit, until now.
His face transforms, impossibly more handsome when he smiles, finding her response an acceptable one. But inside, it feels like baby dragon wings fluttering for him and the sensation is completely new.
“It's…getting better.”
her voice was deep and warm, i drank it in like an elixir.
He capitalizes on the moment by introducing himself to her simply as Aemond, realizing they’ve done this completely out of order. Whereas most people start with a name, this hadn’t been the case for them and it just sort of encapsulates the uniqueness of their meeting, charming him further.
It probably isn’t overly significant either, but he feels like they now have a starting point to bridge the gap, transitioning them from strangers to something more familiar. And he’s amused when she grabs his arm dramatically, turning to him with big eyes as she begins apologizing for her lack of decorum in not offering her name upfront nor asking for his.
He isn’t bothered, assuring her of this, although he is content to finally know what to address her by. In fact, he appreciates her energy, how candidly she’s already starting to open up now that they’re talking. And it becomes more apparent once they’re seated together at a nearby bench.
would you leave me if i told you what i’ve done?
Their bodies are turned toward one another, knees almost touching, when some additional guests from the party filter into the courtyard.
He considers the intruders for only a moment before returning attention back to his lady. MY lady? He can’t escape the thought though, wanting her to belong to him. It’s the honest truth, and he’s coming to terms with this when he feels his belt tightening.
Looking at her again, he quickly becomes delighted, seeing that she’s taken an interest in the dagger strapped near his hip. It’s his favorite, weighty and a bit too lavish for a killing object, but he always has been one to appreciate the finer things in life.
His heart skips when she reaches out and begins fingering the intricacy of the pommel, clearly admiring the artistry of his weapon. The appreciation pleases him somehow and he lets her continue the exploration, so as to afford him more time to simply stare. And while he knows he’s doing it, what a nuisance it can fucking be, he can’t stop.
Sometimes he can be really shameless, and this is one of those times. With her loosened hair pushed back and a fair amount of skin on display, he’s getting hot again as he considers her figure, making bets with himself of what she’d feel like in his hands. Warm, soft, absolute perfection.
It's almost too much to fathom, and the improbability of the occurrence altogether begins to occupy his brain. It makes him brood a little. Her being here pulls an unexplainable sensation from his chest, and then again when she looks over to him, saying his name to summon all this attention.
“You’ve seen death, caused it.”
She leans in, her hand now fully wrapped around the hilt of his dagger in a way that’s too suggestive to be mistaken. When she squeezes it, correctly surmises what comes next, he swears he feels the pressure as if it were his own cock in her hand.
“And you will kill again to protect what is yours.”
The comment temporarily puts Aemond’s desire in check. Though there isn’t a particular reason why he’s been skirting the topic with her, he knows he needs to be honest about the situation. It’s become clear that she isn’t privy to some of the more common details revolving around the plight of his family.
However, he also doesn’t want this circumstance to define who he is or disturb what they could have together, given the chance. Either way, she deserves the truth.
“We’re at war with the Blacks. You know it is inevitable.”
She counters, emphasizing her previous assumption. “And you will kill again, as you have before?”
He fears their potential to now be in jeopardy, and that fear threatens to choke out all the remaining hope left in him. But still he persists, thinking that what they could have is worth challenging, knowing they could be something great. So good for each other. He needs to know where she stands.
“Does this bother you, frighten you?”
She doesn’t respond with words, but it’s immediate when she takes his bruised and bloodied hand into her own with care, instead. Her fingers lightly brush across his knuckles, a whispered touch as if to heal, and it becomes devastating for his heart to experience such a kindness.
Of all the reactions he’d been steeling himself for, this was not it. There is such sweetness in the unexpected gesture and he’s on the verge of disintegrating when she slowly lifts his hand to her lips, kissing away so much pain beyond the surface. It reaches the very heart of him.
“I am not afraid of you, Aemond. I am in awe of you.”
She’s turning his world upside down, sending him to the heavens. Her words are ones he’d never dared to dream for, never thought to hear in this lifetime. And yet, they’ve been spoken and it’s at this moment, now.
It leaves him to ponder if maybe this is what love is supposed to feel like - true love. And if it is, he wants so much more.
and would you leave me if i told you what i’ve become?
Aemond provides her with an accurate, albeit broad, rundown of the current conflict regarding the Iron Throne - offering enough insight for her to gain a greater understanding of present dangers and how he fits into the equation. She listens intently, finding it to be a heavy existence in which he moves about the realm.
And she can barely begin to comprehend how he’s managed to stay sane between his loyalty to his brother, his duties as a warrior prince and the ever-revolving familial issues he encounters - issues which one might consider to be a Targaryen curse.
The details draw her interest further, but she stays primarily committed to unearthing more parts of Aemond as a means to better understand him. With this new knowledge also comes a significant amount of worry, now that she’s attached, so ready to commit herself to him.
Her feelings come from the revelation of so many perceived threats aimed towards him and how deeply embedded he actually is within the present situation. Even still, she can’t overlook the fact that he’s here now, alive and safe, superior in every way to anyone she’s ever known.
His current well-being does bring a sense of comfort to her, as does the idea that maybe he’s somehow chosen her too - perhaps even above his own family and everything chained to his name, as well. Though she would never ask that of him, she can’t help but feel like he has…it seems like he’s choosing her, even over the responsibilities he’s been born into.
Love me.
As more time goes on, she finds she very desperately wants to be that pillar for him, the one he could run to every time, always. It’s like he’s cast a spell over me. And there are other things as well that draw the appeal for her. Aemond is very eloquent with words, gorgeously expressive with his hands and an ever-present sexual energy just exudes, effortless to leave her wanting.
The way he speaks as they turn to lighter topics is delivered with assured confidence, yet an understated valor. His humbleness and sincerity begins to put hearts in her eyes. It's all making her long to make this last. And how can I not?
When she looks at him, she knows with certainty that he’s incomparable, someone that comes around once in a lifetime. Retrospectively, she can’t help but feel the kiss of fortune, beyond grateful for this night, even commending herself for taking the necessary steps to bring her to this city, to this event, to him.
Time and chance are peculiar things, and she stays counting her lucky stars while her own heart continues to swell. She shouldn’t be feeling this way, at least not so soon, but it keeps coming in a rush, like so many waves to the shore.
She truly is in awe of him, hyper aware that everything he does seems to be a perfection to her - something new to fall in love with about him. Even the way he draws breath is leaving her to wish she could be the one giving him this air, filling him with her own life as they take a small moment of silence.
Her mind does not give pause though, and the idea of her lips on his uniquely curved ones become a danger zone. She needs to get a grip on the direction of her thoughts, promising to expand on this in a more tame direction. But it's another failed attempt as she becomes intrigued by the way Aemond appears to be subconsciously fidgeting with the buckles adorning his clothing now.
He just really is something else, she muses, focusing back on his perfect hands, those long slender fingers that are making her cunt ache. Similarly, the eye-patch and that scar, both of which try and fail to detract from his male beauty, pulls her with inconsolable longing.
Everything about his physical appearance speaks to a rebellion in him. But there is something more - something wild, perilous beyond his cool exterior. There is something haunting too, though she knows not what. Regardless, he is everything she wants, all that she wants.
There’s a disturbance in her silent observations when he says her name, asking another question, and his attention does not wander from her face when she eventually speaks.
And he looks at her with such intensity, in a way that feels like his very soul is searching for hers.
and i wish that we were closer, close enough for me to hold you when your lonely nights become too long to bear.
It’s like he’s captivated by what she’s saying, and there could be a million reasons for this, but they’re mysteries, indeed - things she can’t even see within herself. And it’s a wonder she’s having such an effect on him, but it keeps her active.
The constant movement of his fingers is a building distraction, one that’s deterring her from continuing on with any deep originality at a certain point. She fixates on them, more than she should, but now it starts to pique her interest of what this is about.
Is he nervous, bored? Is he growing impatient and ready to send me back inside? She hopes she’s wrong, that it’s just a self-conscious string at play.
Then another idea occurs, and maybe she’s just fooling herself with the notion. Even still, a part of her is hoping he’s doing this to distract himself and fight the impulse to reach out and touch her again. It's what she wants him to do...
And she wishes Aemond would do this, being as starved for affection as she is. Even if it means nothing, just a physical connection would be nice, but only from him. He’s just so striking, tightening so many of her chords, unknowingly ticking so many boxes of what she’s dreamt up in a lover.
I wish he wanted me too. A whimsical sigh escapes her, but she’s determined to enjoy the moment.
She starts to loosen more, running her hands through her hair as the wind picks up and the wine from before begins to course. There’s an awareness that she’s become chatty, but it's easy to do with him - how he’s looking at her, as he listens to her speak on more of her interests.
He asks questions about her home as if he really gives a shit about where she’s from, and she hopes he does. Occasionally he picks up on her wit too, acknowledging the subtlety of it when she details events from her past with a low chuckle. Something about it gets her weak.
She also hopes he’s seeing her in a positive light too - that the things she’s telling him of why she’s here, what she likes to do, what she sees for herself in the future isn’t coming across as self-absorbed, or childish. Or worse- incredibly ordinary and boring. She wonders if it’s possible, and fears it could be true because Aemond seems to have already lived a thousand lifetimes by comparison.
There is nothing exciting about the life I live...
She considers him again, the way he seems older than he actually is, experienced and intelligent, which she admires. He’s also opinionated, blunt and never mincing words - so unapologetically himself. It's both inspiring and intimidating, on a level she hopes to achieve someday. She’s been working on it.
But it's hard not to feel somewhat inadequate by comparison, as if nothing she could possibly tell him would be anything new, anything he hadn’t already seen or heard or experienced before. Actually, maybe I should be quiet for awhile.
Talking about herself makes her uncomfortable in most situations, and she rarely ever lets down all her defenses. As he might learn over time, when she appears confident, trust that most times she’s holding herself together by a string and a great deal of pretense.
All the same, she isn’t an open book for many, as she keeps her inner circle small. Family, acquaintances, strangers know about her as much as she wants them to, nothing more, and they can always know less.
Not surprisingly, she finds herself wanting to open more for Aemond, only hoping she’ll be enough for him.
and i wish that we were strangers, strange enough to go unnoticed from this crowd.
He extinguishes her insecurities just to replace them with a new set when he lays his hand on the top of her thigh, calling her back from the rabbit hole she’s fallen into again. And the pressure he places on her leg suggests that she’s really fallen off the deep end - that maybe he’s finally getting exasperated by this unintentional habit of hers.
Does he think I’m a nervous wreck, bored with him or just an idiot?
She can’t possibly guess the actual reason, but she moves forward, too close. Fuck it. She needs to re-establish her interest, so she reaches out to touch his shoulder, pulling him over to lean closer to her. It's such an innocent touch, but she feels like she’s taken a great liberty just now...
And actually, her fingertips dig into him like she’s trying to lay a claim, one that she knows she has no right to. It doesn’t matter though, because her hand feels blessed by the feel of his body underneath her fingers. It makes him more real than before and his shoulder feels like fucking granite.
She can’t find a regret in sight.
They stay like this a moment too long, and he’s watching her with curiosity now, anticipating the next move. Its very forward of her, and he’s thoroughly enjoying her consistent touch on him as he waits.
“I’m sorry I keep losing myself tonight. You distract me from my own thoughts.”
Another lovely blow to the heart. His hand leaves her leg, reaching out instead to trace a finger slow and deliberate against her cheek, knowing it’s too intimate, knowing there’s people around. She stays still, lets him do this as she searches his face, trying to read him for some indication that he might want her just as much.
This beloved face. It’s a delicate curve, creamy smooth in touch and he can just imagine the taste of her skin. His eye roams over her features and the perfection he beholds seems endless. And he thinks he could do this endlessly, touch her, and he prays for the chance to do so - intimately.
I swear I would give anything to make you mine.
She’s looking at him, and all he can do is stare back, finding the enchantment dangerous enough to paralyze him, but still he persists. He’s compelled to respond to what she’s just confessed, and he thinks he must take the opportunity to also divulge a confession of his own.
Delving his hand into her hair without warning, Aemond luxuriates in the soft thickness of it, obsessing over the way it glides through his fingers, like he knew it would. It's long enough for him fist it, pull just hard enough to lift her face and burn his own lips by her kiss.
The subtle red of her mouth has been killing him softly all night, and he’s thinking about it. thinking about it. thinking about it. He wants to, more than anything else right now…
Is this appropriate, what am I even doing?
What he feels inside can only be described as stormy. He’s got a bad desire, still unable to pull his gaze from those lips as his mind turns over the fact that she’s basically just admitted her attraction to him - volunteering the missing piece he’s been searching for this entire time.
I distract you from your thoughts?
He has to give something back, and he’s very honest, a bit brazen when he finally does. Again, no shame. He’s going to maintain truthfulness, thinking she can handle it.
“YOU are splendid, Y/N. I could lose myself in you, so easily.”
Hearing this from him alters her with eyes that seem darker now and he knows she is blushing...a lot. The innuendo brings a new warmth to her, a hope that they will be more. She projects all this towards him, a new faith of possibilities.
He’s certain of it, because he feels it too and it's mesmerizing.
kiss me, and you will see how important i am.
What could possibly follow words as beautiful and candid as that, especially from someone like him? She thinks maybe he will kiss her now, and she wants him to. Although it terrifies her, she wills it into being on the off-chance it might work. Besides, she’s had quite a bit of luck already.
But Aemond doesn’t kiss her, and she can’t understand why.
The unjustified disappointment starts to settle when he abruptly withdraws from her touch mere seconds later. And while he goes on to assess the courtyard casually, noting more people than he’d like are now present, she busies herself with the sleeve of her dress, anything to occupy her mind.
Then he stands, offering his hand to her as indication it’s time to go. It's probably for the best, because everything feels awkward now, strained and her ego is bruising beyond belief. She accepts his assistance, standing though it’s difficult to meet his gaze.
Even the brush of his fingers along her shoulders feels mechanical as they exit the courtyard. His touch polarizes, compelling her to consider that anything more than this was all wishful thinking, that it had been in vain. Her heart is plummeting.
This…hurts.
lets not pretend like it's not what it is, when i’m just starting to realize that i love you.
She follows him, unaware of where they’re going, but they take their time, walking close to each other, though no longer touching.
Aemond is quiet, remorseful over his actions. He’s aware that he should have handled their departure better, but when he’d realized how many city gossips had joined them in the courtyard, openly observing their interaction, he knew they could not stay.
Admittedly, his rationalization for this is less because he’s bothered by the recognition, he’s really not. However, he is protective by nature and as such, felt it necessary to prioritize Y/N’s privacy and safety.
Although neither is ever fully guaranteed, even from within the confines of the Red Keep, he has a knack for proactivity in these sorts of matters and feels he acted accordingly in the moment. At least he tries to convince himself of this as they walk…
Aside from tonight’s scene in the great hall, which couldn’t be foreseen, he’ll always make it a habit to prevent further unsavory intrusions - especially when the possibility of love feels so close within his grasp. He’s resolute in this, and he will always consider these details as a means of protection for those he cares about…and for his own heart.
And he cares a great deal about Y/N, though he can’t help but feel like he’s majorly fucked up. She’s not saying anything and no words will form for him either - to fill the space or to offer an explanation to her. He doesn’t even know what their next step is, where they go from here. He just knows it can’t end like this.
You need to think!
Then he remembers the wooded sanctuary, a place he doesn’t often frequent, though he’s aware it offers optimal privacy, maybe even peace. He wouldn’t know, but he’d be surprised if it was being occupied this time of night.
It’s decided, and taking her hand once more, he veers them in this new direction on a whim. It’s one last attempt to salvage the night with her, thinking this is now or never as he leads her into the godswood.
And he’s chasing an idea that something sacred could be forged here. He’s hoping it will when he lifts her hand to kiss it - the light brush of his lips willing her to accept his unspoken apology. Everything he isn’t saying, but feels.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, my darling.
To his surprise, she cuts the silence then, effectively calming him as she unexpectedly begins thanking him for all he’s done tonight. He’s taken aback as she elaborates, unprepared as ever to receive her praise - the way it’s all spoken with so much appreciation towards him despite his active guilt.
He’s gracious nonetheless, accepting this foreign gift of gratitude although he feels undeserving of it. He can’t recall that he’s done anything truly noteworthy to have this deep impact, but her kind words still penetrate to leave a new mark on his heart. He wants this feeling forever, longing for it to last.
You’re not going to be an easy one to let go of, are you?
Aemond wonders, but really, he already knows.
you don’t have to be a ghost here amongst the living.
She hopes she’s covering all the points, that they’ve somehow been conveyed to him adequately. She’s basically thanking him for everything, hoping he realizes that it encompasses all the things - wine rescue, general rescue, providing social relief, his kindness, his care, his attention, his interest.
She’s borderline emotional thinking about it again, coupled with the ever-present knowledge that she’s literally so far from everything and everyone she knows. And its just actual fucking insanity that out of anybody this could have been, he was the one to…
She doesn’t know how to complete the thought. The one to...what?She looks at him again, really looks at him and it all clicks.
He’s the first person, the only person, that's ever made her feel alive like this, significant and appreciated in a way that anyone would desire. More than that though, when she looks at Aemond she feels more like herself. It’s like an awakening, a resurrection, and it can’t be downplayed. She’s just going to tell him.
“I’ve been alone in this life, mostly going through the motions and calling it living. Tonight, you’ve made me feel like I could live again. Really live…”
There isn’t a logic to it, and she has no expectations at this point when she cuts off the sentence and steps towards him. It's just something she needs to do, so she does, finally wrapping her arms around him. It's a risk she’s willing to take, just needing this connection in order to crystalize the moment for them by some physical means.
Her face disappears against the side of his neck and a moment later she’s closing her eyes, relieved as Aemond’s hands begin to glide across her back. It’s a gentle touch, instilling affection in every place he gives a comforting rub to. His soft response shatters her.
“Thank you for being here with me.”
Even through her layers of clothes, she can feel it - the way he goes from the small of her back, to up beneath her hair, touching the exposed shoulder blades and then back down again. His touch feels so natural, and even more so when his hands finally come to a stop at her waist.
It's automatic when he tightens his arms around her, pressing her flush against him. There’s an inherent awareness to the way she relaxes further then, understanding that it's safe for her to be here in his arms. And he’s glad it’s been conveyed so clearly, because he wants the closeness too, and it really can’t be overstated.
This means so much for them - experiencing such an emotionally charged moment, this great vulnerability. It brings forth the sensitive nature in him too, as he completely understands how she feels and what she needs, despite having only just met her.
Who has hurt you, sweetheart?
The moment feels infinite as his heart continues to soften towards her in the silence. This is very special - the way they hold eachother, and the way it's threatening a new kind of addiction for him.
Being needed by someone has always been one of Aemond’s deepest desires, just as being wanted by someone, flaws and all, has become a massive struggle. Somehow, she’s making him feel both ways simultaneously - needed and wanted.
It resonates as the greatest gift possible from The Seven.
you are flesh and blood, and you deserve to be loved.
She feels sheltered, accepted into his welcoming arms and in a way, into his life through their embrace.
The idea of this invitation reignites her spark, hoping this won’t be the end for them. It’s unfathomable to her that they wouldn’t be destined for eachother beyond this night, impossible in consideration of how warm his hands are as they remain on her back, moving in a slow caress.
Even the solidity of his chest is starting to do things to her, and it's so intentional when she lowers her hand from his shoulder to rest there instead. It’s intimate, she’s aware, loving the steady rise and fall where it lays, and how he also doesn’t seem to mind that she’s taken this chance.
She burns with ideas, everything fueled by their closeness - wanting to be undressed by him, to be fucked by him, utterly ruined by him. She has so many needs, but most immediately, she wants to lower his face to hers and kiss him hard while her fingers roam into his hair - tangling the soft perfection of it until it’s loose and wild.
She wants to do everything now that she thinks he wanted to do in the courtyard, aware that they’re being given a second chance to see this realized.
The occurrence of this is highly plausible considering he hasn’t let go of her yet, and it’s occupying her thoughts before the grandest of disruptions - the sensation of his lips pressing into her hair. She could sob at the beauty of it, how sweet he is, how deep it truly runs within him.
However, he speaks against her too soon, and the spell seems to break irreverently. Already his grip is loosening, and a distance is created when he pulls back from her, although he still keeps her within his arms.
She swears she hears the faint sound of his name being called now, distant and echoed, though she can’t be certain if it’s imagined or not. She doesn’t want to know, not really, but he provides this information to her, regardless.
“Everyone is searching for me.”
He indicates this reality with an all-encompassing motion towards the keep, followed by a long sigh. She knows it’s because of Aegon, just assuredly as he knows he’ll be speaking to the consequences of his actions very soon before the small council.
It's a serious matter that she can’t begin to comprehend, but the complexity of the Targaryens is vast, and she knows this isn’t a summoning Aemond can avoid. Even still, it feels like he’s being unjustly stolen away from her and she can only blame his impetuous brother for tearing them apart now.
Prince Aemond…
“Where is Prince Aemond? Locate him, immediately.”
and with one kiss, you inspired a fire of devotion that lasts for twenty years.
What she needs right now is a moment to gain some composure from the desperation that’s begun to seep into the very being of her. She hates this sensation, like she’s losing everything before she’s even had it - a slew of shattered dreams, all the what-if’s and could have been’s.
But no, this is something that should be, and she can’t just let him go. She’s afraid that if she does, he’s going to vanish completely, and with him, all their potential. It's a different sort of panic thats begun stirring within, but the reluctance she feels from him when he releases her actually encourages her, anew.
what kind of man loves like this?
It's true, Aemond doesn’t want this to be the end, but he needs this decision to be hers. Aside from not wanting to force feelings, a deeply flawed part of him needs validation from her. He needs to know if she sees him as someone worth her own pursuit.
If not, he’ll just be returning to his own personal hell sooner than expected, and this particular night will become nothing more than a fleeting memory. A brief moment in time, in which he’d felt completely understood and accepted - known only as Aemond, not Prince Aemond Targaryen or Aemond One-Eye or Aemond the Kinslayer.
A wistful smile emerges because there’s always room for doubt, but he thinks she feels the same way he does. If her sincerity and attention is any indication, it's clear enough. That in itself is so rare, especially when he considers the slew of people that have come and gone through his life, many of them with misplaced expectations, ill intentions, leaving scars both seen and unseen along the way.
It makes her more beautiful to him when he acknowledges the differences between her and those from his past. She is remarkable, and he knows she could be someone important to him - how it’s already begun to feel this way. He’s convinced further when she reaches down and takes both his hands in hers, telling him everything he needs to know, what he’s been praying to hear.
“I want to know you, Aemond.”
He knows what he’s going to do now, and it's a bit devastating the way he pulls her back to him forcefully, with purpose. Intoxicate her. And there’s not a moment to waste when he hears his name again, this time from the mouth of Ser Criston Cole, coming from the edge of the godswood.
They’re out of time.
He crushes his mouth to hers, maintaining control of the boundary by keeping a firm grip on her arms
No retreat or advancement allowed from you, darling one.
Aemond owns this kiss, and he makes her take everything he’s giving, and fuck! she takes it so well, angling her face to accept more of the onslaught, silently begging for it. And while she can’t really move with his fingers digging into her forearms now, she still manages to move closer into him when she rises on her toes, meeting his lips with impossible force.
She’s truly kissing him back, accepting all of it, taking everything as he continues with fervency - kissing in a way that has the potential to bruise lips and shatter the stars. It’s a beautiful awakening met with an abrupt end, as with all great things - phenomenal things, and so does their time together for the night.
When he leaves, she’s still standing in the same spot, breathless as she watches him exchange words with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard before disappearing in the shadows.
Eventually she pulls herself together, swaying a bit on unsteady legs as Cole escorts her back to the main hall, reconnecting her with her cousin once more.
at night i dream of a love so heavy, it makes my spine throb…
Hours later, she’s lying in the darkness of her room, unable to sleep.
It's inconsequential as she relives their kiss over and over, reflecting on the sensation of Aemond’s mouth on hers - the way he had held her, how everything else had stopped, making it seem that just for a moment they were the only two lovers in existence.
Then she recounts the entire night, the chain of events that brought her to this current state. She recollects from memory the moment she first saw him, the moment he saw her - all the feelings that began to surface from that point and then flourish throughout the evening.
i dream up a lover who makes love like he is separating salt from water.
Stars! The look on his face when she’d kissed his injured hand had seemed wrought from pure love, and she can only hope it might be true, because it’s what she’s been feeling every minute since he left her.
Love. It’s madness, but she doesn’t care. And yet, she continues to mull over his departing words, his challenge following her intention to know him - leaving their fate solely in her hands.
Only three words and then he had surrendered the control.
“Then know me.”
@a-beaverhausen @boofy1998 @caramelcandescence @wanderingcl0ud
#aemond x fem!reader#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond x oc#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond fic#hotd fic#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x y/n
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I like to think that eventually Darling succumbs to Stockholm syndrome and comes to care for Giorno. Perhaps even love him as much as he loves her (which will cause them to get into those cute little couple arguments about who loves who more) once enough time passes. Their relationship gets to the point Giorno trusts her enough to let her go out into public, with either him or a plethora of body guards that rival secret service, of course.
I just love the concept of Giorno and Darling going out to eat at a ridiculously fancy restaurant on a date night and closing it off by slow dancing under the stars, Darling tucked underneath Giorno’s chin while being held delicately in his embrace. Her floor length, backless dress with a slit running up her left leg only to stop below her thigh swaying with the movements as Giorno’s cologne and heartbeat fill her senses. He’s finally in heaven after waiting for so long, while Darling is realizing that Giorno is heaven to her.
He unfortunately has to leave afterwards to go on a business trip pertaining to his position as don. He deems it too dangerous so Darling has to stay home. Giorno is excited to come back and be in his beloved’s presence once more, only to discover that she is gone, her disappearance seemingly just happening as none of the staff were aware she vanished either. He is EXTREMELY hurt. Darling has attempted escape multiple times before in the past, but things were going so well lately he foolishly thought she was done betraying his love and trust. I honestly think him getting a taste of his ideal life with Darling only for her to rip it away by trying to escape again will break him.
But Darling didn’t escape. She was kidnapped, which is brought to Giorno’s attention when one of his employees finds a note. Turns out one of the staff members or guards was a double agent with a grudge against Giorno for some reason or another, and decided to get close and steal away his only weakness in retaliation. I truly think he’d go insane lmao. Have a rage induced breakdown and destroy a room full of expensive furniture.
It’s not a matter of “if”, Giorno WILL get Darling back. But the question is, what if he gets her back bloody and bruised?
OMG THANKS FOR THIS SMALL FIC ANON 😭😭 THIS HELPED SATISFY MY GIORNO NEED FOR THE DAY
First off, to answer your question, if darling was brought back bruised and bloody. The first thing giorno would do is heal his darling using GER. Not a moments second was wasted to put you back into full health. Your well being is always his top priority. But while he's healing you and creating new organs, you can't help but notice how giorno is trembling. It's been a while since you been together and while giorno is a private person, one thing you noticed is how he never cries but trembles instead. He looks like he's falling apart, seeing his precious cara all bruised and beaten up by some scum.
When you look into his eyes, his eyes seem so hurt like he wants to cry but nothing will come out. Giorno will definitely hold you close whether you like it or not, just to help him calm down. He missed you dearly and your absence clearly took a toll on both his mental and physical well being. Giorno always looks so well kept and put together but for once, you see bags under his eyes and his hair disheveled. He looks skinner too like he hasn't eaten in ages.
It's no question that he already killed and tortured the culprits. Giorno himself saw to it that they met their demise.
*side note* but this reminds me of Dr strange multiverse of madness. Like imagine the kidnapper is a stand user who can transverse through multiple universes and that's how they kept darling away from giorno.
If darling didn't succumb to Stockholm syndrome by now, they sure will after this little road trip across universes. Because darling will see how giorno in other universes still love darling. How deep his love truly goes and how in the grand calculus of the multiverse, he will always love darling. 😭🤧❤️
LIKE Y'ALL, IMAGINE GIORNO SAYING THIS TO DARLING AFTER REUNITING AND THEIR JOURNEY OF TRAVELLING ACROSS HUNDREDS OF UNIVERSES
Help. I keep making these fake scenarios with yan giorno that's making me fall for him even harder 😭🙃
#ask#anonymous#yandere#yandere jojo's bizarre adventure#yandere jjba#yandere jojo x reader#jojo golden wind#jojo part 5#jojo vento aureo#yandere giorno#yandere giorno giovanna#giorno x reader#giorno giovanna x reader
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@sunnydalescoobiies sent from INTIMIDATION AND VIOLENT RP PROMPTS
💪 - sender forces receiver’s arm behind their back
Though Cardan would very much like to pretend the reason behind his slow reflexes is the iron and other metal-infused air that, for the past few days now, has rendered him heavy limbed and groggy, it is no secret that his fighting skills are non-existent at best and dreadful at the very worse ― and, whereas himself has denied to train in swordfight and combat plethora of times before, buffy is very much ready, trained and acutely aware. Another Fae ― one hardwired in combat and weaponery like his eldest brother or perhaps, one of the royal knights of the High Court ― might , perhaps, have had a chance when standing against the tantrum-inclined slayer, perhaps even land a couple of successful blows themselves; Alas, Cardan is not like them, but rather, the opposite. His fate was sealed from the very start, when fury flashed before the blonde's eyes and the first violent-intented step was taking in his direction.
A hissing groan escapes from lips that have curled into a grimace of a scowl ― the sound nearly identical to that of a wounded animal ― as constellations of tiny, freckled stars ricochet before his eyes, and pain flares up his arm and shoulder. The cool surface of the plastered motel wall from where he is pressed is a welcome sensation, enough to pull his mind from its daze-induced state and as black eyes rimmed in gold squint upon the slayer from their very corner, the Prince's head turns in order to flash the slayer the best callous glare he can conjure at this very moment.
❛ You could have just said no, like any civilized and non-cave-inhabiting person would. ❜ Protests Cardan, voice muffled over the heavy panting of his breath. Would he have listened, and therefore inevitably ended in the same situation as now ? The chances of that are paler and slimmer than he is, but at least it would have proved that the blonde was capable of higher intellect than the lowest of the Unseelie Folk ― all admittedly in size double of her own ― , who live upon the branches of trees or under the dirt of the forest ground and only come out to snatch away an unsuspecting prey. How can someone so small be capable of this much strength ? ❛ This room has grown stale and boring, and I am thus incapable of remaining here any longer. I am not your travelling pet, I wish to go out. ❜
#sunnydalescoobiies#( sunnydalescoobiies | buffy summers )#( 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐥𝐟𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞 ┊ main au )#( cardan's just: lay off blondie i want to have some fun:(
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The coordinates for the party land on the porch of a cozy looking home somewhere near Koreatown in California. For the sake of safety, and not causing a scene when someone demonic looking or, you know, a literal spider shows up, a tented walkway has been set up to the front door. The dark fabric is an opaque purple, lights strung up along the ceiling of the tent to light the night air and lead up to a white door that’s obviously seen some wear and tear, the faint sound of a chill playlist just beyond.
Stepping inside is… kind of wild, really.
The house is laid out quite spaciously, with the kitchen just to the left of the entrance with an open view into the large living room. Fabrics of different hues and textures line the walls, ranging from a tropical blue, to a deep violet, to a stunning fuschia, to a lovely shade of pink as it wraps around the massive space. The fabric ranges from a heavy, soft velvet to a sheer, sparkling tulle, some having hand stitched patterns that resemble waves, others with shiny, reflective stars, and others still with delicate flowers sewn on.
String lights of different shades of pink, purples, blues and whites run along the walls, some behind the fabric that’s been set up to give off a more ethereal glow. The majority of the light for the room comes from standing lamps that have been set up to give off that classic Bi-Lighting™, further exemplifying the color scheme. The living room floor has been mostly cleared, with only the couches against the walls and coffee tables to match, a large heart-shaped rug in hot pink, and a slim TV mounted on the wall—currently displaying a YouTube playlist.
The couches themselves are set up in the corners of the living room, soft black fabric mostly hidden beneath a plethora of various pillows, several of which are shaped like stars or hearts, all made of different fabrics, delightfully soft and pettable. Most obviously eye-catching among these pillows is a large, bright pink plush shark wearing a flower crown of red, blue and pink roses. These roses are seen throughout the room in various places, bouquets set up along the walls and on various surfaces.
The ceiling must be enchanted, since the deep purple of space twinkles with so many stars that ever so subtly move, like stargazing under a clear sky.
The kitchen has been completely cleared of any electronics, all available counter space lined instead with a frankly silly number of cupcakes, as well as two options for vegetarian meals. There are four sets of cupcakes, one pink with a chocolate shark set into the frosting, one a deep purple with golden sprinkles and topped with a chocolate feather, one purple fading to white with silver sprinkles and a chocolate crystal, and one with a mix of different blues and purples. At the center, framed with a set of cupcakes is a beautiful, multi-tiered cake, the top decorated with delicate sugar roses and chocolate foliage.
The door at the far side of the living room has a sign taped up letting people know it’s off limits. To the right of the living room is a hall that leads to a few labeled doors, “Bathroom” and “Quiet Space”. Likewise, to the left of the living room is a door that’s labeled, “Dolls’ Room/Quiet Space”.
As far as people go, there are five already present. Lounging on the couches are a long-limbed, skater girl with teal hair and shocking red lipstick, a tan-skinned man with glasses, wearing a “pizza should beg to have pineapple on it, it doesn’t deserve pineapple” t-shirt, and Wick, their hair being repeatedly pulled into a braid that won’t stay by the girl as the two of them chat. Leaning against one of the counters in the kitchen is Dolls, her short curls dyed a light pink with streaks of cyan, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands.
And of course, Honey waits front and center, bouncing on her heels in a light blue dress to greet each and every person who comes through the door, the loose curls of her hair freshly dyed a vibrant purple. There’s absolutely nothing but joy radiating from her as she welcomes each guest in to enjoy the party.
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When people tell you to take any opportunity life throws at you, they fail to mention that one of those opportunities would be a job with infamous Fazbear Entertainment.
Yet here you stand, resume gripped in one hand as you stare at the plethora of neon signs and cartoon posters scattered throughout the lobby. An overwhelming smell of pizza hung to the air making you wonder if the few human staff ever got used to it or if they felt as nauseous as you did in that moment. Taking a deep breath you move towards the only person in a uniform, a young blonde woman slouched against the farthest wall from the door. Though she kept her head down the tired stature she held was obvious. Trying to keep a low voice to not startle her you shifted your weight and spoke,” excuse me miss?” Her head snapped up along with her shoulders tensing. When her eyes meet yours she relaxes a bit,” don’t sneak up on someone like that…” Her voice was low and had a rough tone that would have been intimidating had you not seen the bags under her eyes. Fiddling with the resume yet again you smile,” I’m sorry, just had a question is all. I’m here for an interview but can’t seem to find where I need to go.” The small chuckle you let out when unheard at the blondes attention turned to your hands. Letting out a sigh she stands straight allowing her back to let out a few ‘Pops’ before filling looking you up and down. As she stood tall her name tag was finally visible, the small gold plate spelled out the name ‘ Vanessa’ and seems pretty fitting in all honesty. “ Right well, the boss’s office is off from the main antrum, think you can get there, or should I send you with a S.T.A.F.F. bot?” She was uninterested in you at all even as she stared you down. The mention of a S.T.A.F.F. Bot made you almost nervous, if they had robots to do everything what was the point of being here? Clearing your throat you shook your head, “ No I think I can get there, just use those elevators right?” It wasn’t a real question but rather a way to calm your nerves and show you at least knew something. The only response is a nod as she opens the small gate allowing you to bypass paying your way in. With a small ‘ thank you’ and a monotone’ anytime’ you round the small corner allowing you to look around yet again. The gift shop was filled with novelty toys, complaining kids, and annoyed parents. A tall statue of the star attraction stood in the center of the room, the gold reflecting the lights seemed to make it look bigger, if that was even possible. Pushing past the crowd and waiting for an elevator was hopefully the worst that would come of today. When the group you stood with finally had a turn in the elevator it was crammed, nobody wanted to wait any longer. Getting one final look at the statue you let your thoughts take over, ‘ maybe things won’t be so bad’
| this is the first I’ve written an actual story so please bare with me as I struggle on this journey. Hopefully I will be posting this on AO3 soon.|
#x reader#reader insert#fnaf x reader#security breach#vanny the bunny#freddy x reader#chica x reader#monty x reader#roxy x reader#sun x reader#moon x reader
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A Plethora of Apocalypses
Setting Concepts and Conceits
Table-top fantasy games tend toward the post-apocalyptic, with themes of exploring the ruins of ancient and powerful civilizations. With this plane-hopping / astral-sailing game, I wanted to keep the action in the stars and leaned farther into the destruction, leaving most of the mortal worlds in the midst or near-aftermath of their various cataclysms. The value isn’t from sifting through the radioactive ruins of your home-world, it’s from seeking new worlds and the opportunity that freedom brings.
After polling my players about what they would like to see in a game, I jotted down some quick notes that would become the skeleton of the campaign. The core concept had to do with certain common tropes I saw in various published settings.
I would use a combination of settings and characters from both gaming and literary settings, to save on effort and give the players a sense of the familiar (albeit in a twisted fairy-tale way).
Most “prime” worlds have been wrecked by cataclysms, almost universally involving magical rocks falling out of the sky. The destruction is generally far beyond what occurred in the equivalent published setting, with planets shattered into floating continents or lands left largely uninhabitable. (Krynn’s “burning mountain”, Golarion’s “Earthfall”, Warhammer’s “Great Catastrophe”)
These events altered or increased how magic in these places worked, creating mutants, uplifting animals ,unleashing demons, aliens, etc. Lots of “green rocks” type tropes, powering some of the more fantastical elements or every-day magic so the setting isn’t as reliant on spell-casters. (Warpstone, Ghost Rock, Cinnabryl/Vermeil, Faerzress, etc.)
Inhabitants of these places often gained powers or new abilities and are commonly marked in some way by tattoo or brand-like alterations to the skin. Some of these patterns are not random, and under the right circumstances could be combined to unlock secrets, form maps to treasures, and reveal lost knowledge. (Savage Coast Legacies, Cerilia’s Blood Powers, Athas’ Wild Talents, and particularly Eberron’s Dragonmarks).
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So (most) worlds experiences some sort of magical catastrophe that left them in ruins. These are all related to some kind of (yet unknown) triggering event. And the physical marks on some of the affected inhabitants may hold a clue to exactly what happened.
By starting with the idea that I’ll have warped and twisted versions of “canon” characters and settings, I free myself from the mental hobgoblins of continuity and lore-accuracy, which is a great help to both myself and my players. It’s also my standing excuse for any cheesiness that may occur in posts on this blog.
Due to all of my players having some sort of anthropomorphic animal species (Tortle, Dragonborn, and ferret-folk), I started out designing a version of the Red Steel setting’s Savage Coast, with the coast being part of floating islands that were the remains of a shattered Mystara.
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